#strictly dumpling

[reptilia2003]

real music heads go straight from urgent care to a concert

[itsnesss]

hey stunner

could I pretty please request Ollie with a girlfriend who always makes him packed lunches/meals for training and races and leaves a little sticky note with it every time and the rest of the team get jealous cause the food looks and smells amazing

thank you, have a lovely rest of your day💕💕

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐟 | ollie bearman × fem!reader

summary | you always prepare ollie's lunch and add little notes to it. It's your way of showing affection. he loves it and it makes his friends jealous

warnings | chef!reader, fluff humor, mild embarrassment, public reading of a flirty note, excessive cuteness, food envy

word count | 1.2 k

🖇 more ob87 🖇 f1 masterlist

The sun was just beginning to peek through the window when Ollie came downstairs, still bleary-eyed and his hair a mess. Despite the early hour, the kitchen already smelled delicious.

The sound of the pan led him straight to the scene he loved seeing every morning: you, in pajamas, hair clipped up, gently stirring with a wooden spoon.

"Up this early again?" he mumbled, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and resting his forehead on your shoulder.

"It’s your simulator day, and then the gym, right? I wanted to make sure you ate something decent instead of those bars you swear are ‘super filling.’"

He let out a chuckle, pressing a kiss to your cheek before stepping away to pour himself some water. On the table, a bento box was already half-prepped, with vibrant compartments and fruit cut into star shapes. The little sticky note hadn’t been placed yet, but you had the pen in your hand.

Ollie came closer, curious, even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to read them early.

"What are you writing this time? Another ‘don’t forget to smile even if your trainer yells at you’?" he laughed.

"Close," you said with a mischievous grin. "This one says: ‘If you hit your best lap time today, I’ll make brownies tonight. If you don’t… I still will. But act like you don’t know that.’"

He laughed loudly this time, grabbing you by the waist and spinning you around to give you a kiss longer than strictly necessary.

"You’re the best part of my day, you know that?"

"I know. But tell that to your trainer after he sees I gave you rice cake as a snack."

Hours later at the training center, Ollie opened his lunchbox in the team’s common room. The sticky note was still on top. He didn’t have to say anything — the smell of sesame chicken filled the room, and one by one, the other drivers and mechanics looked up.

"Is that… homemade food?" Esteban asked, sniffing the air like a hound.

"Yeah," Ollie said casually, as if it were no big deal. He grabbed his chopsticks and started eating while Kimi peered over curiously.

"Your girlfriend cooks that for you every day?"

"Yes. Sometimes the menu changes. But there’s always dessert. And a note."

There was a moment of silence before someone muttered:

"Do you think she’d adopt all of us?"

And just like that, culinary jealousy spread through the team.

...

The atmosphere at the team base that Friday was relatively calm. Simulator in the morning, technical sessions in the afternoon. Nothing too exciting… except for Ollie.

He had an extra motivation to get through the day: his lunch.

As soon as he got out of the simulator, he walked straight to the hospitality fridge and pulled out his lunchbox, perfectly labeled with his name in a blue sticker. The sticky note was already attached on top:

“Reminder: you're stronger than you think. And yes, I added dumplings this time. Do not share, please!”

He read it with a smile. “As if I’d share,” he thought.

But someone was watching. Someone hungry. Someone named Kimi Antonelli.

"Does that have dumplings?" Kimi asked, leaning his elbows on the table like a hungry puppy.

"No idea what you’re talking about," Ollie replied, discreetly closing the lid.

"Come on, man. Just one. I just wanna see if they taste as good as they smell."

"My girlfriend said not to share. Her exact words."

Kimi rolled his eyes and walked away… but not for long.

While Ollie stepped away to take a call with his engineer, Kimi, like a thief trained by the F1 school of crime, slid over to the table. He lifted the lid with almost reverent care. And there they were: four perfect homemade dumplings nestled on a bed of sticky rice.

"Just one," he whispered, as if that justified the crime.

But just as he reached for one with Ollie’s chopsticks, he heard a voice behind him:

"Touch it and you lose the hand, Antonelli."

Kimi turned with a guilty smile.

"How did you know I was going to do that!?"

"Because you’re as subtle as a brick. Also, you left your fingerprints all over the tupperware last time."

The rest of the team burst out laughing. Esteban came over with a water bottle and added:

"Trying to steal his food again? This is becoming a ritual. Why don’t you just get a girlfriend too?"

Kimi dropped into the seat with a dramatic sigh.

"I don’t want a girlfriend. I want a chef."

"Mine’s both," Ollie said smugly, sitting down and picking up the first dumpling. "And that’s why you’ll just sit there and watch me eat this."

Kimi shot him a look full of culinary resentment while everyone laughed.

From then on, every time Ollie opened his lunch, someone would inevitably keep an eye on him. But Kimi… Kimi never tried again without permission.

(Technically.)

...

Race weekend arrived, and for the first time, you decided to surprise him in person. With help from Esteban, your trusted accomplice, you secretly traveled to the circuit.

The paddock was organized chaos: engineers running from one garage to another, mechanics fine-tuning details, drivers reviewing data. Everything buzzed with the usual pre-qualifying tension.

Except for Ollie Bearman.

Because you were there.

You had traveled in secret to the circuit a logistical madness that included a delayed train, a shared Uber, and a ridiculous number of messages with Esteban to make sure Ollie didn’t see you too soon.

And now, carrying an insulated lunch bag covered in cherry and bear stickers, you walked through the paddock looking for your boyfriend. You wore sunglasses, a cap, and had one mission: hand him his lunch before his technical meeting.

Esteban spotted you first.

"Hey! The star chef’s here!" he called out from afar, making several mechanics turn.

You just smiled, a bit embarrassed.

"Where is he?" you asked.

"Data room. But if you walk in now, you’ll scare the life out of him."

And so you did.

The door opened softly, and Ollie looked up from his tablet. The first thing he saw were your sneakers, he’d recognize them anywhere. Then your legs, your shirt, your cap...

"You?" he asked, stunned. "What are you doing here?"

"Is that your ‘Hi babe, what a lovely surprise’?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He stood up immediately, hugging you in a way that erased everything else.

"Sorry, I just… wasn’t expecting it. I thought you were at home!"

"Wanted to give you this in person." You pulled out the lunchbox, fancier than usual, with a big note on top.

Before he could read it, the data engineer walked in right behind him.

"Ollie, I need you to- oh."

Silence.

He saw the tupperware. He saw the note. And read aloud, instinctively:

"You don’t need luck today. You’ve got talent, hunger, and this mango rice to make you smile. PS: You have the cutest butt in the paddock."

You froze.

So did Ollie.

The engineer blinked once. Twice. And then, with all the dignity he could muster, said:

"I’ll just… leave this here."

When he was gone, Ollie turned to you, eyes wide.

"Why would you write that?!"

"It was meant for you to read! Not for public announcement!"

You both burst into laughter, covering your faces with your hands as you sat down.

"God, now everyone is going to know about the butt thing," he said through his giggles.

"Everyone already knows, Ollie. Now they’ll just have it confirmed."

Later, as he walked out of the garage toward qualifying, several team members sent him off with:

"Good luck, cutest butt in the paddock!"

[fromdove]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⁞ 𝓓ICK 𝓖RAYSON ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝓦HEN 𝓗E'S 𝓘N 𝓛OVE 𝓗EADCANONS !

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨୧

— dick grayson when he's in love hcs ᵎᵎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

— dick grayson x fem!reader ᵎᵎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

— count how many times I said "like"..... ⊹ ࣪ ˖

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

⤷ he teases you a lot. like. annoying. if you mispronounce a word one (1) time you will never hear the end of it. he’ll bring it up three weeks later like “remember when you said ‘sherbert’ instead of ‘sherbet’ lol dumbass” and you’re like i know where you sleep

⤷ he likes watching you do mundane things. like tying your shoes. or flipping pages. or brushing your teeth. “you always do that little pause before you spit. it’s cute.” <- what are you even supposed to do with that.

⤷ will Not. let you walk on the curb side of the street. ever. like you’ll try and he’ll do that quiet sidestep-switch like no. no. i’m the buffer between you and the world. get behind me baby i’m trained in 47 types of combat

⤷ you sneeze once. ONCE. uno. one. 1 !!!! time. and suddenly he’s Googling “early signs of pneumonia” and wrapping you in three blankets like you’re in an igloo.

⤷ he’s not subtle. not even a little. he’s grinning all the time. like you’re his little secret. except you’re not. because everyone knows. because he talks about you constantly and doesn’t realise it. like someone asks “what do you think of this sandwich place?” and he’s like “oh my partner hates pickles” and you’re like. ok???? who asked???????

⤷ texts like. really badly. "on my way" / "u good?" / "?" / “home safe?” / “did you eat?” / “also here’s a stray cat i found near the precinct it made me think of you bc it was mean but cute”. no punctuation. and then sends you a 3-paragraph message about a book from the 70s that reminded him of you.

⤷ one time you got a papercut and he ACTUALLY KISSED YOUR FINGER. like what is this. a 2003 romcom. who does that. you let him anyway.

⤷ dates are like. chaotic. they range. they VARY. he’ll plan them so carefully and then forget the address. it goes from him taking you rooftop dancing at 2am (he knows the security guard don’t ask). to the fanciest more expensive restaurants. or sometimes its the most random places...like why are we eating cold dumplings on a fire escape at midnight. why am i in your lap. why is this perfect. why r u dancing on the rooftop. pls. i just wanted to eat. it could also be you two literally brushing teeth side by side in pajamas while he talks about some city ordinance that made him mad.

⤷ also he’s like. a hand holder. all the time. especially in crowds. “just so i don’t lose you” ok liar you just like touching me.

⤷ he’s sooooooooooo good with kids it’s disgusting. like you’ll be walking past a playground and suddenly he’s in a full game of tag with a bunch of eight-year-olds like??? ok??? and you’re sitting there like is this what being in love feels like???????? have my babies then??????????

⤷ he gets nervous when you meet bruce. he acts like he doesn’t care but he’s standing straighter. fixing your collar. whispering “you got this”. like. dude. broski. seems like you need that advice a little more than me..

⤷ he brings you little things all the time. dumb things. a keychain. a sticker. he's gotten u a mug that says “i like my boyfriends like i like my coffee: hot and ready to fight crime”. he's like "that describes me perfectly babe!" ok..... just say ur inlove w/urself..

⤷ he loves when you wear his shirts. he pretends to be chill but he deflates when he sees it. “is that mine?” yes dick. it says “haley’s circus” on it. and it smells like crime fighting and your conditioner now. congrats. he’s 70% more handsy. 30% more cuddly. 100% ferocious internally. his caveman brain is like “MINE.”

⤷ he has like. six nicknames for you. three of them are variations of “birdie” and one of them is “hey trouble” and he says it with that little lopsided grin and you melt and throw a pillow at him and he catches it with one hand

⤷ he’s like. stupidly in love. and he’ll kiss your hand when he’s driving. and you’re like. eyes on the road. and he’s like. “i have great reflexes” and you’re like. great. that’s not the point.

⤷ he talks in his sleep. sometimes it’s mission stuff. sometimes it’s your name. once he said “alfred please no more soup” and you almost peed yourself laughing. he was so embarrassed. you bring it up constantly.

⤷ when he’s gone for patrol or a mission longer than expected he always texts. even if it’s just “still alive. miss u. criminals suck.”

⤷ he’s not flashy. but he’s intense. he listens. remembers everything. “didn’t you say you liked this song in april?” yes he has a playlist. yes it’s called “her smile > gotham skyline”

⤷ he acts like you’re a little miracle. like he can’t believe you’re real. he’ll just stare at you sometimes and blink slow like a cat and say “i love you” like it’s a confession every time.

⤷ he’ll tease you but only about dumb things. like how you sometimes stutter when you ramble or how you always leave the cap off the toothpaste. and then he’ll fix it. quietly. every time.

⤷ when he introduces you to his friends. he’s like. so soft. “this is my person. be nice. or i’ll beat you up. lovingly.”

⤷ you catch him looking at you all dreamy sometimes and he just goes “what?” and shrugs and kisses your forehead like it’s no big deal that he’s in constant awe of you

⤷ he’s in love like it’s easy. like it’s gravity. like he’s spent his whole life falling and you’re the first place that ever felt like landing.

⤷ you ask him to hang out and he’s like yeah yeah ofc and then five minutes later you’re on his bike and he's like “is gotham cold or am i crazy” and you're just clinging to him like a lil barnacle while the skyline blurs. he's only thinking about how soft your hands are on his stomach

⤷ he sends you memes. like. actually. they’re dumb. sometimes Nightwing fan edits. he pretends he doesn’t know you know. “someone sent me this” like ok babe sure. "someone" aka your own saved folder. keep lying

⤷ in love dick is like. chaotic neutral trying to be lawful good. he’ll pick you up from school or work and you’re like “you didn’t have to” and he goes “i know” but he’s there every time

⤷ he does this thing where he’ll lean on the counter while you talk. like hand-under-chin. dumb lil smile. he’s not even listening fully sometimes. he’s just watching you like you’re a painting in a gallery he’s been to before but still finds new details in. annoying. beautiful. criminal

⤷ if you’re sleeping over he’s sleeping on the edge of the bed because he moves like a windmill and he’s afraid he’ll knock you out mid-dream. but by morning you’re tangled. always. no exceptions

⤷ ok so. gifts. random. weird. he once gave you a grappling hook keychain and was so smug about it. “just in case you need a quick escape.” sir. from where. my bedroom??

