No no because I love your depiction of Jet??? Oh my god?? Like hell yeah hes a fearless leader of a freedom fighting rebellion group he built from the ground up but he’s also?? JUST A TEEN!! JUST A BOY!! Teenage boys get butterflies too!!??
🌾 ・ POCKETFUL OF BUTTERFLIES
summ. Operation: Creeping Cricket was a botch. It looks like you and Jet aren’t gonna be headed home anytime soon.
pairing. Jet x f!medic!reader
w.count. 1.1k
a/n. ANON YOURE SO RIGHT. Sometimes we forget Jet is really just a teenage boy grappling with hormones and feelings and everything inbetween! Enjoy this short continuation to Hand in Loving Hand!
You take a mental note to thank Longshot and his squirrel-like tendencies to hide emergency stashes up in trees for times like these.
“Here,” Jet says softly, “Y’might catch a cold soon.”
The change of clothes he offers you is weathered, but a warm welcome respite from the frigid chill that’s settled into your bones.
Operation Creeping Cricket had been a complete bust. Your narrow escape is a stroke of luck with all things considered, and at least the rain has finally stopped. It doesn’t help that both you and Jet are soaked head to toe, however, and the fact that the temperatures in the forests by Omashu can drop critically.
Your cheeks are raw; your fingers ache— but you manage to begin peeling off the layers of your clothes one by one to dry by the campfire. From across, Jet’s already managed to change out. He frowns in concern from where he’s sitting by the fire, watching you tip over a boot of water.
“You’re shaking.”
“Shivering,” you correct, trying to stop the chatter of your teeth. You wonder if biting on a wheat straw like how Jet is doing right now would help. “But, yes. Same thing I suppose.”
Then you’re untying the strings of your tunic, and pulling it swiftly over your head.
Jet barely has time to react.
He practically snaps his neck turning away, eyes wide.
The whiplash, the innocent attempt at privacy, has you biting back a laugh.
Ever the gentleman.
“You can look now,” you finally say, after a quick minute, and Jet is careful to turn.
The garments that Longshot had stashed practically drowns your figure, sleeves bundling at the wrists; collar wide and dipping low enough to reveal the corded necklace you never remove. And then there’s the glow of the fire, honeying you in amber light as you run your fingers through your damp hair.
You’re… effortlessly beautiful. He’s not quite sure there’s any other way to describe you.
“That bad, huh?” you ask, pinned under his gaze.
Jet startles. “Sorry, I— No, you just, look cold, still.”
He clears his throat as the tips of his ears burn. He hopes to the Spirits beyond you hadn’t noticed them go red. (You did.)
“Well, so do you.” You reach back into Longshot’s knapsack and tug out a blanket from inside, before making your way across to the log Jet’s settled on. The material is tanned and threadbare, but it would do for the night.
Your hands brush as you wrap the cloth around the both of you.
It’s difficult not to focus on just how warm Jet is. Even more difficult not to lean against him.
It hadn’t mattered much in the end, though; Jet shifts closer, and presses his shoulder against yours.
“Y’okay?” You ask, gentle.
Under the dim firelight, his hard edges seem to soften. The fearless leader of the Freedom Fighters can be surprisingly endearing. Suddenly, Jet is simply another survivor; another casualty of war.
He shrugs lightly, careful not to jostle you, and makes a face. “Eh. We’ve faced worse, haven’t we?”
You laugh, ducking into his shoulder. Jet wonders if you can physically feel the butterflies taking flight in his chest.
There’s a spill of flowers behind you— budding Moonflowers, he recognises; native to Earth Kingdom wildlife— and has half the mind to pluck one and hand it to you.
He chews harder on the straw in his mouth instead.
( He knows you don’t see him that way, anyway. You’d made that clear before. ‘We’re family,’ is what you’d told him; Him and the rest of the Freedom Fighters. ‘Found family.’ And while he isn’t complaining, he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t imagine atleast once what it’d be like to be something more with you.
Even if you did, he’s not quite sure he’d act on it. He’s not quite sure he can allow himself to be that vulnerable to someone. Not when he's a wanted man; not when subjecting someone into his dangerous lifestyle is the last thing he wants— even if said someone had signed up for it. )
“I’ll take first watch.” he says, after a moment.
“Y’sure? I don’t mind doing it. I promise I’ll wake you up this time.”
He laughs at the old memory. The smile, however, doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll be fine. You need rest.”
