weirdlet

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Okay, folks- I got art I need to be doing, stories I'm working on but which aren't gelling, and some things have been said that are setting me off in a 'yeah, you're right!' direction. SO. What we have here, is a Jetko meme. I get to work on one of my favorite pairings whilst trying to get more into their heads (Jet in particular is a slippery bugger), and we all get some hot starcrossed boy-love. Or hate. Whatever you like.

Give me a prompt, a sentence, a song, whatever; any AU/universe in progress you like, just so long as you keep to this restriction- no rape.

Two prompts per person, promise of one ficbit, standard not-very-fast warning applies.

Do have at it!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

weirdlet.livejournal.com

The three of them make their way up the stairs, while below the Sun Warriors are chanting and gesturing with flame. Some joker blows a giant horn, and Jet stands between the two bowing benders and waits to see what all this earth-shaking is about.

When the dragons explode out of the tunnels, he swings wide his blades, stands at guard, and dares them to try and take the three of them.

I’ve stood up to your mad children, your destroyers, your legacy! I’ve taken all I will ever take from them- now come and get some from me!

He doesn’t know the steps of the dance- but his own beat seems to be entertaining enough. The big lizards open their jaws wide and roar. A firestorm spirals around them, pressing them all back against each other, and sweat pours off him as he fights not to scream.

Aang’s on his left side, Zuka on his right, and all around there’s fire it’s burning it’s screaming there’s crackling sparking burning and the timbers crumble and his family is ash-

seedlings creep through the crust, flaring open to the sun-

a tiny hand jerks away from the kettle, and his mother kisses the blister-

his breath steams as he chafes his hands, waiting for the kindling to flare-

the surge in his breast when he knows he’s not going to lose this batch of orphans to anyone’s blades-

the lifespark the surge in the belly and the brain and the race along the pathway, head to hand and back again water makes the pathway fire signals along it-

Fever. Scars in the woodlands. Light in the dark. Light in the eye of a Freedom Fighter, every time he’s told them what they need to hear. Rhythm and rhyme and the thunder of breathing.

Zuka makes a sort of gasping sound next to him, and he starts to jerk his hand away from where they’re brushing together. The colors are swirling madly, a riot across the eyes, and Aang’s just taking it all in and Zuka mutters something, like ‘I understand’.

What’s there to understand?

Fire is scary shit.

His hands are shaking, his swords have slipped and clattered to the ground from slick palms.

But he’s not dead.

He’s not dead, and the firebenders (reawakened, newly inducted) haven’t gone berserk, and the giant lizards have scuttled back to their holes.

“That was it? A light-show and some scorched eyebrows?” he mocks, not sweating or shaking at all, thank you, really. Aang’s looking at him, and Zuka’s pointedly not, and he casually holsters his blades and struts down behind the two of them to greet the chief.

The two of them have what they came for- good. If he can get out of here before someone tries to tell him that there’s fire in him too, so much the better.

From:

attackfish.livejournal.com

I'm overcome with awwww. And ear plugs, Aang wants them. *snicker*

I loved the way you described what the fire showed Jet (and his deep deep denial. It's really powerful.