⤷ he talks about you to everyone. not in a gross bragging way. in a like. “yeah (y/n) helped me pick this” or “(y/n) said i’d like this song” or “you’d like them. they’re really funny. and smart. and good. and like. they’re just. yeah.” and then changes the subject aggressively

⤷ he will NEVER say no to you playing with his hair. he’ll act like it’s not a big deal but if you stop he’ll be like “wait. you were doing the— you were playing with my hair—”

⤷ he's the type to check the exits wherever you go but also brings you gum and hand sanitizer like the world's most traumatised dad

⤷ sometimes he zones out while you're talking and you're like hello?? and he's just like “you looked really happy. i wanted to remember it.” AND THEN HE HAS THE NERVE TO SHRUG. ok poetic boy

⤷ he gets weirdly possessive but like. silently. if someone flirts with you at a party he’ll just kind of materialise next to you like “hey babe” and put his arm around you like hello yes i am six feet of jealousy wrapped in kevlar

⤷ he will not admit he cried over you once (more than once, lets be real). even though it’s obvious. even though jason literally heard him sniffling in the batcave. it’s fine. let him pretend

⤷ when you’re upset he gets quiet. not cold. just. steady. he listens. he doesn’t try to fix it unless you ask. he sits next to you and holds your hand and says “i’m here.” and he is. fully. always.

⤷ he’s got scars on scars but he lets you trace them. tells you the stories if you want. lies about the ones he’s not ready to talk about. it’s ok. you know. you wait

⤷ love makes him dumb. he does pushups with you sitting on his back. buys your favorite snacks in bulk. lets you paint his nails and then goes on patrol with them like it’s normal (it is)

⤷ he teaches you how to do flips. or tries. and then laughs when you fall. but then also kisses your scraped elbow like “my bad babe” with zero actual remorse. “you’ll get it next time” he says while still laughing. he’s sososososo annoying. you love him.

⤷ wears your hair tie on his wrist like it’s part of his uniform. you say nothing. he says nothing. but it’s always there.

⤷ teaches you escrima if you ask. but only if you promise not to make fun of the sticks. you make fun of the sticks anyway. he fake pouts. you kiss him mid-fight. he drops one stick. it’s fine.

⤷ carries a picture of you in his wallet and pretends he doesn’t. you find it once and he tries to act like it’s no big deal. “whatever. you look cute. move on.”

⤷ he thinks he's subtle. he's not. the whole batfamily knows. jason makes fun of him. damian gags. tim just leaves the room. bruce is like “don’t get distracted” and dick is like “yes sir 🫡” while actively distracted.

⤷ picks at your food. then acts shocked when you do the same. “you said you weren’t hungry??” yeah ok YOU said you weren’t emotionally available dick now look at us. hypocrites in love.

⤷ gives you nicknames like “hotshot” or “trouble” and then blushes when you call him anything. “dork” makes him literally malfunction. he pretends to be offended but smiles when you’re not looking.

⤷ gets quiet when you’re sad. like real quiet. sits next to you and just waits. doesn’t force you to talk. but if you do talk—he listens. like really listens. remembers every word. brings it up months later. “you said this place makes you feel calm” oh so you remember that ok

⤷ he’s so annoying. in the best way. like. the type of annoying that makes you blush and kick your feet and want to punch a wall. his wall specifically.

⤷ he’s all casual flirty with everyone right?? but when he’s in love with you??? he turns tender. like terrifyingly tender. it’s like he’s trying not to break you by looking too hard. like eye contact might detonate you. but i mean. either way. he still stares at you hard. even when trying not to.

⤷ he does the “can you sit with me while i do paperwork” thing. like you’re a cat. like he just wants you in proximity while he suffers.

⤷ he picks up food for you without asking. every time. "thought you might be hungry." no baby you knew. we have a soul connection. you felt my hunger. don’t play with me

⤷ he touches your back when you cross streets. lets you walk on the inside of the sidewalk. opens the door even when you argue. says "just let me take care of you a little." & now you’re sobbing in the CVS skincare aisle. congrats.

⤷ he lets you braid his hair when it gets too long. he pretends to hate it. you both know he’s lying.

⤷ if you're tired? he's pulling you into his lap before you can blink. he’s like “you rest. i got it.” you don’t even know what “it” is. but he’s got it. apparently.

⤷ "you don't have to do everything alone anymore." <- said in a whisper. at 1:47am. when you tried to sneak out so he wouldn't see you cry. yeah. he saw. and now you're in his arms and he's not letting go until morning.

⤷ when he's in love he’s... warm. like that kind of warm that feels like sunshine on a cold day. or like a bath that runs the perfect temperature.

⤷ he remembers everything. like that one time you said you liked strawberry twizzlers?? there's a pack in your glovebox now. he swears he didn’t put it there. liar.

⤷ you call him in the middle of the night because you had a bad dream and he’s like “i’m coming over” and then he’s actually there. barefoot. in sweatpants. holding two mugs and looking worried

⤷ he loves all of you. not just the good stuff. he loves the mess. the overthinking. the crying. the way you squeak when you laugh. he calls it “his favorite sound.”

⤷ every time you fight. he comes back. every time. he won’t let you sleep mad. he’ll wait on your fire escape all night if he has to. says “i’m not leaving until we’re okay. even if you throw something at me.”

⤷ once tried to not fall in love with you. failed.

[pseudowho]

Yagi Toshinori/All Might x Reader

Fluff, suggestive

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

All Might was strong, and soft. You knew this before you started dating (which was an operation performed strictly in secret, so wildly publicised would it be, to be seen on his arm in public).

Candlelit dinners in Musutafu's finest, instead became quiet nights in, with faithful security guards ushering you to the Might Tower penthouse where Toshinori waited, fizzing with excitement.

Instead, Toshinori took delight in stealing your blushes through deliberately poorly-timed whispered compliments. His array of vintage pet names would sound corny, were he any less sincere. It hadn't taken Toshinori long to cotton on to the glee to be found in a secret love affair.

And it hadn't taken long for you to retaliate; which was how you found out how soft the powerful All Might really was.

"I set you free for the rest of the afternoon, young ones! Spend your study time wisely! Strive to be the best you, that you can be!" Toshinori boomed over the heads of the students, filing out before him.

He spun, turning and bending down to you with that familiar trademark grin...only, heartfelt and wicked now, instead of fixed. His voice lowered barely enough to escape the students' notice.

"Of course," he intoned, his breath grazing your ear, setting a shiver down your spine, "my honeybee is already the best she that she could be."

You slapped a handful of books down on the desk, a frisson of electric sending you erect as you turned to him with a warning look in your eye. The warning look quickly died, at his boyish smile and natural warmth, unable to fight a man that you knew absolutely meant it.

Later, you approached him in the busy corridor, schooling your expression to that of polite disinterest in greeting a passing colleague.

"Yagi-san--"

Toshinori jostled you, sending papers tumbling to the floor, and apologising profusely in a dramatic hush, bending with you to collect the scattered reports from the floor.

"I apologise-- I really am sorry-- gosh, what a mess!" As people channelled around you, Toshinori's fingers plaited briefly with yours, his voice lowering again. "Not that messy is something my pookie identifies with, though. Not yet."

You dropped the rest of your papers, stuttering as Toshinori scooped them up with a flourish, standing with you and bundling them back into your arms. You stumbled, blushing as he clapped an enormous hand onto your shoulder with a laugh, and a thunderous farewell, leaving you stranded and skittish in the corridor.

In the lunch queue, you felt a shadow darken your tray, and turned, looking up. This time, Toshinori barely even bothered to alter his tone, instead hiding behind the student and faculty's food-related distraction. He plucked a tiny steaming basket from the self-service window, dropping it onto your tray with a muted thmp.

"Dumplings...for my dumpling."

You snapped, grabbing his usual cold brew from the fridge, and popping it onto his tray, smiling sweetly up at him.

"I'm lucky to have such a cute guy choosing lunch with me."

A blush burned over Toshinori's cheeks like you had slapped it on him. You felt a roar of success as, when you were called forwards, you saw Toshinori fumble his tray with enormous hands, his coffee splatting to the floor to his stuttered apologies. You left with a flick of the skirt and a smirk on your lips.

Between lessons, in the stream of shouting students, you felt yourself scooped in one great palm and effortlessly shepherded aside, hearing Toshinori's gravelly tones announce your departure; "My dear, could I borrow a moment of your time to discuss a lesson plan?"

You loaded a bullet as Toshinori pulled you round the corner, sniping him before he could take his shot.

"Darling, I must say--"

"What's such a handsome bear needing with me, in a narrow little corridor?"

Toshinori gasped, a single broad palm pressed to his chest, staggered by the force of his b-dmp. His blush rose from the collar up. He reached one trembling hand out to you as you walked away, leaving him stunned in your wake.

As the day wound to a close, you entered the staffroom, to find Toshinori and Aizawa stood, talking at the window. Toshinori grinned, faltering just so as you approached him with a honeydew smile.

You looped your hand through the crook of his elbow as if you were in black and white, pecked his cheek in a chaste little kiss, and fired off the killshot.

"I've missed you," you chirped, "Hubby."

A strangled choke left Toshinori's throat, and he almost buckled, gripping the window frame hard enough to make it crack with another hand clutching his heart.

Aizawa shot you a look of despair as you walked away, looking between you and Toshinori, who had yet to regain his usual colour. Aizawa called after you as you left, sniggering.

"You can't just do that to him. Hey! Come back! You can't do that to an old man--"

"Aizawa-kun, please--"

You called back over your shoulder. "He had it coming, Shouta. Turns out he can dish it out, but he can't take it!"

[moonmaiden1996]

Love at First Sight (According to Nagumo, Anyway) Part 11

Shin had managed to keep Lu from adding glitter to the dumplings. But he hadn’t been able to stop her from liberally sprinkling it into the soup and rice. In fact, the entire dinner table now looked less like a lovingly prepared meal and more like it had been bombarded by a squadron of mischievous pixies wielding glitter cannons.

The centerpiece—a steaming pot of miso soup—twinkled unnaturally under the warm lighting, flecks of glitter swirling through the broth like little stars trapped in amber. The rice had been molded into heart shapes, each grain shimmering with an iridescent dust that caught the light in a way that was decidedly… off-putting. Plates of karaage were arranged in perfect concentric circles, surrounding a dipping sauce dish shaped like a flower, all of it glistening under a heavy coat of luminous sparkle. A tray of tamagoyaki—somehow also shimmering—had been cut into perfectly neat star shapes. Even the sushi rolls were graced with edible gold leaf. And as if the visual assault wasn’t enough, the salad had joined in—glitter clinging every surface, from cucumber to tomato. The entire spread was a glittering, gleaming overload for the senses.

"I’m just saying," Lu hissed, glaring at Shin from across the table, "if she stays holed up in the guest room all day, this entire plan’s going down in flames. We can’t win her over if she’s buried under a duvet, Shin!"

"You do realize how insane you sound, right?" Shin snapped, setting the final dish down with more force than strictly necessary. "This isn’t some magical shojo anime where she swoons just because you made rice that looks like a Care Bear exploded."

“It’s romantic,” Lu insisted, spinning dramatically on her heel, the glitter on her apron catching the light with a ridiculous flourish.

“It’s insane,” Shin deadpanned, each word falling from his lips like a verdict. “He butchered a dozen gangsters right in front of her. You think glitter soup’s gonna fix that?”

Lu rolled her eyes so hard it was almost audible. “You’re so emotionally stunted, it’s tragic.”

“And you’re so deluded it’s concerning.”

“Excuse me for believing in love and second chances!” Lu stuck her tongue out at him.

“Excuse me for believing in trauma therapy and not thinking salmon and sparkles can solve the problems of a love-sick assassin stalker!” Shin snapped.

The back-and-forth was cut short by a voice—a calm, firm voice that carried no room for argument. Aoi stepped into the room with her usual grace, hair pinned back perfectly, sleeves of her floral blouse neatly rolled up to her elbows. Her presence alone commanded attention, the gentle authority of a mother catching her children over a toy.

"Lu," she said softly, resting a hand on the younger girl’s shoulder, "You have a wonderful heart. And this dinner… it's a lovely gesture."

Lu’s face lit up with pride, her chest swelling as she absorbed the praise.

"But," Aoi continued, turning her gaze toward Shin, "Shin is also right."

Lu’s smile faltered. Shin smirked, sensing victory.

“She’s been through something truly terrifying,” Aoi explained, her tone gentle but resolute. "Nagumo is... intense. And while I do believe he’ll make a wonderful partner one day"—she threw a brief glance toward Nagumo, who was sitting silently at the table—“right now, she needs time. And care. Not pressure.” She smiled at them both. “We’ll make it warm. Welcoming.”

Aoi turned her attention to Shin. "And Shin..." she said, her eyes narrowing playfully.

He looked up, wary. “What?”

