( SPOILERS AHEAD) Things that will haunt me about the new live-action Avatar, the Last Airbender show:
Iroh being confronted by his past as a fire nation general and war criminal. Of course, Iroh is a cog in the machine of war that he’s part of and he’s changed his ways since, but that doesn’t change what happened in Ba Sing Se under his leadership.
Sokka overhearing Hakoda being disappointed in him. Y’all were worried that Sokka wouldn’t get as much characterisation in this version. Well, we got this and it broke my heart.
Katara witnessing her mother being executed in front of her. She immediately covers her mouth to keep herself from screaming. Her mother died so she could live, and so even as she cries, Katara quiets herself so her mother didn’t die for nothing. What a terrible responsibility to place on yourself.
Zuko sitting with Iroh next to Lu Ten’s casket. Cue that goddamn instrumental of Leaves From The Vine. This version really understands and cares about Zuko and Iroh’s bond.
Gyatso telling Aang that even if he had come back that night, he wouldn’t have been able to make a difference. It wasn’t his fault. This broke me. We hear from Katara in TLOK how much the Air Nomad genocide affected him through his entire life, despite everything he achieved. He never recovered from the guilt of wondering “what if”. He carried it his entire life…and Gyatso waited as long as he could in the spirit realm so he could free him of it.
Ozai’s face as he burns Zuko. Iroh looking away, Azula watching as a mixture of emotions go over her face as she witnesses her brother be mutilated, Zuko’s cries…girl I was struggling. Then we cut to Ozai’s expression and my heart plunged into my stomach. To me at least, and several others, it looked like he was trying not to cry. Ozai has done more terrible things than you can count…but he’s still a person and you have to sit there and watch in horror as some tiny, humane part of him revolts at the monstrous act he’s committing and his son screams in agony.
I know this show is getting a lot of criticism and that’s fair. It’s not perfect. But there are definitely parts of it that will stick with me for a while.
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HE ONLY FEELS POWERFUL WITH YOU.
about: after the agni kai, the only way for zuko to feel some kind of power is when you’re looking pretty on top of him and call him your lord.
a/n: another zuko blurb!! once again, this is written with natla!zuko in mind so he is meant to be the same age as dallas (22). ZUKO REQUESTS ARE OPEN BTW <3
MDNI 18+ CONTENT AHEAD.
A primal need inside him begged ZUKO to take it all out on you. The Agni Kai had left him completely powerless, a disappointment of a prince and a disappointment for the entirety of the Fire Nation. He didn’t feel powerful and all of his honor had been stripped away from him. The scar was a reminder of the life he lost and who he was meant to be from now on—an exiled prince. A nobody.
The only way he felt powerful again was when you were on top of him. Your pretty whimpers as you rode his cock made his heart beat faster, making him feel alive for the first time in days. The lewd sounds of his skin and yours clashing mixed with the wet sounds of his dick going in and out of your pussy as you moved up and down were the only things keeping him grounded.
Zuko’s hands moved from your hips, guiding you, to your tits. Playing with your hardened nipples as a few groans escaped his lips whenever your tight pussy took his reddish cock all the way down. “Oh.. Zuko,” you moaned, your eyes closed in pleasure.
“Lord,” Zuko corrected almost immediately. Inside your quarters, when you were riding him and pleasuring him, he felt more powerful than his father—more powerful than anyone. “It’s Lord, baby,” he said as he gripped your chin to look into your eyes.
“Lord Zuko…” you whimpered as he kept thrusting up into your pussy which was wet with your arousal and his precum. The sound of your whines and begs, of you calling out his name as your Lord was enough to get him shooting up his seed inside of you.
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FIRESIDE ✦
INFO: atla jet x gn! reader drabble, 1.4k words...... (bad writing i'm not proud💀)
SYNOPSIS: you're the damsel in distress that falls for your saving grace. or: delusion
WARNINGS: tiny bit of blood
AUTHOR'S NOTE: not proof read (it wasn't supposed to be this long), I wrote this post without making it a proper fic to make up for the lack of jet fanfictions anywhere please take my contribution 😞 listen to fireside by the arctic monkeys 👍
You're a travelling merchant dealing in handmade weapons. Your craft is passed down in your family, and you recently left your hometown on your own for the first time to travel to Ba Sing Se to make a living there.
