#I wonder what the kids I used to play handball with every day are up to

[theforgottenfreefaller]

Do you ever just think about random people you went to school with, or played sports with, or worked with and wondering what they are doing these days?

[thenhlteaissuperhot]

how is pavels dad a pos dad?

He is one of those toxic overly controlling dads who was just dead set on making his son a superstar athlete from the second he was born.

I am taking this information from a Czech article, in which his dad was interviewed if you were curious about the source:

When Zacha was only four, he already had the basics of cycling, skating, snowboarding, skiing, swimming, diving, tennis, handball, volleyball, basketball, and a ton of other sports... Don't ask me how is that even possible in the case of a four-year-old, but according to what his dad proclaimed, it is.

His dad trained him based on some style called Kamevéda, about which he even wrote a whole-ass book for other parents who would love to ruin their kid's childhood, where a child can have even eight practices a day, yes you hear that ludicrosity right. Eight practices a day from as early as three or four years old. Waking up at 6:30 AM and ending the last practice at 10:00 PM.

From the age of 3 to 6, Pavel was going to kindergarten only in the morning and till April. He barely went to school because of all the training and at the age of 17, before even graduating high school, he dropped out completely cause his dad wanted him to focus entirely on ice hockey and considered education as useless in Pavel's case.

He found a first sponsor for his son when Pavel was only five years old because the yearly spending on his hockey career was around 36 thousand dollars, thus the entire Zacha family was sacrificing everything for Pavel's athletic career.

"Even Pavel never said that he lacked something in his youth or that he was deprived. And I am convinced that his youth was indescribably richer and more varied than either yours or mine."

"If they are not used to a training routine from a young age, it is difficult to increase their doses. You have trouble controlling them."

His dad always wanted him to be the next Czech hockey superstar after Jagr, but David Pastrnak took that spot away from him by a huge margin, which made Pavel Zacha Sr. quite bitter as his son has been basically nobody in the eyes of the Czechs till this season in Boston, despite all the training and ambitious interviews he made about Pavel's upbringing - honestly wonder how he feels about his son and Pastrnak playing on the same team now.

Also, his dad heavily criticizes how the Czech hockey federation operates (not that his critique wouldn't be understandable at times), but he took that criticism and animosity to a point where he forbid Pavel Zacha from joining the national team even if he was invited, thus, despite being invited every single year, Zacha has never accepted the invitation because his dad told him not to.

Overall, just another story where you wish you would hear the child's side of the story and how they really viewed it.

[thecyrulik]

15 Questions, 15 Mutuals

Tagged by @ceph-the-ghost-writer! Trying to get back to being more active here. One day I will write a chapter of one of my stories, I swear.

Let's start!

1. Are you named after anyone? Ostensibly not! My parents had a Talk TM before I was born and they both decided that I should not be named after anyone, to make my life my own etc. They found a name that hadn't appeared on either side of my family till that day. And then my aunt named her child the same name 🙃

2. When was the last time you cried? Sad Moment TM - it was my grandma's funeral last year (the exact anniversary is due in a couple of days), and before that, my other grandma's funeral a couple of years back. I'm not a big crier, though I sometimes wish I were. Lets feelings out.

3. Do you have kids? No, but I'm cool with having them one day, with the right person to raise them with. Love the fact that those funky creatures turn into actual taxpayers with careers one day.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot? not really. In text - perhaps. With people I know well - yes. Generally no, I'm not that kind of a joker. In fact, I am a little dull IRL.

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people? How they react to other people, I think. Their relations with coworkers, how they talk to customers, people above and below them in the company hierarchy etc. I love analyzing that too. I also adore trying to figure out where they're from based on their vocab/accent.

6. What’s your eye color? Greyish blue. The dullest colour there is, though one person (very dear to me) called it "like winter sky on a frosty morning". Not cool enough to be "steel eyes", not blue enough to be compared to aquatic formations. There's no such thing as ugly eye colour though, and mine isn't either.

7. Scary movies or happy endings? Def both. Scary with a happy ending. I'm not a fan of jump scares but I think characters have to fight (and sometimes suffer) for their happy ending sometimes.

8. Any special talents? Hah. what does "special" mean? I'm stubborn in all the wrong ways and it makes me end up in some odd situations. I am rarely lost and read maps very well, and if you give me a simple task that needs to be repeated 1000 times, I'll happily do it without getting bored. I will just imagine my blorbos suffering during that time, so any negative moodlets cannot affect me.

9. Where were you born? Poland! In a small town I've only ever been to twice in my life, including my birth! The local hospital used to have a wonderful maternity ward and all, so my parents went there every time they had a baby on the way.

10. What are your hobbies? I write and I read, I find out weird stuff on the internet. I like crafts like stitching and knitting, I make my own beer, cider and fruit liquers, and work in the garden a lot! Oh, and I love languages an awful lot.

11. Have you any pets? I have two cats that live with my parents now - one of them is an idiot and also quarter European wildcat - he has 2 braincells only. The other one is his domestic cat momma, a black demoness that loves staying in the shadows and attacking you when you step on her (she doesn't have a non-black hair on her body so you can imagine she is stepped on quite often).

12. What sports do you play/have played? Used to be into handball in high school. Right now I mostly swim, usually when I have to think about stuff. I can't listen to my music in the swimming pool so I'm forced to listen to y thoughts. Other than that, I juggle! And it's fun and satisfying and you can make your own juggling balls with balloons and sand/rice!

13. How tall are you? 164 cm. Not great, not terrible. I get +2 in sneaking though, and exploring basements, mines and medieval castles is generally safe for me, at least when it comes to bumping your head on low door frames.

14. Favorite subject in school? Foreign languages and biology. I also enjoyed maths a lot, but I had good teachers all the way. In uni - history of Greece, pharmaceutical botany, infectious diseases and ethics.

15. Dream job? Coming up with new blorbos to torment and put in Situations TM and talking about them. Since I have no discipline to be a full-time writer, my current job is a very nice second-best option.

Tagging @whumpsday @kim-poce @whump-cravings @andordean @hold-him-down @whumpy-writings! feel free to ignore any questions that feel too private for you, and swap them with a fun fact about one of your OC!

[we-arethenewheroes]

I Hate Bullies part1

Stray Kids Felix Imagine

bully!felix x reader

Synopsis : you just got a scholarship (thanks to your amazing grades and talent at handball) and just got transferred to one of the most prestigious high school in Seoul Korea : Inchang Highschool. But of course, life couldn't be so wonderful. (ft enhypen, theboyz, clc and more)

>> Part2 Part3

"The score is 17-17 right now, if we mark, we win, if we don't, they win."

"B-but we have only 1 min left ! Coach, it's impossible !"

"Y/N, do you think you can do it ?"

All eyes turn on you as the coach calls your name. You look at her, straight in the eyes.

"Of course I can."

You hear the high pitch noise of the whistle, signaling to the teams to go back to the field.

Okay, we have the ball, and we've been playing safe so... i just need to...

You look around a little, and as soon as the ball touches your palm, you sprint to the goal, throwing the ball to your teamate who already ran to the other side. The opponents gets it back be you quickly stop the action and get the ball back.

20 second

You get back on your feet and run to the goal again, sprinting and dribbling as fast as you can, you face three other girls trying to stop you, quickly blocked by your teamates.

5 second

You get to the zone, jump and throw the ball. You close your eyes and hear the whistle, ending the game, Then the whole stadium cheering on your side, as your teamates run to you.

"Y/N Oh my god you did it !"

You open your eyes back open to see the ball in the goal, as your opponent goes to shake your hand. You turn to see your coach talking to two inspectors, locking eyes with you, signaling you to join them.

"I must say, you impressed me today Miss L/N"

"You turned around the game and saved your team. You truly have a potential"

"That's why we want you to be part of our handball program, the Hope Pole. It's a girl's scholarship only, it can get you to great universities, and even get you to the national handball team."

"In the meantime, you'll get to study to Inchang High, looking at your grades, you will fit right in. You're actually the first one to get this scholarship, we don't usually go to other schools, but we give it a chance, and we were not disappointed."

You look at the inspectors, shocked of the news.

I did it... I finally got my scholarship...

Your coach looks at you.

"I already talked to your uncle about it, and he wanted the decision to be fully yours. So what do you say ? You're in ?"

She smiles at you.

"Of course I'm in ! Where do I sign !"

You're new trophy in hand, as well as your scholarship papers, you finally get home.

Home sweet home

"Uncle ! I'm home !"

"DON'T GO IN THE KITCHEN !"

This, is my uncle, Kim Jisub.

He's very fun to be around, a great dad to his son and I, and a real, real, loser. He's been trying to be a chef for over 5 years now, with no results.

"Oh my god what did you do..."

"He tried to do some flambé noodles or whatever, didn't really work as you can see"

And this is my cousin, Kim Junho, he's 8 and just starting to get sassy, too sassy actually. He's my uncle's one and only son. His wife dies giving birth to Junho, so for my uncle, his son is very precious to him.

"Uncle ! You can't just burn stuff in the kitchen like that, at leats do it outside, I don't know! Now the only pan we had left is ruined"

"Yessss I'm sorry Y/N, I'll do a few extra shifts at work and I'll buy ten pans, I promise!"

You sigh, seriously...

"Well... Maybe you won't have to do extra shifts...."

"No way.... Don't tell me...."

Your uncle looks at you with big eyes

"You got a job ??"

You sigh again, more annoyed this time.

"No ! iI got my scholarship you idiot !"

Your uncle's eyes get even bigger

"Oh my god- well first of all, don't call me idiot- and Oh My God ! Y/N congrats!"

Your uncle smiles at you and hugs you, congratulating you on your scholarship.

"Hum, am I gonna benefit from your 'scholarship' ?"

You turn to your cousin,

"Well, yes? Probably ?"

"Then, congrats Y/N, I knew you could do it."

He outs on a fake smile, but you know he is actually happy for you. This little brat, I swear

You sitting at the kitchen counter, as your uncle tries to save the burnt pan, while your cousin is in his room.

"So, what's in this scholarship exactly?"

"Well, first, I get to be in the Seoul Girls Team training program, I get to study at Inchang High, AND, I have a big fat check every month to pay for 'school supplies, books and clothes', but we all know here that we just gonna buy some new furniture and pay the rent."

"Oh noo, come one Y/N, you earned it, you do whatever you want with it."

Your uncle goes to clean the burnt pan.

".... How much is it?"

"1 000 000won a month." (~1000$)

Your uncle stop his action and goes quiet for a moment, then turns to you.

"say what now ?"

"You heard it well, Jisub."

Your uncle turns back to the pan, then looks at you, then look at the pan. He picks it up from the sink, goes to the trash can and put the pan in it.

"Uuuh ??? Excuse me sir, you can't just give up like that-"

"Y/N, with 1 000 000won a month, we can pay and the rent, and water, and the gaz, and the electricity, and 20 pans, heck, we can buy new forks and knives, new beddinds- new BEDS"

"Don't go to far"

"You get the point !"

"Yes, I get it. I'll give you the money so you'll be able to pay for everything and don't have to worry about extra shifts."

"Y/N..."

"I knoew your dream is to have your own restaurant, well now you can save your job's money to buy one, and we won't have to worry about money ever again!"

Your uncle looks at you and sits next to you. He sigh.

"I know I'm not the best parent ever, amd can't keep a job to save my life, I forget your birthday, or can't nake it to graduations, but I try my best, to keep you and Junho safe."

You look at your uncle, letting him talk.

"I promised your parents and grandparents to keep you feed and warm, no matter the cost, and I will keep doing that. But this scholarship- this money, you earned it yourself. You accomplished what I couldn't accomplish. This money is yours, keep it. Buy clothes and makeup, video games, new handball outfits- whatever you want to have, have it. Live your teen years. You shouldn't worry about money, you should worry about grades and boys. You'll have plenty of time to worry about money, but this time is not now. Over my dead my body."

