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bunnys-kisses · 3 months

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baby trapping (vol. 3) - nanami kento

pairing: nanami kento x fem!readerrating: 18+ summary: Nanami, Nanami, Nanami. Always such the gentleman. He brought you flowers, he drove you home from work. He was almost husband material! Except three months ago you rejected his proposal and since then he had been trying to get you pregnant.

So far had had been unsuccessful. tags: smut, pwp, baby-trapping, love hotels, dark themes, breeding/pregnancy kink, love hotels, unprotected smut

Vol. One (Toji), Vol. Two (Geto & Gojo)

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Nanami, Nanami, Nanami. Always such a gentleman. He brought you flowers, he drove you home from work. He was almost husband material! Except three months ago you rejected his proposal and since then he had been trying to get you pregnant.

So far it had not been successful.

The blond drove to your work in the expensive car he owned. He was on his way to pick you up from the dead-end job you somehow loved. He thought your talents could be useful elsewhere. Like the importat role of a stay-at-home mother to two beautiful children. But he hoped you'd at least have four children. Make the large empty house he owned into a home.

But you were so determined to be a young professional. You wanted to be working in an office. You wanted to go out for drinks and have a good time. There was a lot you wanted to do before you settled down. But Nanami was tired of waiting.

If you wouldn't accept his ring, then you'd have to accept his baby. Or rather babies.

You left work on time and met Nanami in the parking garage. You spotted the expensive car right away and quickly headed over to him. Your heart was in your throat as you got closer. You had a deep love for Nanami, you thought he was so perfect.

You were under the impression that he took the rejection well and was going to wait till you were most established at work before you got married! You got to the car and happily knocked on the passenger window then waved at him.

He smiled at you before he unlocked the door and opened it for you. His eyes darted to your legs where you gave him a flash of your panties under your business skirt. The sight made him tighten his grasp on the steering wheel.

He soon patted you on the thigh before he watched you buckle yourself in. He leaned over to kiss you on the lips, ”I was thinking, maybe, we could check into a hotel before dinner.“ He placed a hand on your thigh, ”I've been thinking of you all day and I don't think you want to be fucked in a resturant bathroom. I know you love a nice bed.“ He softly chuckled before he tucked hair behind your ear, ”How does that sound?“

You cupped his face as he gazed at you, ”Nanami.“ You giggled, ”Am I really that irresistible?“

He leaned in for another kiss, the way a dutiful boyfriend was, and replied, ”Yes, you know I look at you and can't get enough.“ Then kissed you once me. His hand grazed your inner thigh briefly before he pulled away. He watched you nod to his earlier question before he put the car into drive and headed off towards the nearest love hotel.

The hotel was nice, it blended rather nicely into the other buildings in the neighborhood. It wasn't hard to get a room and before you knew it, you were being tossed onto the bed like a rag doll.

He grabbed you by the hair as he pulled you in for another searing kiss. His cock twitched in his slacks at the thought of your beautiful form. You would be so beautiful pregnant, round with his child.

You would be so perfect with tender breasts filled with milk, a sore back and a heavy belly. He believed you'd be happier as his wife, he didn't know what got into your head about being stuck working at a job that would get you nowhere!

But you were so simple at times, sometimes women couldn't see the bigger picture. It wasn't your fault, Nanami would help you with that. He started to unbutton the front of your blouse.

“You look amazing.“ He said, ”You look more beautiful than anyone else on this earth.“ He could feel the heat in his face as he exposed your breasts to him, ”Fuck.“

You looked away, ”They're not that impressive, Nanami.“

He kissed down your neck, ”It's more than impressive. It's perfect.“ Then he started to leave marks on your skin and down to the tops of your breasts. He felt you start to loosen his tie.

He didn't let you throw it off the bed. He wrapped it in his left hand while he continued to give all his attention to your breasts. The marks were dark and could be seen easily. The notion of having his marks on you made you wet.

”Nanami.“

”You're perfect.“ He rubbed his clothed cock up against your clothed pussy. You could feel the weight of his erection against you, ”Let me take control tonight. Don't worry. I'll keep you safe.“

”Nan-“

”Trust me.“ He said softly. It was time to put his plan into action. Make you unsuspecting of him orgasming deep inside of you. To fill you with his cum until there was zero choice but to get pregnant.

All it took was one cell to find home with another. The thought aroused him, he didn't have to be sneaky with holes in the condom. He could easily impregnate you tonight, all you had to do was put your full trust into him.

You looked up into his eyes, there was a look of worry. There was even a crease in your brow that he smoothed out with his thumb. He smiled at you softly. Play the sheep until he could become the wolf.

”Alright, honey.“ You said as you reached to unzip your skirt, ”I trust you. I'll always trust you.“ Then gave him a broad smile as you unzipped the article of clothing.

He looked at you for a moment, there was a glint in his eye that you couldn't put into words. But it made an unfamiliar feeling rise up in you. Your heart raced as you both got undressed.

His gaze was tense, he wanted to see every curve on you. You wondered what he was thinking about as he observed you. But you would've never guessed it was the idea of getting you pregnant. To trap you with his baby.

He knew better than you, he knew what you needed. And that was a Nanami brat running around. And if he was lucky there would be multiples. He put the tie over your eyes, ”Trust me.“ And you had no choice but to trust him.

”You brought a condom right?“

He chuckled softly, ”Of course I did, the thin ones. Just the way you like it.“ He dipped his hand between your bare thighs and touched along your pussy. His thumb brushed against your clit and you shuddered. He smirked to himself, such a vulnerable young woman. So gentle and sweet.

You'd make the perfect wife for him. He wondered if they sold wedding dresses for women who already had their honeymoons. He smirked, knowing you wouldn't see it.

He played with you gently. You got more wet the more he played with you. Your hands dug into the sheet on the bed.

Maybe this wasn't the ideal place to make a baby, but it would have to do. He'd make sure the delivery was somewhere nicer. Maybe at home where he could take care of you. The thought made his cock bob, he may be a pervert but at least he could take out all the sexual frustration out on his soon-to-be wife.

”I'm going to move you now, my love.“He said with his voice close to your ear.

