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luxekook · 5 years ago

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love bites | ksj

*written for the FWL luv library project*

⇥ pairing: kim seokjin x reader

⇥ genre: non-idol au, co-workers to lovers, smut, fluff

⇥ summary: you’re stuck working the evening shift on valentine’s day at bangtan bistro. as the city’s most expensive and exclusive restaurant, the bistro draws in couples both old and new with partners looking to propose or to impress. your tolerance for PDA and cringey lovebirds has never been lower. throw a flirty chef into the mix and you’re in for a bumpy ride that might just conclude with a happy ending.

⇥ word count: 5.4k

⇥ warnings: 18+, smut, cursing, bad puns from jin, numerous health-code violations (from fraternizing all up in that kitchen), oral (m + f receiving), protected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it, folks), workplace romance, threats of violence from yoongi

⇥ beta'd by the amazing @shadowsremedy (thank you, heath! could not have done this without you, your feedback, and your general support!)

“Will you marry me?”

I screech to a halt, completely astounded at the goddamned audacity of the man kneeling before me. Did he really just ask that? At a time like this?

I shift my weight from one foot to the other as I try not to outwardly show my disgust over the scene unfolding before my very eyes.

“Oh my god, Chad!” The date of this Chad finally launches herself from her seat and into his arms, “Yes!”

The restaurant breaks into applause. My forehead breaks into a sweat.

My left arm feels like it might snap at any moment under the weight of the tray of food that I’m meant to be serving this goddamn theatrical couple. The thought of quitting crosses my mind for the umpteenth time that evening.

A camera flash temporarily stuns me, and I feel a tiny twinge of satisfaction. My looming presence in that commemorative photo will hopefully be a reminder to let servers do their damn job before launching into a whole ordeal.

God, I must have been off my fucking rocker when I agreed to work the Valentine’s Day dinner shift. At least the tip money would be worth it.

Gritting my teeth, I flash my best fake smile and offer words of congratulations to the sniffling couple who finally reclaimed their seats.

“Enjoy your meal,” my mouth says with a smile.

“I wish I could sear you like that filet mignon you ordered, Chad,” my glare says with promise.

Thirty seconds later, I’m in full whisper-rant mode at the corner server station. My friend and fellow server Tabby half-listens as she punches in an order at the kiosk.

“And then this Chad in his fucking khaki suit flails to the ground to pop the question like he didn’t see me walking towards them with all seven entrees they ordered. So then I’m stuck hovering over their table with a giant-ass tray of food while they cry and hug and kiss until, finally, finally, they park it back in their seats so I can serve them.”

I groan, hitting my head against the wall, “What did I do in a past life to deserve this?”

“Kill someone, probably,” a voice pipes up from behind the station’s kitchen window, “Oh wait, you would do that in this life, too.”

Kim Seokjin, head chef of Bangtan Bistro and my partial employer, is leaning over the window’s counter, eyes full of mischief as he watches me.

“Oh, what’s this? Are you volunteering to be my very first victim?” I mirror his position leaning over the window’s counter and give him my best side-eye, “I’ll send you my application for victims on Google Docs.”

“Sounds kinky,” Seokjin grins, “Count me in. My Gmail username is Hugh Chefner. No capitals or spaces.”

“I despise you,” I say biting back a smile.

“You lo-o-ove me!” He sings, heading back into the depths of the hectic kitchen.

And, unfortunately, he’s right. Damn Kim Seokjin and his insane level of gorgeousness, charisma, and dramatics.

Against my better judgment, Seokjin has shimmied his chaotic self right into my well-guarded heart. Despite all of the prickliness my typical demeanor displays, I can’t help but melt under the warm gaze of such a handsome man.

Seokjin is the first person that has ever been able to pique my interest lately and keep it. Yes, it might have something to do with his extreme attractiveness; but, it more-so has everything to do with his genuine kindness and weird sense of humor.

Shit, I’ve gone soft. If we’re arguing Nature vs. Nurture here, this is totally Nurture’s fault.

Bangtan Bistro is co-owned by seven men - each as fine as the next. Being surrounded by good-looking and kind-hearted men day in and day out will definitely fuck with your brain, your body, and eventually even your fucking heart.

Kim Namjoon, a tall, dimpled sweetheart of a man, acts as general manager. Namjoon typically resides in the back office of the restaurant running numbers and going over other business ventures. He used to frequent the front of the restaurant to check on customers, but Jimin has since banned him from that activity after the infamous Spaghetti Incident of 2019.

Park Jimin, as the overseer of staff and servers, commands the restaurant floor with a crinkly-eyed smile and a ferocious temper. Fortunately for his direct subordinates (READ: me), his temper is most likely to be focused on rude customers and his messy business partners. Jimin honestly is the ideal boss because he has our backs and will never hesitate to help anyone out.

Late one Saturday evening, a man refused to leave the restaurant after being cut off from his bar tab. Jimin full-on squared up with him in defense of the poor server who had to break the news to the drunk patron. Luckily, the Bistro’s head of security, Jeon Jungkook, took over before Jimin actually popped off.

Jungkook, as the youngest partner, is shockingly tall and muscular. He definitely provides the intimidation needed for those types of escalating incidents. Despite his tough exterior, Jungkook is a complete softie.

I once caught Jungkook in the kitchen after close attempting to make cookies for a girl he had a crush on. I walked in to see Jungkook standing over a tray of the unidentifiable charred monstrosities and pouting in the most ridiculous way. Needless to say, I helped him bake a new batch with the oven not turned up to 500 degrees so that “they would cook faster”.

Min Yoongi had found the pair of us bickering and had just rolled his eyes and scooped a mouthful of raw cookie dough. As the head bartender, Yoongi is the absolute best at mixing drinks and the absolute worst at customer service. I swear the man gets far too much pleasure from getting people thrown out. He’s also notorious for watering down the drinks of customers he doesn’t like. He’s petty like that. I live for it.

Once, Jung Hoseok tried to take a picture of Yoongi for the restaurant’s website, and Yoongi threatened to shove a sharpened cocktail umbrella through Hoseok’s eye. I had never seen the Bistro’s head of marketing and resident sunshine flee so fast. Hoseok later ended up using an old picture of Yoongi in retaliation; rumor has it Yoongi is still plotting his revenge to this day.

Kim Taehyung often grumbles about how he’s going to be put out of a job since the restaurant naturally provides daily entertainment. As the head of entertainment and events, Taehyung helps to secure live music and special guests. He’s also the most handsome man I have ever seen - with the exception of one Kim Seokjin.

Seokjin, as head chef, is responsible for planning the seasonal menus, overseeing the kitchen staff, and preparing the more challenging dishes. He’s even taken it upon himself to be the resident comedian, which the other six partners vehemently and openly detest. Still, that backlash has not stopped him from naming each evening special with puns. His last Seokjin Special was called “Chicken Pot Bye Felicia”. It had resulted in Yoongi banning Seokjin from the restaurant for a full week. He still hasn’t dared to make another pun, but I can tell it will only be a matter of time.

Basically, Seokjin is an entirely goofy and beautiful mess of a human. Yet, I can’t stop myself from falling deeper and deeper into the trap that is loving someone outside of your league.

When I first arrived at the Bistro for my inaugural shift, I was greeted enthusiastically by Jimin, who I’d met previously in my interview. Jimin had introduced me to each of his partners - each as handsome as the last. Honestly, my eyes and nerves had been exhausted after meeting almost all of them. Then Jimin had ushered me into the kitchen.

“Hey, Jin-hyung!” Jimin had yelled over the cacophony of sizzling pans and murmured conversation. I had watched in awe as the hottest man I’ve ever seen entered my line of vision and stopped before me. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had a face that could inspire priceless works of art with full pink lips, high cheekbones, and devilish dark eyes.

“You summoned me, Jiminie?” The man had laughed in a slightly squeaky manner before he noticed my presence, “Ah, who might this be?”

I had cleared my throat in hopes that my voice wouldn’t crack under the sheer weight of this man’s attractiveness, “Hi, I’m (y/n). I’m starting today as a server.” and thrust my hand out with a shy smile.

He had blinked. Slowly, a smirk eased onto his face as he grabbed my hand. Instead of shaking it, he had brought it to his lips. “A pleasure. I’m Seokjin,” he had murmured, lips brushing against my knuckles. My cheeks had felt like they were on fire as Jimin screeched at Seokjin for harassing me.

“It’s her first day, Jin! Lay off the theatrics,” Jimin had turned to me, “Sorry about him, (y/n). He’s a desperate flirt.”

“Desperate? Me?” Seokjin gasped, “Worldwide Handsome does not do desperate.”

“Did you just refer to yourself as ‘Worldwide Handsome’?” I had gaped at his open arrogance.

Seokjin proudly had puffed up his chest, “Yes. What else could I possibly be called?”

“Well, definitely not Worldwide Humble,” My mouth had said before my brain caught up.

The room had seemed to pause before Jimin erupted in peals of laughter as Seokjin spluttered, “Yah, Jiminie, you can’t let her talk to me like that!”

Still laughing, Jimin had choked out, “(y/n), you officially have a job here until you die.”

Ever since that first encounter, Seokjin and I have established a working relationship based on banter or what Tabby refers to as ‘flirting’. I refuse to believe that ridiculous notion.

Tabby finally finishes entering her order into the kiosk and turns to me, “So, any hot plans for tonight?” Her eyebrows wiggle up and down suggestively.

“Does solo Netflix and chill count as hot plans?” I deadpan as I peer around the server station divider to covertly check on my tables. I lock eyes on Chad and his fiancé, who already seem to be arguing, and I make an executive decision to not go check how their meal is going.

“No!” Tabby’s whisper-yell commands my attention, “That definitely does not count, (y/n). Why didn’t you find someone on Tinder? I even made you that bomb-ass profile.”

I pointedly look everywhere but at her.

“You deleted the app, didn’t you,” she glares at me, arms folded, “I slaved over that profile! There were only so many tasteful cleavage shots of my best friend that I could stomach in one sitting!”

“What the fuck, Tabby! Since when do I have any—”

“Tasteful cleavage shots?” Seokjin’s elated voice practically shouts from the kitchen, “Let me at ‘em.”

His hands launch towards us through the kitchen window and make grabbing motions.

“Seokjin,” I tsk mockingly, “Are you trying to grab my tits again?”

“Again?” Tabby cries, whirling on Seokjin, who looks at us in horror.

“I wasn’t! I swear! I just wanted to see the pictures! I didn’t want to grab your boobs…” He trails off, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like ‘not any more than usual, anyway’.

“Seokjin-hyung! (y/n)!” Jimin blazes into the service station, “I’ve had it up to here with your bickering. You’re both on closing duties tonight - alone.”

“What?” I exclaim as Tabby slinks away. Traitor. “We’re just joking with each other! Right, Seokjin?”

Jimin’s gaze swings from me to Seokjin, who is suddenly suspiciously calm. My eyes narrow. A silent conversation is definitely happening without my participation.

Finally, Seokjin just shrugs with a grin, “Sounds fair to me, Jiminie! (y/n) and I will work hard all night if we have to.”

“Fair?” I choke, “All night?”

Jimin, following Tabby’s lead, scurries away as my attention is diverted by Seokjin’s idiocy. “Scared to be alone with me, (y/n)?” Seokjin’s lips break into a sly smile, “Don’t worry, I don’t bite… much.”

With that parting remark, Seokjin winks at me and disappears back into the kitchen.

“Fuck me,” I breathe out. How would I survive this?

Five hours later, the last patron has been ushered out of the restaurant with the staff right on their heels. I curse as Yoongi waltzes out the door, fanning himself with a crisp fifty-dollar bill and winking obnoxiously. “Have fun!” He cackles, locking the restaurant doors behind him.

“No, please don’t offer to stay and help,” I grumble, sweeping stray pieces of lettuce out from under a table, “I am more than happy to stay here until the ass-crack of dawn with the biggest idiot on the face of the earth.”

“The biggest, huh?” The voice chuckles right in my ear, “How did you know?”

“Goddamnit, Seokjin!” I slap a hand to my heart, “Don’t sneak up on me like that, you oaf!”

Whirling to face him, I stutter to a halt. He’s taken off his heavy chef’s coat and is now left in a tight black t-shirt that clings to his body in a manner that has to be illegal.

I swallow hard, and for a split second, I swear Seokjin’s gaze latches onto my throat.

“Is it hot in here?” I mutter distractedly, tugging at the collar of my stiff white button-down.

“Yes,” Seokjin practically purrs, “It’s scorching.”

Choosing not to acknowledge him, I spin on my heels, grabbing the full dustpan of debris I collected and head towards the back of the restaurant.

Emptying the dustpan in the trash, I walk over to the supply closet to return the broom. The restaurant floor is finished. Now, I just had to see how much of the kitchen Seokjin actually cleaned.

Pushing through the swinging doors of the kitchen, I screech to a halt as I’m faced with a complete and utter miracle.

“What in tarnation?” I gasp, taking in the pristine kitchen full of glistening stainless steel and sparkling countertops. “Kim Seokjin!” I yell, “You damn wizard! How the fuck did you clean everything this fast?”

“You could say I was motivated,” his reply sounds entirely too close. I spin to face him and gape as I notice the bouquet of red roses that he’s holding out to me.

Taking in my speechless appearance, Seokjin smiles smugly and opens his mouth to continue.

I cut him off, “Tell me those aren’t the roses from the fucking table centerpieces... I threw those in the trash, Seokjin!”

His ears turn an alarming shade of magenta, “Yah, just accept the gesture, (y/n)! This is peak romance, you know!”

“They are covered in filth, dude!” I squint, peering closer, “Is that a piece of spaghetti in there?”

Seokjin yeets the makeshift bouquet back into the garbage, “Why can’t you just appreciate my efforts?” He pouts excessively, “Don’t you like me?”

Red alert. Red alert, my mind whirs.

“Sure,” I let out a nervous laugh, “We’re friends. Of course, I like you.”

He steps towards me, “Sure, we’re friends, (y/n), but friends don’t usually want to fuck each other.”

That bitch said what now?

“Did you inhale too much Clorox?” I panic, “Quick, how many fingers am I holding up?” Thrusting three fingers in front of Seokjin’s amused face, I widen my eyes as he suddenly grabs my hand.

“Baby,” he says lowly, sending a delicious shiver down my spine, “If you keep being so adorable, I may just have to keep you.”

Well, shit, okay. “Say less,” I breathe and then immediately slam my mouth shut.

I receive a classic Seokjin grin in return for my idiocy, and my knees shake. Honestly, who the fuck allowed him to be that devastating?

Slowly, his grin slips away, and his eyes ignite with raw desire, “Tell me what you want from me, (y/n).”

My mind short circuits, automatically reverting to my default mode of sass, “Uh, peace and quiet?”

“Really?” Seokjin murmurs, stepping even closer still, “So you don’t want me to kiss you? You don’t want me to turn you over and fuck you until you scream?”

My breathing is ragged. His eyes burn with a hunger I had never seen before, and I’m crumbling.

“Answer me,” Jin demands, desperation seeped in each word, “Please.”

“Seokjin—” I gasp, dumbfounded, “Where the hell is this coming from? We’re coworkers! You’re my boss!”

His eyes flashed darkly as he moved his head closer to mine, “That’s all irrelevant, baby.”

“Irrelevant—!” I stab a finger into his firm chest, “Oh, you little shit, you can’t just say that you want to fuck me and then say that our working relationship is irrelevant! I could get fired. You could get fired!”

“That’s highly unlikely given the fact that everyone else knows my plans to ask you out right now.”

“Hold on a second,” I narrow my eyes, “Are you saying that you purposefully planned for us to stay late tonight to clean the entire goddamn restaurant just so you could ask me out? Are you fucking insane?”

“I prefer the term ‘quirky’,” he quips, “But, yeah, I may have paid everyone $50 to leave us alone for the night.”

“Well, that explains Yoongi… that shady motherfucker,” I internally make note to plot my vengeance. “Why couldn’t you have just slid in my DMs like a normal person, Seokjin?” I groan, “I would have responded to a ‘you up’ with a ‘yes, come over’.”

Seokjin whips out his cell phone. “Does this apply to right now?” he asks, typing furiously.

My phone dings with several Instagram notifications.

hughchefner: u up

hughchefner: wyd

hughchefner: date me?

(y/n): bet

Seokjin’s eyes shoot up to mine after he reads my response, “Really? You agreed to date me by saying ‘bet’ in an Instagram DM?”

“Yup,” I shrug, “No take-backs. Also, to answer your previous questions: Yes, I do want you to kiss me with your insufferable mouth, and, yes, I do want to sit on your dick. Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Say less,” Seokjin echoes my earlier statement and captures my mouth with his. I wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him back with equal fervor.

“(Y/n),” he groans right as my tongue swipes teasingly against his lower lip.

His hands slid down my body, pausing only to squeeze my waist gently before settling firmly on my ass. His fingers dig in hard and I let out an embarrassingly loud moan.

“You like that, baby? You like when I’m rough?” Seokjin pulls his lips off mine and murmurs sinfully, “God, I want to devour you.”

I lift my chin up and challenge, “Do it, you won’t.”

His eyes flare, “Oh, babygirl, you were made for me.” Seokjin’s lips return to mine, moving at a slow but ravenous pace.

Still kissing me, he picks me up and places me on one of the kitchen’s stainless steel counters. His hands grab my thighs, tugging them apart to make room for him to stand between them. A harsh groan rises from the depths of his chest as our bodies align.

I hook one leg around his waist and tug him closer still. Pulling my lips away, I lean my head back as I slowly trace his muscles through his shirt. He watches me with his puffy lips parted, his breathing hard. His eyes are wild and I’m loving every second of it.

The room suddenly feels too hot. My hands dart up to shakily begin undoing the buttons of my shirt. Seokjin’s eyes follow my movements with fascination. “Let me,” he purrs and proceeds to rip my shirt from my body. Buttons scatter on the floor with sorrowful little bounces.

“You bitch,” I yank his hair, “That was my good work shirt.”

“I’ll buy you ten more,” Seokjin’s voice is rough and full of desire as he takes in my lacy white bra. Suddenly, his mouth descends to suck at my nipple through the thin lace.

“Damn, you are so fucking sexy,” he pulls his mouth away, “Can I take this off?”

I nod like a bobblehead in 60mph winds, reaching around my back with one hand to undo the clasp and then throwing my bra clear across the kitchen. It lands on top of one of the fridges and I shrug. I’d retrieve it later.

Seokjin tugs off his own shirt, revealing planes of tanned skin. I don’t hesitate to run my hands up and down the definition of his abs and watch in fascination as his muscles constrict under my touch. I run my hands lower, tracing his defined v-line.

No wonder they call it the Adonis belt, I muse, pondering if he’d let me lick it.

Huffing in impatience at my slow exploration, Seokjin returns his mouth to my nipple and sucks hard. My eyes nearly roll into the back of my head. He bites down gently and then blows on my nipple slowly. I moan at the sensation. I watch him through unfocused eyes as his hand slides down the front of my body. He reaches the button of my pants and pauses.

Seokjin pulls his mouth away from my nipple, his lips swollen and pink. “You have to say yes, baby.” His breath hits my ear, making me shiver.

I hold out my hand for a high-five and declare, “We stan a man who asks for clear consent.” Chuckling, Seokjin slaps my offered hand and then links his fingers with mine.

“Also,” I continue, looking into his eyes, “It’s a fuck yes.” I pull our linked fingers close to place a kiss on his knuckles.

“Cute,” he grins, “Now, can I take off your pants?”

“Take off yours first,” I order.

“So eager,” he laughs, making quick work of his black jeans. My mouth instantly waters at the sight of his hard cock straining to be released from the confines of his bright red Versace boxer briefs.

“Why am I not surprised that even your underwear is extra?” I mumble, flicking the button of my pants open.

Laughing, Seokjin takes over, tugging my pants down my legs. He then pushes my matching white lace panties aside and cups my pussy, applying pressure. I roll my hips into his hand.

His fingers trace lightly up and down my pussy, before one dips inside me. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he groans.

“Always,” I breathe out. Suddenly, he pulls his hand away from me. I pout. Seokjin laughs at my expression and then licks his finger.

“Jesus fuck, (y/n), you taste so sweet. Let me eat you out,” he pleads.

I smirk, saying, “I thought you’d never ask,” and then gasp as he kneels before me, grabbing my hips. Seokjin moves to tear my underwear off, and I’m quick to place my foot on his forehead to stop his approach. “I swear to god, Seokjin, if you rip these, I will get Namjoon to permanently ban Seokjin Specials.”

“You’re evil,” he grins, “I love it.” He makes a show of slowly taking my panties off before throwing them carelessly behind him. He then yanks the same leg I had used to thwart his panty-tearing plans and throws it over his shoulder before returning his fingers to my pussy. Seokjin’s thumb circles my clit while two of his fingers thrust into me at a maddening rate.

My fingers grip his hair when I finally feel his tongue licking up the juices that have started to run down my thighs.

After sucking what will probably become a massive hickey onto my left inner thigh, his tongue licks a path straight up my folds until it circles around my clit maddeningly. “Goddamnit, Seokjin, stop teasing,” my voice cracks in desperation, but my plea works. His tongue flicks at my clit lightly before his lips close over it and suck.

“Fuck,” I moan, “I think I like you eating me out more than I like eating your cooking.”

He pulls back to briefly land a light swat on my pussy and I choke on air as painful pleasure shoots through me. “Take that back,” he growls, “My cooking is second only to my handsome face.”

“God, I fucking hate you,” I drawl. The emphasis in my words portrays the exact opposite.

Seokjin sends me a shit-eating grin before his tongue returns to lick at my swollen clit, up and down, and then in a slow circle. His fingers brush open my folds just enough for him to sink his tongue into me. “O-oh,” I throw my head back, one hand moving up to pinch one of my nipples while the other latches back into Seokjin’s hair.

“I’m s-so close, baby,” my words slur as I shamelessly beg, “Don’t stop.”

He immediately pulls away.

“Oh, fuck you,” I seethe. I yank his head back by his hair until his neck is stretched in a long line. His hair is a mess, and I’ve never seen anything hotter.

