Thank you for making dovil. And thank you for making fic writers who write about fictional men having ass-babies. And writing it as if it was something normal. And for them writing about delivering a child from an ass (or elsewhere - ahem) being BEEYOUTEEFUL. Because having had three children, one being a natural-delivery and me calling you lots of dirty names (sorry about that - I bet you get that all the time) I TOTALLY buy a man shitting a baby out, and then crowds of people wanting to hug and kiss the baby and them not noticing the poo all over it. Because it's BEEYOUTEEFUL. Man, seriously. Thanks for that. *wipes tear*
Signed, Smart Ass
Here's my Mpreg Ficathon Entry. See if you can spot my favorite characterizations. It's like Where's Waldo, but with fic!
Little Mama: Mayor Wilkins. Pre- and up through "Choices."
Proud Papa: I'm not telling - gotta read. Heh.
MPreg Ficathon for dovil
"Kitten, I'm not going to lie to you. Things are going to get a bit strange around here. But it's all necessary if I'm going to make my Ascension."
"When you say weird, you talking 'construction workers in high heels' weird or 'monkeys flying out of your a-' "
"Hey, hey! Language! You might be the most perfect little killing machine in my outfit, but you're still a lady, and I want you to sound like one. Weird like... the second one. Now, I've got some very important things coming up on the horizon. And, gosh, I can't do any of this without your help."
Faith begins to glow with the Mayor's praise, but as he lists her upcoming duties and tasks he needs her to perform over the next few days, she becomes quiet. Faith is a good little Do-Bee for her boss. She starts when he tells her all the steps necessary for his transformation into pure demon, but he reassures her that no matter what he looks like on the outside, he'll still love his little girl. And hey. It's not like Faith hasn't seen some crazy stuff in her life, right?
Faith sneaks out of Principal Snyder's office, booty wrapped in protective plastic. A few glances to the left and right, coast is clear, and she's out the door and into the night.
"Man, this is some jacked up-"
She cuts her own swear words off now, hearing his voice in her head, reminding her to be a lady. She laughs, shakes her head clear, then hops into the waiting limo down the block.
The car pulls away and painstakingly follows the speed limit, Mayor's orders.
"Aren't you just the cat's pajamas! My little Faith. Ya little firecracker." The Mayor is beaming at his Number One Slayer who is holding in a double-thickness of plastic wrap the main ingredient for the next stage to bring about the Ascension. Faith crosses the room, plops the plastic package on the Mayor's desk, flicks the "germs" from her fingers, and hops/plops on the sofa next to his desk. The Mayor winces, and opens a drawer to his desk.
"Hey, now! This is a place of business, not a jungle-gym! Here." He tosses a small, square, paper package at Faith, who deftly catches it with one hand. Wet-Nap™.
"Aw, Boss, I feel like I need one for my whole body after that job. Bleargh."
"You know what? Have a cookie. Then you scootch, MaGooch, on back to your place, get a good night's sleep, and then I want to see you back here at 9:00am sharp."
Faith stands, grins from ear to ear, then snatches a cookie from the plate that seems to never empty. Probably has a spell on it or something, she thinks. "You sure you don't need me to do anything else, Boss? I'm wicked wired. I don't think I'll sleep for a while yet..." She trails off, hopeful to be of use.
The Mayor leans back in his chair, task momentarily forgotten. He smiles sweetly, looks back to his desk blotter, and replies, "No, no, you've done all I need. I think I need to be all by my lonesome on this part. Good kid, Faith. I can always count on you, can't I?"
Faith shoots double guns at him as she walks backwards to the door, "'Til the day I die. Laters."
Mayor Richard Wilkins, the Third, gives a small shudder at that parting shot. "Edna Mae would say I looked like a goose just walked over my grave. Alright, Dickie. Time to get moving."
The Mayor unwraps the plastic package gingerly. Buried amongst all the cellophane is a small, black comb. He picks it up by the edge and sniffs delicately, immediately makes a face and puts it down. "Egads. And fresh. Well. Time's a wasting."
He pushes away from his desk, crosses the room to the hidden panel in the wall, and pulls out a few magic supplies. He sprinkles a strange, orange powder into a pentagram around the hair-comb, lights a candle, and encants a few words in basic Latin.
Substantia aliande pusillus humanus
Planta de magus
A swirling, orange light spirals up from the sebaceous fluids on the comb, then splashes against the Mayor's abdomen with such force, his arms are flung backwards, and he appears suspended in the air momentarily. The light begins to subside, and Richard Wilkins, the Third, sinks back into his chair, seemingly spent. He hisses as he feels a tiny pinprick at the base of his belly. He rubs a protective hand over the waist of his trousers, then laughs at himself.
"Too bad I never learned to knit. I guess I'd be half-way through a pair of booties right about now. Not like it will ever need booties, however."