You look at your uncle, his eyes tearing, probably sad that he made you worry about money too, also sad talking about your parents.

"Don't worry uncle, I will. I promise."

You smile at your uncle and hug him.

"I hate to see you guys grow up"

"Ookay that's enough sads for today, I'm gonna take a shower"

You get on your feet and head to the shower.

"A few years back I used to shower you ! You were just a little baby!-"

Inchang High, one of the most prestigious school in Seoul, in this school it's just rich kids, sons and daughters of CEO, conglomerates, lawyers, surgeons, heck even politicians. And here I am, daughter of deceased parents, adopted by her jobless uncle. Wow, impressive.

You look at your new school for a few seconds then make your way into the building. You look around and search for the teacher's office. You knock at the open door and get the attention of two professors.

"Ah ! You must be L/N Y/N right? Come over here."

You approach a tall men, pretty young, wearing round black glasses. You stand next to him

"I'm Mr. Choi, your homeroom teacher, and English teacher. Are you excited for your first day?" He asks, smiling at you.

"Yeah, kinda nervous but very excited."

"Don't be, the students are nice, and seeing your excellent grades, you'll get used to this school in no time."

Mr.Choi turns to his well organized and neat desk and get a few books and papers from a drawer.

"Come on, I'll get you to your class, it's the 1-4"

You then follow your teacher out of the office, and into the corridors. He talks to you about the school's history and building but you can't seem to focus.

You look around, seeing all those rich kids. They all look so neat and clean, they all have expensive shoes and bags, jeweleries, immaculate white button ups, well ironed skirts, their uniform all looks so nicely fited. Next to them, I just look like a homeless men, like a fly in the soup..

"Ans here is your class, not everyone is here yet, you can take a sit next to the window, at the 5th row, the class president is at the front row doing some homework, is name is Heeseung, if you need anything you can just ask him, now I gotta go, but I'll see you around, okay?"

You nod at your teacher and bow to him goodbye as he leaves. You take a deep breath before entering the class, you try to look as presentable and open the glass door.

From the outside you could only see the front row, but as you sneak your head inside, you see that every single one of your classmates are already in class, as they turn to you, all going completely silent at the new arrival.

Oh my god they're all looking at me waht do I-

"You must be Y/N," you turn to the voice, "I'm Heeseung, the class president." He stands up,

"Mr.Choi told you about me ?..."

"No" you look at him, quite confused "The principal came to the class lasy friday to tell us you'd be here." Oh boy

"Yeah" you turn to the other voice in the class, this time a girl. "We missed half of our math class because of it."

"O-oh hum well, I-" I'm sweating wdid-

"We should thanks you for that hahhaa" the tension get down immediately as your classmates giggles at the student's comments

"Yeah, the teacher was so pissed, we were supposed to have a test but we couldn't do it"

It's actually goind better than I expected...

Yo see the same girl approaching you "I'm Eunbin, and this is Chanhee, my best friend"

She points at a shy guy with blond hair. You wave at him and he wave back at you.

Heeseung, still standing next to you clears his throat

"Do you know where you have to sit ?"

"Oh, hum yeah, Mr.Choi said I had to sit at the 5th row, next to the window."

Heeseung looks at EunBin, who looks at Chanhee, who looks back at Heeseung. They all seem very... Scared ?

"Wha-what's up guys..?? Is something wrong ?"

Heeseung looks at you "Maybe we should ask the teacher to change your sit or-"

Then, a girl with one of her friend pushes Eunbin to the side to get a look at you. She's scans you from head to toe, cleary judging you.

"Hum, excuse me? Who are you and why are looking at me like I just ran over you dog ?"

"Where did you get those shoes ?"

"Uuhh the store ? Where do you buy shoes, dumbass"

The girl looks at you dead in the eyes "Do you know who I am?"

"well, no, that's why I asked, 'Who are you', or do you not understand ?"

Eunbin holds back her laugh.

"I am the daughter of the-"

"I don't care, actually. What do you want ?"

Even Heeseung can't seem to keep a straight face, turning his back at the girl a little.

"Hu- well- How dare you-"

"Oh my goooood what. do. you. want. Let's get this over with please."

The girl stutters a bit, she clearly didn't expect for you to respond like that.

If she thought that I'd be impressed or scared then she's wrong.

"Look, if you're here to be intimidating, it's not working, okay ? You got here because your the daughter of some conglomerate men, I got here thanks to my talent and hard work, so you're not scaring me."

The girl humphs and turnd on her heels, get out of the room.

"Oh my god, Y/N, you have some balls wtf" Eunbin says, looking at you with her to thumbs up. "You were really cool just now." She looks at Heeseung "She'll do just fine with Lee Felix"

"Lee Felix? Who's that ?" You look at Heeseung.

"He's... Humm your class neighbor !"

"And also a bully." It's the first thing Chanhee ever says to you.

"A bully ? Seriously ? I'm next to a bully? Damn I HATE bullies.."

Chanhee stands up and stans before you. "If you could shut him down like you did with the other girl, I think you could do a lot of good in this class, heck even the school"

You look at Chanhee, "Don't worry, I won't let him bully anyone under my sight, that's for sure."

As you finish talking, you hear the bell ring, and the teacher coming in the room. You take a sit. He's not here yet-

As you think of it, you hear the back door sliding open, seeing a tall guy with black hair, looking at his phone, followed by two other guys talking to each other. The two guys takes sit next to the door as the other guy sit next to you. I assume he's Lee Felix..

You try to not pay much attention to him and concentrate on the lesson.

You can feel the ray of the sunrise shining on your the left side of your face, the warm feeling giving you chills down your back.

You then hear a low voice "You're blocking the light." Lee Felix...

You sigh, not even giving him a look. "Not my problem."

Felix sighs, clearly annoyed at your response. "Who the fuck even are you-" he says as he turns to you, but as his eyes gets to you, he's amazed. It's like seeing an angel...

He's never seen a beauty like your yours, as the sun hugs your features so prefectly, you hair falling on your shoulders, the concentrated look on your face. Everything he sees is perfect.

I found an angel..

A/N: hope you liked it ! Follow me to know the story, part 2 coming very soon !!!! (Class 1-4 is nothing serioussss it's just because my class is the 104 so yeah)

[treechangeseachange]

The return

It’s coming up to 3 months since we returned to our block and it took us 8 weeks to slow down. On the weekend we slowed down we enjoyed the first official Friday night catch up with our neighbours as the full moon rose. On Saturday we went out for brunch. No sport on Sunday morning meant a sleep in. I played handball with my boys for the first time ever in my life. Lamb shanks slow cooked on the wood heater. We squeezed in a late Sunday afternoon fishing trip. It took us 8 weeks to find some calm. We had forgotten how to do normal. I haven’t written for this blog since um wow December?! My leisure time since then has been extremely limited and when it occurred I prioritised my mental wellbeing and sleep.

This journey has brought me to the edge of my psychological and physical limitations. I watched my husband do a terminator style non stop renovation while trying also to commence a rebuild. His promises to take time off over Christmas dwindled to 2 days. There was so much to do. I helped with whatever jobs I was able to and then focussed on the household and occasionally, our boys. Midway through January this year we realised trying to work on both the renovation and the rebuild was insanity. The local real-estate market was booming. Post COVID, Sydney city dwellers realised they could put in a few days in the city then work from their coastal holiday pad the rest of the week. We decided to get our investment property, come bushfire haven, onto the market before the summer ended. We mapped out each remaining job and the days required to accomplish them. We calculated selling time, settlement time and remaining bank balance. What were need to do’s and what were optional extras. If everything went to plan, we could pay to get some work done at the block and make it habitable enough to move into. It was an extreme test of time, energy and resources.

It worked. We listed by the end of February, sold in three weeks and settled five weeks after settlement. I write that all in one glib sentence. Of course all of that only happened with considerable focus and effort. Life for the boys was hectic. 99% of their toys were packed and moved into storage weeks before the house went on the market. As the house neared completion we stressed about them damaging something. When the house was on the market we stressed about them getting things dirty - the walls, the windows or the cupboards. I banished them from the bathroom, they had to brush teeth in the laundry and shower outside. Luckily it was warm and didn’t rain much in those few weeks! Anyone who has sold a house while living in it knows how painful open homes are. The logistics and effort of cleaning and styling, while working full time from home, scheduling everything between work appointments, getting the dog out of the way and the boys to school, nearly broke me. Thankfully the selling process was short, but we packed a lot of opens into that time and by the end of it all, I had become a shouty, grouchy mum and wife. It was also a real highlight to hit menopause and bring some phenomenal hormonal energy into the mix. Phew.

Before we packed up and left I was lucky enough to have a week away with the boys. My fully wired self hit Melbs and my family gave me refuge and forgave my intensity. We managed some fun and the change of scenery was a big relief. Husband, however, stayed behind to work on the temporary shed home. Holiday behind me, I returned to packup and clean and polish the house for the financial return of our lives. Literally.

Can you then imagine our triumphant and spectacular return to our block bathed in happiness and light? Um well perhaps instead picture this - we arrived exhausted to an unpowered, work in progress temporary residence in the middle of a mice plague and endured 200ml of heavy rain in four days leaving us surrounded by mud. Happy to catch the rain in our tank? I wish! The new tank leaked 8000L the week before we moved, and only our neighbour’s spare tank loan meant we had any water at all. But being so small, it overflowed and made even more mud. The heavy rain was so loud on the tin roof it frequently woke the kids in the night (who then woke us), mice ran across the floor, huntsmen spiders dropped from the ceiling. With nowhere really to unpack things, cooking became like the biggest ever memory game, which box were the bowls in? Where did I pack the cutlery? The rain delayed our solar power install so for 10 days we lived out of an esky and by torchlight. We both kept working full time, getting the boys to school, after school sport commitments and then husband kept building after he got home and into the night. After a week of stress and chaos we knew something had to give, fortunately husband could take time off work to focus on our build and family life.

Fast forward to now. The financial pressure of the summer has eased. The temporary living quarters are functional and steadily improving. We have a beautiful wood heater. Our off grid solar system is powering us even during these short winter days. I have more kitchen cupboards than ever before, plus a dishwasher! I have hung up my clothes in a full wardrobe for the first time in nearly four years. The boys each have clean new wardrobes. Their separate rooms are still being built so they are in what will be our room which is insulated and wall paneled. We can cope with an outside shower and toilet. My husband is a legend.

What’s it like actually being back? I confess I was nervous about my own and the boys emotions. Eldest son is extremely happy to be back. Youngest son has taken time to adjust but that has more been due to his fear of the dark. The noises of the bush are unfamiliar and there are no streetlights out here! There has only been one time where a prebushfire memory overwhelmed me. Every person’s bushfire experience and recovery is unique. Unlike many others we are fortunate have the opportunity to not have to build on the exact footprint of the old place and I think this is psychologically helpful. It’s not the same space, and with some trees dead and gone the landscape is altered, its a slightly different perspective. The boys are older now, so our lifestyle is different too. Slowly we are finding a new rhythm on our land. The boys are absolutely loving being back on their bikes on bush tracks.

I was excited to resume my morning walks, although maybe not as excited the dog! He’s happy to have his off-lead roam again. But the first week of walking I found tough, the burnt and recovering state forest I traverse didn’t bring me the joy it used to. In the heavily logged areas where only isolated saplings were left unlogged, they couldn’t survive the heat of the fire or they didn’t have community trees to share nutrients through their roots to support recovery. The undergrowth is now the canopy and is booming with all the extra sunlight but when I look at it, all I see is fire hazard. Then as the weeks went by, my view softened, I recognise the bush is healing like me. I am appreciating small wonders of nature. A spider’s web highlighted with morning dew or the fascination of new plants thriving. There are trees that have fully recovered, others seem to be doing well, and there is much green in the landscape to enjoy.