“I just want to feel you come when I’m inside you, baby,” he smiles, my wetness glistening on his lips.

“Fine,” I shimmy off of the counter onto shaky legs, “Two can play at that game.”

“What?” Seokjin’s brows furrow in confusion.

It’s my turn to drop to my knees. “Oh, shit,” he curses as I tug his boxers down to reveal his hard cock. It’s silky and gorgeous, and I can’t stop staring at it. Seokjin, of course, notices. “You like my cock, babygirl? Take it. It’s yours.”

It already was, I think, as my gaze darts up to meet his.

Without breaking eye contact, I lick his reddened tip, almost moaning at his taste. “Fuck, babygirl,” Seokjin throws his head back. I smile wickedly. I could definitely get addicted to ruining this beautiful boy. “Look at me,” I command, feeling so powerful when he immediately listens.

Slowly, I suck down on his length, hollowing out my cheeks. My eyes stay on his as he groans, and I can tell he’s straining to keep from thrusting into my mouth.

“Please, baby, fuck—!” He moans as I swallow around him and then release him from my mouth with a pop. My hand darts up to grip him tightly, pumping him. Moving slowly, I suck one of his balls into my mouth, rolling my tongue around it gently. Seokjin chokes, “Fuck me.”

“We’ll get there, baby,” I tug my mouth away and grin up at him.

I suck him as far down as I can. His control snaps and he begins to thrust wildly into my mouth, panting.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” his eyes scrunch up as he chants, “I’m gonna come.”

I release him ruthlessly.

“Goddamnit,” he cries, “I knew that was coming, but it still hurts.”

“Well,” I wiggle my eyebrows at him, “If only you had a pretty little pussy ready for you to fuck… Oh, wait.”

Seokjin chuckles, “I see I wasn’t able to fuck some of the sass out of that mouth. We might have to try that again later.”

“Gladly,” I grin back at him, “You have a condom?”

Seokjin picks up his discarded jeans from the floor and digs around in the back pockets. “Aha!” He yells, hoisting up the glimmering gold foil in triumph.

I roll my eyes before snatching the condom from the idiot. Tearing the foil packaging open with my teeth, I grab Seokjin’s length and pump him a few times in preparation.

“Stop being a tease,” he mumbles, thrusting shallowly into my hand.

“Stop being so hot,” I challenge, leaning down to lick his pre-cum dripping from the reddened tip of his cock.

“Impossible,” Seokjin smirks before tugging me back up to face him.

He drops his lips to mine and sucks on my bottom lip. Pulling away slightly, he tugs at it in a stinging bite. Withdrawing his mouth from mine, he spins me around and bends me over the counter.

I feel the head of his cock running teasingly over the folds of my pussy and I gasp, “Please, baby, I need you inside me.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He thrusts into me in one sharp movement. We both gasp as he fills me, gliding in and out.

“Harder,” I moan.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “I’m trying to last over here.”

“Why? We have all night,” I pout before an idea pops into my head, and I taunt, “Wait, are you telling me you’re a one and done type of old man?”

“Oh, you’re going to regret that,” Seokjin mutters darkly.

His hard cock fills and stretches me, pleasure emanating within me from every sharp thrust of his hips.

“Your pussy is mine,” he growls, “I’ll fuck you from against the wall after this. I’ll fuck you until you can’t sass me anymore. And I’ll fuck you all night, baby, and every night after that.”

I clench around him as his dirty words wash over me. “Those are all great ideas in theory,” I gasp out, “But I really want to ride you first.”

“Oh, babygirl wants to fuck herself on my cock?” Seokjin slaps my ass before pulling out, “Well, come on.”

I stand upright and turn to see him walking towards the large island in the middle of the room. He hops onto it and lays down, placing one arm behind his head, and the other one slowly strokes his cock.

“You better get that hand off your cock before I decide to never let you into my pussy again,” I say darkly as I move towards him.

His hand flies off his dick at the speed of light, his eyes wide as they focus on me.

When I get close enough, I climb up onto the island and kneel with one leg on each side of his tapered waist. I slowly sink down so that just his tip is inside me and squeeze.

A garbled moan escapes Seokjin, his hands shooting out to grab my waist in an attempt to push me down further.

“Someone’s eager,” I whisper, bending down to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“I’ve been fucking eager since you were hired.” He smacks my ass and then groans as I reflexively sink down another inch.

“Yeah?” I question, sinking down another inch as his eyes squeeze shut, “You should have said something sooner, baby. I could have been riding you hard for months.”

Seokjin pouts, “Well, there’s no time like the present?”

“God, you’re such a dweeb,” I grin before taking him to the hilt. We both let out strangled breaths as I shift slightly, before placing a hand on his neck.

Keeping my hand there, I lift up and begin riding him hard. My body slides up and down onto his cock at a fast pace. Sweat drips down my back. Seokjin grabs my ass, his fingers gripping my skin, and pounds up into my pussy with brutal and possessive force.

“O-oh, fuck.” There’s something about riding Seokjin that just feels so good. My hips swivel and roll against his. The pleasure steadily builds, and I try to distract myself by biting down on Seokjin’s neck.

“I’m gonna come,” he moans, “Are you close?”

I pull away from his neck and sit up, arching my back to give him a deeper angle. He thrusts up into my g-spot and I gasp, “Shit, yes, I’m close. Come with me, baby.”

I clench my walls around him. Seokjin’s eyes are scrunched shut as he continues to pound into me with harsh strokes.

He shifts one hand from my ass to gently circle my aching clit, and I light up. My walls clench and pulse, locking down on Seokjin so tight that he comes, his hot seed filling the condom as he shudders.

I collapse against him and shove my face into his sweaty neck.

I can feel his laugh bubbling up from his chest before I hear it. “What’s so funny?” I ask, lips brushing his skin.

“Namjoon’s going to kill us for the number of health code violations we just committed,” his laughter causes his cock to shift within me, and I bite back a moan.

“Well,” I lift my face up from his neck to look at him, “We have nothing to lose at this point then, huh?”

I slowly lick my lips, and his eyes drop to them. The only noise left in the restaurant is our heavy breathing. “Round two in Namjoon’s office?” he suggests.

“Bet.”

a/n: this was so fun to write :) hope you all enjoyed it! happy valentine’s day!

#fwlproject #luvlibrary #bangtanhq #bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #hyunglinenetwork #ksj #ksj x reader #seokjin x reader #jin x reader #bts #bts smut

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ilooklikeaburntchickenugget · 5 years ago

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Letters from your lover

A/N: I love Gee in The Ghost Of You... he’s so handsome. This is my second story posted in a few hours because I have so many drafts I need to finish which I am going to try and do before I start anything new. I have a bad habit of starting stories and no finishing them. Maybe a part 2 to this? I’m thinking about it, but let me know. Requests are still open! Pairing: F!Reader x 40s AU! Gerard Word count: 1687

The war was hard enough for everyone domestically. But when your fiancee was shipped off to war, it made everything even more difficult. You had begun working at your father’s shop, repairing bikes and such, as most of his men were shipped off as well. You were lucky to have finished your high school education before the war. There was no way now that any student would be able to finish, they would have been shipped off or put in factories and fields to work.

“Papa?” You called from where you were, your trousers has oil stains and grease on them, “Would you pass me the wrench?” “Here you are, darling.” He responded, giving it to you.

“Thank you.” You continued twisting and turning various areas of the bike, tightening some of them. You did that for another few minutes before getting up and sighing, looking at the completely bike. “That one done?” You father asked. You nodded. “I’ll check on it. Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” You smiled, going to find your mom. You walked into the office, not seeing her, so you turned down the hallway and into the main shop.

“Y/N!” You heard her voice echo, “What do you think you’re doing, young lady?” “Trying to find you.” You stated.

“We can’t have people see you dressed like that!” She exclaimed, “Do you know how much business your father could lose if people saw his daughter in these scrubby things?” You wanted to roll your eyes, but you prevented yourself.

“Of course, mother. I’m sorry.” She lightly smiled.

“Now come back, you have some mail.” You followed your mother, who was in a form fitting blue dress, back to the office you were previously in where she handed you a letter with your name on it. You could identify that handwriting anywhere, it was Gerard’s of course. “Is it that wonderful boy you have?” She smiled. You nodded. “He’s a keeper, sweetheart.” You nodded at that too.

You placed the letter in your bag, waiting to get to your and his small apartment to read it privately. “Great job on the bike, kid.” You father entered the hall from the garage. “You can go home now.” “Thanks Papa.” You lightly smiled. “I love you.” You waved, going to the bathroom to change into a skirt. You quickly did so, anxious to get to the comfort of your home and read your lover’s letter, writing one immediately back to drop off tomorrow morning you knew.

You hastily walked, getting to your place in a short 10 minutes and walking up the flights of stairs, your small heels clicking with every step. You grabbed your keys, unlocking the door and immediately shutting and locking it behind you. You and Gerard by no means lived in the nicest part of town, but you afforded what you could.

That was one of the hardest aspects of him being gone. You always felt safe when he was at home, the mindless drunks at midnight below never used to bother you. The sounds of crashing glass never startled you. All because he was there. But he was gone now, until at least the ending of the war.

You put all your belongings down, stripping your aching feet of the high heels which you dreaded wearing day after day. Settling comfortably on your small sofa, you ripped open the letter, as always, he had neatly folded it into three sections. Unfolding it, you could already see his neat cursive, written in black pen.

Dearest Y/N, How are you doing, love? I miss you more everyday, my fingers long for your touch, my ears for your beautiful voice, my lips for your kiss. The thought of you is keeping me sane. I’m sorry about your parents and the job. Not that I expected any less from them putting you to work, but I understand it is difficult. I promise when I get back we can relax. Just the two of us. How does that sound? Maybe we can settle down, actually get married in a beautiful chapel. Or a garden maybe? A little less traditional... but it is really whatever you want, darling. I’ll buy us a house, I was thinking at least two bedrooms, a nice backyard. It’ll have the perfect kitchen for you to make your apple pie in. I miss your apple pie, not as much as you, but still. And then we can get a dog. A Labrador or Golden Retriever I’m thinking? Or am I going too far ahead... it seems I am.

You blushed at his words.

The war is getting extremely difficult, Y/N. Everyday it tests us more and more. I’ve seen things that no man can unsee. It’s heart wrenching- war. Men fighting men over a disagreement. Granted this is different I suppose. We are fighting for not only our freedom, but the freedom of others as well. I can not wait to come home. To be able to be with you yet again, hold you at night. I miss your scent of vanilla and roses, it’s become nearly intolerable to live without. And you’re so incredibly gorgeous, I keep your photo in my jacket pocket, the one over my heart. Quite cliche, I know, but it seems to fit so perfectly. I can’t wait to see you in the flesh... it would be even better if you were in that red number you got for my birthday last year (you know what I mean, love).

You blushed even deeper at the thought of that. The most untraditional and risqué thing you and Gerard had ever done before.

Unfortunately my time to write has run up, sugar. I ache for you everyday I am away, but I can not wait for my arrival at home. I will be back for you sweetheart, I promise. Love, Gerard

Attached was a small drawing of you, as usual. It was quite realistic, done in the same pen as the letter was written in. It highlighted all your facial features that were dominant, even some of the subtle ones, and your smile. It was beautiful, you had to admit.

You smiled like a fool at the piece of paper, the words always hit deeper than you thought they could. You carefully folded the letter and small sketch back up, placing it in it’s original envelope, and placing that in a small basket you had of all the letters he had sent you.

Later on that night you were preparing yourself a small dinner. You turned on the radio to listen to a mixture of news and music. Swaying your hips to the melody, the music halted to a breaking news alert. You stopped what you were doing. The Germans have officially surrendered to the allies. The war in Europe has ended. Troops are to be sent home over the course of the next few days. Your mouth feel open, a small smile curving at the edges. He’s coming home.

-Time skip- It only took a few days for Gerard to be shipped home. You awaited patiently at the crowded peer, shoulder to shoulder with parents, lovers, and families. Finally, a large boat of men pulled up, letting all of them go. You immediately began looking for your raven hair boy.

It took you a few minutes before you found him. His strong facial features sticking out amongst the crowd, as you could see he too was looking around, presumably for you. You noticed how he had become more muscular, his torso now more of a triangle shape then a square. Granted it had been a year.

Your lips grew to a smile as you dodged people walking up to him. Within a few minutes he looked to see you, a large smile growing on his face as he began running to you, you following. Once within arms reach, he grabbed your entire body with his arms, tossing you in the air and spinning you as you squealed. He finally let you down, both of you still smiling. He gave you a kiss, your lips connecting like two puzzle pieces. It was soft and needy, you running your hands up and down his shaven face, his hands moving along your hips and waist.

“I missed you.” He finally said, letting go of the kiss.

“I missed you too.” You smiled, looking at him, your hands and arms still intertwined behind his neck. He placed his forehead to yours and let out a soft sigh.

“You’re so gorgeous.”

“And you’re so handsome.” He lightly laughed.

You two had talked and laughed, him holding you in his arm, all the way home, until you hit the small hallway that led to your apartment. “Wait,” You said, Gerard turning towards you with a confused look on his face. “Close your eyes.” “Why?” He asked and lightly smiled.

“Just do it.” He sighed.

“Fine.” You could see him partially close his eyes, only partially.

“Really?” You asked and he lightly laughed. You stepped on your tip toes, your heels not assisting you, and covered his eyes with your hands. “I should’ve brought a blindfold.” “This is just find, sugar.” He smiled, running his hands up and down your arms. Once inside, you released your hands, letting him see.

“You made it?” He smiled even wider. You nodded.

“Of course.” You said, “I know apple pie’s your favorite.” He leaned in and gave you another kiss.

“You’re the best.” He mumbled in between his soft lips touching yours. He gracefully picked you up, placing your legs around his waist, and moving his mouth to the sweet spot on your neck, making you lightly moan and throw your head back.

“Gee,” You moaned out.

“Yes, darling?” He stopped looking at you. You looked down and lightly smiled, running a hand through his neatly done hair.

“Can you at least take a shower?” He immediately frowned, huffing in defeat.

“Fine.” He sighed, setting you down. “But we are continuing this right after.” He ran out of the living room and down to the bathroom and you giggled.

#gerard way x reader #gerard way fanfiction #gerard way #mcr gerard #mcr fanfiction #mcr x reader #my chemical romance #My Chem #my chemical gerard #my chemical gee #my chemical romance x reader

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dualalga · 4 years ago

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Jojo Stands

Good evening boys and girls As promised I will be making another Jojo blog. I'm sorry if I didn't made a blog post in Wednesday ( Cause I was busy ).

Anyways as promised I will be taking about more stands and their abilities.

Now to start of let's talk about the abilities of the stands of The people in Stardust Crusaders.

Characters.

Jotaro Kujo

Joseph Joestar

Kakyoin Noriaki

Muhammad Avdol

Jean Pierre Polnareff

Iggy ( Dog )

Stands

Star Platinum

Hermit Purple

Hierophant Green

Magician's Red

Silver Chariot

The Fool

Kujo Jotaro Star Platinum

Star Platinum is a humanoid Stand, resembling a tall, well-built man of similar proportions to Jotaro, if not more muscular. In colored art, its skin is often a hue between purple, blue, green, and small bits of gold. Its face and body have varying colors.

Jotaro has described Star Platinum as very violent. It is silent, except when it throws punches, during which it cries "ORAORAORA" loudly and repeatedly. With a relatively human face, it may scowl and smile. It has a very malicious grin when it is first revealed.

Star Platinum is a close-range Stand, with a basic reach of only 2 meters from Jotaro's body, but with incredible strength, speed, and precision.

It is one of the most powerful Stands featured in the series. Its overwhelming physical prowess in every basic characteristic, save for range, coupled with Jotaro's own cleverness in combat, allows Jotaro to repeatedly prevail against many Stand users even without the usage of any special ability. In addition, Jotaro's discovery of its time-stopping ability only made it all the more formidable in combat.

Super Strength: Star Platinum possesses immense strength, being able to throw a Jeep carrying four men and a girl out of the path of an 18-wheeler with one hand, later pulling the same Jeep out of a canyon with only a car as a counter-weight, and destroy large artificial diamonds within seconds.

Super Speed: Star Platinum boasts phenomenal speed. It was able to intercept a bullet fired from point-blank range,briefly contended with Silver Chariot (whilst it was using Anubis),and is stated to exceed the speed of light.

Self-Preservation: Star Platinum possesses the awareness and reaction speed to protect Jotaro in many instances that he himself seems unaware; halting a bullet he experimentally shoots at his own head.

Precision: Star Platinum is incredibly precise; it can surgically remove an object embedded in a person's skull without ill effect, catch both a bullet and a minuscule Stand like Lovers between his thumb and forefinger in midair, and create a near photo-realistic drawing of a small Egyptian fly from a dark, blurry photo.

Enhanced Eyesight: Star Platinum utilizes eagle-like eyesight throughout Stardust Crusaders. Jotaro has used Star Platinum's eyes to see four kilometers across a desert as well as identify meaningful details, such as a specific type of fly in high-resolution images. It can also follow a card shuffle performed by a professional gambler, subsequently recounting the entire new order of the deck.

Enhanced Breath: Star Platinum inhales with superhuman power, capable of sucking in the entire fog Stand Justice and holding it long enough for its user to suffocate.

Ora Ora Rush (突きの連打オラオララッシュ, Ora Ora Rasshu, lit. "Barrage of Strikes"): Star Platinum's primary method of attack. It throws an extremely fast but precise barrage of powerful punches to pulverize an opponent or destroy objects.

Star Finger (流星指刺スターフィンガー, Sutā Fingā, lit. "Meteor Finger Thorn"): Star Platinum can forcibly extend its middle and index fingers to a length of one or two meters, allowing it to perform sneak attacks and stab opponents from afar. The technique's frequency of usage decreased as the battles intensified.

Very noice I right that can kill you fast. So don't let Jotaro get near you so he can't beat the crap out of you.

Joseph Joestar Hermit Purple

Hermit Purple manifests itself as multiple, purple, thorn-covered vines that spawn from Joseph's hands. The vines are strong enough to support his own weight and long enough to bind someone completely.

Hermit Purple is consistently portrayed as being purple across all media featuring it, befitting its name.

Hermit Purple represents the TarotW Card The HermitW, which symbolizes introspection and contemplation, best represented in the Stand's powers of divination.

Abilities

Hermit Purple's vines are relatively weak, but they provide Joseph with considerable divination ability, enabling him to divine and materialize any type of information, such as an image, a location or even thoughts.

Joseph demonstrated that he can use the vines as ropes, whose movements he can control at will. Their length and resistance make it possible for Joseph to swing from place to place and tie someone.The vines have limited resistance as a sufficiently strong Stand or even a strong Vampire can break them. The vines are dexterous enough to manipulate a video game controller.

( he's gonna outsmart your outsmarting)

Kakyoin Noriaki Hierophant Green

Main article: Hierophant Green

Kakyoin's long-range humanoid Stand is Hierophant Green; able to extend tentacle-like limbs or unravel to a modest extent; as well as fire a barrage of hard projectiles (an "Emerald Splash"). He is often seen shouting his signature attack (like the Emerald Splash) in fights.

Stand Mastery

Kakyoin is, due to a lifetime of possessing Hierophant Green, quite proficient at using it. Although it is mostly seen as a humanoid, Kakyoin states that its true form is that of a bunch of strings; as such one of his key tactics is to secretly unravel Hierophant Green's tentacles while keeping the main body as a distraction. Thanks to that, Kakyoin can avoid attacks by unraveling his Stand, use the strings as piercing weapons or ropes, and reach for things in the distance. It also gives him a distance advantage, being able to attack from far away with a flurry of sharp emerald shards.Main article: Hierophant Green

Stand Mastery

Imma continue this tomorrow .

Boys and Girls this is what I can do for this evening imma continue this tomorrow have a good evening.

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zukofenty · 5 years ago

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always be my maybe

➜ Summary: The one where Zuko and Katara could never quite get their timing right. Especially when the universe throws a lost condom, thousands of miles, and a baby in their way.

“I will literally french braid my pubic hairs and never open my pussy to anyone ever again if this condom doesn’t kill me. Please don’t let it kill me.”

➜ Genre: Modern!AU, Celebrity Chef!Katara, Doctor!Zuko, Love, Rosie!AU

AO3 @zutaraweek

“Go a couple rounds, leave Zuko’s dick up in a casket!” Toph screams into the microphone, undeterred by the various guests who stare up at her, mouth open and half-chewed, dry-as-fuck chicken spilling out. It wasn’t her fault, really! As soon as Zuko handed the mic off to her, he basically gave her free reign to spit a Megan Thee Stallion verse in his honor. “Sing with me, bitches! Look up the lyrics on Genius.com, Cheryl!”

“Sit down !” Katara squeezes out from clenched teeth, ripping the device out from the girl’s grip.

“I didn’t even get to the chorus, you fucking whore .” A bridesmaid nervously plucks the mic from their table and avoids eye contact with both of them. “What’s going on with you, bitch?” Toph asks quietly. She could tell Katara’s been doing her fake smile for the last twenty minutes. The girl was practically going to break her face open with how hard she was grinding her teeth.

“Just thinking.” Katara wants to smack herself in the face, pinch a nipple and bring herself to reality. Everything felt too real, and Toph could sense it. She’s the type to somehow sense when Katara shifts in her seat a certain way to covertly satisfy a cooch itch, and then buys her Monistat the same day.

She hates that she could never hide any emotion from her. Toph could always figure out the puzzle pieces that were Katara. One of the few to know the real her, besides Zuko.

Sometimes Katara thinks the younger girl knows her better than him. At least now. Especially now.

“About?” Toph takes an experimental sip from the wine glass, and gags. The juice tasted like Gatorade and cum. “Why the fuck would anyone want a dry wedding? Weddings are the only time you get to see your alcoholic uncle vomit all over the bride’s shoes, and then your closeted aunt has to wipe up the puke and her reputation from the floor while thinking of her secret girlfriend at home watching Tiger King .”