Quietly, you read him. Measure the micro-expressions that pass his face. Having fought alongside Jet throughout the years of survival made it easier. Whenever night falls, and the weight of his duties could settle if only for a little while, you could finally see all of him. Just a teenager who’s fighting for what he believed in; a kid who had to take on the world too early.
That illusion of 24/7 confidence falls around you often, though never around the younger rebels. You’ve kept the privilege close to your heart.
“You’re worried.”
He picks on the hearth for a moment, listens to the crackle of the fire.
Jet doesn’t doubt the Freedom Fighters’ capabilities. Longshot’s probably camping out somewhere in the trees with Smellerbee and The Duke, and Pipsqueak and Sneers can navigate these forests even better than him. They’ve all probably made it home already, knowing them.
And yet. And yet—
“Yeah,” he says. He didn’t like admitting it, because it implied they couldn’t protect themselves. It’d have meant he isn’t confident in them; that he, to some degree, didn’t trust them. It’s a twisted mindset, he recognises, but he can’t quite help his way of thinking these days. He didn’t like admitting he cared more than he really should— it’d be a concession. An admission.
An admission that he might truly snap if he lost any of the Freedom Fighters; that he might truly break if, Spirits forbid, he’d lose you.
The thought sends a frisson up his spine.
That shouldn’t scare him. It shouldn’t.
He blinks, shakes his head. “That obvious?”
“No. But I’ve known you for years now,” you nudge. “It’s okay to worry, y’know? You can care. You do care. There’s nothing wrong with that. You don’t have to act like you don’t for the sake of appearing calm and collected and… cool.”
He cocks his head at that, musters a playful smile. “Ah. So you think I’m cool?”
It’s meant to derail the conversation. Fortunately for him, it’s successful. Jet watches you bow your head and laugh; the bright one, the kind that makes his heart sing.
Camaraderie, he reminds himself, swallowing thickly as he reluctantly turns away from you. Nothing more, nothing less.
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How do racers deal with feather damage?
ft. Niki Lauda
Niki Lauda famously returned after his accident in 1976 with red synthetic feathers replacing the majority of his flight feathers, as well as some of his median and lesser coverts. His refusal to hide the extent of the feather damage he sustained did a lot to champion openness around feather issues in F1 and to bring imping to the FIA's attention as an area of racer's lives that needed to be regulated.
Similar in medical magnitude to an orthodontic aid, imping is a relatively painless practice that allows for a comparatively quick solution to feather breakage. Affixing the replacement feather to the existing feather shaft allows for the replacement to be lost in the next molt, identical to a natural feather. There are three primary options for replacement feathers used in imping:
Mass-produced synthetic: These synthetic feathers are produces based on age and wing type specifications, working well enough for the vast majority of people. However, they are often rather obvious, even when painted to resemble natural plumage.
Donor: Often more expensive, especially for those with rare wings, donor feather implantation relies on finding a perfect match wing-type, feather number, and development-stage wise. These feathers perform much like the original(barring the added weight of the joining agent) and blend seamlessly into the recipient's plumage.
Custom-made synthetic: These are often used by racers, in concert with donor feathers. These feathers are created based off a highly detailed model of the recipients undamaged feathers, serving as either a perfect copy of the lost feather, or an idealized version. They can be customized to minimize weight and improve aerodynamics, even when compared to natural plumage. In an attempt to avoid abuse, the FIA has decided that synthetic replacement feathers used by racers may not weigh more than 5 grams less than the natural feather they are replacing. Starting in the 80s racers often used feathers in unnatural colors. Some prefer to have them hand painted in attempt to conceal their injury, but this practice is becoming more noticeable for its rarity.
A necessary addition to the discussion of imping are so called long term prosthetic feathers. These are used in the case of extensive damage to the quill and attachment site of the feather. Unlike replacements used in imping, these are only ever synthetic, and are not meant to be lost in the molt. Prosthetics are attached through a two step process. First, a quill-shaped anchor point is surgically implanted into the cleared attachment site of the lost feather. Second, when the implant has healed, a synthetic feather is attached where the anchor point protrudes from the skin. This two-part construction allows the feather to be changed out when it becomes worn. These prosthetic feathers are common among burn survivors and those whose feathers didn't develop fully.
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i'm writing in jealous aang AND a sparring scene in the upcoming ch of "the teenager in the iceberg"- y'all kataang stans are eating GOOOOODDD 🤭
in order to placate you lovelies, enjoy a couple short & sweet excerpts!!!
also, i love the way that tiny aang in the header looks like he's desperately trying to seperate jet and katara 😭🤍
⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩
Sokka rose, crossing his arms as his expression shifted to anger. “The traps are Fire Nation. You can tell from the metalwork- no other tribes can achieve seams this flawless without the aid of a Firebender that can bend blue flame.”