You nodded, ”Okay, honey.“ Then felt yourself being put on all fours. You dropped your front half into the soft pillows and kept your hips up so he could reach you. You wiggled your ass to entice him. Which was soon followed by a harsh slap. You made a small ”eep“ noise from the pain but it only made your pussy wetter.

”Such a beautiful sight.“ He said, ”I love you, I want you more than anything. I look at you and think of no one else. You're mine, my love. All mine.“ His words made your heart flutter.

He rubbed your cheeks as he got behind you. His grip was rough which made you roll your hips in an attempt to get out of it. But there was no escaping him.

”Nanami.“ You whimpered.

”What did I say? You need to listen, I need you to trust me. Be a good girl and spread those legs a little more. I want to see your beautiful pussy.“ He was excited that his plan was working. That you so easily fell into it. It was as if it were destiny that you were meant to get pregnant tonight. And if not tonight, then he'd keep trying until you ended up with a child.

He situated himself behind him and he reached between your legs to your stomach which he playfully touched. His cock leaked pre-cum from his imagination going wild over the idea of you pregnant with his child.

He shakily exhaled to compose himself before he pulled his hand away to hold onto your hip while he guided his hardened cock into you. He groaned out loud as he felt your heat consume him.

”Honey!“ You whimpered, ”You're so big. I can feel it so deep!“ You gripped onto the pillow under your head as you tried to relax. His size was impressive and you knew it was his even without seeing.

You held onto the pillows and moaned into them. You knew the rooms were soundproof but you were worried about being too loud. The sound of sex filled the room as he started to move.

”Please, honey! Ah, it feels so good!“ You whimpered as you held onto the bed to keep yourself steady. Your heart was racing as he thrusted up into you.

”Does it feel good?“ He asked, he smiled to himself. The idea of you succumbing to pleasure. You just let him finish inside of you, get you pregnant and become his wife. It was a dream for him.

”It feels amazing!“ You moaned as you rolled your hips in time with his thrusts. You held onto the pillows tightly as he started to move faster. Your heart was racing and you knew your face was flushed. You panted heavily into the covers.

”Good, good." He said softly to himself as he kept thrusting up into you. Your pussy clenched around him as he kept going. The feeling was erotic, it made his whole body warm. To be so close to you.

He wanted you so badly, he adored you. He was obsessed with you. He wanted to make sure that no one else could ever have you. His breathing became heavier as he moved.

The whole room grew hotter with each passing moment. Two people together, creating something beautiful even if one person didn't know it yet. The bed creaked under you as your bodies moved.

You felt hot all over as you two fucked in the centre of the bed. You panted heavily into the pillows as you tried to keep up. The feeling was amazing, it was like mini sparks were going through you. Your gut twisted with excitement over being so intimate with him.

He was a perfect lover.

Your head became cloudy the closer you got to orgasm. You felt like you were running off hormones as you felt so close to climax. You held on tightly as arched your back as you came. You groaned into the pillows, your voice was loud and almost got stuck in your throat from the feeling of the blond's cock so deep inside of you.

“I love you, honey.” He said. 'you're all mine, wife,' he added in his head as he watched you go limp on the bed. He pulled you up by the hips and fucked into you even harder.

He was thrilled that he could finish inside of you. Your head was so fuzzy you'd barely noticed if he came with zero protection. It was simply nature telling you it was time to be a mother.

With one more hard thrust, he finished inside of you. He held onto your hips tightly as he gave a final thrust. He leaned a little to make sure that all of it got to its intended destination. He could feel his blond hair sticking to his forehead. He felt hot all over as he pulled out and laid down beside you.

You rolled into his arms, your mind was still blank from the intense orgasm you had. You didn't notice the cum that was oozing out of your poor cunt, but that would be cleaned up soon. As when Nanami came to, he made sure to clean up any trace that he finished inside of you.

You'd know what he did when that test came back positive. He wiped your clean, even the sweat on your forehead. He kissed the warmed skin. He had broken your mind with an intense orgasm and hopefully impregnated you.

The thought made him smile as he said, ”Let's get you in the shower.“ As he approached you. He had to be a husband and father now, which meant protecting what was his.

”That's it.“ He moaned, ”That's it.“ His wedding ring gleamed in the afternoon light, ”We have to be quick before Misao wakes up.“

You held onto his chest as you rode his cock. Your heavy breasts bounced as did your swollen belly. Two babies in two years, it could almost be a record.

Nanami rubbed your swollen middle, ”My beautiful wife. All mine.” And you moaned in response. His cock twitched inside of you. This was all he ever wanted, but he'd only be truly satisfied with more than four children. He really wondered if he could break the record within a few years.

Either way, you'd only grow more beautiful. His beautiful wife, at home and caring for the growing home. Just as he wanted it.

xoxo, U・x・U

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femscottlang · 7 months

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Flustered- part one

Summary; After being recommended by Garcia to be the next technical analyst for the BAU, You find your ability to keep your personal and work life separate becoming increasingly more difficult. Your charming boss is not helping either. Your attempts to not show your affection towards her leads Emily to believe that you dislike her.

AN; this is some serious idiots to lovers, misinterpretation shit (aka my favorite trope). Not canon for the sake of plot.

Word count 1.5k

You had gotten through the first couple of weeks of the new job without a hitch. Of course, there were a couple panicked calls to Penelope when her security was a little too good, but nothing major.

Except for your boss and her indescribable ability to make your brain stop working.

You stepped out of the elevator and took a moment to smooth over your hair and let out a shuddering breath. This had become a part of your work routine to try and make it through the day without having to hide in your lair until your face cooled down. You walked in, giving your colleagues a soft smile and hello, conveniently avoiding Emily's gaze, as you walked past them into your office where you saw a handful of case files on your desk with a sticky note on them.

Pick one

You sighed and sat down, pulling the sticky note off and putting it aside. Your breath hitched as you smelled her perfume lingering on the sheet of paper. “Shit…” you muttered, immediately tossing in the trashcan to get it as far away as possible. You put your hands on your cheeks to try and calm the flush.