“That example was extremely specific and extremely unnecessary.” Katara brushes a crunchy curl, doused in hairspray, from her eyes.

“Sorry, I got distracted. I had dick on the brain, or whatever Rihanna said,” Toph mumbles, risking a bite of the chicken.

Katara turns to see him at the couple’s table in the center of the extravagant wedding, and sighs. “And for your information, I was just thinking when will he penetrate my esophagus? You know, just girly things.”

Toph has the gall to slap the girl on the cheek.

Katara holds her stinging face, eyes narrowed in an unspoken threat for fucking up the parts of her face she didn’t set with powder (she was going for a dewy look, sue her). “Not fair! You were the one who called my throat the baby chute earlier today!”

“Ok, throat goat. One, he’s getting married. Two, you’re sick.”

“My therapist will most likely cosign that,” Katara sighs. Toph holds Katara’s hand and leans her head on her shoulder as they watch Zuko mingle with guests.

This is the happiest day of his life.

Her best friend of twenty odd years was getting married. He looked so handsome, so happy. A suit that looked like it would cost someone’s rent and a half casually hugging his muscular frame. A blinding smile on his face, cheeks flushed from champagne and excitement.

When he turns her way, his smile grows impossibly wider. Toph clinks on a champagne glass with a fork, breaking it a la Princess Diaries , and Katara could feel the stares of nearly everyone in the room, ready for her speech.

It should be the happiest day of my life, too.

Right?

Katara thinks she wants to cry.

Now, how come none of those Judy Blume, coming-of-age books have a chapter on how to write a Best Woman speech for your best friend getting married to another woman, even when you were struggling with the fact that you might have been in love with him for the past two decades?

Bitch, what the fuck do you even start that Google Doc with?

Does she start at 4 years old? When Katara thinks Zuko is an annoying piece of shit?

But, you know, he’s her piece of shit.

Guys have hepatitis, or cooties, or whatever Sokka said, she couldn’t exactly remember. All she remembered was Zuko sucked. He stole her crayons and made fun of her Hello Kitty backpack on the first day of school. He was the stupid one, not Hello Kitty . Never Hello Kitty . She’d shoved his face into the playground’s wood chips, threatened to cut off his peepee for breathing down her neck with his retainer breath, and even stuck his head in between two slices of white bread and lovingly referring to him as an ‘idiot sandwich’ (Sokka let her watch too many Gordon Ramsey hosted shows while their dad was working late).

Zuko and Katara were practically inseparable ever since.

Or 10, when you were asking for trouble if you fucked with Zuko.

He was a tiny kid, glasses too big for his head. Hair shaggy, clothes too oversized for him (just the way he liked it). His dad had tried beating it into him that it showed weakness by not making waves, not being loud and proud. But, he was quiet by nature. For him, it was just easier.

Not stirring the pot, being the observer, looking in from the outside. He was just Zuko , he liked Wonder Woman comics and figuring out what other words besides BOOBIES he could spell with his calculator instead of actually doing his math homework, because he was bad at math. Bad at everything, really. Everything but band class. Even if he did hate that stupid fucking tsungi horn.

His mom would hide his report cards from his dad, especially the ones noting how shy he was (Mrs. Kim had used the exact words ‘very antisocial, very easy to bully’). Even when Ursa would ask him to try, try to make friends outside of Katara, he was always a stubborn little thing. Something you got from your father , she would say, the smile slipping off her face just the slightest.

It was just more fun being by himself, the only exception he made was Katara. He spent his recess scribbling down a plot for a Love Amongst the Dragons Fanfiction and listening to Katara’s iPod he’d steal from her, just because he could , after she snuck it out from her backpack for the 10 minute break they had. It was the iPod she spent the last two Christmases saving up with Sokka for. Zuko insisted he could master Ludacris’s rap in Usher’s “Yeah!” and practiced the Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays she had custody of the device.

Some days, Katara would sit beside him in her signature puffy blue jacket, struggling to fold herself to fit on the blacktop beside Zuko. The patented jacket her grandmother forced her to wear every single day obstructing her abilities. He snickers, but keeps quiet, content with plotting out a story that he would hopefully get to type out on the school library’s computers if his mom picked him up late again. She usually did, much to the dismay of the ladies at the front office. They typically hissed at him (which made him cry, to which they would have to offer him a cherry Otter pop so they wouldn’t face a lawsuit) and called his mom words he couldn’t repeat without getting in trouble (“Whore”).

Katara would babble on about her day, sometimes thinking of ways for his characters to die a painful death, or cooking up Fanfic plots for Beyoncé and Britney Spears to find love among the chaos of a zombie infestation. She always insisted she brought the creative range to their friendship. Some days though, Katara forgets all about him and plays handball with all the most popular girls in school.

Zuko’s jealous.

(Sometimes.)

She’s my best friend! He wants to scream in their faces. At the end of the day, he thinks he’s going to lose her. The day she realized she was too good, too cool for the likes of him.

“Chan, stop it!” Zuko squeaked, his notebook snatched from underneath his nose. The boy was always picking a fight. Your dad buys you a Motorola flip phone and suddenly you think you’re the shit.

The boy sneers at Zuko, flipping through the pages. “What do we have here? Are you drawing Shrek with boobies? You’re gonna jack off to that later, freak?”

Before Zuko could get a word in and defend his honor, Chan’s entire body was shoved to the ground, a dainty foot cased in a light up, white Skechers sneaker pressing into his face. Zuko couldn’t help his glee as Katara could barely be peeled off and stopped from repeatedly slamming Chan’s face into the hopscotch chalk court. “It’s all ogre now, bitch!”

She made sure to pin her detention slip to her Bratz backpack with pride. Zuko buys two treats that day from the student store before he walks her home.

“You’re my best friend, forever and ever,” Katara declares, head held up high. Zuko saw through it, though. He knows she’s scared of what Hakoda has to say, what Gran Gran has to say. So, he holds her hand tight, trying to relay his gratitude in the touch.

He licks at his Spongebob popsicle. The eyes had melted off and looked more like someone’s worst nightmare than an icy treat. Katara had wanted his cherry Otter pop, and he happily handed it over. “Pinky promise?” He holds out his finger.

Katara hooks her finger around his, dwarfing his tiny digit. Her outstretched smile stained orange. “I’ll break yours if you ever forget.”

At 15, Katara came to the realization that men have the emotional intelligence of a Souplantation crouton (may Souplantation rest in peace).

Growing up, with their dad and grandma always at work at their store, Katara was always in charge of cooking. No matter how many times she’d try to get Sokka to do it, he always insisted he was far too busy with taking out the trash, killing bugs, hating women. So, she was stuck with it, and honest-to-Rihanna, really liked it. Not that she’d ever let Sokka ever get the satisfaction of knowing it. It was her time to be alone, gave her the space to pop in a Cheetah Girls CD and pretend she won Masterchef with the struggle meal straight out of a Spam can she had to pound on a few times to get it to squeeze out from its gelatinous casing, or a whitewashed recipe she tried replicating whenever she catches a Rachael Ray rerun.

Though, Katara’s favorite time was chopping up the green onions under Ursa’s careful eyes, a hand always just there in realign the knife just in case she’d carelessly cut the green onions too big to garnish. Then, Ursa would then take out scissors because nobody had time for that. When his dad wasn’t home, Zuko’s mom opened up their doors across the street to the siblings, rambling about the next big painting she was planning as they scarfed down a home cooked meal.

Zuko was similar to his mom in that regard. They were the type of people who managed to make everyday moments larger-than-life, made it infectious, too. When it’s nighttime and he’s snuck into and snug in Katara’s room, he’d tell her dreams too big for anyone’s comprehension. Sometimes he dreamed he had tits that would leak chunky chicken noodle soup. Sometimes he’d ramble until her eyes are flitting shut and he’s left talking to himself and measuring his hand with hers, securing the leg she instantly throws over his waist. He’d like to think he was her only exception in the Souplantation crouton narrative.

Her bed is starting to smell like him, too. His favorite Costco brand shampoo and conditioner that he leaves in her bathroom, permeating her nostrils when she pulled him close. She even let him put up a Drake poster right next to her plethora of Rihanna ones, but only after he let her draw a penis on both his and Drake’s face. What he didn’t account for was her using a permanent marker, or the fact he couldn’t scrub it away from his cheeks for the next two days.

It was easy like this, just the two of them.

He’s there for all the birthdays and Halloweens and Christmases that left her not quite feeling whole. When things were hard, when things fucking sucked, when she wanted nothing more but to die. He was there, (stupidly) holding out his hand and willing to be the eye to her hurricane.

At 15, Zuko decides Katara feels home.

At 18, Zuko had already been Katara’s many firsts.

He was her first buffet partner, and brought back his Justin Bieber haircut just to pretend he was 12 so they could qualify for children's rates and a complimentary Oreo cheesecake because they were always celebrating his “birthday.”

Her first clubbing partner the second she turned 18, rubbing her back when any Beyoncé song with a Jay-Z feature came on because the second he cheated on Beyoncé, he cheated on everyone in the Beyhive. The first one to have to hold her as she hurled on his shoes, the first one to have to take her to get her stomach pumped.

The first person she tried to roll a joint with.

“I don’t need to learn that.”

Katara purses her lips. “And why not?”

He gestures to his face. “I’m too pretty. Only ugly bitches know how to do that . ”

Sokka thinks he needs to intervene when he hears Zuko’s tsungi horn case being chucked across the room .

The first person she (almost) fucked.

His family life was, for lack of a better word, fucked up. Katara had been witness to the drinking, the drugs, the crying. The nights where she sometimes didn’t know if the person standing in front of her was Zuko. She just wanted one night away from it all, just one night out on the town.

“That was kind of terrible,” Katara admits easily, wincing because she was sure he spilled Papa John’s garlic dipping sauce in his shitty Corolla’s air filter last Tuesday. He tried positioning his arm naturally underneath her head while their half naked bodies were pressed together, but he ended up smacking off her glasses. He even had the audacity to contently sigh as though he accomplished something, rather than just tangle her hair and give her a tension headache.

She felt lied to! Cheated! Bamboozled! Hoodwinked! All the Shrek and Y/N stories on FF.net could not prepare her for the fact that there weren’t any tongues fighting for dominance, or any mouths that tasted like cinnamon or musk or shit like that. It was just retainer to retainer and smelled distinctly of her awkward friend (cheese). It was sweaty and a lot of weird humping and felt like a visit to the gyno.

“Hey! I thought it was pleasantly average.” He clears his throat. “You know, besides the fact you farted mid-insertion and I started crying after 20 seconds.”

“You mean right after you came, right?” She says matter-of-factly.

He glared. “Is it my fault you have a gorilla grip pussy? Is it?”

“Zuko, you’re so fucking — ”

“What happens when you put a hot dog in the microwave for 2 minutes?” He crosses his hands and folds them over his lap like a professor waiting for a volunteer to answer the equation on the board.

“So in this metaphor, are you calling my pussy a microwave?”

But in true Zuko and Katara fashion, it was clumsy and a mess and could be erased with an emergency Burger King outing where they ate in silence and pinky promised never to speak of it again.

She wonders if Zuko should’ve been her first date to prom, too.

She wants to stop feeling so bothered . She couldn’t quite pin it, but lately everything he did frustrated the shit out of her. How he was taller than her now. How he didn’t need her to fight his battles because he goes to the gym now and wears a fake Gucci belt because he’s just so cool (brooding Asian guy is the trend, and Zuko thinks he’s the blueprint). How he said yes to going to prom with Mai, the prettiest girl in their grade.

“Don’t look in there!” Katara yelps, a blush creeping on her cheeks.

“Why?” Zuko questions, taken aback. He was entirely too comfortable in her room.

“Um. Maybe I don’t want a freak going through my dirty underwear pile!” Her eyebrows are halfway done, and she only has one eyelash glued on. She was stressed, scared her dress might not fit with how many of Sokka’s cookies she stress-ate because she just wanted the night to be perfect .

“Relax, what are a few discharge stains going to do to me, huh? If anything, it gives your pussy some much-needed personality.” Zuko wasn’t going to stop until he found his fake Gucci belt in Katara’s closet.

“Zuko!” Katara screams at the top of her lungs.

“Do I have to remind you about the time you broke our friendship bracelet while masturbating and I dug the bead out of your vagina like the good friend I am?”

She shoves him back from the closet, crowding in his space. That belt was going to remain in its rightful place. “Oh, fuck you! I took the fall for you when you opened your laptop in history class and forgot to exit from your “VIBRATING PANTIES” porn tab!” She pushes him before plopping on her bed.

Katara buries her face in her pillow at that point, too entirely embarrassed and body too hot to continue to look at his nonchalant face. He doesn’t quite remember when exactly Katara became so cute .

Pretty? Definitely. Fearless? For sure.

But blushing Katara, embarrassed Katara, cute Katara?

He thinks it’s because they rarely saw each other now, despite his patented place in her bed. His band, Hello Zuko, was aiming for at least a few dive bar performances to build a reputation, especially with their new title track “Tennis Ball.” Katara was a familiar face at their town’s soup kitchens.

“Where are you going?” he would sleepily mumble as he tried taking his midday nap before late night performances.

Katara’s hands are full with ingredients, swaying side to side and eyes red and drowsy. “Trying to temper chocolate. Why? What’s up?”

She never misses a performance, though. Comes to them with a sparkly poster doused in glitter, and t-shirts with his face on them and everything. He never misses a fundraising event, making sure to bring a steaming thermos filled with tea because Katara was never the type to remember to take care of herself, and always buys out her fundraising goodies (even her overbaked brownies.)

He pulls her up by her ponytail, cupping her face in between his hands.

“You look cute.”

“You look like the human equivalent of toeless socks,” Katara mumbles, face squished in between Zuko’s hands. “Why are you giving my clit piercing a kiss kiss right now? What do you want?”

Zuko shakes her head in between his hands. “Pinky promise me you’ll drop all penises to dance with me if they play any Usher song?” It was like he was in fifth grade all over again. “Call me a Nissan because I just want you Altima-self.”

She lets out a cackle, the sound nearly deafening. “Don’t worry, the DJ will get us falling in love again in no time.”

“Do you have to go with Jet?” He asks, pouting. He lays his head in her lap, too entirely preoccupied with picking at her pilling sweatpants to look at her questioning eyes. They promised they were going to be each others’ dates at the beginning of the school year. It was more fun going to dances with Katara. She knew how to do the worm and every lyric to every Rihanna song out there (but she refuses to sing any with Chris Brown parts).

“What? You know I like my men stupid.” She runs her hands through his locks, undoing the crunchy gel job that Iroh had painstakingly spent time on. Zuko didn’t have the heart to tell him it made him look like a youth pastor.

“You do like your communal meat thermometers.” He wants to keep the hurt out of his voice.

She shoves him off her, getting up to put on the dress hanging off her closet’s door handle. “You’re going with Mai, remember?” She yells through the closed closet door.

“But the thing is, I’m not planning to fuck her afterwards at the shitty hotel like it’s some type of CW show with some old bitches playing teenagers!”

“Just say XOXO, Gossip Girl .”

He still resents her for getting him invested in Blair Waldorf’s headband collection. “It’s not my fault Jet looks old. He looks like he’s at least 27 for fuck’s sake!” His face grows more distressed as he spits out each word. He only said yes to going with Mai after finding out Jet asked Katara using some shitty poster that said “my heart is always running when I see you” with a box of Nike outlet sneakers after English class.

“I think you’re just jealous that I emptied my intestines for someone who is about to be in it within the next three hours. When have I ever done that for you?”

Zuko’s about to retort something until Katara slams open the door, flooding his eyes with a dusty blue, curve hugging dress that did weird things to him. Like make his heart beat out of his chest, and his throat all dry when he’s searching for the words to say. Looking for the right words that say he thinks it’s impossible someone’s smile could make sunsets brighter, make the stars twinkle even more, make the unthinkable just a fingertip’s grasp away.

“Can you see the outline of my underwear and/or desperation from the back?” Her spin has him bumbling like an idiot.

He wishes it was Katara that night. Letting him shyly press his sweaty fingers into her waist as Katy Perry’s “E.T.” pierced their eardrums. He knows she would have pinched his nipples as punishment, all things considered. But the fluorescent lights of the disco ball would’ve highlighted how her pretty flush would dust her cheeks, and he would hold her close to his beating heart despite her complaining her foundation would stain his Target dress shirt, and everything would make sense.

“Did you cum?” Jet was absolutely pretty with an oh-so fat horse cock. Too bad he was like the Justin Timberlakes of the world, and always spoke unprovoked.

Katara scoffs. “Yeah, I came to my senses.” She flicked his forehead. “How would I do that? Tell me. How the fuck would a few thrusts and you panting your Sweet and Sour sauce breath in my ear get me off?” She shoves the sweating boy off her. “Can I say jk and will it make me a virgin again?” The hotel room had scratchy sheets and smelled like a waterpark bathroom.

He groaned. “I’m sorry .” He’s completely unremorseful. “Your tits smell like Cinnabon’s cinnamon rolls and I couldn’t help myself!” Katara is about to cut his dick off for breathing in the same vicinity as her, before a gasp stops her entire world.

“Zuko!” she screeches, opening the hotel door with the same devastation as when Britney Spears discovered Ryan Seacrest wasn’t gay painting her features.

“You know what they say.” Zuko’s smirking, entirely ignoring Katara fuming. “Chlamydia is the powerhouse of the cell.”

“You’re. A. Dick!” She says in between smacks to his head. Jet makes a speedy exit, still pantsless and clutching his suit to his chest, while Zuko mouths a ‘ call me’ to Mai, who amusedly waves goodbye to Katara.

“Oh god, this is exactly like the bead incident all over again.”

“ You’re not helping! ”

“Maybe we’ll find Atlantis up there too,” Zuko murmurs, concentrating on positioning the hotel’s mirror under her legs.

“Please, Rihanna. Have mercy on me.” Katara’s hands are in prayer mode as Zuko turns on his phone’s flashlight. “I will literally french braid my pubic hairs and never open my pussy to anyone ever again if this condom doesn’t kill me. Please don’t let it kill me. All those times I took an extra gummy vitamin were a joke . I never wanted to die, I just wanted to feel a little thrill in my life. Please—”

Zuko screams when the squelch of the condom splatters onto the mirror.

“You’re wearing underwear under there right?” He likes the look of his blazer draping over her, buttoned to look like a chic, oversized dress and not because it was the easiest thing to throw over Katara to run and grab Plan B.

“No, because I would obviously let my fat cooter out, cute and bare and vulnerable in a Walmart.”

“A simple yes would have sufficed.”

She’s reaching for the box and wincing at the price when she feels a gentle nudge on her arm. “Ma’am, your entire pussy is out in a Walmart,” the employee breathes out pathetically.

“I am well aware.” She ekes out.

The employee eyes her up and down with a gaze that practically calls her a whore . “Please put her away.” Zuko’s face grows beet red as he tries holding back a laugh.

It was always easy like this. When the world was just Zuko and Katara, holding hands in her driveway while they watched the sun rise in his shitty Corolla. She’s still wrapped up in his blazer, he’s since loosened his cheap tie and his hair is sticking every which way. She likes his smile, especially now that it comes so easy.

He’s smiling a lot more now that his father is gone. Ozai essentially told Azula and Zuko to fuck off , and ran off to some big city to steer a hospital with too many controversies and too many white guys at the helm. Iroh came back from his meditation sabbatical, enthusiastic to take care of the siblings. Zuko seems a lot happier with Iroh around, and even spends nights sleeping in his actual bed. (Katara’s a little hurt, but keeps that to herself).

She wishes she could bottle up these moments with Zuko up and just hold them in her hands. Moments when they were still young and curious and still had time to wait for life to figure itself out. She wants to find a way to make these a permanent fixture, instead of memories that would fade with age. “Let’s get out of here,” he offers up, eyes starry.

“Yeah?” She folds her knees up to her chest, and he taps her under her chin to level their gazes.

“ Republic City . We can make something out of lives. Medical school, culinary school. Get out of this shithole. Get away from our past.” His smile is contagious. “Best friends, forever and ever, right?”

She’s so pretty, her wide eyes sparkling as they take in the rays of sun. She returns his smile. “Best friends, forever and ever.”

Katara remembers how Ursa would say Zuko always dreamt too big, his heart always wanting so, so much .

“It’s a blessing, but more of a curse,” she would note, with the wisdom only mothers are capable of possessing. Sometimes, Katara selfishly thinks the day Ursa left hurt her more than it hurt Zuko. They were impossibly close, to the point where Zuko even had to intervene when Ursa started siding with Katara during their arguments (he knows in his heart his Mother’s Day macaroni portrait of her was better).

She would wonder how the world could let her live like this, dangling something she’s always wanted right in front of her face, only to snatch it away. Wonder if it was easier to die, than live with a hole in her heart that seemingly doubled in size overnight.

“Zuko, please look at me.”

He’s mad, she could tell. With his pout and the way he was forcibly trying to squeeze his eyes in a glare. He’s been sitting in the same spot in her bed, eyes trained on tutorials on how to convincingly persuade your doctor to give you an adderall prescription and “who bit Beyonce” conspiracy videos.

“Well, what if I just wanted you to respect my privacy! For the first time in 15 years! Maybe I needed space!” She yelps after twenty minutes of the silent treatment.

Zuko sends her a look that has her freezing up on the spot. “Katara, you had a whole baby .”

She felt thoroughly scolded, but she was stubborn. “And? What about it?”

“You had an entire one, and didn’t even bother to tell the godfather? When was I supposed to find out?”

Katara didn’t think that one through, to be honest. It was easy to forget, in between diapers that smelled like a fish sauce and an expired Vagisil smoothie, and balancing work. She lays down beside him, thoroughly exhausted after putting her little girl, Yue, down for a nap. “One, who made you the godfather? And two, I guess we’re just not close like that.”

“Look, I literally have your social security number memorized, and have practically given you a Pap smear. You really want to say ‘ we’re not close like that ?” He sends her a look that has her resolve faltering the slightest. “You did your pregnancy announcement like a Sailor Moon transformation sequence with before and after pictures of you being pregnant, and you didn’t think to fucking tell me?”

