Weirdlet

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I am trying to control myself for not requesting mpreg.

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(could I please?) I am hopeless.

But the first prompt which comes into my mind is that in your Zuko mindfucked-by-Daili-and pregnant-Au, Jet arrives before the gaang or they meet after. Zuko is still visibly pregnant. Sexxors!1! And angst.

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The same little voice that makes me inject angst into every crack meme is blasting images of Ember Island Player!Jet/Ember Island Player!Zuko at me, but don't write that, please no, don't. I don't want to see that.

Zuko is arrested along with Jet by the Dai Li after the sword fight.

Zuko and Iroh find dying Jet on the way back from Zuko's aborted capture of Appa and rescue him.

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neldluva.livejournal.com

Um. I don't know if you write smut, but I did get a random smut idea as I was pondering. Something dirty, fast, and probably full of hate and violence. Something to the tune of "Bad Romance" by Lady Gaga. It can be an AU, canon, at whatever plot point you want, but the smut should be the thing.

I have another totally random idea. Jet as an assassin/spy/CIA agent (something like that) assigned to kill Zuko. Zuko turns out to be a more difficult mark than expected. Somehow this leads to romance.

Let me know if you want me to modify these. :D

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(Consider this a first installment- the whole idea got big, and there's a ways to go before the lusty bits)

Jet wakes up with a headache and an armful each of Smellerbee and Longshot, both being very careful not to jostle him. They’re what keeps him from freaking out at the long dark echoes and drips of the ship they’re on, at the dim lights and red hangings- Smellerbee strokes his hair, young-old eyes already worn out from their crying.

“Old man Mushi found us,” she tells him, and Longshot nods. “He got us out- said he was tired of losing sons to the war.” Jet scowls at the mention of the old man; he’d been looking for a lost relative, he’d said, and the renewed Freedom Fighters were happy to help a fellow refugee out (and maybe he’d helped them, as well).

Too bad who those lost relatives turned out to be.

Jet stays still and relies on Smellerbee’s intel and his own ears to fill him in- his ribs are busted and bruisy and he knows if he sits up he’ll regret it. He’s in the infirmary of a stolen ship; things had gone even further to hell in a handbasket after the fight under the lake, and the Avatar is lying unconscious on the next pallet over, and beyond that is a girl who sleeps under a spill of dark hair, and cries in her sleep in a low, husky voice.

“Who’s that?” he asks of her.

“She’s- another victim of the Dai Li,” Smellerbee answers, and won’t say more.

…

In daylight- or as good as, with no windows- Katara comes by, and Jet is gently but firmly relegated to second priority as she tends the slip of a boy, last hope for the world. He watches quietly as she coaxes what little progress she can from Aang’s flesh and chi, only teasing and joking with her once she moves on to his battered body. Her hands are cool and her mouth firm.

“You’ll have to take it easy for a while,” she tells him, and he hears where she’s grown harder, the doctor’s voice that means do as I say. “There’s only so much I can do once the bones are set in place- some things I can push along faster than others.”

“Tell me you won’t leave me alone in this tomb?” he says, and the cracked grin is only half-joking- the rest is desperate.

“I can’t be here all the time,” she says honestly. “But you have your friends- and soon enough you can go up on deck.”

She wants to touch those healing hands to his temples, but Jet puts her off, and amazingly, she lets it go.

“When you’re ready.” And then she’s across the room, to the girl who’s been sleeping so heavily since she tossed all night. She gets a curtain, and low, hushed voices for her questions, and it takes all his skill and patience to catch any of what’s being said.

What he hears doesn’t make any sense. But considering just how much painkiller must be in him, he’s surprised he can tell up from down.

…

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Mushi- no, Iroh, is down with breakfast, or lunch or something. Jet can’t believe he’s on the ship, the ship that’s supposed to have all the people who are fighting against the Fire Nation on it-

But Iroh isn’t paying attention to him, not yet, he’s gone down to his knees at the girl’s side and Jet really sees her for the first time as she’s dragged into the ragged embrace of her uncle. This can’t be who Mushi had said he was looking for- for one thing, he’d said he was looking for his nephew, and this is-

Shit, that’s the princess the Earth King married, he’s seen the wedding banns where they were pasted up on walls in forgotten layers in the Lower Ring. She’s Fire Nation- and so was Mushi and seriously, what the hell were they doing here?

“Nephew,” Mushi is saying, and the girl, the really pregnant girl is turning to look straight at him. Him. She has a scar around one eye and a look that he’s seen on too many survivors’ faces. “This young man across the way is Jet. He helped me to find you.”

Jet recalls doing nothing of the sort- but then again, he found the Dai Li all by his own damn foolishness, and Smellerbee had said that she- he? –was another one of their playthings.

He swallows a battery of retorts as those yellow eyes flicker over him, that drawn, shocky face stills into a serene mask and she gives him a bow from where she sits, something hand-over-fist formal and foreign to his vocabulary.

“Thank you, Jet.” It sounds like there’s a lot of things she could add to that, with her low, just-raspy voice, but she leaves it there.

Uh.

“Don’t thank me,” he says, sincerely.

…

The next few- days? –blur together as he realizes just how little he can really move and how much the pain-potion is actually there just to keep him from flopping around, almost purely in self-defense because he’s feeling too clumsy and thick to do anything right.

Sometimes he’ll wake up to the sound of breathing, and sweat at the crackle of flames that are really just a row of candles in a steady holder. In and out, up and down, they grow and fade in a steady rhythm that devours the set, one after the other, like a drinker’s bottles.

It keeps the princess quiet. He watches her clutch her round stomach, wrinkle her brow- her expression will waver between devastation and determination at a moment’s notice before it finally slams into the eyes-closed mask of meditative serenity.

Her shoulders are wide and her chest is flat under that dress, pink silk that probably didn’t suit her even when she was done up prim and proper. Jet’s still not sure what that’s all about, but she’s not laying waste to the countryside and his dreams are probably scaring her about as much as hers scare him.

Once in a while, though, when he’s too-freshly dosed or the night’s too long and he can’t stand hearing it from his damned natural enemy he yells for her to shut up, won’t she please shut up!

There’s a fight in her face in response, and sometimes the polite lady wins and turns away- and then sometimes- sometimes she sneers at him and sparks grit out between her teeth, like she’d reach out and slap him if they weren’t across the room from each other.

Jet wonders why doesn’t she.

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You are killing me. Oh my god this is so powerful and I cannot stop reading it over and over and over again. So many nuances, so much sadness...

Marry me?

And now I am supposed to think the second prompt. I am right now empty.

(dear gad...)

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Heh^^

Glad you like it. Zuko's all pissy that he didn't get to have a say this round, but he'll get his turn later^^

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\o/

Yippee!

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In the years after the fall of the Phoenix King and the renaming of Sozin’s Comet, many traditions were revived in the Fire Nation that had been dampened or diverted from their original course in the hundred years preceding. Among them was the reinvention of the Imperial Dance Corps, which soon became famous and was known to perform all over the world.

Their most revered performances, however, were often reserved for their homeland’s audience- and it was just such a spectacle, done in collaboration with the famous Ember Island Players and the Earth Kingdom writer Chander Gita, that was intended to make the anniversary of Firelord Zura’s coronation a memorable one.

When the curtain went up on The Bandit And The Blue Spirit, a new fusion of dance and opera, the Firelord herself attended in the royal box and received first the cheers of her subjects, and then the reverent hush as the score began to play.

Ba Sing Se bustles on stage, the markets, the ports, the merchants and pedestrians and here and there guards on patrol- and here at the docks, at last, disembarks the first half of the principal cast, a colorful band of back-country bandits who doubled as guerilla rebels during the end-days of the War. Their leader leaps out on stage, a lean, vibrant figure in constant motion, tousle-headed and grinning around the prop straw, classic mark of a country bumpkin. And true to form, the first scene is filled with the usual missteps and pratfalls when country meets city and finds out the effect is very like head meeting wall.

The first fight scene is in a teashop that looks like a bar, and the waitress there sings a quiet aria, turning her ‘scarred’ face away from the audience as she means to hide her identity, before the titular bandit crashes the scene and things go to well-choreographed madness. The guards arrive, the bandit is dragged away, and the leading lady is left to clean up the crockery.

That night, the Blue Spirit, mysterious and beautiful, arrives to rescue the bandit-boy from his dire fate in the stony jail-cells of Ba Sing Se. Reduced to silent communication, the spirit engages him in a rooftop dance with a grace and flair Zura is quite certain she never displayed. The two of them flit across the scenery, acrobatic and daring and young, and the stars witness their wordless love.

Thus begin the escapades of the Bandit and the Blue Spirit, and they lead the guards of Ba Sing Se a merry chase in the night-time, whilst during the day the teasing courtship of the bandit and his tea-shop girl begins its ever-so-inevitable descent into seriousness. But ‘even in the bright light of day, she is shadowed,’ for the waitress has a secret beyond merely her scars, and the bandit can never find out lest their love be destroyed and her very life in danger.

It’s a ricochet between the ridiculous and the sensational, hysterical laughter and gasping drama as the invasion and the revolution build to opposing crescendos- but when the lead actor leans down and stage-whispers “There’s something wrong with this city, baby, and I mean to find it out,” the Firelord breaks down weeping, and the Lord Consort Mao is seen sweeping shut the curtains on the royal box.

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There’s a short intermission, and the royal audience members appear once more, composed and steady as if nothing had happened. The play proceeds apace, and the Blue Spirit arises from the depths of Lake Laogai, clutching the body of her dead lover before burning through the mist and the mask and the costume and revealing herself as the fiery hawk of vengeance, conquering the city before leaving it at last for home, duty fulfilled but heart full of ashes. There is an implication, though, that the final aria invokes the symbolism of the phoenix and renewal of life, and thus, the Blue Spirit, all in secret, retains some last trace of her bandit lover.

They got everything wrong, of course. The critics called it a fantastical pastiche, moving, appalling, sublime and very daring for using an alto as lead female instead of the more traditional soprano. The Firelord remained, for the most part, silent on her opinion of the piece, but did present the traditional reward for such a gravitas-laden performance and the skill of her pet dancers.

The tabloids were the only ones to repeat the rumor that a male figure in a Blue Spirit mask had broken into the playwright’s house and left him with a very clear indication that his portrayal was not appreciated. Or possibly it was just the fact that he’d made the Lady Zura cry.

In any case, it proved to be a very brief rumor, and Gita returned swiftly to his own theater company in Omashu while the opera itself went on to a popular run.

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Aww. Sad but still somehow happy.

the Blue Spirit, all in secret, retains some last trace of her bandit lover.

...she is pregnant? And my thought progress is as predictable as always.

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Predictable, but right- or rather, right about what the playwright's wrong about. ^^ The action's better, and Gita brings some snappy dialogue but the writing still has some classic Ember Island 'improvements' for drama.

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*gigglesnort* Well, I am a baby freak. ^^

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*gigglesnort* oh good God, you did...

And then it wasn't crack. Um, wow?

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I am strange and like weirdness^^ Sorry, that was just *in* my head from the moment you said that, and I knew there had to be the spectacle that is musical-theater! Jetko.

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He could be like my brother, tough, and sarcastic, and swaggering, and IN LOVE WITH MUSICAL THEATER, OMG! It's hilarious.

Your brain and my brain are places of terrifying, cracky, angsty chaos.

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(which 'he'?)

Yeah- Jet is one of those guys who will beat you up for being a jock, but will end up being the punk element of the school dance troupe.

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They'd get along great. The man sings every word of all the songs in My fair Lady with his Che tee shirt on and his pitbull howling counterpoint.

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*grins*

*works on collecting Egg and Ashes ficbits*

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(I love smut, I'm just not very experienced at it)

Things are smashing all around, sliding down shelves and shattering on impact and there’s going to be hell to pay tomorrow when Pao sees the state of his pantry. Neither of them really care.

“Firenation scum,” Jet is biting out, and deprived of his hooks, he sinks teeth into flesh. Hands tighten in his hair, and hot breath hisses by his ear, so hot, and lips follow that burn like brands and Li is pushing, slamming him up against the opposite wall so now Jet’s the one cornered.

“I don’t like you,” the scarred boy growls, and Jet would call him a perverse bastard for the hardon pressing up against him, except that his own is leaping out and he hates and lusts at the same time.

It’s possession. It’s competition. Each strives to brand the other, to win out and make the other react before something else makes them react. The teashop apron is burnt through at a strap and flung aside. Straps snap on Jet’s armor and that won’t be fixed in a hurry, and it clangs off so that Li can run profane fingers over lean, scarred shoulders under the shirt.

“Monster,” the Freedom Fighter gasps, and laughs when those hot fingertips dig into his stripes. The sound is smothered under Li’s lovely, lying mouth, crushing down hot and bruising, and they part with a curl of smoke that leaves him licking his lips for the taste and to make sure it’s all still there. The firebender does not look amused.

“Takes one to know one,” he growls, and those evil yellow eyes glint like spark-rocks before a misplaced caress makes him shiver, and then shudder and gasp before he pulls back, tearing away cloth in order to regain control of the situation. Jet lets him get his pants down, watches his own aching cock spring forth and wonder just what Li thinks he’s going to accomplish this way-

Too-hot-too-hot-mouth envelopes him, and there’s an obscene slide of tongue that makes him squeak. Li’s robe is getting wrinkled, his sleeves are practically torn off as Jet grips his shoulders with suddenly clenching, nerveless fingers.

They’re destroying each other, touch after touch, and no one’s going to walk away from this un-marred.

Okay, Jet concedes, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth- but only because he’s already planning his next counterattack. Round one to the firebender.

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neldluva.livejournal.com

Whoa. Experienced or not, that was damn sexy, and exactly what I wanted. :D Thank you so much! Mmm, so violent.

This is my favorite line: "They’re destroying each other, touch after touch" Mmm, that image. I also appreciate that it's mutual destruction, because really, they would destroy each other.

This was perfect. Thanks a ton.

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Welcome^^ Glad you liked it.

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I must echo Floranna's proposal. We can be a love gang! United by a twisted love for torturing fictional characters and internet connections!

More topically, I love this. I love the way drugged!Jet barely questions a pregnant person being someone's nephew, and him having no idea what to do with a pregnant Fire Nation thing healing up with him, in the same room with him and his need to tug Zuko's pigtails.

Oh, and the mention of the banns. *heart*

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