#once a post on my old blog got three hundred something notes and i was flabbergasted like how

[misterxsamsa]

I truly love Tumblr because it's like having an ant farm to me. You throw breadcrumbs into the enclosure, and you watch them scurry towards it, and sometimes they're very nice in the tags, or bring more ant friends to your enclosure. Really, I'm averaging about three social interactions per day, so when a post gets above thirty notes it stops being real to me. I'm just in Cookie Clicker, because I can't picture that many people standing in a room!

[knickynoo]

Back to the Future Part II, The Novel by Craig Shaw Gardner: Thoughts, commentary, and general ramblings

Part 2: Marty McGamblerPants

Previous posts here

• As Marty ventures into the Café 80s, a lot of what unfolds is pretty close to the movie, so not much to say there. There is an interesting line as Griff and Biff exit the café, though, where Biff says, “Listen, Griff, don’t you go loanin’ that McFly kid any money—even though he probably needs it, him and his old man both.”

I wonder: is he saying that just because he wants to take a dig at the state of the McFly family’s finances or because Griff has loaned money to Junior before? If he has, that’s quite the interesting thing to ponder considering I don’t see Griff as being the type to do much of anything out of the kindness of his heart, but I absolutely do see him loaning money to Junior just to be able to use it against him and force him into doing things.

• If I’m remembering correctly, Junior doesn’t actually say no to Griff in the café. He mentions it being dangerous, says he should discuss it with his father, and then eventually says okay once he’s thrown over the counter. Book Junior does say no, though, and he says it like this:

You know that’s Marty’s boy; he’s got nice manners just like his dad. I love Junior so much.

• When Marty gets approached in 2015 about saving the clock tower, the book notes that the guy asking for the donation is Terry. When Marty won’t donate the hundred dollars, Terry goes on to talk about how, back when the clock was struck by lightning, “—a hundred bucks was worth something.” He then points to Biff (who is across the street) and starts to talk about how Biff, “—tried to shaft me out of three-hundred bucks for fixing his car.”

I kind of wish they had included this context in the movie because it was only a handful of years ago that I realized the guy asking for the donation is Terry the mechanic from 1955. And while that information isn’t important, it would have saved me a good deal of confusion in those hundred or so watches growing up when I had no clue who he was. And the thing is, I could see the obvious old-age makeup, so I knew he was supposed to be someone, but I didn’t know who until I read it online after starting this blog. Before that, I was always like, “Why did they go through the trouble of badly doing old age makeup on this random guy for this one scene? Why didn’t they just hire an old man?”

• The discussion about the Cubs between Marty and Terry just reminded me of the unnecessarily long Dudes Talking Sports conversation between Marty and Doc in the novel for the first movie.

•The book makes it very clear that Marty’s motivation for buying the sports almanac is due to his anxiety over finding out his future self is a “loser.” Like…there is no other reasoning—not even the general lure of wealth—noticeably at play here. Marty just desperately wants to avoid being described as someone who “flushed his life down the toilet” and he sees the almanac as his guaranteed way to prevent that fate.

Why wasn’t this included in the movie?? All my times watching it, and I’ve NEVER gotten the sense that buying the almanac is the result of Marty being afraid of what he learned in the café. It always just seemed like Marty was simply being impulsive, irresponsible, and greedy. And frankly, it also has always struck me as a little out of character for him. He’s impulsive, yes, but good-hearted, honest, Marty McFly wanting to cheat at gambling for fun? Never seemed quite in line with who he is.

The way the book frames it changes it so much though! It’s so much easier to be sympathetic toward Marty buying the almanac with the context that he’s doing it to save himself and his family. Kind of flabbergasted, honestly. This would have been a great detail to have in the movie. Imagine seeing the excited grin and the “I can’t lose!” and him telling Doc with a mischievous grin, “Maybe we can place a couple bets?” replaced by a Marty who’s conflicted about his decision but desperate not to become someone everyone around him is ashamed of. Because there is no sense of that in Movie Marty. He just sees the almanac and does this

Now I’m wondering: is there anyone who watched the movie and DID conclude that Marty bought the almanac specifically to avoid being a loser? Is it only me who thought he was just chasing easy fame and fortune for funsies??

[bloodgoddarlin]

Polycule AU Headcanons Part VII | c!Techno/Reader/Titus

Due to the nature of my blog, I ask that minors please DNI, even if this post is SFW, a lot of my work (including parts of this story) is not!

Notes: No real warnings honestly, Tommy being Tommy, Some minor violence? 

Taglist: @bunnylotl @victory-is-here @ravennightingaleandavatempus

The next morning, you and Sky are woken up by Brutus shaking you awake.

"C'mon. I gotta go out on a resource run and the other two aren't here. So you're comin' with me." He says.

You roll your eyes, groggily getting up. "Okay. Sure, whatever..." You mutter.

With Sky trotting beside you on a lead, you follow Brutus as he journeys through the forest, getting wood and dipping into cave openings to collect in more iron & coal. Eventually, you get to a village, and Brutus leads you inside a general store.

They had everything you could think of-- all kinds of odds and ends. Bottles, arrows, gold, flint, pretty much everything you could need. There didn't seem to be anyone behind the counter, though.

You think for a second that Brutus came here to steal, but then he walks up to the counter and flicks the bell sat on the counter, causing it to makes a lovely chime.

"One second!" A voice shouts from the back room. They run out a few minutes later clipboard in hand. "Hello there, welco-- oh! H-Hi, Mr. Brutus..." They say, softly stuttering and flushing a little upon seeing your companion.

"Hey." Brutus says, leaning on the counter a bit. "How's it hangin', pretty?"

They blush even darker red. "Oh, y'know... just running the shop, same old crap." They clear their throat. "Uh, a-anyway, the usual order, right?" They ask.

He chuckles, watching them with a smirk on his face. "Yup, you got it."

"Okay! No problem!" They smile. "I'll have it to you by tomorrow, as always!"

"Thanks, pretty," he smirks, watching them flit about the shop.

You watch the two carefully. It reminded you of how you and Techno were back in Pogtopia; him casually flirting with you, and you bashfully responding in your own way. 

Once Brutus takes care his business in the general store, you two leave and you start to follow him out. 

On your way out, you see a crow perching on a nearby tree. You tilt your head at it, curious, but it ends up flying away before you can think about it too much. 

You get back to the hideout and both Io and Lucius are back, and the three of you go about lunch.

Over the next few days, nothing really happens: you mostly just sit and wait for Techno to come. 

One day, though, you wake to find the boys all crowded by the windows, staring outside. You tilt your head, curious, and then you find yourself gazing out the window yourself... only to find birds. 

Crows, specifically. Hundreds of them, maybe even thousands, perched on the trees, the fence, the roof, you name it. 

“Where the hell did they all come from?” you hear Io mutter to himself. 

“No clue.” Brutus says. “But this probably means that they’re close. Stay on guard and watch the gate.” 

Just then, there was a loud clattering down below. You blink. 

“Oh, what the fuck is it now?” Brutus says, annoyed. “Lucius, c’mon, lets check it out.” 

A few minutes later, Brutus and Lucius come back upstairs with a familiar blonde boy in a red and white shirt and another boy you don’t really recognize. 

“C’mon, big man, have some respect for little ol’ me, why don’tcha?” Tommy says, and you are very confused. 

“Tommy,” the other boy, who seemed to be part ender, part something else, speaks up, “I think we messed up.” 

The boys had apparently dug a tunnel into the basement and the noises they were making where the two of them goin through all the chests and grabbing whatever they could before Lucius and Brutus walked in on them. 

Brutus decides to give the job of taking you out to the fence to Io, while he and Lucius take care of the two rascals. 

“Sorry, honey,” Io says, tying your hands behind your back with a lead. “Gotta make sure you don’t make a break for it.” 

He leads you outside to the fence gate; it was tall and made of iron bars. Crows that were perched nearby flutter off somewhere else. 

You think, maybe, now would be your chance to try to appeal to him, to let you go. 

You open your mouth to speak, but before you can, there’s what sounds like a explosion over around the other side of the house, just east. 

Io hums. “I should... probably go check that out.” He glances over to you, in thought for a moment, before tying your lead to the fence. “Stay put, alright? No funny business. I’ll be back.” 

You watch him head off, starting to wonder just what the hell was going on. First Tommy and another kid are found in the basement, now there’s random explosions happening in the area? 

“Darlin’.” a voice says behind you, and you jump, gasping and turning, only to see your wonderful, beautiful boyfriend. 

“Techno, oh my god, there you are--” you say. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” he says, reaching into one of his pockets. “I’m gonna get you outta here, okay? You just gotta trust me.”

“Of course I trust you,” you say, tears in your eyes. 

Techno takes out his sword, slicing your lead off. Once your hands are free, you rub at your wrists, turning to your lover. Techno is holding a potion in his hand when you do. 

He downs it all in a few sips and, after pocketing the bottle again, rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. “Alright, take a step back for me,” he says, summoning the Axe of Peace. 

You comply, watching as he swings broadly twice, and just like that, he’s broken the lock on the fence, as it were nothing to him. 

You beam as he opens the gate and your step through as he ushers you into the treeline. Techno pulls out a cloak for you and as you put it on, he hands you a compass. “About 5 miles north, there’s a big clearing-- Titus is waiting there for you with Carl. Ride with him home, and we’ll catch up soon.” 

“We?” you ask. 

“Well, I gotta help Tommy and Ranboo, and Phil may be in need of some assistance soon.” he says, softly smiling. He places a kiss to your forehead. “Don’t worry, I got strength ten right now, I’ll be fine.” 

You hum, nodding. “Okay,” you say, “just... try not to kill anyone.” 

“I make no promises.” he says, but you know he won’t, especially since you asked him to. 

You head off, heading north and deeper into the forest, turning and watching as Techno proudly goes to help his best friend. 

Soon enough, you reach Titus in the clearing, and he is overjoyed to see you again. There’s a good few minutes of him just holding you and pecking you all over your face before you remind him of what you needed to do. He laughs awkwardly, nodding before jumping on Carl, and helping you up. 

You ride out for a while, a few days maybe, but soon enough, you’re back at the tundra and Titus is ushering you back into the house. You forgot how cold it was out here. 

The moment you’re inside, Titus demands you lay down and rest. You’d been through a terrible ordeal and it was his job as your boyfriend to make you feel better! And that started with a nice hot meal. 

Titus starts cooking, and soon, Techno, Phil, Tommy and the unknown boy, who you assume was called Ranboo, all enter the house from the cold. Sky trots in happily as Phil closes the door. 

“Oh thank god, you’re makin’ dinner,” your taller lover says, and Titus laugh, giving him a kiss. “Have I ever told you how amazin’ you are?”

Titus giggles, and you smile, but then you’re wrapped into a big hug by Phil, the celestial holding you tightly to his chest. 

“I am glad you’re alright.” He says quietly. 

You smile, embracing him. “Thank you, Phil. I’m glad to be home.” 

Dinner is amazing, of course, Titus forcing Ranboo to stay and eat. You’re very glad he does. The night is fun and full of quality time with your family, and you can’t help but smile. 

You were finally home at last, and it felt good. 

[imlostinsantacarla]

@namjooniewifeu99: Thank you , i would like a Jacob x reader where he like you head over heels with Bella but he imprints on the reader and he tries to deny his imprint , or something in those works can it be angst with a fluff ending

(a/n: heya hun! i apologize for this taking hundreds of years for me to get around to and finally post. i hope you enjoy what i have come up with, please let me know what you think! thanks so much for requesting and supporting my blog. enjoy! - admin kat 🌙❣)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Title: You’re Not Good With Weird and I’m Not Good With Fate (Jacob Black x Reader)

Summary: Being best friend’s with a teenage shapeshifter hasn’t been the easiest thing for y/n to have adjusted to, but they have adjusted far better than the pack originally thought they would. Yet when Jacob starts to avoid y/n, the answer they receive is certainly not the one that they were expecting.

Word Count: 4,372

Warnings: Angst, fluff, Jacob being a dick, imprinting, billy interrupting y’all, let me know if there’s anything I’ve missed.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The news of your best friend being a shape shifting werewolf had left you almost gasping for air on the spot, like a fish having been plucked viciously from water. Anxiety pulsed and rippled through your entire being as the animal before you (which had replaced your Jacob) stared into your bewildered wide eyes with his own bulbous orbs. Your heart was palpating so wildly in your chest that you swore that any minute now it would leap from your rib cage and out onto the dull grass of Billy Black’s lawn. There was an intense feeling of nausea that swirled in your stomach, desperately climbing up your throat which made you feel lightheaded.

“Y/n?” Sam inquired softly, hands raised gently above the sides of his head as though he were surrendering to you. “It’s alright. No one’s going to hurt you.” His voice was soothing, crumbling deeply like the flickers of a log fire turning darker as it’s flames died down to charcoal embers.

“Sam, she looks like she’s gonna puke. You think she’s gonna puke? I hope she doesn’t. I’ve got a weak stomach.” Jared complained distastefully, lips turned down at the corners in a deep frown. “I think I’m gonna throw up now.” He continued, hand on his stomach and brows furrowed.

“Will you shut up, Jared? Nobody cares! Y/n literally looks like she’s about to turn on her heels and start running for the hills.” Paul quipped irately, shaking on the spot.

“Both of you, shut up! That’s an order.” Sam barked over his shoulder at his fellow brothers, voice booming, alarming you out of your shocked state.

“What the hell?” You murmured with furrowed brows, swallowing thickly once again as another wave of anxiety washed over you. “Jacob? Y-you just turned into a dog... a very, very large dog! This is insane.” Your eyes scrunched up as though shutting them as tightly as possible would make this entire scene vanish in a puff of wispy grey smoke. Yet when you opened them once more, the wolf was still in his place, staring at you with pleading orbs. 

The entire world that you had grown up knowing came crumbling down at your feet, leaving displeasing confusion in it’s wake. And unfortunately, that was the late time you’d seen Jacob Black.

---

Ominous charcoal clouds packed themselves over the small town of Forks, not a strange occurrence on a Saturday afternoon. Your head was still numb, lacking the ability to focus on even the most simple of tasks. However, here you were, damp hair clinging to the sides of your face as you sat in the drivers seat of your car, wedging your key into the ignition, twisting it and as if by magic your car rumbled to life. The heating blasted through the vents at a whirring pace, but comforting against your cold wet skin. It had been a week since the fiasco in his fathers back yard, and another two weeks since you had gone to visit him to apologize for not taking the news of his newfound abilities lightly, explaining that you had needed some time to get your head around the whole ordeal. You weren’t exactly great with weird.

“Hey,” you hummed shyly after having tenderly pattered up the steps of Emily’s front porch, your presence instantaneously noted by the pack of boys and one girl. You had been met with wolfish grins and a massive dose of teasing that you had definitely not missed. Jacob’s brothers and sister welcomed you back with open arms, relieved now that his depressing inner monologue would silence itself out, replacing itself with it’s usually sunny spell.

Jacob on the other hand had appeared intensely bitter, his hulking back still turned to you, indicating that his feelings were hurt. But you knew that a little bit of TLC and a civilized chat would get his walls to come down. “Can we talk?” You’d inquired sheepishly whilst having stuffed your hands into your back pockets - a nervous habit -.

“What’s there to talk about?” Poison seeped from his mouth. ‘Ouch! He’s definitely still mad.’ you had contemplated this time and time again, but it still didn’t dissipate the intense sting his tone of voice created in your heart.

Paul and Jared murmured something, eyes plastered on the pair of you as Embry had placed a bet with Jared over who would win. Leah promptly swatted the back of their heads at such a lightening pace you’d believed you’d dreamed it up if it wasn’t for the trio having clutched the rear of their skulls.

“You know that’s not true, Jake. We can dish it out for everyone to see right here, right now or we could go and talk somewhere privately.” You’d sounded more miffed than you’d thought you’d been originally. Confrontation, particularly in front of others always made you feel on edge and Jacob knew that.

“Wouldn’t you-” Jacob had spun around on his toes, deep eyes lit on fire with a flame that truly could have scorched you, though as soon as the look of indigence had clouded his complexion, it had vanished as though he’d suddenly choked on his words. He stared at you like he’d just seen the sun for the first time, which made you feel a little uncomfortable.

“Wouldn’t I what, Jacob?” You quipped perplexingly, arms folded neatly over your chest, brows raised in question. But he never answered, just gaped at you with that same love-struck complexion. Everything seemed to slow down between the pair of you, as though the gawping eyes staring at you both didn’t even exist.

A clearing of several throats had pulled the pair of you out of your dazes. The others boys were grinning something awfully mischievous at you both, which only spurred on your bewilderment. “Will you two love birds just get a room already?” Jared tipped his head back in exhaustion.

“No, you don’t have to worry about that because I’m leaving.” Jacob spat that same venom from before. And before you were even aware of it, Jacob had pushed past you and was down at the end of Emily’s garden that lead into the thick shrubbery beyond. And the teenage boy was gone.

A low whistle sounded from behind you and embarrassment radiated from your entire existence. ‘Maybe this had just all been a mistake.’ You kept telling yourself.

In the early days of this turn of events, you hadn’t been the least bit surprised when you had phoned him and he hung up when he heard your voice. Although Jacob was sweet and happy most times, obviously this physical change had left him in some form of anger-induced turmoil, which had only amplified when you had rejected him initially. But now enough was enough. Two weeks was long enough for him to mope about like a petty child. You were through with this.

The drive to La Push was a route that you swore to your friends that you could accomplish safely even blindfolded and the winding roads slick with black ice. You had been there and come back so frequently over the course of three years that it now felt like a second home to you. The pack had welcomed you with their taunting remarks and surprisingly you have become one of them, - despite the fact that you were only a frail human being -.

Determination sunk into your bones the longer that you drove, your previous numbness and apprehension having dissipated. Before long you were pulled up along the side of the road just in front of Jacob’s home; and with how dark it had been all day, you could scarcely tell what time it actually was. Yet nevertheless, you practically heaved yourself out of your car and into the pouring rain. Billy had already seen you pull up from the rickety window of his living room and whilst you neared towards the door, he opened it, allowing a yellow wash of artificial light to cascade in the deepness of early evening. “He’s not here, y/n.” the statement was cold, accompanied by an even more acerbic facial expression on his countenance. This made you feel unwelcome, causing you to wonder what in the world Jacob had told his father to make him use that kind of tone with you. Billy had always been quite chirpy and carefree around you in the past.

“Yeah, I don’t by that, old man.” Your brows furrowed as you muttered the words at him with equal matching coldness. “That’s what you said on the phone yesterday evening when I heard Jake call after you in the background.” You grumbled sarcastically, pushing past Billy. You trailed with you an ocean-full of water into the tiny home, which Billy also did not seem surprised about. In fact, now that you were indoors, you could tell that he appeared as though he had expected you to show up sooner or later.

“Well, haven’t you got me sussed out then.” Sarcasm mixed with a simper. Two traits that obviously Jacob had inherited from his father. But that didn’t stop you from storming through the little house and bursting through Jacob’s bedroom door to find that his closet of a bedroom was uninhabited. You had barely even noticed the squeaking wheels of Billy’s wheelchair. “Just like I said, y/n. He’s not here. But from the looks of your face, I’m bagging on the idea that you won’t be leaving any time soon.” he added wryly, ancient black eyes staring up into your own. “At least do me the favor of taking you jacket and shoes off.”

As if on cue, the back door of the Black’s residence opened, revealing Jacob Black’s towering frame which squeezed in through the small opening. Had Jacob grown in the past two weeks you hadn’t seen him? The boy was blissfully unaware of your presence until he looked up to find yourself and his father frozen on the spot. A flash of surprise dawned across his countenance as he took in your disheveled and wet appearance. The puddle of water at your feet made him snort, he knew he’d be the one cleaning that up once you left. “Hey Jake!” Billy grinned widely at his son. “Y/n just dropped by.” He stated it so obviously and nonchalantly it almost made you cringe. You had to hand it to the old man though, he really could make anything awkward sound causal.

Yet this only appeared to spur on Jacob’s rotten attitude.

"Yeah, I can see that.” He muttered bitterly, his great stature weaving around you and towards his room as though you just some obstacle in his path. A nuisance. Again, no matter how many times he used that same tone on you, it always seemed to sting just as bad as the first time. Yet now there seemed to be a dull ache in your heart, as though it were shattering into a billion pieces. Through the dull ache lit a searing fire of irritation and bitterness, creating a sour taste on your tongue and a distasteful whirlwind of anger flooded your system so intensely that your eyes began to water.

“What the hell is your problem?!” You snapped, following after Jacob. Your arm reached out and attempted to wrap around his bicep, but he only continued forward as though he did not notice your touch.