The day you two first met, you'd been on your horse all day, dragging behind you a creaky stand containing your life’s worth of materials and weapons (rattling with each step – it was beginning to grate on your nerves) with no signs of the glaring sun easing on your weary limbs. So when the forest suddenly falls far too silent for your liking, you don’t even notice in your heat stricken malady.
It’s only when a group of bandits abruptly seizes the reins of your horse, sawing loose your saddle straps when you realise you’re under attack. But by then, they’re already beginning to rifle through your belongings as you fall unceremoniously onto the hard dirt path, wincing as a bandit grabs you by the shoulders, pulling you up.
You reach for the sword at your belt – the one that you crafted yourself under the guidance of your father once he’d deemed you skilled enough – but you didn’t even need to draw it before a bird call sounded amidst the cacophonous riot.
Emerging from the thick treeline, a band of – kids? Jumped out, wielding perilously sharp and comically large weapons for their ages and sizes. The bandits scoffed at their appearance, brandishing their vicious looking blades at the children who charged at them.
Then the vice-like grip on your shoulders eased, and a hand appeared in the peripherals of your vision.
As you took the hand being offered – calloused and rough, yet warm – your saviour gave you a cursory glance, checking you for injury. When he finally met your gaze, you both froze in place.
Warm eyes, tanned skin, dark, unruly hair that loosely framed his face. In his other hand he held two long, hooked swords that gleamed in the harsh light.
Jet couldn’t tell whether you were simply shocked or there was something wrong – either way, there was a fight surging around you, and there was no time for greetings and formalities.
(if you looked for any longer, you’d have seen the slight blush dusting his cheeks)
“Behind,” You had no time to process his meaning before he stepped in front of you, meeting the serrated blade of the bandit with his own weapons in a deafening clash of steel. You quickly drew your sword and slashed at the arm of another bandit whose club soared a high arc above Jet’s head, eliciting a howl of pain as they dropped the club onto the ground and scrambled for the trees.
You two seemed to make a pretty good pair.
After the dust had settled, he offered you his flask of water, chest heaving, hair clinging to his forehead with perspiration, with a grin playing across his face.
“Thank you.” You take it, drinking your fill before capping the container. “But who are you?”
“We’re the freedom fighters.” His companions wave at you as they attempt to salvage the wreckage of your goods (which you supposed you should’ve also been doing, but you’d had a long day).
“And you?”
“They call me Jet.” he smiles, a glint in his eyes. “But you can call me whatever you want.”
I hate myself for writing that line but I can’t think of another thing for him to say
Anyway time skip a little, he showed you to the freedom fighter’s hideout, and you decide to pay them back for saving you by giving their weapons a little maintenance
They offer you further kindness by inviting you to stay for dinner, to which you accept – what choice did you have after the bandits spoiled most of your food on the ground?
You sharpen some swords, polish some daggers, and share a meal with the ragtag freedom fighters around the fire, laughing along with crude jokes shared about clumsy bandits.
Then Jet comes up to you with his hooked swords hanging loosely from his grip – offering them to you for maintenance – and your curiosity gets the better of you.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” You observe the craftsmanship of his swords, testing their balance, running your finger along the blade’s hooked ends.
“Pretty neat, huh? They’re Tiger Blades. Traditional weapon.”
“Where’d you get them?”
“Stole it from a firebending soldier.”
You raised your eyebrows skeptically. “You fight off firebending soldiers regularly?”
A grin. “When the job calls for it.”
“That’s not… dangerous?”
“You’ve seen me fight, haven’t you?”
In the firelight, his eyes are alight with molten gold.
“So your job isn’t just saving random people from bandits?”
He laughs, and the sound fills the air between you with warmth.
“I wouldn’t say you’re a random person,” you look up, but his gaze is cast into the fire, unreadable.
When he doesn’t say anything further, you sustain the silence, only rummaging through your bags to find another stone to sharpen his blade with before the thought occurs to you.
“What’s wrong?”
