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sun-snatcher · 3 months

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🌾 ・ OF CLARION CALLS

summ. The rebellion runs into trouble, & Jet takes the brunt of it. In the aftermath, you fight to keep him alive. pairing. Jet x f!medic!reader w.count. 1.5k a/n. So little Jet fics/imagines around so i had to take matters into my own hands. Enjoy!

The moonlight casts a halo above your head, and for a brief moment, Jet thinks you’re a divine spirit, perhaps a goddess— or whatever it is his mother used to read to him before bed.

( In some ways, you are. )

…Jet, he hears, distant. He can’t pinpoint exactly where— every sound is either muffled or echoing, and the world keeps tipping in and out of a blur. All he can sense through the haze is the belt of dull pain creeping up his chest, and the cotton-numbness engulfing his head. Right. He’d been shot clean through his armor plate by a wayward arrow after he’d jumped infront of Sneers to protect him. He remembers now, vaguely. It had been an ambush on their way home.

...et, stay with me.

Jet.

“Jet!”

The world focuses. He inhales, sharp, and the pain blinds him white as he gasps.

“Easy there, handsome,” you joke (not really), holding his twitching body down and trying to meet his dazed look. The blood is thick enough to taste, and one look is enough to tell he’s walking a tightrope between life or death. He's growing colder, and losing colour by the minute. You make quick work to staunch the gaping wound in his chest, hope he can’t detect the shakiness in your hands, or the tears gathering in your eyes. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“Will he?” comes a voice behind the two medics crowding him. It’s Smellerbee, standing at the step of the medical tent; her voice sounds uncharacteristically frightened, and it sends a pang through your heart. I’m fine, Jet instinctively wants to insist, but you answer for him instead. “Yes. He will." ( And, well, surely such a small deception would not count against you, not when it was meant to give the others some measure of peace. )

Jet blinks, finally orienting himself enough to look at you and not through you— and blinks again. You’re lying. He could feel it. He could always tell, whenever it comes to you.

…Stay, he thinks, suddenly and senselessly, and clasps his bloodied hand around your wrist. He calls your name, voice straining in pain. But he must’ve said it aloud instead, because you’d smiled at him as gently as you could— even when it looked as if the effort of doing so would wound you— and said, calmly, convincingly: I promise, I’m not going anywhere.

“With me?” he asks, again, even when he knows he must’ve sounded like a madman. Perhaps it’s the bloodloss. Likely, it was. It wouldn’t be such a bad end, though, so long as you stood by his side. He wants to tell you this— been wanting to for a long time, now— but the strength has left him, leaving him floating somewhere between the world of waking and dreaming.

“With you,” comes your reply.

You catch the ghost of his trademark smile just before he slips away.

Jet survives.

That’s the first surprise.

The second is that; you’re here. Just as you’d promised.

He must have been out for longer than he thinks, because the atmosphere in the medical tent seemed to have ebbed to something much more conducive than last he remembers. The tinctures of alcohol and sedatives surrounding him and his bloody bandages that night are now replaced with dry ingredients; yarrow half-crushed in a mortar and pestle, mixed herbs and colourful liquids corked in tiny bottles and tins he couldn’t begin to name. His armour had been stripped from him, lying above a chest by the corner.

Ever the leader; “Sneers,” is the first word out his mouth, once he’d stirred awake on his cot and recognition returned slowly to him. It’s early sometime in the morning, judging by the colour of the sky outside the tattered tent flaps and the still quietness in the air. Beside him, an incense of sandalwood burns. “Sneers—”

“Is alive, thanks to you,” you override. The faint bitterness in your voice is not lost on him.

Somehow, someway, seeing him conscious now seemed to make you bristle. You think— no, you know— that it’s unfair of you; that it’s simply the pent-up frustrations and stress overflowing from the night he’d been hauled back to camp with one foot in the grave. But Longshot’s harrowing clarion call for a medic from the trees still rings clear as a bell in your head, just as much as the cold shock that had seized you the moment you realised the birdcall was for Jet.

