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Mpreg Meme
I'd intended to toss one of these out there someday, only to find I was not alone, and held off to enjoy the others^^ So- if it please you, toss me a pairing/person and a prompt, and I'll see what I can cook up. Avatar fandom only, please, although if it's something I recognize I'll see what I can come up with.
Let's say two prompts per person, promise of one ficbit.
Don't be shy, it's all in good cracky fun!
(Standard warning about not being superfast applies.)
Let's say two prompts per person, promise of one ficbit.
Don't be shy, it's all in good cracky fun!
(Standard warning about not being superfast applies.)
Late!late!Bonus!fic- After The War 2/?
There’s also apparently a warrant out for his arrest, for war crimes, banditry and generally being an annoying little fucker to the powers that be- and he’s not real fast on his feet these days, so they actually catch him. He notes that there’s red flags and green mingled when he’s hauled before the judge, and a woman in scholarly robes and with a sour, spectacled visage is waiting in his place.
She’s his law-speaker, apparently, and when he’s summarily ordered to the gallows after the listing of his crimes, she pleads his belly for him. The judge is not amused.
“Maybe I’m just a supremely ugly girl, ever think of that?” Jet barks, and his lawyer shushes him before he can get himself arrowed rather than hung. But there’s an exam, and a stay of sentencing, and very shortly he’s gestating in a jail-cell, waiting and- well-
Just waiting.
The little thumper that Katara told him is a baby girl shifts inside of him, sometimes quite visibly- and because it freaks out his jailers, he’s nonchalant about it, just resting and waiting for something to happen. The place is badly constructed and drafty, and he starts coughing after about a week.
He’s pissed at himself and the world and at his high-and-mighty-Highness-Firelord-‘Lee’. He’d stood ready to die for sake of the world being free of the Fire Nation and the sake of making them hurt like they’d hurt him- and now he’s going to die for it and leave a little half-breed girl to their mercies, to be raised among sympathizers and traitors if she ever gets to grow up at all.
He’s going to die, and that lying fucker is going to let him.
It isn’t something he wants to admit caring about. How he could ever have been that much of a fool, to doubt even for a second that anything from a firebender’s hand could do aught but burn him?
Jet curls up on his bench, too tired to chip at mortar or try and charm guards that are afraid of him like he’s contagious (who knows, with the coughing he might be). Smellerbee and Longshot took him at his word when he sent them away this time- he has no doubt they’re working on something, but they haven’t wasted their chances on visits. And if he doesn’t dream of the little light or the burning village, or the million other things no one should ever see, there should be no disturbances to a long night’s shivering.
…
Late!late!Bonus!fic- After The War 3/?
Blue-Mask looks up and lays a gloved finger atop his carved lips; Jet crosses his arms, as much to keep out the chill as to emphasize his glower.
The man at the bars fiddles with the keys a little more, and with a faint click the door eases open. No squeal- must’ve been oiled before he’d woken up. Blue-Mask gives him a necessarily blank look and eases in, glancing behind before he reaches back into the rucksack he’s wearing and comes up with-
Well, what do you know? Someone’s thought things out- there’s boots to guard against the snow he knows is laying thick on the ground. Overlarge tunic to layer over his prison-issued one, a cloak as well. And behind his back-
Jet reaches out for the shang gou, and if they aren’t the pair they took off him on arrest then they’re damn well good enough for now. Only Blue-Mask straight-arms him, square in the tenderest part of his chest, and gestures him both to hush and to wait at his hiss- and Jet wants to suckerpunch him and take them anyway, but he’s fat with child and awaiting execution and he wants out more than he wants his weapons.
Mostly.
He hurries into the clothes he’s been provided and watches as Blue-Mask moves to the hard bench where he’d been sleeping, lithe muscle moving expertly under black cloth. He takes another thing from his pack- a scroll of parchment that looks like it cost more than anything Jet’s ever owned, seals in red and gold and black dangling from the edge, and fancy-carved end-caps that shout High! Class! Fire Nation!
This is set carefully in place in the middle of his bunk, and Jet feels his fists clench. Blue Mask turns around and looks at him, and he forces them to relax, to pull the cloak close around him and follow when his rescuer indicates the door with a jerk of his head and ghosts away.
Jet follows at his quickest waddle, and they pad swiftly through the halls, evading the jailers and the guards on the rounds and waking anyone else- it’s not a fortress, and soon enough they’re out and not a drop of blood spilled nor alarm raised.
