Mpreg Meme

[weirdlet]

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.)

Comments

Late!late!Bonus!fic- After The War 4/?

[weirdlet.livejournal.com]

He comes to somewhere between waking and oblivion, and can go no farther. Someone is rubbing his hands, his feet- he starts to shiver, and a pathetic noise escapes him as feeling returns to them and it hurts.

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/?

[weirdlet.livejournal.com]

They spend the next- twelve, eighteen hours that way, while the storm howls overhead. Jet rests almost as much as he pretends to, and Blue-Mask is as forthcoming with answers as ever.

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/?

[weirdlet.livejournal.com]

It turns out that Blue-Mask had his base-camp actually kinda really close to where home is. And the place isn’t abandoned- the central meeting-house is closed down, but the same two personal dwellings they’d cleared together are still in working order.

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/?

[weirdlet.livejournal.com]

Zuko is getting up, grimacing- his hair’s black and messy where it spills out from under his cowl, knocked askew. He keeps his distance this time, and there’s some of the old, wary Lee again.

“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/?

[weirdlet.livejournal.com]

Zuko wants to offer what hospitality he can- but Jet’s been burned too many times, by too many people, and a wounded animal often goes back to its den to lick its wounds, even against all sense. Especially against all sense, when Jet’s involved. So the mother of the Firelord’s heir does not wind down his time in the royal palace, attended and worshipped and coddled to bring about health and comfort for bearer and child. He lives on barren platforms in the trees, dependent on his two friends’ hunting skills for food and open to the dangers of the wilderness and weather.

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.