Katara gasps. “I had you blocked !”

“Azula’s a snitch!” He also got a glimpse of the photo of Katara in her hoe time dress that barely fit over her belly with the caption: how the mighty have fallen . He pauses, sucking in a breath of air for strength. The hurt flashes in his eyes and the only thing she could think to do was wrap him up in a familiar embrace.

At 19, Katara is so incredibly lost, and just wants her best friend by her side.

He’s busy, the summer before everything Republic City. Everytime she tries their house, Azula answers, rolling her eyes while clad in a Harry Styles shirt, because it’s a girl’s rite of passage to go through a One Direction phase and wear badly made merchandise from Hot Topic. He’s usually busy packing, or fucking Mai until she sounds like a car alarm during Fourth of July fireworks.

“Azula, no . You cannot kidnap Mai’s younger brother and trade him in for concert tickets to send a message.”

“Not even for floor ones?” Katara’s glare summed up her answer. “I used to look up to you,” Azula retorts, returning to her stan Twitter.

She waits, waits, waits. The moans keep coming and she just rolls her eyes. Her stomach churns, mainly because she thinks Mai called Zuko’s dick The Pussy Penetrator every time he hit her g spot (you know what, good for her). But also because her scholarship to the university was less than she expected, and Hakoda didn’t want to cosign on a loan. She just wanted her best friend to be there for her.

She feels sick, sick enough to vomit in one of Iroh’s plants, while Azula rubs small circles into her back.

“You should’ve swallowed,” Toph reminds, bundling Katara’s thick hair into a ponytail as the girl hurled up her California roll. She’s so exhausted, she even leans her head against the Walmart toilet bowl, five positive pregnancy tests tossed carelessly beside her.

“Think it’s too late for that,” Katara grits out. “What are you doing?”

The last thing she expected was Toph’s hands gathering together in prayer formation. “Praying to Rihanna your period comes.”

Like many people her age, having a mental breakdown during a pregnancy scare and praying for a miracle in a public restroom was normal. But for the first time in her life, besides the time Rihanna willingly twerked on Drake at the 2011 Grammys, Ms. Robyn Fenty herself failed her.

“Fetus deletus that bitch! Fuck them kids !” She brings herself eye-level to Katara’s stomach. “Read the womb, bitch!”

“Did you just call my unborn baby a bitch?” Katara’s eyes are bleary from the smell of vomit and her future going down the drain.

“You should’ve kept that bitch-baby in the drafts,” Toph sweeps the stray hairs from Katara’s watery eyes. “My cousin saved up for her abortion by running a pyramid scheme. I can get you her number.”

Katara wanted to die. “I think I’m just going to crawl in this toilet and die. Call my brother if I don’t get flushed down all the way.”

“Again, I’m just a Walmart employee,” Toph snickers, helping the girl up. She’s rarely left her side since then. Their friendship just works, a pair of fuckups. The girl with the accident baby, and the Walmart security guard trying to figure out her own shit after running away from home.

“I should’ve been there!” Zuko reminds, tone heavy with betrayal.

Katara remembered the few moments before he boarded the plane to Republic City. She wanted to be selfish. She wanted to tell him to not get on the flight, to keep holding her like he did at the entrance of the gate. She had a kiss ready on her lips that he wasn’t ready to give, backing away when their faces were too close, when she was too close. He just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving with regrets.

“I should’ve been there holding your hand, letting you call me names, and fighting nurses if they breathed too close to this precious angel,” Yue holds his pinky with her little fingers, almost as though it was a natural reaction. His heart simply seizes up at the gesture, and he holds her tighter to his body. She was wailing after waking from her nap, colic crackling her throat for the last three months and causing her middle of the night wakeups to be painful and frequent. But with Zuko, she’s all calm and perfect and polite and beautiful and angelic.

“Didn’t know you liked kids this much,” Katara shrugs. She leans in, and Zuko throws his free arm around her.

“I’ll have you know I am the resident expert in telling children’s stories,” Zuko insists.

“Like?” Katara quirks up her brow.

“Like Rumpleforeskin, the mythical man who can weave majestic golden fleece from the ends of his pubic hair.”

She smacks him upside the head. “You’re disgusting .” She curls in deeper into his embrace. He had that twinkle in his eye that could mean he was going to masturbate to this moment in the shower later, or he was in love. It renders her breathless every time

She hopes when he looks at her he doesn’t see the eye bags, or the titty milk leaking everywhere, or the permanent crease in her brow. She hopes he could still see her, underneath it all. When she was just Katara .

“I guess, not telling you was just my way of keeping our dream alive.” She pauses, stroking Yue’s barely there hair. “I keep thinking that one day I could find the time to go to Republic City, and I don’t know. Get a chance to just be me .”

“Do you regret it?” Zuko’s rubbing circles into her back until she gets sleepy and her heart feels too full.

“I don’t know.” She tries, quiet, almost ashamed. “I don’t know.”

At 21, Katara feels like she’s at the top of the world.

Not only did she get promoted from girl wearing a dumpling costume outside handing out 15% off coupons that only worked if you left a Yelp review, to a server in a shitty dim sum restaurant, she was also accepted in the culinary program at the local university. It wasn’t Republic City per say, but Yue could attend the nearby preschool and go to the university-run childcare program afterwards while Katara was working.

She even got a hold of Jet, who refused to disclose his location or job. But judging by the copious child support mandated by some judge who hated men as much as Katara did, he was doing well. He sometimes Venmos Katara a few extra dollars on Yue’s birthdays.

Sokka and Hakoda, while hesitant to the little girl’s presence early on, spoil her absolutely rotten. When they think Katara’s passed out after her 14 hour days, they’re red in the face, screaming at Zuko over the phone about who was going to get Yue the Peppa Pig Playhouse (complete with flashing lights) she always talks about.

Hakoda even tries at therapy, wanting to be there for the apple of his eye. Sometimes, Katara’s hurt he never tried for her, tried in her childhood. She’s happy for him, nonetheless.

(Mostly) everything was working out.

“How are both my girls doing?” Zuko would always sing-song during his nightly Facetime calls. Yue would scream and snatch the phone from Katara’s hands, delighted at the sound of her one and only Uncle Zuzu. He’s an extravagant gift giver, regularly sending Yue glittery Hello Kitty and Wonder Woman backpacks. He even buys her a whole iPad for her fourth birthday, already coming with child safe settings on and YouTube loaded with her favorites (namely, Barbie: Fairytopia ). He’s guilty he couldn’t come home, but then again, he rarely ever did. Too consumed with work, grad school applications.

Katara can’t help but feel her heart pulse the slightest bit faster during those calls, even if she shuts it down as quickly as it comes.

He’s so good to her .

She used to cherish those moments he used to tell her secrets, dreams, everything in those hours early in the morning before high school would start. With approximately 3,209 miles between the two of them, she wakes up to texts instead.

Zuko: I dreamed that I was being held at gunpoint by one of those thicc caterpillars from A Bug’s Life , and if I didn’t finish the MCAT in approximately 20 minutes, they would shoot me in the face. The dump truck ass of those ants were the bullets

Katara: Please block my number

Zuko: No. <3

He’s all gentle smiles and eyes squeezing into little half moons just like Yue’s after he plays a game of Facetime patty cake and messes up on the beat just to hear the little girl laugh.

The next month, Zuko had decided enough was enough . He missed his girl.

His hospital, for the first time in a year, was letting him have the weekend off. So he books Katara a ticket straight away, because he thinks he’s going to die if he has to be around people who don’t know who Megan Thee Stallion is.

“Boys only speak two languages. English and emotional manipulation,” Toph reprimands, hugging Katara so tight she could barely get in a word. “Please remember that.”

It was her first time leaving her hometown in her life, her first time on an airplane for God’s sake. She’s jittery though, the cushioned seats Toph somehow upgraded her ticket to (after covertly whispering with the gate attendant) doing nothing to alleviate her nerves.

When she jumps in his arms in baggage claim, he breathes in deep. Her hugs have always warmed his insides, and he didn’t realize how much he craved it until he was greedy, pressing into her and refusing to let go despite her many protests.

“Come here often?” he mumbles, smiling into her shoulder.

Her cheeks grew hot at his touch. “Occasionally.” She whispers back.

He decided there and then in front of Gate 3 they needed to make up for lost time as quickly as possible.

The college party is entirely too sticky, entirely too messy for a proper (extremely) late 21st birthday celebration. Her crop top and big earrings and glittery eyeshadow and endless curves has Zuko wondering how much he’s missed in the last few years. When she hugs him close to her and screams out Nicki Minaj lyrics, he doesn’t remember her being so soft and even prettier. Beautiful. Breathtaking, knocking the wind out his lungs if she as so much blinked.

She looks like any 21 year old, without a care in the world, just figuring out their life. He wonders what this version of Zuko and Katara was.

Maybe they got to go to Republic City together. Maybe they work in the same building, and are just letting steam off from work. Maybe they loved each other. It was dangerous though. He feels as though she’s caging him in, that grip on his heart sparking up again without his permission. Her fake lashes he saw her glue on in the airport bathroom flutter about, hands coming up to accentuate her words every time she tries to scream something in his ear over the pulsating music. He just grips her waist harder between his hands, holding her tight.

In a perfect world, all she saw was him. She wishes it was him. She sometimes thinks she sees Zuko’s eyes in Yue. She sees his smile. She sees his heart.

While they’d spent the entire night stumbling through the city, his girlfriend was home. Barefoot, pregnant. Looking like the cover of some women’s lifestyle magazine, stray curls escaping her bun to frame her face in all its angelic glory. Glowy and flawless and every bit beautiful. Different from the girl Katara caught crying in the kitchen. “You can hate me all you want, you can talk shit about me all you want. But I love him,” Jin insists. “I’m his girlfriend , for fuck’s sake.

Katara has to stop herself from recoiling. She had a specific vision of their future. One that included doing taxes together and matching sweaters and teaching him her new macaroon recipe and Yue balanced on his lap.

But one look at Jin, and it becomes glaringly obvious how little she fit in with his new life.

“I don’t hate you, Jin.” It’s every bit sincere, but the girl doesn’t look convinced.

Jin rolls her eyes. A pointed look freezing Katara in her place.

“Ok, I might’ve complained once or twice about your VSCO filter choice.”

“Yeah, Zuko sent a screenshot of your texts to me instead of you by accident.”

“God, you know he always fucking does that? To be fair though, M05 is too orange and is not a good look on anyone. You can do better, I know you can.” The two girls laugh. It was devoid of any genuine emotion, just meant as an attempt to fill the empty space between them. “If I had known. Fuck, if I had just known, I’m sorry, Jin.” She had no idea Zuko had a kid on the way, that they were still living together and determined to co-parent while their relationship was in a weird limbo. If she was Jin, she would’ve kicked someone’s pussy and made a scene and set something on fire. But Jin wasn’t that type of girl. Jin was soft and pretty and looked like she smelled like an interior designer's perfectly bleached asshole.

“Do you love him?” Jin seemed to shrink into herself, small enough Katara might miss her in a blink of an eye.

Katara couldn’t quite decipher the meaning behind the question. She thinks she’s too scared to.

Katara doesn’t know how to respond. She didn’t trust herself to speak. This Zuko wasn’t the Zuko she knew. She loved the Zuko who would steal people’s Netflix passwords off of 4chan, and cosplay as Todoroki at Anime Con to make a few bucks. Not the one who can afford sky rises in the big city.

He didn’t even tell her that his big internship in the city was for his father’s hospital, and he was next in line to running it. “You’re a lawyer with health insurance and your own Netflix account! You’re good for him, Jin.” Katara falters the slightest. “I just want to see Zuko happy.”

“Me too.” Jin says quietly.

“Whatever, fuck Zuko !” She tries at extending the olive branch. “I can’t believe you’re preggers!” She puts a gentle hand on Jin's belly, and her vagina immediately winces. “You know, your vag will never look the same, and you might grow a third boob in your armpit.”

“You’re lying .”

“Yeah, a lump of breast milk can form there, too!” Katara is about to scroll to the photo in her phone when Jin laughter breaks through the night.

“I hope your dick gets bitten off mid-blowjob!” She whisper-screams, struggling with her suitcase until it smacks all at nearly every corner and edge. She was just making noise for the sake of making noise, but it made her feel better.

He didn’t expect waking up to a charge on his card for a flight booked in the last ten minutes, or Katara shoving his good mixer in her suitcase.

“You hate it don’t you?” He always loved it when Katara went into Hulk mode anytime a bully dared test her protective nature. While it was never entirely directed at him, he now understands exactly why Chan peed his pants. Katara was terrifying .

“What?” Zuko’s confused, rubbing an eye booger away.

“You loved it when I’m crying over Jet, crying over something, fucking something up in my life. Being mad at the world. You hate that I’m better, and making something of myself now!” She’s angry and grasping at straws.

Zuko furrows his brows, not sure where to progress from here. “Ok, run that by me again?”

The air vanishes when her stare cools over to absolutely icy. “There’s nothing else I can give. So what the fuck do you want from me?”

He laughs, all hollow and almost mocking . “You know, I was afraid of you coming here.” He lies.

She stops in her tracks. “What the hell do you mean?”

“I thought...I thought you wouldn’t get this new me, because it’s different!” He protests. “See, this is exactly the reason why! You’re mad I can afford real Gucci !”

Katara recoils, looking embarrassed for him. God, were men so fucking stupid, and so proud of it, too. “Are you fucking serious.”

Zuko’s frustrated, running his hands through his hair. “What the fuck are we doing, Katara?”

“You tell me!” She demands. “I’m not that kind of girl, Zuko! I’m not that kind of girl that is going to break up a fucking engagement, or whatever the fuck you weirdos are doing!”

He throws up his hands. “I’m not happy! We’re not happy.”

“What? You think now that you’ve sold your soul to your piece of shit dad and you can buy jewelry that won’t turn your fingers green that I’m going to fuck you?”

“No! I’m not saying that—”

Katara scoffs. “Then what the fuck are you saying? Grow up, Zuko. Grow the fuck up and just leave me the fuck alone .”

“You’re still Katara.” He throws his hands up in the air, trying to stop her. Even if he felt like his entire world was falling apart, there was one thing he would always be certain about. “I’m still Zuko. The same Zuko who loves you .”

Katara turns her head, not willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her upset. “The thing is, this isn’t you, Zuko.” Katara says with finality. “It isn’t you .”

When she gets home, she spots it right away. On their dining table, white paper folded neatly, Yue was the type of little girl who looked to both sides of the street before crossing, repeating it two more times to be safe. She always took extra care to make everything even, never a wrinkle in sight on her homework.

The Crayola family portrait that brought to life everything she’d imagined and more. Katara doesn’t have the heart to look for longer than a second.

At 27, Katara’s pretending that it’s the happiest day of her life.

She didn’t think he would listen to her, you know, men rarely did anything right. Zuko, though, heeds her warning and only calls exactly two hours before Yue’s bedtime like clockwork. There weren’t any surprise texts to wake up to anymore, no more evidence of Zuko in her life. She doesn’t even find out about Jin’s affair with one of those Axe commercial guys until months later.

When she goes to unblock his number and text him, to try and talk to him, she gasps. She sees those grey iMessage bubbles, and she’s ashamed her heart splutters, awakening a feeling she thought she’s dampened. She puts her phone down for milliseconds, before checking it again and again and again. She finally threw the damn thing across the room when a week passed.

She thinks it’s for the better, especially when she was sure she finally got things right with Jet.

“ We’ll make this shit work together.” Jet reassures, gathering her close to him she could see every little detail of him. “Like Kanye said, ‘you’re a MILF, and I’m a mother-fucker.”

She covers her ears, pushing him into the restaurant’s glass door. “No thank you. No more non consensual reciting of Kanye verses.”

“Yeezy, breezy, beautiful, baby. Get into it.” Jet winks, and Katara feels herself gagging again.

Then again, Katara always had a thing for stupid. And for three easy payments of $Penis.99, he had an all access experience to her pussy and her trauma.

“And he bought me those carrot cake cupcakes I always look at when we go to the supermarket but I never want to chance it because it could have raisins instead of nuts and I think I hate raisins more than I hate white men named Nathaniel.”

Toph jabs Katara in the forehead. “Wow, he spared $5 on some dry pastries, and your pussy was suddenly screaming pick me, pick me !”

“They were gluten free, too,” she points out. “Plus, my pussy doesn’t scream!”

“Oh right, my bad! It whispers!”

“ Toph !”

“Last night I heard it go wash me! Wash me!”

It felt good with him, though. It felt good to see him help Yue with math homework, making dinner in their little kitchen, pressing kisses to her in the morning despite her breath smelling like Khloe Kardashian’s earring backing pussy. Someone to come home to.

“Piece of shit, I’ll fucking kill you!” She was punching him over and over again until her knuckles were ripped raw, sitting straight on his throat. Beating him stupid in the middle of her shift. He thought he could get away with it. With Katara now stuck in the kitchen as one of the head cooks, and the fact he had a reservation in one of the private rooms for him and his secretary to go over...numbers, he didn’t think much of it.

Too bad Toph was too invested, and had a friends-to-lovers storyline to live vicariously through.

“Scram, fuglies!” Toph screamed to other customers who had already started chanting “WorldStar!”

Katara lost her job, lost her mans, lost a section of her eyebrow because Toph accidentally tried helping and swung the wrong direction.

“Catch me outside, how ‘bout that!” She yelps triumphantly, despite the fact Katara was cradling her own bloodied face.

And here she was, about to lose her best friend, too.

She accidentally Facetimed his old number, and spent the last hour mulling over her feelings with an executive of a porn studio who picked up mid-shoot. “Just tell him you love him!” The balding man is exhausted.

“What do I even say? Do I tell him, ‘I think I’ve always loved you?’ Is that too cheesy? You know that feeling when your heart just—Oh my fucking god! Is that Sandy Cheeks from Spongebob ?!” She screams, slamming her hands over her eyes. The squirrel’s melons-for-tits would never be erased from her memory.

He only has fear in his eyes when he looks at her. “You didn’t see anything.” Robert bites out, promptly hanging up.

In her post-Jet purge, she realized she wasn’t the type of ex dead set on destroying his things. After all, she was selling his light-up keyboard to pay for Toph’s birthday boob job. Her residual anger was instead, spent hacking away at the drawer he always kept locked. Until she found it.

A letter from him.

“ I’ve always been afraid that our friendship would’ve spilled over until all I could do is categorize it with four simple letters .” Katara whispers, eyes frantically scanning the paper. “And I’m done being afraid .”

“The four letters he’s talking about is D-U-M-B B-I-C-T-H . Dumb bitch. The ‘bitch’ is silent.” Toph insists. “I can’t believe you let a balding bum, whose credit score tanked because he invested his entire savings in Shake Weight Milkshake making machines, knock you up instead of Zuko.”

“It was innovative at the time,” she whispers.

“Fill the void in your heart, not your pussy.”

She's whipping out her shitty MacBook Air, and praying his email still worked. But when she calls all she sees is her.

“You told me to come to Republic City and find him!” Mai exclaims, holding up her hand where a big ring blinding the fuck out of her.

She feels her heart crumble at the same time she crushes the letter in her hand.

“I did do that, didn’t I?” Katara winces. The time the model stopped by in their hometown, Katara was still happy and getting her pussy pounded regularly and let that shit get to her head. She thought it would be a blessing in disguise, and wanted to help Zuko out, too.

"Fuck."

Their wedding looked ripped out of a 2014 Basic Bitch Pinterest board, and she’s definitely sure she couldn’t be happier.

“Why is her name spelled like ‘Mai’ and pronounced ‘May?’ Like, shouldn’t it be spelled like ‘Mei?’”

“Katara, you’re just being a bitch,” Toph reminds while Katara stares at the sign with their wedding hashtag in front of the photobooth with all the ‘YOLO’ signs and 2013 mustaches.

“I am well aware!” She asserts, chin jutting out.

Mai’s New York Fashion Week ready body was gorgeous, perfect in Zuko’s hold.

Katara wished life was like a rom-com. Where she could burst through the doors, declare her love, piss on him in her ugly, big bridesmaid dress and mark her territory once and for all.

But life wasn’t a movie. Life was just this shitty piece of dumpster fire shit and was always fucking her over like the Target self-checkout line camera.

What could she do? Deliver some long-winded speech about how she would go to realign the stars in the heavens if it meant a chance to rewrite their fate? That she hoped she visits his dreams before his mind could settle into reality, the same way he visited hers and overstayed his welcome every single time? Make everyone uncomfortable and wonder if they boned?

Then again, she was never going to be the one to block her best friend’s blessings. Not on the happiest day of his life.

“I think this is the happiest day of my life.” Katara says seamlessly.

Zuko sees it though, sees right through her and has to stop himself from reaching out to her.

“It wasn’t ever easy being Zuko’s best friend. I mean look at him now, getting married to someone perfect . He’s not even in the same ballpark, league, or hell, stadium porta potty as her!”

Zuko ducks his head with a brief pout that breaks Katara’s heart. Everyone laughs in spite of him, until he joins in, too. “You know, it’s easy to pretend that finding love is easy. You could find love in all the little things in your life. All the people, all the details. It’s easy to say you always, completely, truly love someone. Because that’s what we want love to be, right? At the surface, sure.” She folds the flimsy paper she had on hand, nothing was written on it anyways. “You want it to be perfect.”

“But the love everyone works so hard to get, is the love that’s hard . It’s the love that isn’t safe. The love that challenges, excites you, the love that will never have limits. The love that’s messy and beautiful all at the same time.” She looks at him, truly looks at him for the first time in years and all she could do was smile.

“It’s easy to find love, but it’s near impossible to find a soulmate.” She raises her glass. “Join me in a toast to the bride and groom. I wish you a lifetime of happiness.”

And while everyone is gathered out on the dance floor, she’s sobbing pathetically and smearing the winged eyeliner she worked so hard to perfect on the car ride there. Trying to stop any of the pain from consuming her.

She’s out on the rooftop of the venue, the cold air whipping her face as she tries lighting up a blunt.

“Are you getting high at my wedding !” Zuko is incredulous, and shocks Katara enough to drop the joint off the roof.