It’s just as cold out as he thought, and as they make their way through alleys and shadowed paths, snow starts to fall. It’s not a blizzard- yet- but before morning, hell, before an hour’s gone past, their tracks are going to be gone.
Someone really thought this through. He’s not sure he trusts the intent behind it, but he can admire the mind that came up with the scheme.
A lot of luck and a lot more breathless struggling sees them over the town wall- a rope over each side could be missed where a ladder wouldn’t, and Jet tries to appreciate the subtlety, but needing a boost to get his ass over is doing nothing to improve his mood. Still- they’re down, and from there it’s a straight shot into the woods and he knows where to go from there.
Blue-Mask doesn’t take off. In fact, once they’re well into the tree-line, he stops and perforce Jet stops as well, a black-gloved hand grasping his wrist.
Now that there are no guards around to tempt him into confrontation, the silent man offers up the shang gou, and Jet grasps them for a moment, grinning in satisfaction to feel them in his hands again. But the snow is falling, thick if not fast, and he’s cold. The hookswords go onto his belt, and he follows the shadowy figure as they wade deeper into the night.
It’s not easy going. The groundcover’s nearly knee-high and rising with the snowfall, and Jet is losing feeling in his hands, his feet, his face. Blue-Mask holds on to his arm, and guides him as he clutches the cloak tight. The wind’s picking up, and his teeth chatter as he tries to keep his eyes open for the Freedom Fighters and their own secret trail signs.
Soon he’s just trying to keep his eyes open at all, trying not to tumble forward into the snow. He’s losing it, and all he can hope is that this wasn’t how Blue-Mask meant to kill him.
…
Late!late!Bonus!fic- After The War 4/?
Lips cover his, and warmth blossoms in him like the burn of liquor, down to his very core.
Jet’s not sure if that part’s a dream or not, but he’ll take it.
He finally opens his eyes, and Blue-Mask is crouched across a campfire from him. They’re in a tent, small and snug; he smells meat and spice from the small pot on the fire and his mouth waters and the baby stretches in him, which he takes to mean that Thumper’s hungry too.
“Hey,” he tries.
Blue-Mask looks up at his croak. Jet tries to pull himself upright- his snow-soaked outer garments are gone, steaming by the fire, and he’s wrapped in blankets. The hookswords are laid out neatly in arm’s reach of him.
He’s got a cup of the soup in his hands and Blue-Mask’s back across the fire from him in the space of a dizzy blink. He thinks, there’s been easier ways to kill him and first sips, then sculls it. It’s hot. Not just warming, there’s a sizzling edge to the broth that sears the tongue and clears the sinuses, and he coughs after.
It grows, and try as he might to clamp down it rattles in him until he’s doubled over, hacking and shaking and someone’s holding his shoulders like they’re trying to keep him from shaking himself to death, or addling the egg he’s carrying.
Finally the spasm eases, and then stops. The hands withdraw from his shoulders, and he opens his eyes to see Blue-Mask back in place across the tent from him.
“Wow,” he rasps dizzily, and suddenly there’s a mug of half-melted snow at hand- though he actually saw the guy move this time. He’s on the verge of laughing, but that’ll just set it off again, so he gives his most charming after-battle grin and knows he looks crazy. “You sure know how to bring a guy back to life, stranger.”
Blue-Mask doesn’t say anything, just sits back and does his best impersonation of a statue, and a good long while passes in silence during which Jet tries to put his brain back together.
Thumper does one of those ‘let’s-see-if-we-can-make-daddy-nauseous’ somersaults in him, and he swears Blue-Mask follows the movement. Jet looks back at him over the rim of his mug and considers his rescuer through the slowly-clearing haze. He’s been saved from the gallows, but he’s in the middle of a snowstorm, separated from his friends, his resources, and he knows there’s only one thing he’s got left more valuable than his neck stretched on the gibbet.
If his weapons hadn’t been left- very carefully- within plain view, he might have tackled the guy already. This is a very cozy cage, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to let himself be hauled away as a prize by anyone who knows enough to value him or his kid alive.
He plays tired and lays back down, pretending to sleep off the cold some more. Blue-Mask watches him for a while, and pulls the soup off the fire before taking a cup and stepping outside the tent.
…
Late!late!Bonus!fic- After The War 5/?
It’s weird.