"You’ll sit next to her."

Shin groaned audibly. "Why me?"

"Because you’re her buffer," Aoi said simply, wiping her hands on her tea towel. "If she starts to look overwhelmed, you can give Nagumo one of your signature glares until he stops being weird. You might even have to punch him if it gets too bad."

“…He’s always weird.”

“Exactly,” Aoi replied, patting his cheek.

Shin muttered something indistinct—clearly not suitable for polite company—as he began trudging upstairs.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When he reached the guest room door, Shin hesitated just long enough to regret every choice that had led him here. With a sharp exhale, he knocked twice—quick and purposeful.

“It’s me,” he said, voice low. “Shin.”

Silence.

He leaned against the doorframe, letting his head thud softly against the wall as he exhaled slowly. “I’m the guy from the register,” he added, his tone light but weary. “You know, the one who sells you that terrifying brand of black coffee? The stuff that tastes like burnt rubber?”

Still nothing.

“I’m also the guy who throws in those ridiculous panda-shaped sugar cookies to try and balance out the bitterness. Even if you never eat them. Because, unlike you, I have taste.”

A long beat of silence.

“…Look,” he continued, his voice softening, “I’m not here to force anything. I know things got… messy. But there’s food downstairs. Aoi cooked, and Lu—well, Lu turned the dining table into a glittering crime scene. It’s chaos. It’s weird. But it’s also kinda… normal? For us.”

You shifted beneath the duvet, your gaze drifting toward the door. His voice was steady, casual, but it felt familiar in a way that almost made you feel safe—like you could actually take him up on his offer without the weight of any expectations.

“You don’t have to talk. Or stay long. But there’s a seat with your name on it. I’ll sit next to you. If Nagumo starts being weird again, I’ll elbow him. Or kick him under the table. I’ve got options.”

When you finally opened the door, your gaze met Shin’s—eyes slightly puffy from lack of sleep, hair a little tousled as though you'd been tossing restlessly. Your clothes were rumpled, the faded edges of the borrowed old t-shirt and sweatpants look almost as tired as the frown tugging at your lips.

For half a second, Shin looked taken aback—then, almost imperceptibly, his shoulders relaxed. He gave a short, relieved sigh and stepped back, a hand gesturing down the hallway.

“Alright. Let’s go before Lu bursts a vein from excitement.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lu gasped as you descended the stairs. “You came down!” she cried, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she leaned in closer, smiling far too wide. “You are so pretty. You're definitely one of those women who can pull off the whole unkempt look—I’m dying. Shin, look at her, she’s precious.”

You blinked at the redhead.

“Please stop talking,” Shin muttered behind you. He placed a hand at the small of your back and guided you gently to the table, pulling out a chair before dropping into the one beside it.

The table was covered in food—steaming bowls of soup, a pile of freshly grilled meat, shimmering miso. You weren’t sure whether to feel touched or vaguely afraid.

“This is your seat. Prime distance from the soup and directly in my line of sight so I can punch anyone who says something stupid,” Shin said, glaring across the table.

Lu opened her mouth.

Shin looked at her. “Don’t.”

Aoi stepped forward, placing a warm hand on your shoulder. Her smile was gentle, her tone soothing. “We’re so happy you’re here. Just eat what you like. Don’t worry about the glitter.”

“It’s festive!” Lu added cheerfully, settling into the seat beside the black-haired man you still couldn’t quite bring yourself to look at.

“It’s unholy,” Shin muttered. “But edible... probably.”

Nagumo shifted closer to the table. The usual aloofness in his posture was gone—his hands twitched slightly at his sides, eyes flickering in your direction more than they should have.For a moment, he just looked at you. There was something unguarded in his expression, something quiet and aching. “…I’m glad you came,” he said at last, voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t reply. But you didn’t look away, either. Something turned over in your chest.

Aoi clapped her hands softly. “Let’s eat, before Lu finds a way to put glitter in the soy sauce.”

With that, the meal began. Plates filled quickly—bowls of rice, skewers of tofu and chicken, neatly arranged side dishes. It was surreal, sitting here after everything you’d seen, surrounded by people who killed for a living (or at least married to someone who killed for a living) and were now passing you seaweed salad and asking if you wanted seconds. You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or cry. Possibly both.

You blinked at your plate. The portion was overwhelming, but watching the others inhale their food made it seem less strange—except Nagumo, who just sat, staring blankly at Shin across the table.

“So,” Lu said, voice sugary as she leaned across her plate, “you probably don’t really know Nagumo yet, right?”

You didn’t answer. Just glanced at her over the rim of your glass as you took another sip of soju.

Sakamoto, wordless and efficient, topped it off before the glass had even left your hand. His expression remained perfectly neutral as he reached across with another bowl of rice.

“Well,” Lu went on, undeterred, “he’s amazing.”

Nagumo blinked, the tension in his shoulders drawn so tight it looked painful.

Lu clasped her hands and tilted her head, unbothered. “He once saved a dog, you know.”

Nagumo didn’t look up. “It was rabid. I shot it.”

The vein in Lu’s forehead throbbed, but she waved a hand as if brushing off the correction. “Details. He was protecting people. Think John Wick meets… Batman. But with better cheekbones.”

Another gulp. Another pour. Your silence was your only answer, a calm wall of detachment against Lu’s enthusiastic energy.

“And don’t even get me started on his hair,” she added, throwing a hand in the air. “Perfection.”

“More like bad bedhead,” Shin muttered.

“I would kill for bedhead like that,” Lu snapped.

Aoi, ever the calming presence, refilled a side dish and smiled at you. “Nagumo is also very dependable,” she said softly. “He doesn’t speak much, but when he acts, it counts.”

“Exactly!” Lu beamed. “He’s like a loyal stray cat… with knives.”

Nagumo stared at her, bewildered.

She gave him a thumbs-up.

You raise your glass again, knocking the contents back, and before it touched the table, Sakamoto was already refilling it. 

Shin’s eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to get her drunk?”

The older man didn’t respond. He simply continued ladling soup into his mouth with calm precision.

The warmth in your stomach spread into a haze behind your eyes. Voices blended into a blur, their edges soft and indistinct. You could still hear Lu—something fast and high-pitched—and Shin snapping back, sharp and annoyed. But the words were beginning to slide right past you.

“Will you stop trying to sell him like he’s a boyfriend at a charity auction?” Shin barked, waving his chopsticks across the table.

Lu’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not selling, it’s highlighting his assets! Something you clearly don’t have!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Shin said flatly, standing. “I didn’t realize glitter-covered rice and fantasy were enough to cover up a deluded assassin.”

Lu stood too, her braid swinging over her shoulder. “At least I believe in love! You wouldn’t know it if it stabbed you in the back—and with our job, it probably will!”

“Bring it on, sparkle gremlin.”

Aoi sighed and reached out to calm them. “Children, please—this is dinner, not—”

Too late.

Lu grabbed a spoon and hurled it. Shin blocked it with a plate. Rice flew. A chopstick landed in the dumplings like a javelin. Shin shoved her shoulder. Lu threw a bao bun.

Within seconds, the two shopkeepers were locked in a scuffle—Shin’s arm around Lu’s waist, Lu trying to bite him.

Sakamoto calmly slurping his soup.

You didn’t notice. You were too tired too, the anger that had energised you has slowly fizzled out into frustration then to overwhelming tiredness.

A dagger slipped from Lu’s sleeve. It flew, high and wild. Shin ducked, cursing. Another blade followed, slicing through a soy sauce bottle and lodging in the far wall.

Nagumo moved.

No hesitation—he rose from his chair and vaulted across the table in a single motion. His coat flared as he came between you and the chaos. One hand hovered near the inside of his jacket, the other stretched slightly behind him, protective.

You stared up at him. His frame was rigid. His eyes scanned the room, sharp and assessing.

Something in you gave out.

You reached forward without thinking, arms wrapping around his waist, forehead pressing into the center of his back. The tension in his body stark against the trembling in yours. Quiet tears had already begun to fall without your notice, dampening his shirt.

Your breath hitched. Hands fisted into the fabric at the front of his shirt, clinging.

“Can I…” your voice cracked, small and broken, “Can you take me home now?”

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Nagumo froze. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Then, slowly, his hand—rough and warm—came to rest over yours. He didn’t say anything, but something in his posture shifted. The tension in his shoulders eased. Beneath your arms, he could feel the tremble of your breathing, every quiet sob that left your chest.

He turned just enough to glance down at you—your face pressed against his back, hair falling forward to shield it from view.

“Anything my wife wants.”

Before the words even settled, his arms were already around you. He lifted you with practiced ease, holding you close. There was no hesitation in his movement, no stumble. Only certainty. His voice dropped to a low grumble as he carried you toward the door.

“This dinner was a mistake. Won’t happen again.”

You should have said something. Should have protested that it should have happened at all, that you should be on your way home now, trudging through the late commuter traffic to get your favourite beverage as a reward for a grueling day hunched over a computer. Not here. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You didn’t want to.

Behind you, the clatter and chaos of the table quieted. Shin, still tangled with Lu in a half-hearted scuffle, paused. Lu froze mid-sentence, eyes widening with glee as Nagumo disappeared out of sight.

“Did it work?” she called out, her voice unsure now, lighter.

Sakamoto, still seated with one leg crossed over the other, gave a silent thumbs-up, the corner of his mouth twitching with quiet amusement.

‘’Huh?’’ Shin starred out after the pair before letting out a pained shriek ‘’Stop biting me!’’ Lu sunk her teeth into a rather meaty piece of Shin’s arm.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The hallway of your home felt almost unfamiliar. Distant. The color of the walls struck you as off, like something had shifted while you were gone. You didn’t remember how you got inside. You didn’t know where your bag was, or your keys. Part of you wondered if he’d picked the lock. Or if he had his own set. Or how he knew which room was yours.

It didn’t matter. Not now.

Nagumo carried you to the bed and set you down at the edge. His movements were steady and precise. You felt the mattress dip as he crouched in front of you, his calloused hand came to your cheek. “I’m going to tuck you in,” he said, his voice low and certain. “You’ll feel better after some sleep. Alright?”

You nodded. Your body felt slow and uncooperative, but you let yourself move under his guidance. You didn’t resist when he pulled the blanket over you. You let the weight settle. Let the warmth in.

You thought, maybe, he’d lie down beside you. He didn’t. But he wanted to. You saw it in the way his eyes lingered, in the way he hesitated just long enough before turning away. He stood, adjusted his coat, and stepped back toward the door. He was leaving. Finally,

That’s what you’d wanted, wasn’t it? For him to stay out of your world. The one built from late-night coffee, bad bosses, quiet mornings. You told yourself that. Over and over. But now he was here. And so were you.

His tanned coat shifted as he reached the door. You watched him.

“...Nagumo.”

The word caught in your throat. You forced it out. “Can you stay? Just until I fall asleep.”

“Of course, love.” he closed the door before settling on the bed beside you. Just close enough to be there. One hand rested near yours on the blanket, as you closed your eyes and drifted into a deep sleep.

@yomsy @noodle81937 @cjafjatkstke

Sorry this took me so long! I could not decide what these crazy two where going to do. Shin and Lu are the best not actual siblings ever, I just had to write this. Hope it was worth the wait.

[alwaysoutofpaper]

For Meredith:

What is your favorite food?

What's your least favorite food?

she's a bit of a foodie. also, she has a sweet tooth.

food descriptions under the cut

A sort of dumpling, typically filled with minced meat/brains and a pickled vegetable for a bit of a crunch. Usually boiled, but can be fried, and often topped with a small bit of sour sauce. Would be about the size of a baseball.

A soft, melty, cheese-like substance, usually mixed with a fruit/berry (gives it color & flavor) then wrapped in an edible frond and candied. Usually served room temperature, if heated the filling risks becoming liquidy.

A grainy dough shaped into a cup before baking, then filled with any variety of ingredients. The one shown is topped with hae's mock orange, sweet green nuts, and a whipped cream analogue.

Rolled y'kul brisket. An uncommon, costly import that can be eaten as-is or used for other dishes. Meredith usually gets a sugared type if she can find it.

Basically microwave enchiladas and rice with sliced pepper, though hae "rice" is a bit tougher to chew than our own. Sauce applied liberally. Pre-made meals are strictly regulated to be nutritionally dense, though there are healthier options available. It would taste better than it looks.

Ground meat and vegetables cooked and then pressed into cubes, meant to be used as an ingredient in soups or broken up as filling for some other dish. Meredith would eat them as-is like a freak (college graduate struggle meal)

Microwave noodles with chopped veggie stalks. The noodles would be thick and the overall flavor mild. Usually topped with the consumer's choice of sauce, but Meredith also ate these as-is.

Y'kivta, or more formally, y'kul-kivta (heart of y'kul). A fruit with an acquired taste (like sweet grapefruit) and texture (like raw flesh).

The Horrid Legume. An oversized pea, really. Generally eaten with a sprinkling of salt. They're a "superfood" that Meredith refuses to touch. Enrais likes em though :)

A lot of modern hae food has human influences, because the Hae have learned a lot from humanity. Especially what not to do.

[thatswhywelovegermany]

Die Moosweiblein

Moss Women

Moss Women are female forest spirits from German legend. They belong to the poor souls.