After filtering through the cases you landed on a case of people being killed in their sleep by an axe in New Orleans. Selfishly, it was also the furthest away. Anything to gain distance between you and that patchouli perfume which made your heart beat fast enough to power the BAU jet. Emily Prentiss had an innate ability to make you choke up. You had dated plenty of women, mightve even been considered a bit of a player. You were never one to get flustered, until Prentiss. Her voice sent shivers down your spine in the best way possible.

You shook the image of her out of your head and grabbed the folder and your tablet, walking into the bull pen “Conference room in 10” You said, holding up the wretched manilla sleeve as you went into conference room to display the images on the tv.

Emily leaned against the edge of Terra’s desk, her leg in a boot. She watched you beeline to your office, smiling at everyone except for her. She sighed and leaned her head back “What did I do?” she groaned, lifting her head and looking at terra for comfort. Terra let out a chuckle “I can’t help you here, Prentiss. Sometimes people just don’t like you and you have to live with that” she shrugged

“But she likes all of you! Is it because I'm the boss?” She rubbed her forehead

Her eyes followed you as you walked in and waved the folder “Conference room in 10” and as you walked out, scanning over your blouse and pencil skirt.

“She’s stuck with me for this case, I’ll be no help on the field with this boot on my foot” she grumbled as Terra got up and smiled “Maybe dropping that weight on your foot was a sign from god. You can finally bond with the pretty tech girl” she sneered playfully, which earned her a smack on the arm and a push towards the conference room as they made their way over.

“What do you have for us?” Emily asked as she sat in her chair with a huff. You looked up at her like deer in headlights.

You stammered, fumbling with the remote “w-we have three sets of victims, all killed by being struck by an axe in their sleep. One set is a mother, father and two children, the next is a pregnant woman and her husband and the last is just husband and wife” You explained, flipping through the images while avoiding looking at the television.

“This is clearly inspired by the Axeman of New Orleans, but this guy is significantly more successful. In the real case, the axeman never managed to kill most of his victims” You explained, looking around the room.

“Many believed that the axeman was a demon and that he was able to shrink, crawl under the doorway and grow back to the size of a normal man.” Spencer chimed in.

You shuddered “no demons please. I can barely deal with evil people let alone the supernatural”

“Oh Techie, don’t tell me you believe in ghosts” Luke chimed in with a laugh.

You frowned “A fear of ghosts is perfectly normal!” You insisted as Emily cut off the bickering “Wheels up in 30. “ She stated before looking at you “I will be staying here, I’m no use to you guys on the field with my boot.” Your eyes went wide “Here?”

“Is that a problem?” She asked, you shook your head, scurrying back to your room as you prayed she would stay in her office.

Just as you finished filing away the cases that were not chosen, you heard your door open. You looked up and watched Emily hobble in. You shut the drawer and turned towards the computer, pretending to look busy “What can I do for you, Ma’am?” you asked as calmly as possible.

She frowned as you turned away, pulling up a chair next to you and sitting down “I figured I would join you here, It doesn’t make any sense for us to be in two different rooms and I don’t wanna take you away from your equipment” She smiled at you “I’ve told you this before, you can call me Emily”

You glanced at her and immediately brought your eyes back to the computer “You’re right, it does make more sense.” You ignore her comment, afraid to even let her name come out of your mouth. You two sit in silence for a minute before the phone rang. You answered in faster than you should have.

“What can I do for you, honey bunny?” You asked, silently thanking spencer for calling

“Uh need you to find who was at the Spotted Cat Jazz Club on Friday night. ” He said, papers shuffling in the background.

“Okay…” you murmured, beginning to type on your computer “do you have anything to help narrow that down? Friday night during spring break in a New Orleans jazz club. An ID scanner, camera footage? Anything? I’m no Garcia” You joked.

“Yeah I am having the club send footage and give you access to the scanner database” Luke interrupted.

“Thank you! I will get back to you as soon as we find anything” you said, hanging up and beginning to dig through the footage and ID numbers for a match as you felt Emily’s eyes burning into you.

“Why would you say that?” She asked.

“Say what?” You glanced over at her before going back to the computer. She furrowed her eyebrows “That you’re no Garcia. She recommended you, that’s why you were chosen. You have done nothing but prove your abilities time and time again. You’re incredibly talented.” She placed a hand on your wrist.

You froze “Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate it” you said, looking at her thumb rubbing circles on your wrist.

“Why do you refuse to call me Emily?” she asked just as a match appeared on the computer “I have nothing against calling you by your name” You said, calling Luke to avoid this conversation going to a place where you'll have to admit the fact that her name causes your stomach to erupt in butterflies.

“Hey Techie, got anything good?”

“I always do. Willard Ross, arrested for agravated assault with a weapon.” You said, stiffening as Emily leaned in closer “The weapon was an axe…” She muttered.

“I am sending over his information right now” You said, pushing your glasses up.

“What would we do without you? Great work” Tara shouted over Lukes phone.

“I know, Go catch him” you said, hanging up with a smile. You turned towards Emily for the first time today “Good job, tech” she said, patting your shoulder. Your muscles tensed under her touch, yet she did not remove her hand or move away from you “But you didn’t answer my question.”

“I did, I-I have nothing against calling you by your name” You repeated, not daring to look beyond the screen in front of you.

“Thats not an answer” she paused for a moment and watched your body language. Flushed cheeks, elevated heartrate, stiff, stuttering. A cheshire smile spread across her face. “Call me Emily.” She murmured.

That was what finally made you spin around to face her, lips parted and eyes wide in shock. Your heart felt like it was pounding out of her chest.

“Did you not hear me? Call. Me. Emily” she persisted

“Emily” you finally said, barely louder than a whisper. She grinned even wider, patting your cheek “Now was that so hard?” she cooed, rubbing her thumb across your jawbone as you leaned into her touch, closing your eyes “You really aren’t good at answering questions.” she chuckled, letting go of your face and leaning back in her chair.

“Please don’t tease me” You pleaded, turning back to your computer, “I really don’t think I could take it.” you said with a huff, pressing your palms to your face to try to cool down.

“How could I tease you? You’re such a good girl.” She practically purred.

Your breath hitched “Thats- I- Uh” your hands froze, shaking over your keyboard. Your eyes darted around the screen as you felt your chest rise and fall more rapidly “Thats hardly appropriate, Ma’am” You managed to get out.

