I’m gonna calm myself with some nice vanilla Batfamily headcanons.
I mean proper, Alfred’s-on-vacation-so-Bruce-has-to-drive-except-he-can’t-drive-on-crowded-highways-because-justice road trips.
Steph comes along for moral support.
Bruce is driving, Dick’s passenger, everyone else is piled into the back of the minivan they had to rent because jesus Bruce you have fifty cars you couldn’t buy a minivan shit.
Jason and Damian are ganging up on Tim, who hasn’t slept for three days straight because he’s worse than Bruce and so he’s trying to sleep but Jason keeps poking him in the everything and Damian’s splashing hot tea from his mug onto his face while hissing “oops” in a way that makes Tim suspect it wasn’t an accident at all (
can you tell he was trained by the World’s Greatest Detective yet?) and Tim’s too tired to kick anyone’s ass right now so Dick (flatly) calls “Steph,” and Steph says “On it,” and she climbs over the seat and onto Tim’s lap and takes off her shoe and yells “No more harm shall come to this boy,” and Tim kind of protests but Steph shushes him and touches his face and whispers, “You’re safe now,” and Tim’s like, “Steph,” and Steph shushes him some more and wraps his head in a blanket and climbs back over the seat.
Cass is listening to the audio of Breaking Dawn with a bemused expression on her face.
The room was dark, save for a small sliver of a sun ray that flickered through the cracks in the shutters, its long fingers tapering off until the light just barely brushed the edge of the bed sheets.
Walking in, Sokka hadn’t been sure what to expect. Perhaps more tears from Lin, who had her jaw set and back turned, her unwavering determination and lifelong training enforcing her will not to cry. Perhaps the ability to actually see where he was walking, let alone who else was in the room. He could see the shadowy masses of Katara and her now fully-grown children in one corner, as well as Zuko leaning against the window frame, but aside from that, everything else was a blur.
And so it was natural that he blamed the dimness, and not the fact that he was getting on in his years and his balance wasn’t the same as it used to be, for tripping over the leg of the bedside table, cursing loudly at the pulsing pain he was left with in his toes.
A weak snort. “Well it’s nice to know that you haven’t changed since the last time we were all together. I can see how you never earned the nickname of Twinkletoes.”
Sokka smiled through the pain, trying his best to force a cheerful tone. “Hey! I’ll have you know that a man doesn’t become a Swordsmaster just by being able fling a sharp object around. I happen to have some fancy footwork.”
An inaudible mutter, then silence.
If Sokka squinted, he was able to see her. It had been no more than five years since their last visit, and yet she looked so different. Even the greatest Earthbender in the world would eventually be struck with the plights of growing old. Her face had grown thin, her cheekbones prominent beneath the veil of her silvering hair, which had been freed of its signature bouffant and now cascaded loosely over the pillow.
He grabbed one of her hands, feeling the callouses that lined them. Funny, those she had had since they first meet those many years ago in that familiar arena, and later at her family’s estate in Gaoling, and yet now they seemed even more noticeable.
A soft, wheezing gasp shook Sokka out of his reminiscing. He wasn’t entirely sure when the others had left, but from what he could tell, it was now just the two of them.
Sokka knew this time, it was truly the end. There had been a similar feeling on a Fire Nation airship decades ago, when he had been holding her hand by no more than a few fingertips. But now, he was sure it would be the last time the two of them would be together.
He was even more afraid of loosening his grip than the time before.
A small, distant smile from her brought Sokka back to the present. “Well, Sokka, guess I’ll be seeing you on the other side.”
“Don’t talk like tha-” Sokka stopped himself, a grin of realization forming through his tears. “Hey! I thought we called a truce a long time ago!”
She laughed lightly. “Please, it’s too entertaining to give up.”
And then there was silence, aside from the wavering breathing from her and the occasional sniffing from him.
And then, the wheezing stopped.
She was gone.
And this time, Sokka knew there was no way anyone could come and rescue them.
seriously can you not imagine Mai and Aang being forced to spend time together at a diplomatic meet or something for the first time
“Uh so hey. What do you do for fun?”
“Oh. Well, uh. Wanna go drop some fruit pies on Zuko? I mean he is your boyfriend and all so I understand if you—where are you going?”
“So are we doing this or not.”
thus begins a beautiful friendship
ACCIDENTALLY SLIPPED OUT HOW LIN/AMON IS MINE AND THEN WENT INTO EXCRUCIATING DETAIL ON WHY I SHIP IT AND SUDDENLY
IT’S NOT A CRACKSHIP ANYMORE
halp somebody revoke my fandom license.
OKAY NOW IT MAY HAVE STARTED AS CRACK BUT NOW
THIS ACTUALLY MAKES SENSE
warning: stream of consciousness & lots of what if’s ahead
WELP. YOU GUYS ARE WELCOME TO UNFOLLOW ME NOW.
NOW WOULD BE A GOOD TIME
From canon theory, to AU theory, to crack - a tragic tale of headcanon gone out of control.
“Tell me where the Avatar is and I’ll let you keep your bending,” Lin he almost adds, but no, none of that existed anymore. His tone is cool and detached and in control. He cannot afford not to be. He’s weaved his web and it’s too late to untangle himself.
It’s the end of Republic City and he’s brought the esteemed former chief of police down to her knees.
(— & he feels sick to his stomach.)
But even kneeling on the dirt in front of him, she still looks regal and defiant and—
Her lips twist in a snarl and there’s a glimmer in her cutting jade eyes that he can’t read, and why does it bother him why does it—
It starts to rain, the soft pitter patter drums against his porcelain mask and he waits for her answer even though he already knows what it is, even though he knows the choice she’s made. He gives her a chance anyway, you see, because he is the once and future savior of this diseased metropolis, the idea of retribution, the justice.
And he is a fair man.
But she’s laughing at him, he sees in her shoulders, her eyes, the way the rainwater traces over the scars that he-
“I won’t tell you anything, you monster.”
There’s feigned malice in her voice. He’s known her long enough to tell at least that much. She’s…tired.
(It cuts him more deeply than he would like to admit, slices through that forgotten vessel in the hollow chasm of his chest, and resonates in his bones.)
She’s left the ball in his court, left him with the him with the climax of their story he’s not sure he wanted- the skirmishes, the near-death brawls that they always find a reason to walk away alive. There’s too many implications in that alone that he doesn’t even want to begin to understand -
(& this is it isn’t it)
- so he steps forward with his hand stretched out.
(“We were going to save the world together.”)