Fic: Silly Previews!
Apr. 22nd, 2008 01:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
foxysquidalsoI haven't posted here in a bit, so I thought it might be entertaining to post some previews of silly Avatar fan stories I have (very intermittently) been working on in my spare time.
First of all, ha ha--okay, this first one is the best--it's "The Jeong Jeong Chronicles" (a title that never fails to make me laugh with its stupidness), which I started way back in the day of my gay war against![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ali_wildgoose. It is an inadvisable JJ slash fanfic chronicling (obviously--it's a chronicle!) the three great loves of JJ's life. Mainly, I saw a need because there is not enough JJ slash in the world, and that ain't right. I kind of feel like I have to wait until the end of the series to see how things work out, though.
Here's an excerpt from part one:
Title: The Jeong Jeong Chronicles, part I: A Youthful Heart.
(I am trying to think of ridiculous titles for the three parts, too.)
Pairing: Iroh/Jeong Jeong
It was easy to ignore at first, the way his pulse quickened, the strange, tight feeling in his throat that made it difficult to swallow--which curiously enough was accompanied by a compulsion to swallow far too frequently. Jeong Jeong put it down to nerves, though he had never been of a nervous disposition. However, it didn't make sense that the feeling came over him most frequently and most strongly when the crown prince was present. He had no reason to be nervous around Iroh. Iroh was his friend.
Theirs was something of an unusual friendship. Jeong Jeong came from a good family, highly respectable, if not as wealthy as some, but he was hardly royalty. He and the prince had met purely by chance. As a boy of ten, Iroh had snuck out of the palace one evening. It had been a rather complicated operation, as Fire Lord Azulon was at that time growing tired of his son's daring escapes and had posted extra guards around the palace walls. Yet they hadn't been enough to keep Iroh in. Nothing could keep Iroh in, when he wanted to get out.
Jeong Jeong had absented himself from home that very same evening, but not for purposes of amusement. He had made his way to the woods to practice Firebending. His father, who was also his teacher, had forbidden him to learn the more complicated forms. He had been drilled in all of the basic moves until they were second nature to him.
Fortunately, there was a collection of scrolls detailing a number of the more advanced moves in his family library, and he had managed to find them in the little locked cupboard where they'd been hidden away. He'd taken one of them in the afternoon and hidden it behind his bed. All that afternoon and evening, he'd waited, thinking of his secret prize, hoping it wouldn't be discovered.
It wasn't mischief, he told himself. It was education. Father underestimated him. He had mastered all the basic forms already. Everyone said he had great skill for his age. His mother was always telling their friends and relatives that Jeong Jeong was a genuine prodigy. He knew he was ready to advance, no matter what his father thought. He wouldn't do any harm. He would return the scroll and then sneak back into his room, and his family would be none the wiser.
He brought a lantern with him and walked silently through the trees, stepping softly so as not to break any twigs. He had never before come out at night without permission. It was dark, but he was not afraid. He was eight years old; he no longer believed in ghosts or monsters, and there had not been bandits in these woods for more than a hundred years. No one would bother him. He had waited until his parents had gone to bed. Everyone was sleeping now.
He had spent a great deal of time in the woods, and he knew them well, but everything looked different at night. Once or twice he almost took the wrong path, but he knew where he was going. He had a practice ground in mind.
The largest clearing he knew of was only a little way into the forest, but it was far enough in that the glow of his bending would be hidden by the trees. A building had once stood there, but it had fallen many years before he was born. Parts of the foundation could still be glimpsed here and there, poking up from the soil that had swallowed it. He often played in the clearing during the day. On one edge of the open space, a great tree grew, towering above its neighbors. It cast a cool shadow even on the hottest days, and its branches were broad and widespread, ideal for climbing. The clearing had given them the freedom to grow.
There were a few saplings growing in the clearing, and the brush was fairly thick in places, but overall it was the best place for bending in secret that he could think of.
Jeong Jeong searched the grass for stones until he had four that were vaguely fist-sized. Then he sank to his knees on the ground, unrolled the scroll, and placed a stone at each corner of the parchment. He studied the pictures and calligraphy by the light of the lantern. He hadn't dared to look at the scroll in the house for more than a few scant minutes, worried that he would be seen. If father had caught him, he would never have been allowed to learn any advanced techniques.
The form detailed in the scroll didn't seem too difficult. He scrutinized it for several minutes, moving his arms into the positions the pictures illustrated, frowning thoughtfully. He could do this, he was sure of it. His gaze passed over the pictures again and again. Eventually he was aware of an ache in his legs, and he realized he had been kneeling for quite some time.