“Oh? Then should we finish this conversation at my house tonight?” She asked, tilting her head.

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x female reader #Emily Prentiss x Fem!Reader #emily prentiss fanfiction

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theoddcatlady · 5 months

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She's a Keeper

That’s what my dad always used to say, with a chuckle and a pat to my head. ‘She’s a keeper,’ he’d say to a grocer or clerk at a convenience store. People used to fawn over the cute pigtailed gal by her daddy’s side, always said her pleases and thank yous, never threw a tantrum, was an absolute angel.

Maybe this is why when I grew up I always need someone giving me a pat on the back. If I’m not getting a compliment about how I look or how well I did at work, I’m gonna assume I did something wrong or I had a piece of lettuce stuck in my teeth all day.

This hasn’t always worked out for me. I’m a keeper, but I can also be a sucker. Like what’s been happening with my boss.

I love working as a secretary, it’s a job that makes me feel really fulfilled. This makes me a bit of a stereotype though with how I practically melted when Jonathan Price, my boss, complimented my blouse and my work ethic on my first day. I just reminded myself by looking at the silver ring on his left hand and the picture on his desk with his children that I shouldn’t read too much into it.

Jonathan was perfect though, and over time I realized I read him just right.

I never wanted to be the other woman. I just wanted to be loved. And being around Jonathan, working late nights just to have a moment to talk with him, having drinks after work… the inevitable happened. He kissed me after a few too many beers, and we ended up going back to my place. We slept together.

I poured my heart out to him after that, how I’d liked him for so long, and that I really felt a connection with him. He just smiled and brushed the hair from my eyes, telling me that I was the kind of girl you didn’t just let get away.

Of course I believed him.

Of course I swallowed the lump in my throat whenever I saw Mariana coming to visit her husband. My lover.

Of course I ignored how I was the choice topic of office gossip, how the guys smirked and the other women gave me the side eye and the cold shoulder.

Of course I listened when Jonathan said he was going to leave her soon. He just needed to make sure he didn’t hurt her.

And of course, whenever he called me to meet him at our typical meeting spot, a hotel in downtown, I was there with bells on.

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking of me. I think it too. I’m not the brightest bulb in the package, but like I told you, I’m pretty easily manipulated. But I love Jonathan, I love his work ethic, I love how he takes care of his kids, kids that he learned soon enough I couldn’t have. I wonder if that was part of my appeal to him. That he couldn’t accidentally knock me up.

He doesn’t… didn’t love me. I was just an easy lay, a stereotype in every sense of the word.

I only started wising up last week, when it occurred to me that Jonathan really wasn’t slowing down his relationship with his wife and certainly wasn’t preparing for divorce proceedings. She was pregnant with their third child, I saw the pictures he posted on Facebook of their anniversary dinner.

It hit me like a semi truck when I read his status about enjoying their fifteen years together and couldn’t wait to see what the next fifteen will bring.

I cried. I drunk a lot of wine. And then I asked him to come to my apartment. That we needed to talk.

Scary words for a guy, right? Took Jonathan a while to drag his ass over, which by then I was even more drunk. I don’t drink often, and certainly not in excess, but can you blame me? I’d just had that reality shattering realization I was just his pet to call on whenever he wanted to fuck and spew nonsense words at. Nonsense words I fell for.

Well, I did what I should’ve done about six months ago. I called him out on his bullshit. Said that he was never going to leave his wife but he wasn’t going to stop keeping me as his side piece. He tried, oh he tried to calm me down, but I wasn’t going to back down to his pretty words this time.

“Either pick me or stay with your wife. Else I’ll call her and let her know the truth.”

My ultimatum I’d spent the previous hour preparing. I felt super proud of it when I spat it out, expecting him to pick at least one of the options so this nonsense could end.

Jonathan’s face went white, then red, and then… he picked a third option.

He killed me.

Jonathan picked up the empty wine bottle while he muttered something about me being too much trouble, and then he brought it down right on the top of my head. Caved my skull in on the first smash, sending shards of glass all over my living room. I dropped like a rock. But I guess Jonathan was just too pissed off, cuz he used the remains of the bottle in his hand to keep stabbing me, again and again in the throat and neck. I was about decapitated by the time he came to his senses.

Of course Jonathan freaked out. Panicked. Just washed the blood off his hands and wiped down the bottle before escaping the apartment. Left me there. All alone. Head nearly off my shoulders, my living room a mess of blood, wine, and glass.

Man, you should’ve seen the look on his face when I came into work today. I was at my desk by the time he came in. He looked like hell, understandably, he just killed a woman two days before. But he froze in his steps when he saw me sitting at my desk, tip tapping away on my keyboard while scheduling another appointment later that week.

I just waved to him real quick before going back to work. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jonathan bolt for his office and slam the door.

Oh, that felt so good. Watching him be the one to run in fear. Was he doubting his memory? Was he trying to convince himself that he’d just had a really bad dream?

I clocked out after that, complaining about a cold, it’d been passed all around the office. But I didn’t go to my home.

I went to Jonathan’s home. A nice house, in a nice part of town. I saw his wife working in the small garden out front and, after adjusting my scarf, I got out and walked up the drive.

She didn’t see me until I was right behind her. Marianna was a pretty woman, even right now with a smudge of dirt across her face, no make up, and her auburn hair held back with a yellow bandanna. I cleared my throat and she nearly dropped the flower bulb she had in her hands. She glanced up, immediately recognizing me. “Oh, hi, Nicole. Is something wrong?” She got up, brushing off her hands and smiling from ear to ear. Her pregnancy was just starting to show, her belly just so slightly growing.

“Can we talk inside?”

“Oh sure, sweetheart. The kids are at school, won’t be back for a few more hours. Are you all right, your voice sounds a bit raspy.”

“I’ll be fine.”

I waited until she was sitting down before I began the most difficult conversation of my life. And I got the most difficult part of it out of the way first.

“Your husband and I have been having an affair for almost a year.”

