HOME | DD

Description
So, a pregnant superheroine with a robot's head in tow. Enjoy.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a bright, sunny mid-autumn afternoon; the birds were chirping, there was hardly a cloud in the sky, and half of everyone in the city was milling about in fear, on account of the supervillain wrecking the business district. The other half, the southern half, was pretty pissed off. Not about the supervillain, per se, just pissed off in general.

All in all, a pretty normal day in Boston.

Today's villainous flavor du jour was a death-ray-spewing giant robot built by a mad scientist by the name of Doctor Atomicus, who was, surprisingly, trying to take over the world with his giant robot, something that no scientist, mad or otherwise had ever tried before. In fact, the complete originality of this plan must have been so overwhelming that the good doctor couldn't think of a better city to attack, like Washington or New York; places where he might actually have concievably been able to accomplish his goal.

Of the not insignificant portion of angry Bostonians, roughly one-half of them were women, as was to be expected. Roughly one third of them were currently pregnant; law of averages and all that. Only one, however, happened to be flying towards the robot at speeds in excess of eighty miles per hour, and curiously, she fit into all three categories. Her name was Victoria Valerie Valentine, or it least it had been before she had gotten married; the world at large, however knew her by a different name: Victorine.

Anyone who saw her flying by would make three observations: one, she was flying by very fast, two, that she couldn't have been a day over twenty, and three, that she was very pregnant. They would in fact be wrong, but two out of three isn't bad, and you really couldn't fault them for it; after all, who would believe that the girl who barely looked like she was old enough to vote was well into her forties? No one would, but it was the truth- Victoria had barely aged a day since the accident in college that had granted her her powers almost thirty years prior. She knew that eventually people were going to get suspicious- but at the moment she had far more more pressing concerns to deal with than her inability to grow old, such as her rapidly approaching parenthood and the giant robot wrecking her city, which may have been the bigger deal at that particular moment. Yeah, it probably was, now that she thought about it, even if it was less terrifying to her.

In the distance, she could see the glow of the robot's death rays.

"Are you insane?!" Michael shouted, dead set against the notion of his very pregnant wife going into battle with a rampaging killbot. "The baby is due in two days! This is a horrible idea!"

Victoria groaned. This wasn't the first time that they'd had this argument; they'd been trying to have kids for nearly a decade, and to date, she had gotten pregnant four times. All of them but had ended in gruesome miscarriages due to her superhuman immune system- all of them but one.

As she got closer, she could hear a booming, tinny voice coming from a speaker on the machine's chest; an elderly, raspy voice, making the oh-so-original demands for capitulation and the surrender of power, all while singing its owner's praises.

"Kneel before the awesome might of Doctor Atomicus, the brilliant future ruler of mankind!" the voice bellowed as imposingly as its no doubt ancient owner could muster. "Surrender your authority to me, or you shall all perish in agony!"

Hovering behind the robot's head, Victorine cleared her throat as loudly as she could.
"Who dares challenge the terror that is Doctor Atomicus?!" the robot's speaker shrieked.

"Uh, hi. I'm Victorine, and, well, I dare.”

Snappy repartee had never been her specialty.

With the grinding and clanking of gears and sprockets, the mechanical behemoth turned to fix its cold gaze upon Victorine. For a few moments, all was quiet as the giant automaton looked her up and down. Hoping to end the awkward silence, she cleared her throat again.

“You are this city’s defender?!” the good doctor exclaimed after a beat. “You, a barely pubescent strumpet without the decency to cover herself?!”

“I… did you just call me a teenage whore?!” the heroine demanded angrily. “First off, I’ll have you know that I am both married and an adult. Secondly, and more importantly, I fail to see how my marital status is any of your concern. And third, once I finish tearing your hunk of junk into the scrap metal it rightly should be, you’re going to pay for wrecking up my city and calling me a slut, because I’m going to find you and shove my foot up your-”

WHAM!

Victorine’s colorful description of how she intended to punish the villain was cut short by one of the giant robots pincer-hands slamming into her face, sending her flying ass over teakettle backwards into the nearest building. Peeling herself out of the wrecked wall, she felt a slight squirming from within. Gently, she patted her bump.

“Mommy’s sorry that she woke you up. You okay in there, little guy?”

She smiled at the super-strong kick that followed.

“Relax, babe,” Victoria said, silencing her husband’s fretting with a kiss. “Remember what the doc said? This little guy is just as tough as his mama is.”

Her smile faded as she saw the robot leering over her, its mouth beginning to glow with a hellish cast.

“Oh shi-” was all she managed before-

BZZZZRRRRT!

Everything was engulfed in a nightmarish light as the giant robot’s death ray was unleashed on the pregnant heroine, reducing the building she was in to a smoldering pile of rubble. A few moments passed, and Victorine climbed out of the wreckage.
“Okay,” she growled as she rose slowly into the air. “Now I’m pissed.”

“But but but… the baby is due so soon! What if something goes wrong? What if you go into labor during the fight?”

“Don’t worry about it; the baby isn’t due just yet.” Victoria had said, deigning not to tell Michael about the cramping twinges that had started the day before.