Slowly, Jeong Jeong got to his feet. He walked away from lantern and scroll, to what he deemed to be the clearest part of the clearing. He settled into the opening stance and took a deep breath. He was ready. He walked through the form once without bending, not putting any breath into the moves. It felt right to him. He returned to his beginning position and took another breath. He centered himself, then moved.
Initially, everything went well. His feet and hands moved as they were supposed to. The bursts and streams of fire he released with each breath flowed as he wished them to, went out as he willed him to.
But then something--afterwards he wasn't quite sure what--happened. Either he turned a foot wrong or waved a hand carelessly. There was a flash of flame where he didn't expect one to be, too close to his face. He felt its heat, almost hot enough to be painful, and he gasped, jerking his head back. Somehow, at this point, more flames blossomed from his palm, arcing from his hand down into the brush.
There was a crackle, and the flames that had struck the ground shuddered, then rose. In a matter of moments, the clearing was on fire.
...to be continued.
Secondly, I am almost finished "Steam", a lamentable story, the premise of which is: "What if instead of killing Hahn, Zhao captured and tortured him?" ;_______; I know, I'm a bad person.
Here's another excerpt!
Title: Steam
Pairing: Zhao/Hahn (OTP)
The metal was tight around his wrists and ankles. They had stripped him of his stolen Fire Nation armor, but he didn't mind that. The chains were what he minded. He closed his eyes, then opened them again, but it didn't make any difference, as the room was dark. He pulled at his chains, but they allowed him little movement. He was bound between two metal posts, the chains taut, his arms stretched out at his sides. His legs were similarly bound, although he could move them a little more. But not enough.
He hated it. He'd never had his movement restricted like this. He pulled again, trying to draw in his arms. When the realization that he was trapped sunk in, his breath came faster, labored. He couldn't get free. Why was he trying? He didn't know. His thoughts fragmented. He was in a panic. Thrashing. He could feel his wrists and ankles bruising.
"You'll injure yourself doing that." A low dry voice spoke from the door, which had just opened with a creak of metal hinges. "Not that I mind."
He stilled. A dim, reddish light came from the doorway. The tall figure standing within it was backlit, shadowy as it stepped inside. The door closed again moments later, and the darkness returned, heavier than before now that it was not empty.
It was a temporary darkness. A bright flare ended it, and he blinked--the light hurt his eyes. When he reopened his eyes, the room's two lamps were lit, and he was staring up at the Fire Navy admiral. The man was looking down at him impassively, although there was a slight tension in the muscles around his lips; he was almost smiling.
He looked so foreign, his skin pale and his eyes golden-brown. Even his hair was foreign: his cheeks bristling with sideburns and a topknot like a small, closed fist crowning his head. The man was no longer wearing his elaborate armor, but had donned a rust-colored robe. He took a step closer. "I rarely keep your kind alive, but I thought I'd make an exception."
Hahn spoke through clenched teeth. "I won't tell you anything." He felt calmer now that he had something--someone--tangible to focus on. Nonetheless, he felt a tightness in his chest and an unaccustomed flutter filled his throat.
The man shrugged. "Fine. I don't need you to talk. You don't know anything of use."
The man didn't answer his question. "Water Tribe boy." He took another step closer. "Usually I prefer not to dirty myself with filth like you. But soon enough there won't be many of you left. So why not take this opportunity?"
Hahn bristled. He didn't like being talked to like this. It was worse than being manacled, in a way. "What do you want, Admiral Shong?"
"Admiral Zhao." The man's hand fastened on his face and hard fingers pressed between his jaws, forcing his mouth open. "Say it."
...to be continued.
And finally, a touching tale of brothers in arms, a.k.a. Bato and Hakoda. Awwww.
Title: To the Abbey
Pairing: Hakoda/Bato
It was quick, as it always was: the scuffle and blaze of battle. Too quick. No matter how many times he fought, he was never prepared for the rush of it. The clanging of weapons, and, again and again, the heat and color of fire, blossoming like a brutal flower on all sides. He responded to the fire without thinking. Draw back. Jump to the side. Wait for the pause between blasts, then strike. Experience had turned training into instinct. Long experience.
When it ended--his breath a heated rasp, sweat gluing his tunic to his body--Hakoda was relieved to be still standing. He did not doubt his skill as a warrior, and he was not afraid of death, but he understood it, and he had lost too many good men (brave men, his friends) to the Firebenders not to realize that death was not necessarily the end product of failure or inexperience. It came without reason or warning.
He didn't have time to stand still contemplating death. He had his men to see to, and he moved.