It was so sad to see how Marianna just… sighed. How she just nodded. “I figured, with all the late nights at work and business trips that didn’t take him out of town. I was just about to hire a private investigator to start checking in on him, so you saved me a chunk of change. Are you still sleeping with him?”

I shook my head. “No, I figured that ended when he about took my head off with a wine bottle,” I said.

Her brow knitted in concern, so I decided to show her. I undid the scarf around my neck and showed her what I’d been hiding all morning at work.

My neck is a sight right now, all purple and black and covered in decaying, cut up flesh. I can’t even imagine how the smell must be to someone not used to it. The putrefaction had spread down to my chest, which I showed her by unbuttoning my blouse. I’d had to start tearing my skin off to get any sort of relief, you can’t imagine how horrid the itching gets when your flesh starts rotting off the bone with your skin holding it all in. I even removed my gloves to show off the pus filled sores and bubbles forming in my wrists and fingers.

Marianna went white as a sheet as she took it all in. It look so wrong, my face perfect as it always has been but from the neck down I look like rotting roadkill. When the wave of stench finally hit her she bolted for the bathroom. I could hear her violently throwing up from where I sat.

I’d just about buttoned my shirt back up when she came back, teetering a bit and still looking pale but managing to remain steady. “Wait. Show me again.”

I shrugged and unbuttoned my shirt again. If she wanted a reason to barf again, she was welcome to it. But she didn’t. She sat beside me, her expression of disgust melting away into one of wonder. “… Before Jonathan insisted I take care of the kids full time, I used to be a surgeon. You… you shouldn’t be alive. You can’t be alive. Are you a ghost?”

“No.” I shook my head. “This just happens sometimes. I’m surprised it happened after your husband killed me, I thought I was a goner. But then I woke up with my body falling apart, maybe I was due for a shedding, maybe this just happens when I get hurt real bad, I dunno.”

“Jonathan…” She shuddered and shook her head, “He’s a bastard, but he wouldn’t-”

“He beat me with a wine bottle, Marianna.” I pulled the bloody shards out of my purse. “And then when it broke, he stabbed me in the neck. All because I told him the affair was over.

Now she was crying. Tears rolled down her cheeks as her bottom lip wobbled with her sobs. “No… no… oh my god, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I never thought… I never-”

“I need your help.”

I rebuttoned up my blouse, but I left the scarf on my lap. “It’ll take me a few weeks to really come back together, but my daddy told me of a way to help me heal faster. His sister was like me. Fell apart, rotted like a corpse, and then looked just as pretty as ever in a few days. It took longer though, much longer… before she started working as a mortician.”

It didn’t take any effort at all to convince her to help me. The kids are having a sleepover at grandma’s tonight, they really are cuties. There’s a wine glass laced with sleeping medication ready for Jonathan when he gets home, and I’m waiting in the basement, passing the time by ripping off more rotten skin, wondering what human flesh will taste like. Marianna’s already said I can stay here while I recover. She wants to study me. I’m something she’s never seen before and she’s fascinated.

She says I’m a real keeper.

#my stories

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preggomancer · 1 year

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Tulip holds up another hanger, waving it at her boyfriend, and he raises a brow.

“Once again, I feel that you have fundamentally misunderstood the purpose of this trip,” Alan monotones.

Tulip giggles, looking at the frilly pink top she’s pulled from the clothing rack. “Sorry, sorry. I just think it’s cute!”

Rolling his eyes, Alan goes back to leafing through the sales rack. His mission in coming here–and to the five other stores they’ve slogged through already today–is failing miserably. At five months pregnant, he’s already outgrown much of his wardrobe, and it won’t be long before he’s left with nothing but a few extra-stretchy shirts and maybe some pajama pants. So here he is, trying to achieve the apparently monumental task of finding clothes that will both fit him and not make him feel like shit.

The problem is, of course, Alan’s a guy. A trans guy who started T just a couple months before getting pregnant and having his entire life trajectory thrown off the rails. He’ll be fine–he knows he’ll be fine. It won’t be easy, but if anyone can manage college as a single dad, it’s him. What he can’t handle, right now, is being pregnant. He knows he’s never really passed. Puberty left him with unwanted curves, an ample chest and wide hips. He’s been counting on T and top surgery for years, and now, right when he could finally start, he’s being flooded with the exact opposite hormones in his system, a milk-swollen chest, and the prospect of even wider hips after he gives birth.

He could handle it, he thinks, if he could just find a single goddamn masc maternity shirt.

It takes him about ten seconds to rifle through the skimpy XL rack. Maternity selections are never particularly robust, but for someone like Alan–fat and six feet tall–finding anything besides the same ugly gray V-necks and garish floral blouses appears to be impossible.

“Ooh! This is cute!”

Alan looks up to see Tulip once again holding up exactly what he’s not looking for. “Tulip. Babe. Darling. Love of my life. Please.”

“Sorry, I know, not what we’re here for, but look!” Tulip holds the bright green crop top to her chest, its bottom draping sweetly over her own baby bump. She looks down. “Um, okay, maybe not. This is not a very Tulip-core print.”

Alan laughs. “Why not? It’s cute! It’s got limes!”

“Well sure, you’d say that, because it is Alan-core.”

“Yeah, sure, I guess.” Alan grimaces, looking at the sad selection in front of him. Maybe he’ll have to spend the next few months in baggy gym shirts, after all. “Now if you could just put that pattern on a T-shirt and give it some extra belly room, that would be great.”

“Or,” Tulip says, sidling up next to Alan, “you could just try this on.”

“Wh–” Alan turns to face her. “Okay, first of all, that’s your size–”

“It’s stretchy!”

“And second of all, I’m looking for shirts that make me look like a dude, and that’s explicitly not even remotely that.”

“Yes.” Tulip nods solemnly. “But also, maybe, I just think that my very attractive boyfriend would look hot in a too-small crop top.”

“That’s–” Alan starts to argue, then glances at the maternity rack, and stops himself. “Okay, you know what? I need a fucking break. Where’s the dressing room?”

“Yessssss,” Tulip cheers quietly.