“Good.”

“Not good,” you correct, “Not when you of all people pay the price.”

( Jet doesn’t delude himself into thinking that there could possibly be another meaning to what you said. It would be impossible. ) “You would’ve done the same,” he bites back, and takes your silence as quiet agreement.

“You’re upset,” Jet points out, narrowing his eyes. “Why?”

A sigh. “You just woke up,” you dismiss, if only to get him off your scent. “We can talk another day.”

“We’re already here, so let’s settle it now. The mission went well, and as far as I can see, I’m the only one in here, which means nobody else got hurt on the way back but me. Atleast, not as badly.”

It’s a debrief, you recognise. A coping mechanism for him— to spur himself into action and settle himself. Given the stress and trauma his body has been enduring the past days, you let it pass.

It’s only when you shift out from your seat by his cot, standing to begin putting away the bowls of medicine prepared, that Jet realises your fingers had been holding his wrist before. You must have stayed up for, what he can only imagine to be long nights, to keep track on whether his pulse was still beating. ( Something inside his chest burns. He can’t tell if it’s your doing or the injury being fussy. )

“I’m sorry,” he huffs, sighing out. “If that’s what you wanna hear.”

“For what?” You set the mortar down on your table with more force than necessary, and looked at him sharply from over your shoulder. Jet, damn him, still looks at you straight in the eyes, confident as ever. You want to kiss him. You want to break his nose. “For being a hero?”

“No.”

“Playing martyr?”

“No.”

“For saving Sneers? Everyone?”

“No—”

“Then what?”

“For scaring you,” he says, simply.

Your heart starts.

A frisson runs through you, and you feel the back of your eyes begin to burn.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” he emphasises, and doesn’t say, I’m sorry I made you cry, because your prideful self would have denied it instantly, even if he remembers it clear as day. “I’m sorry I put you through that.”

He yanks at a loose thread on the blanket you’d laid on him a night ago. It must have been terrifying to see him be dragged to the table, half-dead with a broken arrow in his chest, and leave a mess of blood and horror in his wake. It must have been terrifying, indeed, to be the one responsible for him against Death itself— to carry the weight of his life on your shoulders, while the rest of the Freedom Fighters watched on.

“It’s, it’s my job,” you turn away to close a drawer of medical instruments, because you’re not quite sure you can stand meeting his gaze. Not when it only reminds you of just how much he lived, breathed and bleeds chaos and revolution; not when you know this accident definitely won’t be the last.

You can’t handle him. Or maybe it’s yourself you can’t handle, when it comes to him. “Just, be careful.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he salutes mockingly, albeit with a wince. The flinch is what kicks you back into action.

“You’re staying in bed until you’re better,” you order, curt, ignoring his groan. His wrapped shoulder still seems painfully defiant despite all the numbing you’d given him; it would be a couple of weeks longer before he’d be fully healed, but knowing Jet— he’ll be up performing duties within a week. “That means no strain at all. No scouting or recon or hunting, got it?”

He lulls his head, but there’s a dash of humour on his face. “Since I’m bedridden, does that mean you’re at my every beck and call, then?”

Your face twists. He lets out a laugh when you answer, "In your dreams, Jet."

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

You roll your eyes, though without heat, and place a bowl of fresh water by his side. There is, at the very least, a smile on your face, and Jet’s sure he can sleep well tonight knowing you both are, at the end of the day, okay.

“Hey,” he calls your name, once you've begun making your way out the tent. You try to ignore how much more sweeter it sounds coming from him. “I really am sorry. I’m serious.”

He had caught your sleeve when he spoke, so your fingers now brush against his. You try not to focus on the touch too much. “So am I.”

“We can’t lose you, Jet,” you continue, unsteady; because saying I can’t lose you would have been unthinkable.