"Hakoda--" A voice called his name, and he turned. A few figures were gathered around another of their number. Someone had fallen. Not dead, he hoped silently. Already beginning to walk in that direction, Hakoda looked for Bato. He looked for Bato first after a battle without needing to think about it; it was simply what he did.
He didn't see his friend.
He knew at once what must have happened, and the hope came again, stinging him this time: Not dead. "It's Bato," someone said, although Hakoda knew that already. Someone moved aside for him.
Bato lay on the ground, smiling up at him. Hakoda knelt beside him, smiling a little himself at the sight of Bato's eyes, open and clear. The smile soon faded as Hakoda saw the extent of his injuries. Bato's left arm was badly burned from wrist to shoulder, the skin blistering. It wasn't as bad as some burns he'd encountered, and again, Hakoda felt the burden of experience as he was easily able to estimate that they would most likely be able to save the arm if Bato was treated in time.
...to be continued.
Of course, before I do any of this, I have to write the next chapter forperfect_info, or Ali's gonna kill me! Well, she'll make puppy eyes at me, which is bad enough.
Oh god, I just realized that every one of the three previewed stories involves fire/burning. I'm so Fire Nation-centric.
First of all, ha ha--okay, this first one is the best--it's "The Jeong Jeong Chronicles" (a title that never fails to make me laugh with its stupidness), which I started way back in the day of my gay war against
ali_wildgoose. It is an inadvisable JJ slash fanfic chronicling (obviously--it's a chronicle!) the three great loves of JJ's life. Mainly, I saw a need because there is not enough JJ slash in the world, and that ain't right. I kind of feel like I have to wait until the end of the series to see how things work out, though.Here's an excerpt from part one:
Title: The Jeong Jeong Chronicles, part I: A Youthful Heart.
(I am trying to think of ridiculous titles for the three parts, too.)
Pairing: Iroh/Jeong Jeong
It was easy to ignore at first, the way his pulse quickened, the strange, tight feeling in his throat that made it difficult to swallow--which curiously enough was accompanied by a compulsion to swallow far too frequently. Jeong Jeong put it down to nerves, though he had never been of a nervous disposition. However, it didn't make sense that the feeling came over him most frequently and most strongly when the crown prince was present. He had no reason to be nervous around Iroh. Iroh was his friend.
Theirs was something of an unusual friendship. Jeong Jeong came from a good family, highly respectable, if not as wealthy as some, but he was hardly royalty. He and the prince had met purely by chance. As a boy of ten, Iroh had snuck out of the palace one evening. It had been a rather complicated operation, as Fire Lord Azulon was at that time growing tired of his son's daring escapes and had posted extra guards around the palace walls. Yet they hadn't been enough to keep Iroh in. Nothing could keep Iroh in, when he wanted to get out.
Jeong Jeong had absented himself from home that very same evening, but not for purposes of amusement. He had made his way to the woods to practice Firebending. His father, who was also his teacher, had forbidden him to learn the more complicated forms. He had been drilled in all of the basic moves until they were second nature to him.
Fortunately, there was a collection of scrolls detailing a number of the more advanced moves in his family library, and he had managed to find them in the little locked cupboard where they'd been hidden away. He'd taken one of them in the afternoon and hidden it behind his bed. All that afternoon and evening, he'd waited, thinking of his secret prize, hoping it wouldn't be discovered.
It wasn't mischief, he told himself. It was education. Father underestimated him. He had mastered all the basic forms already. Everyone said he had great skill for his age. His mother was always telling their friends and relatives that Jeong Jeong was a genuine prodigy. He knew he was ready to advance, no matter what his father thought. He wouldn't do any harm. He would return the scroll and then sneak back into his room, and his family would be none the wiser.
He brought a lantern with him and walked silently through the trees, stepping softly so as not to break any twigs. He had never before come out at night without permission. It was dark, but he was not afraid. He was eight years old; he no longer believed in ghosts or monsters, and there had not been bandits in these woods for more than a hundred years. No one would bother him. He had waited until his parents had gone to bed. Everyone was sleeping now.
He had spent a great deal of time in the woods, and he knew them well, but everything looked different at night. Once or twice he almost took the wrong path, but he knew where he was going. He had a practice ground in mind.
The largest clearing he knew of was only a little way into the forest, but it was far enough in that the glow of his bending would be hidden by the trees. A building had once stood there, but it had fallen many years before he was born. Parts of the foundation could still be glimpsed here and there, poking up from the soil that had swallowed it. He often played in the clearing during the day. On one edge of the open space, a great tree grew, towering above its neighbors. It cast a cool shadow even on the hottest days, and its branches were broad and widespread, ideal for climbing. The clearing had given them the freedom to grow.