Moos Women occur in Saxony, Thuringia, on the Saale, in Orlagau, in the Harz mountain, in the Vogtland, in Upper Palatinate, in the Bavarian Forest, in Franconia and Upper Franconia, in the Bohemian Forest, around Warnsdorf in the northern Czech Republic, in the Giant Mountains and in Westphalia.

Depending on the region, Moss Women have a different appearance. Most often, they are as short as a three to five year old child. They have an ugly appearance, often entirely covered in moss, and are hunchbacked. They appear to be very old with grey, wrinkled faces abd blackened, blind eyes. They have long black or white unkempt hair. Their voices are high-pitched and squeaky. They are always barefoot. They often carry brushwood in a pannier on their back or in their apron. They use a walking stick to support their unsteady gait.

Moss Women are living in the forest, where they are dwelling in underground caves or hollow trees. They are sleeping in beds from moss. They are living in large families and can have children from Wood Kobolds or humans. They like to bake delicious cake, and when they do, mist is coming out of the forest. When politely asked for, they serve the cake also to humans.

Moss women know herbs and are skilled at both sending and healing illnesses. If people mock them, they send them ailments. This can happen in a variety of ways. They can squeeze people so hard that they become sick and miserable, and they can sit on them so that they become lame. They can also breathe on them, which causes people to get bumps or ulcers on their faces. Moss women also have knowledge of the future.

Moss women reward people by giving them wood shavings or leaves that turn into gold. They also give balls of yarn that never end unless you deliberately look for their end, or webs and knitted items that bring luck and blessings into the house. The moss women also show their gratitude with well-intentioned advice and warnings. They also look after children in the forest, lead people out of the forest at night without getting lost, or help them find deer and roe deer antlers.

On the other hand, moss women steal bread and dumplings. They cannot tolerate caraway bread, however, which is why they cry out: caraway bread, our death. The same goes for "piped" bread, i.e. bread into which the tip of your finger has been pressed. They cannot touch counted baked goods either. On the other hand, the moss women rightfully own some of the hay cuttings and the water that drops on the rim of the vessel when scooped out, as well as some of the linseed, flax stalks, ears of grain and tree fruit, as well as the flour that sticks to the frame of the bucket and any leftover bread crumbs. Moss women allow people to gather wood in the forest if they first receive a piece of bread or a dumpling as a gift

Sometimes moss women help people with deeds and advice. They visit people's houses and do various jobs, for example they spin flax and wool at night, they scrub, feed, milk, mow, help with haymaking and harvesting. If moss women receive food from shepherds, they bless their cows, which then produce more milk. For craftsmen, they protect their tools from thieves. As household spirits, moss women bring luck and blessings, but also require to receive food offerings in return. They detest people's cursing and vices. They love silence, hate quarrels and curses, and are driven away by them, just as they disappear never to be seen again if they are given new clothes. Whenever bast is peeled from a tree, a Moosweiblein must die.

On the river Saale, the Buschgroßmutter (bush grandmother) is known as the queen of the moss women. Strictly speaking, the bush grandmother is the mother of the moss women (here: moss girls), with whom she travels around the country, usually in a small cart. She has messy hair and a fixed gaze. The bush grandmother is also a bogeyman. The bush grandmother also appears in Silesia, where she is called Pusch-Grohla.

[storydays]

Hi!! I was wondering if you could write this scenario with John dory and pop/rock troll reader?

I've had this one scenario playing in my head for days! Poppy and the other rulers, wanting a day of celebrating each other's music, made a contest where a troll/Bergen/(whatever Vaneer and velvet are?) can come and sings for a crowd and the rulers as the judges decided who win. Brozone (mostly John) decided to participate for fun. After brozones song, John and the others join the crowd to watch the next singer, which is the pop/rock troll. John knows her from his adventuring days, she’s the one who got away, aka his true love. (idk why we might've left, maybe they were separated somehow)

John is immediately dumbfounded - because she's right there! After all these years! His brothers, not knowing their past, immediately start making fun of him for liking her as she began to sing on stage. Immediately, even alone, she's seems to wow the crowd even more than any of the previous songs.

As soon as she's done, John rushes back behindstage to meet her, his brothers + Poppy and Viva, all rushing after him. Reader greets John so happily, all the others are kinda… shocked? Even more so if reader decides to kiss John in greeting.

OOH I abosolutely LOVE the cliche sceanrios!!!!!!! LET"S DO IT!!!!!!!!!!!!

John Dory X Fem! Pop Star! True Love! Reader

Small World

-------------------------------------------------------------------

John Dory was ecstatic!

For a Hatchday surprise, his siblings' signed BroZone up for Trollstopia's 3rd Annual Cultural Fair. Anyone and everyone could sign up to perform in the talent show, but everything else was a totally free for all: The games, the different events, even the food(honestly, John Dory had no idea how Pop Trolls survive strictly on sweets, there was such a thing as too much sweets.) BroZone and the two Queens laughed and enjoyed each other as they tried different foods...although, John wasn't amused at the Rock Trolls' tiny replica of volcanic dumplings...wayy too hot.

Unfortunately the band couldn't decide on a song as usual, so they each picked a song from the year 2012, and decided to do a medley.

The siblings' cheered and clapped themselves on their back as they walked off stage from the cheering crowd when John Dory heard her.

Not his sunshine.

Pausing from where he was walking, the teal haired Troll turned around sharply as he watched a Troll wearing a midnight blue sundress dance around on stage, he could even see a yellow sunflower tucked behind her left ear.

"Come on, baby, let me see your face." He pleaded softly, staring intensely, not noticing his siblings', and the magenta eyed Trolls then walked over to where John was still frozen watching the performer dance.

"Oooh, JD's got a crush on (Y/N)!" Poppy teased, the other Trolls snickering, as they then started to make teasing remarks.

"When's the wedding?" Clay cackled as the others' made varying kissy faces and lewd gestures.

"It can't be her....it's not possible." John muttered softly, making the others' stop and closely watch him. "John?" Branch asked softly, as the Troll on stage then turned in their dance routine, bangs blowing in the wind, and slowly made eye contact with John Dory.

Blue eyes met (e/c).

You tripped slightly during your performance but quickly shook your head and smiled brighter before continuing your routine with a flourish.

YOU were there alive! But...you looked so sad even while performing.

As soon as you were off to the other side of the stage, you rushed to look for him as he for you, as he ignored his family's protest.

You rounded the corner, and stopped seeing him down the hall, and panted heavily as you both caught your breath.

After a moment of quite breathing, and wide eyed stares, you both observed the other. John looked so tired, and was sporting a new look, his hair shorter and he was wearing that brown coat you'd got him for a Christmas present one year, and there were more stress lines then last time you saw him.

John eyed the heavy bags under your eyes, and saw the sad gleam in your eyes. You didn't have that last time. You still wore the flower behind your left ear...that was one of the Valentine's present he gave you one year...it was a crystallized sunflower that you could wear forever without fear of it dying.

The world faded to the two of you as you took in the other's presence.

"Hey, sunshine."

Sobbing to yourself, you rushed into his waiting arms, kissing him as if you'd never kissed before, holding him as if he might fade away again.

"I've got you, and I'm never letting go again." He murmured softly, holding you tightly, rubbing soothing circles on your back, as he sobbed/laughed a

You both sat on the floor, holding each other tight and whispering sweet promises to each other.

John's family stood speechless, with a varitey of emotions on their faces, and they went to ask what the hell was going on, when Floyd stopped them, wiping a tear away. "Wait, guys..Clearly, they've been waiting for a long time. Let's give them a moment."

It really was a small world.

P2 or headcanons or both next? Hope I did you justice!

@vacayisland

[eqt-95]

a new kind of romance, finale

part 8 | new years

🥟 | dumplings

Kara was not having a good time.

Sure, she loved her job. Yes, she adored her staff. Absolutely, she found her role as editor-in-chief worthwhile and world-saving in its own way.

But today was a holiday and her staff was absent and her role as editor-in-chief was only kind of worthwhile given they’d gone to print three days earlier. 

Today was a day meant to be surrounded by friends, new beginnings, and maybe the slightest tinge of a hangover nursed by a staggering stack of Danvers world-famous pancakes. 

It was a day to slip into cozy sweats; an evening unburdened by Supergirl duties or an upcoming deadline; a series of uninterrupted hours where she could collapse onto her couch, bask in the blue glow of her television after consuming far too much post-brunch take-out, and, if she played her cards right, idly massaging the too-tight calves of her very best friend who was stretched out across her lap.

The tips of her fingers crawled between her glasses and face and pressed with a heavy sigh against her eyes because today was not one of those days. Kara wondered if she’d ever have one of those days again.

Not the blue glow or take-out or cozy sweats: those were always within reach. It was the best friend she wasn’t quite sure about. 

Because things were kind of different now. Things were weird and awkward, and Kara didn’t know if it was her or them. Either way, she was one supersuit short of feeling brave enough to do anything about it.

So she was at work. On a holiday.

“You know,” came a voice that nearly sent Kara flying into the next floor, “when Alex told me you were skipping New Year's brunch, I almost didn't believe her.”

“Lena,” Kara choked. She looked up and locked eyes with a very soft, very pretty, very smirking Lena Luthor and felt a rush of weird and awkward all over again. “I didn't, uh, hi.”

“Must be important work,” Lena replied, nodding toward the glasses propped on Kara's nose. They'd been a gift earlier that summer: improved and Lena-Luthor-approved to cut out even more noise and distraction than her last pair. 

“Just… just wanted to focus,” Kara replied.

“On next month’s issue?”

“Never too early to get ahead,” Kara offered lamely.

“Well, is it too early for lunch?” Lena asked, lifting a plastic bag overflowing with take-out containers.

“I thought that was my job,” Kara said, eyeing the strained bag and feeling her stomach betray her with an oversized growl.

“Sometimes even heroes need saving,” Lena chuckled, setting the bag onto Kara’s overflowing desk. “And I’m very good at giving.”

The tease, the flick of an eyebrow, and the confident smirk would have normally sent Kara’s cheeks on fire and stumbling for words and trying very hard to keep strictly platonic, best-friend thoughts at the forefront of her mind, but today was not one of those days. 

“Mhm,” Kara said with a labored smile and a strained chuckle and a fiddle with her glasses. 

Because today was awkward and weird-feeling just like every day since cuddles didn’t feel like something just best friends did.

Lena, ever astute and thoughtful and considerate, noticed the wave of discomfort radiating from Kara, and for that Kara winced even more.

“Are… are we ok?” Lena asked, fingers playing with the edge of her sleeves. It was the exact opposite of the teasing confidence spoken moments earlier; this came out shy and hesitant.

“Sure,” Kara replied automatically in a way that sounded forced, sounded fake, sounded like a lie. Because it was. It was, and Lena knew it. 

“Ok,” she nodded back, and that made it feel worse. Because Kara knew that Lena knew. “Well, I just wanted to drop this off-”

“Stay,” Kara rushed. “Uhm, please? Please stay?”

What followed wasn’t the most awkward lunch Kara had ever had, but it sure was close. Conversation lagged and Kara, lost in the labyrinth of thoughts and doubts and concerns that had played on repeat for no less than two weeks rattled around louder and louder and -

Kara blinked, realizing she’d missed whatever Lena just said. And Lena noticed but, with generous tact, looked down and quietly poked at her food and gosh this was going terribly.

“I’m sorry,” Kara said unprompted. “I’ve been distracted and… and it’s not fair to you. You skipped brunch and brought all of this delicious food and I’ve been terrible company and a bad f-friend,” she said, her throat choking around the last word.

And then a smile flashed across her best friend’s face. It was tiny and wistful. “You could never be, darling.”

And it made Kara’s stomach flutter and twist. It made it flutter and twist, and Kara clung to the tiny thread for dear life and jumped.

“Do you, uh… do you want one?”

“You’re offering me a potsticker?” Lena asked, the faintest tone of disbelief at the chopsticks floating in front of her with a perfectly pan-fried dumpling pinched between them.

Kara nodded, her outstretched, chopstick-holding hand shaking in a very unhero-like way.

And she only barely managed to snatch it, her chopsticks, and the floating potsticker back in time when Lena’s hand rose to meet the literal best pillow of food on the entire planet.

“You can’t use your hands,” Kara said - yelled - and then silently begged the earth to split open and swallow her whole.

“I… I can’t?” Lena asked, hand flinching back in surprise.

“We… there uhm, there aren’t any napkins,” Kara explained like a lying four-year-old. 

Because there absolutely were napkins. 

In plain sight. 

Directly next to Kara’s half-eaten egg roll.

Before Lena could challenge the blatantly bizarre lie with her confused scowl and keen, impossibly brilliant, and scientifically perfect observation skills, Kara blindly rambled ahead while her elbow did the inelegant task of plopping across the desk onto the stack of said napkins.

“And these are, uh, greasy? Greasy,” Kara continued, sliding her elbow with the subtlety of a firework to the edge of her desk and, just as subtly, knocking the napkins to the floor. 

“Greasy,” Lena parroted, eyes distracted by Kara’s elbow’s antics.

“I-in a good way,” Kara clarified. The moment was only briefly interrupted by the squeak of her chair rolling to the left.

To cover the stack of napkins.

The napkins which were definitely there.

“I wouldn’t offer one if they were bad, but since we don’t have napkins then,” Kara explained, “then you’d need to- to…uhm.”

“To what?” Lena pressed.

“To… wipe them on your shirt?” Kara finished feeling mortified and like the most incapable alien on the planet. 

Which was why, when Lena’s head tilted to the side and her gaze fell to where the napkins were most definitely scattered around on the ground then darted back to Kara’s and sparkled in that special way, Kara felt her heart swell and her stomach flutter just a little bit more. 

“Well,” Lena began, leaning forward with the focus of a predator, “we can’t have that.”

And Kara, the weakest, most inept prey in a five hundred-mile radius swallowed against the parchment that had become her throat, shook her head weakly, and kept the freefall going.

And it might have been something.

Could have been something.

Was nearly something. 

Lena was hovering forward. 

Lips parted. 

Eyes locked on Kara’s. 

Which was exactly when Kara’s big giant nerves took over and sent her chopsticks splintering and the potsticker slipping out of her grasp with all the grace of Flubber before zipping across the office to land with an unceremonious splat against the glass partition.

All of which turned that ‘near something’ into one giant ‘swing and miss'. 

But before Kara could articulate her feelings as ‘mortified’ and ‘crestfallen’ and ‘like a giant himbo’, Lena burst out into the kind of bright laughter that made her dimples show and smile beam and Kara wonder if how they were was enough.

Because this could be fine. 

They could be fine.

So distracted was Kara that she didn’t notice Lena swipe the last, un-splatted potsticker from Kara’s plate, and she definitely didn’t process when Lena, ever so casually, asked Kara for a napkin to wipe her fingers off, and she was lightyears from self-awareness when she automatically snatched one from the floor.

That’s how lunch continued and ended: with Lena smiling her special smile and Kara lost in a sort of daze, inhaling the spread of options Lena brought.

“I’ll let you get back to it,” Lena said when the final remnants of lo mein were polished off. “Can’t have Cat Grant accusing me of derailing her Editor-in-Chief.”

“Oh, ok,” Kara said, rising to join Lena and crashing back to earth while simultaneously knocking her knee against the desk and sending a stack of proofs sliding like Niagra Falls to the floor.

“No, no, I’ve got this,” Kara said, waving Lena away. She clambered around the desk and intercepted her with a bashful grin and outstretched arms. They wrapped comfortably around Lena like they always did, and it made her feel all tiny sorts of warm and happy. 

This could be fine.

“Thanks for lunch,” she muttered into the side of Lena’s head.

“What are friends for?” Lena said, hands falling to Kara’s upper arms and disarming Kara with a practiced smile.

Kara nodded, her own smile feeling tight and confused. 

It faltered only slightly when the door clicked shut and she crouched to pick up the disheveled proofs. 

This could be fine. 

Kara could be totally normal and cool and collected, and Lena could be her usual pretty and perfect and kind and thoughtful self. And everything could be great and par for the course and completely and totally… 

Normal. 

Kara rolled back onto her heels and pondered that thought: normal. She pondered and pondered some more. A whole minute passed while the idea braised in her brain, and it kind of didn’t sit right.

It didn’t sit right one bit.

And then the most obvious thing on the whole giant existence of everything occurred - no, re-occurred: Kara didn’t want normal. She definitely didn’t want to go back to normal. She wanted the opposite of normal. In fact, she didn’t want normal for another second of her whole entire life.

Unless that not-normal was Lena hating her guts for the rest of eternity. That was not a not-normal Kara had the stomach for, but before she could let that worry petrify her from action, she jumped to her feet and clambered toward the stairwell. 

It took only a second; a perfectly timed second that synchronized with the elevator doors opening and Kara’s very best friend appearing in the ground floor lobby.

“Kara,” Lena said, jumping at what was probably a borderline crazed expression on Kara’s face when two muscular arms spread across the elevator’s threshold, blocking Lena’s exit. “Wha-”

“Mistletoe magic,” Kara stammered inelegantly.

“Mistletoe-?” Lena began, her surprise turning to a flash of hurt.

“With you,” Kara clarified. “I wanted… I wanted mistletoe magic with you.”

“With… me?” Lena asked slowly, cautiously - nervously.

“I wanted… I wanted you - want you. I didn’t mean to, you know,” Kara clarified poorly, “but then I got so nervous. And then Andrea was there and, and I just… I thought you didn’t want it. And maybe you don’t which is - that’s fine, but I can’t stop thinking that maybe you do? Because I do. I really do and, and when you… with the frosting? And the dress? You were just so, so… Rao. And you’re so so brilliant and kind and my best friend-”

“Me too.”

“- and I don’t want to ruin any… any…thing,” Kara trailed off, the tiny echo of Lena’s confession rattling in her ears. “What?”

Then something even louder started rattling in Kara’s ears because her rambling had gone on long enough to trigger the lift’s alarm.

Then came a tug against Kara’s shirt.

Then Kara felt herself being pulled into the lift.

Then she felt the warmth breath against her cheek.

“I wanted mistletoe magic with you, too.”

“R-really?” Kara asked, her eyes darting down to Lena’s perfectly painted lips.

“Really.”

“Like…” Kara continued, glancing back up to double check Lena’s eyes were serious. “Like real-”

They were. They were dead serious. And Kara registered it only a millisecond before Lena’s lips cut off what was definitely going to be another babble-fest. Lena’s lips cut her off and all of her thoughts and words disappeared and instead every sense was engulfed by soft, warm, gentle and - oh wowsers.

“Like really, really,” Lena whispered before the elevator lurched upward and before Kara could register the sparks of gold magic and green leaves flickering above them and before recapturing Kara’s mouth and setting fire to Kara’s core.

// sixty-three floors later //

“So, you liked the dress?” Lena asked.

- - - - - - -

ko-fi and other ao3 reads

[sainamoonshine]

Was talking with someone the other day about the basic human nature and they posited “what if we sent a bunch of people to create a colony on another planet and then checked back after a decade, what would we find?” And this person (a pessimist who thought we would find the colonists all having descended into chaos and killed each other) did not like my answer very much lmao.

(Keep in mind in that hypothetical scenario, the colony has all it needs to survive. They have a way to grow food, to construct shelter, they have medicine, etc. This is not a “the environment will kill them” scenario, it’s strictly “what will they do with no supervision” scenario.)

Here’s what I think we would find, based on historical data regarding human behaviour:

- A ton of new recipes based on the local ingredients, including at the very least new type of alcohol, a variation on dumplings, and soup.

- New words. So many new words.

- At least one song about how great this place is and one saying it sucks ass. Both are bangers.

- At least two sports teams.

- A variation on a known sport and lots of arguing about whether it’s better or worse than the old sport

- A new pigment

- A new clothing style, and lots of arguing about whether it’s better or worse than the old clothing styles

- If there is fauna on that planet, a species has been identified that is likely suited to domestication

- A little girl has already started taming an animal from a specie unlikely to be suited for domestication and she’s trying to hide it from her parents

- There’s a graffiti somewhere there really shouldn’t be. Like, how the actual fuck did somebody manage to get up there???

- The graffiti has a typo

- The catholics have schismed twice. It’s over something stupid.

- There is a long oral history about the convoluted romantic intrigues of a local celebrity

- There has been several attempts to classify some local aspect of the landscape (the rocks, the plants, the animals, etc.) into categories. Everybody is arguing about this.

[stychu-stych]

Can ask you your favourite food and drink? I love your arstyle Btw<3

Polish borscht 👉👈 I mean it's not strictly polish, it's just "clean" version without vegetables and cream and with stronger taste. But when I say just borscht a lot of people imagine Ukrainian version (which is also delicious!) but the clean version is my favorite. ESPECIALLY WITH LITTLE DUMPLINGS WITH MUSHROOMS AND CABBAGE FILLING. It was my fav soup since my childhood

And to drink - sparkling water with raspberry syrup. Oh, the best drink ever. Simple enough to make it even when you're tired, tasty enough to enjoy your life again

And thank you so much ^^✨✨✨

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Variety has officially spoken: "With Love Meghan" is a Montecito Ego Trip Not Worth Taking." by u/Hermes_Blanket

Variety has officially spoken: "With Love Meghan" is a Montecito Ego Trip Not Worth Taking." Mods, please delete if this has already been posted.This is quite a burn, from Meghan's own industry staple! A sample:Martha Stewart, who modernized the homemaking-show template in which Meghan now operates, lives in a state of serene superstardom; Ina Garten, for my money the best to ever do it, exudes let’s-have-a-drink chill in part because her knowledge is genuinely boundless. Meghan either lacks similar competence or feels constrained from sharing it, and so her insights, or the way she talks about them, can feel as canned as a limited-edition American Riviera Orchard preserve. She muses to the camera that it’s possible one might want to label a jar of homemade chili oil, but it’s not strictly necessary: “Your cue on this one will be, you see the chilis in it.” (Thanks, Meghan.) When informed that the dumplings she may dress in said chili oil are called “ingots” for their resemblance to forged bits of gold, she replies, “I love hearing the meaningful stories behind things!” And:The show plays out like a forced march, one in which Meghan’s guests must, as the price of getting to share an afternoon in a made-for-TV kitchen with her, praise her first.Article: https://ift.tt/MrebawK version: https://ift.tt/hBoqrgR post link: https://ift.tt/2Dlbn3O author: Hermes_Blanket submitted: March 04, 2025 at 11:45PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[noirandchocolate]

Headcanons About My Master Kohga’s Mama—

Named Hotaru (“firefly”), as I’ve mentioned on a few past posts. Her family has a tradition of insect names. Not everybody in the line has had one, but it’s common enough among them that if you read Clan records and notice somebody named after an insect it’s very likely to be an ancestor of hers.

Was adept at making and then administering poisons, both via subterfuge in food, drink, touches, etc., and via daggers and kunai. She studied under the Clan’s master apothecary for the poison making part. Kohga’s father was one of her mentors on the stabbing people part.

In fact, one of her earliest flirts with Kohga’s Dad (while his own mother was Master), was to, after bringing him over a bowl of food in the Complex’s dining hall, watch him take a few bites and then claim she poisoned it “to see if the stories of the Heir having an uncannily strong constitution were true.” Dad panicked, then laughed his ass off when he realized she was joking. That was what clinched his interest in her romantically.

Hotaru had very long, wavy hair (for real, not as part of her usual magic disguise, although I do not know at this time if it was really black or if that was disguised) and was very meticulous about caring for it. Around the Complex (ie not on missions when she was younger), she’d often have it done up in complicated styles and decorated with hair sticks/pins and kanzashi.

She’s responsible for Kohga’s extensive skin- and hair-care regimes. She washed her lil’ boy’s hair and showed him how to finger-comb and -curl it into pretty, neatly flowing coils and then wrap it up in the style he still does today. <3

I’ve said this before but Hotaru was a musician! She’s the one who taught Koh to play shamisen. She also taught him traditional Ancient Sheikah calligraphy. In general, she was big on preserving Yiga culture and traditions. She was an avid reader too and would go slip into Gerudo Town in disguise to buy (or, yknow, steal) books. If you gave her a good novel as a present she’d be your friend for life.

Very competitive player of the Yiga equivalent of Go. When Nana Master Kohga noticed her son taking an interest in Hotaru, she near-immediately rushed to arrange for them to marry. But not before inviting the girl to play a match against her so they could chat about her interest level. Hotaru won, impressing Nana, and declared that if there was anyone who could rein in the rambunctious Heir and be a good match for him, it would surely be someone who could best the Master herself in a contest of strategy, yes?

As a teen and young adult going out on missions, she liked to make up stories about the Hylians and others she and her comrades spied on or saw at stables/in towns. And then she’d sometimes go up to these people and use her disarming way with words to find out if she was right!

She loved foxes! Especially snowcoat foxes found up in the Highlands. Whenever she met up with any fox, if she had food on her she’d toss it a bit, and even if she didn’t, she’d gesture it a greeting. She was a quite stealthy girl, and she loved getting as close as possible to a pretty perfect white snowcoat whenever possible!

Once killed a target she wasn’t strictly supposed to have, because he tried to put hands on her. Upon reporting to her Blademaster superior, she recited the information she’d gotten and then remarked that she “also learned that he was a lech, and that leches die easily.” She did not get in trouble for killing him.

Almost never raised her voice and felt strongly about maintaining decorum even when she was joking or…well, killing people. As I said in the second linked post up there, she did not use swear words under any circumstances! Now, creative curses were another thing though. Imagine a slim, beautiful woman saying, in an even and possibly mildly sweet tone, “May you be dissolved in the stomach acid of a Molduga” after you take the last dumpling she wanted.

If it’s not obvious already, Hotaru had a dry wit and a saucy sense of humor. She was a master of one-liners. But she was fiercely loving toward her family and the Clan. She was the friend who’d tease you about not being able to handle spicy food but then who’d warn you sincerely if a certain dish in the day’s lineup at the hall had peppers in it. She was good at remembering details about people and asking after them and giving appropriate gifts on birthdays, things like that. As the Clan’s Mistress, that made her a very unifying figure.

She sadly died of what was probably a form of cancer, just shy of a year after her son’s ascension to the Master position. She was only 50. Every year on the anniversary of her passing, Kohga goes to her altar in the Clan’s hall of ancestors and plays some of their favorite songs for her, and at least one new one each time. <3 <3

[missmyloko]

I have a very weird question, how many maiko's are underage? I've only seen a picture of one maiko with green dumplings in circle kanzashi that symbolizes that. Is it strictly a Gion Kobu thing? And also in general how common it is to debut before the age of 18? Thank you

If we're going by 18 as being the age of majority, then almost half of all maiko are underage. The green tsunagi dango maezashi is only worn by maiko in Gion Kobu who are under the age of 18, so you are correct. Almost every maiko, with very, very few exceptions, debuts well before they're 18 as the average age to debut is actually 16 ^^!

[olivetreehugger]

introducing: dispatches from republic city

Hey any and all Bolin fans! I recently rewatched LoK and it reignited my love of this universe. About 10 years ago, I sort of latched onto a side character and shipped her with Bolin, but it never became anything until now. I have started writing this story, "dispatches from republic city" about Bolin and this side character, who I have named Tanana or "Nani" for short. I will place a link below for a separate post regarding this character and why I am shipping her with Bolin.

But for story's sake, I headcanon that Nani sounds like Susan Egan (she played Meg in Hercules and Rose Quartz in Steven Universe! Her singing voice is similar, but I also headcanon that she sounds like Annapantsu on Youtube-she's INCREDIBLE!). In the show, her height isn't well established, in some gifs she's the same height as the other girls, other times she is the same height as Tahno? So I'm dubbing her a solid 5'7, while Bolin started the show at a nice 5'8 and seems to have grown a bit taller? Just look at him compared to Mako in Book 4 and tell me he hasn't gotten taller! In my fic, he's 5'10.

anyways, moving on. This story takes place post-Book 4, but I've made some changes. I've always been a Makorra gal, don't get me wrong we love the gays in this house but frankly I never got the appeal of Korrasami. I won't get into why right now, I just always loved Makorra and that will never change. Oh, and call me bitter but in this world, Zuko and Katara got together *cough*. It really won't be mentioned, but it is my head canon and I'm sticking to it.

in this story, Mako and Korra have recently gotten back together, but the actual narrative doesn't focus on them too much. The story is strictly from Nani's perspective, with only one possible chapter dedicated to Bolin's POV. We'll see how it fleshes out!

See below for chapter one of "dispatches from republic city"!

dispatches from republic city

chapter one: once a wolfbat

rating: M for sex and violence, language and eventual S/A

The sound of the lunch gong split through the air like a cannon, just as Tanana barreled into the kitchen of Mama Chen’s Dumpling Joint. She hurriedly tied her apron around her waist.

She glanced up at the clock and winced. 15 minutes late!

Any minute now, Mama Chen would burst through the swinging door, ranting and raving about her repeated tardiness.

The scent of sizzling pork fat and vegetables wafted through the air, making Tanana’s mouth water. Her stomach growled knowingly. She hadn’t had single thing to eat today.

Slyly, she ducked past the fry cooks and swiped a bun from the platter next to them and stuffed it into her mouth so no one would see. She then glided towards the back of the kitchen, near the freezer, and spent a few quiet moments savoring her stolen meal.

This was now a daily routine. She’d work from noon until midnight—at least, that’s what her timecard would reflect. Tanana, or Nani, as she preferred--was usually at Mama Chen’s from about 12 pm to 2am the next day, spending an extra two hours clearing out the drunks, teenagers and straddlers while simultaneously helping to close for the next day. She would then stuff her bag with whatever leftovers (whatever she could hide, anyways), and walk to The Bookkeeper’s apartment where she stayed. She’d eat, leave the rest of in the ice box for the old lady, and then collapse wherever she could before waking up and starting the day all over.

All for two yuan a day, though if she charmed the right customer, she might get lucky and score a decent tip.

Ever since Kuvira’s mecha-weapon destroyed the downtown area, people moved in droves to the outer neighborhoods, meaning there was less of everything to go around-including work. For many, it was a struggle just to keep their heads above water. For Nani, it was an ice cold wake up call.

As she chewed and swallowed the rest of the salty dough, the brunette wiped a dribble of oil from her chin with the corner of her apron. Without missing another beat, she picked up a tray of discarded dirty dishes and began her work.

The mix of steam, oil, and body odor marinated in Nani’s hair and skin as she worked alongside the other unfortunates around her. She didn’t bother to learn their names, why would she? After all, Nani wasn’t here to make friends. And none of these people were “friend-material”, anyway.

They all seemed to have a silent agreement, though-as long as no one snitched on the other, they all kept to themselves.

Well, some of them did, anyway.

As another invisible fixture of the kitchen, Nani usually got a front row seat to the hushed confessions of the degenerates around her: the ones who cheated on their spouses, the ones who stole money from their parents to buy opium, the ones who got pregnant and left their babies in the woods.

Hearing such tantalizing gossip would leave a person reeling, bursting at the seams as they waited to regurgitate the story to another person, but not Nani.  She’d learned a long time ago that being a snitch was a stupid form of suicide, and she had the scar to prove it.

Her life was otherwise an exhausting blur—what was a little gossip to pass the time? She would be lying if she said it didn’t give her a delightful thrill of power to know what made people stir at night, what made them ache from the inside out. To know that others were awful human beings meant she wasn’t as awful as she thought. And that was nice to believe, if only briefly.

The hours seemed to fly by quickly as Nani scrubbed, wiped and swept every inch of the kitchen. She wiped a few drops of perspiration from her brow as Mama Chen shoved through the doors.

“You!” The older woman pointed angrily at Nani. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your tardiness today. This is the last day you dishonor me. You’re fired!”

Nani felt her face instantly turn red as the other workers turned to stare at her.

She didn’t expect that.

Biting back a nasty response, she tore her apron off and let it fall haphazardly at her feet. She pushed past Mama Chen and ignored her when the older woman screeched something about “making sure she never worked in another restaurant again!”

The cool autumn air slapped Nani harder than Mama Chen’s words, but it was a welcome reprieve from the congested, sweaty air of the kitchen. She sighed and inhaled deeply, her nerves on edge as she suddenly realized that she was once again out of a job.

How could she explain herself when she showed up at the store early and empty-handed?

She started down the block, racking her mind with excuses to tell the Bookkeeper, who would undoubtedly assure Nani she was doing her best and to not worry about a thing. Still, the young brunette knew the elderly woman would have to worry about her next meal and the concerning lack of customers.

Another sudden gust of wind burst forth, smashing a flurry of discarded newspaper and ads into her face.

Nani stumbled back, the wall of stray papers temporarily blinding her. She sputtered as she ripped the sheets from her face, only for one of them to catch her eye.

It was a flashy advertisement, adorned with gaudy colors and symbols, calling hopeful talents to appear on Shiro Shinobi’s new radio channel 54. The advertisement promised the potential winner a chance at hosting their very own show on the channel!

She reread the last sentence over and over, her grayish-green eyes widening at the prospect.

Could it be?

Suddenly, Nani was on a stage, a crowd of mesmerized onlookers chanting her name as she crooned into a microphone for them. The camera flashes caught the glitter of the jewels on her dress so perfectly,  momentarily blinding her, but it didn’t matter.

She was star.

For a moment, Nani dared to dream about a future that seemed impossible just moments ago. This… had to be a sign. This opportunity quite literally slapped her in the face!

Feeling giddy, she hurried back to the shop.

----

Taking one last glance at the mirror, Nani grinned with satisfaction.

She looked good, really good, like that poster of Cherry Wong hanging in Mama Chen’s. She even emulated the famous singer’s makeup, dark red lipstick and sultry cat eyes to bring out the green.

One of the first, and most influential, performers in the United Republic- Cherry Wong wowed audiences with her stunning features and incredible voice. She had a talent that no one had seen in those times. She was known for taking old Earth Kingdom poems and transforming them into melodious harmonies. Her music was enjoyed by both old and young audiences alike.

As a child listening from the partially open windows of the clubs, Nani marveled at her talent and was utterly inspired by her passion. She spent most of her free time practicing her sonnets and ballads, hoping to find her voice like Cherry Wong found hers.

A crash sounded in the room next door, followed by a cry of pain.

Nani jolted, rushing to the sound. In the hallway, a massive grandfather clock had toppled over, pinning the Bookkeeper under its impressive weight. Shards of glass and wood lay scattered around her. Blood trickled from the elderly woman’s mouth.

“Oh…oh…” the woman whimpered, shaking as she struggled under the gargantuan fixture.

Nani gasped, nearly frozen by the grisly sight. She fell to her knees, cradled the woman’s head in her hands and cried, “I’ll call for help!”

She wasn’t sure if the woman was shaking from pain or simply nodding her head, but she spent no time discerning the difference. The brunette gently laid the Bookkeeper’s head down and jumped over the sea of glass shards that littered the floor. She sped outside and flung the door to the store open, shouting for help.

The rest of the morning was a blur of people, police sirens, ambulances and cleaning up glass. Nani breathed shakily as the medics strapped the Bookkeeper into the stretcher. She reached out and squeezed her hand.

“Don’t let them take my shop,” the Bookkeeper moaned, her bandaged face soaked in tears.

Nani couldn’t say anything with the massive lump in her throat, so she mustered a nod and watched as the medics took her away in a flurry of sirens.

The tumultuous morning events had shaken Nani terribly. A jagged feeling of guilt dug into her abdomen as she returned to her room, her gaze fixated on the poster she hung above her bed. She peeled it off the wall and folded it gingerly, setting it on the mattress.

She turned away, prepared to give up this dream once and for all.

Unless…

Nani’s eyes tracked round to the bed where the poster sat. After a moment, she reached for it and unfolded the paper, gazing at it intently.

Guilt be damned. She would be stupid to waste the opportunity.

Betrayal accompanied the sound of the clanging keys as Nani locked up the store and darted up the street, her purse and the poster in her arms. Waving wildly, she was able to flag down a taxi and hurled herself into the backseat.

“To Studio 54, please.”

----

Traffic was actually quite agreeable that morning. When the cab finally reached the studio, Nani tossed what little money she had left into the greasy palm of the cab driver and pounced from the backseat onto the pavement. The sound of the cab speeding away barely registered as the brunette gazed up at the building.

The studio itself had undergone quite a transformation. It used to be a simple office building in Harmony Park, but with Shiro Shinobi’s attention (and money), it quickly became the hub for all radio-based creativity and communications. People from all over the world could be heard from this very building. Their stories, their songs, their lives…spread across soundwaves and flowing indiscriminately to anyone who could turn a dial, only to become a daily, integral part of that person’s life. It was magical, really.

Bright red, towering doors were cast open, inviting Nani inside with their promise of fame and freedom.

When she walked in, she noticed the line for auditions was quite short. Only a handful of people were in the queue. Directly in front of her stood a broad-shouldered individual who was just tall enough to obscure her vision of the ticket desk at the front of the line. Hopping onto her tip toes, Nani got a brief view of the desk and noticed the alarmingly short stack of tickets.

Her stomach turning to stone, the brunette reached up and twirled a strand of curls between her fingers. It was something she’d done since childhood, whenever she was intensely anxious.

With every auditionee, the stack got shorter and shorter. She watched in despair as the ticketer handed over the very last one to the man in front of her. Nani took a defeated step forward, the last glimmer of hope extinguished as the ticketer merely shook his head.

“Sorry, toots. Gotta be quicker next time.”

Her shoulders sank and her eyes stung as the failure dragged her under water. Her gaze traveled to the group of auditionees filing into the audition booth, the forbidden space meant only for the most auspicious, blessed individuals favored by the spirits.

Nani, as usual, was not such a person. The spirits must’ve really gotten a kick outta this one.

She chewed on her ire and hurt as she trudged back to the shop. The stone in her gut had turned into a burning lump of coal. What was worse, the humiliation of being turned away from the one thing she’d always wanted, or the immense guilt of closing the store and setting the Bookkeeper back for a stupid pipedream doomed to flop?

When she reached the decrepit little book store, she hastily let her self in and slammed the door behind her. Her eyes caught the broken grandfather clock, now shoved into a corner where it could no longer fall on frail old ladies. She locked her jaw in indignation.

Marching through the shop, Nani found the tiny radio she shared with her elderly roommate. She tore it from its perch on the counter and chucked into the trash outside. She ripped the poster from her purse and tore it to bits, letting the pieces fall around her like confetti. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

There she was, once again in a hapless celebration of her own failures and delusions.

“You’re never gonna learn, are you?”

----

It was an unusually warm autumn morning as Nani walked into the Bookkeeper’s hospital room. Clasped between her fingers was a large bouquet of petunias, the old woman’s favorite flowers.

“What a surprise,” the Bookkeeper murmured, lifting her head from the pillow to see the young woman at the foot of her bed. “Come, come sit.”

A sad smile tugged on Nani’s lips. The Bookkeeper looked so much smaller than she remembered. Her face had become jaunt and skeletal, her eyes barely open slits, her lips cracked and bleeding. Her neck was so weak she could barely lift her head.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Nani offered.