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kiki-strike · 11 months

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ATLA and spiders

Aang: “leave it be!! They have just a right to be there as us!!” (The spider is on the toilet seat)

Katara: didn’t grow up with spiders. Doesn’t understand why people are afraid of them.

Sokka: also didn’t grow up with spiders. Is terrified of them.

Toph: can’t really see them. Doesn’t care. Does think Sokka’s reaction is funny and will hold spiders up to his face.

Zuko: grew up with giant fire nation spiders. Lets the smaller ones crawl on him and takes the bigger ones out with a cup (will not admit he’s afraid of them but will flinch when they move)

Azula: put spiders in Zuko’s bed as a child. Likes to poke them.

Ty Lee: thinks they’re cute. From a distance.

Mai: makes fun of people for being scared of spiders. Is scared of spiders.

#saw a post about this a while ago and I’m obsess now #real South Pole has no spiders so fake South Pole also has no spiders. to me.#atla #avatar the last airbender #azula #zuko #Sokka #Katara #Aang #Mai avatar #ty lee atla #toph avatar

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ambriel-angstwitch · 11 months

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Blue Spirit!Zuko: My hero

Kyoshi Warrior! Sokka: Would you mind giving your hero a name?

Zuko *playing dumb to avoid revealing himself*: Sure, I know lots of names. You don't have one?

Sokka: No, I do! It's Sokka! I just wanted to know yours.

Zuko: Um you can call me blue?

Sokka: That’s not what I meant and you know it

Zuko: *disappears into the rooftops*

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stephstars08 · 2 months

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Currently obsessed with this picture!!!❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

HE LOOKS SO GOOD!!!!!

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cokowiii · 2 years

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I can’t wait for the next chapter👌👌👌

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aonungapologist · 1 year

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you simply hate me

ao’nung x reader

“Lo’ak, are you alright?” Your gentle voice, sweet as honey, rang out in the chilly air, as you caught up to Lo’ak and Ao’nung. Ao’nung sighed heavily at the sound of your voice. The familiar feeling began brewing inside him, a feeling that gnawed at his heartstrings and that made his mind start screaming at you to go away, leave.

You examined Lo’ak, but he put your worries at ease with a small smile. “I am okay,” he reassures you, a hand on your upper arm, and Ao’nung resists the urge to undo all the progress on his relationship with Lo’ak.

Lo’ak leaves, and he’s left alone, with you. Your back is to him, and, in an eerily calm tone, you state, “come.”

Ao’nung follows you; he does not know what else to do. He has not seen you since the fight, and when you looked at him like that, as you and Kiri walked away from the commotion, another feeling started to brew just underneath the all too familiar one of past. But he disliked this one even more, it made him feel powerless, like you held the key to every wall he had spent so long building.

In your marui, you set to work, collecting the healing paste you’d need for his injuries. His ears went up in silent confusion, that new, unfamiliar feeling starting to take over again. Why would you care for him, when he’d spent all his time telling you, over and over again, that he wanted nothing to do with you?

The silence that fell over you while you gently applied healing paste to his cuts and scratches suffocated him. He felt a wave of guilt crashing into him, knocking him off his feet and carrying him away with the ocean. How could one be so gentle, so caring, so amiable to another who made them so miserable?

You hesitated before healing the cut on his cheek, deciding to speak instead.

“You simply hate me.” It was spoken like a fact, like no one had ever questioned it before.

“Of course I hate you.”

And of course, he regretted it as soon as it left his lips, which he shut immediately, for fear he would say something else that would entirely ruin this forever.

For he was sick and tired of this feeling that wanted you to leave, to hate him and go find someone else who could care for you and make you feel like the Great Mother herself was smiling down upon you. He was sick and tired of worrying that you would get too close, and see every little flaw in him, and you would despise him as he pretended to you, and you would leave him as heartbroken and empty as your eyes looked now, as you asked a simple question that shattered that feeling into a million pieces.