There were a few saplings growing in the clearing, and the brush was fairly thick in places, but overall it was the best place for bending in secret that he could think of.
Jeong Jeong searched the grass for stones until he had four that were vaguely fist-sized. Then he sank to his knees on the ground, unrolled the scroll, and placed a stone at each corner of the parchment. He studied the pictures and calligraphy by the light of the lantern. He hadn't dared to look at the scroll in the house for more than a few scant minutes, worried that he would be seen. If father had caught him, he would never have been allowed to learn any advanced techniques.
The form detailed in the scroll didn't seem too difficult. He scrutinized it for several minutes, moving his arms into the positions the pictures illustrated, frowning thoughtfully. He could do this, he was sure of it. His gaze passed over the pictures again and again. Eventually he was aware of an ache in his legs, and he realized he had been kneeling for quite some time.
Slowly, Jeong Jeong got to his feet. He walked away from lantern and scroll, to what he deemed to be the clearest part of the clearing. He settled into the opening stance and took a deep breath. He was ready. He walked through the form once without bending, not putting any breath into the moves. It felt right to him. He returned to his beginning position and took another breath. He centered himself, then moved.
Initially, everything went well. His feet and hands moved as they were supposed to. The bursts and streams of fire he released with each breath flowed as he wished them to, went out as he willed him to.
But then something--afterwards he wasn't quite sure what--happened. Either he turned a foot wrong or waved a hand carelessly. There was a flash of flame where he didn't expect one to be, too close to his face. He felt its heat, almost hot enough to be painful, and he gasped, jerking his head back. Somehow, at this point, more flames blossomed from his palm, arcing from his hand down into the brush.
There was a crackle, and the flames that had struck the ground shuddered, then rose. In a matter of moments, the clearing was on fire.
...to be continued.
Secondly, I am almost finished "Steam", a lamentable story, the premise of which is: "What if instead of killing Hahn, Zhao captured and tortured him?" ;_______; I know, I'm a bad person.
Here's another excerpt!
Title: Steam
Pairing: Zhao/Hahn (OTP)
The metal was tight around his wrists and ankles. They had stripped him of his stolen Fire Nation armor, but he didn't mind that. The chains were what he minded. He closed his eyes, then opened them again, but it didn't make any difference, as the room was dark. He pulled at his chains, but they allowed him little movement. He was bound between two metal posts, the chains taut, his arms stretched out at his sides. His legs were similarly bound, although he could move them a little more. But not enough.
He hated it. He'd never had his movement restricted like this. He pulled again, trying to draw in his arms. When the realization that he was trapped sunk in, his breath came faster, labored. He couldn't get free. Why was he trying? He didn't know. His thoughts fragmented. He was in a panic. Thrashing. He could feel his wrists and ankles bruising.
"You'll injure yourself doing that." A low dry voice spoke from the door, which had just opened with a creak of metal hinges. "Not that I mind."
He stilled. A dim, reddish light came from the doorway. The tall figure standing within it was backlit, shadowy as it stepped inside. The door closed again moments later, and the darkness returned, heavier than before now that it was not empty.
It was a temporary darkness. A bright flare ended it, and he blinked--the light hurt his eyes. When he reopened his eyes, the room's two lamps were lit, and he was staring up at the Fire Navy admiral. The man was looking down at him impassively, although there was a slight tension in the muscles around his lips; he was almost smiling.
He looked so foreign, his skin pale and his eyes golden-brown. Even his hair was foreign: his cheeks bristling with sideburns and a topknot like a small, closed fist crowning his head. The man was no longer wearing his elaborate armor, but had donned a rust-colored robe. He took a step closer. "I rarely keep your kind alive, but I thought I'd make an exception."
Hahn spoke through clenched teeth. "I won't tell you anything." He felt calmer now that he had something--someone--tangible to focus on. Nonetheless, he felt a tightness in his chest and an unaccustomed flutter filled his throat.
The man shrugged. "Fine. I don't need you to talk. You don't know anything of use."
The man didn't answer his question. "Water Tribe boy." He took another step closer. "Usually I prefer not to dirty myself with filth like you. But soon enough there won't be many of you left. So why not take this opportunity?"
Hahn bristled. He didn't like being talked to like this. It was worse than being manacled, in a way. "What do you want, Admiral Shong?"
"Admiral Zhao." The man's hand fastened on his face and hard fingers pressed between his jaws, forcing his mouth open. "Say it."
...to be continued.
And finally, a touching tale of brothers in arms, a.k.a. Bato and Hakoda. Awwww.