On my morning walk I also see which animals are about in the night from what they leave behind. There is at least one very busy wombat! We see wallabies reasonably often and last week one morning I found big roo prints in the clay right near our place. We hear a boobook owl calling most nights and more frogs chirping croaking from the gully than I ever remember. Which now makes sense, we definitely were in drought for some years prior to the fires and the creek has this year been running for months. Less exciting is hearing foxes at night, my son especially dislikes their eerie calls. In daytime the bird life is altered. We are down to one lyrebird, there used to be two with adjacent territories battling loudly with their extraordinary mimicry. But at least there is one, how a ground bird survived I can’t imagine. The yellow robins aren’t around us now, we have wrens in the cleared spaces and in the lush shrubs busy brown gerygones dart and chirp. A shrike thrush has made a nest in our bushfire remains pile, her song is piercing and wonderful. Rarely are the yellow crested black cockatoos here now. This past weekend we did see two circling wedge tailed eagles the silent assassins of the sky wheeling high over the gully with that phenomenal wingspan.

Surprisingly my greatest source of happiness in these first few months being back has come from the sky. Unobstructed by buildings, the sky feels bigger in the bush. I’m loving the late winter sunrises. My very favourite time is just after the sun has risen when the horizontal sun rays set tops of the trees bright orange. Those are magical minutes of golden tinged trees. The sunsets. The stars. The moon. the sky has been a revelation and a source of happiness. Maybe because I’m spending more time outside I notice it more. Seeing glittering stars through the steam of a hot outdoor shower makes the cold walk inside completely worth it!

Slowly I am regaining my sense of gratitude for this place. The quiet. The privilege of not seeing another house. Having no curtains and that not mattering. Not worrying about noise and neighbours. Lack of street lights at night.

All of a sudden things aren’t hectic and we are settling in. It still amazes me after 6 moves in 5 years how intense moving is and then how imperceptibly things transition to not being new anymore. Normalcy sneaks up on me every time. Clearly this isn’t really normal but we’re enjoying this new start in our old place.

[zukofenty]

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.” 

[scowlowl]

15 Questions + 15 tags

tagged by @wintersoldierfell, thank yooou I secretly love these.

Are you named after anyone? Originally I was named after a friend of my Dad's who I never met, I think? There's some story there I could never remember. I picked my name while going through what we can probably safely call a phase and it was a combination of factors, like a namesake who was a certain emperor whose history kept popping up in my life in weird but meaningful ways, and the fact that I probably should have read up more on the dude than I did but I didn't because my friends were pressuring me to just fucking choose something already and, well. I threw my hands up and said fuck it and here we are.

I am tempted every goddamn day to change it again.

When was the last time you cried? Ohh probably the other day. February always runs riot on my emotions and I turn into a weepy mess at the drop of a hat.

Do you have kids? No and I don't want yours.

Do you use sarcasm a lot? I use sarcasm so much that people don't recognize what I'm trying to say when I don't.

What’s the first thing you notice about people? I don't notice things. No, that’s a lie, it’s probably how likely someone is to walk into me.

What’s your eye colour? Blue.

Scary movie or happy ending? Scary movie with a happy ending that I can analyze and pick apart for the next fifteen years while thinking about publishing a paper on it, probably. But I'm also a baby so not, like, TOO scary.

Any special talent? I was gonna say 'no' but today I whipped out a 1,000 word summary of the history of a certain mega-fandom so you know what, that. It's that. My talent is sarcastic essay writing. I'm sorry.

What country were you born in? Alberta hashtag wexit

What are your hobbies? Riding around picking flowers in Red Dead Redemption online, doodling, chainmail, staring at the ceiling at night wondering if I should get over myself and try to meet people or tell someone I like them or just, like, die? Also reading.

Do you have any pets? Pudding!

What sports do you play/have you played? I grew up playing sports -- soccer and handball-but-not-really-handball were the big two, and horseback riding (mostly on trails, so western). Neigh.

How tall are you? Five foot somethin', no one knows anymore but I gain like 3 inches in height whenever I remember to straighten my back.

Favourite subject(s) in school? Recess. And language arts, some years, depending on the teacher and what we were doing. And I still think fondly of a sewing class I had in jr. high. I actually went looking for the stuffed animal kits they had us make a couple weeks back.

Dream job? No jobs no capitalism recess forever

Taggin’ if you want to: @writedrunk @glittermoose @omegalovaniac @gethporno @cake-and-monsters @wise-emperor

[tiny-maus-boots]

Soulmates AU pt 11

Summary:  Inspired by Soulmate(s) au, soulmate(s) au pt 2 , and Soulmate(s) au pt 3 hc by @fandom-heaux . An AU in which everyone is born with a smudged birthmark. As you find your mate in life the smudge forms their name when you’ve made an impression on them. In this world Beca doesn’t realize she has any, let alone three. FYI hc pt 3 is particularly important to Stacie’s reaction to her marks.

As always thank you to my bff and beta reader @chloes-yellow-cup for always encouraging me to continue on.

Stacie

The ride to Chloe’s and Aubrey’s place had been quiet and tense and she knew it was her own fault. It was just hard to look at Beca right then because it fucking hurt. But they were there now, parked across the street from a neatly manicured lawn in front of a duplex condo and something had to be said. Although the house was bright and warm a cold weight settled on her and she half glanced at Beca who was staring out the window watching some kids playing tag. It was now or never and if it were up to Beca it would probably be never. “Beca….”

“Look Stacie. Let’s just…not. Okay?” Beca still wasn’t looking at her but Stacie could read the anxiety in her friend easily. It was little things really, like the way Beca’s fingers twitched in a near compulsive tick. Something Stacie had once thought was amusing but now it tugged at her heart in a way she didn’t quite understand but found herself wanting to.

“I’m sorry Beca.” The other woman turned her head a fraction of an inch in reflex then jerked it back toward the window. Stacie sighed and stared out of the windshield of the car, hands resting lightly on the steering wheel. “Your name took me by surprise. I shouldn’t have been accusatory or whatever.”

“Yeah well my name is taking me by surprise too.” There was a waver in Beca’s voice but she cleared her throat and Stacie wondered just how close to crying she really was. “It’s not like I planned for that to happen or even knew it could. God knows it never has before...”

Stacie turned to look at Beca when she trailed off quietly. No one had to say it out loud but they both knew Beca had tried at least once to love and be loved. It was obvious in the way the small brunette waved her hand dismissively trying to separate herself from the past. Before she could say anything at all Beca wrenched open the car door and pulled herself out and away from Stacie. The heavy door slammed just hard enough to make Stacie wince and she scrambled out after Beca.

“Okay so we have some serious shit to unpack. Both of us. Maybe…maybe we can unpack it together? Or…” She didn’t even know what she was offering honestly, it was mostly a blind fumble to try and fix what she had broken in her stupidity.

“Shut. Up.” Stacie stopped short at the sting of Beca’s words but Beca wasn’t even glancing her way, all her attention focused up the street.

“Seriously? We’re talking here. Hello?” Beca stared and flapped a beckoning hand at Stacie without breaking her focus. With an irritated sigh she walked around the front of her car to peek around a van obscuring her view from whatever Beca was so damn interested in. For a moment she couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing and then the image resolved itself in her mind. All the air in her lungs rushed out and Stacie felt her jaw drop slightly in surprise. “What the…”

“That’s uh, that’s a fox. On a leash.”

Stacie blinked twice and nodded though she wasn’t sure if she was nodding for the actual fox or Aubrey who was leading it down the street with zero fucks given. The blonde sipped an iced coffee from behind big dark sunglasses as she paused to look both ways before crossing the street without even noticing them both standing there gaping at her like idiots. “Yes, yes it is.”

Aubrey opened the front door of the house and stepped inside with her furry little friend and it wasn’t until the door closed behind them that Beca sputtered out her incredulous amusement. “I know I should be outraged or…completely thrown off guard but that seemed…”

“Oddly normal and unsurprising for Aubrey?” Beca gave a slow nod at Stacie’s words still looking at the space the other woman had occupied seconds earlier. Yeah. Anyone else strutting down the street with a fox on a leash would definitely have raised some eyebrows but it just seemed to fit Aubrey. “I’m just gonna say it. That was hot.”

Beca gave her a mild look but didn’t argue it. Stacie started to reach out to Beca though she wasn’t aware she was doing it or even why but Beca’s nose crinkled and Stacie let her hand drop back to her side. “Maybe we should just go in Stacie.”

Stacie gave a nod of agreement and sighed. Honestly she didn’t want to force Beca to talk, it wouldn’t help either of them and really she wasn’t even sure where to begin to apologize for that morning. “I don’t want to lose you.” It wasn’t at all what she was going to say or at least what she thought she was going to say. But somehow it felt right to just put it out there.

“I mean that’s not how you made it sound this morning. Sounded to me like you’re done being friends. And you know what? That’s cool I’m used to that shit by now. So no need to pretend you’re fine with me right now because we both know you’re not. It’s not like I don’t get it.”

“No. You don’t get it. You don’t get it at all.” Stacie crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the hood of the car. “My mom died. Not recently or anything but it happened and when she died so did a part of my dad. So did a part of me.” This wasn’t something she talked about ever, mostly because she never got close enough to anyone to talk about it. She didn’t keep close friends because she never wanted anything to turn into something bigger or deeper than just fucking around. It was just easier for her that way. But now that she had to talk about it, she realized that she wanted to talk about it but it was hard to pull the words out without choking on the hard lump rising to her throat.

“…I’m sorry Stacie I didn’t know.”

She waved that off and cleared her throat before finally meet Beca’s gaze. “The point is, I maybe stupidly thought it was okay to feel things for you because given your situation I figured you’d never be one of my marks. I thought it meant I would get to keep you in my life ya know? Like when shit inevitably gets bad at least you’d be there…”

“Wait. I know your mom passed away and that’s horrible. I’m so sorry. But that doesn’t mean that every mate is going to leave you. Like why would you even think that? Mates are supposed to be your forever home.”

Forever home. It struck a chord with Stacie and she bit her lip before shrugging and looking away. “I have three marks Beca. You saw them. I’m obviously gonna lose them. I’m gonna lose you Beca and it really sucks because you’re like the only person who hasn’t wanted to hang out just so they could fuck me. You just accept whoever I am and I’ve never had that before. But I don’t get to keep you and I think it’s because you’re supposed to be Chloe’s. And hey maybe this is why you don’t have any marks, maybe you’re…” She didn’t even know what she was trying to say so she made a vague gesture that could have meant anything.

It was a lot. She knew that. But they needed to finally put things out there and at least be right with each other before they walked into Aubrey and Chloe’s place. “Are you saying I’m going to die? Oh my God I’m gonna die. I’m too young. Oh Jesus.” Beca’s cheeks puffed out as she blew out a breath trying to wrap her head around the fact that this could mean her death.

“No! No that’s not. I didn’t mean it like that Beca.” But maybe she kind of did. Maybe she kind of thought that was exactly what would happen. Not logically, but somewhere in the back of her mind she was terrified of being like her dad. Half alive with only half a soul just drifting through his days waiting until he could be with her mom again.  Stacie watched Beca pace back and forth as she struggled with thoughts of her own mortality, fingers on her carotid artery taking her pulse with increasing anxiety and felt like crap for putting that on the smaller woman. “Beca… Beca stop. Take a breath, you’re not dying. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make it seem like all that.”