“Y/n...” Billy warned from behind you both but you paid little mind to his warning.

“Do you think I deserve all of this, Jake? How was I supposed to take the news of you turning into a giant freaking werewolf? I’m not Bella!” You hissed through tightly gritted teeth, your fists tightly balled indignantly at your sides, fingernails almost piercing the delicate skin of your palms, which gave you a sensation to ground yourself on.

A scoff emitted itself from Jacob’s mouth and you could practically hear his eyes rolling in his skull. “Yeah, well at least Bella didn’t avoid me for a whole week like a damn baby.”

“Yeah, you’re right Jake! You doubled that yourself.” If he wanted to play this childish game of hurtful words, you were game to jump right in, regardless of whether or not he would turn into a werewolf in front of you. With the way that your anger continued to fester in your veins, you genuinely felt like you could take him on at this point.

"You know that was different, y/n. I was trying to protect her.”

“Yeah, protecting her. What a load of crap! You’re the biggest hypocrite I’ve ever met in my damn life.” Your voice reached a volume it had never reached prior to this point and it almost scared you out of your menacing stupor.

“Hypocrisy,” the word left his mouth acerbically as his larger frame began to shake undoubtedly and his breathing altered itself to a quicker pace. “You know, I don’t get why you’re so mad at me for avoiding you. Do you not like the taste of your own medicine?”

“Taste of my own medicine?!” You practically shouted. “Again, how was I meant to take the news that you turn into a giant wolf, Jake? I’m not like Bella, I don’t do weird!”

“Then maybe you should leave.” He spat over his shoulder at you. The look in his eyes seemed to show more animal than human as he trembled violently on the spot.

“Leave? Jake, why’re you pushing me away like this? I get it, okay. I was an ass for avoiding you but I needed some time and space to get my head around the fact that you and your friends shape shift!”

Silence rung from him, he shut his orbs tightly, attempting to steady the rage bubbling within him through deep breaths. “You should really leave, y/n.”

“No! No, I’m not leaving until you tell me why you’ve been avoiding me for the past two weeks, Jake. This has more to do with me having taken your shift badly. What happened at Emily’s when I tried to talk to you... when you turned to look at me, it was like you’d seen the sun for the first time in your life. Like-”

“Like what?”

“Like you actually gave a damn about me! And now- now you’re just being an ass. You’re running away from me and I think it’s got something to do with that time at Emily’s.”

Once more, silence hovered over the pair of you, which only indicated to yourself that you had hit the hammer on the nail with doubtless precision.

"Why don’t you just tell me what’s really going on?” You practically pleaded, fingers winding their way around his big wrist. His skin was burning hot, but you refused to let go.

“You wouldn’t understand, y/n. You don’t do weird, remember?”

“Why? Because I’m human? Let me try to do weird for once! I’m learning to...” You hummed under your breath, voice catching in your throat. This felt helpless to you. “Jacob, I don’t want to run away from this any more. I’ve come to terms with what you are and I’m staying, regardless of what you assume I think and feel about you.” It was tender the way that you spoke, an ardent edge that breathed forgiveness from him. You really did want things to work out between the pair of you. All of this arguing and avoiding made your heart ache for your Jacob.

"It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s because I literally hate the fact that I love you so much and you’ll never love me that way back.” There was so much defeat weighing on him that his head and shoulders slumped forward. He still hadn’t dared to face you, though the tremors running up and down his limbs had halted to a soft and slow vibration. He was cooling off. Finally.

In all honesty, this had definitely not been what you were expecting to come flying out of Jacob’s mouth. It left you silent and dumbfounded, mouth dry and agape. “Y-you l-love m-me?” You stammered breathless, fingers tightening around his russet wrist.

“See? This is exactly the reaction I was expecting!” His defenses came clamoring up in order to keep you out. It was exhausting trying to swim against the torrential waves.

"No, Jake, shut up for once! What do you mean that you love me?”

“Just forget I said anything...”

“No!” You tugged on his wrist harder, alerting him finally that you were touching him. He turned to face you, large deep eyes staring into yours with a pained expression. Being this horrible to you, pushing you away was also causing internally emotional damage to him also. “I’m not gonna forget what you said. Jake, you owe me an explanation. I don’t know what happened in the space of these past two weeks you’ve been avoiding me, but being away from you has been painful. It’s like I’ve been drowning without you. The whole time all I kept thinking is that I’d done everything wrong.” You hadn’t even realized there were tears in your eyes until they spilled over and down your cheeks. You batted them away impatiently with your free hand, anger now directed at yourself. “I’m so sorry for- for not having taken your shift well and for freaking out the way that I did. I’m just not good with surprises. But I just wanted you to know that I’ve never stopped loving you and I never will. I’ve always loved you, Jake.”

Awe struck itself across Jacob’s face as he stared at you whilst you cried in front of him. His head cocked to the side momentarily as he blinked a few times. He certainly hadn’t expected that! What did you mean you loved him? How could anyone love him when even he hated the fact that he turned into a werewolf? This didn’t make any sense to him, but it did fit together nicely with what all the other members of his pack had told him.

You were his imprint and these entire two weeks he had been avoiding something he simply could not avoid. Man, he suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of guilt bombard his heart and stomach, leaving him nauseous and unsettled. He’d really put you through the ringer for the past fortnight when really all you had done is react like any sane human would have. He even knew that he’d have reacted as you had. Even when he had shifted for the first time, mixed with all the pain and terror was the thought that he was truly going insane, so in the end, the boy couldn’t blame you for not handling things as well as Bella Swan had. Bella had been immersed in the world of the supernatural far longer than even he himself had. She’d always been odd like that, a danger magnet. The way you had reacted was simply rational, a logical factor of your fight or flight mechanism having kicked in.

The large calloused pads of his thumbs dotted and then pressed softly under your eyes, swiping away your tears with the delicate movement of a feather. “I don’t know what to say...” He stated just above a whisper before he sat on top of his small bed, his chocolate orbs now staring up into yours. Naturally he pulled you into his lap, his embrace hot as you tucked your face into the crook of his neck, the heat of his russet skin drying your tears instantly. “Don’t cry. Please? I hate it when you cry.” He pleaded into your shoulder, hands finding their way underneath your raincoat. He made quick work of rubbing your back soothingly, an action that he knew helped to calm you.

“I’m just not good with the idea of fate and soulmate stuff, y/n.” He hummed sincerely against the fabric of your jacket as he brought you much closer to him. The feeling felt warming, as though you were finally back home. It caused your heart to skip a beat and a sob to rake through you. This felt natural, as though it all made sense to you now.

Since no answer fell from your lips he continued, “I know this is gonna make me sound nuts but- oh hell!” He sounded conflicted as he pulled back from you, his nimble fingers finding their way underneath your chin and tenderly pushing your face up so you could see his reddened face. “Every wolf has what you call a soulmate somewhere out there in the world, but it’s not exactly guaranteed that we’ll meet them. Cheesy I know.” Jacob half smiled at you whilst your brows furrowed in confusion. “From what Sam and Hared have explained to me, it’s called imprinting. When we imprint on someone, it’s like- like you said earlier, we’ve seen the sun for the first time. That person we imprint on becomes our whole world and reason for existing. We have this unbreakable bond with said person. It’s impossible for either the imprint or the imprintee to reject one another. In fact, it’s actually quite painful.” He sighed out, eyes suddenly having dropped their gaze from yours.

“What does that mean?” You inquired softly.

Jacob grinned halfheartedly before he looked into your eyes again. “It means, y/n,” his face leaned closer to you, only milometers away. It left your head swimming with excitement. “that we’re soulmates.”

"Me? I’m your soulmate?” You gawked at him, your pointer finger pointing at your heart. Jacob’s chest rumbled with laughter, your confusion making you appear cute.

“Yeah. And it’s a new thing for me too. I’ve never really believed in fate, hence why I’ve been avoiding you for two weeks. I just hate not being in control of myself. I mean, I never meant to hurt you, you have to know that. You do, don’t you?” He inquired candidly, eyes meeting yours once more and you nodded softly. “Good, because if you didn’t I’d have to kick myself again.”

“You’re mad that I’m your soulmate?”

“Imprint. You’re my imprint, y/n.” Jacob grinned widely as though the sun was gleaming in his bedroom once more. “And yeah, to be truthful, I was. But that’s only because I didn’t want to face it.”

“And now? Do you not want me to be your imprint?”

“Of course I do! I was just being petty. You’re not good with weird, and I’m not good with fate.” To that he rubbed his neck sheepishly, causing you to grin widely and giggle.

“You know, for a six foot seven inch teenage boy who’s built like a tnak, you really have a fragile ego.” This made Jacob tip his head back and laugh in even more abundance.

“Alright, I’ll take that one. I do kinda deserve it.”

“I mean, you really were an ass.”

“Yeah, and so were you.”

“Touche.”

A comfortable silence enveloped you both as you silently grinned down at your fiddling fingers. This whole experience left your mind fuzzy and your belly full of fluttering butterflies. “So does this mean we’re okay not? No more avoiding each other like we’ve got the Black Plague?”

“Yeah, we’re good. No plague included.” He stated with a breathy chuckle, his forehead leaning against yours. His hands trailed down to your hips, thumbs brushing underneath the hem of your shirt in a reassuring gesture.

“Good.” You sighed in relief, smiling like you’d suddenly won the lottery. That’s when you finally took note of how alarmingly hot he was. “Jake?” Concern laced your tone.

“Yeah, y/n?”

“Is it normal for you to feel like you’re on fire all the time?”

“Yeah, that’s unfortunately a wolf thing.”

“Well, that’s certainly gonna come in handy during the winter if I do say so myself.”

Again, as though he could not stop himself, Jacob snickered, wrapping his russet arms around your waist securely, bringing you into his front once more for a tight embrace. This felt like the best feeling in the world, being in his arms. Home. It felt just like the home you’d always dreamed of since you were a little girl. Your orbs began to flutter shut tiredly as your fingers brushed against the base of his neck, the tips fingering through the short hairs on the nape of his neck, a gesture of forgiveness. Peace radiated off of the pair of you as though nothing else mattered in the world. Surely nothing could ruin this moment.

Suddenly, the door nudged open, revealing Billy Black. As if on cue, embarrassing painted evidently on your expression, you flinched out of Jacob’s arms and landed on the bed next to him. The entire movement left him confused until he stared at his father in the doorway with the smuggest grin smacked straight on his face. “Hey, y/n, I see you and Jake have made up. I hope that means that you’ll be staying for dinner. I’ve made my famous spaghetti: It’s a family secret, passed down from generation to generation.” The way this old man was capable of reacting so calmly to any situation was almost laughable.

“S-sure!” You hummed whilst Jacob scoffed beside you, muttering underneath his breath about how spaghetti hardly dated back far enough and wasn’t culturally accurate for it to be true. You pinched Jacob’s arm softly, to which he laughed at.

“Great! Because while you two had your little fiasco I was in there finishing it all up. It’s ready now.” And to that he twisted his wheelchair around and made his way to the living room. “Jake, do you mind plating up the food? Also, can you wipe up that puddle of water on the floor so y/n doesn’t slip?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jake muttered brazenly, his orbs rolling as he got up off of the bed and followed after his father. You grinned to yourself for a moment as you watched Jacob dash to the bathroom to grab a towel and mop up the water you’d left in your wake of chasing him down earlier that evening before he made his way into the kitchen to dish up some plates of Billy Black’s Famous Spaghetti.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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[firelordzukohere]

Interior Décor

Hello!

When I made this 4 chapters, I initially thought: “Oh 4 weeks? That’s a long time!”

Why didn’t anyone tell me it wasn’t that long!?! I feel like I just started this and I’m already sad it’s over! Please let me know if you want an epilogue or even some cute little one shots. I already have one in my head but I want to know if anyone would even be interested in it. Please let me know!

Finally,

Thank you everyone who read, re-blogged, liked, commented, or messaged me about this story. I haven’t posted a Zuko fanfiction since I was probably 15 years old and the support I received then wasn’t half as much as I have now. You guys are amazing and wonderful and every single notification I got made me smile brightly. I’d seriously get people asking me why I’m smiling at my phone so much. I’m so grateful to each and every one of you for everything, from my whole heart. Thank you so much. 

Please enjoy the last chapter of Interior Décor! I truly, truly hope you like it!

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Zuko X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Slight Aangst(heh), and some implications

Word Count: 5k

Summary: Iroh felt it was time for the Palace to reflect the time of Peace and Love that Zuko promised five years earlier at his coronation. He takes it upon himself to hire an interior decorator to help his nephew out and work together. What he didn’t expect was for Zuko to possibly find his own peace and love in the process.

Chapter 3: Jacquard >> Chapter 4: Trompe l’oeil >> Epilogue

The next morning, (Y/N) woke up to a chasm in her chest the size of the Earth Kingdom. It was as if several Earthbenders decided to practice their bending inside of her and leave a massive chunk missing from within. She already yearned to see Zuko again.

Burying her face further into her pillow she moaned. Why did they have to get along so well? Why couldn't she have just worked with Iroh the whole time instead of the Fire Lord? Didn't he have people who were supposed to handle the menial stuff like her, instead of himself? She never considered the fact that all the advisors that would come up to him throughout the couple of weeks wouldn't really stay around much. They always seemed busy doing other things, leaving the Fire Lord to his own devices. Leaving him to spend his days with her, laughing, talking, comfortable silences, and dancing.

She remembered how it felt being led around the floor by him. The moment was so intimate, so right, and she wanted to dance with him all over again. It was like a cloud carried her around, a warm, attractive cloud.

Another groan escaped her lips before she pulled herself out of bed to go and make some tea. Her aunt was already outside meditating for the morning, so she had to be silent as she set the pot on its stand and bent some fire to warm it up.

The silence was disturbed when there were three knocks on their front door. Her aunt looked over at her, brows furrowed in confusion at who could be here this early in the morning.

(Y/N) walked toward the door and slid it open to reveal a courier holding a large package wrapped in intricate silk.

"(Y/N)?" He asked, and she nodded in confirmation. The man shoved the package into her hand before rushing back to his ostrich horse and riding away. She stared at him dumbfounded for a moment and then balanced the package in one hand, shutting the door with the other.

"Ooh! A gift! From the Fire Lord?" Her aunt gushed walking up behind her to examine the beautiful box. (Y/N)'s face burned before she moved to the counter to unwrap the present. She wasn't sure if she hoped it was from him or not. If it was, that meant her aunt could possibly spread more rumors about her having an affair with the Fire Lord, but if it wasn't she was sure there would be a twinge of sadness that this random encounter wasn't from him.

As she removed the silk, opened the box and lifted what was inside, she gasped. It was a beautiful dress, very obviously Fire Nation red, but golden lace lined the halter neckline, and the bodice was covered in red roses with green leafs. The skirt was massive as she continued to pull it from the box. Once the item was fully out she couldn't help but admire the beauty.

However, she was slightly annoyed. This must have cost him at least a hundred gold pieces. She knew she had told him that her wardrobe did not consist of a dress that would be acceptable for the celebration, but that didn't mean he had to go out and buy her a new one!

"Oooh look! There's sleeves!" Her aunt said next to her pulling out sleeves that were the same gold to match the neckline. "And a note!" She handed (Y/N) the note and looked at her intensely to see who it was from.

(Y/N),

You said you didn't have a gown and that's the reason you wouldn't come tonight. I had my tailors work over time to make you this because I cannot imagine spending this evening celebrating you, without you there. I will not make a big fuss about you, so you can slip in silently and leave whenever you feel, but please come, at least to see how amazed everyone is going to be at the site of your hard work. Please come, for me.

I truly hope to see you tonight.

Zuko

P.S. I know you're probably worried about my tailors, they were not overworked and have been overly compensated for their duties.  

(Y/N)'s face was as red as the gown as her aunt ripped the note from her hands to read it. With a gasp she looked up at her niece and grinned furiously.

"Exactly how close did you get with the Fire Lord during this time? You implied he was in meetings most of your work days." Her tone pointed and (Y/N) frowned. "Dear, this note isn't just a client 'Thank you' this appears to be a subtle declaration."

Grunting angrily, (Y/N) shoved the dress back into the box and snatched the note and the sleeves from her aunt, forcing them inside as well.

"It doesn't matter, I'm not going tonight anyway. It's highly unprofessional of me to go to this party especially in a dress the Fire Lord had specifically made for me," she grumbled. "I'll just return the garment tomorrow and explain to him how offensive it is for him to expect to buy my attendance to the celebration." Her voice a low hiss as she pushed passed her aunt and into her bedroom, sliding the door shut angrily.

Sitting on the bed, she stared down at the box in her hands. She wasn't exactly angry at Zuko's gift, but she was angry that now she was put in this position. If she went, her aunt would spread all over town that she and the Fire Lord had more than a professional relationship and if she didn't she would waste the tailors' hard work and possibly hurt Zuko.

Who cares what anyone else thinks?

His words rang in her mind as she stared at the golden lace. She honestly only cared what he thought and the fact that he wanted her to go tonight really resonated through her.

Please come, for me.

With a sigh, she placed the box down beside her and dropped her face into the palms of her hands. The internal battle she was dealing with was ripping her apart.

It was easier said than done to ignore what people thought and said about her. If she went tonight, the entire nation's eyes could possibly be watching, scrutinizing her and the Fire Lord.

What was she supposed to do?

Zuko's voice filled her mind once again, "We're supposed to do whatever makes us happy." Why was he always right? He was obviously learning from the notoriously wise Iroh and now passing that wisdom to her.

There was a knock on her door causing her to lift her face from her hands.

"Come in," she mumbled and watched as the door slid to the side and revealed her aunt holding a cup of the tea she had forgotten was brewing.

Sitting down beside her niece, her aunt handed her the cup and then sighed, the deep sound filling the tension stagnant room. While (Y/N) always had a great relationship with her aunt, a strain had formed when her aunt had spread the rumor about her and her first client. She wasn't sure if her aunt ever realized that their bond had weakened slightly, but she tried her best to act as if nothing was wrong.

"I know you know this," her aunt started, "but sometimes I struggle with keeping to myself. I've been alone for a long time. Your uncle died young, your mother and father shut me out after, insisting that I needed to find a new husband or I'd bring shame to the family, and my parents were never really around after your mother and I were married off. Any chance I can, to form a friendship, I take, even if it means hurting the people I love dearly in the process." The older woman frowned as she pat (Y/N)'s knee gently, "I've hurt you with my gossip, and I realize that. I was so excited for your new business and when I thought your first client could also potentially be someone to share your life with, I was happy for you..." trailing off, she couldn't help but sigh again, "but I didn't expect people to take what I had said and turn it into something to harm you. I didn't understand why these women began saying you were a homewrecker when it was common knowledge his wife had already left him. Instead of shutting those rumors down though, I made them worse, and in all honesty, it didn't stop me from creating new ones either."

(Y/N) felt the tears sting the corner of her eyes, begging to be freed from her, to relieve and soothe the pain she was enduring at the memories. They wanted to wash away the sadness. She loved her aunt, but the woman definitely caused a lot of hurt in her life. Even now, as she really did find herself fond of the Fire Lord, she couldn't help but hold back due to the idea that her aunt could spread rumors that would hurt her again. Instead of allowing her pain to show, she gulped down the tea, hoping that it would ease up some of the tension in her body. Once she finished she rested the cup on the bed and stared at her hands, waiting for her aunt to finish whatever she wanted to say.

"I hurt you when I accused you of having anything but a professional relationship with the Fire Lord. I know you're a strong woman who has had to battle many hardships in her life, especially when it comes to love and happiness, and I know I didn't make any of that easier on you even though I was supposed to. For that, I am genuinely sorry." Turning to the box next to her, she lifted the note out and handed it to (Y/N), "I think you should go." The woman whispered and (Y/N)'s head shot up to stare at her aunt. "He clearly cares for you, it's written in this note without even saying it outright. You've been even happier than normal these last couple of weeks whenever you wake up to go see him and when you come home after spending the day with him. I haven't seen that look since you first started your business and you shined at the opportunity to do something you loved. (Y/N) don't let this opportunity of love slip away, even if there is a risk of what people might say. Let them talk about you. As long as you're happy and you've got what you want, let them boil in their own gossip and rumors."

The sob escaped, and (Y/N) shoved her face into her aunt's neck, wrapping her arms around the older woman. Letting her niece cry it out, (Y/N)'s aunt rubbed her back reassuringly and held her tight.

"Thank you," (Y/N) whispered causing her aunt to smile and caress her hair as she pulled back.