Yanking the hanger out of Tulip’s hands, Alan marches into the closest dressing room stall and instructs her to wait. He examines the garment. It’s one of those stretchy, low-cut spaghetti strap pieces, the kind that’s made for skinny women on Pinterest to show off their B-cups and sucked-in stomachs. Not for a fat, busty trans guy with a stretch-marked baby bump. He doubts they even make them at his size.

He reaches to take off his shirt, and realizes with embarrassment that his top has started to ride up, showing the bottom of his belly and gathering right below his bra. How long has he been walking around like that? He yanks it off, trying not to look too hard at his reflection as he puts on the dumb crop top.

Given that it’s several sizes too small, it certainly doesn’t have the loose, boxy fit it’s supposed to, but when Alan looks in the mirror he’s surprised to see it… kind of works. The ribbed fabric pulls across his heavy chest, only just covering his bra, leaving most of his cleavage on display. (Cleavage that’s already much deeper than it was five months ago, and only getting worse.) He meant to throw the dumb thing on and get a little laugh from Tulip, but instead, he finds himself staring at his reflection.

Back when he was trying desperately to be a cis girl, he wanted so badly to look like those skinny Pinterest girls. He’s always been fat, since he was being scolded in grade school for eating the same candy all the other kids got plenty of, since the school nurse told him to exercise more even though he was the star of the softball team. It was only when he realized that he would never look like them, would never be skinny and petite and girly and swoon after the annoying sporty guys, that he finally accepted that, under every box he’d shoved himself into, he didn’t actually want to.

And somehow, right now, wearing this dumb crop top, it feels… good? To take the toxic femininity he felt for so long he had to achieve, and throw it on his fat, trans, pregnant body feels like a rebellion. It hasn’t been long since his doctor warned him to stop binding if he wanted any chance of breastfeeding, and until now, seeing how his bust pulls at every shirt has made him feel like hunching over and burying himself in blankets. But somehow, looking at it on display, outlined by this much too-tight little top, it feels right.

Suddenly, a flutter of movement distracts him, a kick from inside Alan’s heavy belly. He puts a hand to his bump, rubbing it, smiling when he feels another flutter in response. And he realizes: he’s been scared to look in the mirror, scared to be seen, because he’s been so worried what everyone will see is a pregnant woman. He was wrong. In the mirror in front of him are the wide hips, tits, and the big, round belly of a man. And the fact that he can look like this, curvy and pregnant and milky and still know beyond a doubt exactly who he is, makes him feel pretty damn good.

Behind Alan comes a knock at the stall door. “Alan?” he hears Tulip say. “You don’t really have to wear that thing. Sorry, I was just being silly.”

Throwing his jacket over his shoulders to make it feel more him, Alan turns and opens the door.

Tulips eyes widen. “Oh. Okay. I was extremely right, actually.”

Alan smiles. “Yeah, you were.” He turns back, giving his bare-bellied curves one last look.

“You ready to go?” He asks. “I think I’ve picked out everything I needed.”

#ITS TRANS OCLOCK #TIME TO READ ABOUT ALAN GENDER EUPHORIA MOMENT #pregnancy-based gender euphoria is my reason for living #anyway bye #mpreg #tmpreg #ftmpreg #alan #m words #preg #preg kink #cw lactation #lactation kink #belly kink

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clarkes-and-god · 8 months

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A Season Of Birthdays And Thoughts On Marriage

It has been such a season of celebration in the Clarke household! My eldest son, Tyson, has just turned 6! He is still such a sweet boy, and he always does what he can to help others. He's clearly a natural headship -- he's so protective over little Mandy, and he's always wanting to make sure I'm ok. Such a little gentleman! At the advice of Tobias, he's going to be attending the secular elementary school in our area. While this isn't what I thought would happen, Tobias thought it would be beneficial for us not to be all crowded up in our little trailer all day, and Christian private school isn't really financially possible for us. I'll be praying that my son remains strong in his faith, and his gentle spirit isn't corrupted by secular influence. Mommy has faith in you!

My little girl, Mandy, has also recently turned 2! She already is so ladylike, and she loves mothering on her stuffed animals, which is so sweet to watch! I've shown her the crib, which we are keeping in the 3rd bedroom (now Mandy and Tyson are bigger, we've gotten rid of most of the baby stuff, and they can share a room) and she is so excited for when Mommy is going to be blessed with a little baby, God-willing. She's still a Daddy's girl, and loves to watch him play his video games. We are so proud of you, sweet girl!

Recently, I made a misstep in my marriage -- I talked to a family member in a way that made them think me and Tobias were having difficulties, both financially and in our marriage. This caused the family member to give me some advice, which while I'm sure it was well-meant, was ungodly and unneeded! While we aren't affluent, we have a roof over our heads, beds to sleep in, and food to eat! A wife's job is to make what she has work, and this is a skill I've been working on over the years. For example, little Mandy is actually wearing Tyson's old shirt, but it doesn't look boyish at all with the leggings and skirt i found at Salvation Army -- she looks like such a classy little lady in her blouse! And I would say that the only relationship issue we've had is my tendency to not think before I speak, which has only caused my husband and the people around us annoyance. I've been working on this flaw of mine, and I think my progress will do a great deal of good in our marriage. Tobias leads the family, and so my opinion isn't necessary if he's already told me his. I think this advice would also do good for other ladies in biblically-led marriages. Finally, Tobias gave me a word of wisdom in who we should trust for our advice! Only go to women who are living their lives by the word of God -- why should I trust a bossy harlot, who got pregnant before she married, and wears tight pants in front of men, to give me good advice? Naturally, women are naive and trusting, so it was so good of Tobias to point this out to me!

#cherish #tobias #birthdays #fundie sims #quiverfull sims #fundie snark #fundie simblr #modest sims #satire #homeschool sims #tobiascherish

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androgynealienfemme · 9 months

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" March 20, 1991 Dear Joan: The spirit moves: 1950. For those who do not remember 1950, let me set the stage: television existed and I had seen it on display in a store but didn't know anyone who owned one. Sex existed, but no one talked about it, except in euphemisms: she's "that way" or "you know" meant a woman was pregnant; she "does things" meant she had sex; she "does things to other girls" meant she was gay. The word homosexual was used only in newspapers in "were-arrested" stories, all of which referred to men.