Jet’s trying to read the guy who’s taken his life in his hands, and is coming up with conflicting signals. There’s discipline there, and rare skill- but not professional. The guy’s got the mask between him and the world, but Jet thinks it’s because he needs it- it gives him the cold detachment a professional would already have.
The guy wants him comfortable. The food is one thing, but the nest of blankets, the care when he was coming out of the freeze, leaving him his weapons as a good-behavior bribe? And if this is a trap meant to lull him into coming quietly, wouldn’t it have been sprung and the pretense dropped by now?
He thinks he knows, and it lessens the guilt when Blue-Mask looks out the tent flap, indicates that the storm’s gone, and gets a cooking pot to the back of the head for his troubles.
Honey or vinegar- he knows bait when he tastes it.
From there Jet moves as fast as he can. He leaves Blue-Mask tied (quality rope, there), firmly but not damagingly, and rearranges the fire to burn warm but not out of control for a good while before bundling into every layer of warm clothing he can squeeze into.
He hesitates at the entrance, hefting the shoulder bag he’s filled with useful things, and starts to step out the door. Blue-Mask is breathing, warm and set up in the tent behind him- if he’s resourceful as he’s been so far, he’ll make his way back to civilization no problem. Jet needs to get moving and figure out where he is, and how far away home might be from here.
He wonders if this Firelord that Lee has become is one who takes care of things through agents, or does his own dirty-work.
The tent-flap closes again.
The mask comes away and it can’t be put back, and as he bites back a curse, he knows he can really only blame himself for looking.
…
Late!late!Bonus!fic- After The War 7/?
Smellerbee and Longshot’s place has been lived in, recently. His- is just the way he left it, sealed and caulked for winter.
He waits for them up top.
Smellerbee’s eyes go wide when her head pops up over the edge of the platform; she drops the brace of winter turkeyducks she’s carrying and leaps for him, while Longshot retrieves her catch before it can fall to earth.
“Jet!”
“Hey, guys-oof-!”
He catches their embraces, holds them tight, and they’re all three laughing and crying all at once. They hug him, touch his face, touch his stomach, like they can’t believe he’s alive and whole. The relief, the love is real and so bright and warm after all this time.
Once the first glow dies down, though, so is the anger.
“Where’ve you guys been?” he asks, Longshot breaking off to start hanging up the catch while Smellerbee puts on water.
“We’ve been trying to figure out how to get to you- you were in the middle of town, and our faces were on the wanted posters. Jet- did you make it out- yourself?” she hesitates.
“You, ah, wouldn’t happen to know a guy- blue mask, never speaks?”
The water splashes.
“He found you!”
“Yeah- yeah, he found me,” Jet says, glancing between the two of them. “You guys gonna come with me so we can thank him properly?” He acts like he doesn’t see the flash of guilt, the surprise, the fear. They were in on it- they knew.
They follow him down anyway, and come upon the tent just as Lee is stumbling out, smoldering rope bits falling away from his wrists and feet.
Jet smiles, advances, and slams the other guy down into the snow so hard that he thinks if he were still wearing the mask it would fly off. Carrying Thumper may make him clumsy, but sometimes the extra weight has advantages.
“So- you were gonna ‘make it up to me if you could,’ huh?” he snarls, only partially holding back a coughing fit, and this can’t be Lee, Lee wouldn’t stare up at him so stupid, Lee would have wrestled him off and glowered and bit.
Lee wouldn’t have let him get his hands around his neck.
“What were you gonna do, huh? Drag me back to the Fire Nation, keep me ‘til I popped, then execute me? Like those bastards back in town were planning?!”
Smellerbee’s trying to drag him back, holding on to his shoulders and sinking her grip into the layers of cloth and tearing. Jet throws her off, gets up off of Lee who’s gasping for breath, the marks of his fingers growing livid in his pretty neck.
“And you two! You knew this guy was coming for me! You let him get to me!”
“We were trying to save you! Jet, they knew our faces! We couldn’t get near you, we had to get help!” she shouts up from the snow. Now it’s Longshot holding him back from Smellerbee, arms grappling up from under his.
“So you let the Firelord come get me, the guy who got me brainwashed, who wants my kid?”