“On all things Fenty Beauty, bitch what the fuck?” Katara wipes the tears from the corner of her eyes.

“The flower girl wanted to see her mommy.” But Katara sees right through Yue’s little act. Pretending to sleep so she could be held by Zuko (me too, girl. Me too).

It felt dangerous, the way she could toy with his heart, his own personal defibrillator shocking it back to life. She’s pretty even with red-rimmed eyes, with the fake smiles he knew was trying to appease him to leave her alone. If anything, all it does is make him want to kiss her until her troubles are gone.

He wanted to do a lot of things at that moment. He wanted to feel the warmth of her skin, tell her that above all else, he missed his girl the most. But, he had everything on his plate and then some.

“The chicken was dry as fuck.” He blurts, wiping the sweat from his face. Only Katara could send him back a few decades. “I wish you could’ve catered it.”

“Yeah?” She laughs and wants to call him out for stalking her company’s Facebook page. “Remember you tried my new recipe and you vomited all over the front row at your fourth ever Hello Zuko performance?” She misses his messy hair, when he didn’t look so clean cut and rich bitchy.

“I didn’t know you weren’t done cooking it!”

She shoves his head, and he joins her, dangling his feet precariously off the roof.

When she’s here with him, when he has her in his hold for the first time in years, he sees his whole life with just a glimpse in her eyes. And all he wants to do is build a machine and reverse all the time that’s passed them by.

“I made a mistake.” Zuko breathes out, eyes nervously darting around.

As sure as he was that Nicki Minaj deserved a Grammy, he was sure he loved her.

“W-What?” Katara blinks at him.

“I made a mistake, Katara.” He laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck, carding his hand through his hair. Looking every bit devastatingly handsome. “I realized something. After the speech, after just, everything.”

“I realized I just can’t have my cake and eat it, too.”

Just like that, just with the way he built her up, it comes tumbling down.

“So what are you saying?” Her heart was on the verge of cracking in half and he didn’t even know it. Because all he could pin her with a look she couldn’t read, and she thinks if he was a smarter man he would’ve at least pretended that it hurt him to hurt her.

But it did.

It broke him, ripped him in half to see her face turn to steel right before his eyes.

“What I’m saying is, after all these years.” He doesn’t have it in him to face her. “I think I have to finally let you go, Katara.”

#Zutara #Zuko #Katara #Zutara Week #atla #zutara fanfiction #avatar the last airbender #zutara week 2020

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maryellencarter · 4 years ago

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Queer asks copied from @corelliaxdreaming :

1. Is your family accepting? -- Hah. No. My bio-family is not accepting at allllll, so I went and got myself an internet family instead.

2. What is your sexuality? -- Weird. The strongest part of my identity is Aromantic. I seem to be pretty much allosexual, maybe bisexual; most of the people I find myself attracted to are men within a fairly specific category (physically fit to muscular, at least as competent as me, kind, and often a bit dorky; I also have a weakness for clever hands and sexy voices), but the women I'm attracted to cover a much broader range of appearances and personalities. I fall pretty much in the category of the one Tumblr post that said something like "Being bisexual means you're attracted to three specific fictional men and all women", even though the attraction to men... feels... more attraction-y? I'm still really struggling to figure that difference out.

3. What is your gender identity? -- Sort of genderfluid, sort of genderqueer, sort of maybe agnostically agender? I used to ID really strongly as a trans man, and then after a year or so of being accepted, I found myself turning female. I bounced back and forth for a lot of years but seem to have settled down at a point where it doesn't especially matter to me most of the time. Which is a lot more comfortable than hurtling around to different points on the gender spectrum without warning.

4. Favorite color? -- Blue. Royal blue, mostly. That really deep sky blue you get sometimes during the fall. A bunch of really bright colors.

5. When did you find out your sexuality? -- Oh, it's been a process. For a long time I identified as asexual. It took me years to figure out I was actually romance-repulsed, and more years to figure out I had any attraction to women. I'm still sort of confused by that part. Like I mostly just want to look at them being pretty, but I also definitely want to look at their boobs? Maybe touch some boobs? I'm honestly not sure.

6. What do you wish you could tell your past self? -- Oh lord. Sexuality and gender wise? I'm not sure young me could have been hurried along the process of self discovery. I'd really like to tell her she was being abused and gaslighted and that she needed to take her great-aunt's offer of a free ride and major in geology *before* she broke her health, and maybe also tell her she needed a CPAP machine, but she might just think I was a temptation of the Devil. Also I'm not sure if the CPAP machine was an option before Obamacare. Or the psych meds she needed, either.

7. Have you changed labels since realizing you were queer? -- Oh yeah, all over the place. Asexual, trans, genderqueer, biromantic (for about a week), aromantic allosexual bisexual maybe pansexual... some people apparently even count PCOS as an intersex condition, since I have a lot more beard and chest hair than is normal for perisex women, to the point that I always have to explain to a new doctor that I'm not in fact on testosterone, my body just does that. I've never quite felt right claiming the intersex label, but I've tried on a lot of others. I think my header may still say "queer on every conceivable axis".

8. How was your day? -- Um. I got stuck wandering Cracked.com for most of it. Then I drove up to check out my pulmonologist's office, which doesn't *say* they're closed for the pandemic, so I guess I'll go up again on Thursday and poke them about whether my appointment still exists. Then I went and wandered around a very large very dead mall on that side of town, hatched a bunch of pokeymans, then came home and ate some split pea soup.

9. Do you have any queer friends irl? -- I don't have *any* friends irl, and it's kicking my ass. I have like one or two coworkers I could hypothetically hang out with outside of work if we weren't so all-fired busy. But if we're talking "friends I have seen irl at some point", I'm pretty sure they're all queer. They might also be limited to @tigerkat24 and one other person who doesn't use Tumblr, I'm not sure.

10. What's your favorite hobby? -- Probably knitting. It's soft and squishy and brightly colored, and it can be as brainless or as complex as I could possibly want.

11. Who's the best queer icon in your opinion? -- I honestly don't have an opinion. I've always been too far outside the community to figure out whomst the options were.

12. Which pride flags do you like the most design / color wise? -- Pansexual. I'd probably have a lot more pride merch if I IDed as pan, but it just never feels like it fits quite right.

13. Do you wish you could change any pride flags? -- YES. The aro flag is the exact same colors as the agender flag, just in a different arrangement, and it pisses me off because you can't distinguish aro merch from agender merch unless it's specifically flag shaped / has the stripe arrangement. I liked the yellow/orange/green/black aro flag, I found it much more cheerful, but apparently it was too similar to something Rastafarian. But you can't find alloaro flag merch at *all*, even though it has the green and yellow, which I like.

14. Are you openly out? -- Can't really help it, since I legally changed my name to a distinctively masculine one back in the day, and I do not remotely pass as male. So anybody who both sees or hears me and knows my legal name, knows there's *something* queerish going on. (I go by a gender neutral name these days, but haven't yet been arsed to change it legally because it's an entire hassle and a half.)

15. Are you comfortable with yourself? -- Mneh. I'm not *un*comfortable with my gender and sexuality, particularly. Sometimes I wish I could pass as male, sometimes I wish I could have cute cleavage. Sometimes I tie myself in knots with my feelings about women.

16. Do you experience dysphoria? -- I used to, very strongly. It hasn't been very aggressive lately.

17. Bottom, top, or verse? -- *shrugs* I guess I'd be a switch or "verse" because I'm down for whatever.

18. Are you femme, butch, or neither? -- I swing wildly between wishing to present Extremely Butch in a lumberjack style, which is impractical in the Southwest, or wishing to present Extremely Femme but being unable to do so, and tying myself in knots over the inability. (I can't wear femmey shoes due to my stupid feet, I can't have pierced ears as they get infected and the one pair of nice lightweight handcrafted earrings I paid $50 for is gone with the rest of my shit, I'm too lorge to find any nice dresses or be able to like try on prom dresses and stuff, I have a tendency to break jewelry as I'm extremely rough on my possessions... etc.) In practice my gender presentation is Fat Slob. :P

19. Do you bind? -- Not technically, but I do wear cheap sports bras which tend to flatten rather than lift or shape.

20. Do you shave? -- Only by necessity. I shave my face when I remember, because my beard looks extremely douchey and rather like pubes. Occasionally I shave my cleavage if I'm trying to present femmey. I pretty much never shave anything else unless the hair is getting Smelly.

21. If you could date anyone you wanted, who would it be? -- Um. Good question. The thing is, I am fairly strongly romance-repulsed, but I do want and enjoy queerplatonic relationships, so I would draw a distinction here between "dating" someone and being "in a relationship" with them.

22. Are you in a relationship? -- Yes, in fact.

23. Describe your partner. -- @camshaft22 . Um. She's very much the Hobbie to my Wes. She's very snarky and dies a lot and I love her very much.

24. Have you ever dated anyone of the same gender? -- Given that we're both genderfluid, I would say I'm in a relationship with someone of the same gender, yes.

25. Dated anyone of another gender? -- I've never dated or been in a relationship with anyone else, so I guess the answer is no.

26. Tell me a random fact about yourself! -- I always use this one, but I once lived in four different states (mostly non-contiguous) within a calendar month.

27. Do you own any pride flags / merch? -- No. I used to have a whole-ass collection that I added to every Pride, and then I lost all my damn shit and haven't had the heart to start looking again. Well, I have a rainbow necklace Kat sent me which is pretty nice. Can't wear it till my damn sunburn heals, though. :P

28. Have you ever been to a pride parade? -- Yes, when I lived in Bisbee. They have quite an excellent Pride which draws people from as far off as Denver.

29. Any advice to someone who isn't out or is exploring themselves? -- Take your time. It's okay if things change. You don't have to solve yourself all at once. It's more important to find people who will accept whoever you turn out to be.

30. Pineapple on pizza? -- I've honestly never tried it. Part of me feels like I should, in order to develop an opinion, and part of me feels like I'm just as happy being outside of that particular debate.

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behittinemblunt · 1 month ago

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Oh yea, forgot to post this yesterday. Nahh, not much, I just feel like shading something. I love shading em pearls sm<3

#no thoughts head empty #this hurt my finger #taking a break from drawing extremely muscular men #small canvas

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wylanvnneck · 4 years ago

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Age Rating: T for Troglodyte

Summary: Hunger Games modern day AU, Peeta is a policeman and Katniss just broke the law. Kinda. Whoops. 'Tis a oneshot.

(Also, mentions of nudity in relation to streaking, so if you’re not comfortable with that kinda stuff this isn’t the fic for you.)

On AO3 | Can you spot all the references?

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

It was all Johanna’s fault. Against Johanna Mason and alcohol, I never stood a chance.

‘District 12’ was a pretty popular nightclub, famous for its signature drink ‘The Nightlock’, so that’s where Johanna, Madge and I had decided to take Annie for her Bachelorette party, she’d just wanted a small get together with ‘The Girls’ so there we were.

The night began when we all met up at Annie’s apartment to get ready together and ‘pre-drink’, ‘cus there was no way in hell we could afford to buy that many drinks at such a fancy place. We dress up, do each other’s makeup, paint our nails, exchange gossip, tease Annie about her upcoming marriage and take lots and lots of shots in between.

By the time we head out to walk the few blocks to the nearby club we’re decked in the sexiest clothes we own, which for me equates to a little black dress with a lacy feather design on the back that Jo’d forced me to buy on a rare trip to H&M, which apparently made my bod look fab, her words not mine. Madge has gone crazy with the makeup on my face, with black wing tip eyeshadow to match the dress.

She herself is looking elegant as usual in her midnight blue catsuit and heels, while Jo is in a dangerous looking pair of black fishnet tights and a leather top that threatened to slip off and reveal its secrets at any minute. Annie is in her skirt and top, rocking a shiny pair of silver stilettos which for me would have spelt out ‘death trap’, but she pulls it off.

The club is loud and noisy, strobe lights switching colours every few moments, dizzying my senses. While I’m still recovering Jo’s grabbed us all by the hands and dragged us to the bar, even though we’re all pretty tipsy already. Looks like I’m getting smashed tonight, but hey, what better occasion to get drunk at than your best friend’s bachelorette party?

We order our drinks from the hot brown eyed bartender, who’s smoothly mixing beverages and flirting with us as he prepares our drinks, cocktails for Madge and Annie, a Nightlock for me and a Jack and Coke for Johanna.

Annie is blushing and I’m surprised that Annie even recognizes flirting at this point, she and her groom-to-be Finnick having been attached at the hip since freshman year in high school.

Madge is more receptive but we all know that she’s irrevocably devoted to my childhood best friend Gale and that she’d never go further than casual flirting. Johanna of course has no such qualms as she shamelessly responds, with me as an unwilling witness as she chats the guy up and I impatiently wait for my Nightlock.

It’s worth the wait though, the dusky blue liquid is enticing, drawing you in like a sweet poison. This was definitely worth the long queue at the entrance and the rather steep pricing.

Now that I’ve sufficiently imbibed in enough alcohol I’m feeling brave enough to hit the dance floor with my friends and Madge, Annie and I leave Johanna to her conquest and find our way to the middle of the room where the space is packed with sweaty, writhing bodies.

I’m not much of a dancer, but the Nightlock seems to have taken effect and I’m filled with a delightful buzzing sensation so I just give myself up to the music, following along to the seductive rhythm.

My surroundings blur, as people dance around us, couples play tonsil hockey, my friends and I do the macarena and bump hips and I barely notice when Jo returns after having secured brown eyes’ phone number and carrying a fresh supply of drinks.

I’m feeling adrenalized and the buzzing sensation increases with this next round and we’re laughing and panting and the music drowns out everything and the lights are shining and it’s the most exhilarated I’ve felt in a while, considering how run down I am each day after my college classes and part time job at the clinic.

For tonight, I’m just Katniss Everdeen, a free unrestrained rebel.

Hours pass and it’s 2.00 am and we’re staggering out the door, blurry-eyed and red faced. The deserted sidewalk is so pretty and black. The trees are so brilliantly green. Trees. Lights. Life.

I’m definitely hammered.

The rest of the girls don’t seem too sober either, but I’m the biggest lightweight out of all of us so it’s no surprise that I’m so far gone.

We’re giggling and talking and I hear Annie start up a game of Truth or Dare. It’s a teenager’s game but who cares and besides, it’s her night.

Madge starts us off. “Alright Bridesy, Truth or Dare?”

“Truth.”

“Ok, what’s your least favorite thing about Finnick?”

She contemplates this for a while before replying, “I suppose he can be a little too proud of his looks,” she blushes.

The rest of us let out a collective snort. It’s certainly true that Finnick could be more than a little vain, but it was also true that being around Annie made him less so. Besides, when he wasn’t busy preening his blond hair in front of a mirror he was a pretty intelligent and loyal friend.

“I’ll say,” Jo smirks. “Now, ask me one, a Dare.”

Annie dares her to give a 3 minute lecture on safe sex, which ends up with us guffawing as Jo proceeds to explain the science of birth control pills and the mechanics of a condom in a posh British voice that sounds vaguely Australian.

When she’s done and we’ve finally recovered our breath she turns to me, “Alright brainless, Truth or Dare?”

Her black eyes are challenging me, and the alcohol makes me stupid.

“Dare.”

It’s a testament to how drunk I am that I don’t immediately panic at the devilish gleam in her eyes. We’ve made it about 2 blocks from the club and we’ve still got a few more to go to get back to Annie’s apartment where we’re all spending the night. The streets are mostly deserted but the occasional car cruises along.

“Alright Kitkat, here’s what you gotta do. I dare you to streak around this block.”

At first, my alcohol hazed brain doesn’t comprehend what she’s saying. And then it hits me. Annie and Madge are doubled over with laughter and cheering, the traitors.

My cheeks are red, “You want me to...to strip and run around this entire block?” I ask, just to make sure.

“Yup,” the she-devil responds. “Come on, Everdeen, live a little.”

Easy for her to say, she’d done this millions of times, the worst that had happened was that she’d gotten off with just a warning from a mall security officer that she’d managed to charm. I, on the other hand, have always been extremely private about my body, not that I thought there was anything wrong with it but I preferred not to flaunt it. The dress I was wearing tonight is the most daring clothing I own.

However, tonight, I’m feeling daring. Or stupid. Probably very stupid. But it’s 2.15 in the morning, the streets are practically deserted, no pedestrians are around to see me other than my friends. And after all tonight I had been letting go, throwing off my constraints. Besides, when I’m 80 these’ll be the stories I tell my grandkids, right?

Well if I’m drunk enough to think about being 80 and having grandkids, plural, I’m drunk enough to run around a block naked.

So I do it. I take a quick glance at our surroundings to make sure no one’s around before I reach down and peel off my dress, while my treacherous friends let out ridiculous wolf whistles. I hand the black garment to Madge along with my black boots. The chilly night air hits my body and goosebumps erupt on my skin, pale in the dimly lit street lights as I cover my chest with my arms. I feel the blood rushing to my face.

“Well?” Jo raises an eyebrow at me, as if to say go on then, do it .

I take a deep breath and break off into a run. I feel as swift as lightning. I’m unstoppable. I’m running around the streets of the city in my lacy underwear and no bra as my dress was backless. I’m practically as naked as the day I was born as I race along the sidewalk and I’m burning up and I feel like a girl on fire.

I quickly circle the short distance and I’m just about to make it back to where my friends are standing, howling with amusement at the sight of me. The end is in sight.

And that’s when I hear it. The sound of a car approaching. Oh hell.

The situation gets ten times worse when I catch sight of the vehicle that’s just turned into the street. It’s a police patrol car.

Oh, the universe was a cruel, cruel place.

* * *

There’s no place to run and no place to hide in the open street. There’s no escape for me, the lone policeman behind the wheel knows it and I know it. So, heart pounding and with a sinking feeling in my chest I simply walk the rest of the way to my now silent group of friends and stretch my hand out for my dress while he stops the car by the pavement and steps out of it to approach me.

I manage to slip on my dress before resignedly turning around to face him, and when I do I’m struck speechless. In front of me is the most handsome policeman I’ve ever seen. Scratch that, one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen.

Ordinarily I’d be disgusted at myself for internally drooling so much over a cute guy, but this isn’t ordinary Katniss. So I stare to my heart’s content. His eyes are the first thing I notice, a stark blue, standing out in the dark early morning light. His ashy blonde hair falls in waves over his forehead, and his skin is pale. He also looks pretty muscular, no doubt as a result of regular training. Shoot me now.

I’m so absorbed in staring at him that I almost don’t notice what he’s saying, “Excuse me ma’am, I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you in for being drunk and disorderly.” He sounds almost apologetic, despite his formal tone and his cheeks are tinged slightly red but that’s probably nothing compared to the embarrassed blush on my face.

“Don’t worry Katniss, I’ll call Gale, he’ll know what to do,” I hear Madge squeak from the side while Officer Blue Eyes attaches a pair of cuffs on me.

I turn my head and give her a quick nod before I’m gently ushered into the backseat of the patrol car. The drive is silent and I’m almost completely sober now. No more liquid courage for me, and I’m left feeling disoriented and anxious, starting to panic a little as I resolutely look outside the window as we drive to the station, unseeing of my surroundings.

“So, wild night, huh?” His voice is a slightly husky one. I could listen to it all day. And night. All day and night. Maybe I’m still a little intoxicated.

I let out a dry laugh that sounds rather high pitched, “You could say that.”

“I remember what that was like, you know, back when I wasn’t a cop yet. Highschool seems like a million years ago” He has an easy smile on his face that I can see from the rearview mirror.

“Doesn’t it. Although, I’ve never really been a huge party person. Tonight was an exception.” I wish I could cover my face with my cuffed hands.

I see him look at me through the mirror, blue eyes filled with sympathy. “Whoops, looks like it just wasn’t your night then.”

We’ve pulled up to the Police Station and he’s reversing the car into a parking spot around the back. “I guess not,’ I agree with a wry half-smile on my face.

I’m escorted into the building and it’s practically deserted, the sound of the ceiling fans working filling up the silence as two officers sit hunched around a desk examining a computer screen while sipping on what looks to be mugs of coffee.

Caffeine. I’m jealous.

Officer Blue Eyes exchanges a quick word with one of them and she simply waves back with her hand. He takes me to the back of the room through a short passage that leads to a holding cell, a small square room with barred walls through which I can peek at the corridor that leads to the main office we just walked through. There's a small bench attached to the wall, with a rolled up mat and a pillow on it where he indicates for me to sit. My hands are released from the cuffs and I rub at my wrists.

We haven’t spoken since we got out of the car, but now he says, “Alright then...ma’am, I’m gonna need to ask you some questions.”

“Hit me with it.” I slump against the wall. Might as well get comfy, this was gonna be a long night.

“Ok, well first off what’s your name?”

“Katniss Everdeen.”

“Age?”

“22”

“Are you in college?”

“Yep. But I don’t live within campus grounds.” I give him my address as well.

“Any part time jobs?”

“I’m a part time assistant at Paw Prints Veterinary Clinic.”

‘’Ok great, thank you,” he’s been writing my replies down on a plain spiral notepad. “Give me a minute, I’ll be right back.”

He turns and walks away and as he does a question pops, unbidden, out of my mouth, “Wait. What’s your name?” I’d been trying to read his name tag since we reached the cell but I couldn’t seem to make it out.

“Peeta. Peeta Mellark.” His smile is breathtaking.

I scrunch my eyes closed and let out a soft groan the moment he’s out of sight. Stupid, stupid Katniss. Why didn’t I just say no to that idiotic dare? Why did I drink so much? Why were cops allowed to be hot?

What was wrong with me?

My eyes are still closed and I’m leaning against the cell wall, contemplating my life decisions that had brought me to this moment, when I hear footsteps approaching.

Peeta was back and he was carrying what looked to be a steaming paper cup and a brown paper bag.

“Here, this should help with a hangover,” he hands me the cup through the bars. It’s steaming hot coffee and the aroma reminds me of Heaven.

I’m ravenous and thirsty and I gulp the brown liquid down, relishing the invigorating feeling despite the fact that I’ve almost certainly burnt my tongue.

