You know those moments when you catch yourself thinking about how life is unfair and cruel? Yeah, this is a story about a very long one of those moments. And unfortunately, I've come to a rather important conclusion: don't accept spells from hobo-type wizard dudes when you're waiting in line for a chimichanga.

Honestly. Don't do it.

And if you ever do find yourself waiting in line for a glorious chimi and a hobo wearing a mismatched set of blue flannel clothes—shirt and pants, mind you—approaches you, walk away. Get out of line and book it. Fast.

Let me explain my day so far…you know, just to give you a better example. Because I know you—you'd probably do the same thing that I did. And that's no bueno.

Like I said, I was waiting outside of a popular chimichanga walk-up stand operated by a nice little dude named Pedro. Classic, I know; but it's the truth. You see, Pedro is a super nice guy. He's always flirting with his customers and providing an endless supply of English/Spanish banter. But let me tell you something: Pedro didn't have enough sense to directly tell me not to recite the damn spell Mr. Flannel-Hobo-Wizard gave me. No, he just told me to be careful. So don't let Pedro's wickedly awesome accent distract you from the lesson I'm gonna throw down.

When I walked up to the stand, there was a bit of a line. Like always. Damnit, other people knew that Pedro knew how to whip up some excellent Mexican cuisine.

So, while I was waiting, of course I was looking through the Fanfiction App on my super ancient iPhone 5S, scrolling through stories about my favorite character, a certain no-self-control Admiral named Zhao. And as I was perusing the newest additions, I just so happened to look up, catching the attention of the strange hobo-wizard that I mentioned earlier.

He was quick to scurry over to me and I ducked my head back down as quick as I could. Apparently, I wasn't fast enough and Mr. Flannel-Hobo-Wizard came right on up to me, poking a greasy, Professor Snape-like nose in my general direction.

I'm not one to judge hobos, especially magical ones, but this dude radiated some mega mystical vibes. And I gotta admit, I was a little impressed—and it wasn't because of his unusual cheap-smelling frankincense and pine scent…which should have been my first dang clue to run away. I mean, what kind of hobo smells like a mixture of Jesus and forest? This one, apparently.

I feel like I'm giving you a lot of clues about this strange hobo and I have to say, if you do fall into this trap, I'm going to be very disappointed. Like…extremely disappointed.

"I see you like Fanfiction," he pointedly said, waggling a finger in front of chimichanga-craving face.

"Uhh," I smartly replied, whipping my phone away from the strange dude. Because seriously…how many people come up to you and outright ogle your phone? It's not just a polite faux-pas, it's a no-no. "Yeah, sure," I said, sounding a little more polite…because damn you Mom, that's what you taught me to do.

"Oh! Well that's marvelous. Truly marvelous," he beamed, showering me with a smile that practically glittered. What a weirdo.

"Um, yeah?"

"Oh! Yeah!" He continued to look at me, a silence stretching between us that was too long to ignore.

I scooted a little further up the line. Thank God it was moving and my chimi would soon be in my gurgling belly.

Meanwhile, Pedro was giving the dude a look and he was gripping his spatula a little tighter, obviously unnerved by the flannel-wearing hobo. I can't blame him for being a little hesitant and I honestly should have followed his example. But I didn't…because I'm an idiot.

"How would you like to go to—" he glanced at my phone again. Seriously, dude! Not cool. "—the Avatar world?"

I flat out laughed in his face. Screw being polite; if this strange man was gonna look at my phone and break a social norm, I wasn't going to be very courteous.

"Yeah, okay. That's not possible."

Mr. Flannel-Hobo-Wizard looked at me, his black eyes (yeah, I said black) flashing just a little too much to be natural. "How about this," he said, reaching for my left hand, the one that wasn't clutching onto my blue-covered cell phone. "I'll give you a spell. It'll send you there for a short amount of time…a few days, maybe a few weeks at best."

I chuckled again. "And what do you want in return? My first born?"

Another flashy-eyed, glittering smile. Creepy. "No, no. Nothing like that, miss. I would just be happy with the sending you there part. I'm in training, you know. And I'm afraid I'm behind on my teleportation spells. I need just a few more successful ones in order to pass my class. But it would be ever-so-kind of you to help me out."

Well huh. You see, now that I look back on this whole situation, the whole "successful" part should have stuck out to me. But at the time, it definitely didn't. Instead, I thought, well, that seems legit enough. And I proceeded to open my big, fat mouth.

