[fic] The Most Human Color
Heya. I've been lurking about here for a while. Long enough to have gone through and read everything, in fact. So, I guess that means it's my turn to contribute something, yeah? I come with a meager offering of fanfiction, which I hope you lovelies will enjoy. Admittedly, I'm pretty nervous about this whole thing.
Tell me if I've done anything wrong. I promise I'll only think about seppuku for a little while.
Title: The Most Human Color
Author: Cenneidi
Genres: Macabre
Summary: Power in Firebending comes from the breath; deny a Firebender his air, and you deny him his bending.
Word Count: 1,423
Rating: PG-15/Older Teen for violence and language.
Disclaimer: Avatar: the Last Airbender and all related content belong to people who are decidedly not me. I'm not making any money off of playing in the very wonderful playground that they created, and no copyright infringement was intended by this writer.
Author's Note: So, the other day I realized that I have upwards of 250 hours of sewing to do, less than fifty days to do it, and I haven't even bought the fabric yet. So, instead of going about getting a start on that project like I should have, I decided not to think about it and wrote this. Because, really, what's better than writing Jetko to take your mind off of an Avatar group cosplay you should be sweating over? Nothing, that's what. So, this is an idea I've had floating around for about a month now, inspired by the Regina Spektor song entitled “Blue Lips.” It's not the most 'ship oriented piece of writing, but it's meant as Jetko, so I'm hoping that counts?
Thanks: Thanks to Fanged-Ferret for beta reading and editing. She had to put up with my enthusiasm (which was pretty egregious) about writing this, as well as some nasty first-draft flaws (such as the most lack-luster, blah ending I have ever written and very, very excessive use of names where pronouns would have done just fine.)
The Most Human Color
Crouched behind the apartment wall, peering in through the window, his muscles were as tense as spring coils, twisted and cramped. The stone was rough to the touch, harsher than the callouses of his hands, and the wooden roof under his feet creaked with every movement, every breath. He could feel himself shaking, his mouth clamped tightly around a straw he couldn't remember having picked.
Jet could be stupid. So, so stupid and reckless and crazy. But never before had he been as stupid as he was around Li. Everything about the boy set Jet on fire. Ever since they met on that ferry, Jet had been falling all over himself for Li. It was ridiculous, it was stupid, it had already hurt him and his friends. Smellerbee had called him on it; we're worried about you, Jet. He'd been acting without thinking, like he used to, back in the forest. Smellerbee had called him on that, too. Asked him, weren't we trying to start over?
The thing was, Li could have been such a great Freedom Fighter. No, it's too late for that, Jet had to keep reminding himself-reminding himself of a warm cup of tea when there shouldn't have been, of poorly veiled lies, of all the tiny gives. They're Fire Nation, he would think, and his stomach would burn with the thought, his head would pound with it. He'd waited and watched in the days since coming to Ba Sing Se, and he was done. It was time to act. There wasn't going to be enough proof to show anyone, nothing concrete like he would need. It was in the little things, the kinds of things you only noticed once you knew what you were looking for. Jet had been looking. Watching every move the Firebenders made with a sick fascination. Was this monster the same boy he had asked to join his group? Had he really been fooled by Li's pathetic attempt at deception?
He had been fooled, there was no denying that. He had taken the scar on Li's face and that nervous demeanor as a link between them. They were outcasts, both hurt by the Fire Nation in unimaginable ways. That's what he'd thought. He would make up for those moments of naïvety. He would pay Long and Bee back the only way he knew how, and they could finally have that new life.
He had been watching Li for long enough to be able to predict the exact moment that the apartment door would open, to know the expression that he would wear as he walked in. Jet felt a surge of anger at the sight of golden eyes, and he wanted to burst into the apartment then, to fight Li and pry the secret of his blood away from him. He held off, and watched. Watched as Li stripped off his apron and shoes. Watched as he pulled out pots and bags of dried food from the cabinets. Watched as he hit spark rocks together and the stove caught too quickly.
That was the moment when he couldn't take it, and Jet slipped in through the window, quiet and confident. It was hardly even a risk to confront Li. Jet knew what he was doing, he'd planned every move. He was terrified; this was crazy.