“What lovely flowers,” the Bookkeeper said, as if not hearing Nani’s apology. “Find a vase for them, and put them in the windowsill. They like the sun.”

The brunette did as she was told and took a seat next to the old woman’s bed.

“I heard the most beautiful lady sing on the radio last night,” the Bookkeeper mused. Her eyes glittered with tears. “What a star she was. Did you hear her?”

Nani clenched her jaw. The audition was last week, so the stinging feeling of disappointment was still fresh. The Bookkeeper had unknowingly thrown salt right into her wounds.

The old woman turned her head weakly to smile at Nani. “I have no idea where she is,” she whispered, her tears falling down the side of her face. “She said she would be back, but I think she got lost.”

Concern set in as Nani watched the Bookkeeper’s face relax into silent, pleasant confusion. Her eyes settled on the ceiling, as though watching clouds in the sky.

It was later revealed that the Bookkeeper had cancer, and it not only ate through her bones, but it was actively chewing through her brain, too. Nani had thought it was simply senility easing its way in, a normal part of aging.

But this wasn’t normal aging. This was dying.

Nani sat at the Bookkeeper’s side for several days, comforting her as she cried out for people who weren’t there, moistening her lips with cool water, and mustering a brave face as she watched the woman who took her in waste away.

As the end drew closer, Nani knew what had to be done.

The woman deserved a proper burial at the very least. To sell the shop felt like betraying her, but what else could Nani do? She had no job, no support, and the shop hadn’t made a sale in months.  

That’s what Nani told herself when she found a buyer. The guy was skeezy, but he paid a decent amount that would cover the Bookkeeper’s funeral and then some. He seemed rather excited to take the shop off of Nani’s hands, and frankly, she was eager to wash her hands of it.

The exchange went well, leaving her with a hefty envelope of cash under her arm and one less guilt trip to carry around.

Still, her eyes filled with tears as she watched the flames flicking at the funeral pyre. The Bookkeeper was kind and generous. She never badgered Nani for rent. She never judged or shamed her when she lost a job. She was just there…a trustworthy, safe fixture that Nani could rely on.

When the last of the flames died and the old woman’s ashes were collected, Nani walked to her grave site and placed the urn in the ground before piling a mound of loose dirt over it. She sighed, wiping her hands on the hem of her dress and sat back on her heels.

The sky was gray as she dipped her head and pressed her palms together, murmuring a final prayer for the old woman’s soul.

“Well, ain’t that a pity,” a male voice drawled behind her.

Nani tensed. She must’ve not heard the footfalls coming up behind her. She used to be good at that.

A disappointed clicking noise left the man’s lips. “Can’t say hi to an old friend?”

Nani’s heart pounded in her chest as sweat began forming on her brow. Reluctantly, she turned her head to see the tanned, curly haired man looming over her. His hands rested on his hips as he stared her down.

“M-ming.”

Her voice betrayed her as it cracked. She didn’t mean to, but the very sight of him had her frozen to the ground where she sat.

The earthbender smirked at her, his soulless gray eyes boring through her body.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, sweetheart. Tahno had us looking everywhere for you. After a while, we just assumed you died with the other poor souls in the tunnels,” he said, his voice devoid of any concern.

Nani gulped as he lent down  on his knees, meeting her eye to eye.

“Turns out, you’re just good at hiding,” he cooed, reaching out to caress her cheek.

The young woman gasped sharply as she jerked away, glaring at the man with a mix of terror and disgust.

A few moments passed as she tried to compose herself. “W-what are you doing here?” She questioned.

Ming glared at her intensely. “What do you think?” 

A shiver ran down her spine as she digested his question. Wolfbats were known for being possessive of their mates.

Nani’s hands wandered behind her, grabbing fistfuls of grass before finally finding a rock. She swung her arm around, clocking Ming in the jaw with it.

“I’m not going back!” She screamed.

He went down with a loud grunt, and Nani took off. She didn’t dare look behind her as she darted away, lurching over tombstones, urns and dead flowers, desperately running away from the life she left behind last year.

As she zig-zagged through the cemetery, she could hear the sound of heavy stones whooshing past her, some just barely grazing the tips of her hair.

“You chose the wrong place to pick a fight with me, baby!” Ming taunted, his voice echoing not too far behind.

Nani’s heart pounded against her ribcage. Her eyes fixated on the iron gate at the entrance, hoping to clear its threshold before her attacker could reach her. Her legs ached as she pumped forwards, her breathing ragged. With every distressing step, the gate grew closer.

Suddenly, two tombstones came flying from opposite sides, sandwiching Nani between the slabs of rock, slamming her into the ground.

Ming was right. It was stupid to challenge an earth bender in a cemetery.

“Agh!” She cried out, her ribs cracking under the weight.

She could hear the sound of grass being trampled and winced when Ming’s face came into view. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear.

“You were always such a stubborn broad,” he lamented.

Like an act of mercy, the stones fell away and the pain swiftly disappeared with them. Nani blinked, staring up at her old compatriot.

“Just kill me, then,” she panted. “I’m not going back to Tahno!”

Ming dropped to her level again, this time cruelly yanking her forward by her hair. She yelped in pain.

“You knew that shop was drowning in debt, didn’t you?” He questioned, quiet but threatening. “The bank sent a letter threatening foreclosure four months ago. You let my uncle buy a foreclosed business!”

Nani wasn’t sure how to respond. Since when did Ming have an uncle? Was this not about Tahno?

“I didn’t know!” It was true, she didn’t know just how bad the debt was. All she had were a few bills and the deed to the shop. And, damn, if she’d known San Ho was Ming’s uncle, she would’ve never sold the shop to him. Now, she’d really done herself in.

Ming pulled harder on her hair, and Nani cried out, clawing at his forearm as she squirmed under his grip.

Eventually, he released her. Nani fell back, gasping for breath as she watched Ming, petrified.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Normally when someone pathetic and nameless crosses San Ho, they get whacked. But, we’re old pals-wouldn’t you agree?”

Nani diverted her gaze from him. ‘Pals’ was a strong word.

Ming flashed her a sinister grin. “When I heard about your little transgression, I had the option to send my uncle’s goons out to find you. But those guys, they aren’t exactly known for their self control, if y’know what I mean.”

Instinctively, Nani pressed her legs together tightly.

“Believe it or not,” the earthbender continued, “I was real down when you left us, Nani. I don’t think Tahno ever gave you credit for how talented you were, but I saw it.”

Drops of rain kissed the top of Nani’s head, soon becoming an overpour. The heavens above seemed to pour out their disfavor of her, thunderously crashing down like a typhoon in the spring. If she even dared to run again, the mud would only make the chase more difficult. Ming would capture her again, and would likely break a few bones to drive home his point.

She’d lost, Nani told herself.  If tears rolled down her cheeks, Ming didn’t see them.

“Once a Wolfbat, always a Wolfbat,” she murmured, echoing Tahno’s words.

Ming shook his head, snickering. Nani snapped her head up to look at him through a curtain of sopping wet curls.

He chuckled at her confusion, replying, “Like I said, Tahno was a fool to ignore your talent.”

Apparently, he had other plans.

Nani would have to sell her body again, but not in the way most girls on the streets did. San Ho, Ming’s very rich and very corrupt uncle, owned a lucrative brewing company as well as a few dozen opium dens throughout the United Republic. He had quite a few connections with the Terra Triad, of which his nephew was an avid participant. His customers were often high-profile businessmen and women who liked getting drunk and high while being, well, serviced. Everyone appreciated good music and dancing, and Nani would provide. It was abnormally merciful, but who was Nani to refuse?

After all, Ming teased, there were worse ways to put her mouth to use.

----

Nani sighed as she picked up the cheap, shimmering silver fabric of the dress laid on the chair of her “dressing room”, i.e. a dimly lit walk-in closet with a futon on the ground coated in mysterious dried fluids.

She slipped out of her old maroon dress, undid her brassiere, and slid the new dress over her head. She shimmied and danced a bit until she was able to get the cloth over her hips. Eventually, the dress was on, and it actually fit pretty well, considering it had belonged to someone else. Nani’s breasts and back were very much exposed , however, leaving very little to the imagination. Even the most salacious lingerie wasn’t this provocative, but Nani knew her “audience” would appreciate it. Even more so, Ming and his uncle would be pleased.

As Nani rummaged through the box of costumes in front of her, she pulled out a feathered, boa-like head piece with a glittery band that matched her dress. She wrapped it around her head, careful not to disturb her curls which she’d smoothed down with gel earlier.

A heavy-handed knock startled her.

“Come on now, let’s see it.” It was Ming.

A deep sigh left her lips as Nani threw open the door. The earthbender was leaning against the frame, his eyes trailing up and down, a stomach-churning grin of satisfaction on his lips as he drank in her appearance.

“You look good enough to eat,” he muttered.

Nani didn’t look him in the eye as she walked past him, the look of disgust apparent on her face. She made her way to the long mirror in the hallway and stared at her reflection. The ridiculous headpiece, the exaggerated makeup, the scandalous outfit.

She was a show girl. An indentured show girl.

A mirthless laugh left her mouth without warning. You want fame? The spirits asked. Here’s your fame.

Ming sauntered into frame and put a cold hand on her shoulder. It took everything in Nani’s being not to recoil from him.

“The madame wants to meet you before you take the stage,” he said.

In another room, one more decadently decorated and much cleaner, sat the Madame. She was a tall, middle aged woman with a heavily powdered face and nails like knives. She was dressed in a silk red and pink kimono and a glossy black wig. She was pouring tea into a small cup.

“Madame Yoshino, I’ve brought your newest act, as promised,” Ming announced, keeping his fingers tightly curled around Nani’s shoulder as he led her into the room.

The exquisite woman stood from her cushion, cup in hand. She approached Nani with narrowed eyes. She barely looked at her before turning away in disgust.

“She’s dark,” she spat.

Nani’s eyes widened at the unexpected jab. Her hands balled into fists, nails digging into her palms.

Ming patted her back, replying confidently, “You’ve got plenty of porcelain dolls, why get another one when you can have a bronze beauty instead?”

Madame Yoshino glowered at Ming for a moment before turning her attention back to the young woman. She raised an inquisitive brow at her. She studied Nani’s figure,  pausing over her chest and then her face, where she lingered for a long time.

Nani gulped as she tried, and failed, not to look the frighteningly intimidating woman in the eyes.

The madame grasped her chin and forcefully jerked her face from side to side.

“Open your mouth,” she demanded.

Nani gave her a hateful stare but complied when Ming slapped her ass with stinging force.

She bit back a yelp and let the Madame inspect her teeth.

“Hm…a few cavities, but overall not bad,” the older woman commented. She tapped Nani’s jaw as if to signal her to close it.

Shrugging, Madame Yoshino took a sip of her tea and settled her gaze on Nani again. “Where are you from, little miss? North or South?”

Nani understood her question, as many had asked the same. And she answered the same as she always did.

“Neither,” she replied boldly. “I’m from Republic City.”

Ming cleared his throat and pinched the back of her arm. Nani squeezed her eyes shut to keep from crying out in pain.

Madame Yoshino set her teacup down, waving her arms in the air with disdain. “No, no, no! That won’t do. From now on, you’re a Northern girl, you see?”

Another slap to her behind from Ming, this time less vicious. “Our little arctic fox,” he teased.

Nani bit her tongue until it bled. Hatred burned in her veins as the two continued to talk about her as though she weren’t in the room. To them, she was just a piece of meat to be devoured later, then regurgitated and devoured again…until she was completely unrecognizable.

Madame Yoshino dug her dagger-like nails into Nani’s arm as she dragged her onstage.

The brunette’s eyes darted around the room. The atmosphere was thick with the familiar scent of opium and sweat. The dim lights were a blood-red hue, blanketing everything in a sort of sensual, dangerous anonymity.

Her gaze turned to the door in the very back of the room. If she tried to make a run for it, Ming could easily block off the exit with his earth bending, or smash a rock into her head with a swipe of his hand.

Madame Yoshino took the microphone and introduced her as a “Northern Snow Princess”.

A stage light shined jarringly in her face, blinding her for a few seconds. As her vision adjusted, Nani took in the environment around her.

Various paintings and portraits of people engaged in lewd sex acts decorated the walls. Well-dressed men, and a few women, sat on various couches and cushions, pipes and sake glasses in their hands as young courtesans fawned over them. Their clothes were still on, but a few had their shirts unbuttoned, dresses turned askew, shoes missing.

This was nothing like her daydreams.

The clientele hummed in surprise and intrigue, a few even clapped. Nani couldn’t stomach looking at them directly, instead focusing on a portrait to the right of her. It was a photograph, blown up on a poster, of a naked woman, her large breasts like two moons shining bright in the night sky, with a green and pink folding fan splayed out between her legs, just barely covering her sex.

Somehow, that woman was using her sexual prowess as a form of power. Somehow, she was able to take hold of the narrative that she’d been sold into. It was in her eyes. Her body was hers, and no one could take that away.

Nani longed to be half as brave as the woman in the photograph.

An upbeat, jazzy tune began playing behind her and her hands trembled as she took the microphone.

Just sing, she told herself. It’s like riding a bicycle.