"Sure," I nodded, realistically hoping that my acceptance would make this guy leave me alone. Seriously, I only wanted a chimi.

"Allakha-poof," he mumbled, rubbing his hands together underneath his suddenly crazy-long flanneled sleeves.

He handed me a piece of paper, something no bigger than a business card. "Use this whenever you please. And when you're done in that world, please be sure to come back and sign my form that way I can get credit. Oh, and," he flashed me another toothy grin, "if you really like your experience, could you write it down? I get extra credit if you write about this. It's very important, you know."

"Ha-ha," I smiled. "Yeah, I'll be sure to do that."

The line moved up a little more. Two more people and I would be in chimichanga heaven.

His grubby hand reached for me, clutching onto my left hand in order to shake it and leave me his mystery card. Cripes, he was warm.

"Please have fun. Go see your favorite characters and check out a few hot-spots. But a warning—" I should've paid more attention to this part. "—don't get too attached to anything. It's not real and you'll be back before you know it."

The line moved up again. One more person and a chimi would be in my belly.

"Sounds good, Mr. Flannel-Wizard," I said, giving him a leave-me-the-hell-alone-I'm-getting-hangry kind of face.

He nodded and smiled. And with a poof, he vanished.

I should've been freaked out. I should've tossed that card into the nearest trash can. But…I didn't. Instead, I shoved that little slip of paper into the back pocket of my skinny jeans, knowing that I would forget the damn thing. I didn't usually keep little pieces of paper in my pockets; I had a very bad habit and I knew that I would probably be fishing out scraps of paper from my washing machine later. Lucky for me, though…this is not that kind of story.

The lady in front of me got some sort of weird sandwich thing. Pedro only truly makes exceptional chimis, so I automatically knew that the lady was going to regret her decision. Either way, she should have shuffled out of the way a little faster.

Because she was moving so slow, I practically pushed her away from the counter, smashing a crinkled ten-dollar bill on the Formica kiosk. Pedro didn't have to ask and I didn't have to say anything. He knew…he always knew.

And he was quick to make me a chimi bursting with rice, shredded chicken, cheese, and a medley of beans. He always added something special—a secret sauce that blended all of the flavors on the inside of that beautiful little burrito-thing—before he fried it. After a few minutes of Pedro kinda giving me a concerned look, I shot him a face; a face that basically told me that I definitely wasn't going to take advantage of Mr. Flannel-Hobo-Wizard's offer.

But I guess he wasn't convinced with silence. "Maria," he whispered, crossing his arms over his chest while the oil bubbled behind him. "Be careful."

He always called me Maria and I was never too upset about it. I mean, my name is Mary and Maria is pretty damn close. And I was never gonna call him out on it. I knew that he called me Maria because it was a familiar name and a part of his culture. And honestly, I was worried that if I corrected him, he'd never make me another chimichanga again. Which would ruin my Monday dinner plans. Mexi-Monday has been a thing for years.

"I'd be insane if I did," I said. "I'll chuck it the moment I'm done with dinner."

"Promise?" he asked with his adorable little Mexican accent.

"Sí," I oh-so-kindly replied with the one-of-two Spanish words I still remembered from four years of High School Spanish. In case you're curious, the other word is bueno, which I already used earlier. Boom boom, Señora Hiras. Look at me now. Wait, shit. That's three words.

"Oh-kay." He drew the word out, uncrossing his arms to shake the frying bin that held my beautiful chimi. Knowing that the glorious Mexi-Monday cuisine was done, he set the bin in a holder above the fryer and turned once more, giving me another critical look.

"Hey," I exclaimed, crossing my arms to mock my favorite kiosk owner. "I ain't gonna do it. So stop giving me that look."

"What look?" he asked, giving me a wry smile.

"That look."

"Be careful, Maria," he whispered.

Jeez, I planned on letting the small interaction with Hobo-Wizard go. And now Pedro was making me really nervous. And it wasn't because my chimi was waiting on that rack for a little too long. Ah! It was probably cooling!

"I will," I said, glancing at my soon-to-be cold chimichanga.

He turned once more, shaking my chimi gently before putting it on a paper platter. He spooned some refried beans on to the plate and tossed on a fair bit of sour cream and salsa. Man, Pedro sure knew how to make a girl happy.