Beca stopped her pacing but still held her hand to her neck, her eyes a little too wide as she nodded quickly. “Yeah of course I mean. This chest pain is probably just gas and I’m not totally having a heart attack right now. Oh God are my hands supposed to be tingling? Oh Jesus am I having a stroke? It’s a stroke isn’t it? Oh my God please don’t let my mother look at my browsing history when I die…I’m blind! Oh God I’m going blind!”

Beca wasn’t blind but she was close to passing out and Stacie took the two long steps to Beca’s side and gripped her by the shoulders. Stacie couldn’t calm Beca the way she had calmed Aubrey the night before because Beca was too far gone in her hysteria for rational thought so she did the only thing she could think of to stop the spiral. She cupped Beca’s face and brought her head up for what she had intended to be a soft brush of lips. For a breathless second they stood there frozen by the sudden intimate contact before Beca pulled back warily.

It wasn’t a deep kiss, or even very long but Stacie’s heart was beating double time and that hadn’t happened since middle school when Peter Galecki had kissed her behind the handball court for the first time. Stacie let out a soft breath and reluctantly pulled her hands away from Beca’s face. “Still blind?”

Beca reached up and touched her lip with her fingertips. “What uh. What just happened right now?”

Stacie chewed her lip a moment and shrugged. “I kissed you because you were hyperventilating and I thought you were going to pass out.”

“Oh.” Beca reached behind her back and scratched lightly and Stacie had to clear her throat and look away because she didn’t think that Beca would appreciate her smiling just that second. Beca gave her a single blink before rushing back for a kiss so deep and full of longing that Stacie thought she might drown in the overwhelming feel of it. The weight and momentum of Beca’s body colliding with hers knocked them back step into the back of the van. It rocked hard enough for the alarm to scream out its annoyance but Stacie didn’t dare let Beca go.

It had been a long time in coming but it felt right and somehow natural, despite the fact that a passing car had just yelled ‘get a room’ at them. Stacie sucked Beca’s lower lip with a gentle tug before resting their foreheads together. And as good as it felt letting the shorter woman melt into her chest it scared the ever living crap out of her. Because she could lose it all and then where would she be? Who would she be?

They didn’t say anything, probably because they were both trying to process whatever the hell was happening but there was something different between them now. And whatever it was, the thing between them, it was almost tangible and living and Stacie could feel it drawing them closer even as she leaned in to catch Beca’s lips in another much softer kiss. “Still dying?”

“Only if you stop kissing me.” Beca looked as scared and hopeful as Stacie felt she couldn’t help but kiss Beca again.

“Guess I can’t stop then, since it’s a matter of life and death and all…” The car alarm chirping loudly startled her before the start of another kiss and Stacie jerked forward almost toppling Beca out of her arms. They stood quickly and parted suddenly realizing that they were still standing at the side of the road in plain view of anyone happening to pass by.

Beca cleared her throat and nodded at nothing just to fill the pregnant silence. “Okay keep it in your pants maybe.” It lacked the usual bitter sting and Stacie smirked to herself at the blush creeping up Beca’s neck and face as she fixed her shirt.

“Sorry not sorry.” Stacie held out her hand tentatively, well aware of the fact that Beca didn’t like touching and had squirmed away from her previous attempts to reach out. She raised her green eyes to meet Beca’s and waited patiently.

After a second of hesitation Beca took her hand in a sure grip, lacing their fingers together. Of course she looked surprised and terrified by it the whole time but it was kind of endearing and Stacie gave Beca’s hand a gentle squeeze of assurance. They stared at their linked hands for a second longer before turning to face Aubrey and Chloe’s house. At least they’d face whatever was coming together. And somehow it felt right to let it happen.

[kevkesblog]

Jannis Brandt Interview (spring 2018)

I’m sorry for misspelled words, but my laptop automatically changes english into german (or attempts to do that).

note: this interview was recorded before the World Cup 2018 in Russia.

N:     Who is your brother?

J:      My brother is Julian Brandt. He plays for Bayer Leverkusen and the national team.

N:     How does it feel if you say something like that?

J:      Hm, it’s big. Especially the national team, because we used to watch the games of the national team on TV in our childhood and youth. 

I have also followed everything around him during his youth – all the youth teams. That was already big. But now that he plays for the national team makes it even bigger.

N:     Did you - or Julian had posters of certain players in his room or so? Did he have role models or idols?

J:      Hm, I think Julian’s room was full of posters. Ronaldo, Messi the real big players – even back then. But his idol – which I think is already known – was Diego, from Werder Bremen.

N:     And your idol?

J:      Mine? I never really had any idols. No football player.

N:     But?

J:      Not really others as well.

N:     Singer? Actor? Comic figure?

J:      No. Not really.

N:     Sometimes people do have a certain indiviual. Even if it’s pikatchu.

J:      (laughs) No, Julian was more of an anime fan – I would say. Whether it was Dragonball Z or whatever… I usually never watched those shows. He was more that type of person. Hm, idol? I dont know. Sure, the big names Ronaldo and Messi where you were looking up and say „Ok, those were the players of our time“. But no, not really an idol.

N:     But since we are talking about the national team. Has there ever been a german national player who was admirable?

J:      Back in the day or today?

N:     Yes – but especially in the past. I mean you named the big international stars of football, but do you think there is at least one german name on that list or not?

J:      There wasn’t. (laughts)

N:     (laughts) OK, clear answer!

J:      Well of course there were big names. Players like Schweinsteiger who now reached an age were they played many years for the national team. Including world cups. Yeah and if you see how these players are still playing now. Or Lukas Podolski who played one final game with Julian – his last one. This it’s big sure. Especially since Julian used to have posters with Podolski in his room and then suddently they play together. I thinks it’s big – even for him, playing with so many experierenced players and that sometimes he tries to look what tricks of them he can copy – yes.

N:     When I looked at this from the outside, if somebody is very young and somebody who is older as player on the pitch. Sometimes it’s about body mass. Or your body develops over a certain while. Do you think there is a sense of inferiority as a young player?

J:      Ahm, physically as a player I wouldn’t say that you are inferior. I think you do have some edges. I know Jonathan Tah. I think its pretty difficult to get past him – even though he is young.  I think Julian is doing pretty good by now. He is not a player who looks for every one-on-one on the pitch. But I wouldn’t say he is inferior in those situations. Sure you have to watch your body as a young player and be carefully, in order to stay on the same level with the other guys - but no, not inferior.

N:     How did you view Julians development through his youth? Football was on your brothers mind all the time. Was he like „Hey Jannis, lets go and shoot some goals. Do some passing.“ Was it like this?

J:      It was really like this. It was still common throughout our childhood or youth– in a positiv way – to play outside from morning till sunset. We had a big public lawn in front of our house. And so there were like 40 something people on that lawn. Thats something that doesn’t exist anymore today – which is sad. So we used to play in front of our house until our mother was calling us.

N:     Dinner!

J:      Exactly – so everyone went back home. But no, we were out on the lawn many times. He played together with friends. I always wanted to join the older guys. That’s what often happend. (laughs)

N:     Did you and Julian tried out other sports as well? Or was it always clear that football is the main thing.

J:      I think Julian always stayed with football. I used to be a goalkeeper first – then I went for handball. Went back to football as a field player. I stayed there until U-17. I think I also did judo but that was just one course. No, Julian by contrast was much more focused on football and I was the one that tried out many different things.

N:     Nice. That’s not bad right?

J:      No. (laughs) The only thing I can add is: Julian just recently became interested in golfing. He seems to be motivated about golfing – but let’s see how long that will last. (smirks)

N:     Especially in terms of time right? I mean he does have a very tight schedule? Training, games…

J:      I wouldn‘t say that (laughs). I mean he does have practice - sometimes twice a day, but if you go golfing before or after training it could be a certain way of compensation for him. Or a certain peace you need. So I think its acutally good.

N:     Thats nice! Did you join?

J:      (laughs). I have only been with him on the golfing range once. I was just there observing and taking pictures. But I realized with him that golfing isn’t easy. Or at least thats what it looked like when he played (laughs).

N:     It’s practice.

J:      Yes it is. And I think he will continue to do that.

N:     But do you think its just because you are a different persona than Julian? Didn’t you want to dive into the football world as well since you played many years yourself?

J:      I would say about myself, I’m not fully talented in one area. Or there is no area where I want to focus completely. I’m a guy that likes to try out many things first. Whether its sports or something else. And I’m quite decent in many areas and so its different than with Julian. He is a talent in terms of football – but he drags his feet about other things in life. (laughs)

N:     School too?

J:      With him?

N:     Yup.

J:      He was really lazy! He claims he still could have gotten a high school diploma (Abitur). I thinks he only has a minor school diploma (after 10th grade). But I dont know if thats only big words from him or if he is serious about it.

N:     But does it really play a role anymore? If you are so clear about what do you want to do. Is it really worthwhile to get an Abitur?

J:      Thats difficult.

N:     Did you get an Abitur?

J:      I’m still working on my Abitur in media design. But I would say on one hand its important because you never know, how safe you really are being a football player. By that I mean, you have a sense of security with an Abitur. Only if you reach a certain point in your career it starts to become less important whether you have an Abitur or not. For me its just learning – Abitur. You really have to commit yourself doing it. You need to have a clear head, but other than that its not a world wonder getting it.

N:     In what areas do you do your Abitur?

J:      Design, media and art.

N:     Do you have an idea, what you want to do with your life? Lets say over the next five years?

J:      Hmmm, well… generally speaking: media. But thats a huge terrain. I had days were I was thinking about studying film after my Abitur. I was already looking around for schools. Photography is also something I like – but those are big areas and the best way for me would be to filter everything. But I dont know where I will end up persicely. I haven‘t made a decision yet. And thats fine.

N:     Nice. So without any jugdements. Because there are also people who exactly know where they want to go.

J:      No. No – I was never that type of person! I’m a guy who makes quick decisions and want to deliver quick. But I’m never that person who says „I am doing this now, this the next year and so on“. And I dont want to be stuck in a three-year apprenticeship program where I dont know if thats really something I want to do for the rest of my life.

N:     Well, you often dont know whether its the perfect job for you.

J:      Exactly. That why currently I’m trying out many things. Gather experience. I want to filter between things that dont match my interest and by that I will find out what matches mine. Thats my current situation.

N:     Sounds good! In your relationship, Julian was your big brother. You have a younger brother. The big brother than left the house since he got special training. How was that moment for you, when he left the house? Did you suddently become the „big brother“. How did you feel?

J:      I remember him being 15 years when he moved out. And everything went very quick. Suddently all his bags were packed and he went to Wolfsburg. And the beginning was especially difficult for our mother. But thats normal. But yeah, you could sense that something was missing - also in our daily lives. But I had a little brother and we spent alot of time together. (laughs) Generally speaking, our childhood was like this: usually Julian and Jascha bonded together more – whenever I was teasing Jascha, he needed support and he got it from Julian. But our bickering was nice – we never really argued alot.

N:     Does your father maybe had an influence? Since he was a football coach as well. Because I read that people say „Well I dont want my dad to give me special treatment – or give you a disadvantage“. Was that weird or okay?

J:      Well I never really got to know it any different. Dad was active in football since I was little – as a player for his hometown team. And he coached Julian and his best friends since they were little, I think it was good for him to have a certain person that he could relate to. But our father never gave him special disadvantages or better treatment. Whenever it was about football he was coach and not father – and once the game was over he was still our dad. So in my opinion they did everthing right in that regard. And it is strange that a father is coaching Julian since he was a little kid until he left for Wolfsburg.

        (13:05min)

N:     What’s interesting to know: how did you feel when he was on the pitch in a big stadium for the first time? What kind of feeling was that?