He's grumpy. All. The. Time. Mr. Grumpigus. Captain Frowny Face. If had actually heard any of his staff calling him those names, he would have had no problem using the Big Pliers in the bottom drawer of his desk at the next staff meeting. The only one he can depend on, the only one who seems to CARE is his little tiger, Faith. She waits on him hand and foot. She can sense the tension building in him, but he hasn't let her know what the cause of the tension is. It's been a full week since he used the sweat and grease from Snyder's head to create the offering of weak, ineffectual human-baby flesh for the Gordok demons, and thus, allow him to take one step closer to becoming pure demon in his own right.
According to the ancient scrolls, the more puerile and sniveling the human, the stronger the flesh will be for the sacrifice. The greater the hunger built up, and the easier it would be for him to devour the inhabitants of the Box of Gavrok. When Richard thought of puerile and ineffectual, only one man came to mind: Principal Reginald Eugene Snyder. Some part of him, the part that still loves a parade, the sight of Old Glory flapping in the breeze, and fresh-squeezed lemonade appreciates that the thing growing in him is a feeble, small cretin. It makes things simple. And a man that has had a subscription to Reader's Digest for going on 74 years is a man that appreciates simplicity.
Although his beloved was never able to give him his own little Jane or Jack, he knew that pregnant women suffer from horrible cravings. Heck, he had longed for Edna Mae to shake him one night asking for cod-fish and bread pudding until he thought his heart would break with the wanting. But that wasn't to be their lot in life. And without someone to come after him to continue the Wilkins legacy in Sunnydale, well, gosh, he'd just taken that matter into his own hands. But bugs? Bugs the size of softballs? Professional regulation 90 foot infield sized softballs? He pours through the remaining volumes of text, mindless of the drool forming in the corner of his mouth. There are several illustrations of the creatures contained within the Box of Gavrok.
Well, Snyder is a nasty, little bug, so it's no surprise that his get likes the taste of them.
He puts the book back on its shelf, shakes a shrunken head plucked off the third shelf from the top, giggles at the rattling noise, and hums "Dem Bones" as he makes his way back to his desk. The Mayor pours himself a nice, healthy, sane glass of whole milk. He feels a fluttery movement in his abdomen. It takes all of his will power to not retch. You don't stay in political power for almost 100 years without a little will-power. Not realizing what he's doing, he licks the shrunken head. The quivering subsides. The Mayor reaches across his desk, still holding the charm, and hits the intercom button.
"Send Faith in here. Now."
"You called? Uh... Boss?" A long, pregnant pause. "Sir?"
The Mayor stopped sniffing and snuffling the shrunken head (it's so wee. It's like its Daddy) and blinked several times, followed by both hands coming up and smoothing the perfectly coiffed hair back into a proper Mayor-do.
"Faith. I have an important job for you. You might say... the most important job. One of those 'everything depends on it' type jobs. Can't trust anyone but my Faithy, now can I?"
Faith relaxes her stance, mentally forces herself to relax the grimace from her face, and gets her head back in the game. He said it would get monkey-butt weird, after all.
"Yeah. Sure. Gimmie the deets."
"You kids and your slang! Is that the latest? Take something and make it shorter? Abreev? Like that? Ha ha!"
Faith can't help but give a small chuckle and shake her head.
"Okay, game on. Clocks running down, Kiddo. I need you to meet a delivery man."
Such a good girl. His little Jane. But not that insipid See Jane, nosiree, Bob. That's my Faith. She brought the box, and the little whipper-snapper tried to open it. No, no, no, no. That wouldn't do. Not meant for her, heck that'd just about ruin everything! A pat on the head, a well-meant thanks, a little gift of steel, and now Mayor Wilkins was alone with his thoughts about the box, now safely under magicks in a separate room. And this wasn't any old box, not even one of those light blue boxes the gals went cookoo for. No, this was The Box. Of Gavrok, to be precise. And wasn't he just hungry? Wasn't he just the hungriest? Couldn't have pickles and ice cream, or sauerkraut and Hershey's Kisses, no way, no how. Had to be bugs. Big, crunchity, crispity demon bugs that would eat up his demon spawn growing in his... Best not to think about where it was growing. But they'd eat. And transmute the thing to the Gordoks, don't you know, and he just bet it tasted like chicken. Which, loosely translated into Gordokian meant "Throk." Which rhymed with "Bawk," and wasn't that a fine, how-do-you-do for the demon offspring of one Principal Snyder? The Mayor thinks Snyder is the biggest chi-
The door slams open as a security vampire races in to tell him the box had been compromised. That the other Slayer (lesser Slayer) has taken it. That-
A quivering pencil shuts up that train of babble. Something down deep in his belly gives a twist and a kick. The Mayor has a sickening image of a fetus with incredibly large ears and a comb over shaking a fist at such lax security. As he is bringing his fists down to the table in fit of anger, Faith saves the day. Well, saves his day. A cute little Wicca is at the end of the knife held expertly in the hands of his Best Girl, Faith.
"Well, now. Looks like things aren't all bad. I just had to have a little faith, huh? Did you see how I did that there? Kiddo, aren't you just the bee's knees?"
Faith tilts her head to one side, a grin plastered on her face, arm tight around Willow's body, other arm tense - knife held just at the girl's jugular.
Drugs. They're dealing drugs in my school. In my school. Well. We'll just see about that, won't we?
Principal Snyder little-man-marches down the hall to the sound of the skirmish coming from the cafeteria.
Probably cooking their PCP - their angel dust - in here. The filthy hooligans. Oh, they will rue the day they ever crossed the path of one R.E. Snyder. I'll finally get to use that line from The Breakfast Club. I'll tell them I'm going to crack skulls, and then I'll tell them the bull is going to get them by the horns and then-
Something is calling to him - not where anyone could hear it. After spinning on his cheap, imitation Florscheims (the tasseled loafers were 10 extra dollars, and he could think of MANY things to do with ten dollars, I thank you) and not finding the source of the voice, he realizes it is coming from his head. That's impossible. That's crazy talk. There will be NO crazy talk in my school!
"Daddy. They're going to eat me. I'll never grow up and be a principal like you if they eat me."
"Ha ha, very funny. If you think that's going to stop me from cracking skulls on your... Dammit! I was saving that!" He whines to no one. Except the off-duty cop/security guard following him, but since Barney Fife has done nothing to stop the drug dealing in the first place, it seems that nothing would phase that boob.
"Follow me." Snyder snaps a hand up into the air, picks up his little-man swagger where he's left it off, and quick-times it into the cafeteria. And finds...
Buffy. Oh, god, is life sweet. But... Miss Rosenberg? Mr. Giles? Mayor WILKINS? And some delinquent in clothes that violates at least nine of the school's dress code by-laws.
"Daddy! They're going to let the bugs eat me! Don't let them get the bugs!"
Snyder simply clamps down on the part of his brain that allows crazy talk in. He pushes the rational side forward with a vengeance, turns the word "bugs" into "drugs" and immediately feels the need to wet himself subsiding. Mistakenly left unchecked, Barney Fife opens up some ornate box (that's where the drug money is kept) and something crawls out and kills him. It killed a cop! (Off-duty) In Snyder's school! Somewhere in the deep recesses of Snyder's brain, where the clicks and clacks tell him he is IMPORTANT is a part of his brain that plays the whistling from The Good, THe Bad, and The Ugly.
It's about time I brought the LAW back to Sunnyda-
Cutting out this noise is the voice of The Mayor (is he dealing drugs? Is this some sort of test? Oh, my God!) saying something about 50 billion more bugs(drugs) in the box. Snyder feels a part of his brain trying to release his bladder again. The British man says something. Giles. Mr. Giles says something.
"Daddy! Please don't let them eat meeeeee!"
No, not that voice. That voice isn't real. They - the deliquents and their Limey instigator - aren't speaking to Snyder anyway. He shakes himself out of his stupor, turns to the remaining crowd and questions, "You. All of you. Why couldn't you be dealing drugs(bugs) like normal people?
The limo races one mile over the posted speed limit back to the office. The Mayor is trying to ignore the puling, peevish voice coming from his... Well, best not to think about where it was coming from. He feigns a burp, pats his lower belly, and doesn't look Faith in the eye as she searches his face.
"Manny? Go on and take us up to three miles over. I'm ready to get started."
Faith raises her eyebrows at this lawlessness. Something's up.
After a quick security check, and reassurance to Faith that he'd be fine, really, but he has to do this next part in solitude, he settles uncomfortably in his chair, thinking of how grateful he was that Faith didn't comment on the bulge beginning to form on his... Well, somewhere there wasn't normally a bulge, that's for gosh-darn sure. He checks his To Do List for May 4, 1999. All that's left on his list is to consume the contents of the box of Gavrok, allow them to consume the hateful little creature growing in his... well, growing where it shouldn't, appease the Gordok demons of his debt and Bob's your uncle! Ascension time.
Richard Wilkins, the Third, Mayor of Sunnydale for, gosh, has it been one hundred years? Give or take, yeah, about that, works his way through the first little critter, and senses on the back of his palate the picquant taste of almond. And chicken.
Don't need you, little one. I have all the family I need.
*Latin encantation roughly translates to:
Oil from a tiny man
Plant of magic
A life, tragic.
For those that may LIKE Mpreg? No offense meant. Having fun. Here. Have another Mpreg on me.