“-said I wouldn’t take her,” and Lee, Zuko’s getting up from the snow, rubbing his throat with a wince. “I won’t. I left a pardon, back at the prison. You’re s’posed to- ow,” he pauses, and he dares to look up at him with something like humor, self-deprecating as it might be, glimmering in his eyes. “You really-“
His head snaps back when Jet clocks him, and Longshot holds on tight to keep him from managing that again.
“You son of a bitch! How dare you show your face around here! You lying bastard, you fuck up everything and then waltz back here when it’s convenient?”
Late!late!Bonus!fic- After The War 8/?
“I didn’t come here to hurt you, or to take the baby. I came here to try and keep you both from getting killed.”
“Oh no. You don’t get to throw me away, then decide I’m worth saving when you’ve got an army on your side and I’ve got your precious royal heir! She’s not, you hear me? She’s not Fire Nation, she’s not going to be a part of you scumbags, and I don’t want you around!”
“You don’t have to have me around. You just have to stop raiding the troops.” Fucker is standing there sounding reasonable, like that’s even an option now that he brings it up-
“Why would I do that?” Jet says, not fighting Longshot anymore but not unclenching his fists either. The archer wisely does not let him go. “The war’s over, it’s a brand new world, yeah, yeah- but even in this brand new world, I’m a wanted criminal for trying to drive off the invaders who burned down my home!”
Zuko’s staring at him, yellow eyes boring in like he’s trying to find a weak spot.
“I left an Imperial pardon back at the prison- saying you were to be forgiven your crimes and left alone, so long as you returned the favor. If you stop- if you don’t attack people anymore, then you’re safe. The baby’s safe.”
His breath is coming hard, and the crisp winter air is hitting him where it tickles with every outburst, but he’s trying to hold off another fit-
“Well, yippee! The Great and Powerful Firelord has once again reached across the seas and helped himself to whatever the hell he wants! Did you ever think I didn’t want to be forgiven? That I don’t think I committed any crime?!” He’s baiting Zuko, he knows it and he can’t stop and he doesn’t want to. The other boy won’t bite, and Jet wants to curse him back to his farthest ancestors for that calm, hurt look, wants him to go away because the cough’s rattling up inside him again and he can’t stop it…
“It’s not about you anymore.”
Longshot’s relaxing his grip and it’s a good thing, because Jet’s doubling over and coughing like there’s no tomorrow; and they’re all gathering around him even that bastard and he sweeps out an arm to try and fend him off-
Longshot and Smellerbee are holding on to him, crouched in the snow, and if he hadn’t slapped him away Lee- Zuko- would probably be on him too, holding him up until he stops shaking…
“Go-“ he gasps, stifles a cough- “-away. I don’t want you around here.”
“Jet-“ Smellerbee’s saying, gloved hands on his shoulder as he wheezes.
“No. No- I don’t care what argument you’re gonna try on me. I don’t want his help. I don’t want him here. I won’t- I’ll abide by the pardon, but I don’t want him anywhere near me, near us. Okay?” he says raggedly, tired, so tired.
…
Late!late!Bonus!fic- After The War 9/?
If they ‘hunt’ little caches that spring up just out of sight of the nearly abandoned tree-village, no one’s to say. Longshot still takes down muledeer and ground-rabbits, and Zuko assumes that Jet assumes Smellerbee’s using her less-notorious face to beg or steal rice and winter vegetables from local townsfolk.
Sometimes Jet is visible on the edge of this platform or another, though mostly he doesn’t risk the travel. His belly sticks out, round and big, and his cheeks aren’t as hollow as they might be.
Zuko has to take comfort in that.
The Blue Spirit cannot haunt these woods very often- there is duty to attend to, and tradition states that if this child will not be his heir, then his attentions should lie elsewhere so long as he fulfills his monetary obligations. The new Firelord has a reputation for bending, breaking, and otherwise realigning tradition- but he has to be present to do that, and he can only borrow Appa for stealth missions so many times in a week.
Mai knows he’s torn- if she is irritated, she doesn’t show it, nor rub salt in the wounds. In all other matters she’s willing to snap and yawn, to poke holes in his political theory and make him think about just how far his constituents will let him stray. In this, she is not silent- that would be worse than her anger. But she is the one who outlined his options, even the nasty ones, even the nice ones.
He thinks she’s counting this under the ‘things Zuko tortures himself with when he really doesn’t have to, but of course he has to, because if he didn’t he wouldn’t be Zuko’ category. When he comes back to the palace and falls into bed, she touches his hair, his back.
She’s had hostages to fortune, too.