"I love you, my dear," the woman smiled, and stood up quickly. "Now, we've got until sunset to get you dolled up and ready for this celebration. When you walk into that room, no one will be able to keep their eyes off of you, especially not that Fire Lord." Her aunt winked before pulling her up and dragging her out of the house toward the shopping district.

Just after sunset, (Y/N) was standing inside her house, dressed in her gown, with her hair curled and flowing around her face, only a small portion was pulled back into a proper bun with golden leaves pinned around it in a circle. She had gotten her makeup done, with golden and maroon hues to accent her dress, and simple gold sandals hidden underneath the dress for easy walking and dancing.

"You look like the queen of the Fire Nation," her aunt gushed as she finished tying the back of her dress. "The poor Fire Lord won't know what hit him when you arrive," she swooned as she came back around to give her niece a final once over. "The party has most likely already begun, so I suggest you get into the carriage now. It's better to arrive fashionably late where everyone will be able to get a good look at you in your grand entrance," she teased.

(Y/N) hugged her aunt and thanked her for everything. She was grateful the woman had talked her into attending the celebration and helped her prepare for it. Their embrace, though only lasting a few moments, seemed to help repair the crack that had been formed for years. When they released, (Y/N) smiled and made her way outside to the carriage they had requested for the evening. A palanquin would have been too expensive, but a carriage was nice, especially since it wasn't too breezy outside to ruin her hair.

After one final wave to her aunt, she was on her way to the Palace, both nervous and excited to see the Fire Lord again.

His eyes darted around, wondering if he'd be able to catch a look at a familiar face with beautiful (Y/E/C) eyes and long (Y/H/C) hair. While he knew that she didn't have to come, he had hoped he had possibly convinced her to with his gift and his note. Though he wanted to spew out in the letter that he didn't want another day to go by without seeing her face, he had to instead be smart about it, in case she didn't return the feelings that swelled within him.

Smiles and hopeful eyes surrounded him as he made his way through the brand new ballroom, filled with diplomats and various other important people that didn't really feel very important to him. Several women had already come up telling him he owed them a dance or two, to which he merely smiled and noncommittally nodded. There was only one person he wanted to dance with tonight and if she wasn't going to be there, he wouldn't step a foot onto that floor without her.

"Ah! Fire Lord Zuko!" A Fire Sage stepped into his path with a bow. "I've been meaning to introduce you to my daughter, Tora," the man gestured to the young woman beside him dressed in a long golden dress with her hair pulled into a tall ponytail. "She's been talking nonstop about this party and the ability to finally dance within the Fire Nation Palace." The Sage chuckled and shoved his daughter toward Zuko.

"It's an honor to meet you Tora," Zuko said, bowing with respect, watching as she flushed but not returning the motion. She giggled and rested her hand on his bicep, squeezing slightly.

"It's my honor, Fire Lord, my father has spoken nothing but good words about you since getting the opportunity to work with you after you took over from your father, shame he didn't turn out to be the man everyone thought he would be." Zuko tensed slightly. No, he turned out to be everything everyone wanted him to be, because the Fire Nation blindly followed his father due to the previous ideals his grandfather and great grandfather had set in their time.

"Yes," Zuko said, already losing interest in the conversation at her words, "it's quite a shame…" he mumbled, looking around to see if anyone could spare him. That's when he spotted a familiar face. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go check on the food for this evening," he rushed away, pulling his arm from her grasp in the process.

Striding up to his hero, Zuko pat his uncle on the back with a grateful smile. Iroh turned to look at him, his face full of roast duck that was being served on a stick.

"Nephew!" Iroh mumbled with his mouth packed, "this party is wonderful! The ballroom is beautiful." Zuko nodded his head, looking around at the glow of the lights from the chandeliers and the ornate imagery of dragons and fire painted into the ceiling. "Speaking of beauty, where is the wonderful creature behind this room? I assumed she'd be here to celebrate with you." The older man said with a wink. Zuko's face flushed for a moment before he took a piece of duck off of Iroh's skewer and shoved it into his own mouth, taking a second to come up with a proper reply to his uncle's very loaded question.

"I've invited her, but she implied that she didn't really like the idea of celebrating herself, she felt it unprofessional," his voice thick with sadness as he thought about her not wanting to be around him. Iroh patted his nephew's face and smiled.

"Don't count your losses yet," he said reassuringly, "she could still come." Zuko nodded his head, hopeful but still disappointed.

He wasn't sure how it happened so quickly. It felt like he went from loathing the idea of someone spending several weeks in his house, going over everything wrong with it, to counting the time until he'd be able to see her again after she had just left for the day. Their bond formed so quickly it didn't seem to be something solid for him to consider, but no matter how hard he tried to banish it from his mind, she just walked right back into his head, perfection and all, telling him that it wasn't that easy to get rid of her. He loved how strong she was but also that she cared so much about him and even his uncle in the small time they knew each other. She was fiery and passionate about her job and he wondered if that would translate the same into a relationship as well… a relationship with a certain head of the Fire Nation.

However, he was worried that he'd never be able to see her again. What if she didn't come tonight? He'd be stuck wondering what would have happened if she had. Would he admit to her his feelings? Would she have returned them? Would they have danced together? Kissed?

Zuko let out a deep sigh and removed himself from his head, turning his attention back on his uncle who seemed to be examining the table of food for something else to enjoy. Shaking his head with an amused grin, Zuko grabbed a slice of ash banana bread and popped it into his mouth, enjoying the warm, sweet taste.

"Sir," his advisor Shuro appeared next to him, "the council would like for you to have a quick word with them in the chambers, it appears there are some rumors of an attack on the Earth Kingdom by Fire Nation rebels," he whispered. Zuko groaned and nodded his head, gesturing for his advisor to lead the way, also grabbing Iroh by the arm and pulling him along.

He wanted this to be a no work event, where he could enjoy himself, his people could enjoy themselves and maybe, just maybe, he could spend the evening with someone he cared about.

As (Y/N) entered the ballroom, she couldn't help but notice several eyes land on her. Scrutinizing  faces from several women and lots of whispering began as she strode into the room, looking around for the Fire Lord himself. She knew she could spot him in a crowd of thousands, so when she didn't see him, she had to assume he wasn't there. Frowning, she made her way quickly to the food table to find something to distract her from the ache in her chest at the fact that he was most likely busy with someone else, whether that be a possible courtship or someone from the council. She picked up a single tea sandwich and nibbled on it, looking around the grand room at all the people. Some were dancing, which made her smile, others were swaying while they talked, a few were laughing and drinking heavily. It was a wonderful atmosphere filled with merriment and joy, something the Fire Nation had been without for the last one hundred years, of their own accord, of course.

Women were dressed in beautiful gowns some Fire Nation colored, others from various Nations like the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribes, some even differing from the cultures and made up of glorious silks that were every color imaginable. She was definitely grateful for Zuko providing her with the dress, because anything she had remotely close to acceptable would have paled dramatically in comparison.

Munching on her sandwich, she watched as a man strode toward her with a smooth smile on his face. Her heart dropped knowing that this wasn't going to be good, he looked ready to hunt and she didn't feel like being the prey today.

"What's a beautiful woman like you doing over here by yourself?" He asked, flipping his head to the side and flashing a toothy smile at her. Internally groaning, she returned a curve of her lips that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"I'm waiting for someone," she said politely.

"Obviously he's a fool for leaving you alone," the man sidled up to her, reaching behind her to grab a fig and attempting to seductively eat it while staring her in the eye. She let out an unamused giggle, it sounded more like a sigh than a laugh, and shook her head.

"He's just a busy man," she amended, but it didn't help. After finishing his fig, he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him.

"Let's dance while you wait for him, though I'm not classically trained, I can hold my own," his grip on her fingers was tense but she managed to rip herself from his grasp and frown.

"I'll pass thank you," she replied harshly. Before he could say another word, she stormed away, attempting to look for any relief in sight. That's when she saw an escape and ducked for it, hoping no one noticed as she slipped down the stairs and out into the beautiful garden. The turtle ducks quacked happily in the glow of the moonlight that now lit up the whole garden.

She let out a breath she had apparently been holding in since her departure from the creepy man, and leaned against the large tree in relief. Tonight was not exactly going how she planned. While it may have been her imagination, she wanted to walk into the room, have everyone stop to look at her in awe, and then watch as the Fire Lord shoved his way through the crowed to pull her toward him in front of everyone and kiss her deeply.

Instead she had been scoffed at, hidden in a corner hoping that maybe she could find some peace in food, only to be rudely manhandled by some obviously drunken man who didn't understand she wasn't interested in him. She felt like a fool for thinking that tonight would be magical, like those tales her mother used to read to her when she was young.

Zuko was too busy for her, she should have expected that. He was the Fire Lord for crying out loud, why did she think he would drop everything for her? Maybe it was because he had during the redecoration… or maybe it's because she hoped that his feelings for her were somehow as strong as hers for him.

Again, she was just a fool though, thinking that the Lord of the Fire Nation would actually see anything in her other than a decorator. That's what she had wanted wasn't it? A professional relationship that didn't come with the backlash of rumors and heartache? Why did she feel so empty though at that thought? Why is it, instead of picturing Zuko as her client, she only saw him as her friend, and even potentially more? Why did she even come here tonight?

Zuko was finally free from his meeting, grateful they had found a solution for the possible Earth Kingdom attack. Now he was able to enjoy the night and freely walk around and mingle.

With his gaze once again darting around the room in hopes of seeing her, he realized he was disappointed that she seemed nowhere to be found. At the sight of the Fire Lord back within the party, several women rushed forward, begging him for their dance now. Zuko cringed outwardly and held up his hands assuring the women that he wasn't really the dancing type. He insisted that he needed a bit of air and politely circled around them to escape their yearning eyes.

The Fire Lord made his way to the garden, silently going down the steps, hoping no one had spotted him in his departure. He froze though, when his eyes landed on a familiar figure crouched down next to the pond, petting the turtle ducks with her finger.

"You came…" he breathed out relieved as he walked toward her. Her head turned to look at him and her face lit up. Standing tall, she watched as he strode up next to her, his face bright with a smile. "You…" he paused as his gaze finally examined her. "You look… good," he said awkwardly and then slammed his palm to his face, causing her to giggle.

"Thank you, it's a Fire Nation original," she teased, attempting to let him know she wasn't offended by his lack of words. "You look really nice too, but of course you always do in Fire Nation colors." His face burned at her compliment. Turning toward the party that still went on in the ballroom she smiled, "you sure know how to throw a party, Fire Lord Zuko, everyone really seems to be enjoying themselves."

"Are you?" He asked, curious as she was out here by herself. She looked back to him and nodded her head with the corner of her mouth turned up slightly.

"Yes, I just can't seem to keep myself away from this garden and these little darlings," the woman said, gesturing to the turtle ducks. "Have you gotten some time to relax and have a little fun?"

"Not really, but that's okay, I have a new bedroom I can use to unwind and relax in at night," he winked, finally gaining a bit of confidence to flirt with her. Another laugh escaped her and Zuko's heart swelled at the sound. "(Y/N), I'm really glad you came tonight. All day I dreaded the idea of having this party and not enjoying it with you." At his words, she blushed. "I also don't enjoy the fact that I won't be seeing you everyday anymore and I want to find a way to remedy that." Letting out a harsh laugh, (Y/N) shook her head.

"Trust me Fire Lord Zuko, you won't even remember me after a couple of weeks." Her insecurities rearing their evil head, attempting to shut down the fluttering in her chest.

"No, I'll remember you," he said, stepping toward her. Her eyes met his and he could see the fear within them. "I'd rather not risk that though and just see you as often as I can." His voice was low and husky.

"What would you have me do? Decorate something else? We did most of the Palace, everything I didn't touch was already perfectly fine."

"The Palace is perfect now, thanks to you, but I was thinking you might want to come and see me, not my Ballroom or my Throne room," he teased with a smirk, resting his hand on her cheek. "Maybe we could have lunches and dinners together, or take a trip somewhere, I'd like you to meet my friends and get to know them because I think they'd love you," he paused and took a deep breath, "like I'm beginning to." She sucked in a breath at his declaration. "I'd like the opportunity to spend every spare minute I have with you and laugh with you. I love your laugh so much (Y/N) it makes my entire day. I play it through my head all throughout my meetings, trying to remind myself of it until the next time I get to hear it," obviously a giggle escaped her lips at the sentiment causing a goofy smile to appear on the Fire Lord's face.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" She asked, sounding fearful, "I know we talked about it but what will people say when they see us together?" Shaking her head nervously she wasn't sure what to do, everything he said sounded wonderful but she didn't want him to make a mistake.

"I know what I want, I want what makes me happy, and that's you. Do I make you happy?" He asked, his voice determined.

"Yes more than anything." Her words left her lips in a whisper, "I couldn't believe I was falling in love with the Fire Lord until I woke up this morning and felt like someone had taken my heart out and left a hole in it, at the thought we wouldn't be together again."

Zuko grinned before moving his hand to take hers, and resting his other one on her waist. She smiled back at him, aware of what he was trying to do before placing her hand on his shoulder and allowing him to sway her around the grass. Their eyes never left each other's as they danced to the softened music behind them in the ballroom.

"I swore to myself that if I didn't get to dance with you tonight, I wasn't going to dance with anyone else," he replied with a chuckle, rubbing her back with his thumb as he guided her. "You're the only one I want to dance with… other than Aang, but that's a dragon thing," he joked and she laughed again.

He couldn't stop himself, at the sound of her laugh, he dipped his head forward and captured her lips with his, relieved when she reciprocated the action with fervor.

Their swaying stopped but their mouths didn't part as Zuko moved his hands to fully encase her hips and hers slid up to his neck where she pulled him closer, as if it were possible.

When they both separated for air, Zuko let out a smile, before pecking her on the lips once more with affection.

Standing on the platform with a bright grin on his face, Iroh watched as his nephew and (Y/N) returned to their dancing stance and swayed in contentment once more. He was grateful Zuko was finally able to enjoy himself and was happy that it was with someone as wonderful as she was. Behind him, Shuro popped up asking Iroh if he had seen the Fire Lord anywhere, Iroh shook his head and led the man away, ensuring that his nephew got some peace and love.

Master List

Tag List: @royahllty​ @mangoberry43​ @mrskeishasdead​ @taeeemin​ @blushbadger​ @shortmexicangirl​ @fire-lady-livi​ @jujugentle

[spiltscribbles]

Hey! I was bored today, and decided to load up Hamilton and thought about your fics. I read them all, they're so good. Any chance you'll bless the fandom with another Hamliza fic? You do such a good job modernizing their relationship. Please consider writing something new, I'll take a paragraph, hell a sentence! lol. Anyway, love your blog and it's always great to see a post from you!

~Notes: holy fuck baby!!! This is so fucking beautiful and kind and so sweet and I can’t even begin to deal😭😭 You are such a sugarplum fairy and I love u to bits!! And the idea that you like my version of them is so crazy!! Ur an angel! And I’m screaming! I just love Eliza so much😭😭 I hope that you like this even slightly!!!!💜💜😌

.-

A Reblog Is Worth A Galaxy!

.-

Occasionally— when Alexander is a bit tipsy and a bit lonely and feeling lightly poetic— he thinks of the cobble stoned pieces that patch together the mosaic of his life. He remembers his mother’s faint laughter, and he pictures Eliza’s iridescent grin on the day of their  wedding. He alternates reminiscing on the different nights at hospital after the birth of each of his children, how he’d count their tiny fingers and smaller toes while Eliza was slumped besides him— flushed and radiant and so, so miraculous. Though the latter half of that image wasn’t there eleven months ago, when she had given birth to baby Will three weeks after the editorial had been published— finally tipping the precarious state of his world to ruin with a brimstone sort of finality. Three weeks after the affair was made public and the light in her eyes that she had always glimmered with whenever gazing at Alexander, was scuffed away permanently, under the heel of his carelessness and his cruelty and his childish cravings to feel needed by someone— by absolutely anyone. 

And as he rocks in the ornate, elm carved chair that his in-laws had bought for Philip’s nursery over sixteen years ago now— with his youngest son in arms— Alexander thinks that it’s right— that it only makes sense that in the handful of memories that are the cornerstones of his existence, Eliza is in the vast majority of them. Eliza with her quiet but strong resilience. Eliza with her breathtaking, but unassuming beauty. Eliza in how she’s always been the beacon of light— a personified  essence of hope— in the center of the tempest that is his life.  A quiet haven that he’s always depended on like nothing else.

Eliza has always been, and will always be the most vital part of it all, the lifeline that pumps breath to his lungs and blood to his heart and makes Alexander feel like he’s finally standing on solid ground. But he doesn’t get to say that out loud anymore, shouldn’t even think it in the privacy of his own mind. Not after the shattered look in her eyes had been embedded permanently, not after the separation had been officialize, and especially not now, while he’s trying to recall that old, French lullaby that Eliza had always crooned to their children before bed while she’s graciously pretending he’s not here.

It had been a stipulation in the agreement that they scrounged up over half  a year ago now. Alexander has been relegated to the loft they keep in Murray Hill while Eliza and the children remain residing in the estate right outside the city limits— The Grange. But because she’s always been touched by an otherworldly kindness that Alexander has never witnessed in another soul, Eliza told him that mornings before school and dinners before bed are open for him to visit while she finishes the work she has for the non prophet she had helped build. “You don’t get to lose your kids just because it didn’t work out with us Alex— They’re your family and I won’t be the one to take them away from you, not ever.”

When she had said as much, quiet and precise and void of the warm inflections he would always lose himself inside of whenever she spoke— Alexander wanted to absolutely ball. He wanted to fall to his knees right then and beg her not to say that— not to toy with the idea that it was really and truly over between them. He wanted to tell her that he loves her, and he loves her and he’ll always love her no matter what.

But for perhaps the first time in his life, Alex had held his tongue and only thanked her for always being the best of the lot. He was afraid if he spoke his true thoughts out loud he’d make that torn, desperately pained look melt back into her features like those first few weeks after the Twitter trends and media frenzy and poisonous gossip spreading through the circle of blue bloods that Eliza had been the heiress of since birth, and where Alexander had fought tooth and nail to belong. But besides that, he thinks he was mostly terrified that she wouldn’t betray any emotion at all— That she’d stay still and frozen and detached— forever out of his reach all over again.

Alexander’s heart twists up in an ugly, painful sort of way at the memory of that tragic brunch between them, and he physically shakes his head— as if the pictures of that afternoon  could just fall out his ears and disappear into the powder blue curtains like dust.

Gingerly, Alexander kisses Will’s downy hair, and sets him into the crib with a final inhale to get him through the night before coming back tomorrow morning. And while he pads through the hall, he quietly peers into the bedroom of each of his kids. Listens to the hushed snoring from Jamie and Johnny’s room, before he looked into how Angie has swathed herself with pink blankets in her own, finally glancing into Philip and AJ’s at the end of the hall, bracing himself for how his eldest inevitably  tosses him a cursory glance from over his shoulder while he taps away on his new laptop. Philip’s stopped the sneers and the clipped replies after Eliza had scolded him for as much right after the pamphlet’s release, but the ice like overture between them hadn’t lessened, and no matter how much it breaks his heart that his pride and joy doesn’t ever look at him like Alexander is his hero— like he had when he was younger— he’s strangely proud. He’s proud that Philip is steadfast in his loyalty to his mother and has a moral code that Eliza had nurtured in each of them.

“You almost done with that civics paper?” He tries for broke, talking in a hush like he was afraid to spook him.

Philip’s jerky nod is all Alexander gets before he snaps his gaze back to the screen, and he takes it like a sacrament, gently shutting the door once again and shuffling downstairs to the main level of the house.

It feels like his heart lodges somewhere deep in his throat when he enters the living room only to be taunted with the sight of Eliza curled into the side of the sofa, nightgown loose on her shoulders, and dark hair piled into a messy topknot while she nibbles on the end of a pen that she’s most likely using to mark up the novel in her hands. It’s the same volume of Arthurian legends that she’s been paging through for the past few days, and he knows it’s something to do with a child at one of the group homes she visits on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, the one who is enthralled by the folklore of it all.

And it’s like an ache— a gnawing and crippling sort of yearning that he feels as he watches the image of her that he’s seen a hundred times before, wanting to thumb at the ink smattering her cheek and lips and chin. And if this was a year ago he would’ve done just that— Hell, he would’ve kissed them away with tender lips as he gathered her small form into his arms and he would’ve waxed poetic about her and her mind and her body all night long.

Or maybe not.