The floor of the apartment was sturdier than the roof had been, but it was old, and the warped floorboards made just enough noise that it was impossible not to be heard.
Li turned, in the startled, abrupt way of someone unaccustomed to being caught off-guard. “Jet?” he said, the name an accusation.
“Hey, Li.” Jet said, and his voice sounded all wrong to his ears, false confidence quavering. Li's eyebrows knit together.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded. He sounded scared, and Jet nearly laughed out loud at the irony of that. He suppressed the sick feeling in his gut as he stepped closer.
“Do I need a reason?” he retorted. They were just an arm's length apart, close enough for every gesture, every flicker of fear to be apparent to one another. Jet hoped his bluff would hold. “I just wanted to see you.”
Li pressed back into the counter, away from him, looking for an escape. There wasn't, he had made sure there wouldn't be.
“You're lying.” Jet couldn't stop a strangled laugh from escaping.
“So are you,” he said, like it was the most natural response in the world. Li didn't look like he thought it was.
“What?”
“So,” Jet said conversationally, stepping into the last of Li's space, “you're a Firebender.”
Li froze, but that wasn't even what gave him away. It was the surprise, and then anger twisting his face that did it. Not confusion. Never confusion. “You're insane!” Li spat, his breath hot and angry on Jet's neck. Too hot, burning, coming out in jaggedly sharp bursts and hitches. Jet felt the rhythm of his own breathing change to match it. Li tried to push him away, to break free, but his hands flew up and grabbed Li by the wrists. “I don't know what the fuck you're talking about.”
“Liar!” Jet shouted back. There was a hook in his chest, and Li pulled it relentlessly with every hiss. “I saw you!”
“There was nothing to-” He slammed into Li so hard that it knocked the wind out of both of them, shoved him so hard into the counter that it must have hurt. He pinned him there, Li's wrists in his grip torqued around and locked in place.
“Yeah fucking right.” Jet said. He snarled, “Fire Nation,” and “Liar,” and “Monster,” and Li struggled to get away.
“Fuck you.” Desperation had stolen Li's words, his breath, and he sounded very young, very afraid. It made Jet sick with anger, and before he knew what he was doing his hand crashed against Li's face. The sound it made-and the sting that both of them felt-silenced them. They stared at each other, surprised and confused, for what seemed to be a very long time. Then, Li found that one of his hands had been freed, and he grabbed Jet's arm, twisted it around. Jet kneed him in the gut, and he doubled over, hand releasing Jet but instantly coming up and punching the side of his mouth.
Black and white exploded behind Jet's eyes, and he tasted blood. Somehow, they were on the floor, Jet straddling Li, and then, with Li pinned firmly beneath him, Jet reached up, and wrapped his calloused, dark hands around Li's smooth, pale throat. Li's eyes flared and he thrashed to throw Jet off of him, but Jet leaned in, pressed down hard. “Firebender,” he taunted, come on, you can stop me if you want to. Li clawed at his hands and kicked, but that wasn't enough to do anything. You can stop me.
“Do it,” Jet said, “stop me.” Li's chest convulsed and strained, and he fought to free himself with everything he had; everything except the one thing that Jet wished he would. “Fire Nation,” and “Liar,” and “Monster,” Jet said over and over again, like a mantra, until he was hardly aware of the words passing through his lips. Blood ringed his mouth, and it splattered down onto Li's face with each syllable uttered. Li writhed and bucked and he dug his nails into Jet's scalp.
And then it was over, Li's eyes closing and his body stilling, but Jet held onto him. Pressed his hands into Li's throat like a lifeline. “Fire Nation,” and “Liar,” and “Monster.”
He didn't let go until Li's veins showed through delicate flesh, until his lips were cold and blue, and then he just sat there, and stared. Numb and lifeless as the corpse beneath him. A strange part of his mind wondered if Mushi would come home, if he would be caught, and a still stranger part of his mind wondered why he had done it at all. He stayed until his knees ached from sitting on the hard wooden floor, and his feet tingled like pins and needles. He stayed, and stared at Li, at the scar and at the soft, pretty lines of his frozen face. He wondered, “was I wrong?” and “why didn't he stop me?” and “he could have been a Freedom Fighter.”
Tell me if I've done anything wrong. I promise I'll only think about seppuku for a little while.
Title: The Most Human Color
Author: Cenneidi
Genres: Macabre
Summary: Power in Firebending comes from the breath; deny a Firebender his air, and you deny him his bending.
Word Count: 1,423
Rating: PG-15/Older Teen for violence and language.
Disclaimer: Avatar: the Last Airbender and all related content belong to people who are decidedly not me. I'm not making any money off of playing in the very wonderful playground that they created, and no copyright infringement was intended by this writer.
Author's Note: So, the other day I realized that I have upwards of 250 hours of sewing to do, less than fifty days to do it, and I haven't even bought the fabric yet. So, instead of going about getting a start on that project like I should have, I decided not to think about it and wrote this. Because, really, what's better than writing Jetko to take your mind off of an Avatar group cosplay you should be sweating over? Nothing, that's what. So, this is an idea I've had floating around for about a month now, inspired by the Regina Spektor song entitled “Blue Lips.” It's not the most 'ship oriented piece of writing, but it's meant as Jetko, so I'm hoping that counts?
Thanks: Thanks to Fanged-Ferret for beta reading and editing. She had to put up with my enthusiasm (which was pretty egregious) about writing this, as well as some nasty first-draft flaws (such as the most lack-luster, blah ending I have ever written and very, very excessive use of names where pronouns would have done just fine.)
The Most Human Color
Crouched behind the apartment wall, peering in through the window, his muscles were as tense as spring coils, twisted and cramped. The stone was rough to the touch, harsher than the callouses of his hands, and the wooden roof under his feet creaked with every movement, every breath. He could feel himself shaking, his mouth clamped tightly around a straw he couldn't remember having picked.
Jet could be stupid. So, so stupid and reckless and crazy. But never before had he been as stupid as he was around Li. Everything about the boy set Jet on fire. Ever since they met on that ferry, Jet had been falling all over himself for Li. It was ridiculous, it was stupid, it had already hurt him and his friends. Smellerbee had called him on it; we're worried about you, Jet. He'd been acting without thinking, like he used to, back in the forest. Smellerbee had called him on that, too. Asked him, weren't we trying to start over?
The thing was, Li could have been such a great Freedom Fighter. No, it's too late for that, Jet had to keep reminding himself-reminding himself of a warm cup of tea when there shouldn't have been, of poorly veiled lies, of all the tiny gives. They're Fire Nation, he would think, and his stomach would burn with the thought, his head would pound with it. He'd waited and watched in the days since coming to Ba Sing Se, and he was done. It was time to act. There wasn't going to be enough proof to show anyone, nothing concrete like he would need. It was in the little things, the kinds of things you only noticed once you knew what you were looking for. Jet had been looking. Watching every move the Firebenders made with a sick fascination. Was this monster the same boy he had asked to join his group? Had he really been fooled by Li's pathetic attempt at deception?
He had been fooled, there was no denying that. He had taken the scar on Li's face and that nervous demeanor as a link between them. They were outcasts, both hurt by the Fire Nation in unimaginable ways. That's what he'd thought. He would make up for those moments of naïvety. He would pay Long and Bee back the only way he knew how, and they could finally have that new life.
He had been watching Li for long enough to be able to predict the exact moment that the apartment door would open, to know the expression that he would wear as he walked in. Jet felt a surge of anger at the sight of golden eyes, and he wanted to burst into the apartment then, to fight Li and pry the secret of his blood away from him. He held off, and watched. Watched as Li stripped off his apron and shoes. Watched as he pulled out pots and bags of dried food from the cabinets. Watched as he hit spark rocks together and the stove caught too quickly.
That was the moment when he couldn't take it, and Jet slipped in through the window, quiet and confident. It was hardly even a risk to confront Li. Jet knew what he was doing, he'd planned every move. He was terrified; this was crazy.
The floor of the apartment was sturdier than the roof had been, but it was old, and the warped floorboards made just enough noise that it was impossible not to be heard.
Li turned, in the startled, abrupt way of someone unaccustomed to being caught off-guard. “Jet?” he said, the name an accusation.
“Hey, Li.” Jet said, and his voice sounded all wrong to his ears, false confidence quavering. Li's eyebrows knit together.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded. He sounded scared, and Jet nearly laughed out loud at the irony of that. He suppressed the sick feeling in his gut as he stepped closer.
“Do I need a reason?” he retorted. They were just an arm's length apart, close enough for every gesture, every flicker of fear to be apparent to one another. Jet hoped his bluff would hold. “I just wanted to see you.”
Li pressed back into the counter, away from him, looking for an escape. There wasn't, he had made sure there wouldn't be.
“You're lying.” Jet couldn't stop a strangled laugh from escaping.
“So are you,” he said, like it was the most natural response in the world. Li didn't look like he thought it was.
“What?”
“So,” Jet said conversationally, stepping into the last of Li's space, “you're a Firebender.”
Li froze, but that wasn't even what gave him away. It was the surprise, and then anger twisting his face that did it. Not confusion. Never confusion. “You're insane!” Li spat, his breath hot and angry on Jet's neck. Too hot, burning, coming out in jaggedly sharp bursts and hitches. Jet felt the rhythm of his own breathing change to match it. Li tried to push him away, to break free, but his hands flew up and grabbed Li by the wrists. “I don't know what the fuck you're talking about.”
“Liar!” Jet shouted back. There was a hook in his chest, and Li pulled it relentlessly with every hiss. “I saw you!”
“There was nothing to-” He slammed into Li so hard that it knocked the wind out of both of them, shoved him so hard into the counter that it must have hurt. He pinned him there, Li's wrists in his grip torqued around and locked in place.
“Yeah fucking right.” Jet said. He snarled, “Fire Nation,” and “Liar,” and “Monster,” and Li struggled to get away.
“Fuck you.” Desperation had stolen Li's words, his breath, and he sounded very young, very afraid. It made Jet sick with anger, and before he knew what he was doing his hand crashed against Li's face. The sound it made-and the sting that both of them felt-silenced them. They stared at each other, surprised and confused, for what seemed to be a very long time. Then, Li found that one of his hands had been freed, and he grabbed Jet's arm, twisted it around. Jet kneed him in the gut, and he doubled over, hand releasing Jet but instantly coming up and punching the side of his mouth.
Black and white exploded behind Jet's eyes, and he tasted blood. Somehow, they were on the floor, Jet straddling Li, and then, with Li pinned firmly beneath him, Jet reached up, and wrapped his calloused, dark hands around Li's smooth, pale throat. Li's eyes flared and he thrashed to throw Jet off of him, but Jet leaned in, pressed down hard. “Firebender,” he taunted, come on, you can stop me if you want to. Li clawed at his hands and kicked, but that wasn't enough to do anything. You can stop me.
“Do it,” Jet said, “stop me.” Li's chest convulsed and strained, and he fought to free himself with everything he had; everything except the one thing that Jet wished he would. “Fire Nation,” and “Liar,” and “Monster,” Jet said over and over again, like a mantra, until he was hardly aware of the words passing through his lips. Blood ringed his mouth, and it splattered down onto Li's face with each syllable uttered. Li writhed and bucked and he dug his nails into Jet's scalp.
And then it was over, Li's eyes closing and his body stilling, but Jet held onto him. Pressed his hands into Li's throat like a lifeline. “Fire Nation,” and “Liar,” and “Monster.”
He didn't let go until Li's veins showed through delicate flesh, until his lips were cold and blue, and then he just sat there, and stared. Numb and lifeless as the corpse beneath him. A strange part of his mind wondered if Mushi would come home, if he would be caught, and a still stranger part of his mind wondered why he had done it at all. He stayed until his knees ached from sitting on the hard wooden floor, and his feet tingled like pins and needles. He stayed, and stared at Li, at the scar and at the soft, pretty lines of his frozen face. He wondered, “was I wrong?” and “why didn't he stop me?” and “he could have been a Freedom Fighter.”