J:      That was – if I can remember correctly – in Hamburg. When he already was playing for Leverkusen. It was a special game for me since I never liked Hamburg, from my childhood on – as a guy from Bremen. I didn’t know before the game that he was supposed to be a subsitute player. At some point you see him warm up next to the pitch and you start to think „Ok, will he now be put into the game?“. Yeah but it is something special when you hear his name over the whole stadium for the first time. Now you heard it a hundred times and it became normal, but it was special the first time. And you suddently get a lot of text messages. But its normal.

N:     Did you get goosebumps?

J:      I rarely get goosebumps (laughs). For that matter I didnt have goosebumps. But yeah you are really into it and you dont think about other stuff in that moment.

N:     And you had the parents sitting left and right to you.

J:      Parents are sitting left and right to you – yes and they are nervous as well – the first game wasn’t against Hamburg, it was his first goal. I have to correct myself. (smirks)

N:     Maybe you can recall his very first goal.

J:      The first goal he scored when he was seventeen, which he did against Hamburg. I remember him having the ball and he was still far away from the goal. He shoots – and it wasn’t really his best shoot, but the goalkeeper seemed to have had a bad day and so he scored. Then everybody was happy because nobody expected this to happen.

N:     Nice! And how did you live together as brothers? Did you have a playstation at home and played together?

J:      Since we were little kids we had playstations – multiple ones everyone that was avaliable. Whether it was playstation, Wii – ok, we didnt have X-Box.

N:     But did you play FIFA?

J:      We did play FIFA – very often. He was always the guy that was better at video games than I was. And the one investing more time playing it.

N:     (laughs) So he really put a lot of time into it.

J:      (laughs) Yeah… and long hours. Me too. And even today we play together and yeah, thats what a boy does in his spare time.

N:     Maybe its a weird question, but: can you choose him as a player?

J:      Yes.

N:     Then, do you choose him whenever you play or do like you tackle him?

J:      (laughs) No, its not that extreme. I’m not playing that much FIFA but back in the day you took him, when he appeared on FIFA for the first time as a new player. Ok, he wasn’t the best and you would say „Ok, well leave it if you want to win.“ But now you can choose him more often playing FIFA if you want to win. Yeah, I didn’t tackle him in the game. I think he picked himself and played FIFA with himself once.

N:     Weird isn’t it? I mean you played FIFA over all these years – every year there’s a new edition and then suddently your own brother is part of a video game.

J:      Well yeah, but you don’t notice it as much as you think, since you already have to deal with other surroundings that come as a football player. And so it’s just a logical consequence. The one leads to the other.

N:     Did you brawl over food as kids?

J:      Brawl?

N:     Yeah… Was there yealousy about food? Did you eat alot?

J:      Hmm, I think he almost ate twice as much as I did. He was always good at eating. Even back in the day, between tourmaments he used to eat a Bratwurst instead of something else. That’s what he needed in order to play good. (smirks) Well we actually never really brawled about stuff back when we lived together in Bremen – well we did have arguments.

N:     Well I didn’t mean brawl in a physical sense. I mean like…

J:      ….Oh, I see… but we did that too (smirks).

N:     (laughs)

J:      But that‘s normal that you brawl as brothers. Or that you wrestle. Thats even fun a bit. Even now he sometimes does that with my little brother. To wrestle on the bed. Yeah… but it‘s all show (smirks).

N:     Like at WWE, right.

J:      Yeah exactly. We used to do the WWE entrances. Our little brother wanted to get a wrestling belt for his birthday a couple of days ago, so he can hang it in his room.

N:     Sounds professional…

J:      …well, we used to watch WWE on TV back in the day. Which was always in the evening – so we were sneaking down to the livingroom and watched it, even though we were supposed to be in bed…. that was when we were very young… (laughs) But yeah…

N:     Music? Is there a song which has a special meaning or a special bond with your brother?

J:      (laughs) Ahm, well there isn’t ONE special song. There is no singer or band. We listen to the same music. We listen to a lot actually, whether its German, Spanish, English, French sometimes Brazilian when it’s more quiet… and ehm - I mean Portugese (smirks).

N:     (laughs) How come? Did your parents listen to a lot of music?

J:      Hmm, no. With us its more like: if we listen to Spanish or French in the beginning we dont know what the lyrics are about…

N:     Execpt if you know the language…

J:      Yes, execpt you know the language or you’re reading the lyrics. But its the music itself – most of the time. Music that just lifts your mood. And we are pretty much the same in that regard. We have the same music taste.

N:     Your brother was very young when he started and then with his first Bundesliga match suddently his career accelarates. And then there a moments were you stagnate. How was that for you when this happend to him? Or have you noticed how he felt? Was it difficult? Or normal – because he still belived in himself?

J:      I think what he knows now, or maybe for a while now ist that, you get hyped if everything goes great and you get back to the ground if you play poorly. And he doesn’t have to like that – and I think he really doesn’t like that. Yeah but this hyping of players is something he absolutely doesn’t like. And he is just doing his thing. Yeah but if he has a low – he is not that person who…

N:     …wallows…

J:      Yeah, who remains low too.

N:     But do you think it’s a special challenge? Because he isn’t really that old. I mean you are even younger than him – but anyway, when you live through something like that. There are thousands of people chanting your name – and then the pressure. You have to be good and show skill...

J:      Sure. First, you have to find a way to deal with pressure…

N:     Does he have something to cope with that? Does he do something in his free time? Meditate or something?

J:      (smirks)

N:     I mean it could be!

J:      In the end, as stupid as it may sound: he just plays playstation to distract himself. In his free time football isn’t as much of a topic of discussion. It’s not like he talks with his friends alot about football. Maybe a bit, but as long as you catch him in his free time talking about something else other than football it’s positive for him. Just distraction. I mean he has to deal with football multiple times over the week or weekends. And he has to get his mind somewhere else in order to cope with pressure. But he has found a good way dealing with pressure…

N:     That how he seems to look like. I mean I watched a couple of interviews and he looked very solid and unimpressed…

J:      Yeah, he is kind of very open. And honest! And he tells you directly what he thinks if there is something he doesn’t like. He never pulls of a great show – or in front of somebody. So that makes it into style of football. He listens to his stomach. You have to put him on the pitch and say „Just go ahead!“. Maybe you need to tell him „here you have to do a bit of this and a bit of that“… then he knows „ok“ and he plays his style. And I think it’s what makes him a great player. Because he withstands pressure – always very relaxed. And thats why he can perform.

N:     Name one trait of him that really annoyes the hell out of you?

J:      (smiles)… well I have to think a bit.  

N:     Well thats good, if there’s nothing. Or is there something that you really appreciate about him? Something you really like?

J:      What I like…?

N:     Well, its good if there’s nothing annoying about him.

J:      What I admire is his honesty. He never tells – well he is my brother, but – that he always says his honest opinion. And that he’s very easygoing. Thats always good.

N:     Will you visit him in Russia?

J:      Well, first of all he has to be there. I think thats gonna happen – or I hope he will be there. And…

N:     But there was an announcement or not?

J:      (pauses)…. No I mean when he makes it into the final squad. Thats going to be announced on May 15. Then they travel to Russia – and as far as I’m concerned finally three players then will fly back home. And…yeah. If he makes it and he – let’s say make it into the quarterfinals or semifinals. I guess, me and my family will eventually fly over to see him.

N:     Do have a wish for him before he leaves?

J:      A wish? I always wish that he doesn’t get injured! Thats the most important thing. Because you can get „out“ of the game very quickly if you get injured. Health is everything. And that he get some expericence. No matter how often he plays, if he playes, how long. And that he has fun in what he is doing – and that he doesn’t force himself on doing stuff.

N:     Do you have a nickname for him?

J:      For him?

N:     Yes.

J:      I either call him „Julian“ or „Juli“. Many call him „Jule“. And he gives me a death stare whenever I call him „Jule“. (laughs). Nobody in our family calls him „Jule“, but I think that name originated in Wolfsburg. And the guys in Leverkusen continued to call him like that and since then. So he is sometimes refered to as „Jule“.

N:     Especially because of the fans?

J:      Even now because of the fans – yeah „Jule“. I think it’s a weird name. (laughs).

N:     Maybe other names?

J:      A nickname he actually has is „Skipper“ from penguins of madagascar. Dad is „Kowalski“ the little brother is „Private“ and I am „Rico“.

N:     (laughs)

J:      We adapted the characteristics of the cartoon. I think Julian had the initial idea. Because I think „Skipper“ is more the leader and the cool guy.

N:     So everyone got their roles then!?

J:      Yeah, sometimes we text over WhatsApp like „Hey Skipper how is it going?“ or „Kowalski when do you get back home?“ … so yeah those are our nicknames we carry for quite sometime now.

N:     Are you in regular contact with each other? Daily? Every second day?

J:      Actually we never write each other over the whole day constantly via WhatsApp. We facetime sometimes. But we dont talk about special topics if we do facetime, just to hear from each other. Mostly whenever somebody of us doesn’t have anthiny to do and goes online. Other than that, I always go to his home games. Away games - depending where it is. And if it fits into my schedule. I see him and spend some time in his apartement in Cologne. Whether its because I have school summer break and over the week we do stuff before or after the practice sessions. Which is good for him, so he has something to do and to get outside, since he lives on his own. And I think it benefits him as well as myself.

N:     Do you have a feeling that he misses things because of football? Because he has to set priorities? Or do you think he can live free?

J:      No, absolutely not. I mean you do have priorities in a sense that you dont have enough leg room – like I have – to go out with friends over the weekend. Thats time he rarely has, when officials tell him „You can go out and have a good time“. But even if he does go out with friends, he has boundaries. Because he is a person who is in the public eye. So yeah, that is one of the differences between us both. I’m more relaxed in that regard and he has to give it a pass since his youth basically. But I think thats something – given his position, he likes to sacrifice.

N:     Thats something he likes, isn’t it?

J:      Yeah, I guess so. I dont think thats something he is mourning about.

[tkmedia]

Premier League talking points: A tactical masterclass from Pep, more records for Mo and questions about Nuno

A thrilling weekend in the Premier League as more records tumble, frustrations rise and new heroes are created. Let’s get stuck into this week’s talking points. We might be only six rounds into the new season, but the Premier League has a number of exciting stories unfolding. The top four is looking like it could go all the way down to the wire, newcomers are fighting hard to avoid a relegation battle and old rivals like Arsenal and Tottenham are battling for bragging rights. It was another great weekend of action with lots to talk about. Pep reminds us Man City are more than just a big bank balance There was plenty of talk ahead of the Chelsea vs Man City game about how Thomas Tuchel had mastered beating Pep Guardiola’s side, given Chelsea had beaten Man City three times in 2021 – including the Champions League final. Tuchel has also helped Chelsea become an almost unbreakable wall in defence, with his side registering 15 clean sheets and conceding only 14 goals in the Premier League since January. But this weekend, Guardiola reminded the league he is much more than a good handler of super stars – he’s a genuine tactical genius. He set his side up perfectly to take on the Blues at home, with Rodri playing a great game in midfield where he was able to knit the whole team together seamlessly. Advertisement The way Man City pressured Chelsea, especially as the the home side tried to play their way out of defence, showed how carefully Guardiola had prepared his team – and Chelsea couldn’t cope. It was somewhat alarming that a team as good as Chelsea couldn’t adjust and the fact they weren’t able to fire a single shot on target in the 90 minutes will give Tuchel something to think about. Having earned a crucial three points, Man City continue a crucial week as they travel to take on Paris Saint-Germain in the Champions League before heading to Anfield to go up against Liverpool in the Premier League at the weekend. A win in Paris isn’t essential, but it would be useful. A win over Liverpool would really help their Premier League aspirations and six points from away games against their title rivals in the space of seven days would put them in a great position. "???????????????? ???????????? ???????????????????????? ???????????? ???????????????? ????????????????. ???????? ???????????????????????????? ????????. They've got Lukaku and Werner yet they persisted with this!" ????️ This is how Pep Guardiola finally got one over Thomas Tuchel.#PL #OptusSport pic.twitter.com/R2SxPkWE1x — Optus Sport (@OptusSport) September 26, 2021 Could Nuno Espírito Santo be the first managerial casualty of the season? The season is only six games old, but already there is talk about a change in management at Spurs after Nuno Espírito Santo took responsibility for his side’s dire performance against their North London rivals, Arsenal. “The performance was not good. The game plan was not good. The decisions were not good. So it was not a good day for us. Definitely not a good day,” Nuno said after the match in an interview with Sky Sports. Advertisement The Gunners had won the game before half time with three goals that would have delighted their fans. The passing and build up play sliced the Tottenham defence to pieces and Spurs had absolutely nothing to offer in return. Harry Kane is having a poor start to the season – he’s goalless after six rounds and has only managed four shots on target and zero assists. While the England striker has attracted plenty of criticism for his blunt attacking form, it’s important to note he’s not being provided with any high quality service at the moment. Time and again, the Spurs approach was to play long balls from defence and hope Kane could somehow create a chance. The midfield was missing in action and, as Tim Sherwood explained for Optus Sport, “they’re not brave enough to play through the midfield areas. The biggest damning stat I saw today is that Tottenham side have run less than any team in the Premier League. They haven’t got any energy.” Former Liverpool legend Graeme Souness didn’t hold back when asked about Tottenham’s performance. “Spurs in that first half were shocking, Arsenal were fabulous. But Spurs? Shocking. I was surprised how bad they were.” With Tottenham having lost their past three games by an overall score of 9-1, Santo is coming under pressure. Steve Sidwell, former Premier League midfielder for Chelsea, Aston Villa and Brighton feels coach Nuno is struggling to connect with his team. “When I look at Spurs, I just don’t see a chemistry between the squad and manager,” he said. Vintage Arsenal football. Champagne Arsenal football. Unforgettable Arsenal football ???? From Aaron Ramsdale to Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang to the back of Tottenham's net in 15 seconds. LIVE | https://t.co/prbi84K2ht #OptusSport pic.twitter.com/zuhJKXwSCw — Optus Sport (@OptusSport) September 26, 2021 Advertisement Brentford spoil Liverpool’s day as Mo gets another record Jurgen Klopp will have some thinking to do as he plans his team to play Man City next weekend after Brentford made his usually solid back four look like a nervous bunch of kids. Brentford – newly promoted this year – showed their fans won’t need to worry about a relegation battle and are becoming an away trip that even the top teams will be nervous about. Liverpool took the lead twice, but Brentford never stopped their direct style of attack and kept up their pressure game on the Reds defence. The approach kept working and twice the home side came from behind and richly deserved their point from the 3-3 draw. Mo Salah picked up another record in his long list of achievements as he became the fastest player to reach 100 top flight goals for Liverpool. But it was Brentford’s players who were celebrating after the game as they kept finding ways to trouble the Liverpool defence. Former Liverpool winger Steve McManaman gave credit to the performance from Brentford saying, “Liverpool, for the first time in a long time, looked really vulnerable at the back today. Every time the ball went forward, the Brentford players caused all kinds of panic in the Liverpool defence and they totally deserved a result.” It’s worth noting Brentford only had 32 per cent of the possession and, when they did have it, they didn’t sit back and try to cling onto their early goal lead. They kept pressing forward and finding ways to cause problems for one of the best defences in Europe. As mentioned, Liverpool will welcome Man City to Anfield in the next round and Klopp will be wondering if he needs to make some changes at the back. If the likes of Brentford can cause such chaos among his back four, what can a side like Man City do? Advertisement HISTORY for Mo Salah and Liverpool ???????????? The Egyptian King becomes the fastest player in Liverpool’s entire history to reach 1️⃣0️⃣0️⃣ English top-flight goals! ⚡ Stream LIVE or on demand ???? https://t.co/0MQuzHdRrY#OptusSport #PL #BRELIV pic.twitter.com/Nfha23fFYQ — Optus Sport (@OptusSport) September 25, 2021 Solskjaer’s complaints can’t distract from worrying week at home Aston Villa piled the pressure onto Manchester United as they managed to sneak a 0-1 win over the Red Devils just days after Ole Gunnar Solskjaer’s men were knocked out of the Carabao Cup by West Ham. Despite having had over 60 per cent of the ball and 28 shots on goal, United could only create four genuine shots on target and paid the price for their lack of accuracy as Villa scored a goal with just two minutes to go. Solskjaer would complain that the goal was offside, but the reality is that his side were wasteful with the opportunities they created. The lack of goals for the first 88 minutes was suddenly replaced by incredible tension as first Villa went ahead, before the home were given a penalty in the 93rd minute for a handball. Bruno Fernandes, however, sent the ball into orbit and as it flew over the crossbar. Fans and pundits alike could be heard asking why Cristiano Ronaldo didn’t take it. For all the attacking talent in the Man United stable, the focus should really be on their defence – which has struggled at home. They’ve conceded in every one of their last eight Premier League games – their worst record since 1972! Advertisement Former United midfielder, Owen Hargreaves, feels Solskjaer has to use his attacking flair with more confidence next time. “Play more attackers. Control the ball. Get closer to the opposition’s goal. Kill teams off,” was his recommendation. From brain surgery to celebration – Raul Jimenez is back! In November 2020, Raul Jimenez suffered a skull fracture and was told by doctors it was a miracle he had survived the injury. Ten months later, Jimenez scored his first Premier League goal since the injury and secured a crucial three points for Wolves that raised them out of the relegation zone. Opponents Southampton will be disappointed with the result – with 60 per cent of the possession and six shots on target they really shouldn’t have lost this one. But as happens so often, the game finds a way to delight us with a magical moment that defies the statistics. The Saints still haven’t won a game this season and have only managed four goals from the opening six rounds. This is cause for some serious concern. The way Jimenez scored the winner in the 61st minute was quite beautiful – he stepped and swerved his way through the Southampton defence before finishing perfectly to send the away fans wild. Raul Jimenez has his first Premier League goal in 336 days, and it means everything ???? The cut inside. The feint. The finish. The emotion. Glorious. LIVE | https://t.co/EOU6fPPgZP #OptusSport pic.twitter.com/Qq0stEQzhC — Optus Sport (@OptusSport) September 26, 2021 The Premier League and European competition qualification aren’t secured in the opening six rounds and there is a long way to go in the season. But we’re starting to get a feel for some of the themes that we’ll keep seeing week in week out. Do we really have a top four competing for the title or will one or two of the pretenders drift away? Can teams like Brighton and Everton hold on to their top ten spots or will they stumble? Do we already know the teams who will be scrapping it out in the relegation zone all season or can one of them put together some results to climb their way to safety? With another round of European club competition this week and some more interesting Premier League fixtures lined up for next week – including Man City at Liverpool – there will be plenty to talk about in seven days time. Read the full article

[rtirman-blog]

11        The Dodgers, Boy’s                   Club, and Santa

I suppose, for me, living on Martense St. it was a time in my life that I have a score of memories. Perhaps that part of my brain was maturing to a point that it was easier to remember a wider range of instances. What I mean is that usually remembering things that are vivid is easy, but to remember ordinary things is harder. Maybe from eight and a half to ten years old, my life was filled with more vivid moments. Who knows…

 Martense Street goes east from its start on Flatbush Avenue.  The first cross north-south cross street is Bedford Avenue. That should be very familiar to Brooklyn Dodger fans. Up to when they abandoned Brooklyn, towering home runs would fly over the right field wall onto Bedford Avenue.

It was no more than a ten block walk up Bedford to get to Ebbets Field, the baseball stadium of the Dodgers. As part of the War effort, you could get free admission to lots of Dodger games by bringing 50 pounds of newspaper to Ebbets field.  

 The basements or cellars of every apartment house in our neighborhood, like plenty of other neighborhoods in Brooklyn, were deluged by kids with wagons picking up every thrown out newspaper in existence. To Ebbetts Field we’d go to see the likes of Dixie Walker, Mickey Owen, Whitlow Wyatt, Eddie Stanky, Eddie Miksis, Leo Durocher, Augie Galan et. al.  These were the guys who were playing when I went to my first Dodger game.  Just a quick story about Augie Galan. He played center field. Daddy, my brothers, and I were in the center field bleachers one night when Galan let a ball go over his head. Daddy thought he was bush league. Years later, I met Carl Erskine, a super Dodger pitcher in the 50’s.

I asked Erskine if he knew Augie Galan. A big smile came to Erskine’s face as he told me he roomed with Augie.  He went on, “Augie was a great guy, and a good ballplayer.”  Daddy would take issue with the “good ballplayer part”.

 I do not take lightly that I met Carl Erskine, or as Brooklynites would say, “Oisk”

He was a Dodger Great! Years later, when I met him in his home town of Anderson, Indiana, he was gracious and welcoming. He gave me personally signed copies of his books, “Tales From the Dodger Dugout”.  He also signed his name as “OISK” in one of the books.  One thing Carl Erskine cannot experience is to know what a thrill and privilege it is to meet Carl Erskine.

 An interesting thing about living on Martense Street, and being so close to Ebbets Field, is that we never played hard-ball. Our “baseball” street games were limited to stickball, slap ball, punch ball, and fast pitching.  Hardball and softball required a sand-lot with no buildings near it. Otherwise, plenty of windows would get broken. So, even in big schoolyards, stickball was the big game.  A hollow, rubber, high-bounce ball would be used, and broomstick handles were used for bats.  There were no balls and strikes, and the pitched ball must go over home plate in one bounce. The rest was exactly like a hardball or softball game. However, that meant there needed to be plenty of players.  Fast pitching or slap ball were the street ball games of choice. Either could be played with one guy on each side. We played lots of other games: kick-the-can, ring-a-leevio, Johnny-on-the-pony, tag, Chinese handball, I Declare War On, box ball, red light, et al.  All of this speaks to how I spent my time.

 Naturally, going to school took a good portion of my days.  I attended P.S.246. In Third Grade, I had one of my favorite teachers, ever! Mrs. Cohen was fun, and I learned a lot. I loved going to school during that year. Funny thing, I don’t remember

playing hooky in 3rd grade. Actually, in First Grade at P.S. 181 may have been the last time. Another thing I don’t remember is Fourth Grade. Nothing! Not a single piece of memory!  My teacher? My friends? Wait! I do remember the door to the room, or at least where it was located. I now wonder what in the world was going on in my life for me to lose or block out a year of my schooling. I know for sure things were happening in my life…but maybe nothing at school.

 Just south of Church Avenue on the east side of Bedford Ave stood the Flatbush Boy’s Club. Much of our time was spent at the Boy’s Club.  Two things, at this moment, stand out in my mind regarding the Boy’s Club. The Golden Gloves and Santa Claus.

 Today, I don’t keep track of the Boxing World.  But in the 1940’s, Joe Lewis was the Heavy Weight Champion of the World.  We listened to every fight he was in.  I was a big fan.  I cried the night he lost to Jersey Joe Walcott.  So, boxing was big in Brooklyn.  The Bengal Bouts were huge!  Many a world champion, in all the different weight classes, were once Bengal Bout champions. Believe it or not, scrawny little me competed in the first bout of the1945 Bengal Bouts.  There is a qualifier here. My rival in the ring and I were 9 years old.  Our bout, a preliminary bout, was strictly for entertainment purposes. However, for my rival (I can’t remember his name) and me, it was serious business.  I had never before been in a boxing ring, and never before been in front of such a huge crowd- the place was packed!

 To prepare us for the fight, we were given a few boxing lessons.  I was coached to keep my right arm and jab with my left. I had the old 1-2 down pat. For three 1.5 minute rounds we pounded each other.  I had trouble executing the old 1-2 throughout the entire three rounds.  My boxing shorts were way too big, and every time I’d try to put my right arm up, my shorts would start to fall down.  I think I fought the entire bout with one hand trying to hit the other kid, and the other hand holding up my shorts. I’d hear shouts, “Go Richie!”…and…“keep your pants on!”  Had I not had the difficulty of using my right hand to save me from embarrassment, I probably would have knocked that kid to the canvas, flat!   Due to the size-of- my- shorts mishap, I was sure the other kid got the best of me.  However, the judges ruled it a draw. I must have gotten some punches in I wasn’t aware of. The fight must have been great. We got a standing ovation!  

 The second thing I remember about the Flatbush Boy’s Club was monumental. The guy who managed the gym, I think we called him Ace, had submitted my name to be one of two boys to travel to Canada to bring Santa Claus back for all the kids in New York City.

The Herald Tribune, one of New York’s finest newspapers, sponsored this adventure through their Fresh Air Fund. The other kid, who was to travel with me, was ten years-old and I was nine.  It had to be late November or early December of 1945.  

 We were taken by car to LaGuardia Airport.  When we got there, there were throngs of people there to wish us well.  We were interviewed by the Press.  Probably, the Press was the Herald Tribune reporters and photographers. The Herald Tribune looked like the New York Times.  In my mind they were the classy newspapers. The other newspapers I was used to seeing, especially at Church and Flatbush, was The News and the Mirror.  But this was a Tribune event for us kids.

Before we got on the plane, we were interviewed.  They ask me if I was afraid to get sick when flying.  I told them, I would not get sick because I wasn’t allergic to flying.

At that time, the term allergy was rather new to the world.  I think because my uncles were doctors, I knew about them.  Our interviews took up two whole columns of the next day’s paper.  We then boarded a two engine passenger plane owned by Colonial Airlines. Naturally, flying up to Montreal, Canada was about the most nauseous experience of my life. I vomited and vomited until nothing would come out.  I wonder if I was allergic to flying.

 When we arrived in Montreal, we were met by Mrs. Rogers Reid, the owner of the Tribune.  We were to stay at her home overnight, then meet Santa at the airport, to fly home the next day.  When we got to her house, she showed us around.  The other kid and I were to sleep in the same bed. That scared me. I wet the bed, and I didn’t want to admit it to anyone. My plan was to not drink soda or water after dinner so I wouldn’t have to go.  I knew there was no guarantee there would be a dry bed in the morning.

 Before we went to bed that night, Mrs. Reid told us we could order whatever we want for breakfast. I couldn’t believe that. Today, I have no idea what either of us ordered. I’m certain there were plenty of times, while shopping for groceries, my mother would say, “What do you boys want for breakfast?”  I never looked at that as my mother telling us we may order our own breakfast.

 That night, after we got tucked in, I started to tell scary things to my companion.  I would go- “Oh, what’s that?; I thought I saw a skeleton; Did you hear that?… I was scaring myself!  Pretty soon, however, the other boy got real scared and made a spooky noise. Mrs. Reid came in and separated us. My partner was taken out of the room, and they made a bed for him on a couch in the hallway. I quickly fell asleep.

 The next morning, I awoke to a dry bed.  I did not wet the bed!  But guess who did?

When I went out of the room into the hallway, I could see all the couch cushions standing on their side to dry off.  That made things even better for me.

 We had breakfast, and left for the airport to meet Santa. He was there, ready to fly back to New York. I was suspicious that he was a fraud.  However, he knew our names, and he let me pull his beard.  Wow, I almost pulled his head off.  I was certain we had the real Santa.  Guess what? I did not get air sickness on the way home.

There was a big crowd of people cheering as we got off the plane.  I felt like a hero.

 No one from my family was at the airport.  Oh, well. I’ll see them when I get home.

As I walked into the front door, I yelled, “hello. It’s me, your hero, I’m home!  A big disappointment for me- no one was home.

[lattetudes]

hey!!! i was wondering, how come you study in france? i'm fairly new to your blog and i love your posts, i would like to hear more about your experience regarding studying in france in your situation!! and if you have any anecdotes about that that you would like to share!!

hi! firstly, thank you so much! it really means a lot to me. (seriously, i have the biggest smile on my face). i’m so sorry for the late response, i was moving (: 

send me another ask if you’d like to know more! this is a little long - 

the how 

french has been in my life for a long time. i think i was first enrolled in an international program (where they taught it) when i was twelve - not even a couple months later, i left to visit france for the first time to visit my mom.

she went to france (in 2011) to get her master’s degree in linguistics. 

my brother (2013) and sister (2011) went with her. (i, however, didn’t join her until the the summer before what would have been my freshman year. was that something i regret? yes.) 

so for three years, i visited them (and when i wasn’t, i lived alone with my dad, who worked a lot to support an apartment in france and in the united states).

 when i fourteen, i visited paris for two weeks with my class as part of an exchange program. 

it was chic, it was this entirely new universe i’d never seen before. i’d never felt more different, and i think that was a good thing. the cafés, the music, the pathways where hemingway walked -  it’s this sort of unconquerable way of living that makes up Paris’s charm – something that cannot be calculated into a ranking. 

it’s truly beautiful. and when i was asked if i wanted to go to poitiers, three hours away from paris (my last chance) for freshman year, i took it. i made the mistake of staying for friends - i couldn’t go through life wondering what if. i didn’t want to regret anything, you know? i knew i wasn’t going to be at the top of the class, not at first. 

only, it didn’t end up being one year. i would end up staying there for my entire career as a lycéenne. 

the apartments the apartments my family stays in are very small, with exception to our last one 

our first one was the size of a shoebox. i’m not kidding when the kitchen and the bedroom were in the same space. (the bed was a fold out couch). 

i don’t remember our second apartment very well. i think it was next to an indian restaurant - it did have two bedrooms, making it easier to stay in when i visited my family. 

the third was located in a small complex with a small parking space. 

the fourth, i don’t remember at all (: 

the fifth apartment is located above a sephora, about two minutes from the central square. we spent about three-four years here (renting), and it even had a loft space on the third floor. an artist, an attorney, and many other people with different stories lived there with us. i remember when the police showed up, twice. another story for another time (: i’ve got so many memories here, which makes it even harder to leave. it means a lot to me. i love it here: it’s empty now, save for a computer (the one i’m writing on right now), a desk, wifi, and a printer. our lease is up by the end of the month (: 

the sixth, next to a park and a café, where the neighbors play their music just a little too loud (: it’s different for sure. we just moved here, the rooms are fill with boxes and nothing is unpacked yet - hopefully, it will feel like home soon.

i spend christmas and the summers in the united states, in the house where i grew up until i was fourteen. 

since i live in a small city, i walk by almost all the apartments i’ve visited / lived in everyday. it’s surreal for sure - i get to see where i’ve started and where i’m going to be. 

france! 

i live in a city where you know everyone, and everyone knows you. 

there’s music almost always playing in the street. 

some people will judge you because of your nationality: it’s okay and you learn to deal with it. 

a lot of people like to do manifestations (they like to protest) here.

shops are everywhere - all of them are small town french stores and they’re super chic and very inexpensive. 

the cafés are great, very lovely and the food is above average

breakfast isn’t a big deal. croissants, orange juice, little bread and cheese, coffee..

i don’t like croissants (: or i didn’t, i’ve started to like them after four years. 

bacon isn’t bacon. 

in central square, they’ll have parties / an event in correspondance with the season

at christmas, central square is transformed into santa’s village: skating, hot cocoa, waffles, churros, cute scarves and hats, hazelnut coffee, that type of thing (:

most restaurants close at 2pm and re-open around seven. 

the bagel shop knows me and my order because i go there everyday. 

the quiches are amazing, if you like quiches. 

cobblestone streets.

sundays are quiet, almost everything is closed. 

where i live, it’s true: the french dress to impress. 

smoking is a thing - it’s not unusual, and everyone does it (not me), teachers included. 

i once saw one of the social economics teachers smoking with his students and taking instagram photos.

he was one of the newer professors. he left to get some life experience 

the language: studying in french

freshman year, it was hard. i didn’t have many friends, i was just learning the language, and most of all: i was lonely. 

everyone spoke so fast. i was completely out of my depth. to make matters more difficult, i suffer from social anxiety: which made talking a struggle i have to live with. 

by the end of my first year, my comprehension of french was excellent. 

when studying in another language, it may get a little bit overwhelming, but you have to really acknowledge what you don’t understand: is it the concept, the idea, or vocabulary?

there is a trick to learning languages that can shorten the journey to fluency from decades to mere months. there’s also something most teachers won’t even tell students for fear they would never start, but in fact, is vital that you know. hint: complete linguistic immersion is everything (:

4% of students embarking on language courses in schools achieve a basic level of fluency after three years. this is what happened to me, and i realized this as soon as i got here: basic was a generous way of describing my level back then. 

one of the biggest reasons cited for abandoning is that students don’t feel any sense of progression. a student with an A* will visit france and find they can’t even have a basic conversation. (me, my first year)

i felt like giving up becuase i had the wrong expectations set. 

it takes 600+ hours of study & practice to reach fluency in french

from february (which is way too late to start studying for the bac), i studied for a minimum of three - four hours every single day. 

be realistic about what you can achieve so you won’t get demotivated.

immersing yourself as deeply as possible in the subject allows you to rack up the hours as quickly as possible. 

memory fades unless it’s the language is used.

low-intensity studies (high school french) are ineffective because their intensity is so low that you end up forgetting a large percentage of what you learn. 

it’s not until B1/B2 that the light comes out and it starts to feel really good speaking French.

i took the B1 in tenth grade, my second year. i passed with like an 85 percent. it does get better. 

It’s really worth while registering to take DELF exams - tests that mesure  your linguistic ‘level’. 

i hadn’t heard of the DELF until i got to lycée. don’t be me!

i felt lost for the better part of a year. 

repetition is vital to learning. 

sleep is vital to memory. i still have problems with this, given the fact it still takes me a while to complete all my work. 

my lycée, or high school

is amazing. it’s made out of glass, shaped like a pyramid, and is relatively new compared to most of my city. 

we have french, spanish, russian, and chinese students (i’m the only american) who study here!

it’s right next to this mall, auchan, where everyone goes when they don’t have class.

a mini-café is managed by the MDL (student council) on the first floor.

you can get coffee, tea, cookies, chocolate, or crèpes there (on some days). it seriously helps with the long hours in the library

we have soundproof music rooms: pianos, music, drums.. 

on sunny days, groups of us will sit outside on the grass and just talk. we form circles and listen to people play music and sing. 

a lot of people smoke / hang out near the observatory (which is shaped like a flower). hasn’t been used in years. 

for the most part, the teachers are very good. 

for our last history class, we cried because the professor was leaving.

he baked us brownies and brought some drinks and it was one of the saddest moments of première (eleventh grade).

last year, we visited paris for two days. one night, the whole class united in a hotel room - we told ghost stories until 2am.

in spring, we host a festival: dancing, handball, singing contests, etc.

one day, my class dressed up as the x - men. 

french literature class is one of the hardest classes i’ve ever had to take. 

international week (where every student comes from around the globe to visit): i went to a party with some romanian students and drank beer for the very first time.

i can drink legally, now that i’m eighteen. 

drinking isn’t a big deal here, not where i live.

on tuesdays and wednesdays, my classes end at 12pm. 

three days out of a school week, i go to school at nine thirty in the morning.

mondays and fridays, i end at five thirty.

i have to take the bus for forty five minutes everyday.