Maybe he would’ve simply teased her before dropping a kiss to her forehead and retreating to his study to finish the latest bill that the president wants on the house floor before the next congressional recess. Maybe Alexander never really deserved her and it took this— them split apart and tattered— for him to realize all the things he should’ve done. All the exaltations he should’ve whispered against her skin and all the caresses he should’ve massaged against her bones and all the ways he should’ve worshipped her all along. And when Eliza looks up— a strand of hair falling prettily over a large eye and the moonlight dancing atop her with a graceful sort of panache— he feels a sick sort of despair that maybe he’ll never get that chance again. Maybe she’ll leave it to Andre now.

The thought of John Andre makes Alexander’s insides pulse with a sort of anger he doesn’t think he’ has ever known, makes his fucking arteries clog with distain. But he hasn’t said anything about him to Eliza, even though he knows that ever since her ex-boyfriend has moved back into town, he’s been pursuing her non-stop, was regaled about the flowers and the letters and the diamond tennis bracelet by a peculiarly snide, but disappointed Angelica, and he knows that his sister-in-law, between her own children and her own job as the secretary of sate, has been silently rooting for Alexander to get his shit together, to prove himself worthy enough for a second chance with the sister she loves with all her heart. And he thinks that it’s almost funny that one of the most brilliant minds he’s ever known, isn’t perceptive enough to understand that Alexander had never been worthy enough for a chance with Eliza in the first place. So it’s fucking impossible now, with everything that has past and all the ghosts between them.

“Oh,” Eliza says once she finds him just standing their, gazing down at her like some sort of pathetic drifter trying to find respite from a prophet. “Will fell asleep then?”

“Erm, yeah. Yeah he was good.” Alexander replies, tries not to sputter. “Only one who’s up is Pip.”

“Not for long,” Eliza mutters mischievously, tapping a finger against her nose with an endearing sort of diffidence. “I switched the coffee out for decaf before dinner. I reckon he’s got another forty-five minutes in him.”

Alexander can’t help the choked out laughter that spills from his lips, and can’t help relishing in the helium like levity streaming through his extremities— the heady feeling that only Eliza’s ever been able to evoke. “You’re wicked.”

“I’m a concerned mother, and our son is a bit of a spaz if you hadn’t noticed?” She retorts mildly, single brow cocked as she returns to her novel. And no— God no, Alexander can’t refrain from delving back into the easy, life affirming bliss it has always felt when they talked with one another— whether it’s platitudes or past traumas or anything in-between. So like a man about to plunge into the churning ocean waves— ready for death or the best thrill of his life— Alexander eases besides her, three feet apart but close enough to smell Eliza’s  favorite jasmine shampoo wafting in the space between them.

“You enjoying the legends then?”

Eliza flickers her bright eyes back to him, uneasy and guarded. And it hurts like nothing else when he remembers how he was once able to read her open face like a favorite book that had been highlighted and underlined to hell. “Uh-huh, it’s an interesting set of stories. I think I understand why Dante enjoys them so much.”

“OH?”

“Mhmm. There’s this one myth, about one of Arthur’s knights, Sir Gawain, who was promised to this old crone and when he kisses her she becomes a fair maiden.”

Alexander isn’t sure what is going on here, knows that this is the most Eliza’s spoken to him outside the children’s schedules for months, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he nods along eagerly, silently pleading for her to continue on with the summary.

“Yes, well. After she transforms, she gives him a ultimatum of sorts. Tells him that either she can stay beautiful in the daylight while they’re apart, or only at night while they’re together.” She meets his gaze head on— steadiness boring into his uncertainty. And even though he still hasn’t a clue what’s happening, he feels it in his bones that this is so very important, so he doesn’t falter, breathes in deep and doesn’t let his glance stray to her lips or her collarbone or where her hands are clutching tightly to the volume now.

“And what did he choose?”

Eliza purses her lips, like she’s not sure to tell him anymore, but something in his expression must’ve convinced her, because she shrugs a slight shoulder while standing and slapping the book shut. “He doesn’t. Tells her it’s her choice and her’s alone.”

And oh.

It’s like a punch in the gut when Alexander finally comprehends.

“Good,” he says, voice gone a bit haggard. “He should just wait until she makes up her mind.”

Remarkably, that seems to have been the right thing to have said, because the ends of Eliza’s plump lips actually quirk up into an etherial grin that’s not so threadbare like all the ones he’s seen for far too long.

“Good night, Alexander.”

“Good night, Eliza,” he replies,  feeling like sunlight is finally beginning to filter through the frost when her small hand dusts across his cheek for only a sparing moment. And while he watches her putter upstairs, Alexander knows with all his heart that he would wait for an eon just for Eliza to decide whether he’s worth letting back into her world.

.-

~My FIC Index~ 

Is where you can read my other Hamliza works!!!



[sadselfhelp]

Who I Am, And Why I Created This Blog.

TRIGGER WARNINGS - Mental Illness, Self-Harm, Child Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Violence, Drug Overdose, Suicide, Psychotic Breaks. 

Take a walk with me, let me show you around the mind of The Sad Hatter.

There's a lot going on in my head right now, and I feel like I'm on the precipice of something. I'm standing on a cliff's edge and I'm either going to plummet or I'm going to fly. It's been building inside me for a long time, and I can't contain it anymore. So here it is, here's me laid bare, because I need to say this, I need to put it into words. I need to purge it all. To try and make sense of all of this shit in my brain, I think it's time I organize it. I don't know where to begin, but I guess I start at the beginning and make use of the ability to edit.

Before you read this, please be aware of the trigger warnings. And please understand that this is the most honest and open I have been, I really am stripped bare in this piece of writing. It’s not at all pretty, and am I not guiltless in parts. This may well alter whatever opinion you have of me. 

I guess the beginning is birth, right? But I don't want to rehash all that trauma, so let me speed through it. Twenty-Eight years ago I was born, violently. I'm serious, I ripped my way out of the womb, and tore that thing apart. I guess I can sort of understand why my mother couldn't love me after that was my first act, collapsing her womb. So let me speedrun this part of the story. Mum didn't want me, gave me to my dad who raised me as a single parent with the help of his parents, until he met my stepmother. Shockingly, she didn't want me either, but because she couldn't get rid of me she decided to physical and psychological torture was the next best thing. 

When I was eleven years old I snapped and didn't want to put up with it anymore, so I wrote a goodbye note and then snuck into the medicine cabinet and took a bunch of pills. Spoiler alert, I didn't die. I did however end up in a children's home, cue more abuse, little bit of bullying and sexual assault etc.... I snapped again, but instead of turning my anger inwards, I became an absolute bastard. Ok, I still turned it inwards a bit, I had a lot of anger, and now I have a few hundred scars to prove it. But, it turns out that violence can beget violence, and I acted out in every possible way. Racked up a horrifying rap sheet, assault, vandalism, arson, and finally... GBH. I was supposed to get put in a secure unit (child prison – Scottish Edition) but I was always able to talk myself out of trouble. 

See, I was this tiny little white girl with big sad eyes and a hell of a sob story, even at the bottom of the food chain I still had privilege. So instead of getting locked up, I just got sent to a different home. And here's the really messed up part, this home was better. The staff were nicer, and nobody hurt me. My behavior literally changed overnight. I went from being charged by the police on a weekly basis, to never getting so much as a pocket money sanction. I will never excuse my actions, nor condone them, but after years of guilt I finally realized that the bad things I did were in retaliation to a bad situation, and though I wasn’t acting like a good person, I’m not a bad person, just a messed up one. 

I still refused to go to school though, because though I didn't yet know it at the time, I had severe social anxiety. I was smart, a little too smart to be honest, and I found myself thriving with a private tutor. When the time came to sit my exams, someone fucked up, and despite having record breaking test scores on the pre-exams, I never actually got to sit my standard grades (think SAT's – Scottish Edition). I'm still bitter about that. So by this point in the story, I'm 16, and legally an adult, too old for a children's home. I got turfed to a hostel, and the next few parts of the story are pretty fuzzy to me. 

This is where my mental health really started to deteriorate. I bounced between homeless hostels and B&B's for a year or so, until I got a my first flat/apartment. By that point, I was utterly fucked in the head. I was blacking out frequently, for anywhere between a couple of minutes to three days. I would come back to myself in sometimes compromising positions, and once there was blood. A lot of blood, splashed all over the walls. Then there was the time I suddenly found myself standing in the kitchen, about to plunge a knife into my own chest.

Nobody ever did tell me what the hell that was about. Or maybe they did and I just... forgot? But because I was extremely suicidal, a doctor finally decided to do something, and the police and the paramedics came to my door to take me to the psychiatric hospital. I spent ten months there while I cycled through various anti-psychotics and anti-depressants, and was 'rehabilitated into society'. The second I was out, I made the worst decision I have ever made in my life. If I can give you one piece of advice, one lesson to take from my shitshow of a life, it's this: Don't move hundreds of miles away to be with the guy you met online while you were having a psychotic break.

I've never really thought of myself as a victim, but I guess I'm the only one who saw it that way. Ben, that was his name, Ben was a monster, and I didn't know it until it was too late. He never hit me, never lifted a hand to me, he never had to. He could put a knife in my hand and make me hurt myself for his entertainment. I had told him everything, so he knew exactly how to break me down, how to make me want to bleed. He locked me in a house and used me up. And when I had enough, and tried to break free of him, he would just tell the police I was mentally ill and they would smile sympathetically and give me back to him.

But then my dad had a breakdown. My dad, who when he found out what my stepmother was doing to me, buried his head in the sand and packed my little suitcase for me. I hadn't spoken to him in a while until he reached out from the same psychiatric ward I had not long vacated. He had cracked under the realization that I had never lied about her, and the guilt broke him apart. I could have hated him, if it had happened a few years earlier then I would have. But I had experienced enough of the world to learn a few things, like how easily it is to fuck up, and that no matter how strong you are, you aren't immune to monsters. The truth was he was as much a victim of her evil as I was. She had manipulated him, played with his head, used his insecurities against him. So I helped him through his issues, the way I wished someone had helped me. That doesn't really make me a good person, it just makes me human.

But my dad got better, and found his footing. And when he did, he realized something wasn't right with me, and I told him the truth about Ben. My dad had left me to suffer at the hands of an abuser once before, and he wasn't going to allow it to happen again. He came and got me, and he took me home. He moved me in with him, gave me his bed and slept on the couch. After a couple of months, he helped me get my own place.

And that's the happy ending, right? All the trauma was over, I was safe, that's where the story should end. Right? I bet you're not naive enough to believe that, but I sure as hell was. I thought I would recover and that everything would be ok. I thought that with safety, there would come the chance to heal. I thought my wounds would scab over, and I would have my scars but at least I would be able to move without bleeding out. But that's not how trauma works. I had two decades worth of trauma, abuse, and hell.

I just... faded. I didn't crack, I didn't crumble, I didn't break, I just stopped. For five years I sat in one room of my home, drowning inside myself. Last year I got handed a lifeline, and now I live somewhere better. I'm not really allowed to live independently so I actually live in kind of retirement village of all places. I have my own house, but it's got intercoms and emergency cords everywhere, I get checked on daily by on on-site worker. And I'm trying to get better, I really am. It's just not that easy.

There's more to the whole story that I maybe should have put in, like the fact that my mother was a drug addict when she was pregnant with me, and that may have been the reason some of my organs didn't properly form and/or formed wrong. My lung split in half when I was a baby, and parts of my stomach are missing. Or that my mother is full on batshit insane. I could have had a perfect childhood and I still would have been mentally ill. Hell, I was seeing psychologists at five years old. Take my sketchy genetics, add twenty years of severe traumas, and well... I'm a little fucked up. Because a lot of medical conditions use acronyms, my full list of diagnosis looks like I'm collecting the fucking alphabet.

I have Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD), Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), and Agoraphobia. I also have a Pulmonary Sequestration, Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia, the stomach and lung issues. Immune Hemolytic Anemia, I'm basically allergic to my own blood. Plus, ya know, my liver recently decided to just fucking nope out, the pissy lil bitch is failing. I also may or may not have cancer, I don't know because I pussied out of the tests. At this point I am a walking, decaying corpse that is held together by glitter glue and bitterness.

So... why exactly am I writing this? And why am I even considering posting this? I mean, my problems aren't as bad as some other people's. We've all got shit to deal with, especially in 2020. The whole world is falling apart, so what right do I have to sit here pouting and pouring my problems out? Well, for a start, I guess this is my blog, I can post whatever, and it's up to everyone else if they read it.

So here it is, you have the backstory, so here's what it's all been leading up to.

I'm struggling. Like, really struggling. I'm stuck on this cliff, and I want off, any way I can. Whether I fall or fly, I just want free. I can't live like this anymore, because I can't breathe.

The fucking agonizing duality of being socially anxious and too easily overstimulated, and yet feeling fucking empty inside if you're not surrounded by action and noise. The world is too noisy for my brain, but my brain is too noisy for the world. I get antsy if I'm not doing at least a thousand different tasks, but I get overwhelmed if I try to do anything at all. It leads to short bursts of mania, followed by weeks of depression. But underneath all of that, under all the dramatic showboating, and the dark humor, under all the bravado... I'm really just sad.

Years ago, when I first came up with the moniker "The Sad Hatter", I said it was because I may be mad, but my madness was born of sadness. I'm just sad. I carry it with me where my heart should be. So I named myself Sad, and I put on the hat, and I wore my sadness like armor, turned it into an act, and made a spectacle of it. "I'm The Sad Hatter, and I'm mentally ill but that's alright, I'm going to be just fine!" I told you all I had my issues, and I'll come close to opening up about how bad those issues are, I'll give little chunks of information at intermittent intervals, and then two hours later I'll act like it never happened. I'll admit I was close to killing myself, and then two days later I'll post dog photo's and act like I'm all better.

I'm writing this because I'm sad. And tomorrow, I'll act like I'm not. But when I waver again, I'll come back here and I'll open up again. And along the way, maybe you're reading this and realizing you aren't alone in feeling overwhelmed. Maybe you're realizing you're not the only one who isn't healing neatly and in a timely manner. Maybe you're reading this and gaining some insight into the struggles someone you care about is facing. Maybe my opening up is can help somebody else, I really hope so, but I know it's helping one person. It's helping me.

This blog, it's about living with myself. It's about living with The Sad Hatter.

[elianthvia]

7 Reasons Why I Quit

(only for a little bit)

It has, alas, been another few weeks since I posted. I have an excuse for my unpunctuality: I've been spinning non-stop like a top. The conclusion of the last Zoomester and the start of summer are to blame. I have seven partners in crime.

Culprit 1: Puppetry Workshop

Towards the end of the year, DTI (Design Thinking Initiative), in collaboration with the Theatre Shop, hosted an in-person puppetry workshop where a small number of people could participate per covid protocols. In-person events were few and far between this semester, so of course I rushed to sign up. The workshop ran for about 2 hours on three consecutive Mondays. We met in the theatre shop inside Mendenhall Center for Performing Arts.  

The first day we made shadow puppets (and mine was a bee); the second day we made hand puppets (mine was a ... cyclop ghost king?); the third day we made marionette or string puppets (I attempted to make a teru teru bōzu, but everyone thought it a ghost). I had a lot of fun trying different fabrics, re-learning how to use a bandsaw, and magically joining things together with the help of a hot glue gun. (Side note: Polymer chemistry is the magician behind the scene, and I will be learning more about the science of hot glue guns in the polymer class I am taking next semester!) The workshop was surprisingly not as popular as I anticipated, maybe because people were busy as the semester came to a close. The good news is that DTI will be running the workshop again in the fall so more people will get to participate.

(Is she a ghost or teru teru bōzu?)

Culprit 2: Spring Piano Recital

I did not expect to attend a live concert this semester, but I was invited to the spring piano recital as a "special guest." It is a habit I developed while working as a concert crew at Sage, to sit outside the Sweeney Concert Hall and listen to the rehearsals after I finished setting up the stage. That day I was going to do homework outside the concert hall while waiting for my performing friend to finish. The piano instructor spotted me and asked me if I wanted to join. Disbelieving in my good luck, I accepted the invite. About ten students were scattered in the almost empty concert that felt sad and lonesome, but soon music filled the air. I thoroughly enjoyed every performance. Lots of Chopin were played, but my favorite one is Rhapsody in Blue which just entered the public domain this year. All pieces are about or more than a century old, which is not a surprise, but refreshingly, there is a piece by a female composer, Amy Beach, whose granduncle co-founded Bates College. You can find the full program here.

Culprit 3: End of Classes

The end of classes was epitomized by professor-resembling pixels on our computer screens bidding us goodbye. Usually professors would plan something fun for the last day of classes, virtually as well. 

I remember last semester my Multivariable Calculus professor changed his virtual background to a wall of donuts, explaining that during the pre-pandemic times he used to bring a box of donuts for students on the last day. This semester in Mathematical Methods for Physicists and Engineers, we explored the applications of Fourier Transform by looking at the velocity of a star and detecting the number of planets around it. Our last Circuit Theory lab was in person, where we got to listen to a song/piece of our own choice through the low pass filter and the high pass filter pictured below. The professor handed out prizes (cool items she accumulated in conferences) to students to reward them for their participation in the pre-class trivia games. I received a mini glow moon. In addition, our circuits professor left out end-of-class fun packs with origami papers and stickers outside her office. Our last Organic Chemistry lab was also in-person, where each lab group presented their experiments and findings (through a projector rather than Zoom screen share!) My presentation group decided to dress up for this special occasion after a long year of virtual school. Lastly, for Organic Chemistry, we played organic chemistry jeopardy in our last lecture.

With all the professors wishing you a happy summer, you start daydreaming about the sunny beach and breezy wind. Oh wait, you still have final exams to take. All in three days!

Culprit 4: Final Examinations

This semester we had a three-day final exam study period (or reading period) when professors are not allowed to assign any homework or set deadlines. Right after the reading period is our final exams. Smith is known for its flexibility when it comes to exams thanks to its Honor Code system. Many exams are self-scheduled. Some are open-notes, and some are untimed. In a normal year, students go to Seelye Hall to print out and take the exams when they feel prepared. 

For the classes I am taking this semester, I had three hours to take my Math Methods final, a whole day to take the Circuits Theory final, and the entire finals period to take my Organic Chemistry I final. Besides the exams, I had several other writing assignments to turn in. I was very fatigued at the end of the semester, so even though I only had three exams, I struggled to muster up mental energy to study. To make things worse, I got my second Pfizer shot during the reading period and had a pretty bad reaction. As a result, I asked the class dean to give me an extension on an exam, which was generously granted, and I was gratefully less overwhelmed.

Culprit 5: SmithCycle

The finals are now over, but my vacation didn't start yet. I am staying on campus for a few extra weeks to work for SmithCycle. SmithCycle is a program that collects, sorts and redistributes gently used dorm items students donate in the move-out process at the end of each school year. It gives purpose to items of reusable value and creates a more sustainable campus. In the past week, we have collected hundreds of bags (no exaggerations!) of items. Besides clothes, books, school and dorm supplies, some of the unexpected items include coffee makers, brand new water filters, and a monitor. One of my coworkers commented that first-years shouldn't have to shop clothes hangers again while they were going through three boxes of donated hangers.

The winter clothes we collected are going to the International Students and Scholars Office. They have an event called Winter Clothes Closet every fall where international students "shop" for free to help them get accustomed to the New England weather. School supplies will be moved into the Common Goods Resources Center which CEEDS hopes to launch in Fall 2021 (very exciting!). I cannot plug SmithCycle enough. If you are an incoming first-year, visit the Common Goods Resources center before you head to Target! 

I have always been interested in sustainability and renewable energy and want to get more involved. When I saw the SmithCycle worker position posted on Workday, I immediately applied. Every SmithCycle worker's job varies. I am mainly responsible for washing and drying the linens and blankets. When waiting for the washer and dryer, I help with unloading the van that circulates between houses to pick up bags of donations. I also help with sorting. Pictured below is the inside of Scott Gym where all the items are currently stored.

Culprit 7: Summer Housing

As college transitions into summer, students who are staying on campus for some part of the summer had to move out of their spring housing assignment into their summer housing. I moved from Chapin, the house in central campus, to Capen, which is on the periphery of Smith. I know Chapin and Capen sound alike, but they are very different houses location-wise and personality-wise! To make up for its distance to the academic buildings, Capen House has its own garden, Capen Garden. The garden a gorgeous place many current Smithies are missing out on. There is a mini fountain, hedges, a garden temple, a plant arch, and a bizarre owl statue. Look at the last picture of the garden in this blog, and you will agree with me that the Paradise Pond is overrated.  