The words tumbled from her lips on cue as she timed herself to the music. It was a song about falling in love, or something silly like that. It wasn’t the most appropriate song for a brothel, but somehow it got people going.

As the song continued, Nani sashayed her hips to the melody, waving her arms in a rhythmic swaying motion.  

The crowd was pleased, clapping along and cheering. Their enthusiasm would’ve been intoxicating had it not been for the fact that she could see them getting grabby with some of the courtesans.

She did her best to keep singing, to pretend it didn’t bother her. She murmured out a few more notes, humming along and dancing away, but then she saw it:

An older gentleman had his hands around a girl’s throat as he straddled her, his knee forcing its way between her legs. The girl was around Nani’s age, but her face was caked in geisha makeup to make her look older. Her eyes were wide with panic and terror, until they rolled back into her head. Her body went limp in the man’s grasp, but he didn’t let up.

All the while, the cheery cacophony of saxophones, trumpets, bass and drums continued their happy tune as Nani watched this man choke a dead body. Her voice had long been drowned out by the music. Or maybe she’d stopped singing altogether, she didn’t actually recall.

Her eyes were glued to the man’s hands. He just kept going.

The music got louder, the cheers got louder, everything sort of blurring together in the chaos.

It was in that moment that something buried deep inside Nani exploded.

A wordless, enraged shriek tore itself from her throat. She leapt from the stage, grasping the microphone stand in her hands. As she charged at the man, she held the pole over her head and brought it down on his face with a sickening crack.

He crumpled to the floor.

Nani’s hands shook as she dropped the microphone stand. The music came to a screeching halt. The looks of awe and wonder morphed into terror and disgust. Nani could feel Ming and Madame Yoshino’s eyes burning into her back, but all she could do was watch the man stir, trying to push himself up with his hands. Nani brought the pole over her head again.

But before she could deliver another blow, the thick scent of sulfur and ammonia filled the air.

Smoke seemed to pour from every orifice of the building, creating a cloudy miasma that rapidly replaced the oxygen in the room. Panic settled in, screams tearing through the atmosphere as everyone scrambled  to escape.

Nani coughed as she tried to fight the smoke, stumbling over the bodies of the clientele as they dropped like flies around her. Her eyes and lungs burned as the smoke seared into her mucus membranes. She gasped into the crook of her elbow, but the fumes were too much. She staggered towards the exit, when something caught her ankle, causing her to lurch forward.

She was unconscious before she hit the ground.

----

The sound of jingling keys and steel-toed boots woke Nani up. Or maybe it was the raging, fume-induced migraine boring into her skull. She wasn’t quite sure, yet.

“Wake up, miss,” a deep voice beckoned.

Nani groaned as she opened her eyes. She slowly lifted her head, squinting as the figure of a uniformed man came towards her. Behind him, she could see a set of bars. Her mind quickly registered the cuffs around her wrists and ankles.

Eyes snapping open with alarm, Nani jerked away from the officer. She held her arms up to shield herself, but that, unsurprisingly, did nothing to stop him.

“Let’s go,” the officer said, grabbing hold of her arms and pulling her up.

“No, no, no,” she begged. “Please don’t do this!”

She writhed against his iron-grip as he dragged her out of the jail cell and through the halls of the precinct. In her peripheral vision, she saw Ming being carried away by two officers, except his cuffs looked different, like they were wooden—probably so he wouldn’t try to metal bend his way out of them.

Relief washed over her for a second, but only for a second. She then realized she was in a showgirl’s outfit, in a brothel, surrounded by opium, prostitutes and rich people who were above the law.

“I-I don’t belong here!” She said nervously. “You have to believe me.”

The officer scoffed at her. “You know how many times I’ve heard that before?”

She ended up in an interrogation room, sitting across a young detective with enigmatic amber eyes and dark hair.  He had his arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair. He didn’t say anything for a few minutes; he just looked at her.

She covered her chest with her arms, suddenly very self-conscious of her very exposed body.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Nani finally muttered, her voice hoarse.

The detective leaned forward, his elbows on the desk in front of him, as though eager to hear more. “Well, a statement, for starters,” he responded.

Nani shook her head, her glittering headpiece tilting down to one side. “What is there to say?” She retorted. “You found me in a brothel. I know what you do to women in brothels.”

The man raised one sharp brow at her. “Oh?” He replied, as though inviting her to continue.

A tickle started in Nani’s throat, reminding her that she was quite dehydrated. “Can I have some water?” She asked.

Nodding, the detective left the room. In seconds, he was back with a glass of lukewarm water, but Nani didn’t care. She threw her head back and gulped down the whole thing.

When she was finished, she placed the glass in between herself and the detective.

“I’m not some skirt,” she said flatly.

The detective nodded. “I know.”

“How?”

He swiftly laid out several photographs across the table. Nani leaned forward to examine them. There were photos of San Ho, Madame Yoshino, Ming, and several young women and men she did not recognize. Evidence of drug, alcohol and sexual paraphernalia was wantonly displayed in the images.  There were also images of the brothel and other buildings within the Red Light District. Nani was surprised to see those pictures had been taken some time in the morning. They didn’t look so frightening in broad daylight.

The detective explained, “We’ve been watching this group for years-even had a few of our officers infiltrate their ranks to find information that could help us bring them down. They knew every face that walked into that bordello, except yours.”

Nani glanced at the detective and then back at the photos. She couldn’t stop looking at the faces of the young sex workers.

“We did however hear about an unsavory purchase that San Ho had made,” he continued. “Something about a foreclosed book shop?”

Her knee jerk reaction was to scream, “It wasn’t my fault!” but Nani held her tongue. Instead, she looked away.

“The woman I was staying with died,” she muttered. “She owned the bookstore. On her deathbed she asked me sell it.”

That little lie stung. Nani knew it was wrong, but it was better than the truth. The Bookkeeper had begged her not to let anyone take away the shop. Perhaps in her demented, cancer-ridden brain she knew the bank was going to take everything.

Leaning back in his chair, the detective appeared to take this in.

“Okay,” he started slowly, as though he was working out a puzzle in his mind. “So you sold the deed to San Ho, and then he somehow found out it was foreclosed. Then what?”

Nani sighed loudly. “Do I really have to walk you through every little detail?”

Reaching into his coat, the detective pulled out a yellow notepad with one hand and clicked a pen with the other. “Yes, please,” he responded. “Let’s start with your name.”

“Tanana, my friends call me Nani…at least they would if I had friends.”

“Is there a last name?”

“No.”

“Where are you from?”

“Born in Republic City.”

“Ok. Do you have any family we can contact?”

Curls shook furiously. “No family. Just me.”

The detective nodded. “How old are you?”

Nani bit her lip, hesitant. “I-I’m not 100% sure. Between 20 and 23, I think.”

His eyes flew up to her face, filled with confusion and possibly even concern.

“You grew up on the streets,” he responded, as though filling in the blanks. Despite her not asking him to.

The brunette’s expression was stone-like. After a while, the pity gets old.

Clearing his throat, the detective asked Nani to give her statement as truthfully and clearly as she could.

Eager to be done with it, Nani explained the events in the cemetery and the brothel, up until she met Madame Yoshino.

“I thought I was doing a show,” she explained. “But then I looked around, like really looked around, and I realized where I was.”

As she spoke, the detective scribbled furiously onto his notepad.

“Were you asked to perform any sexual acts?” He asked, his eyes not leaving the pad.

“Oh, no,�� she responded nonchalantly. She noticed a dusting of pink on the detective’s face as he paused writing for a second. “But I saw quite a few people getting their rocks off in the audience.”

The writing paused momentarily, and then resumed. Nani watched the detective quietly as he wrote. His features just screamed with familiarity, but for some reason she couldn’t place it.

Seconds later, the man looked up and noticed her watching at him. “…I’m listening,” he prompted.

Nani shrugged, “I don’t have much else, sorry.”

Pursing his lips, the detective clicked his pen before stuffing it and the notepad back into his coat. He scooched his chair back and stood.

“Thank you for your statement,” he said curtly, resuming an air of professionalism. “My officers will be in here shortly to undo your cuffs and bring you your belongings.”

Nani nodded in response, watching him as he turned to leave. She almost let him go, but something nagged at her incessantly.

“Detective?”

He turned his head to look at her. “Yes?”

Rubbing the inside of her palm, Nani stared at the files in his hands. “What happened to that girl? Did she make it?”

A look of recognition flashed across his face, followed by somberness. Nani grimaced knowingly.

“No….she was one of ours,” he admitted soberly.

“Spirits….I’m sorry.”

A few seconds of uncomfortable silence lingered in the air.

“Me too,” he responded, closing the door behind him.

----

Less than thirty minutes later, Nani was freed. She wasted no time fleeing downstairs to the front lobby with her purse in hand, covering her chest. As she made her way down, she noticed a group of officers crowded around a radio, howling with laughter.

 She paused, simultaneously amused and annoyed, wondering what they were listening to that was so funny.

“Turn it up, will ya?” A stout officer exclaimed, shoving one of his companions.

The taller, thinner one obliged, chuckling as he playfully punched the first officer back.

Nani lingered in the lobby of the precinct, her ears perked to the sound of Shiro Shinobi’s voice:

--“AAAANNND welcome back ladies and gentlemen to Channel 54 Radio. I’m your host, Shiro Shinobi, and tonight do we got a program for you!”

“Tonight, I am pleased to announce the premiere of our newest program, ‘Dispatches from Republic City’, hosted by the one, the only…

“MISTER BOOOOOOLIIIIIIN!!!! ALSO KNOWN AS NUKTUK: HERO OF THE SOUTH!”--

Nani’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head. Her mind went back to the day of the audition. The man in front of her….did she ever catch a glimpse of his face? Then she remembered, he’d said his name to the ticketer.

Bolin.

A festive, over-the-top jingle played over the soundwaves as the officers whooped and hollered in front of Nani. A tiny, likely overworked and underpaid intern scrambled behind her, spilling a week’s worth of paper shreds around her like a burst of confetti.

It would’ve been comical...if it weren't absolutely maddening.

Nani didn’t bother to listen to the rest of the program. She stared blankly ahead of her as she marched out of the precinct and into the chilly night air. She was burning with so much rage the cold actually felt good on her skin.

For a few seconds, she watched a slurry of satomobiles pass her by and contemplated walking into traffic. And she might’ve done it if she hadn’t looked up and saw a faded Nuktuk poster plastered on the wall of the building beside her.

No, she told herself. You’re not going out like roadkill.

She glared at the actor’s face, memorizing the face of the man who’d stolen her dream from her. Oh, she knew him. Maybe not personally, but she remembered him from her days with the Wolfbats.

He was a cocky Pro-Bender with a pet rat, big whoop. He got his fame when he starred in the movers, even bigger whoop. Who was he to steal audition spots? Didn’t he get his fifteen minutes?

Nani took one last look at the poster before tearing it down and ripping it to bits. People walked past her in the streets, staring at her like she was crazy, but she couldn’t give a rat’s ass if she tried.

She was furious, mostly at herself for giving up so quickly after the audition but also at the universe for favoring that big, dirt-pushing lug over her when it knew how badly she needed this.

Well, no matter. If the spirits could play tricks….then so could she.

She hurried towards the nearest hotel, intent on getting some decent beauty rest. She’d likely have to dip her fingers in some poor sap’s pockets to fund an outfit change. She wasn’t sure about the hair and makeup, but she would find a way. She always did.

After all, she had to look good if she was going to meet Nuktuk, hero of the South.

[merge-conflict]

abandoned wip wednesday

(not strictly intended to inspire a sense of ominousness)

“-check the comms are good?” The disembodied voice was calm and unfamiliar.

“Roger,” V answered, sounding like she was speaking to [Goro] from within his own head. The video captured everything on her interface, and he was somewhat disoriented by the speed and smoothness with which she sorted through several screens before dismissing them all and turning to her companion. Welles, his name had been. A big man, ill at ease in the suit he was wearing, but charismatic in that overbearing, American way. “Jackie?”

“What?” Jackie asked, and then broke out into a laugh when V punched his shoulder. “Geez, yes, roger, whatever.”

“So that’s an affirmative?” The first voice asked dryly– the netrunner, Goro guessed. T-bug. “As in, you’re not going to complain about some tiny-ass little made-up buzz in your ear for the next week?”

“What? No– c’mon T, you know me– I’m not a complainer.”

V laughed, the happy sound making Goro’s heart hurt. “Says the professional fucking belly-acher. Two weeks, Jack– two weeks I’ve been listening to you complain about those docker dumplings. Not a complainer, he says.”

“Ohhh, so that’s how you want to play it, eh?” Jackie shook a finger at V. She batted his hand away, scoffing, but he was unperturbed. “El príncipe de las pupusas?”

“Eso es el mejor que puedes hacer: el príncipe de las pupusas? Si recuerdo corr–“

“Children,” T-bug interrupted, in a tone that suggested she had suffered through this kind of conversation too many times. “Can we keep this professional, please?”

“Sorry T–“ Jackie flashed a smile, even as he whacked V in the arm and successfully parried her attempt to reciprocate. “Everything sounds great. You’re a rose among thorns.”

tagging @ghostoffuturespast, @corpocyborg, @baublekute (no pressure)