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thisentertaining · 3 years

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Avatar: The Last Archivist

The main characters from Avatar: The Last Airbender as different Avatars from The Magnus Archives.

I did 14 characters, one for each entity.

Trigger Warnings: Basically every TMA entity. Specifically mentions of claustrophobia, cannibalism, suicide, manipulation, ect.

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There is a boy, with eyes like a stormcloud, deep and fathomless. He has arrows tattooed on his head, on his arms. When you ask about them he laughs, and says ‘when I’m upside down’ as though that was all the explanation. He asks if you want to do something fun, a roller coaster, skydiving, a trampoline park. When you agree, it is fun, at first. You close your eyes to protect them from the rushing wind. When you open them again, the ground is gone. There is no down. There is only sky, and you are falling. Beside you he laughs, bright and joyous and childlike, though it can hardly be heard over your screams. His arrows are pointed up, wherever that is. As he cannonballs past you for the 3rd, 8th, 19th, 76th time he says that ‘fear is what makes it fun’. His ‘woops’ cover your sobs.

There is a girl, dressed in blue with loops in her dark brown hair. She watches you with soft, sad eyes and says ‘It’s so sad, isn’t it? Being the last.’ ‘The last what?’ you ask, but you know. ‘The last of your kind. There is no one to teach you how to reach your potential. You’ll never be able to train anyone to be like you. You’re the last.’ ‘I am.’ You say, feeling cold as a painful pressure settles on your chest. It feel like you could drown in your loneliness.

There is a boy, one who looks similar to the girl, who loves meat. Grilled, roasted, stuffed, boiled, hunted, farmed or store bought. Any kind of meat, cooked in any manner, at any time. In the moments where he is not eating meat, he is thinking about it. He eats, and he eats, and he eats, until he is long since the point of caring what the meat is. Who the meat is. As he finishes his plate he looks to you and licks his lips.

There is another boy, pale of skin and gold of eye, with a burn that stretches across his face. “I will capture my prey.” He vows. “And then my honor will be restored.” He hunts, and he tracks, and he follows a prey that can never escape. If you find yourself his prey, you can hide and run and fight, but will sone find his claws surrounding you. However, even as he catches you, his mind is on his next target, for his prey is not what he truly seeks. He will never achieve what he really wants, but still he hunts for it. He knows that the capture is the least thrilling part of the chase.

With him travels an older man, a man who is kindly, portly and always grants a smile. He offers you a cup of tea and a game of Pai Sho, but from your first sip and his first move, he Knows you far better than you know yourself. He gives you tea exactly as you like it, and every move you make he has something to meet it. His words are proverbs and pretty saying, but all touch a part of you that he should not know. He Knows. He Sees.

There is an island in this world, where women with painted faces and fans of blades congregate. Practice. Fight. They learn to use the force of others against themselves. They learn to go for the throat They are more willing to fight than to ask questions. In the water there is a monster that they feed the ships that dare get close. In their hearts there is a monster that they feed the souls of those who survive to reach the land. Tearing them apart until blood and bone can be used to paint warnings on their faces.

There is a boy. He is at home in the woods, living in the trees and filth and gime. He collect people. Children. They build homes in bug-filled trees until they have their own hive infesting the forest. A piece of wheat sticks in his mouth, green-blue and fuzzy with mold. He sees sickness in those that invade his home. He sees corruption in those outside of his hive. He stands at the foot of a dam, working on the logs until rot eats through them, purging the woods of the existing host and giving more room for his parasitic hive to grow.

There is a girl with long white hair. She has a kind smile, and mourning eyes. She tells you ‘You’ve always known that this was your fate.’ And you realize that you did. ‘You were given life for a reason, it makes sense that this would be asked of you.’ It did. What reason did you have to live except for this. You always knew it would come to this. ‘You are doing this for your people. It is your duty. It is a noble sacrifice.” You nod. You take whatever it is she offers you. And you End.

There is a man who is in the dark. He does not see truth, does not see life. He walks in the dark and in doing so imagines himself bigger than he is, and imagines others as smaller. He wishes to spread his darkness, an insipid thing that seems to be a tangible presence in any room he is in. When you are near him, colors leech away to a point that the world seems to exist in black and white and grey, no matter how much light or color you attempt to introduce. If given enough power, he would gladly blot out the light of the moon itself, plunging the night into wholly his domain.

There is a young girl whose feet never leave the ground. In her hair there is a constant layer of dirt and dirt. Her eyes are milky-white, but she never trips and never struggles. You ask her if she needs help and she laughs and laughs and laugh. She seems to grow as she does, until you realize that you are sinking. You are up to your ankles-shins-knees-thighs- in the dirt. She says that she cannot see, but in the ground she is no difference for her or anyone else. She says that one cannot stumble or trip or fall if they cannot move because of the ground’s embrace. She says that strength and sight and title means nothing to the earth. She sinks into the ground with a happy sigh right as the ground meets your eyes. Then you can see no more, and as she said, the earth cares not for your struggles.

There is a girl who is an acrobat in the circus. One may assume she would be a stranger, but no. She is quick to introduce herself, to identify herself apart from those she is often lumped with. However, there is something… not right. Her body bends and moves in a way that it Should Not, that the human body Can Not. She twists and flips and bends until her form is completely unidentifiable as one of flesh and blood and bones like yours. Her smile stretches a bit wider than lips should allow. She can make you do things, or make you stop, a few simple pokes and your body will no longer listen to your mind. A few more nudges and your mind will no longer listen to you.

Her friend is a Stranger though. A girl wo dresses plainly, with a face as expressionless as a mannequin and a voice that is as dry and as bland as an uncooked grain of rice. She holds knives sharp enough to flay your skin from your body. Sharp enough to flay your identify from your self. She reacts to little and speaks to less. You may know her name, but she will never allow you to know who she is.

The acrobat and the stranger dance and dangle at the strings of the web. Their friend, a girl of sharp features and a sharper mind. She wields cruelty and knowledge and vulnerability as tools, weapons that allow her to say and do exactly what she needs to make others follow her desires. She will talk to you, and she will lead you. You will follow her without question, without thought, until your feet are stuck fast in spider silk. She can lead anyone into her web with a smile. All but one. She has never dared try to ensnare her Father.

The girl’s father is cruel. He has ambition that supersedes the ability of every man, and does not care for consequences so long as he advances for his personal goals. He will burn through a bush and care not for the wildfire he started behind him so long as he can continue further. If anything, he will delight in having caused it. No one is safe from the destruction. Not his people, whom he destroys without reason and without care. He delights in the anguish they feel and the anguish their demise causes. Not his son, who bears his burn and hunts for an honor never lost. Not the world, which is slowly being burned around him. Not an ember touches his skin. If her were to burn you, he would likely never notice.

Aang – The Vast

Katara – The Lonely

Sokka – The Flesh

Zuko – The Hunt

Iroh – The Eye

Suki/Kyoshi Warriors – The Slaughter

Jet – The Corruption

Yue – The End

Zhao – The Dark

Toph – The Buried

Ty Lee – The Spiral

Mai – The Stranger

Azula – The Web

Ozai – The Desolation

Thanks for reading!!

Yeah, I don’t know either. But if anyone else is a fan of these and wants to make fanart of Martin and Iroh drinking tea together and complaining about loving over-dramatic nerds who do not react normally to acts of love and kindness, you would have my eternal thank.

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