I was never called a lesbian. We were "queers" or "perverts" or the worst group-you-wouldn't-want-to-be-caught-dead-with: "dykes." And we were also arrested, but it never made the papers- I guess because it was so ordinary, not newsworthy.

The word butch was used to describe mannish behavior. She walks butch, she thinks butch, she looks butch, but I do not recall she is a butch. A tough-acting woman in man's clothes was called a butch diesel. I desperately wanted to be a butch diesel.

This would be a great accomplishment for a sixteen-year-old suburban kid, cruising weekends in the village. I had been in "the life" on the streets- it wasn't enough. I wanted to go into the butch diesels bars, to be accepted as one of them. They were tough, cocky, sure of themselves. They intimidated by their very existence. And they never ended up in a cage at the Country Club (the Women's House of Detention, located in the heart of the Village), never fell victim to street sweeps. They were cool! How to start... For openers, I took the bus to New York wearing a skirt and blouse and carrying a purse containing a hip flask of stale beer, a nice fitting man's shirt, and a pair of men's slacks, liberated from my half brother. The bus station- then about half a block east of the south end of Times Square, before the Port Authority Terminal was built- was a stinking hole, but it did have rental lockers and an alley nearby.

I changed into the boy clothes in the alley, plastered my pageboy girl hair back into a decent DA (duck's ass, dear children: it came to a pointed line down the back of the head- very popular with greasers), and jammed the flask into one back pocket. No wallet; loose money went into the right front pocket. Then I put the girl clothes and purse in the locker and viola- instant freedom to walk the streets literally unmolested.

Understand: boys and men could walk the streets- just walk, not solicit or what have you, just plain be on the streets at night- and no one would challenge them. But a girl or woman alone had to be a hooker or lost and in need of protection. This was handy if one was working the streets but of no use at all if one wanted to be accepted as a butch diesel and not just a street kid.

I had already found the bar to be entered. I had been shown it by a street friend who was highly amused that I did not at first believe that the "men" entering were really women. You couldn't tell unless you heard them talk, and even then sometimes I wasn't sure. I had finally accepted the truth and had watched them go in, alone or with snazzily dressed women. But I had never dared enter; it was out of my league. Well, no longer- I was ready!

So in I went. All conversations stopped, all eyes upon me. This was standard whenever any stranger entered a gay bar in those days. The darkness of the bars allowed those inside to see the person entering before his or her eyes adjusted to see them. If you passed muster, if the patrons concluded you were not a vice cop or a known troublemaker, conversation would start again.

Which is not to say you would be accepted. No, you would be ignored, watched, tentatively approached if... But first, the pin-drop silence. Oh Lord, the agony of waiting to see if they would accept me! And then, finally, the silence was broken: "Oh my god, Millie," someone said, "It's Prince Valiant!"

And everyone roared with laughter, and I knew, I knew... My hand reached up to find that my baby-fine hair had shed the beer glop and had drifted down and forward to hang limply about my ears. I reached for the flask then realized it was too late. What would I do with it? Pour it on my head? I just held it on the table, too numb to move, too embarrassed to speak or even lift my head.

The eternity ended when the waitress asked if I wanted something to eat. Every gay bar I recall in those days was nominally a cafe, so they had to serve food (hamburgers, fries) and especially if you were not known, you had to order whatever overpriced inedible food they offered. Then you would be asked if you wanted anything to drink with it. I knew about that game from other bars, but still speechless, I only nodded.

I would love to say, "And then everyone came over and said, 'Welcome.,' and we all lived happily ever after." It didn't happen. I ate the burger, left the fries, and split. Then they spoke: "Good night, sweet prince..." "A valiant effort..."

I never went back. I don't recall the name of the place or where it was. It wasn't Fleur de Lys, Page Three, Swing Rendezvous, any place that I knew afterwards. It was much smaller, just a hole in the wall. I never got to be a butch diesel, just butch, then a butch. And good for a laugh, always...

Judy"

"A Letter" by Judy Lederer, The Persistent Desire: A Butch Femme Reader, edited by Joan Nestle (1992)

#the persistent desire #the persistent desire: a butch femme reader #joan nestle #lesbian #lesbianism #butch #butch history #butch lesbian #lesbian lit #lesbian history #lgbt #lgbtq+ lit #gay lit #gay history

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piratesofnassauarchive · 1 year

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Anne Bonny and Mary Read, Notorious Pirate Women

Anne Bonny (left) and Mary Read (right) from A General History of the Pyrates by Captain Charles Johnson 1724

We know very little about either of them before they entered piracy in 1720 but we do know that they sailed together with Anne Bonny’s spouse John Rackham, otherwise known as ‘Calico Jack’ who was captain of the ship.

The pair earned the respect of their crew mates and were often in charge of leading raids on other ships, showing how much trust the crew had in them as well as their skill in fighting.

Two victims who testified against them, Dorothy Thomas and Thomas Spenlow, described them as wielding pistols and cutlasses as they fought, using foul language and fighting with their blouses open exposing their breasts to prove they were women and scare their enemies.

Their capture happened while the crew were drunk, celebrating a recent raid so they couldn't defend themselves well, leaving Bonny and Read to fight off pirate hunter Jonathan Barnet and his crew. Both were overpowered and captured, put on trial and sentenced to death in Jamaica, set to be hanged but both declared they were pregnant and as English law declared you couldn't hang pregnant women they were given a stay of execution.

Bonny and Read were never executed, Read died in jail likely of typhoid fever or complications due to the pregnancy and was buried on April 28th 1721 but Anne disappeared from the records. Theories for Anne range from her being released to her family, freed by a governor who took pity on her or died in jail.

They were both first written about in the book ‘A General History of the Pyrates’ by Captain Charles Johnson who in the book wrote some of the first biographies of many of the pirates from the Golden Age. Although their time as notorious pirates was short and what he wrote was largely fictionalised it inspired many others writing about pirates and cemented much of how we view their stories today.