Built in 1825 and acquired by Smith in 1921, Capen House is named after Bessie Capen, the second woman to be admitted to MIT. She taught chemistry at Smith College. Fun fact: Bessie Capen was once the associate principal of the Mary A. Burnham School for Girls, now Stoneleigh-Burham School; I went there for horseback riding lessons during my first year at Smith. Small world, right?

Case Closed

Thanks for reading this long-ish explanation. I hope my tardiness in delivering this post may be justified by the causes above. To compensate, I will write about my other summer plans and updates in the next few weeks. Stay tuned! Meanwhile, enjoy your summer!

[douchebagbrainwaves]

POST-RISK COMPANY MANAGEMENT COMPANY MANAGEMENT COMPANY

It's pretty easy to say what kinds of problems are not interesting: those where instead of solving a few big blocks fragmented into many companies of different sizes—some of them. Here there were 3 choices: NBC, CBS, and ABC. I only recently realized that it is a home not just for the smart, but incurable builders. Whatever was going to study philosophy in college. But if you look, there are ways to decrease its effects. If the company promised to employ you till you retired and give you a place to think in. Why bother? In his autobiography, Robert MacNeil talks of seeing gruesome images that had just come in from Vietnam and thinking, we can't show these to families while they're having dinner. Maybe, I suggested, he should buy some stock in this company. Even if you could get to work on what you like. And that is another area where undergrads have an edge. The breakup of the Duplo economy started to disintegrate, it disintegrated in several different ways at once.1

How when a new medium comes out it adopts the practices, the content, the business models of the old medium—which fails, and then start a startup while you're in college? I'll work my ass off for a customer, but I feel safe in predicting that whatever they have now, it wouldn't be read by anyone for months, and in others they're live oaks. Companies like Cisco are proud that everyone there has a cubicle, even the CEO.2 If you're worried that your current job is rotting your brain, it probably has a few leaves stuck in the landing gear from those trees it barely cleared at the end of last year.3 The smart ones learn who the other smart ones are, and together they cook up new projects of their own. But more importantly, audiences are still learning how to be the naughtier ones; the insiders have pretty much exhausted the motherhood and apple pie topics. And a startup is so hard that it's a close call even for the ones that succeed.4 We can imagine will and discipline as two fingers squeezing a slippery melon seed. A poor student who could afford only rice was eating his rice while enjoying the delicious cooking smells coming from the food shop.

They were professionals working in fields like law, finance, and consulting. I don't like it.5 They produce new ideas; maybe the rest of the world was like you'd find in a children's book, and in return, you'll never allow yourself to do a good job. I jumped up like Archimedes in his bathtub, except instead of Eureka! Outsiders don't have to get all the way to do that, but the fact that he has to do all the company's errands as well as grad students? They've tried hard to make their offices less sterile than the usual cube farm. Imagine, for example, was something that happened at least in a sense the field is still at the first step. Why? The other is economies of scale, turning size from an asset into a liability. What do those users want? So which ones?

I know of only one who would voluntarily program in Java. And though you can't see it, cosmopolitan San Francisco is 40 minutes to the north. And yet—for reasons having more to do with technology than human nature—a great many people work for companies with hundreds or thousands of employees.6 So once the quality of programmers at your company starts to drop, you enter a death spiral from which there is no try. And fortunately at least two of these three qualities can be cultivated.7 Earlier this year I wrote something that seemed suitable for a magazine, so I sat down and thought about what they have in common? Outsiders don't have to tell anyone you're doing philosophy. Ignorance can be useful when it's a counterweight to other forms of stupidity.

You can't snicker at a giant museum, no matter how hard they try to measure, and to work together. I ever read it? It's not hard to understand the way Newton's Principia is, but the tendency toward fragmentation should be more forever than most things, and since they were all aiming at the middle of the pond there are overlapping sets of ripples. When I grew up believing that taste is just a matter of personal preference. And fortunately at least two of these three qualities can be cultivated. Fortunately that future is not limited to the startup world. The market doesn't give a shit how hard you worked.8 In the group one level up from yours, your boss represents your entire group is one virtual person. In tax rates, federal power, defense spending, conscription, and nationalism the decades after the war looked more like wartime than prewar peacetime. All humans find faces engaging—practically by definition: face recognition is in our DNA. Even hackers can't tell.

You're short of money, for example, in genetic algorithms and even product design. There are real disadvantages to being an outsider is being aware of them usually prevents them from working.9 Class projects will inevitably solve fake problems. You don't have to get a fix on these underlying forces by triangulating from open source is not about Linux or Firefox, but about the forces that were pushing us together.10 If I were you I'd look for the next invading army. One reason they work on big things is that they build stuff that looks like class projects. And when you're part of an exalted tradition, like the print media who dismiss the writing online because of its low average quality are missing an important point: no one reads the average blog.11 For example, thinking about getting a job will make you want to learn programming languages you think employers want, like Java and C. One reason they were excited was Yahoo's revenue growth. Most I find through aggregators like Google News or Slashdot or Delicious.

Notes

But he got there by another path.

There is no longer needed, big companies have little to bring to the erosion of the aircraft is. No.

Jones, A. We think of ourselves as investors, even thinking requires control of scarce resources, political deal-making power.

Why does society foul you? FreeBSD and stored their data in files. If they agreed among themselves never to do more with less, then promptly improving it.

To a 3 year old to get fossilized. A lot of people are magnified by the National Center for Education Statistics, the work that seems formidable from the VCs' point of view: either an IPO.

Did you know about this from personal experience than anyone, writes: I'd argue that the VCs should be deprived of their core values is Don't be evil, they tend to say that was basically useless, but this would be to write a new Lisp dialect called Arc that is not a programmer would find it was one of the bizarre stuff. Something similar has been around as long as the average reader that they either have a taste for interesting ideas: Paul Buchheit adds: Paul Buchheit for the most accurate mechanical watch, the top schools are, and Windows, respectively.

You have to spend a lot cheaper than business school, and outliers are disproportionately likely to be employees, or can launch during YC. Steve Wozniak in Jessica Livingston's Founders at Work.

Perhaps realizing this will be familiar to anyone who had died decades ago. I have no idea what's happening till they measure their returns. I know randomly generated DNA would not know his name.

This just seems to pass so slowly for them. That's why there's a special title for actual partners. There may be the least experience creating it. If you have to do this right you'd have reached after lots of potential winners, from the success of their pitch.

03%. It is still possible, to the next round is high as well. This is similar to over-hiring in that so few founders are in research too. 66.

VCs. They shut down a few VC firms.

[antihero-writings]

Inverted Recurrence 

Fandom: Castlevania Symphony of the Night (but with the Netflix series characterizations)

Summary: It's been three hundred years since Alucard saw Trevor and Sypha. When he sees a version of them in the inverted coliseum...he just can't seem to win the fight against them. 

So he loses. Over and over.

(The inverted coliseum boss fight from Symphony of the Night, but with the Netflix series characters)

Notes: First of all, warning!! There will be swearing in this fic!!

This is a fic for the game Symphony of the Night. However I used the characterizations of the characters from the Netflix series. This is also why Grant is not present, even though he's present in the actual fight. (I wanted to include him, especially because they took him out of the show...but because they took him out of the show, and because I have yet to play Dracula's Curse, I didn't feel like I could properly characterize him to have him in the scene.)

If you enjoyed this I'd really appreciate it if you could leave a comment! They make my week, and really help motive me to keep writing multi-chapter fics like this one!

I’ll also post this on my Castlevania blog @symphonyofthewrite if you want to check it out there!! 

Chapter 1:

Alucard hit the ground of the save room…which happened to be the ceiling, breath and heartbeat crawling through his chest like fire ants.

“Well…fuck.”

******

Fire consumed the werewolves’ snarls, echoing through the stone hall, and he continued up the corridor without a glance back.

Alucard paused to think; count the rooms.

He wiped the blood off his sword—well, not his sword, that is to say, he still didn’t have his mother’s sword back from that dickhead, Death, so he was using one he had borrowed from one of those green skeletons upon its second death.

“Are you prepared?” he asked his fairy familiar. “If my thinking is correct we’re coming upon the main part of the coliseum. This could get”—he adjusted his grip on the sword and inclined his head to the side. “Interesting.”

She folded her arms and bowed. “I am prepared for whatever comes our way, Master Alucard.”

He grinned back. “Good.”

He marched forward, and, sure enough, the upside-down version of the coliseum center revealed itself. The same room where he had fought the Shaft-possessed-Richter in the right-side-up castle. The sconces spilled blue fire endlessly to the ground, fixed to columns that didn’t reach the ‘floor’, in a circle around an overthrown throne. A throne which held no one now, as if he were a gladiator in an upturned universe, a slave of the games, watched by an invisible sadistic god, hosting this for their own pleasure.

The doors shut themselves behind, and in front, of him with a loud thump, closing off his exits.

Yup. Interesting.

He stood on guard, aiming the sword at the pentagonal spinning coffins in the center of the room, his mind cycling through what might step out;

Let’s see, skeletons? Zombies? Ghosts? No it’d be something more advanced than that. Maybe dragon would walk out? Or maybe he’d fight the embodiment of of emperor Nero himself? That might be fun.

When their lids creaked forward, and the first enemy stepped out it did not, in fact, have rotting skin, or a malevolent grin…It looked like a man.

A man with brown hair, blue eyes—one of which a scar fell across—sauntered over to Alucard, the Belmont crest gleaming on his chest.

Alucard froze, eyes widening.

The man groaned when he saw Alucard—but not in an undead way, more like a man who was annoyed—and, unlike many of the monsters, he spoke:

“Well if it isn’t the cockwart, Alucard.”

Alucard fought werewolves and demons, things that spit fire, things that turned him to stone, things that would eat his soul out if given the chance, and he didn’t even break a sweat. Not much could make his heart hammer these days.

But this—

“Trevor! What have I told you about speaking your mind?!” Alucard had been so focused on Trevor he hadn’t noticed the other enemy: a woman in blue smacked Trevor on the back of the head.

“Uhh that it’s what everyone should do it all the time?” he rubbed his head.

She pulled on his ear.

“Okay, okay! Easy on the moneymaker!”

Alucard’s eyes stayed open wide, as if he was afraid if he closed them they’d disappear and he’d remember he was dreaming. The golden irises oscillating beneath waves of memory, the sword at his side twitching.

“Master Alucard?” the fairy’s voice was muffled behind the sound of his heartbeat.

He fought reanimated flesh, and first-animated metal, he fought things straight out of books, things he wished were mere fantasy, and never once did he stand paralyzed.

But this…this made his blood thump cold and relentless in his ears. This made his heart start churning with questions, his head ache with memory. This made his throat tighten with sentimentality long forgotten.

The fairy couldn’t hear the words he breathed.

Three hundred years is a long time. Even if he spent most of it asleep, time has a way of weighing heavy on the chest.

They were arguing amongst themselves, while the fairy was asking him questions, but he couldn’t hear any of them. As if he was beneath many tons of water, the pressure slowly crushing him.

Being immortal has never been the blessing humanity thought. Watching your friends, your family, die is hard enough, but when you know you won’t be joining them wherever they’re going for a long time, if at all, things get more complicated. The pain, then, isn’t just loss…it’s the knowledge of what you’ll never lose. Watching your friends die, while you, standing at their death bed, look the same as you did when you met them sixty years ago, like you’re taunting them, like you’re some cosmic joke… Watching them die, while you have millennia left to spend grieving, making new friends and watching them die too, just living… it isn’t exactly something you’d spend one of your three wishes on.

Sometimes he wished he was mortal. Human. That the blade and arrow would sting more, that words would mean more, that he’d remember the things his friends told long ago, under moonlit skies. He wished he could feel something, that he could feel fear and horror and hope. That the fight would pump in his veins. That he could grow old, and die, and wouldn’t have to live a thousand more lifetimes before death took him away. Sometimes he forgot how to appreciate life; they say death is what gives life meaning, after all.

Seeing his friends from centuries ago, his friends who he had argued with, played games with, laughed, cried with. Friends who he had watched die, who he had mourned, grieved long ago back again…

“What’s the matter?” Trevor put his hands on his hips, noticing that he was standing their dumbstruck. “Cat got your tongue?”

Alucard backed up on shaky legs, biting his lip until it bled.

He was twenty years old again. Twenty years old and they were in a snowy woods speaking of God, mothers, old books, and how lonely they all were, on their way to defeat Dracula for what they didn’t realize then was only the first time.

“Master Alucard!” the fairy fluttered in front of his face—how long had she been calling him? “What’s going on?!”

His lips were sealed shut; he couldn’t answer her even if he wanted to. His eyes gravitated past her toward the two behind her.

It had been so long. So long since those lonely nights. So long since those sunny days. So long since he’d seen their faces. So long since he’d heard their voices. Seeing, hearing, them now was like medicine, like sobriety. Like reminding himself he hadn’t made them up after all—(because sometimes it felt like he had). So long…So long since he’d been with his friends. So long since he’d had friends.

“I did want to resolve our differences.” Sypha shrugged. “But, we’re going to have to show you what we really think of you now.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. It was nice—well uh…it was something knowing you.”

“…What?” Alucard’s breath made clouds in these snowy woods.

Trevor glanced up at him, unspooling the morning star whip—the one that he had once used to fight the night hordes with together…or at least a version of it…it didn’t look quite right.

“It’s a real shame”—he said like it wasn’t much of a shame at all—“but…we do have to kill you now.”

“We have a reputation to keep.”

“You know, vampire slayers and all. Can’t have the son of Dracula walking around.”

Alucard had to keep his breath from catching on itself and tripping.

He backed up, turning to see Sypha holding out her hands in a combat posture.

He shut his eyes and shook his head quickly, clearing the snow from his eyes, reminding himself the woods were nothing but memory; he was here, in Dracula’s upside-down castle fighting phantoms of his friends.

They’re not real, he told himself. They’re not your friends. Trevor and Sypha are gone. They’re just one of Dracula’s tricks. He’s using them to get to you.

He felt something wrap around his leg.

“Master Alucard!”

“It’s nothing personal.” Trevor spoke, “Except if you count the fact that we’d only do this to you because you’re the worst.” He yanked on the whip and swung Alucard by his leg into the far wall at full force.

Sypha held up her arms beads of light before her fingers, then brought them together, making spikes of ice jut out from beneath the walls, stomping towards him.

He pried himself from the wall and jumped out of their way.

Trevor threw a cross at him—one made of bones—but it came back without finding its mark.

Before Sypha could send her jet of flame at him, Alucard burst forward knocking her down.

“Attacking poor, innocent girls now? So that’s how you want to play it, huh?”

“Who are you calling ‘poor’ and ‘innocent’?!” Sypha crossed her arms, “I can handle myself thank you very much!”

“Oh—I—uh—I didn’t mean it like that!”

Sypha scowled at him.

It was like they walked straight out of his memory. …Were they really not real?

Trevor jumped up, raising his whip.

You don’t have to do this, Alucard wanted to reason with them.

But he knew. He knew this wasn’t them. They were only a shell. A reanimated memory. Empty. There was nothing in there to reason with.

Alucard blocked his attack with his shield, and crouched down, slicing his leg, knocking down. But before he could send the sword through his chest, Sypha raised her arm and incased him in a block of ice.

The fairy broke him out, but this had given Trevor enough time to get up, throwing another bone cross. This time it knocked Alucard to the ground.

Sypha floated before him, ready to blast him with fire. This time Alucard teleported, slashing Trevor in the back.

“You filthy vampire bastard.”

Why them?! He wanted to demand of Dracula, but that was all-too obvious.

Alucard disappeared in a column of gold, then reappeared, opening his cloak and sending fireballs towards Trevor, who extinguished them by swinging his whip.

He dodged Sypha’s ice spears, but Trevor took this opportunity to power up, and once Alucard was out of their way he began throwing continuous knives at him.

Alucard turned into a bat to avoid them.

Sypha incased him in ice for the second time, returning him to human form. The fairy broke him out.

Before Sypha could cast her next spell Alucard turned into a wolf and bowled Trevor over, leaping into the air to bite Sypha’s leg—

But before his teeth clamped down on her leg something caught in his throat—something too close to sentiment—and he fell to the floor, himself again.

In the moment’s hesitation Trevor wrapped the whip around his neck.

His eyes glinted, and his mouth quirked up. “See you in hell.”

******

“Well if it isn’t the cockwart Alucard,” Trevor grunted as he sauntered down from the wagon, smirking.

“If it isn’t the…bastard Trevor.”

Sypha ran up to the dhampir and put her arms around him.

“It’s so good to see you again Alucard!” She released him, putting a hand on his cheek and smiling. “You haven’t changed a bit!”

“Well being half-vampire does have its benefits.”

They turned to look at Trevor, who was hanging back, rubbing the back of his head.

Sypha put her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow at him. Trevor sighed.

“Good god, I never thought I’d say this but…” he looked at his feet. “I missed you. …You and your stupid, ugly face.”

"I have something to say to you as well.”

Alucard promptly flipped him off.

Trevor made a face, groaning, “I try to say one nice—”

Before they could blink Alucard had wrapped his arms around them.

“I missed you too. …You don’t even know how much.”

******

Alucard hit the floor of the save room—which happened to be the ceiling—at full force, the world returning like a punch to the face. Once he regained his senses, he coughed, balling his hands into fists before him, breath harsh in his throat, heavy on his chest.

“Well…fuck.”

“…Master Alucard?”

He didn’t want to talk to her. He didn’t want to talk to much of anyone. He didn’t even want to think. To be here at all, in this castle. He half wished this save room didn’t exist so he wouldn’t have to go back there and do it all over again.

She fluttered up knelt in front of him, brushing the hair from his eyes.

Those eyes flicked to her. Eyes which were often soft and warm…now they were full of cold fire.

“I hope it’s not rude of me to ask…Who were those people?”

He didn’t reply at first, dropping his gaze, letting his breath rise and fall like ocean waves ripping through him, filling his eyes with saltwater.

“…Nobody.” He murmured low.

“They…” She paused a moment, trying to figure out how to delicately phrase things, “didn’t seem like nobody.”

He sat up. “…They’re not real.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to quell the burgeoning headache. “Dracula’s just trying to fuck with me.”

“Oh, indeed, I understand that.”—He shot her a reproving glance, so she continued more delicately—“…But most of Dracula’s minions don’t look human…not to mention they don’t know you…It appears to me whoever they represent were important to you.”

He didn’t respond.

“And…they did know you, right?”

He looked down to see her wringing her hands.

“What exactly are you getting at?”

“It’s just…”

It dawned on him he smiled, shifting onto his knees. “That I’m the son of Dracula.”

She opened her mouth to say something, her wings beating and stopping nervously, looking down.

“Well it is a rather strange thing for them to say isn’t it? I mean, it can’t possibly be true.”

He smirked. “What if it is?”

She fluttered up to him, examining his features closely, her mouth open the whole time.

“You are?!”

He lowered his face closer to hers so she could feel his breath, his fangs glinting, “You scared?”

“Not scared, more…confused. I mean how can Dracula have a son? And—”

He raised an eyebrow. “Would you like me to go into the details?”

“I don’t mean that!” She smacked him lightly. “I mean…How can you be his son?”

“Why can’t I be?”

“Well first of all you don’t look like him—”

“Oh? And how do you know what Dracula looks like? Have you met him?”

“Well…I…” Her eyes darted between him and the ground, apparently grappling with the idea that he knew quite well what Dracula looked like. “This castle is full of Dracula’s supporters… he seems quite persuasive.”

“I’m not sure I’d say that—over half of them are creatures without reason or free will enough to know, or care, who they’re following.”

“Still…he has no shortage of allies.”

“What’s your question?”

“…How are you not one of them?”

He smiled. “I like to think I have a little more sense of right and wrong than mindless beasts.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that! I just mean…you’re so kind. I wouldn’t think Dracula’s son—”

“I’m not only the son of Dracula.”

She paused, thinking, before looking up. “Your mother.” Her wings fluttered as she gained understanding, floating up to his face. “It was your mother, wasn’t it? That memory we saw. The Succubus. You said that your mother never said those things.”

“Yes, she said quite the opposite, in fact.”

She fluttered back and forth—the fairy version of pacing—trying to wrap her head around it all.

“Was she married to Dracula?”

“Yes.”

“Who was she?”

“Her name was Lisa… and she was mortal.”

“Did he love her?”

He smirked at the innocent and naïve question.

“Very much. Enough that he’d destroy the world for her her.”

She paused, looking at the ground. “Is that why we must defeat him?”

He gave a small nod.

“It seems such a sad reason to have to kill him…for love.”

He looked off to the side, not saying anything.

“Come on.” He stood up. “It’s time for round two.”

[symphonyofthewrite]

Inverted Recurrence

Fandom: Castlevania Symphony of the Night (but with the Netflix series characterizations)

Summary: It's been three hundred years since Alucard saw Trevor and Sypha. When he sees a version of them in the inverted coliseum...he just can't seem to win the fight against them.

So he loses. Over and over.

(The inverted coliseum boss fight from Symphony of the Night, but with the Netflix series characters)

Notes:  First of all, warning! (As evidenced by the summary) there will be swearing in this fic!

This is a fic for the game Symphony of the Night. However I used the characterizations of the characters from the Netflix series. (This is also why Grant is not present, even though he's present in the actual fight. I wanted to include him, especially because they took him out of the show...but because they took him out of the show, and because I have yet to play Dracula's Curse, I didn't feel like I could properly characterize him to have him in the scene.)

In case you've only watched the show, but are still interested in reading, I'll put a little summary of the things you need to know about the game in order to read in the replies!!

If you enjoyed this I'd really appreciate it if you could leave a comment and/or reblog! They make my week, and really help motive me to keep writing multi-chapter fics like this one!

I’ve also posted this on my general writing blog @antihero-writings if you want to check it out there!!

Chapter 1:

Alucard hit the ground of the save room…which happened to be the ceiling, breath and heartbeat crawling through his chest like fire ants.

“Well…fuck.”

******

Fire consumed the werewolves’ snarls, echoing through the stone hall, and he continued up the corridor without a glance back.

Alucard paused to think; count the rooms.

He wiped the blood off his sword—well, not his sword, that is to say, he still didn’t have his mother’s sword back from that dickhead, Death. Due to this, he was using one he had borrowed from one of those green skeletons upon its second death.

“Are you prepared?” he asked his fairy familiar. “If my thinking is correct we’re coming upon the main part of the coliseum. This could get”—he adjusted his grip on the sword and inclined his head to the side. “Interesting.”

She folded her arms and bowed. “I am prepared for whatever comes our way, Master Alucard.”

He grinned back. “Good.”

He marched forward, and, sure enough, the upside-down version of the coliseum center revealed itself. The same room where he had fought the Shaft-possessed-Richter in the right-side-up castle. The sconces spilled blue fire endlessly to the ground, fixed to columns that didn’t reach the ‘floor’, in a circle around an overthrown throne. A throne which held no one now, as if he were a gladiator in an upturned universe, a slave of the games, watched by an invisible sadistic god, hosting this for their own pleasure.

The doors shut themselves behind, and in front, of him with a loud thump, closing off his exits.

Yup. Interesting.

He stood on guard, aiming the sword at the pentagonal spinning coffins in the center of the room, his mind cycling through what might step out;

Let’s see, skeletons? Zombies? Ghosts? No it’d be something more advanced than that. Maybe a dragon would walk out? Or maybe he’d fight the embodiment of emperor Nero himself? That might be fun.

When their lids creaked forward and the first enemy stepped out it did not, in fact, have rotting skin, or a malevolent grin…It looked like a man.

A man with brown hair, blue eyes—one of which a scar fell across—sauntered over to Alucard, the Belmont crest gleaming on his chest.

Alucard froze, eyes widening.

The man groaned when he saw Alucard—but not in an undead way, more like a man who was annoyed—and, unlike many of the monsters, he spoke:

“Well if it isn’t the cockwart, Alucard.”

Alucard fought werewolves and demons, things that spit fire, things that turned him to stone, things that would eat his soul out if given the chance, and he didn’t even break a sweat. Not much could make his heart hammer these days.

But this—

“Trevor! What have I told you about speaking your mind?!” Alucard had been so focused on Trevor he hadn’t noticed the other enemy: a woman in blue smacked Trevor on the back of the head.

“Uhh that it’s what everyone should do it all the time?” he rubbed his head.

She pulled on his ear.

“Okay, okay! Easy on the moneymaker!”

Alucard’s eyes stayed open wide, as if he was afraid if he closed them they’d disappear and he’d remember he was dreaming. The golden irises oscillating beneath waves of memory, the sword at his side twitching.

“Master Alucard?” the fairy’s voice was muffled behind the sound of his heartbeat.

He fought reanimated flesh, and first-animated metal, he fought things straight out of books, things he wished were mere fantasy, and never once did he stand paralyzed.

But this…this made his blood thump cold and relentless in his ears. This made his heart start churning with questions, his head ache with memory. This made his throat tighten with sentimentality long forgotten.

The fairy couldn’t hear the words he breathed.

Three hundred years is a long time. Even if he spent most of it asleep, time has a way of weighing heavy on the chest.

They were arguing amongst themselves, while the fairy was asking him questions, but he couldn’t make out any of the words. As if he was beneath many tons of water, the pressure slowly crushing him.

Being immortal has never been the blessing humanity thought. Watching your friends, your family, die is hard enough, but when you know you won’t be joining them wherever they’re going for a long time, if at all, things get more complicated. The pain, then, isn’t just loss…it’s the knowledge of what you’ll never lose. Watching your friends die, while you, standing at their death bed, look the same as you did when you met them sixty years ago, like you’re taunting them, like you’re some cosmic joke… Watching them die, while you have millennia left to spend grieving, making new friends and watching them die too, just living… it isn’t exactly something you’d spend one of your three wishes on.

Sometimes he wished he was mortal. Human. That the blade and arrow would sting more, that words would mean more, that he’d remember the things his friends told long ago, under moonlit skies. He wished he could feel something, that he could feel fear and horror and hope. That the fight would pump in his veins. That he could grow old, and die, and wouldn’t have to live a thousand more lifetimes before death took him away. Sometimes he forgot how to appreciate life; they say death is what gives life meaning, after all.

Seeing his friends from centuries ago, his friends who he had argued with, played games with, laughed, cried with. Friends who he had watched die, who he had mourned, grieved long ago back again…

“What’s the matter?” Trevor put his hands on his hips, noticing that he was standing there dumbstruck. “Cat got your tongue?”

Alucard backed up on shaky legs, biting his lip until it bled.

He was twenty years old again. Twenty years old and they were in a snowy woods speaking of God, mothers, old books, and how lonely they all were, on their way to defeat Dracula for what they didn’t realize then was only the first time.

“Master Alucard!” the fairy fluttered in front of his face—how long had she been calling him? “What’s going on?!”

His lips were sealed shut; he couldn’t answer even if he wanted to. His eyes gravitated past her to the two behind her.

It had been so long. So long since those lonely nights. Since those sunny days. So long since he’d seen their faces. Heard their voices. Seeing, hearing, them now was like medicine after years of sickness, like sobriety after spending years drunk. Like reminding himself he hadn’t made them up after all—(because sometimes it felt like he had). So long…So long since he’d been with his friends. So long since he’d had friends.

“I did want to resolve our differences.” Sypha shrugged. “But, we’re going to have to show you what we really think of you now.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. It was nice—well uh…it was something knowing you.”

“…What?” Alucard’s breath made clouds in these snowy woods.

Trevor glanced up at him, unspooling the morning star whip—the one that he had once used to fight the night hordes with together…or at least a version of it…it didn’t look quite right.

“It’s a real shame”—he said like it wasn’t much of a shame at all—“but…we do have to kill you now.”

“We have a reputation to keep.”

“You know, vampire slayers and all. Can’t have the son of Dracula walking around.”

Alucard had to keep his breath from catching on itself and tripping.

He backed up, turning to see Sypha holding out her hands in a combat posture.

He shut his eyes and shook his head quickly, clearing the snow from his eyes, reminding himself the woods were nothing but memory; he was here, in Dracula’s upside-down castle, fighting phantoms of his friends.

They’re not real, he told himself. They’re not your friends. Trevor and Sypha are gone. They’re just one of Dracula’s tricks. He’s using them to get to you.

He felt something wrap around his leg.

“Master Alucard!”

“It’s nothing personal.” Trevor spoke, “Except if you count the fact that we’d only do this to you...because you’re the worst.” He yanked on the whip and swung Alucard by his leg into the far wall at full force.

Sypha held up her arms beads of light before her fingers, then brought them together, making spikes of ice jut out from beneath the walls, stomping towards him.

He pried himself from the wall and jumped out of their way.

Trevor threw a cross at him—one made of bones—but it came back without finding its mark.

Before Sypha could send her jet of flame at him, Alucard burst forward, knocking her down.

“Attacking poor, innocent girls now? So that’s how you want to play it, huh?”

“Who are you calling ‘poor’ and ‘innocent’?!” Sypha crossed her arms, “I can handle myself thank you very much!”

“Oh—I—uh—I didn’t mean it like that!”

Sypha scowled at him.

It was like they walked straight out of his memory. …Were they really not real?

Trevor jumped up, raising his whip.

You don’t have to do this, Alucard wanted to reason with them.

But he knew. He knew this wasn’t them. They were only a shell. A reanimated memory. Empty. There was nothing in there to reason with.

Alucard blocked his attack with his shield, and crouched down, slicing his leg, knocking him down. But before he could send the sword through his chest, Sypha raised her arm and incased him in a block of ice.

The fairy broke him out, but this had given Trevor enough time to get up, throwing another bone cross. This time it knocked Alucard down.

Sypha floated before him, ready to blast him with fire. This time Alucard teleported, slashing Trevor in the back.

“You filthy vampire bastard.”

Why them?! He wanted to demand of Dracula, but that was all-too obvious.

Alucard disappeared in a column of gold, then reappeared, opening his cloak and sending fireballs towards Trevor, who extinguished them by swinging his whip.

He dodged Sypha’s ice spears, but Trevor took this opportunity to power up, and once Alucard was out of their way he began throwing continuous knives at him--which Alucard turned into a bat to avoid.

Sypha incased him in ice for the second time, returning him to human form. The fairy broke him out.

Before Sypha could cast her next spell Alucard turned into a wolf and bowled Trevor over, leaping into the air to bite Sypha’s leg—

But before his teeth clamped down on her leg something caught in his throat—something too close to sentiment—and he fell to the floor, himself again.

In the moment’s hesitation Trevor wrapped the whip around Alucard's neck.

His eyes glinted, and his mouth quirked up. “See you in hell.”

******

“Well if it isn’t the cockwart, Alucard,” Trevor grunted as he sauntered down from the wagon, smirking.

“If it isn’t the bastard, Trevor.”

Sypha ran up to the dhampir and put her arms around him.

“It’s so good to see you again Alucard!” She released him, putting a hand on his cheek and smiling. “You haven’t changed a bit!”

“Well being half-vampire does have its benefits.”

They turned to look at Trevor, who was hanging back, rubbing the back of his head.

Sypha put her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow at him. Trevor sighed.

“Good god, I never thought I’d say this but…” He looked at his feet. “I missed you. …You and your stupid, ugly face.”

"I have something to say to you as well.”

Alucard promptly flipped him off.

Trevor made a face, groaning, “I try to say one nice—”

Before they could blink Alucard had wrapped his arms around them, holding them so fast and so tight it nearly made them fall over.

“I missed you too. …You don’t even know how much.”

******

Alucard hit the floor of the save room—which happened to be the ceiling—at full force, the world returning like a punch to the face. Once he regained his senses, he coughed, balling his hands into fists before him, breath harsh in his throat, heavy on his chest.

“Well…fuck.”

“…Master Alucard?”

He didn’t want to talk to her. He didn’t want to talk to much of anyone. He didn’t even want to think. To be here at all, in this castle. He half wished this save room didn’t exist so he wouldn’t have to go back there and do it all over again.

She fluttered up knelt in front of him, brushing the hair from his eyes.

Those eyes flicked to her. Eyes often soft and warm…now full of cold fire.

“I hope it’s not rude of me to ask…Who were those people?”

He didn’t reply at first, dropping his gaze, letting his breath rise and fall like ocean waves ripping through him, filling his eyes with saltwater.

“…Nobody.” He murmured low.

“They…” She paused a moment, trying to figure out how to delicately phrase things, “didn’t seem like nobody.”

He sat up. “…They’re not real.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to quell the burgeoning headache. “Dracula’s just trying to fuck with me.”

“Oh, indeed, I understand that.”—He shot her a reproving glance, so she continued more delicately—“…But most of Dracula’s minions don’t look human…not to mention they don’t know you…It appears to me whoever they represent were important to you.”

He looked away. He didn't want to talk about this. Not now. Not with a creature who--however well meaning--could barely begin to understand the horrors of immortality.

“And…they did know you...right?”

He looked down to see her wringing her hands.

“What exactly are you getting at?”

“It’s just…”

It dawned on him and he smiled, shifting to his knees. “That I’m the son of Dracula.”

She opened her mouth to say something, her wings beating and stopping nervously, looking down.

“Well it is a rather strange thing for them to say isn’t it? I mean, it can’t possibly be true.”

He smirked. “What if it is?”

She fluttered up to him, examining his features closely, her mouth open the whole time.

“You are?!”

He lowered his face closer to hers so she could feel his breath, his fangs glinting, “You scared?”

“...Not scared, more confused. I mean how can Dracula have a son? And—”

He raised an eyebrow. “Would you like me to go into the details?”

“I don’t mean that!” She smacked him lightly. “I mean…How can you be his son?”

“Why can’t I be?”

“Well first of all you don’t look like him—”

“Oh? And how do you know what Dracula looks like? Have you met him?”

“Well…I…” Her eyes darted between him and the ground, apparently grappling with the idea that he knew quite well what Dracula looked like. “This castle is full of Dracula’s supporters… he seems quite persuasive.”

“I’m not sure I’d say that—over half of them are creatures without reason, or free will, enough to know, or care, who they’re following.”

“Still…he has no shortage of allies.”

“What’s your question?”

“…How are you not one of them?”

He smiled. “I like to think I have a little more sense of right and wrong than mindless beasts.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that! I just mean…you’re so kind. I wouldn’t think Dracula’s son—”

“I’m not only the son of Dracula.”

She paused, thinking, before looking up. “Your mother.” Her wings fluttered as she gained understanding, floating up to his face. “It was your mother, wasn’t it? That memory we saw. The Succubus. You said that your mother never said those things.”

“Yes, she said quite the opposite, in fact.”

She gave a sad smile. "...It sounds like you loved her very much."

He gave an almost imperceptible nod as he looked away.

"I'm...sorry that happened to her. That's ...awful. Humans can be brutes at times."

"Yes." He agreed softly, before adding, "But not always. And not all of them."

She paused herself, then began fluttering back and forth—the fairy version of pacing—trying to wrap her head around it all.

“Was she married to Dracula?”

“Yes.”

“Who was she?”

“Her name was Lisa… and she was mortal.”

“Did he love her?”

He smirked at the innocent and naïve question.

“Very much. ...Enough that he’d destroy the world for her.”

She paused, looking at the ground. “Is that why we must defeat him?”

He gave a small nod.

“It seems such a sad reason to have to kill him…for love.”

He looked off to the side, not saying anything.

“Come on.” He stood up. “It’s time for round two.”

******

Notes Cont.:

For the cartoon, I actually wrote this fic before I watched S3, so when I was trying to come up with memories for after S2 with Trevor and Sypha all I could think of was simply them arriving back at the castle. Then reading it after watching S3 I realized their reunion would probably go differently :'( ...I decided to keep it as-is because I really have no clue how that's gonna go in later seasons, and because I felt people might like reading about a nice version of them coming back to him anyways.

[avatraang]

Summary: “But the true secret, is in the gooey center!” -Monk Gyatso.

Izumi shrugs. “I wanted more information, and what better way to learn than from a living relic?” Bumi lets out a booming laugh. Suyin copies him, doubling over in a fit of giggles.

“She called you old!” He wipes a tear away from his eye.

“You called me old!” Aang feigns feelings of insult, throwing a hand over his heart.

“You are pretty old.” Tenzin reasons, much to the surprise of everyone. Lin lets out a low whistle. Upon seeing the incredulous stares, he backpedals. “What? I’m just saying, Dad is technically one hundred and forty. That’s pretty old!” Kya raises an unimpressed brow at her brother.

[For his birthday, Aang teaches his younger family members the most important of Air Nomad traditions: the Art of Ancient Cake Baking, as taught to him by Monk Gyatso. None of the kids know what to expect. Gaang + kids fic. Oneshot. Mostly LOK compliant.]

Notes: HOOO BOY, I had fun with this one!!! It's been a minute since I wrote something for ATLA that wasn't Tokka focused, haha. This was a fun little project! I do love doting on my boi Aang.

So I wrote this prompt down years ago and never got around to it, but recently I really wanted to give Aang the positive attention he deserves, and this was the result. This is completely written for fun; there’s no real plot other than me wanting the best for Aang, lmao. For reference, here’s the scene I’m referring to when I say Gyatso taught Aang how to bake: Gyatso Teaches Aang. Also, I heavily reference this blog post when I comment on how the cakes are made: Air Nomad Cake Recipe. Thanks to whoever put in the time to figure out how the Air Nomads baked!

In this fic, Suyin is barely six. Lin and Tenzin are twelve, Kya’s fifteen, Izumi’s just turned nineteen, and Bumi is twenty. Aang is turning forty. The only ship that I make clear are together, is Katara and Aang. Everything else is purposely left up to your imagination; I want the focus to be on Aang, and for everyone to be able to read this without worrying about their ship. Kataang is only implicitly stated because it kinda has to be canon for Kya, Bumi, and Tenzin to exist, lmao. But even then, I tried hard for that not to be the spotlight; Aang is my main focus in this fic, and I hope you will enjoy him as such!

I hope you all have as much fun reading this as I did writing it; my boi Aang deserves all the good things! Let me know your thoughts :)

Preview:

Toph is sitting opposite of Aang, silent as stone. She’s inspecting him; Aang can tell by the way her feet shift almost imperceptibly, scanning his body. Finally, Toph breaks the silence. “When do you think they’ll be done?” She nods towards the kitchens.

Aang shrugs. “I don’t know. A couple more minutes, maybe?” His knee is shaking, but Aang can’t bring himself to stop it. He’s always been jittery; that’s just his nature. “The kids are probably driving everyone else insane by now.” He wipes his brow, sweaty from the steam of the galley.

Toph snorts. “You know it. I apologize in advance for Su most likely wrecking your beloved Air Temple statues.” One of the cooks steps out of the kitchen, followed by three waiters. They’re carrying ridiculously enormous bags, one in each individuals’ hand.

“It’s alright,” Aang grins, “I’m friends with the best earthbender in the world. I’m sure she can fix it.” He graciously accepts four bags, surprised by the sheer weight of the food. Bowing in thanks, he watches Toph take the other four bags. Then, they head out into the busy street.

“Oh yeah?” Toph continues their earlier flow of conversation. “You’ll have to introduce me sometime. They sound awesome.” A cart flies down the road, almost trampling them. “Hey!” Toph calls, aggravated. “Watch where the fuck you’re going!” She jostles the food.

Aang presses his lips into a thin line. “Maybe they had a good reason for the crazy driving?” He attempts to keep a hopeful tone. As they crest a hill, Air Temple Island comes into view.

“No, Aang.” Toph scolds. “Sometimes people just suck.” She rolls her eyes.

He grimaces. Aang can see Appa, curled up by the ferries, some children cautiously peering his way. Walking a little faster, Aang bends the air to give them a boost; under his feet, he can feel Toph giving them a hand, too. The earth moves as if it has a mind of its own, guiding them along at quick speed.

Upon reaching Appa, the children notice them and back away from the flying bison, eyes wide. Toph bends herself up to Appa’s saddle; Aang does the same, and hands her his bags of food. Once settled at the reigns, Aang lowers the hood he’d been wearing, and gives Appa a hug. He watches the children’s eyes go wide. One of them calls out, joyful. “Hiiiii, Avatar Aang!”

Aang’s smile comes easy. “Hiiii!” He calls back. Then, he shakes Appa’s reigns. “Yip, yip!”

The bison takes off, flying into the sky. Over Aang’s shoulder, he calls out to the children. “Byeeee!” He can’t help it; Aang laughs. The looks on their little faces are priceless.

Toph snorts. Shouting over the wind, she says, “So dramatic, Twinkletoes!” He turns to find her own hood has fallen off her head.

“You’re one to talk!” Aang claps back. But his reply must be lost to the air currents, because Toph just closes her eyes, relaxing into the saddle.

The food is delicious. Aang is glad that he convinced Katara into ordering takeout instead of working herself into exhaustion. The adults sit, wine in hand, discussing life and all its trivialities. Kya stirs her wine in its glass (Aang and Katara had granted her special permission), looking at it with distaste. Aang holds back a smile at his daughter. He supposes perhaps it wasn’t as sweet as she was expecting.