When I look up again he’s leaning against the bars, watching me with those intense baby blue eyes. I would feel abashed by how impatiently I drank my coffee but I seemed to have reached my quota of embarrassment for the day. Probably even my quota for the year, forget a day.

“So Katniss, what’s gonna happen now is that you’ll be held here overnight until you’re sober and discharged tomorrow morning, most probably you’ll just be given an official warning as this looks to be your first offense.” His tone is calming and helps to slow my racing heartbeat. He’s still clutching that brown paper bag in his hand.

I nod slowly in response. That wasn’t too bad. I could live with just a few more hours in this claustrophobic space.

He hands me the bag. “Here, in case you’re hungry.”

I look at the bag and there seems to be something soft and circular inside. I think of that old cop cliché and I’m almost certain it’s a doughnut. Instead, it’s a soft looking bun and as I’m opening up the bag further the smell of...cheese? Reaches my nose. My stomach gives a low rumble. I really hope it wasn’t audible.

“It’s a uh...a cheese bun. I make them myself,” his voice sounds a little shy and my heart gives a lurch. Who was this man and why had I been deemed worthy of meeting him? Granted, not in the most ideal circumstances, but still.

“You bake?” The question comes out sounding almost accusatory. “I mean, you- you have the time to bake, you know, being a policeman?” and do it really well, judging from the scents wafting my way.

“My dad actually owns a bakery so he lets me come in after hours and do some baking. It’s surprisingly therapeutic after a hard day at work,” his lips quirk upwards on the left side.

“Wow. That’s...wow. The best that I can cook is a pretty mean mac and cheese,” I confess.

He lets out a soft laugh, “Well, that’s a very useful dish. You can go ahead and eat you know, don’t mind me.”

So I do. It’s delicious. The first bite melts me. It’s soft and salty and creamy and absolutely delectable. I involuntarily let out a long, low moan.

He’s looking at me with that quirked mouth and it almost looks like he’s smirking. “That good, huh?”

“Mhngmm” I garble out. I sound like a chipmunk with food in its mouth but I couldn’t care less.

I force myself to pace my eating this time and manage to intelligibly speak. “So you’re a policeman and a full time baker. Any other super powers?”

“Ah, no. I’m afraid not. Being a policeman doesn’t offer much downtime. I love it though, it’s a pretty fulfilling job.”

But perhaps enough downtime for a girlfriend? I’m tempted to ask, which is ridiculous. It’s none of my business if he's dating anyone. I’m just the drunken girl he’s arrested and taken pity on, enough pity to keep me company for the moment and even share the best baked treat I’ve had in my life with me.

But who cared what motivated him as long as he was here, right? So we talk and we talk and we talk, exchanging questions then jokes then stories. I tell him about my college classes and Environmental Science course and my part time job at the vet.

I tell him about the little girl with plaited blond hair who’d recently brought in an ill-tempered stray cat named Buttercup who for some reason had instantly hated me and proceeded to scratch me a grand total of 18 times.

He laughs and tells me about his little brother Rye and his first time making bread on his own, which ended up in a charred block of dough. He tells me about a recent case of his where this woman named Effie had sent threatening letters to the wrong lady, a distinguished corporate lawyer, rather than the Starbucks cashier that was actually her husband’s mistress and the hilarity that ensued after she found out.

The conversation is so easy and I’m enamoured by this man and the last thought to enter my head before he eventually gets called away and has to leave and I finally succumb to my alcohol induced mini-coma is of a pair of striking blue eyes.

* * *

A few hours later I wake up to the sunlight streaming through the bars of my cell. I’m groggy and my mouth is dry. My hair feels matted with sweat and the dark strands are probably still forming the remnants of a long gone fancy braid. My lacy black dress is wrinkled beyond saving.

“Morning!” Says a male voice that is entirely too chipper.

I blink a few times before I can finally focus on Peeta who’s standing in the now open doorway of my cell.

“Morning…” I reply, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

“So, you’re in luck Miss Everdeen, someone’s already come to take you home.”

“Katniss. You can call me Katniss.” I pause. “Wait, someone’s here for me? Must be Gale.”

“That’s the one...a Gale Hawthorne?”

“Oh thank god he’s here. I did not relish having to stay here any longer than I needed to.”

Peeta’s face looks more guarded than it had last night. Or rather, earlier this morning.

‘Yes, well, he’s here, so we can process you out.”

“Great.”

I’m taken to a desk at the front of the office where a middle-aged officer with lengthy dirty blonde hair sits behind the counter, looking bored with the world. He eyes me uninterestedly and as Peeta and I get closer I see that his name tag reads ‘Officer Abernathy’.

Officer Abernathy sluggishly carries out all the formalities and issues me an official warning. There's nothing for me to collect as the only thing I had with me when I was arrested were my clothes. It’d be a long time before I decided to take those off anywhere that wasn’t in the privacy of my apartment.

Peeta accompanies me to the entrance, he is strangely silent but he looks like he is thinking a million thoughts.

I can spot Gale’s Volvo in the parking lot from here, and I can see him walking up to the station entrance to come and get me.

“So, that’s your boyfriend I’m assuming?” Peeta finally speaks as we stand in the doorway waiting for him.

The idea shocks me, although it makes sense that he’d come to that conclusion. Madge used to think that Gale and I were an item too, but he’s always been more like my protective older brother rather than a lover.

“What? Gale? Ew no, that’d be like incest, it’d be almost illegal.”

He raises a lone eyebrow at me, smiling.

Right. I hadn’t exactly shown the greatest sense of distinguishment between what was legal and what was not. I blush in his presence yet again.

Gale comes up to us and his brown eyes are twinkling. “Well, Catnip, I gotta say, when Madge called and said one of you had gotten arrested I thought for sure it’d be Johanna. Guess I was wrong.”

I narrow my eyes at him, “Yes, well, Johanna’s got a worse punishment than getting arrested coming her way when I get my hands on her." I remember the officer standing next to me. “In the most innocent way of course.”

The quirked lip is back. I swear, for me, it was a weapon more lethal than the gun he carries in his holster. I blame that thought on the headache that I am currently dealing with.

‘Right..so uh, I guess this is it.” There’s a sinking feeling in my gut. I would probably never see Peeta Mellark ever again. Unless I decided to get arrested in this area again and hope to spend an hour or two in his company. The idea had merit. But no, I was already on my first official warning and I probably shouldn’t push the legal system.

I stick out my hand to him. He takes it and shakes it gently, his eyes seem to see inside me as they meet mine.

Almost reluctantly I turn away and start following Gale to his car.

“Hey, Katniss.” That husky voice suddenly calls out from behind me. “I’ll be picking you up at 8.00 tomorrow, just so you know. It’s a date."

I whirl around. He’s grinning and he’s got an annoyingly attractive cocky look on his face.

“Oh really? And how would you know where to pick me up from?”

He brings out his spiral bound notepad from his uniform pocket. “In here, remember?”

I flush yet again and this time I know that it’s definitely not the last time I’d be doing it in front of him. Oh no. If I had my way, this sweet, funny, intelligent and handsome officer and baker would be seeing that blush on my face for years to come.

“On one condition. There have to be cheese buns.”

“You got it,” he salutes me, beaming.

I’m walking on sunshine as I quicken my stride to catch up with Gale who’s already started up the car and as I do I hear a voice that sounds suspiciously like Officer Abernathy’s yelling from the station, “Good on you, sonny boy, you don’t see a girl like that everyday.”

* * *

A couple years later and I’m in a lacy dress once more, white this time, with the added accessory of a bouquet of Primroses. Next to me stands the man who arrested me all those years ago and won me over with a combination of his personality and his insanely good cheese buns. I like to tell him that it’s the buns that were really the deciding factor for me, but we both know that’s a lie.

He leans down and presses his lips to my ear as the photographer stops to reposition his camera.

“You know Katniss, you should have just walked up that aisle in your underwear, it’s my favourite look of yours.”

I glare at him. At least, I try to, but it’s hard with those blue eyes looking back at me.

“Keep up the jokes, mister, and you might not see that look again for a while,” I threaten him.

The smug look on his face is immediately wiped off.

* * *

I’m not yet 80, just a couple more years to go, but as I look at that familiar pair of periwinkle eyes gazing back at me with love in them, I feel like a young woman again. I turn back to the tiny toddlers playing on the ground in front of me.

Someday I’ll tell them, I’ll tell them the story of how their grandparents met. I’d tell them how Peeta likes to say that the only moral of the story is that you shouldn’t break the law, but I’d say that it was really that you probably shouldn’t play such a high stakes game of Truth or Dare, or simply ‘don’t accept stupid dares.’

And yet, when I look at where it got me, I suppose I should also say that there are certainly much worse games to play.

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footballengland · 5 years ago

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England 3 Argentina 2 – Friendly, 2005

Friendly International, Geneva. Saturday November 12, 2005.

England: P.Robinson, L.Young (P.Crouch 81), W.Bridge (P.Konchesky 45), L.King (J.Cole 57), J.Terry, R.Ferdinand, D.Beckham, F.Lampard, W.Rooney, M.Owen, S.Gerrard.

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England snatched a thrilling victory over Argentina with two late Michael Owen goals in what was quite possibly the greatest friendly game ever played.

The game started quietly and at a relaxed pace with the Argentinians maintaining comfortable possession for the first five minutes before England won a corner following a muscular break by Wayne Rooney.

The corner came to nothing but the incident seemed to galvanise Argentina into more serious action, as though offended that England should have the audacity to mount an attack.

From here on in the pace quickened and the action never stopped.

The Argentinian playmaker Riquelme gave a signal of his intentions by stinging Paul Robinson’s fingertips from the edge of the box.

Rooney then chipped through for Michael Owen to head into the far corner only for a marginal offside call to cancel the effort out.

Playing in the hole and proving extremely elusive to England’s holding player Ledley King, Riquelme began to really get a grip on the midfield.

Robinson was called upon to save again, this time from Tevez and as the ball rebounded into the box bodies were flung everywhere as four shots were charged down before the danger finally passed.

The respite was brief, however. Within two minutes Robinson had made another fingertip save from Zanetti and Crespo had forced the ball past him although again the goal would not stand.

Crespo had barged through the back of Rio Ferdinand to get to the ball, although it was not clear whether this had been the offence punished or if a handball had been given.

England responded to this pressure with Frank Lampard putting a clear header wide from David Beckham’s right wing corner.

Then Wayne Rooney, possibly sensing a personal battle with Riquelme for top billing, came to the fore.

First he headed wide from Beckham’s centre before coming within a whisker of giving England the lead.

Steven Gerrard fed him with a telling through ball, Rooney took the ball in his stride with a magnificent touch and flipped his shot over the onrushing keeper.

Cruelly, the ball landed squarely at the base of the far post and squirted to safety away from the lurking Owen.

Then a rampant Rooney powered his way into the box before tumbling against Ayala. It could have been given as a penalty but the referees’ refusal was probably just.

With England apparently gaining control the Argentinians stormed upfield to take the lead.

Rodriguez slipped beyond the rusty Wayne Bridge with ease to play a killer ball across Robinson which Crespo slid home with relish at the far post.

The only surprising thing about this goal was that it had taken so long to arrive.

Within a minute Gerrard had sent a thunderbolt towards goal which Abbondanzieri got the faintest touch to, not spotted by the referee but vital nonetheless.

Then England were level. Beckham moved infield to supply a deft header which Rooney pounced on, sliding a side footed finish inside the keepers’ left hand post from fifteen yards.

Paul Robinson still had to pull out another top save to keep out a Tevez effort from distance to keep the sides level at the interval.

Half Time: England 1 Argentina 1

Any thoughts that the second half might be more sedate than the first were quickly dispelled.

Paul Konchesky had come on for the struggling Bridge at half time and soon looked equally uncomfortable.

The competitive nature of the game was emphasised by a booking for Lampard. It had not been his first crunching challenge.

Argentina had wrested the initiative again with everything going through the outstanding Riquelme.

When his side were awarded a free kick thirty yards out England were on red alert as the dangerman apparently lined up a shot.

This was a bluff. Shaping to shoot, Riquelme instead chipped a ball to England’s back post. Walter Samuel had got himself against Konchesky and was always favourite, although the England replacement made his task even more straightforward by declining to challenge.

Samuel’s header back across goal was already in before a clutch of his teammates arrived to make absolutely sure.

England missed a great chance to equalise almost immediately. A trademark, arrowed diagonal ball from the right wing by Beckham saw Gerrard power to the by-line to cut an inviting ball back into the path of Lampard.

From the edge of the area Lampard’s side footed finish was, for once, off target.

Now England gambled by removing King and bringing Joe Cole into the fray.

The Chelsea sprite immediately began to have an impact with some purposeful dribbling and the game remained very much in the melting pot.

Beckham sent in a rasping effort from distance that the keeper could not hold and then Lampard was fractionally off target with a stinging left footed half volley from the edge of the box.

Beckham was given another chance with a free kick thirty yards out. Again the keeper could not hold the effort and Owen was unfortunate to see his lunging shot from the rebound snuffed out.

Ten minutes from time Robinson was again in the action, making a vital double save to keep his team in the match.

Now Eriksson sent on the lanky Peter Crouch in place of Luke Young with Gerrard continuing his magical mystery tour of a game by slotting in at right back.

With time running out the irrepressible Rooney again burst into life. First he tried a spectacular volley from distance and got it spectacularly wrong before a magnificent piece of control and vision saw him execute a delicious chip which Abbondanzieri did extremely well to desperately claw behind for a corner.

England were now piling forward and the Argentinians, without the withdrawn Riquelme, were wilting.

Three minutes from time the equaliser came. Gerrard strode forward into space down the right and drove over a telling ball to the far post and there was Owen, heading down and back across goal into the net.

It was typical Owen. His second half touches could be counted on the fingers of one hand but his contribution, when it came, was vital.

England still came forward. Rooney centred for Beckham to test the keeper with a header before the game was settled in injury time.

Cole received on the left and drifted towards the edge of the area. With Beckham outside him the obvious pass, Cole suddenly darted inside and whipped a great ball into the near post where Owen pounced again to send a firm header low past Abbondanzieri.

It was a fittingly thrilling conclusion to a game that had been compulsively exciting throughout.

Full Time: England 3 Argentina 2

Robinson 9, Young 7, Bridge 4 (Konchesky 5), King 5 (J.Cole 8), Terry 6, Ferdinand 6, Beckham 8, Lampard 7, Rooney 9, Owen 8, Gerrard 8.

Comment & Analysis

Bring It On. What a game.

It was not the fact that England beat Argentina 3-2 after two late Michael Owen goals in Geneva today that made the encounter so compulsively uplifting, it was the sheer magnificence of the whole game.

Indeed, the snatching of victory after Argentina had withdrawn possibly the games’ outstanding player, Riquelme, could perhaps be a little misleading. It would certainly have been incredibly hard on England to come away from such a thrilling game without at least a draw, however.

Long after the dust has settled on who had the most chances, or most possession, best penalty claims or the harshest disallowed goal England should remember how much of their strength lies in and around the other teams’ box and what is possible when they let caution slip and seek to exploit these strengths.

Please God let Sven remember the gut wrenching way his, and our, team has been knocked out of the last two major championships seeking, ineptly, to hang on to leads.

It is a fact that almost all of Sven’s best moments in charge of England have come when his team have gone behind and his apparent natural caution has had to be abandoned.

Sven’s latest attempt to solve the conundrum of how to get the best out of his vaunted midfield involved Ledley King playing a holding role behind Beckham, Gerrard and Lampard.

This move did not work.

I am not a fan of playing a central defender in this role, for even though King is better with his feet than most defenders that is what he really is.

Nations who use this role employ genuine midfield players in it, players who play it week in and week out for their clubs.

England have one such player and he is Michael Carrick, a man Eriksson seems to have no intention of selecting. If this is the case his best option seems to be to play a straight four in midfield and let them cope with the defensive side of things as best they can.

If Eriksson could allow himself to trust his men to score more than the opposition rather than worry about what might happen at the other end it would surely be to everyones’ benefit. After all, England will always concede a goal or two to the best sides anyway and if we are to lose surely that is the way we want to go, isn’t it?

The worst thing about the holding role as demonstrated by King is that he hardly ever actually stepped into the midfield at all. This meant that Argentina always had a numerical advantage in the middle and were breaking at King and the defence with the ball already under their control.

This made King powerless to tackle or intercept and time and again the quick passing Argentinians swept past him. I am not pointing the finger at King for this, once players of that calibre have the ball at their feet and are running towards you there is nothing you can do except hope they don’t score.

To influence the game the holding player still has to play in midfield and win his challenges early, to nip things in the bud. He just does not go bombing forward like we want Frank and Stevie to.

Anyway, at least Joe Cole’s performance in replacing King should have offered some encouragement to his manager to be a little bolder.

Playing in the manner you always feel he might, Cole made a definite impact with his confident, purposeful running and, crucially, his extra quality.

In fairness to Cole no manager has ever seemed to really place their complete trust in his abilities but now has to be the time for Eriksson to do so.

Give him the shirt but also make it clear you expect him to deliver performances of this nature. He might be found wanting sometimes but at least we would be going down in the right manner, and if he does get it right he can hurt anybody.

As for the game as a whole it was simply too full of incident to try to recount the incidents as they happened and of a quality hard to describe in words.

It was what football would be in a perfect world, especially given that we actually won, and was what football can be, but so seldom is.

Above all it was what you would hope the World Cup will be, but there can be no guarantees of that.

After all, in a World Cup the Argies would surely have been calling on an impressive array of spoiling tactics and Eriksson would have been hauling off attackers and throwing on Owen Hargreaves and the like at every turn.

I leave it to you to piece together the action as best you can and decide which pieces of skill were the most memorable, there is no shortage of choice.

Lampard’s left footed half volley grazing the post? Or Gerrard’s thunderbolt which brought an unacknowledged, though magnificent, save from the keeper? An all too rare drive from Beckham that forced another save from the keeper or the succession of evil centres he put over from the right?

The balls’ we all remember Beckham putting over from the flank for Manchester United which were, and obviously remain, as potent a weapon as football has ever seen, yet which the deliverer himself seems to have mysteriously tired of unveiling.

Or did you prefer the moment when Steven Gerrard sent over his own right wing centre? Completely of his own trademark it was every bit as dangerous as any provided by Beckham and having the added bonus of being nodded into the net by Michael Owen. I think we all enjoyed that one. And Joe Cole’s wasn’t bad either.

And of course there was Rooney. Watching this guy play is just unbelievable. How old is he? I don’t even know but he’s actually going to get better. Can you believe it?

He plays a role which only the truly special players can play at international level and all the others good enough to do it have grown into it halfway through their careers. They couldn’t do it when they were boys.

Who exactly was Zinedine Zidane when he was Rooney’s age? Did he play football? Pele and Maradona were magnificent players at Rooney’s age but they were just forwards, forwards with genius but just forwards. They became complete football geniusses later.

Personally I love just watching Rooney receive a ball. As soon as he sees it coming his head is up having a quick look round and in that instant he knows what he’s going to do with it. Then, if he decides to keep it, his head is back up working out what to do next. It’s so easy for him it’s scary, everything is the work of a moment and, basically, everything is right. What a player.

Against the Argies he hit the post, scored and had a sublime chipped attempt clawed desperately to safety by an inspired keeper barely off his line. Each of these incidents bear watching closely, not for the end product but for the seemingly effortless way in which Rooney made them into chances.

Watch him and then imagine another striker on the end of them. I even think he might have meant to put his goal in with the bottom of his studs.

Of course it would not have been such a great game, and it truly was a great game, if the Argentinians had not played so superbly themselves but there is not time, and it is not strictly my job, to do justice to their performance.

Their contribution can be summed up quite neatly and succinctly by pointing out that Paul Robinson was magnificent and that they possibly had the best player on the pitch in Riquelme. He was fantastic.

I would like to think that he would have encountered a few more challenges in the real thing, however, and feel Gary Neville and Ashley Cole will make a profound difference to the stability of our defence, if we are considering the game in a World Cup context (they might say the same about Rooney but would you want to tackle him?).

All in all it was certainly just the performance to make everyone forget about the recent past and have us all looking forward towards the summer with the tongues’ of a rabid dog.

Lets hope the footballers do for us next summer what the cricketers did for us this. I think there are a couple of important aspects we should take from the Ashes into the World Cup.

One is the absolutely positive attitude the England cricketers maintained throughout in defeating the best team in the world (take note Sven), and the second is that guy they had on all the adverts dressed up as W.G. Grace preaching the gospel.

I say get him a replica 1966 shirt, a miniature Jules Rimet Trophy and get him on a plane to Germany.

“Bring it On!”.

from Football England https://www.football-england.com/england-3-argentina-2-friendly-2005.html

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forallyourikemensengokuneeds · 6 years ago

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A hidden Bundle

This is an older story and one of my favorites.

There were two places she didn't often go in the castle. One was the dungeons; she didn't want to know what was going on in them at any given time, so she ignored its existence. The other was the training hall. She would hear her friends drilling their soldiers over and over; the sound didn't bother her or even the activity as she was part of a massive military family. She just didn't want to go near until one night she was walking alone through the grounds, and she heard a yelp, and a tiny cry come from the hall. She turned and went to investigate.

She entered the hall and saw she was alone. She knew the cry had come from this direction, but she couldn't see anything. It was dark in the hall, and she could see shadows of things, but nothing seemed out of place. She turned to leave, but a very slight movement caught her eye as she moved. She walked slowly toward the far corner from the door. She knew she should probably turn back and get someone as she wasn't even supposed to be here. However, the movement wasn't big, and she could see a bundle on the floor. She crept up on it and what it was would change her life forever.

She scooped up the bundle and looked at it carefully. She stood there with it in her arms for what seemed like hours and might have been since four of the warlords came looking for her. She now sat with the bundle in her lap gazing upon it with envy. The four men entered the training hall as their last destination before raising a cry for her disappearance. She had missed counsel which she never had before. Hideyoshi was the first through the door followed by the two Mitsu's and Masamune. All four men stopped dead in their tracks as they saw her and the bundle in her lap. They couldn't quite see what exactly she was holding, but they could see her face. It was a combination of her natural radiance and love that none had ever seen before. She looked up to where they were,"I found this over there." She smiled as she said it and pointed to the corner.

Hideyoshi was the first to recover from the site of her. "What is it?"

The other three men started to move closer as Hideyoshi stood in one place, all had their hands ready to draw their swords. She chuckled at the site; however she knew their swords were not necessary in this case. Mitsuhide was now the closest to her, and he reached out to remove the bundle from her in case it was something drastically dangerous, and she just didn't know. Masamune not far behind him watched closely. Mitsuhide's arms were close to both her and the bundle when she picked it up and placed it in his reaching arms.

"Thank you. I needed help getting up.", she said as she began to stand up.

Mitsuhide had straightened with the bundle now in his massive, muscular arms. He looked at it as if it was something he had never seen before. Masamune swept up next to him and gazed down. His shock also showed in his face. He reached one finger down to touch it but when it moved he jumped back. Hideyoshi and Mitsunari at this point were even peering down at the bundle which was now looking back at them. They began to creep closer but it let out a sound, and they also moved back with Masamune. Mitsuhide looked down at the bundle and back to her as the bundle began to move he didn't know what to do, and he definitely did not want to drop it. She laughed at the scene before her. Four men who would bravely do anything necessary to win a battle, the fiercest of warriors and this tiny bundle scared them. She moved closer to Mitsuhide and placed her hands under his and removed the bundle and held it close. She began to leave, "what do you plan on doing with that?" Hideyoshi called after her. She didn't know so she didn't answer.

She walked right into Nobunaga's room and looked at him as he stared at her and the bundle. He walked over and smiled, "What exactly are you doing with that?"

"I found it.", she replied. "What happens to things like this?"

"I do not know. I have never had the issue before."

"It was found in the training hall in your castle. It is your issue now."

"What should we do with it? Find someone that can care for it."

"I can."

"What? No, you can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because........ it's not yours."

"You claimed me as your sister once before, and you know I am not."

"That's different!"

"Shall I go and ask every person here if it is theirs?"

"No. It probably belongs to one of the men. A mistake and unwanted."

"I want it."

"What?"

"I want it!"

"What do you know of taking care of such a thing?"

"I will figure that out as needed. Nobunaga I saved your life that day in the fire," she started,"I have never asked for anything in return. I work hard for the castle and its people. I am asking now; I want this."

He looked her over and realized she really did want this. He gazed at her and noticed his five most trusted men had now entered his room sometime during the heated exchange. They all looked at him and then at her then bundle she held close to her.

"Princess if that is truly what you want.", he sighed, and she beamed. "It will not disturb the castle, is that understood?"

She looked up at him and smiled nodding. The five men in back of her stood with looks of slight horror at the scene.

"If you claim it as your own Princess it should have a name. Don't you think?", Nobunaga said as he peered closer at the bundle using his finger to touch it. The five men inched closer as they all started to relax around the bundle.

"I have to think of that."

"Ieyasu check it over and see if it is okay.", Nobunaga said.

Ieyasu grumbled and came over and took the bundle from her and placed it on the table. He did a check over it. As he did, she stood off to the side as Nobunaga had called in pages and others to run and fetch things for the Princess's use. This brought many questioning looks, but no one voiced a concern. The other men looked at it as Ieyasu was still working.

She looked at all six, and each had a different expression ranging from confusion to complete perplexing. She found it heartening. They looked at her as well. Their gazes all softened as they did. When Ieyasu had finished his examination and said it was okay, she laughed as he could not hand it back fast enough. Masamune had grown closer and began to play with it as he looked down with a look she hadn't seen before. He was extremely close to both her and it. She had to take a step back and smiled. She told them she needed to go to her room and have it readied. She took her leave of them as all six men watched her go. Five turned to Nobunaga and asked an unspoken question to which he laughed,"You try to argue with her when she looks that beautiful."

All nodded as they would not have stood a chance either.

Hideyoshi was the first to stop by that night. He had some cloth he thought she would be able to use for it. He gazed upon it as it slept and his expression softened. He left shortly after. Masamune was next with a few wooden blocks he thought it could play with. She laughed and thanked him. Mitsunari came by to drop off a few books on the subject. He bent down and just stared with open curiosity as it moved slightly as it slept. Ieyasu came by with supplies that it might need, and he then told her of all the things he would make in time for it. Last was Mitsuhide who she didn't expect at all. She figured the others would come, Hideyoshi would be practical, Masamune would see a playmate, Mitsunari would have books, Ieyasu would bring supplies as each was in their personalities. Mitsuhide never entered her mind as someone who would care. He called out softly before he entered as it was now deep night and he slid the door open. He gazed upon her as she dealt with the noise the bundle was making. He reached out and took the bundle from her which surprised her, but it left her hands more ready to do the task she needed to. The bundle stopped making noise. The man and bundle just stared at each other. He sat down now with it on his knee and gazed upon it as it looked back. She had fixed what she needed and took the bundle and began to feed it. He watched with a soft expression that she hadn't seen before that resembled longing.

The bundle again drifted into sleep. She placed it back to sleep more soundly, and she waited for him to say something. "Mitsuhide, can I ask why you are here?", she asked finally breaking the silence.

"You have done a good thing, Princess. However you have made a slight mistake.", she waited for him to call her foolish or something of the like.

"What is that?"

"It normally takes two people."

It was a simple truth he spoke. She knew that.

"I know."

"No one here will deny you even the smallest request but did you think this through?"

"I have some things to think through still, but I can do it."

"I have thought your decision through.", He said. Which since he was the one who plotted it didn't surprise her. "I am guessing that pile is from the others?"

"Yes everyone brought gifts."

"I, too, am offering a gift." He said hesitantly. She looked up at him. "You will need help. I am here to offer my help."

She looked at him as if he had grown three heads. He was a solitary creature and one who loved to bring the ire of the entire forces onto himself. However, as he looked into her eyes, she knew he would be there to help her.

"Did you think of what to call it?", he asked.

"Mitsumasa Nobunari Oshiyasu", she said.

"You included us?"

"All of you. Yes. You are my family here. It is only right to name it after all of you."

"It lacks one name, however.", he said, and she looked at him puzzled," It needs a last name."

He looked again at the sleeping bundle and then back at her,"I will claim it as well to give it that."

"Oh, Mitsu you don't have to do that. I chose to save it; it is my responsibility.", she started, and he lifted his finger and placed it on her lips.

"No princess you saved all of us. I am also making a choice and taking responsibility for it. You will not be alone in its care."

He looked deep into her eyes his soul snatching look, and she got lost. He smiled a soft and pure smile. He glanced again at the sleeping bundle and said,"Your name will be Mitsumasa Nobunari Oshiyasu Akechi."

As he spoke the bundle again opened its eyes and stared at Mitsuhide as he finished the statement," My son."

The baby cooed up at him, and he took it out of the cradle and held the infant out to gaze at him as he moved closer to the princess he looked into her eyes again and smiled as he changed his last statement,"our son."

She placed her head on his shoulder as he held the child and murmured to it.

The days went by, but you could find the princess of Azuchi's castle often around the castle running around chasing after her adopted son who had learned to walk or better run. He had become a toddler quickly and could often be found playing with Masamune in the garden or with Ieyasu playing with swords. Sometimes he would be on The shoulders of Hideyoshi as he did his rounds of the castle. Mitsunari would often read to the boy as he smiled softly at him; however he was never left alone with that Mitsu for very long. The most exciting place the boy had been found was nestled up asleep on Nobunaga during a war council. Little Mitsumasa had no fear of his "uncles" as any normal person would. They all would often play and hold the child. He was again with his uncles and father as they had maps out as they were planning another invasion he kept moving a piece to one spot as they moved it back. He continued to do so, and Mitsuhide had called for the princess to come and take her son back. When she arrived, he handed the boy off to her as he dipped down to kiss her cheek. When Nobunaga looked at the piece, the child kept moving and the placement of where he had placed it. He walked over and removed the boy from his mother's arms to which he put the boy back on the table. All were curious now and watched the boy. He again picked up the one piece and placed it back. Six men stood and saw it and all of them looked at the boy who was smiling. "That is my nephew, the brilliant strategist!", Nobunaga said proudly.

"Excuse me that is my son.", Mitsuhide replied.

All the men chuckled and watched the boy some more however he was done playing with the pieces and wanted the Princess,"mama!"

He said lifting his pudgy arms. She picked him up off the table and held him on her hip. All the men realized the boy had somehow made her even more beautiful as Mitsuhide saw the looks of his friends he turned her towards the door. She laughed at his open jealousy.

"How did you of all people win her over?", Masamune questioned after she left.

"You offered her blocks. You offered her cloth. You offered her medicine. You offered her books. I offered her acceptance and help.", He said going through the list. He smiled at the memories of that first night. "She was up for grabs that night, along with the child. I stayed as you all left, that won her."

They all glared at him; he didn't care though as he got so much more than just a son that night he got the love of his life and a family.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikémen sengoku #ikésen #akechi mitsuhide #re-release #hidden bundle #flashback

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strangerthanfiction · 5 years ago

Photo

and it's wrong, wrong, wrong (but we'll do it anyway 'cos we love a bit of trouble)

𝖖 𝖚 𝖔 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

“i don’t want to be just a nothing, a sick blank, withdrawal into myself forever. i just want something, beside the emptiness i’ve carried around in me all my life.” –– allen ginsburg

“a man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it into the river but then he’s still left with the river. a man takes his sadness and throws it away but then he’s still left with his hands.” –– richard siken

"i was not a lovable child, and i'd grown into a deeply unlovable adult. draw a picture of my soul, and it'd be a scribble with fangs.” –– gillian flynn

“you will always be fond of me. i represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit.” –– oscar wilde

“power is in tearing human minds to pieces and putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing.” –– george orwell

𝖇 𝖆 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈

NAME: Rabastan Edric Lestrange NICKNAMES: “Rab” by most, “Bash” by those who know him best, “Eddy” by his grandparents AGE: Twenty-six BIRTHDAY: April 13th, 1954 GENDER: Male, cisgender PRONOUNS: He/him/his

𝖋 𝖆 𝖒 𝖎 𝖑 𝖞

MOTHER: Sabine Lestrange (nee Avery) (52) FATHER: Gaspard Lestrange (48) SIBLINGS: Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix Lestrange (sister-in-law), Narcissa Lestrange (sister-in-law), Lucius Malfoy (brother-in-law), Andromeda Tonks (sister-in-law)

𝖕 𝖍 𝖞 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈 𝖆 𝖑 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖇𝖚𝖙𝖊𝖘

FACE CLAIM: Penn Badgley BUILD: Fit, muscular, and clearly works at maintaining it. Wishes he was taller always. HAIR: Longer than it should be, according to his mother, growing out of the buzz cut he got in November, thick and wavy. He’s also sporting stubble that’s quickly turning into a beard. HAIR COLOR: Dark brown, almost black EYE COLOR: Hazel on a normal day, amber on a sunny day, murky brown on a cloudy day SKIN COLOR: Pale, thin and translucent, like parchment. Anyone can see when he’s hungover or had a shitty night of sleep because his eyes look hollow and the skin underneath it looks almost purple. DOMINANT HAND: Right ANOMALIES:

TATTOOS: The Dark Mark on the inside of his right arm, a sketch of the sculpture of Laocoon and His Sons sketched out from the top of his left rib cage to his hip, the first lines of the Iliad on his collar bone, stretching from his left shoulder to his right shoulder, a stick and poke of a muggle ghost on the inside of his ankle, and, perhaps his favorite of them all, the word “TERROR” on the inside of his bottom lip. He charmed it so that, any time he flips his bottom lip out at the world to show the tattoo, the letters pop out in a magical version of a jump scare.

SCARS: His elbows and knees are shredded up from years of Quidditch and not following proper rules when it comes to healing potions. He’s got the slightest scar in his left eyebrow from falling off his broom when he was nine. Plus, he’s got the scrapes and scars of a fighter, a soldier, and he wears his ragged skin with the brashness and boldness of someone unafraid of battle.

SCENT: Tobacco, crisp linen, and, if he’s getting all dolled up, he puts just the tiniest dab of amortentia at his throat, because, well, “then I always smell good.” ACCENT: RP because his mother wouldn’t have her children sounding like scoundrels. But his Northern accent slips out every now and again when he’s particularly hammered. ALLERGIES: Bees. DISORDERS: Rapidly developing alcoholism. Slowly developing PTSD. FASHION: Punk but make it pureblood. Lots of silver rings with huge gemstones inset or crests carved into the metal. Amazing shoes always – be it chunky black combat boots, beautiful leather loafers, or the occasional (slightly) healed Chelsea boot. Skinny jeans and slouchy hoodies on his days alone in Manchester. Pressed shirts rolled up to the elbows and perfectly fitted trousers on his days at Lestrange Manor. His favorite robes are black velvet, with a gold clasp across the chest in the shape of a skull. And, of course, his clubbing outfits. Leather, mesh, crop tops (yes, Rab wears crop tops, and no, none of you will ever see it because he’s CAREFUL heh), muscle tanks, and the odd denim shorterall (with nothing underneath) moment. NERVOUS TICS: He used to bite his fingernails as a kid, but the nannies spanked that out of him. His oral fixation has been replaced with cigarettes – any slight bit of tension, and he’s lighting up. QUIRKS: He doesn’t know how to sit normally in a chair because he’s gay.

𝖑 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 𝖘 𝖙 𝖞 𝖑 𝖊

RESIDES: Lestrange Manor 75% of the time. His own flat in Manchester 25% of the time. BORN: In France, while his parents were on holiday. He wasn’t supposed to be due for another three weeks, but his mother’s water broke while she was on the beach, and Rabastan was born five hours later. RAISED: In Yorkshire, with every other summer abroad (France most years, but sometimes Italy or Spain, and one very special year, Norway), until he went to Hogwarts. PETS: Gunther, a black Great Dane, who lives at Lestrange Manor, and technically is both his and Rodolphus’ – their mother got the dog for them as a means to help them bond, but really, Gunther is Rabastan’s and only gets attention from Rodolphus when their mother is around, so as not to offend her. And, in Rabastan’s eyes, but probably not in the eyes of other, more progressive individuals, Iphigenia, the Lestrange family house elf.

CAREER: Spending the Lestrange fortune. Being a Death Eater. EXPERIENCE: He’s been doing it his whole life. Nine years. Since his final year at Hogwarts. EMPLOYER: Voldemort.

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: The Death Eaters / Pureblood values. BELIEFS: Purebloods created this world, and now it’s their time to defend it. The Dark Lord is the only one capable of leading them to victory, and the purpose of men like Rabastan is to give him the aid he needs, no matter the personal cost. MISDEMEANORS: Truancy, defacing Hogwarts property, breaking curfew, bullying, tardiness, breaking dress code, and infinite more. He was never quiet about his rebellions, always laughing in the face of authority. And, now that he’s no longer at school, there’s nothing he can’t buy himself out of. FELONIES: Well. He’s killed more than a few people and gotten away with it, so. You do the math from there. DRUGS: Rabastan likes muggle drugs a little too much. Cocaine, particularly. He’s also been known to dabble in expensive, experimental potions from an alchemist the Lestranges have been using to cure their every ail and malady since Rabastan was a boy. SMOKES: Religiously. He started because every young boy wants to be just like their father at one point or another, and then he just never stopped. ALCOHOL: Rabastan’s rarely without a drink in his hand. It’s a glass of brandy as soon as he comes home, flask of whisky constantly at his hip, a Bloody Mary and some pepper up potion to eliminate his hangover first thing when he wakes up. It’s not a problem, he can stop at any point, or so he says. He learned how to be a functional alcoholic from all of the men he observed around him at a young age, and he’s found a very specific line – enough to feel gently numb, to feel invincible, but not so much that he’s incapacitated. And more and more, in recent months, especially since the disappearance of his brother, has he crossed that line. He’ll go through spurts of detoxing, of getting painfully sober for a few days, and then, he’ll be so overwhelmed by the world around him, by how loud it is, by how unforgiving, by how painful it can be, and then he’s right back where he was, with a bottle in one hand and a bump on the back of the other. DIET: Rabastan eats extremely well. Mostly vegetarian, except for fish, lots of legumes and greens, lots of fiber, etc. He knows how much crap he puts into his body, and while he doesn’t particularly care about the fact that he’s shortening his life, he does care about what it does to his physique. And, of course, the trade off is never going to be equal, but he does try to eat as cleanly as he can.

LANGUAGES: English, French, German, and self-taught Latin

PHOBIAS: If you asked him, he’d say he has none. And that’s mostly true. But there isn’t a day that goes by where he doesn’t think about getting outed to his family and then being banished by the Lestranges for his deviant behavior, and there isn’t a day that goes by where the very thought is enough to turn his blood to ice. HOBBIES: Drinking, fighting, fucking. When he’s not indulging his vices, he’s actually quite a scholar – he’s read through every book in his father’s study twice, and he taught himself Latin when he was thirteen. He also loves flying and still takes to a broomstick when he needs to clear his head. He’s also surprisingly adept at tending to plants (he effortlessly got O’s in Herbology his whole time at Hogwarts), and he’s got a lovely, melodic voice. TRAITS: { + }: Quick-thinking, fierce, loyal, playful { - }: Reckless, vulgar, lazy, submissive

𝖋 𝖆 𝖛 𝖔 𝖗 𝖎 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

LOCATION: Spiny Serpent, specifically the secret fight club in the basement. It’s his favorite place in the world, the one place where he actually feels alive and free. He’ll heal all of his visible injuries with magic, but sometimes, he’ll leave a bruised rib or a tweaked knee because the pain of it reminds him that he’s alive, he’s present, he’s real. SPORTS TEAM: Wimbourne Wasps (and United ever since he started living in Manchester, but he’d rather be caught dead than admit to following the muggle Premiere league) GAME: Quidditch and he’s trying to start his own Swivenhodge league MUSIC: Much to his mother’s distaste, he’s an avid Hobgoblins fan, and his father begrudgingly took both his boys to meet Stubby when they were fifteen and eighteen respectively. Rab would never admit to listening to Celestina Warbeck, but after he’s had a few, he’s been known to do his own rendition of, “A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love” MOVIES: Too muggle. Absolutely not. (But he’d fucking love ALIEN if he knew it existed) FOOD: Venison, so rare it’s still bloody BEVERAGE: Double whisky on the rocks COLOR: Gold

𝖒 𝖆 𝖌 𝖎 𝖈

ALUMNI HOUSE: Slytherin WAND (length, flexibility, wood, & core): 13 inches, Holly, Dragon Heart String, Brittle AMORTENTIA: Pine trees, cigar smoke, candied ginger, and the unmistakable musk of all the men he’s ever fucked (oops) PATRONUS: A Deerhound BOGGART: A blue ticket. Even though he’s no expert in muggle history, he spends enough time in queer muggle spaces to know what they are, and the first time he found out about that, the first time someone told him about dishonorable discharge because of something so seemingly trivial, it made his blood turn to ice. He couldn’t shake the image, the idea of it, and to this day, he avoids boggarts at all costs because he knows it’ll give away his secret.

𝖈 𝖍 𝖆 𝖗 𝖆 𝖈 𝖙 𝖊 𝖗

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral MBTI: ENFP MBTI ROLE: The Campaigner ENNEAGRAM: Type 6 ENNEAGRAM ROLE: The Loyalist / the Skeptic TEMPERAMENT: Sanguine WESTERN ZODIAC: Aries CHINESE ZODIAC: Horse PRIMAL SIGN: Hammerhead Shark TAROT CARD: The Devil TV TROPES: Beard of Sorrow, Millionaire Playboy, Black Shirt, Draco in Leather Pants, Lovable Rogue, Punch-clock Villain SONGS:

1. balaclava by the arctic monkeys 2. bury a friend by billie eilish 3. to be so lonely by harry styles 4. make up your mind by florence & the machine 5. winter of our youth by bastille 6. broken crown by mumford & sons 7. i’m still standing by elton john 8. people by the 1975 9. ball and a biscuit by the white stripes 10. let’s have a kiki by scissor sisters (am i joking? idk)

IDEOLOGIES:

Adores birthdays and refuses to let people get away with not celebrating them. He loves any excuse to drink and party, and he knows he gives a mean toast, so people might as well fucking celebrate so he can put his skills on display. Otherwise, what’s the point?

Despite the contradictory nature of this, he doesn’t hate all members of the Order / all blood traitors on principle. He understands that they’re just trying to defend their place in the universe, and frankly, he respects the survival instincts he’s seeing play out. Of course, he knows his side is going to win – that’s inevitable. But it’s still admirable to see them all go down with such a valiant fight.

Hates cats. Period, full stop.

Refuses to go to St. Mungo’s, or any hospital for that matter. His uncle on his maternal side went there for a minor illness and came out in a box. Rabastan was seven, and his tiny brain came to the conclusion that the hospital was what did in his uncle, not his illness. And now, Rab knows how illogical it is, but he’d rather pay the family healer to come take a look at him than go to the doctor.

Would rather stand on public transportation than sit next to a stranger because he loves his own personal space just a little too much

As much as he does spend his family’s money a little too freely, no one can ever accuse Rab of hoarding his wealth. He always buys a round for everyone in the bar, picks up the check without being asked, buys things for his friends that they want but don’t need, lets people crash at Lestrange Manor whenever they need to. He’s not miserly in the slightest, not like Rodolphus.

Never makes a crucial decision without consulting a seer first. His mother taught him the habit.

Always flips one cigarette in the pack when he buys a new one.

No matter what time he wakes up, breakfast food has to be the first food he eats.

#dulcetask #*prompts #*biography #[ ch: i'm jack's smirking revenge ]#me: [busts back onto the dash with too many thoughts about my fuckin egg]#*aesthetic

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kiraawrites · 5 years ago

Text

2MSS #3: Silken Guilt

Day 3 of the 2 Month Short Stories Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 1984

Constructive criticism welcome!