“Ah, I’d rather not try to sharpen this blade. I don’t know how.” you attempt to hand it back, but he stops you.
“I can show you,” he leaves the unspoken question hanging in the air, watching you with a certain hopefulness in his eyes.
You nod wordlessly, and you hand him the stone, watching him tie his hair up. His brows furrow as he angles the blade, quickly running the stone along its edge. But you can’t focus on the blade – not really – as the firelight illuminates his features, basking them in a soft glow.
“It’s not that hard – well it won’t be, for someone as experienced as you.”
You’re grateful for the dim light, or he would’ve seen the blush highlighting your cheeks.
“You just guide the stone along the edge as usual,” he absently says under his breath, “and use more force here.”
You nod blankly as he turns back to you, handing you the blade and the stone.
“There you go.”
You move to grab the handle of the blade, but your finger catches on its edge, drawing blood.
“Shit,” you lick the blood off your finger, wincing slightly as it rapidly flows out.
“Sorry, I –”
“No, it’s not your fault. I wasn’t careful.” you shake your hand, grimacing at the throbbing pain.
“Smellerbee, could you fetch the bandages?”
“What? Why me?”
“Just – do it. Please.”
Smellerbee grumbles something under his breath as he leaves.
You nurse your injured finger as it pulsates, face drawn in pain.
“You have a little something –”
“Huh?” your gaze flickers between him and your finger, unsure of what he means.
“Here,” his fingers graze your chin as he wipes off blood from your face – from the initial injury, when you tried to lick up the blood from your wound.
Your face heats up as his touch lingers, skimming across your chin to your cheek.
He’s utterly captivated, it seems.
“Am I interrupting something?”
He snatches his hand away with a look of guilt, and you turn away. “Ah. Smellerbee.”
“...I’ll leave the bandages here.”
“Thanks.”
“.........Don’t mention it.”
He bandages your finger with deft movements. Neither of you speak a word, but nothing needs to be said. The tension between you is electric, and any onlooker can tell with a mere glance (especially after Smellerbee went and groaned about the two of you to Pipsqueak and Longshot).
After he bandages your finger, he gets up from his place at the fire.
“You’re staying the night, right?”
You nod.
“Smellerbee will show you to your tent.” your disappointment must be visible on your face, because he huffs a laugh. “I’m sorry I can’t. I have duties to attend to. But you’ll be here for breakfast, right?”
You nod. He seemed to have that speechless effect on you.
“Right then, uh, goodnight.” he smiles, appearing to hesitate for a moment before walking off.
“You guys are gross.” Smellerbee mutters from beside you.
“What?”
“Gross. Look at what you do to him. And don’t you give me that clueless look or I swear.”
Neither of you could sleep that night.
(but when you woke up there was a bright basket of fresh berries arranged with little flowers throughout it at the door of your tent. You can only wonder who sent it, and why there was a note reading “sorry about your finger, please let me make it up to you.”)
written by @atlaswav, published 3rd of March 2024
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Quick notes on Netflix's Avatar: The Last Airbender Live Action (No spoilers)
Watering down of character traits, leaves them strangers to the audience
Characters speak with each other too much yet say too little.
Speaking so much but showing too little
Making good characters be "flawed" for no reason
The main plot of the OG show/season - to learn how to bend the elements, takes a backseat for some reason.
In fear of being problematic and in ambition to seem progressive, they made changes that simply make the story seem lacking and dishonest. It feels so forced.
Cast: Weird age gap between Aang and Katara's actors, knowing what happens later in the original. Ian Ousley might not even be Native. Gordon Cormier suffers from child actor tone of line delivery (not bashing a child, I'm sure he'll grow out of it but for now it's a bit annoying bc I'm so aware that it's an actor saying lines)
TOO DARK. More light and saturation, pleasee
The CGI was good, The sets look reallllyyy cool, I wanna go there. And the costumes are well designed even if they look too new, right off the rack.
Yue's wig was so awful it deserves a separate point.
Can we please let characters have emotions and actually deal with them?
Sometime plain illogical changes or plot from the writers
I can give full spoiler examples for all of the points, I just wanted to make this short. Just say a word and I'll rant
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