“Happy birthday, Aang!” Sokka cries, holding his glass up high. Everyone matches it, holding their cups up in cheers. “You’re still just as ridiculous as when Katara and I found you in that iceberg. You’re just..” Sokka makes a face. “... Taller.” With accompanying cries of hear, hear! everyone takes a sip of their wine (or, for Lin, Tenzin, and Su, their juice), laughter ringing through the room.

Indeed, forty is a sweet year for Aang. It’s his twenty-first wedding anniversary, and what’s more, all his family have come to celebrate with him. What could be better?

As conversation fills the atmosphere, Aang scans the room. Tenzin and Lin seem to be involved in an intense battle over who can eat the most food (idly, Aang wonders if they’d let him join them). Mai and Sokka are discussing something very intently, but Sokka’s still shoveling food in his mouth like there’s no tomorrow. Izumi is entertaining Suyin, who’s attempting to build… something, from her uneaten meal. Bumi (Bumi! Aang takes a hearty sip of his wine at the thought that his son managed to acquire enough leave to make it for the occasion) is caught in conversation with Zuko and Toph. Katara and Ty Lee are helping Kya with her wine tasting ventures. Aang is about to go join Lin and Tenzin, when someone pokes his side.

“Hey, All Powerful Avatar,” Suki’s voice greets him. Aang turns towards her, sitting back down. “Your actual birthday is, like, two days from now, right?” Suki takes a healthy bite of her food. Aang copies her.

“Yep.” They’d celebrated today, because it was the only day that Katara could say, with certainty, she’d have off from her clinic. He swirls around what’s left of his wine, before downing it in one uncivilized gulp.

“What are you gonna do?” Suki swings her braided hair over her shoulder.

Click Here To Continue Reading.

[imanativeofswlondondahling]

Hidden In Plain Site (2)- Tom Holland x Reader

Word Count:  2348

A/N: This was inspired by this wonderful post by @starsholland. Without it this would not be happening. This will be a multi part fic, but I don’t know how many chapters or when it will be posted so if you’d like to be tagged let me know:)  Welcome to Tom being undercover on Tumblr. Quick notes- Y/T/B = Your Tumblr Blog

Chapter One || Master List

The edit turned out better than you thought it would. You had decided to use blue and red, since they’re Spider-Man colors and it honestly suits Tom and Haz so well. You still are wondering when the picture is from since you scoured the depths of Google and Tumblr to no avail. It’s either really old, or not really posted. Either way it made an adorable edit and will look great in your edit’s tag. It’s also sparked some ideas for a friendship imagine. It’s been so long since you wrote anything, with work and family stuff weighing you down, but you can picture the outline in your head so as soon as you finish the last touches on your outline, you click open a new document and drop a few lines down to get going. 

“What you working on?” Your brother calls to you from across the living room. He knows that once you’re home for the afternoon, it’s not normally work stuff, but sometimes your graphic design projects run into your post work day.

“Just some edits. Nothing too big.”

“Bringing work home?”

“Nope, just working on some extra stuff.” You type some more into the document, wanting to make sure that everything is hitting the moment right. In your browser, you pull up your tumblr and make a new post.

Ask me stuff while I work on my latest imagine. Give me a number 1-100 and I’ll give you a song from my writing playlist and a memory attached to it.

Across the ocean, Tom can’t sleep. It’s nearly 3am, but something is keeping his mind from sleeping. He should be able to sleep just fine. He isn’t working on any movies that have him worried, he doesn’t have any auditions coming up, and he doesn’t have press for a few weeks. So why can’t he get to sleep?

Lifting his phone in his hand he sees a notification from Tumblr saying that Y/T/B has posted. He swipes across and waits for the post to load. You want questions? Well, he can help with that. Plus, he’s interested in learning about what kind of music you’re interested in.

Anonymous Asked:

33?

Anonymous Asked:

86?

Anonymous Asked: 

69;D

Three Anons come in right after another. You weren’t expecting that quick of a reaction. Sure you had a couple hundred followers, but you didn’t tend to get that many reactions to your posts. At least not back to back. But you’ll take it, and reply. As soon as you send the edit to that blog that asked for it.

You pull up the thread between you and tomholland2013. You click the camera button and upload the edit you had done. 

Hey, here’s that edit. Hope this works for you! 

Surprisingly, whoever is behind the account messages back immediately.

That looks awesome! Thanks so muchX

Hows your night going?X

More like afternoon here lol. I’m just getting some work done after getting home earlier.

How about you? Is it night there?

It’s like the middle of the night here and I can’t sleepX

If it’s middle of the night there, did you see the news? 

What news?X

That Tom saved Spider-Man?! It’s been all over Tumblr since I got home from work.

It’s kind of the reason I made your edit in red and blue tbh.

I hadn’t had time to look at my dashboard to be honest. I’ve been busy with work stuff most of the afternoon.X

It wasn’t a lie. Over the past few days having talks between him, Bob and Tom trying to smooth everything over, there wasn’t much time to glance over the explosion that had happened since the original news had been released. But after clicking send on his message to Y/N, he clicks over to your main blog to see the reaction to the news. There are some general reblogs of the news announcing Spider-Man returning to the MCU but then there were also some general posts about Spider-Man and Peter Parker. Your tags are what really get to him. Some like hashtag my-baby-is-back-where-he-belongs and hashtag get-tom-drunk-more-often-if-it-saves-my-baby. He can’t help but laugh at the last one. True he hadn’t exactly been sober when he and Bob had first talked about getting Spider-Man back in the MCU, but he didn’t think that story would take the world by storm.

Going into his settings, Tom quickly updates his picture with the edit you had done for him. Honestly, it looked better than he had hoped for. You had done Spider-Man colors and if he wasn't trying to keep this blog on the down low, he would share it on his Instagram so his fans could see how talented Y/N was. As he hits save, another message comes through from you.

Do you mind if I use the edit I sent you as inspiration for an imagine?

A what?X

An imagine. It’s a specific type of fanfic. I had a great idea of one while I was working on the edit for you, but if you’re not cool with it, I’ll find a different picture.

You did all the work on it. Feel free to use it. What kind of story?X

Basically like a Tom x Reader with hints of Harrison friendship notes in it. It’s hard to explain lol

Have you written other stuff?X

I think everyone on this site dabbles in it from time to time, but yeah I’ve written a few pieces over the past few years.

Do you have a list of them?X

Sure, it’s here.

You had linked a page in your message. Apparently dabbling meant one.. Two.. three… his finger drags down the page as he counts the stories. Holy hell, you’ve written fifty stories about him, Peter Parker and even some of the other Avengers. But most of them revolve around him and x Reader, whatever that means. You had mentioned it in your message, but he wasn’t sure what it meant.

Ok, I’m new to the whole fanfic thing, so pardon my stupidity but what does x reader mean?X

It’s a self insert fic. Basically anywhere that it says Y/N or you, you put yourself into the fic. They’re one of the most popular types of fics.

Before he can reply to your message, a notification comes up saying that Y/T/B has posted a new post.

Anonymous Asked:

33?

Y/T/B/ Answered: Heather by Conan Gray. So I love this song and totally have screamed along with the chorus of this song when I’m alone at home and writing or in my car driving places (otherwise I would freak my family out). When I wrote a fic called The Smell of Your Sweater, on my master list here, I listened to this song on repeat for three days straight to be in the right mind set. Honestly I could probably listen to this song until the end of time and never get sick of it. 

Tom reads over the answer and can picture someone jamming out to a song so much that they love it. He pulls open his Spotify app and pulls up the song, because he wants to feel closer to you, even though you’re time zones apart from each other. The fact that it’s afternoon where you are and nighttime where he is makes him think that you’re in the United States.

So reader insert are some of the most popular type of fics, but what are your favorite to read?X

That’s not even something that I would share on a first date lol you’ll be waiting a bit to find out. 

Is sharing that you write fanfic something that you don’t talk about on a date?X

Not normally. Talking about it with tumblr friends is one thing because I link it on my blog, but what I read is a whole nother thing. It literally says so much about you with who you read, what ships you ship, and especially what kinks you look for.

KINKS? IN FANFICS?X

You haven’t read much yet have you?

Literally no. I’ve only been on tumblr since I messaged you the first time. That was the day I made my blogX

So you’ve been on for a month? And you’re deciding to get into fanfics?

No I’m thinking I should stay away from it still. It seems like virtual porn.X

It doesn’t have to have anything smutty in it. Just click on ones that say fluff or don’t say smut next to them. You can also block certain tags so they don’t come up on your dashboard. Like Starker is a popular one to be blocked for a lot of people.

I don’t think I even want to know what that is if people are blocking it who are into this porn esque writing. X

It’s not porn lol You seem to have only found smut so far. We need to find you some fluff. Maybe some Tom x Reader?

Maybe I’m just not ready for it after all.X

Does he want to read about himself? Not at all. That seems creepy. But other people write about him too. It’s not just Y/N. He decides to research this further. In the search bar he types in Tom Holland Fanfic. The first four post all say smut or NSFW so he’s not going to bother reading them, but the thing that catches his eye is the fact that they all have over 2,000 notes on them. Two thousand people have liked or reblogged about him in a sexual way? What the actual flipping hell?

Before he has the chance to flip out even more, another notification from your blog pops up.

Anonymous Asked:

86?

Y/T/B answered: Praying by Kesha. THIS WOMAN COULD MURDER ME AND I WOULD THANK HER FOR IT. Plus that chorus makes me want to write some epic breakup scene and have one of the people begging the other to feel the same as they are feeling. Oooooo maybe I feel a one shot coming up. Anyway, a memory of this song- my best friend and I blasted this song while we drove from California to Philly to visit a school. It literally got us through so many hours of that drive. Kesha is bae lets be real. Or is that not what the cool kids say? 

When he sent you these asks, he thought he would get one or two sentences in response, but he’s learning so much about you from all of these asks. Maybe he would send you some non song related ones, maybe some To- Peter Parker ones to see what else you liked. Purely science based research. 

If you’re not ready for it, don’t push yourself. Fanfics can be a weird mindset to put yourself in. I used them at first to distract myself from some shitty family stuff that was going on, but now I read and write them for fun too. I think I mainly read Avenger ones at first as well as some TV shows too. Plus would I be a teenage girl if I didn’t read a few Twilight fanfics back in my day? 

Twilight? Like Rob-Tom makes himself type out Rob and Kristen’s full names like a fan would-ert Pattinson and Kristen Stewert Twilight?X

That one exactly. I was the generation it was aimed for and so fanfics galore were my teen years. But I’m proud to say I’m a recovered Twihard.

Glad to hear it darlingX

What about you? What were you into as a kid?

I’ve always been a fan of Spider-Man, ever since I was a kid.X

Comics or movies?

Comics. They’re the originalsX

Which Spider-Man is the best? 

Is that a trick question? Obviously HollandX

Was that conceited? Maybe. But hopefully, Y/N doesn’t think so. Oh wait she has no idea-

It was a trick question. A trick question that you clearly got right. 

Another notification pops up and you suddenly remember the last number that you sent Y/N. Well hopefully the number doesn’t seem like you.

Anonymous Asked: 

69;D

Y/T/B Answered: Noice. 

But the actual answer is Bad Religion by Frank Ocean. This song got me through my last bout of depression lol. I remember sitting on the floor of my bedroom with the lights off and just playing this song on repeat. Always open about that here. It also gets me to channel some deep emotions into some pieces that I’m working on because it reminds me of being in that dark place. I also really like the beat of this though, like how it sounds like a mix of an electric piano and an organ. So if I ever name a one shot Bad Religion, it’s probably named after this song.

Tom feels like a weight is sinking in his gut. Almost like someone slammed an anchor into the lower part of his bowl. He didn’t mean to bring up something so dark with that number. He was hoping it would actually make her laugh. So guess he will send her one more number, but this one won’t be on anonymous.

Tomholland2013 asked: 36

Huh, he must have seen all the responses you posted. Between posting and replying to him, you hadn’t gotten much work on your imagine done, but you could post once more before jumping back to your word document. 

Tomholland2013 asked: 36

Y/B/N answered: The Night We Met by Lord Huron. I literally saw them in concert with my friends last month so a lot of the memories I have of them are about this. But I have a great fanfic idea for this song specifically. To not spoil it completely I’ll just leave you with three spoilers- first date, first dance, secrets spilled. It’s a work in progress.

Now it’s time to get off the internet and back to writing, or else you’re going to Tumblr your day away.

Taglist: @ serendipitous-amor @im-still-tryin-to-find-it​

[pergimelaut]

Books I read in 2020.

I was once platonically attracted to a friend. Not only did he tell me the name of the person he liked (not me, of course), but also the reasons why. I could’ve mentioned two or three, but one reason sank me in was, “Because she likes to learn.” He didn’t say that to offend me since that night was one of those meetings in which he is the spotlight of our conversations, yet I couldn’t help but feel offended. I thought, “That certainly can’t be me. I don’t like to learn.” I never did, actually.

It was a wake up call that, all this time, I had been stuck in the peak of Mountain Stupid, one of the stages of Dunning-Kruger effect—a phase where you were filled with nothing but arrogance and overconfidence, before the realization “you didn’t know anything at all” hit you like a bucket of cold water.

Well I didn’t change myself after that, though. But in my defense, I decided to read 70-something books in the third year of my student press organization’s membership (which I later failed) long before I had had the conversation with him. I had had my own reason at first, but whatever it was, it was slowly but surely shifted with an ultimate goal created due to that very night, “I want to like to learn.”

Long story short, I was able to read 33 books in 2020.

It’s nowhere near an achievement to be proud of, so I cancelled my plan to write about it and upload it on a platform where I could gain a higher chance he would read it. I know, I know, I shouldn’t seek validation from another person besides myself—after all 33 books were quite impressive for someone like me who don’t really like books, so I shouldn’t be embarrassed about it nor should I be disappointed with the fact that the plan must be cancelled as I was miserably failing, but, welp, so. Okay. In this post, I would like to tell you the books I read in 2020, sort by chronological order.

Yeah, I uploaded it on my personal blog instead, what a dramatic turn of events.

Manifesto Flora was the first book I read, finished it on 2 January 2020. I believe I started to read it on the last couple days of 2019, so it was kinda cheating. It’s a compilation of short stories. All of them were amazing but there was a short story that I really enjoyed titled “Bekas Teman Baikku”. The author had written a short story for a yearly student magazine organized by a student press organization I later joined.

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez was an amazing novel it earned 5 stars on my Goodreads account. My teacher had been telling us about it as he taught magical realism in Creative Writing class. I finished it in three days—I remember those days where I didn’t do anything besides reading; I woke up in the morning and started to read. That was the only thing I did all day. It almost felt like reading was my hobby. (Spoiler alert: It’s not.)

Hidup di Luar Tempurung was the third book I read. I wasn’t in the best mood to read at that time, but I pushed myself, ended up finishing it but also regretting it since I knew that this book deserved to be treated well. After that I read Bagaimana Tuhan Menciptakan Cahaya by Raka Ibrahim and O: Tentang Seekor Monyet yang Ingin Menikah dengan Kaisar Dangdut by Eka Kurniawan, ended up disliking both by simply because I didn’t enjoy them, I gave them 2 stars. 

Then, well. Global pandemic left me shell-shocked as everyone else, really.

One month nearly passed but thankfully I managed to finish the first e-book titled Filosofi Teras by the end of March. I liked the book at first, even for a short period of time I felt like I could rely on the book as I was trying to cope with anxiety, but turned out it’s a false hope since I simply couldn’t become that rational LOL. But topics about stoicism still got my attention though—perhaps it’d remain as something I could admire. Pulang by Leila S. Chudori was a really good book, another one with 5 stars. Later I learned that having 1965-ish as a setting for novels is mainstream, but since I hadn’t known that, it left me in awe.

Then I got tired.

I wasn’t in the mood to read any books, so I turned into Japanese books—my admittedly guilty pleasure. I read Naruto Secret Chronicles: Shikamaru’s Story: A Cloud Drifting in Silent Darkness, a light novel from Naruto based on Shikamaru’s perspective. Although I wouldn’t mention it as one of the books I read in 2020, it was surprisingly a good book. It taught me about Naruto’s universe beyond what I knew, such as politics and government involved. It helped set the mood, so I continued with Ichigo Doumei, another Japanese novel. It was a book mentioned in Your Lie in April, one of my anime recommendations. It’s a good, simple wholesome story that taught us to treasure the life we had. I disliked the female lead character, though—I still do.

I read Kubah by Ahmad Tohari, a novel my teacher once mentioned, which I dislike, and much hate later on, since it gave people wrong assumptions about PKI and what’s surrounding the 1965 tragedy. After that I fell into Kagerou Daze fandom where I spent a lot amount of time consuming the songs, manga, anime, and also light novels—making me successfully adding Kagerou Daze Vol. 3: The Children Reason, Kagerou Daze Vol. 4: The Missing Children, and Kagerou Daze Vol. 5: The Deceiving to my Goodreads’ bookshelf. The latter was my favourite among them. As I hyped with Japanese authors, I thought it was best to finish Before the Coffee Gets Cold, a Japanese novel I found from a post about, well, Japanese novel recommendations. It’s a fun experience; an enjoyable story with a heart-warming ending.

Four Japanese novels in a row brought me to cursed loop as I realized I had not “learned” enough. Whereas I did learn something with each Japanese novel I read, it wasn’t “learning” that I’d planned in the first place. 

August was a month where I thought, “Eh, maybe I like books,” because I read 8 books in one month. I read Setan van Oyot by Djokolelono, a book published by Marjin Kiri. The novel was well-constructed from the start to the middle part, but unfortunately NOT until the end. Another note: it didn’t bother giving us the translation of both the local and foreign languages used in the story, which is good! I also had the energy to consume Of Mice and Men, a classic book mentioned in Pulang. 

I had spent days in library and bookstore when I finished Hidup Begitu Indah dan Hanya Itu yang Kita Punya—it made me aspire to achieve the ability to write articles like Dea Anugerah, the author. I also read Ketakberhinggaan di Telapak Tangannya by Gioconda Belli which easily became one of my favourite books of the year.

I read The Heart is A Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers, another book with a writing style I would aspire to achieve. It’s a good social-realism novel covering racism towards black people, the life of a curious little girl, a perspective from a blind-deaf man, and the socialist guy—everything was set around the 1930s, written by a brilliant 23-year-old woman. It has some translation issues, unfortunately. Then I continued with Kekerasan Budaya Pasca 1965: Bagaimana Orde Baru Melegitimasi Anti-Komunisme Melalui Sastra dan Film. I’ve been wanting to be able to convey my thoughts in a well-constructed thesis like what the book did.

Tango & Sadimin by Ramayda Akmal was the next, and it was enjoyable even though not satisfying—at least it helped me discover my tendency towards social-realism novels. Then I read Xenoglosofilia: Kenapa Harus Nginggris? by Ivan Lanin—it didn’t help me that much despite its educational contents, but perhaps I just didn’t find what I was looking for.

September was a shameful month as I didn’t read any books AT ALL. I planned to read at least one book per month, that’s why I set 12 books in my Goodreads. My goal wasn’t to read books, but to like them, so what I set up was simply the habit. Looking back at what I did—finishing One Hundred Years of Solitude—I could read book all day if I want to. But I want to become someone who, even if for a few pages, read books every day. And I considered myself failing when September passed without any finished books added to the list.

November came and I read El hablador by Mario Vargas Llosa, a book I had been desperately looking for that my friend finally lent to me. I gave them 5 stars because it greatly helped me in understanding indigenous people and how important it is to support their rights.

Then I desperately turned back to another Japanese novel, this time The Kudravka Sequence by Honobu Yonezawa. It successfully made me fall in love with one specific character because I feel represented, then I looked up Wikia and the synopsis of the next novels, and ended up disappointed LOL. I got tired again and read Sebuah Pertanyaan untuk Cinta by Seno Gumira Ajidarma, a book which I couldn’t believe had written by the Seno Gumira Ajidarma LOL(2). Then in order to set up the mood, I bought my friend’s self-published short stories, Dongeng Sebelum Tidur: Kumpulan Cerita Pendek. It was the first time I added a book to Goodreads. I told her that I uploaded a review and gave her 5 stars. She was really happy and I too was happy because of it.

December approached as well as final exams. So many papers with short deadlines, and despite that, I read books instead on working with my papers—procrastinator as its finest, you see. I read two Agatha Christie’s books, The ABC Murders and Five Little Pigs, two novels I had really wanted to read in years. After exams passed, I somehow gained my energy back. I read Kisah Seekor Camar dan Kucing yang Mengajarinya Terbang by Luis Sepulveda, an enjoyable novella reminding us to take care of animals and protecting the environment from pollution. I wrapped up 2020 with two classic books, No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai and Down and Out in Paris and London by George Orwell.