Before handing me my dinner, he gave me another look. And I snatched the plate from his hand, shoving my fingers into the ridiculously hot refried beans as I took it. Gosh, I'm such an impatient idiot.

I didn't even wait for Pedro to hand me my change. Nope. I just walked to the nearest clean table and sat down. And then I destroyed that chimi. Gobbled it, devoured it, freaking owned that delicious morsel.

It took me all but five minutes to guzzle up my food and I stared at my empty plate for a moment, mouth full of a mixture of beans and chimichanga. I glanced up at the clock, humming with a surge of electricity that definitely wasn't normal; it was probably giving me some sort of brain cancer, but I didn't really care.

No, I was distracted.

Pedro seemed pretty freaked out about Mr. Flannel-Hobo-Wizard and I couldn't help but wonder…

What could it hurt, right?

So I pulled the piece of paper from my left butt pocket and stared at it.

It was a simple piece of cardstock, on the front, it said, Allakha-poof. And on the back, it said…not a gosh darn thing. Blank.

I rolled the card between my fingers and smacked it against the tabletop, thinking.

As I mentioned before, my favorite character from the Avatar-verse is Admiral Zhao. I don't know why, but I've always had a soft spot for bad-boys. And now you're probably wondering why my favorite character isn't Zuko, aren't you? Well, as much as I adore Season One Zuko, I just can't really take him during Seasons Two and Three; and it's probably because Zuko ended up all turn-coat and got a happy ending. All in all, I like characters that don't get their happy ending. Ozai may fit this bill, but he's bat-shit insane. And Azula, well, she's worse than Ozai…and she's not a male.

So, I always had a soft spot for ole Mr. Mutton Chops.

He was a character who intrigued the living daylights out of me. By far, he was the darkest character of Season One—seeing as how he was literally the only character who made an effort to kill as many people as he could on multiple occasions…on a kids show, no less.

And while he fired intense balls of flames at a young, little airbending Avatar, attempted to beat up a teenage prince with a tragic backstory, blew up said prince, and invaded the Northern Water Tribe, I watched him. I mean…watched him.

Like, if he was real, I'm pretty sure he would have got a restraining order against me. And I honest to goodness wouldn't blame him.

My obsession with Captain-turned-Commander-turned-Admiral Zhao was off the charts, next level, fan girl, crazy. I would make the dude obsessed with cabbages walk away in shame.

So I stared at that little card, wondering if I would be able to meet my favorite character if I said that little word in fancy font on the front.

But, what would I do when—not when, if—I got there?

I sure as hell wouldn't do the OC-est thing out there and meet up with the Gaang or tag along with Zuko's crew. No, I would head straight for Zhao and then...

I stopped thinking, my mind clearing as I considered what could actually happen when I said the magical word on the piece of paper.

Well, first thing first…there was no way I was guaranteed to be dropped anywhere near my mutton-chopped monkey man. Would I have to travel the Avatar-verse, asking about my beef-cake of an Admiral until I happened to run into him? That was a very real possibility. And I didn't like that. Nope, I didn't like that one bit.

But still…the thought of that man, all bare-chested and muscly while he fought against Prince Zuko in that Agni Kai. Sweet baby Jesus, it made me tremble.

I wanted to meet him. No, not wanted…needed.

So, I grabbed the card, imagining my handsome Admiral. Gosh, I wanted him so bad. And not the fangirly, cute type of want; I mean the sexual, I'm gonna ravage him when I see him kind of want.

Yeah, I flat-out desired that man on top of me, grinding into me as I slid around on his red, silk sheets. I imagined his rock-hard, I-have-a-big-ship-and-I'm-not-overcompensating-for-anything cock deep inside me, stretching me to the point of bursting. And I was getting warm…uncomfortably warm.

Hey! Don't you dare judge me, I'm twenty and I'm sure that I'm not the first person with these kind of thoughts. I get it…he's portrayed to be in his late thirties or early forties. But I just can't help myself.

I've only had a few sexual partners in my life. Two, if anybody is actually counting, which I thought was pretty damn good. And the thought of that overzealous firebender always caught my attention. Even if he wasn't real, he could defiantly be lucky guy number three...

Yep. I was gonna do this. I was gonna say the word on this stupid card and I was gonna get me some fiery, no-self-control Admiral Zhao dick.

And so I looked around myself, ignoring a glaring Pedro as I mumbled, "Allakha-poof."


A/N: what do you think? Interested? If yes, favorite, alert, and review.

I don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender.