I found a gif with this on it and I almost started crying. Countdown to the Comet was when Nicktoons ran every episode for three days. I remember watching this. I remember being eight years old and waiting for this. I remember the countdown ticking down to five minutes. I remember seeing Zuko and Iroh’s reunion for the first time and my mom trying to hide the fact that she was crying. This brought up so many emotions because it put me back at an almost exact time. I can’t tell you how much I want to watch this like this again. Not knowing how Aang will master the elements, learning along with Zuko about the White Lotus, being flabbergasted at who Bumi really was, hanging off the edge of my seat when you hear Jet’s voice on the ferry, not knowing that Pakku and Kanna were in love, wondering how Zuko got his scar, watching Katara take down Hama, realizing who Suki was at the same time as Sokka on the docks, watching Zuko’s redemption arc, meeting Toph, watching Katara’s power grow, learning about Kya and Lu Ten, not knowing what black snow means, hating book one Zuko. Rewatching this reminds me how many great moments and plot twists and cliff hangers I’ll never get to experience again. I want to fall in love with it again.
Think about it
This has to be a thing
Someone write this
Sokka singing as Yue dies
Katara’s songs getting more and more badass
Ozai’s Angels with music?!
Iroh… well he’d be the same
Zuko opera singing about honor
Aang singing about the nomads
Suki singing while training Sokka
June having a badass theme song
Jet having a cliche musical moment in the tree house
Ember Island being purposely off key
Request: Hey could you do a Sherlock x Fem!Reader with prompts 1 and 9? Can it please be kinda angsty and then fluffy? Thanks💙 - harrypotterimmaginaa
1.“Please don’t leave me.”
9.“I thought—” “You shouldn’t.”
Warnings: slight cussing, angst, Sherlock cheats on reader
A/N: sorry this took so long!!! Yikes! Also, this is set when Sherlock proposes to Janine, and then when he is deported. Hope you like!
It had been for a case.
Of course, you’d known that. You should have known that, he had tried to explain it. Afterwards, John simply stared… What was the expression? John had stared “daggers” at him (of course, he couldn’t stare daggers, it was simply an expression the Americans were fond of using, but in this situation, it actually fit).
If he was being completely honest with himself, he had known you wouldn’t understand what he was doing (he couldn’t exactly explain it in the moment, now could he? It would ruin his carefully thought out plan), but he hadn’t cared. Not then, anyway.
Now he did, and the thought of you storming away from him just a couple nights ago hurt him more than being forced to leave the country and never return.
He remembered everything clearly, and normally, he accepted, if not completely liked, that quality.
Now, Sherlock hated it more than anything.
You walked into the office building, your gaze flickering to the gold watch that glinted on your wrist. You were here to pick up Janine, one of your friends, to go out to lunch with your girls’ group. You weren’t exactly sure how this group had formed, because all of you were from different corporations, but it had and now these women were some of your closest friends. Mostly, they liked to pester you about being Sherlock’s girlfriend, which you always laughed and shrugged off.
You had tried explaining once that you and Sherlock weren’t exactly “official”, but they never seemed to get it. You and the “consulting detective”, as he liked to call himself (a name you rolled your eyes at — Sherlock really could be vain), were on and off, really. You would go out on a “date” that always somehow involved investigating a case (not that you minded, you loved getting away from your boring life as a corporate manager), and then for weeks, he would either ignore you to work on said case, or he would give you short answers when you texted him.
You stayed with him, though, because you loved him. As vain, pompous, and crazy as Sherlock could be, he could also be the sweetest gentlemen, and he wasn’t clingy. You liked that.
You shook yourself from your thoughts, glancing up as you made your way to the lifts. Your footsteps stopped.
There Sherlock was, holding up a small, black box to a security camera.
Horror flooded you. “Sherlock?” You whispered, eyes widening as each second passed with dread.
He turned at the sound of your voice, and you swore something flickered in his eyes. “Y/N.” Your name sounded cold on his lips.
“What are you… Sherlock, what is this?” You whispered, and in the resounding silence of the building’s first floor, your voice carried quite easily to the man you loved and whom you thought loved you back.
“Use your brain, Y/N,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I’m proposing to the love of my life.”
Confusion swept over you. The love of his life? Wasn’t that you? And this wasn’t Sherlock. This… This was sappy, romantic crap that both of you hated, that you knew Sherlock Holmes of all people despised with his very being. So what the hell was Sherlock doing?
“You shouldn’t,” he snapped, and you inadvertently flinched at his tone. What?
“Sherlock!” You hurried forward as he turned away, hurrying onto a lift that had just opened up.
“What?” He shot you an irritated look, and you steeled yourself. You knew your next words would sound pleading, pathetic, but you had to try. Maybe it would make him change his mind.
“Please don’t leave me,” you begged softly, and your heart seemed to shatter as he merely stared at you coldly until the lift’s doors closed, creating a barrier between you two that seemed metaphoric as well as physical. A wall had been built, and you didn’t know how to climb over it to win back Sherlock Holmes’ heart.
You turned on your heel and practically ran out.
From that day forth, you refused to speak the name of that man ever again. You changed your number, and upon receiving a job offer in America, moved to New York City. You cut off all contact with your old life, determined to start anew, but never to fall in love again.
Little did you know how hard Sherlock worked to find you, but John and Mary, understanding your grief, worked against him.
He never found you.
The plane was turning around. Sherlock, for one of the only times in his life, had no idea why. What was happening that they needed his help?
The face onscreen answered his question as Moriarty’s mouth moved in a grotesquely puppet way, as the words “Miss me?” flashed on and off.
Sherlock left the plane, and his gaze found John and Mary standing a distance away, and his heart seemed to hurt (he knew it wasn’t physical, but it damn well felt like it) at your absence from the small group.
John’s gaze moved past him, eyes widening, and Sherlock turned.
His heart seemed to stop.
There you were, all bundled up against the cold, your familiar (e/c) eyes glinting in the bright sunlight, your (h/c) hair whipping in the wind. You stood there as if frozen, meeting his gaze for the first time in years.
His heart seemed to restart as a single word passed your lips, and a genuine smile tugged on his lips.
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