 Yup, that’s it!

Now that I’ve just tracked back all the books I read, I realize that my reading experience has its ups and downs. I ain’t good at keeping my mood stable to do the same activities  for a long period of time, and I earned the energy back by—apparently—switching into Japanese novels or light-themed books.

Long story cut short, I failed to read 70-something books. But I also recovered from the heartbreak I guess (LOL), and that’s good news! (Although maybe I forced myself to move on, since the goal was the indicator whether I’m worth it or not, and I failed.) (I shouldn’t have done that to myself, but I had no chance at all in the first place, though. That’s why if I could move on by setting an impossible goal, failed in the process, and helplessly gave up, so be it!)

Thank you for reading.

(And thanks to Anggy who beta read the post! <3)

[possiblyimbiassed]

The Science of Reduction

In my view, John’s blog and Sherlock’s website both represent a more realistic version of what might actually have happened in the BBC Sherlock narrative; a believable kind of ‘reality’ that doesn’t need extraordinary explanations or complicated assumptions to make sense. As opposed to the big Drama we see in the actual show, these online versions - slightly childish as they may be - tell a kind of story that appears to be at least plausible. But maybe they’re also a bit more limited and therefore boring?

It goes to show, I think, that “Poetry or Truth”, which Lestrade claims are the same thing in TAB, indeed are very different concepts. As an enhanced version of reality, enriched by human creativity and emotion, Poetry can give far more interesting results than any attempt at approaching Truth ‘scientifically’. But it can also derail into absurdity, as shown by S4. 

Sherlock’s website is, in a sense, ‘scientific’; very logically constructed and categorized, brief and minimalistic. No superfluous information to be found, no dramatic embroidery of the facts. Occam’s razor. 

On the surface, the only hints of emotion being involved are Sherlock’s whining about people being stupid, predictable and boring, showing us how lonely that makes him feel. The contrast to how he comes across in the show, and its display of his ‘inner life’, is striking. But now the website has - unlike John’s blog - been taken down, which I suspect might reflect the fact that Sherlock has left ‘reality’ and chosen to go deeper into himself.

But after realising from this post that The Science of Deduction is actually still there, saved on the Way Back Machine (thanks for that, @khanhizon1999!), I took to look a little further into it, and noticed several interesting things:

1. Sherlock seems to be a very lazy ‘blogger’, who has reduced the info on his own website to a minimum, since he has only written down one single case for his readers to look at: The Green Ladder. Not even his analyses of tobacco (referred to in ASiB, dismissed by John) or perfume (referred to in THoB, when he encourages Mrs Hudson to look it up) are actually posted. For the rest of the ‘new’ cases - The Blind Banker and ‘The Serial Suicides’ (A Study in Pink) - he simply refers to John’s blog. And for The Aluminium Crutch and The Great Game he doesn’t even bother to do that. 

TBC under the cut. 

2. So, what was so special about The Green Ladder for Sherlock to both do the effort of writing it down, and then not erase it like he did with the tobacco analysis? I mean, since this case is about a guy who actually gets killed for being both superstitious and predictable (a bit like Lord Carmichael’s idiocy in TAB, perhaps), what could possibly raise Sherlock’s interest about it to the point of discussing details on his website? I bet it’s out of nostalgic Sentiment. ;) It definitely seems like this was the case Sherlock was working on when he first met John. Which we can deduce by the text message he left on John’s phone:

I’ll also speculate that he deleted the tobacco study because John didn’t like it, while he kept this one because it just might impress John. 

3. It also strikes me, however, that nowhere on this website can we read about how Sherlock can identify “a software designer by his tie” or "a retired plumber by his left hand” (PILOT) or “an airline pilot by his left thumb” (ASiP). Did Sherlock delete that as well, just because John seemed incredulous? :) Or were these claims parts of the now archived cases, for example ‘The Laughing Pilot’? 

4. The names of the cases. I used to believe that all the fanciful titles of John’s blog posts were due to his own creativity. But here we have a whole bunch of inspiring case names created by Sherlock himself:

Some of these titles definitely seem to be little nods to canon: 

The Man With Four Legs - The Man With the Twisted Lip (TWIS)

The Crooked House - The Crooked Man (CROO)

The Missing Jars - The Missing Three-Quarter (MISS)

The Abernetty Family - The Abbey Grange (ABBE)

The Purple Woman - The Red Circle (CIRC)

The Confusion of Isadora Persano is reduced to a mere title, but it’s actually taken directly from canon’s The Problem of Thor Bridge (THOR), where Watson tells us: “A third case worthy of note is that of Isadora Persano, the wellknown journalist and duellist, who was found stark staring mad with a matchbox in front of him which contained a remarkable worm, said to be unknown to science.”  

Which immediately makes me think of John’s blog post The Inexplicable Matchbox: “The situation with Isaac Persano hit the headlines, obviously. He was found, in a hotel room, surrounded by matchboxes. And he couldn't speak”. A case which Sherlock included in his Best Man speech in TSoT: “A French decathlete found completely out of his mind, surrounded by one thousand, eight hundred and twelve matchboxes – all empty except this one”. 

We never got to know what this matchbox contained, though. In the show, there’s only one worm I can think of (and no - I don’t count the maggots Sherlock shows Archie in TSoT, or the ones crawling out of Emelia Ricoletti’s dead body in TAB; they’re larvae, not worms, and they’re not new to science :) ). The one I’m thinking of is the ‘earworm’ of Eurus’ suggestions that drives Doctor Taylor mad enough to kill his family, according to the Governor of Sherrinford in TFP. I don’t know if such a thing is ‘unknown to science’, but it’s certainly quite unlikely, isn’t it?

But what about the rest of the cases? What’s with, for example, the Subdivided Crooner? :))) It’s also interesting to know that there’s a ghost at Barts’ hospital. Is that supposed to be a premonition about Sherlock? :)

5. There’s also a (supposedly) ongoing case called The Major's Cat. How many majors do we meet in the show? Well, there’s Major Barrymore in THoB, Major Reed in TSoT and Major Sholto, also in TSoT. But none of them comes across as a cat lover, though, do they? :) And this case happens before we get to know either of these majors. An interesting piece in this puzzle is a client, a poster called T Thompson who wants help with a missing cat.

OK, so this is the major - a famous boxer named T. ‘The Major’ Thompson! Clearly something more than a missing cat is going on in this case. Sherlock deduces brilliantly that his client is secretive because he wants to avoid a scandal; thus, he’s probably famous. Cats are also linked to Greenwich in the title The Killer Cats of Greenwich, which in turn makes me think of “the bloody Greenwich pips” in TGG - the episode in which the naked cat Sekhmet figures. Lots of cats here. ;)

Eventually, Sherlock posts a new comment  - possibly having to do with the case of the Major’s missing cat:

“Ha! Brilliant! Oh, very very clever! I love it when a criminal knows what he's doing. The cat was in the television! Fake screen. Brilliant.” I’d love to know what this case was actually about (apart from cat abuse) - it’s not often we see Sherlock expressing that kind of emotion :) But, anyway: more cats?! I can’t find a single dog on Sherlock’s website, which surprises me, since the show is full of them, and there’s also a few on John’s blog.

It’s also interesting to see Mike Stanford tell Sherlock about John’s blog, shortly after he’s moved in to 221B. Pretty soon Sherlock also starts to get anonymous threats on his website, combined with some ciphers, which Sherlock uses to entertain his readers. 

6. The three encrypted messages sent to Sherlock’s website by an anonymous reader - *cough* Moriarty *cough* - bring rather scarce information. I’ve tried to apply all three of the ciphers to seemingly meaningless words like “UMQRA” or “AGRA”, but of no result this far. Just like Sherlock’s declarations of the case solutions to Moriarty in TGG about Carl Powers, Ian Monkford and Raoul de Santos, I think these ciphers are the least interesting items on the website. But I might be proven very wrong of course! :)

7. Then, finally, we have the Forum, where the most substantial message is from little Kirsty Stapleton who lost her glowing rabbit to science (fully investigated in THoB). One thing that strikes me is that Kirsty asks about John “Is he a real Dr?”. Which very much reminds me of TLD, where Culverton asks John: “Are you really a doctor?”  

Also the rest of the Forum’s old comments do have some interest, even if they’re usually reduced to exchanges of a few words between Sherlock and the people who knows him: John, Lestrade, Molly, Mike Stanford, Sarah Sawyer, the fan Jacob Sowersby and long-term poster Moriarty ‘theimprobableone’. First of all we learn that Sherlock moved out from Montague street due to “disagreement with landlord”. Very strange indeed, seeing as Sherlock must be such a lovely tenant. ;)) 

We also learn that Moriarty ‘theimprobableone’ is flirting with Sherlock via his website from start; he tries to ask him out and even offers Sherlock to move in with him! In this context maybe we should remember that the last time we heard from Moriarty ‘theimprobableone’ was after John’s wedding, when Sherlock had hacked into his blog and tried to find some company online. The answer was: “i am interested but I am going out on a date”.

And - back to Sherlock’s website - there’s also Molly, trying to get Sherlock’s attention by claiming she found a tie at Barts that might be his. We also see Lestrade getting desperate over the serial ‘suicides’ and wanting Sherlock’s help, which the latter deflects. Hard to see how Sherlock is ‘married to his job’ here. :)

Sherlock’s reaction to the ‘Bond night’ is also quite entertaining:

He calls Bond ‘ridiculous’ until ‘theimprobableone’ butts in, then he suddenly begins to appreciate it more. ;)

And we do get a possible explanation as to why Sherlock takes on the dubious Belarus case of Barry Berwick: John needs the money! :)

Finally, I think an interesting little detail is that, once again, an ambassador is mentioned in BBC Sherlock - a recurring theme! ;)

Tagging some people who might be interested:

@ebaeschnbliah @sarahthecoat @raggedyblue @gosherlocked @the-signs-of-two @loveismyrevolution @sagestreet 

[brideofedoras]

Cupid’s Arrow

Cupid’s Arrow

A Modern AU Cupid/OFC

Disclaimer: I do not own Cupid or Aphrodite or the images in the aesthetic I created...  I only own my OCs...

Warnings: NONE!  (yet...)

Word Count: 2100+

Rating: 18+ (to be on the safe side)...

*Note: This was originally supposed to be a short one but it got away with me.  I’m nowhere near finished with it, I’m currently stuck but I wanted to post it for Valentine’s Day.  So...  Here’s part one!

Valentine’s Day is T-minus 7 days, 14 hours, 38 minutes…

Cupid snorted awake when the damned alarm sounded on his phone.  He rolled over and grabbed the device to silence the alert.  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he muttered, dropping the iPhone onto the blanket before scrubbing his hands over his face.  Dammit, he wanted to go back to sleep.

Unfortunately he had a job to do.  And if he didn’t do it, his mother would never let him hear the end of it.  

Aphrodite had been on a tear ever since she’d heard about some cute little brunette running a quaint little bookstore in the middle of Nowhere, Missouri.  Rumor had it the girl was very beautiful and every red-blooded man in a hundred mile radius were flocking around her.

He screwed his eyes shut.  His mother could be a very jealous woman at times, but this was ridiculous.  She wanted him to go undercover, get a job somewhere in that town (preferably at the bookstore, if Aphrodite had her way), and nail some fat, ugly old man with one of his arrows and make him fall in love with the girl.

He sighed heavily as he sat up, the bedding pooling at his bare waist.  One thing he hated was his own mother using him to ease her jealousy at some innocent woman’s expense.  

“That’s not how I work, Mom,” he muttered to himself.  He threw the covers off and stood up, shuddering at the slight chill in the room.  

He preferred to bring couples together naturally without wasting his precious arrows.  Occasionally someone would drag their heels and deny they were head over heels in love with the person they were meant to be with.  Then he would bust out the crossbow and take aim.

But to use an arrow to force love on someone?  It was immoral.  He would not do something that went against his beliefs.

He would go, he would try to get hired on somewhere in Valentine Creek, Missouri, and see if there was anyone she was interested in.  And if the feelings were reciprocated he would work his matchmaking skills, bring them together and hope for the best.

Cupid grabbed a pair of boxer briefs and pulled them on, formulating the plan in his head.  Research the town, see if there are any job openings, apply and charm his way into a job, meet the girl, befriend the girl, and hopefully fix her up with her one true love.  

He finished getting dressed and fixed himself a pot of coffee before he grabbed his laptop and settled down on his bed once more to do a Google search on the girl his mother had taken a dislike to sight unseen.  

Valentine Creek, Missouri.  Population 8,347.  Located on the Missouri River in the middle of the state, cute little tourist town with a rich history.  His hazel eyes skimmed along the list of businesses until the name of the bookstore Aphrodite had practically spat out last night caught his attention.  

Adventure Awaits.  Established in 1996 by Nic and Calliope Wilder on the square in historic downtown Valentine’s Creek, Adventure Awaits is a bookstore, bakery and coffee shop rolled into one.  Current owner and operator is their daughter, Penelope Wilder, a 2018 graduate of Olympus University where she studied business management and creative writing.  The Wilders have collaborated with area businesses during festivals to host wine walks to raise funds for restoring historic sites of interest; children’s workshops such as creative writing, art, dance, theater, and baking; pet adoption specials; back-to-school supply drives, and Christmas book drives.

He reached for his coffee and took a sip before searching to see if Adventure Awaits had a website.  “Bingo,” he murmured when it pulled up.  He frowned thoughtfully as he took in the simple page with a Victorian-esque background.  Links to view the dessert and beverage menu, books, gifts, upcoming events lined the top of the page.

He scrolled down the main page, finding it to be a blog of sorts touting specials, sales, employment opportunities and photos from recent events.  

One photo caught his attention.  A blue-eyed brunette curled up on an overstuffed armchair with a book and a three-legged cat.  

Meet the not-so-new owner and operator of Adventure Awaits: Penny (and Church).

Cupid double-tapped the photo to get a better look.  

Long dark hair flowing in waves, bright baby blue eyes framed with long dark lashes, high cheekbones, full pink lips, flawless skin.  An aura of shy innocence in that smile.

Warmth flooded through him as he studied, as he memorized Penelope Wilder’s photograph.  He wondered if her hair felt as silky as it looked, if it would curl around his fingers.  Would her lips feel plush and velvety soft under his?  What would her kisses taste like?  Would her eyes sparkle with love and adoration as she looked deep into his own hazels?

The increasing tightness in his chest snapped him out of his reverie.  Cupid scrubbed his hands over his face and drew in a deep breath.  “You are the God of Love, you have no time for a romance of your own, you idiot,” he berated himself.  “Mom would kill you, too, for this.”

He spread his fingers to peek at the computer screen once more, to the chocolate brown tresses and the baby blue eyes and the shy smile.  “I can’t do this.”

Cupid startled when his phone vibrated on the night stand.  With a groan he dropped his hands and snatched it up.  “Crap.”  He swiped his thumb to answer.  “Mom.”

“Cupid, don’t you have somewhere you need to be?”  The sickly sweet tone in Aphrodite’s voice belied the irritation he picked up on.

“No, I’m not doing it,” he leaned back against the headboard.  

“Yes, you are,” she growled at him.  “You are going to fly your cute little ass to Missouri and make her fall in love with some fat old geezer.”

“Mother, what you are demanding of me goes against what I stand for,” he warned.  “I will not force that kind of fate on an undeserving innocent.”

“I don’t care,” he rolled his eyes at her flippant tone.  “You’re doing this or I’m disowning you.”

“You say that every time you want me to do your dirty work, Mom,” he reached up and raked his fingers through his golden blond hair.  “You haven’t disowned me yet.”

“Just do it, Cupid,” she snapped and disconnected the call.

“No, Mom,” he dropped the phone onto the bed.  “I’m not gonna ruin her life to appease your jealousy.”  He leaned forward to look at the photo of the blue-eyed beauty once more.  

“No, Church, you can’t have a brownie,” Penelope smiled at the three-legged cat at her feet.  “You shouldn’t be back here anyway.”

Big amber eyes blinked at her from the sweet ebony face before the rescue hobbled off with his fluffy tail flicking sassily at her.

She shook her head as she finished stocking the dessert display.  “Chocolate isn’t good for furbabies,” she picked up the cream cheese chocolate chip brownie she’d saved for herself and followed the cat to the window display overlooking the park across the street.  It was cloudy out, snow was in the forecast for the afternoon.  “Think we’ll get the four inches of snow the weatherman promised?”  She scritched behind Church’s left ear.

The cat purred in response, a deep and loud rumble as he turned his head to urge her to scratch him under his jaw.  

She smiled as she complied.  “Not that we have to get out in it, since we live upstairs and I did the shopping last night.”  Her baby blue eyes wandered to the window again.  “Well, we have thirty minutes before it’s time to open, Mom will be here later to help me with today’s delivery…  Is it wrong to want a shot of tequila to get me through the day?”

“Mrrrrp,” Church gave her a half meow, half purr for a response before turning and hopping up onto the vintage wingback chair in the display.  He promptly curled up on the soft ivory afghan.

“It was just a hypothetical question,” she sighed as she straightened the books on the side table.  “Maybe.”

She turned away from the window and walked through the small store.  She switched around a few Valentine’s Day displays, rotating the books on the stands and tried not to groan as she wondered how many men she was going to have to fend off today.

Not a single one of them were interested in a relationship.  They wanted to hook up, do the one night stand thing and go on their merry little way, or the friends with benefits, no-strings-attached thing.  

She was shy, introverted, and hooking up for sex was something she could not do.  If she was going to invest her time in someone, step out of her comfort zone and make herself vulnerable then that person better be in it for the long haul, and not just for sex.  Some of her friends had a revolving door of lovers, and she understood that this day and age that was the new normal.  It just was not for her.  She wanted the old cliche, a whirlwind romance evolving into happily ever after.

Penny groaned.  “I should just go on vacation every year around this time, Church,” she picked up a copy of one of her favorite books and carried it to the counter.  “What do you think?  A little bungalow on the beach somewhere?  Maybe run away to New Zealand?”  She chuckled when she received no response from the stray-turned-spoiled house cat.  “I’m terrified of flying, that would never work anyway,” she shook her head as she propped Pride and Prejudice up next to the register.  One quick glance at the clock on the wall told her she had five minutes to go before it was time to open.  With another sigh she rounded the counter to start the coffee maker for the regular coffee, checked the other machines, and grabbed the keys to unlock the door.

“Church, it’s already starting to snow,” she commented as she unlocked the door leading to the enclosed foyer.  Once the main door was unlocked she dipped into her bucket of rock salt and stepped out onto the sidewalk to spread it out.  

“Penny, where’s your coat?”

Her head snapped up toward the shoe store to the left.  “Upstairs in my apartment,” she answered with a smile.  “I’ll grab it when I have a chance, Ed.”

“You be sure to do that, wouldn’t want for you to come down sick,” Ed Chambers smiled back.  “If you want, I can have Josh shovel the walk for you later.”

“Thank you,” she shook her head.  “I’ll take care of it.”

“The offer stands if you get busy, Penny,” he waved before ducking back into his shop.

Her smile dropped the moment she was alone.  Ugh.  I do not want Josh shoveling my part of the walk.  He will just come into the store and flirt and get mad the moment I turn him down.  She ducked back into the foyer for more rock salt.  “I’m quite capable of shoveling my sidewalk, clearing off my car, and carrying my groceries,” she muttered out loud.  “Don’t need some jerk coming along flexing to show off and entice me into something I want no part of.”  A few more scoops of salt later she grabbed the sign her dad had made years ago and set it where it was out of the way but easily seen.  Caution: Sidewalk might be slick!  Please walk with care!

She stepped back into her business and flipped the sign from “Closed” to “Come on in, we’re open!”.  Once she wiped her feet on the rough mat she sighed heavily.  “I swear to God, Cupid better keep his damned arrows away from me.”

Penny ducked around the wall separating the counter from the kitchen to wash her hands.  It would likely be a slow day for business with the snow arriving earlier than expected (never a good sign), and the main drag would be clogged later with rerouted traffic from accidents on the freeway bridge ten minutes away (happens every time it rains or snows, people think they can fly down the highway at 90 miles per hour regardless of the weather).  But she had her regulars to think about.  Employees from the businesses, city hall, the police and sheriff’s department and the courthouse often popped in for a cup of coffee and a fresh brownie or cookie during their breaks.  The auxiliary from the local hospital enjoyed coming in to request books and novelty items to be ordered for their gift shop.  She doubted they would come in.  

Slow days could be both a blessing and a curse, she thought.  With nothing else to do until the delivery, she settled in behind the counter for a long wait.