Aang’s nose wrinkled as he gently landed next to Katara. “What do the firebenders want with these forest animals?”
“We won’t be sticking around long enough to find out.” Sokka said decisively as the three began to walk back to where they’d left Appa. “As the leader, I say we get walking AQAP.”
Katara raised an eyebrow. “AQAP?”
“It means As Quickly As Possible.” Sokka recited the acronym as if it was obvious. “It’s a more efficient method of communication. I call them ‘short-word-quick-talkers.’ Trust me, they’re gonna be very popular.”
Katara and Aang side-eyed one another sceptically before falling into step behind Sokka.
⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩
Katara bent a stream of water from the bottle strapped to her hip, then carefully sent a water-whip straight for their fire, silently proud at how much her late-night practice sessions had allowed her to improve. “Who says you’re qualified to be the boss, all of a sudden?”
“I’m not the boss, I’m the leader.”
Katara scoffed incredulously. “You’re the leader?”
“Naturally.” Sokka puffed out his chest like a peacock pigeon. “I’m the oldest.”
Aang raised an eyebrow, grinning teasingly. “Sokka, I’ve been around for over a century. I have training robes that are older than you.”
Sokka deflated slightly, his shoulders slouching before he managed a retort. “Well, I’m wiser, then. And I have instincts.”
“Ooh, instincts.” Katara wiggled her fingers at him, her voice filled with fake awe. “Please, oh wise leader, share with us your wisdom.”
⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩
“Down you go,” Jet grinned, self-satisfied and authoritative in his stance. Katara beamed back, her lips parted in an amazed expression, while Aang and Sokka’s features quickly settled into irritation. Before long, an archer and a few other kids dropped from the trees surrounding them, and both Aang and Katara jumped into the fray in response alongside the mismatched gang of weapon-slinging kids. Sokka joined in, his irritation visibly rising as Jet took down each soldier before Sokka could even get close to being in range.
“You snooze you loose, man,” Jet shrugged, his hooks snagging on a man who had been about to grab Katara. “Apologise to the lady.” He smirked, then kicked the man hard, dropping him to the side.
“I had her,” Aang grumbled under his breath, occupied with bending currents of wind to sweep soldiers out of the clearing. Katara furrowed her brow at Aang’s irritation, but decided to note it as something to ask about later. Finally, the remaining soldiers scampered out of the clearing in retreat, their shouts and yelps echoing through the forest. Katara still couldn’t take her eyes off of Jet. He sauntered over to her, a roguish grin on his face as he spoke.
“Hey.” He tossed his hair as he said it, his grin directed entirely at her now, and Katara felt a soft blush spread across her cheeks as she looked up at him. She broke her gaze only to check that Aang and Sokka were okay, and as she looked across the field to Aang…
Was she imagining it, or was his jaw clenching? Was she imagining it, or was his normally approachable expression shifting into a deadpan stare?
⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩
His gaze flicked from Jet to Katara, to the brush brushing her cheeks, the soft smile of her full lips. He was hit by the thought that he wanted to be there, next to her, in Jet’s place.
What was it about Katara that made Aang feel as though he could only breathe when she was around?
⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩
Katara was too caught up in her Jet-related nerves to notice the way that Aang’s breathing was coming more quickly, that his fists were quickly clenching and unclenching. She walked towards Aang, who was joined by Sokka, only for Aang’s eyes to flit away every time they met hers. She reached out an arm reflexively, her hand lightly brushing Aang’s bicep as her brow furrowed in concern.
“Are you alright?”
His eyes flashed with something she couldn’t quite read, and his jaw clenched before he spoke. “I’m sorry, Katara, I just… I need a minute. My judgement is…impaired, right now."
⁎⁺˳ ✧༚ ˎˊ˗ ♡ ˗ˏˋയ ✩
He hesitated a moment before continuing. “Would you… would you care to join me for sparring practice, tomorrow morning? Might help you feel a bit safer next time you need to face off against Fire Nation swine.”
Katara smiled back. “I’d like that.” Jet continued to regale her with stories of all he and his fighters had accomplished as of late, but Katara found herself distracted, her gaze wandering over his shoulder every now and then.
It was not lost on her that Aang’s light had stayed on and his curtains drawn until Jet had returned her to her room for the night.
♥ if you want to stick around for this ch to drop, feel free to head over to the work here! ->
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