“Why?”

Why? Ao’nung could not begin to answer.

“Have I done something to you?” No, no. Ao’nung doubts you could ever do something that would make anyone dislike you.

“No,” he whispers, his walls crumbling down; perhaps they had been fake all along.

“Then why do you dislike me so?”

“Because-” No. He is done. No longer will he pretend to despise the very ground you walk on, no longer will he act as though your very existence irritates him.

“No. I will not do this any longer.” He stands up, desperate to get rid of the nervous energy he suddenly feels. “I will not act like this any longer.”

“Please, just answer me. Then I will leave you alone,” you begged, standing up with him. He did not turn around; he was too afraid to meet your honest eyes.

“I do not hate you. I have never hated you, in fact, I adore you; so much so that I can only think of how miserable you would be if you were to spend the rest of your life with me.”

“I would not be miserable.”

“Yes, you would-”

“No, I would not. I know you feel that you are a burden, a disappointment, but I could not disagree more. You are a fine free diver, one of our best hunters, and one day, you will be the greatest Olo’ekytan this clan has ever seen.”

Desperation, that’s all he felt as he crashed his lips onto yours, slamming you into the wall of your marui. You’re shocked, so much so that you don’t move for some time. But your brain eventually catches up, finally kissing him back. He groans, immediately deepening the kiss. And it’s dizzying; the way he holds the base of your neck with one hand, the other softly holding your waist. You hold his shoulders, your heart racing and beating harder than it's ever beat before. You move so that your hand is buried deep in his soft curls, which hang free under his bun. Your lungs begin to scream at you, burning and burning until you have to pull away.

You’re both panting heavily, and once you’ve caught your breath, you go straight back in, already yearning for more, for him.

To your frustration, he pulls away, his soft ocean blue eyes closed, his forehead carefully resting on yours.

“I did not realise what I was feeling, as I understood it, it was hate. But now I know… I was wrong,” he breathes, opening his eyes to meet yours; piercing, striking, right into his heart, his soul.

“Oel ngati kameie.”

Your breath hitches, your legs suddenly feel like they’re about to collapse under your weight, and your mouth opens, though you struggle to form a sentence.

You’re stunned; the last thing you expected him to say was that. An hour ago you thought he hated your entire being.

Your hand reaches to hold his face, tenderly, lovingly; you rub your thumb in soothing motions on his cheeks, which were a raging red blush.

“Ao’nung… oel ngati kameie.”

Sighing in contentment, you simply held one another. Basking in the others touch and love, finally feeling a deep calm that soothed every fibre of your being.

You didn’t want to look at anything else now that you saw him.

#taylor swift lyric at the end bc i’m obsessed with her #also inspired by kanthony #ao’nung #ao’nung x reader #avatar ao'nung #avatar aonung #aonung x reader #avatar the way of water #avatar

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guide-to-world-domination · 1 year

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I can’t stop imagining spider becoming an absolute badass, like the amount of ideas literally keep me up at night. For example, imagine that one day, Neytiri just goes off on Spider and says the most foul things to him - stuff that was so horrendous, even people who equally hated Spider being around had to try and calm her down, because what she was saying was completely out of line. To spider, he’s heard this all from the People, the Scientists, the McCoskers - but Neytiri always strikes a cord that can’t be fixed or shrugged off easily. The only thing that snaps him from his thoughts, was what Neytiri said next while she was being pulled away from the situation.

“You will never be One of the People. Your father is a Demon, and your mother is worse for ever loving him and producing such Spawn”

There it is the breaking point. Spider has always turned the other cheek when it comes to people that insult him or insult him by comparing him to his father. He always found that retaliation and tantrums only proved his accusers assumptions correct. But nobody. Nobody insults his mother. Spider could have screamed back and shouted bloody murder at her, but at this point, he just doesn’t care. She isn’t worth trying to prove himself to. His siblings know who he is, that’s enough.