ACFs on thursdays: classes created by students which are validated by a jury at the end of the year. i did fashion couture class this year and dance class last year.

if you guys have any more asks about my lycée, i’d love to answer them! 

[thelowcarbrunner]

What’s The Story Here?

“Hi! My name is Fred, and I’m an addict.”

I moved to America in 2009, where, when you say those words, you immediately picture an awkward room filled with people quivering in silence to the sound of anxiety. One may even smell over-brewed coffee. No, I am not addicted to drugs, and this is not going to be the story of how I overcame an addiction by running. This is the story of me. A French-born runner in New York City.

In 1994, my PE teacher gave me detention for hiding in the bushes with some girl friends while we were doing endurance laps in the Jardins du Luxembourg (the Senate’s garden where we would have PE classes in the spring). I think I was smoking cigarettes there as well... I was to report at 8am on a Saturday. This seems like an unimportant event, but I truly believe the confidence boost that was to come shaped part of my personality.

I unexpectedly arrived on time, in my joggers, my rebel attitude blazing out of my ground-striking eyes, only to have it thwarted by the absence of any other student.

‘We are going to jog for half an hour, and you are not allowed to stop.’

What a preposterous idea... ‘C’est impossible !’, I said in my teenage pouting voice. But there was no way out, it was happening.

So I went, before him, slowly. I tried to brake-check him, I said I couldn’t breathe... But I think my sweaty red face wasn’t sad and convincing enough, because he would just push back and tell me:

‘stop whining, you can do it, don’t stop!’ 

He proceeded to start a conversation, I can’t remember what it was about... But I like to talk, so I went with it, and with every sentence, the concept of time started to wither away. I have no idea how fast we were going, but in the end, we did run for 30 minutes, and I did not die.

FAT This happened during what I call, my ‘fat’ year. For a while, I had been drinking Coke by the bottle, stacking candies near my bed, eating ice cream and cookies by the box, ... My older brother even referred to me as “bouffe-tout” (”eat-everything”, which happened to be Slimer’s French name in Ghostbusters.) All I wanted was to eat, burp, and mostly to avoid any effort at all cost. One of my brother’s friend reminded me recently that I had ‘invented’ some type of rope-elevator apparatus just so I didn’t have to walk down the two flights of stairs that separated the TV from the refrigerator... I am unsure of what would have happened of me if I hadn’t hidden and smoked behind the bushes during PE in 1994.

BE COOL In High-School, I spent every day skateboarding with my friends. I would skateboard to school, skateboard in school, skip school to meet my friends to, skateboard... That’s all I did around, and sometimes within, my class schedule. I was very active. Those years can be summed up in 5 words: Skateboard, metal,_ sweat_, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 411 Video Magazine... Yet, running wasn’t something I enjoyed. I assimilated it with PE, and PE wasn’t fun.

I stopped skateboarding when I graduated from High-School and joined a band. This was going to be my life. The energy I put into skateboarding was to go into my hardcore band life. I’d eat whatever, drink whatever, party, scream and play loud music. Somehow, I managed to stay fit during several years with my only workout being screaming into a microphone while jumping everywhere like a clown for about 6 hours a week... How sweet is life...

‘What sport do you play?’

Sports? I didn’t play any. What a strange concept that everyone should be into some type of sports... Of course, as any kid in France during the 90s I had practiced Soccer, some Track and Field, Tennis, etc. But I was out of school, why would I put myself through this willingly?

WHATEVER HAPPENED From one band to another, the music got quieter, until I ended up singing in a signed pop/punk band. The rehearsals and the jumping around were more sparse, I mostly stood behind my mic on a stand going left and right, but the rest of the lifestyle was still there, harder than ever. I remember a band retreat, where we tried to push ourselves to wake up every morning and jog in the woods and do some crunches. Fail. It lasted about a week and stopped as soon as we were back in Paris. Life started to catch up on me, and I was losing touch with my body.

I woke up one morning, my band wasn’t doing as great as I wanted, pictures started showing rolls out of my skinny jeans, I had no vision for my future, I hated myself. Life seemed to be an impossible concept. Impossible... ‘Nothing is impossible. Fuck that’. Like my PE teacher, the voice in my head would not let me quit. ‘Get a grip you stupid goat!’

DIRECTION I needed goats goals. Like those 30 minutes of jogging I was forced to complete, I needed to picture a success, and never quit until I was there. ‘Get fit!’ I bought a cheap pair of store-brand ‘running’ shoes, and started running. I started going to the Olympic pool in my neighborhood to swim laps. I registered for college to resume my studies (in France it’s free, how sweet is la vie?). Here was a clear goal right in front of me, there was an exchange program after 2 years, and I would be one of the few that would spend a year studying in the United States. Failure was not an option. I would talk about it like it was set in stone, ‘when I’ll be in the US...’ Whatever people said, this was happening.

I don’t think I can describe how it felt two years later, on that plane to San Jose, CA, looking out the window, with a year of fending for myself ahead of me. I wasn’t scared. I felt a mix of incredulity and excitement. Like a long race during which you did not even acknowledge any thought about quitting, yet when you pass the finish line, you wonder how the hell you did it...

WHERE AM I GOING? When in college in France, I had registered for any sports or team that would fit into my schedule. Track team, check. Team Handball, check. Baseball, check. If I didn’t have practice on a day, I would just go to the gym or to the pool. But in France, apart from the Rugby team, all you had to do was to show up, and you were part of the team... Years of American Teen movies had scared me from even considering the dreaded “tryouts”, so I didn’t join a team. I just ran, went to the gym, and I bought a skateboard and a bike to get around (as a typical Parisian, I did not have a driving license...) I was staying in shape.

After two years of having planned my life like I had OCD, I let it take a direction of its own, and a year later, I ended up in New York instead of going back to France. There, I adhered to the ‘basic’ New-Yorker’s lifestyle: join a gym, work, workout, drink, eat-out, bis repetita. It wasn’t the best of time, it wasn’t the worst of time, but I did not have a goal, an ‘addiction’. ‘Just find something.’ Music it is. I started The Johnny Pumps, in 2012, and focused on writing songs again. When I wasn’t working or writing songs with a glass of whiskey, I was going to the gym, not really trying, avoiding cardio.

FAT 3.0 Was it age, diet, or lifestyle? I started putting on more pounds that I wanted to. When I reached 220bs, I felt disgusting. The problem when you are 6′4″, is that even when you are overweight, it doesn’t show that much unless you take your shirt off, therefore people tell you “you’re crazy... You’re not fat at all...” Some people, like me, need to hear that we are fat, and we need to get a grip.

I don’t think I’m blowing anyone’s mind by saying that the fastest way to shed fat is to stop eating carbs. Unless Dr. OZ is your go-to reference in dieting, setting aside all other rhetoric, we should all know in 2017 that grains and sugar raise the level of glucose in your blood which triggers your pancreas into releasing insulin which tells the body to stop burning its fat stores and instead, absorb some of the fatty acids and glucose in the blood and turn them into more body fat. Whether we agree or not that this is a healthy, or easy way to lose fat, or that you run faster or slower with carbs, nobody can say it doesn’t work if you commit to it. ‘Commit’. Well, turns out I am good at that. Ketogenic diet, here I come.

RUN, YOU FOOL Coconut oil, avocados, chicken, fish, broccoli and cauliflower. You name it, I’ve eaten more than anyone would like to. But in less than a year I was as skinny as 175lbs (way too skinny...) to finally set up to 185lbs (my ‘perfect’ weight).

In 2015, one of my best friends texted me:

“Hey! Wanna run a relay with me and some friends in a month and a half in Utah?”

“Sure!”

I had committed to run 2 legs of a marathon relay with my friend’s girlfriend. I was going to basically run a half marathon, with no training. I cringe today when I say out loud that I trained for it mostly on a treadmill, at the gym, and that I ran it with road Nikes I bought on sale. I believe my longest ‘train’ run was 8 miles out of the three ‘real’ runs I did in Central Park.

DID I JUST JOIN A CULT? This was the third November Project Summit, and I had no idea what the November Project was. From my experience at the race, they were just some weird beer-drinking frat guys who happened to be really loud and cheerful. I can say today that I really didn’t get it...

I can honestly not remember my time, all I know is that my first leg was under 1h, and the second was hell, and over 1h. I had never focused on my result/time, PR was an unknown concept to me, pace was just a word I would hear without knowing what it meant, if I went out to run, my goal would be x minutes of running or x many loops. I would go, reach the goal, then not think about it again.

Back in New York, I went on a few runs, mostly worked out at the gym. I didn’t really have a ‘good‘ reason to run. In the back of my mind I thought, maybe I can do this again next year, it was fun.

February 2nd, 2016

Text from, to use his real name, Gabe**: **

“Want to go to the November Project workout tomorrow morning at 6:28am?”

“What the hell is November Project, and why TF is it at 6:28am?”

“You know, those guys who were partying when we ran the race in Utah, they have workouts every Wednesday morning and its right by your place.”

“Sure.”

I’m not addicted, but I may have joined a cult.

[peter-author]

June 28, 2018

My Brother Would Have Been 70 Today

It is the little things that one remembers best. Moments of shared joy at RKO on 86th Street at the 25 cent matinee on Saturday morning seeing The House on Haunted Hill... the theater owner had rigged a skeleton to glide down on a wire half way through over our heads. No one was really fooled but the intent to frighten allowed us to play along and yell and scream as if we were terrified. Or playing handball or mumbly peg with pen knives and beating the older kid on the block, Chevy Chase (yes, that’s his real name – same guy) who always lost for some reason. Or watching Marc Rothko and my dad paint the poured 16’ concrete back wall an apartment building had snuck up during the summer of ‘60. The magic that Mark and my dad, a scenic designer, painted of a trompe l’oeil birch forest enthralled Mike, Kate (Mark’s wonderful daughter) and I.  Thirty years later it was still there only no one but us knew who had painted it.

Or fishing for snappers at the Garands’ in Centerport on Long Island. When they ran, you caught ten or fifteen in minutes. Or course, more reliable was Mike pulling one end and I the other of a seine net catching 1” shiners – to be deep fried on the beach for dinner, heads and all. Or helping Mike with his math homework at middle school and, later on, he helping me with French idioms and, because he was older and cooler, feeling honored when he awarded me the role of raiding the kitchen stores at our Swiss boarding school for potatoes that he illegally fried into pomme frites in the dorm room. He fed dozens of classmates – and the odd dorm teachers - every night so I was constantly breaking into the storeroom.

Or watching him with a wonderful friend (ever since), Laura, being truly in love and wondering, as we all do at 18+, what life is all about. He was so happy... It was a simpler time I suppose. Nostalgia for the past creeps up on one as you get older.

And, yes, as we got families and jobs, our lives physically drifted apart, in distance only. But there were still wonderful, if fleeting, times together. We knew we loved, we didn’t have to prove it. Like when our father passed, walking with my brother Mike in the Alps as dad loved to do, with our younger brother Paul, three as one. A sad time made happy because of the joy we had in each other’s company. All I remember of that day was laughing.

No, the nostalgia today is about an anniversary, 70 years of life, not quite attained by Mike due to an accident, but what time we had was replete with love, caring, and the true Mike moments all along the decades. And in that anniversary one has to reflect and, yes, learn a thing or two. Life is made up of these precious moments, too many to list perhaps, but never too many to have nor too many to always cherish. It’s like the Dia de los Muertos – it is not about celebrating death, or skeletons, it is about celebrating memory. Today I celebrate Mike’s.