Title: To the Abbey
Pairing: Hakoda/Bato
It was quick, as it always was: the scuffle and blaze of battle. Too quick. No matter how many times he fought, he was never prepared for the rush of it. The clanging of weapons, and, again and again, the heat and color of fire, blossoming like a brutal flower on all sides. He responded to the fire without thinking. Draw back. Jump to the side. Wait for the pause between blasts, then strike. Experience had turned training into instinct. Long experience.
When it ended--his breath a heated rasp, sweat gluing his tunic to his body--Hakoda was relieved to be still standing. He did not doubt his skill as a warrior, and he was not afraid of death, but he understood it, and he had lost too many good men (brave men, his friends) to the Firebenders not to realize that death was not necessarily the end product of failure or inexperience. It came without reason or warning.
He didn't have time to stand still contemplating death. He had his men to see to, and he moved.
"Hakoda--" A voice called his name, and he turned. A few figures were gathered around another of their number. Someone had fallen. Not dead, he hoped silently. Already beginning to walk in that direction, Hakoda looked for Bato. He looked for Bato first after a battle without needing to think about it; it was simply what he did.
He didn't see his friend.
He knew at once what must have happened, and the hope came again, stinging him this time: Not dead. "It's Bato," someone said, although Hakoda knew that already. Someone moved aside for him.
Bato lay on the ground, smiling up at him. Hakoda knelt beside him, smiling a little himself at the sight of Bato's eyes, open and clear. The smile soon faded as Hakoda saw the extent of his injuries. Bato's left arm was badly burned from wrist to shoulder, the skin blistering. It wasn't as bad as some burns he'd encountered, and again, Hakoda felt the burden of experience as he was easily able to estimate that they would most likely be able to save the arm if Bato was treated in time.
...to be continued.
Of course, before I do any of this, I have to write the next chapter for
perfect_info, or Ali's gonna kill me! Well, she'll make puppy eyes at me, which is bad enough.Oh god, I just realized that every one of the three previewed stories involves fire/burning. I'm so Fire Nation-centric.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-04-22 06:02 pm (UTC)SCORE ONE FOR FIRENATION PROPAGANDA!
*arms up*
Just a fly by comment, crazy stuff happening today. ;_;
no subject
Date: 2008-04-22 06:04 pm (UTC)Aww, that's ok, baby. I hope the crazy stuff gets sorted out! *hugs*
no subject
Date: 2008-04-22 06:15 pm (UTC)these are all soooooo hooooooot.
you racist ;D
no subject
Date: 2008-04-22 06:18 pm (UTC)It's true, I guess, I'm an Avatar racist! Might as well admit it! I blame Sozin. :3
no subject
Date: 2008-04-22 06:23 pm (UTC)It was totes not his fault! ;3
no subject
Date: 2008-04-22 07:16 pm (UTC)OH SOZIN, SAY YOU DIDN'T MEAN IT ;______;
no subject
Date: 2008-04-22 07:29 pm (UTC)LOLS HYBRISTOPHILIA
SBA
Date: 2008-04-22 06:20 pm (UTC)But in a different way from the Unsinkable Glory of Hakato. <3
STEAM: LAMENTABLE STORY OF MY DEGENERATE DREAMS
Haha, you are quite the little firefly, aren't you? ;3
Hurrah for works in progress!
Mmm, inadvisable...
SBA OTP
Date: 2008-04-22 07:21 pm (UTC)(OMG I WANNA DRAW THEM FIGHTING BACK TO BACK AND I'LL CALL IT FIRE & STEEL)
Er, ok, that was a little spoilery maybe.
You are Steam's biggest fan! I've been cruel to deny you. I could finish it up in an hour or two, probably--why am I so mean?
Inadvisable--and irresistible! :3
Re: SBA OTP
Date: 2008-04-22 07:27 pm (UTC)Baby, why are you so good to me? KILLING ME WITH FIRE AND STEEL? *weeps*
♥ ♥ ♥
Haha, you are not mean!
You're a cute little squid with so many wonderful catches of interest, and only so many tentacles! ;3
I wait patiently for the IRRESISTABLY INADVISABLE. *swoons*
no subject
Date: 2008-04-22 06:47 pm (UTC)2) He looked for Bato first after a battle without needing to think about it; it was simply what he did. OF COURSE. That's how it should be!
3) *PUPPY EYES* O_O
no subject
Date: 2008-04-22 07:13 pm (UTC)2. That's right, he loves Bato! It's so lovely. ;______;
3. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, NOT PUPPY EYES!
no subject
Date: 2008-04-22 07:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-22 07:22 pm (UTC)*weeps*