From that day on, he doesn’t go to High Camp again and doesn’t wear his loincloth. He starts wearing cargo pants and tank tops, but he keeps his armbands, knife and jewellery. He wants to come into his own identity, but he can’t shed what remains of his past life (trying to be part of the Omaticaya). Personally, I don’t think that Norm and the other Scientists wouldn’t care too much about what spider does until he crosses a line or breaks a rule that they haven’t outright told him (that kind of behaviour is traumatising, I would know 🙂). So when figures out to give himself piercings and tattoos, they are livid. They are shocked at the transformation - where painted blue stripes used to be, there were inky black stripes that passed over every limb and even on his face; where dirty brown locs used to be, golden blond hair was fashioned into a Viking braid reaching down his back (similar to a kuru).

The only person that understands and doesn’t overreact is Max. Personally, that man was a dark horse in his family before he came to Pandora, I know it in my soul (Headcanon coming soon or after this post). He takes it on himself to support Spider and nurture his clear talents. He wishes he could have raised spider as his own, but knew that he would be shunned by his colleagues for raising his son - he couldn’t be seen as a disgrace after his time as a child.

Spider had a number of talents and skills, including Engineering, Chemistry, Languages, Marksmanship and martial arts. Max helped to nurture each and everyone. Some days, he would have Spider build and repair weapons and tech. Other days, Spider would learn chemical reactions or a new language. Every evening, Max would instruct Spider in combat and would exercise and lift with him to encourage him. Over the course of a month or two, Spider was unrecognisable. He took in information like a sponge and soon Max was running out of things to teach him. Piloting Samsons and Scorpions - took a few tries, but Spider was truly a born pilot like Paz. Stealth and parkour - He was already a natural, but he was fooling Na’vi warriors more often than not after a week of practice.

Eventually, when Jake started performing raids on RDA Trains, Spider knew it was time to put this all into practice. You see, deep down, he still wanted to prove himself to the People, but not so he could be one of them. He wanted to prove himself, to show them what he forged himself into despite them. However, he knew Jake would never approve him going along - he was still a child. The thought to Spider was ludicrous; Spider never believed he was a child, because no child goes through what he did and remains a child. So he decides to go anyway and doesn’t bother with permission. Though, he does ask Max, who understandably forbids this from happening. After reasoning that he would be safer if he got support to complete this venture, Max relented after hours of back and forth.

And thus, Araña was born. Imagine Winter Soldier getup (Hydra-controlled Bucky, not White Wolf armour) where the half mask acts as his rebreather so he doesn’t risk glass from a regular mask entering his eyes. All manners of weapons are strapped to his body including an Assault Rifle, a revolver (nobody knows that it was actually Quaritch’s revolver that delivered the fatal shot to Grace), A bow and quiver, a LOT of knives and a grenade or two. He looks terrifying but despite this Max feels proud - not about his boy going to fight in a war that has devastated everything he loves, but because this kid, his son, has stepped into his role as a defender and Max is proud of how far Spider has come to reach his goals.

Queue Spider being the biggest menace to RDA society that has ever existed. There was no reason for the Na’vi Ground forces to blow up the rail line, because Spider had already hijacked the train and pulled the breaks. The look of an anonymous Sky Person swing around the train killing and disarming grown men confused everyone in the raiding party, especially the Sully’s. There was something familiar about the acrobatics of this mysterious warrior, the answer on the tips of their tongues. It was only after Spider saved Lo’ak and Neteyam from the missile strike, that everyone realised who this person was. Nobody believed it until Spider spoke and then all he’ll broke loose.

I apologise if this too long or weird, I just needed to get this out of my head. I’ll definitely be adding to this given time, regardless of whether or not people like it, and the only thing that can stop me is my undiagnosed AuDHD.

Farewell to all, Yours sincerely,

Your Favourite Evil Overlord

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