“We’ll be fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the past twenty-eight years, Victoria could count all the times she had been in genuine pain on one hand.

Now she could add another finger to her count; she was in absolute agony. Not that you could tell just by looking at her; as she slowly descended, hefting the mammoth machine’s metallic melon one-handed, the only outward signs of anything being amiss were single glistening black lock ever-so-slightly out of place from her usually impeccably-coiffed hair, and the absolute slightest of facial twitches. Behind her triumphant smirk, she was screaming on the inside.

All of the previous times she had been injured in a fight, she had been up against far nastier opponents than the tin can whose cranium she was currently carrying, and even then, the pain had been short-lived, as her superhuman regenerative abilities had mended her wounds within minutes. But this… this pain wasn’t going away. In fact, it seemed to be getting worse.

The good news was, however, that Victoria was one hundred percent certain that it had nothing with the fight she had just been in the robot whose glowing eyes were finally going out, had not harmed her in any way, just as she had predicted.

She was just in labor, that’s all. No big deal.

That’s what she was telling herself, anyways , as the usual horde of reporters (Michael, for once, not one of them); as Victoria focused all of her willpower on ignoring her worsening contractions, she only caught brief snatches of their questions. There were a few questions about the robot, naturally; at least two questioning the wisdom of crimefighting in her condition, and one greasy bastard from TMZ pestering her for a comment on the persistent rumor that the Minuteman, another local hero, was the father of her child, which she didn’t even dignify with a response. Her attempts to hide her labor were ultimately in vain, as her worst contraction yet built to a crescendo- and she got a brief reprieve as she felt the pressure within her give way. For a moment, she didn’t even mind the feeling of liquid dribbling down her inner thigh.

And then her momentary respite ended as quickly as it began, when she felt the reporters’ eyes on her.

There was an awkward silence, which was eventually broken, after what seemed like hours, when the most obvious rookie of the bunch asked an equally obvious question:

“Miss Victorine, did you… did your…?”

The young girl barely even had to finish her question: yes, Victoria’s water had just broken, and it was her turn to ask the obvious question.

“Are… are we live right now?”

Another reporter simply nodded his head. Without another word, Victoria dropped the robot’s head and took off at top speed.

As she cruised above the clouds, her earpiece began buzzing. She groaned and answered the call.

“I’m not in the mood for I-told-you-sos, Michael.”

“I wasn’t going to, I was just worried!” her husband exclaimed. “Are you okay?”

“Just peachy,” Victoria grunted between contractions. “Listen, just grab the bags, and meet me at Steve and Wendy’s, and from there to the hospital, okay?”

“Gotcha.”

Description
So, a pregnant superheroine with a robot's head in tow. Enjoy.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a bright, sunny mid-autumn afternoon; the birds were chirping, there was hardly a cloud in the sky, and half of everyone in the city was milling about in fear, on account of the supervillain wrecking the business district. The other half, the southern half, was pretty pissed off. Not about the supervillain, per se, just pissed off in general.

All in all, a pretty normal day in Boston.

Today's villainous flavor du jour was a death-ray-spewing giant robot built by a mad scientist by the name of Doctor Atomicus, who was, surprisingly, trying to take over the world with his giant robot, something that no scientist, mad or otherwise had ever tried before. In fact, the complete originality of this plan must have been so overwhelming that the good doctor couldn't think of a better city to attack, like Washington or New York; places where he might actually have concievably been able to accomplish his goal.

Of the not insignificant portion of angry Bostonians, roughly one-half of them were women, as was to be expected. Roughly one third of them were currently pregnant; law of averages and all that. Only one, however, happened to be flying towards the robot at speeds in excess of eighty miles per hour, and curiously, she fit into all three categories. Her name was Victoria Valerie Valentine, or it least it had been before she had gotten married; the world at large, however knew her by a different name: Victorine.

Anyone who saw her flying by would make three observations: one, she was flying by very fast, two, that she couldn't have been a day over twenty, and three, that she was very pregnant. They would in fact be wrong, but two out of three isn't bad, and you really couldn't fault them for it; after all, who would believe that the girl who barely looked like she was old enough to vote was well into her forties? No one would, but it was the truth- Victoria had barely aged a day since the accident in college that had granted her her powers almost thirty years prior. She knew that eventually people were going to get suspicious- but at the moment she had far more more pressing concerns to deal with than her inability to grow old, such as her rapidly approaching parenthood and the giant robot wrecking her city, which may have been the bigger deal at that particular moment. Yeah, it probably was, now that she thought about it, even if it was less terrifying to her.

In the distance, she could see the glow of the robot's death rays.

"Are you insane?!" Michael shouted, dead set against the notion of his very pregnant wife going into battle with a rampaging killbot. "The baby is due in two days! This is a horrible idea!"

Victoria groaned. This wasn't the first time that they'd had this argument; they'd been trying to have kids for nearly a decade, and to date, she had gotten pregnant four times. All of them but had ended in gruesome miscarriages due to her superhuman immune system- all of them but one.

As she got closer, she could hear a booming, tinny voice coming from a speaker on the machine's chest; an elderly, raspy voice, making the oh-so-original demands for capitulation and the surrender of power, all while singing its owner's praises.

"Kneel before the awesome might of Doctor Atomicus, the brilliant future ruler of mankind!" the voice bellowed as imposingly as its no doubt ancient owner could muster. "Surrender your authority to me, or you shall all perish in agony!"

Hovering behind the robot's head, Victorine cleared her throat as loudly as she could.
"Who dares challenge the terror that is Doctor Atomicus?!" the robot's speaker shrieked.

"Uh, hi. I'm Victorine, and, well, I dare.”

Snappy repartee had never been her specialty.

With the grinding and clanking of gears and sprockets, the mechanical behemoth turned to fix its cold gaze upon Victorine. For a few moments, all was quiet as the giant automaton looked her up and down. Hoping to end the awkward silence, she cleared her throat again.

“You are this city’s defender?!” the good doctor exclaimed after a beat. “You, a barely pubescent strumpet without the decency to cover herself?!”

“I… did you just call me a teenage whore?!” the heroine demanded angrily. “First off, I’ll have you know that I am both married and an adult. Secondly, and more importantly, I fail to see how my marital status is any of your concern. And third, once I finish tearing your hunk of junk into the scrap metal it rightly should be, you’re going to pay for wrecking up my city and calling me a slut, because I’m going to find you and shove my foot up your-”

WHAM!

Victorine’s colorful description of how she intended to punish the villain was cut short by one of the giant robots pincer-hands slamming into her face, sending her flying ass over teakettle backwards into the nearest building. Peeling herself out of the wrecked wall, she felt a slight squirming from within. Gently, she patted her bump.

“Mommy’s sorry that she woke you up. You okay in there, little guy?”

She smiled at the super-strong kick that followed.

“Relax, babe,” Victoria said, silencing her husband’s fretting with a kiss. “Remember what the doc said? This little guy is just as tough as his mama is.”

Her smile faded as she saw the robot leering over her, its mouth beginning to glow with a hellish cast.

“Oh shi-” was all she managed before-

BZZZZRRRRT!

Everything was engulfed in a nightmarish light as the giant robot’s death ray was unleashed on the pregnant heroine, reducing the building she was in to a smoldering pile of rubble. A few moments passed, and Victorine climbed out of the wreckage.
“Okay,” she growled as she rose slowly into the air. “Now I’m pissed.”

“But but but… the baby is due so soon! What if something goes wrong? What if you go into labor during the fight?”

“Don’t worry about it; the baby isn’t due just yet.” Victoria had said, deigning not to tell Michael about the cramping twinges that had started the day before.

“We’ll be fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the past twenty-eight years, Victoria could count all the times she had been in genuine pain on one hand.

Now she could add another finger to her count; she was in absolute agony. Not that you could tell just by looking at her; as she slowly descended, hefting the mammoth machine’s metallic melon one-handed, the only outward signs of anything being amiss were single glistening black lock ever-so-slightly out of place from her usually impeccably-coiffed hair, and the absolute slightest of facial twitches. Behind her triumphant smirk, she was screaming on the inside.

All of the previous times she had been injured in a fight, she had been up against far nastier opponents than the tin can whose cranium she was currently carrying, and even then, the pain had been short-lived, as her superhuman regenerative abilities had mended her wounds within minutes. But this… this pain wasn’t going away. In fact, it seemed to be getting worse.

The good news was, however, that Victoria was one hundred percent certain that it had nothing with the fight she had just been in the robot whose glowing eyes were finally going out, had not harmed her in any way, just as she had predicted.

She was just in labor, that’s all. No big deal.

That’s what she was telling herself, anyways , as the usual horde of reporters (Michael, for once, not one of them); as Victoria focused all of her willpower on ignoring her worsening contractions, she only caught brief snatches of their questions. There were a few questions about the robot, naturally; at least two questioning the wisdom of crimefighting in her condition, and one greasy bastard from TMZ pestering her for a comment on the persistent rumor that the Minuteman, another local hero, was the father of her child, which she didn’t even dignify with a response. Her attempts to hide her labor were ultimately in vain, as her worst contraction yet built to a crescendo- and she got a brief reprieve as she felt the pressure within her give way. For a moment, she didn’t even mind the feeling of liquid dribbling down her inner thigh.

And then her momentary respite ended as quickly as it began, when she felt the reporters’ eyes on her.

There was an awkward silence, which was eventually broken, after what seemed like hours, when the most obvious rookie of the bunch asked an equally obvious question:

“Miss Victorine, did you… did your…?”

The young girl barely even had to finish her question: yes, Victoria’s water had just broken, and it was her turn to ask the obvious question.

“Are… are we live right now?”

Another reporter simply nodded his head. Without another word, Victoria dropped the robot’s head and took off at top speed.

As she cruised above the clouds, her earpiece began buzzing. She groaned and answered the call.

“I’m not in the mood for I-told-you-sos, Michael.”

“I wasn’t going to, I was just worried!” her husband exclaimed. “Are you okay?”

“Just peachy,” Victoria grunted between contractions. “Listen, just grab the bags, and meet me at Steve and Wendy’s, and from there to the hospital, okay?”

“Gotcha.”