Putting my hands in front of the fire somehow made everything seem better. The night sky had engulfed the village; I could swear that I was the only one still awake. Tomorrow’s the day. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. The next day would be extremely important. My family had forced me to run for the chieftainship trial.

“Maybe you’ll prove that we aren’t weaklings,” they said. “Maybe we’ll matter to others.”

I looked over the hunting gear that was lying on my lap. This day had been spent nocking arrows and shooting at the targets my father had fashioned for me. In my head, I ran through the motions. A deep breath. Arms out before me, a sturdy grip on the bow’s wooden body. An arrow ready to slice the air. An eye trained on the quivering target. Hunt the most prey and then I can be chief. It’s not that hard. Running a hand through my bushy hair, I walked over to my bed. The stars are beautiful tonight. Hope they grant me luck. Sleep blanketed me in thick darkness.

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

“Gareth! Big day today. How’s my boy doing?” asked my father as I stumbled out of my room.

“I’m scared, Dad. I am.”

“Don’t worry about it. Here, have some baked beans. I had to sell the eggs to repair the hole in Ayla’s bedroom yesterday.”

He pushed the dish of beans across the rickety dining table. It’s the biggest day of my life and I’m having breakfast in a bowl that I can wrap my hands around. My sister was smiling sheepishly at me, her cheeks pink at having her name being mentioned.

“Ayla, I’ve been hearing that you’re being bullied at school. Is that correct?”

Her eyes turned a stormy grey as she nodded. Eyebrows creased, she answered, “They’ve been making fun of our house. I told them that I do my homework on the floor and they keep mocking me. ‘Look, Ayla’s worksheet is covered in orange dust because she does it on that ugly floor!’”

I took her hand in mine and rubbed it. “You need not listen to them. People love picking on others and we’re just unlucky. But I’ll do my best today and make the rest respect us. Believe in me, Ayla.”

A tear escaped from her eyes and dropped onto my palm. I cradled her head with my right hand and petted her hair. She was a mild sister. Mute when others laughed at her, wringing her hands together as she saw them overturn her chair and look through her school bag for the “poor people pencils”. These are the people I’ll provide for. I took my hands back and started on my breakfast. The beans were cold and mushy in my mouth, making my throat turn clammy. My father was watching us and now sat beside Ayla, putting her head on his shoulder.

I finished up the last scraps of my breakfast and rinsed the plate with the water in the dishwashing bucket. As I put it on the kitchen rack to dry, I gazed at my family’s small cottage. The roof built with straw was torn in some places, fine in others. I remembered the burning sun that attacked us relentlessly as my father, mother and I were putting up that roof. My mother was heavily pregnant with Ayla then. She would pant and heave continuously but was the hardest worker among us. She never stopped (despite us begging her to do so).

The spray paint vandalism had not washed itself off over the years. “Gareth’s a coward”, “F*CK THE FRUGS” and “move out of this place” were some of them. I could recall the first one fresh in my head. The school day had ended with the bell clanging, setting us free. I was the first to bolt out of class as there were no friends or parents to wait for; I had none of the former and the latter were wrapped up in farm work. Then came a shout from my back. Someone rammed themselves into my shoulder and spat into my ear.

I glared at the figure beside me. “Whaddya looking at?” the boy shouted. At least four others were gathered behind him. My pulse in my throat, I sprinted out of there. My shoelaces were trailing in the air as my school bag moved up and down. They were light-footed and kept up with me easily. Trailing me all the way back home, I shut the door on them with the greatest strength I could muster. Sweat ran down my body and mingled with the tears that dotted my shirt. The click of a cap being taken off. The hiss of the spray paint running down the walls.

I shook as the boys painted my house with those red words of shame. Stuttering, I asked them to stop through the locked door. They burst into laughter. “Never erase it, or we’ll come for you again.” My father returned home half an hour after they had left. He glared at the fresh paint and gasped when he saw my bawling figure at the doorstep. Taking me in his arms, he kissed my forehead and told me that everything would be all right.

It was after that day when my father taught me how to fend for myself. We would box in the small patch of land behind our house that was not dotted with crops. I grew familiar with close-quarter hand to hand combat. It was the only thing I was respected for, as I could break apart brawls with ease. But the reality was undeniable: their taunts, now only with words, were still no less painful than before.

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

“All young men of Thellinde! Step right up to claim a taste of power and glory!” hollered a burly man behind the registration counter.

Hordes of other guys from the ages of 18 to 25 were in the buzzing plaza that barely fit them. Each had their bow in hand. Some had it polished, engraved with their name or that of a lover’s. Mine was plain and fashioned from a fallen branch that curved enough to be a bow. I felt tiny. My head barely reached most of the men’s shoulders. Perhaps because I was 18, but it was not much of an excuse. Murmurs trailed me as I worked my way to the desk.

“Are you really signing up, Gareth Frug? Run home to your farm. I think it’d be better if you never came here instead,” said Anthony Winter, flashing me a sceptical look. “My dad gave me this dagger. Neat, ain’t it?”

It was more than neat. The handle was engraved with his full name and the silver blade was symmetrical. It glinted threateningly in the morning light. Without thinking, I placed a finger on it.

“Back off! You dirty rat, I’ll make sure you pay for this,” he roared. Ashamed, I sprang back into the shadows. After signing up, I stayed away from him as much as I could. They gave all of us huge cloth sacks the size of our bodies.

“Remember the rules. The man with the greatest number of prey hunted is the new chief. As the current chief, I look forward to meeting the new one after these four hours,” he said, puffing his chest out before the crowd. “If you want this silken mask, you shall have to prove yourself.”

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

The forest was neither dense nor sparse. Light easily illuminated its depths. I soon caught two rabbits, unaware as I snuck behind them. Those long ears have failed them. The wind seemed to encourage me; the breeze was gentle and whispered with delight. I grinned despite my own struggles, as I slung my catch over my shoulder. Minutes passed slowly as I crept through the forest, ears and eyes alert for any movement.

It took just about an hour to ruin my mood. Anthony had spotted me and ran over with a smug smile on his face. His catch was heavy and near-bursting. It hung behind him like a trophy; he was an obvious front-runner of the competition.

“Hey, peasant. Give me your bow.”

I turned and shook my head, looking at him in confusion.

“Mine broke. You know you’re not winning, so hand it over.”

My eyes stung as I strode over, my hands balled up in fists. He raised his eyebrows in amusement as my smaller figure approached him. I spat, “Say that again. I dare you.”

“You know you’re not winning.”

“Idiot. I’m never giving this to you.”

“To your detriment,” he replied. His arms encircled me as he forced me against a thick wooden trunk. My sack fell to the ground and the animal carcasses spilt out. His large palms seized for my throat, but I punched him in the jaw. His head spun as he backed away, drawing out his dagger. I lunged for it. Landing on him, I pushed his arm to the side.

We wrestled for the weapon. Prying it out of those huge hands was no easy feat. Rolling around in the fallen leaves, our limbs flailed about. At last, I grabbed hold of its handle. I was choking on my breath as I swiftly plunged it into his throbbing chest. He gave out, limp, beneath me. His tongue lolled in his mouth as his eyes rolled back.

No. Did I kill him? Tell me I didn’t. Heck, the punishment for this is an exile. My family! What have I done? Blood rushed through my head as I gathered up his load. Might as well seize the dagger. I could sell it in some faraway marketplace. Just have to hide it. Racing away from the crime scene, I proceeded with my hunt.

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

The four hours had passed and a cry of the bugle called us back. I tried to dispose of the guilt that had been haunting me but it only took deeper roots in my conscience as I struggled weakly. At the plaza, the other men seemed to have had the time of their lives. They beamed at one another, showing off their catches as a display of prominent masculinity. Names were read off as they counted prey.

As I pulled up to have my bag — Anthony’s, actually — measured, I shivered. What if they can tell? Their approving nods comforted my aching heart. I returned to my previous position at the outskirts of the crowd, now unburdened by the remnants of the hunt. Except for the dagger. What if I accidentally left it in the sack? At once, I grabbed the pouch slung about my hips to check. It was there. Sighing, I turned my attention to the village chief. The silken white mask gave him the appearance of a ghost with a live body, his muscular arms twitching with excitement.

“We have totalled the number of prey. A shocking feat, for this, has been the highest in centuries! Of course, there are some hunters still out there — too enraptured to hear our glorious bugle, I suppose,” his voice rang out among the hundreds gathered. “Let us announce our winner!”

My throat tightened. I clenched the pouch tightly as I gritted my teeth.

“Gareth Frug! An underdog of our society has proven himself. Come here, new chief!”

If only they knew.

I stepped up to face the surprised audience, bodies still in their disbelief. The regular speech breezed through my lips. It was difficult not to break down from the crushing weight of wrongdoing. The chief handed over his silken mask to me tenderly. As I faced what was now my people for the first time behind this mask, I wept.

“I am filled with the greatest joy. I have worked hard for this day. Thank you, thank you for letting me be chief.”

Taglist

@galaxy-charm @rhyseoshaughnessy

Author’s note

I’m so happy that I managed to write this much in a day! I didn’t get to do much else, but I did wake up pretty late so perhaps that’s why.

#writeblr #writing #writers on tumblr #my writing #writers #kiraawrites #prose #2 month short stories #2MSS

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maddmuses · 5 years ago

Text

Jin Kazama

Age: 19 (TK 3) 21 (TK4-7)

Date of Birth: May 22nd 1998

Species: Human with the Hachijō bloodline's Devil Gene

Universe-Inspiration: Generally Tekken 4 or 5 with tooling for things to make sense (Does not acknowledge 6 or 7 canon unless specifically that verse)

Appearance Jin is a tall man of Asian ethnicity, specifically Japanese, with dark hair and eyes, as well as a muscular build. Often, his face wears a smoldering scowl, or an otherwise neutral expression. Most of the time Jin's hair is styled backwards in a spiky fashion, with bangs resting over his forehead, that seems rather rigid, at other times he'll allow it to fall naturally, causing more of his hair to quaf forwards, while the back of his head is more prone to cowlicking in the back.

On Jin's left arm is a tattoo-like brand of a vaguely tribal aesthetic, which is a physical marking and indicator of the devil gene that Jin possesses, haivng formed after the first time that the devil attempted to take control of Jin after his mother had disappeared.

Generally, in terms of dress, Jin favors comfort and function over fashion and look, though he does keep to several core aesthetic components. Jin's clothing do tend to favor flame motifs, and dark colors juxtaposing with lighter, more bright tones and colors. As well, Jin almost constantly wears a pair of red sparring gloves. At times these gloves may cover up to his forearms, or even just shy of his elbows, becoming almost armor-like.

During a time of activity for his devil trigger, Jin's brand will extend across his body and face, accenting his frame and features, accompanied by a jewel on his forehead that resembles the eye on his father's forehead. Wings, usually with black feathers, also sprout from Jin's back during the transformation, though not always immediately, enabling him to fly. Along both of Jin's temples sprout two slightly curved horns, ending in a wicked tip, that appear to be far more grown-in than they actually are, given their recent appearance during transformations.

Personality Jin is often accused of being a somber and over-serious young man, with little patience or good humor for others. This was not always the case, as at one point Jin was a happy young man with a friendly demeanor, who may or may not have been something of a mama's boy. Following his mother's disappearance Jin would become much more ill-tempered and dour, rarely smiling sincerely, if at all.

As a warrior, Kazama values honor, fighting his opponents as fairly as possible, reflecting in his fighting style, which rarely includes many fakes or feints, instead anticipating and intercepting his opponents.

While initially indifferent to his father's family, only holding a grudge against Kazuya for his absence, having apparently abandoned Jun after Jin's birth, only to be killed in his own tournament's finals, Jin would develop a resentment towards his father that he didn't necessarily show to his grandfather. This would change, however, after the third tournament, when Heihachi, after having shown Jin kindness and care for the previous four years, abruptly betrayed Jin so as to ensure that all perceived threats to his empire would be done away with. Now, Jin hates all things to do with the Mishimas, particularly Heihachi and Kazuya. This reflects even in his desire to change fighting styles, so as not to remind himself through combat.

Biography Jin Kazama is the illegitimate son of Kazuya Mishima and Jun Kazama. The decision to keep Jin's true parentage from documentation was intended to protect him from Kazuya's enemies, as well as, in Jun's mind, from Kazuya himself. Thus, Jin and his mother would live in largely isolation, among the wilderness that Jun desired to protect, instilling into the young man a love of nature and its world from early on.

With only hazy information alluded to him regarding his father, Jin came to the conclusion that Kazuya's desires to world domination, or indeed possibly a lack of desire to be a parent, was for the reason that he had been absent, and gotten himself killed in the second King of Iron Fists tournament.

As time came on, Jun would sense something foreboding in the future, and would warn Jin that if she were ever not there, he would have to seek out his grandfather, Heihachi Mishima. And this premonition would indeed come to pass, as one morning Jin would wake in the aftermath of an attack by Ogre, having fled into the forest at his mother's order. Only having a vague idea of what happened, Jin would set out, at the age of fifteen, to find his grandfather.

It took roughly a year for Jin to contact Heihachi, and furthermore to prove his parentage to the skeptical old man. But upon this, it would seem, that Mishima would welcome Jin into his home and dojo with open arms, enrolling him into Mishima Polytech, and training the boy in his family's fighting style.

Despite this hospitality, though, Heihachi would have ulterior motives, intending to use Jin, and his apparent Devil Gene, to do away with the threat that was Ogre, and then summarily put an end to the Devil that he believed he'd killed years before. And it was through this training that Jin would become an extremely powerful martial artist, somewhat enabled through his Demonic lineage, but also seemingly due to a prodigal talent for fighting that he'd inherited from both his parents.

While attending Mishima Polytech, Jin would frequently take brief hiatuses to compete in smaller mixed martial arts and karate tournaments globally, to further hone his skills and become strong enough to someday kill his mother's attacker. It was during one of these brawls that Jin would meet and first do battle with his rival Hwoarang, fighting to a draw.

At the age of 19, Jin would enter his grandfather's King of Iron Fist 3 Tournament, given the promise to fight Ogre if her performed well enough. Defeating many other fighters, and again experiencing a draw against Hwoarang, Jin would eventually face off against his grandfather, Heihachi, as a means of drawing Ogre out. While Ogre first fought against Paul, earlier in the tournament, and was defeated, it returned when it had realized that Heihachi was defeated by Jin, drawing upon the man's chi in order to become True Ogre. Engaging in another intense duel with True Ogre, Jin would eventually defeat the beast, only to be gunned down by Tekken Force and Heihachi immediately after he took victory.

Jin died in that moment, but as he drew his final breath, the Devil Gene that lay dormant inside of him activated, causing him to regenerate, and effortlessly do away with Heihachi and his men. Busting his grandfather through a brick wall, Jin would grow wings in his back, and disappear into the night, not able to be tracked by his grandfather, or anyone else for that matter.

Over the next months, Jin would go into hiding in Australia, training to develop a new fighting style, as he resented everything Mishima, including his style. Leaning a new style of Kyokushin-based karate, Jin made efforts to change himself completely, only coming out of his hiding when word came out about the fourth King of Iron Fist's would be held, with both Heihachi and Kazuya intending to enter.

Fighting successfully through the tournament, even having a side-match with his rival Hwoarang, Jin was on his way to face off against his father, Kazuya, with the intent to kill the man. However, he was ambushed on the way be Heihachi's Tekken Force, and was unable to fight them off. Carted off, unconscious, to the Hon-Maru temple, Jin was bound with chains, it wasn't until Kazuya and Heihachi resolved their battle in the finals of the tournament that they came to the temple, though as they did arrive, Kazuya would use his telekinesis to force the old man out of the temple, before attempting to invade Jin's mind with his devil's spirit.

Able to fight it off, thanks to his Kazama blood, Jin managed to break free of the chains, fighting Kazuya and defeating him, only to moments later fight Heihachi, again wining. For the moment, it seemed that his dream would come true, but after seeing a vision of his mother, decided to take mercy on the two, growing his wings, and flying out of the building.

During this spurt of using his Devil Gene, Jin fell into a dissociative state, destroying a large piece of wilderness in the process. Feeling immense guilt at this, Jin would wander for a time, until he came upon civilization again, coming to the conclusion that no matter what, even if it would reflect poorly on what his mother may want, Jin would have to bring an end to the Mishima bloodline, no matter what.

Upon hearing word of the fifth tournament being held by Jinpachi Mishima, Jin would enter, fighting all who got in his way, losing only to Hwoarang, in the process giving into his devil side again to snatch victory from his rival, before continuing on. Eventually, Jin would defeat his grandfather, and take control of the Mishima Zaibatsu, ready to determine what his endgame plan would be.

Abilities and Skills -Martial Arts (Mixed/Multi-Style Karateka): Jin Kazama is a mixed martial artist, having trained under several instructors, each with distinct styles. His fighting style has evolved over time, though his current style is noted for being considered his weakest, as utilizing it runs contrary to the inborn training that Jin has worked for over time. While generally considered a very offensive fighter, Jin actually excels in countering and picking apart the offense of his opponents with a quicker offense, or a variety of throws and grabs. --Kazama Style Self Defense: Jin's original style, and that of his mother, Kazama Style is a type of traditional Jujitsu that focuses on throws and joint-manipulation. Jin's implementation and variance on the style is a largely more striking-oriented one. This is evidenced by the retention of moves like Jun's spinning high kick and Three Ring Circus and Three Ring Circus combo, as well as the throws, which help negate the opponent's offensive options somewhat. Regardless of primary style that Jin utilizes at the moment, the principles and fundamentals of the Kazama style remain evident in how Jin fights. --Mishima Style Fighting Karate: A karate discipline that utilizes the fighter's internal energy to exert it as raw fighting power, Mishima Style Karate is diverse, and often eschews unnecessary components and forms of karate, so that its practitioners can become greater warriors. Each user of Mishima style has a distinct way of fighting, although all practitioners share a series of forms and stances that can be implemented, although again as the fighter develops they may have a different way of executing. Jin's own style resembles Shito-ryu Karate, uniting other styles of karate together to create something fast, powerful, and artistic. It was with this style that Jin was able to defeat both Ogre and True Ogre, widely considered his greatest feat of martial prowess. While he firmly refuses to make use of this style in fights, when he is in possession of all his faculties, Jin will often backslide into using Mishima style when his devil gene takes over, fighting on instinct, rather than actively using his new style. --”Traditional” Kyokushin Karate: Learned from a sensei in Australia, Jin has reconstructed his fighting style into one that implements the basic forms and techniques of ancient karate, blended with the sports-style full-contact Kyokushin Karate. Jin implements this style of fighting as a means of distancing himself from his Mishima-Ryu roots, while also working to develop a new style that's all his own, and can more seamlessly blend with his Kazama style. While considered a master of his new style, Jin is still considered a magnitude beneath his previous fighting ability, as he consciously limits himself and forces his reflexes to remain in check, so that he may avoid using the style that served him for half a decade.

-Chi Manipulation and Manifestation: As a component of his Mishima Style training, Jin is able to focus the life energy known as chi, and exert it externally in tandem with his karate techniques. Jin's chi, like other members of the Mishima clan, manifests as a cloud of electricity, although no symptoms of electrocution, or over-exposure to electricity, seem prevalent in those who Jin, or any repeat opponents of any Mishima, have done battle with, this seems to solely add destructive power to Jin's punches and kicks.

-Education: Jin was educated at the Mishima Polytechnical School, granting him a presumably higher-than average education in Japan, despite the fact that he had dropped out following the third King of Iron Fists Tournament. This should be balanced with a grain of salt, however, as Jin was also homeschooled by Jun for fifteen years, making the specifics of his education and curriculum vague at best.

Superhuman Powers and Abilities -The Devil Gene: As a descendant of the Hachijō clan, Jin has inherited a “Devil Factor” that is able to enhance Jin's physical capabilities, as well as his spiritual ones to some degree, when he is exposed to the spirit of a demon whose purpose is currently unknown, but believed to be to kill Heihachi, as well as cause chaos and destruction throughout the entirety of the world. While it is observed that Jin has only inherited “half” of Kazuya's devil, the fact that they both live at the same time seems to have no impact on either of their ability to fully execute their powers at any given time. When transformed, Jin develops a series of black, tattoo-like, brands along his skin and face, as well as a small jewel-like ridge in his forehead, through which he is able to fire concentrated blasts of his enhanced chi. As well, Jin's physical abilities become greatly enhanced, being able to easily put down foes who were able to defeat or kill Jin moments before, accompanied by the growth of two large, black, winds, and a pair of horns above his temples. Other changes and growths may occur when Jin activates his Devil Gene, but this varies based on the severity of his mental state. It's notable that, apparently due to his mother's spirit and love, Jin's devil form possesses more naturally angelic qualities than his father's. This may also be due to a simple lack of a full possession. When Jin transforms it seems that all injuries and fatigue he suffers disappears, as the devil is able to fight ferociously, despite Jin being defeated moments before, or even having been shot in the head.

-Kazama Bloodline: Inherited from his mother's family, Jin is naturally able to subdue his own devil trigger, as well as stave off the spirit of the devil that attempts to possess him. This scales specifically to Jin's mental state, meaning that there may be times where he falters and succumbs to his inner devil completely, for a time, while at other times he may choose to transform, wholly or partially, or wrest control back DURING a transformation.

Weaknesses and Limitations -Self-Debilitation: Jin actively chooses to not use the forms and techniques that he learned as a part of Mishima style, which aren't otherwise present in his renewed Karate training. This slows down and weakens Jin's ability to fight, as he must actively make the decision to not do this, and rewire towards traditional karate. This has evidenced a decline in ability following both of his losses to Hwoarang, a rival who he could once fight to a stand-still, now getting the better of him both in an aside spar outside of the Fourth tournament, and an actual loss during the fifth tournament, in which Jin was only allowed to continue fighting because he transformed into his Devil form and easily defeated his rival.

-Internal Struggle: Due to Jin's constant internal strife that he must deal with, particularly when his emotional state is so compromised that he very nearly falls to the pressure of his devil gene, Jin's mental state can deteriorate rather quickly, which can negatively inhibit his ability to fight, or function in other regards.

#The Crimson Lightning (Jin Kazama)

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