Sources and Secondary Reading:

Book: Pirate Women: The Princesses, Prostitutes, and Privateers Who Ruled the Seven Seas by Laura Sook Duncombe

#pirates #piracy #Nassau #historical #educational #Nassau Pirate Republic #Anne Bonny #Mary Read #golden age of piracy #black sails

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mariacallous · 1 year

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The first time I saw a Vivienne Westwood dress in the wild was while shopping for my best friend’s wedding, almost 10 years ago. She told me she wanted something black, not white, something in the sale, something she could wear after the wedding and – turning to face me on the middle of London’s Regent Street, added: “something that will stretch because I’m six weeks pregnant”. So off we went to the Vivienne Westwood store on Conduit Street in London, and left half an hour later with a loose black silk sleeveless pencil dress, with a draped neckline and ruched waist with plenty of give. She successfully wore it, five weeks later and 11 weeks pregnant, to her wedding.

Vivienne Westwood, who died on Thursday night, could pack more contradictions into one collection than most designers could in a lifetime. But in her clothes, she did the one thing designers are unable – or rather unwilling – to do. That is, make fancy stuff for real people with real bodies, making her truly the mother of all fashion contradictions.

Probably more famous for her transgressive marriage of punk and fashion in the late 70s – for dressing the Sex Pistols in rips, and Adam and the Ants in Elizabethan blouses – it wasn’t until the late 80s and 90s that Westwood began making proper tailored clothes by dissecting existing pieces, inadvertently changing the landscape of high-end womenswear.

The best example is perhaps her 1990 Portrait Collection show. Here, skirts were full, waists were boned and bosoms spilled. The models who took part in her shows were thin – but in spite of this, some of the clothes seemed to support their wearer, somehow making them look fuller. Removed from their catwalk context, they didn’t just expand the definition of acceptable body type; they encouraged it.

This was part of Westwood’s shtick, of course. If trends went one way, she went another. But at the time, viewed between the wide-shouldered soft power of fashion’s main New York players such as Donna Karan and the “heroin chic” thriving within its subcultures, Westwood’s 90s aesthetic was an outlier, exaggerating the female form rather than reducing it. The 18th-century-inspired gowns were not outrageous because they showed their wearer’s knickers, but because they understood what fashion for women with breasts and bums wasn’t – which was fashionable.

“All my clothes are really sexy, about meeting the body and making it look attractive and powerful,” she said, at the 2004 launch of her V&A retrospective. “I aim to make people look important.” Among her fans were undoubtably famous and powerful women – most famously the artist Tracey Emin, the actor Christina Hendricks (who also fronted a Vivienne Westwood campaign in 2011) and the shape shifter Kim Kardashian. Celebrities, yes, but also women with bodies who relied on clothes that celebrate the female form.

Not everything Westwood made in the 90s was about wearability, of course. Just ask teenage Naomi Campbell, who fell on her 1993 catwalk in 9in platforms, or Kate Moss, who in 1995 walked out wearing just a skirt while eating a Magnum. Nor is body image something Westwood particularly wanted to interrogate with her clothes (it’s telling that in a 2018 documentary, she described her approach to fashion not as attacking the establishment, but as “a distraction”). She cared about animals, and was a vegetarian, but partly because her favourite food was lettuce – she once alleged that she and her husband, Andreas, went through one iceberg a day.

It could also be said that Westwood, perhaps hypocritically, deployed nudity as a shock tactic rather than anything more helpful, particularly later in her career. When Pamela Anderson, her one-time muse – in politics too, with both campaigning for the release of Julian Assange – walked in a show in 2009, and revealed a nipple during the final bow, the effect was mainly comic.

Still, as someone who dressed punks, then supermodels, translating the shock tactics of one movement into the other through plaid and scissor-work, she pioneered a rebelliousness that often led to change. In 2017, her catwalk show was one of a few that season to include menswear and womenswear. What seemed like a gimmick then was actually fairly progressive – this is fairly normal practice now. Still, as the clothing was sold in separate departments, the only real way to identify the unisex stuff was to check the label.

Not all catwalk shows have real-world impact – and as empowering as it was to see heaving bosoms on her catwalks, how many women think of a catwalk show when hunting for something to wear? They did with Vivienne Westwood. As my pregnant friend walking down the aisle in a black dress proves, the clothes actually worked for women in the real world.

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thekimspoblog · 10 months

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"Sheepdog" (Kim Wexler Pregnancy fanfic) Chapter 3: "Kafkaesque"

“One side, everybody! The parade float’s coming through!”

That’s what they were all probably thinking. Pregnant women were a common sight in the hallways of the courthouse, but they were usually dressed appropriately in mumus or jumpers. Pudgy, soft, anonymous. The other women hadn’t attracted enough fame for anyone to take notice, if they had clearly not been pregnant the previous Friday. But now they were all staring at her. They were all staring and whispering. It set her ears on fire, and sent a prickle up the back of her neck.

Fucking Howard! Today started off badly, but she could have recovered by now if that prick hadn’t shown up to undermine her. “Don’t let him get to you,” Kim reminded herself, “You don’t even have to answer to him anymore”. In another week, her plan would go into effect, Davis and Main would drop Sandpiper like a hot potato, and if he still couldn’t see how much stronger she was than him, that’d be his problem. He and his condescension would be in the rearview mirror. She had to keep her eyes forward: Lynn Percival, 31. At issue were the material facts; the chain of events during her arrest. The prosecution was probably going to call attention to her wrap-sheet, but that had no relevance to her interaction with this officer. The cop was expected to deny that he had any prior relationship with her off-duty, but she would be able to get the voicemails he left on her answering machine admitted into evidence, so long as… It’s just insulting, you know?! Ok, Howard never liked Jimmy, and that was understandable. Jimmy was an acquired taste. But when it came to her, Howard couldn’t even grant her the dignity of being his enemy. After all these years, he had still deluded himself into thinking she had a modicum of an iota of an interest in what he thought of her. Why did he think he was any authority on what made someone a respectable professional? And why did he think she was ever that person, before Jimmy corrupted her pure-as-the-driven-snow morals? He was such an insignificant toad, and yet he still somehow found exactly the wrong thing to say, to have her fuming for the rest of the day.

She regretted not buying any antacids on her way to work. It was difficult to focus, when her stomach was a tempestuous ocean of venom. She was starting to regret not wearing sweatpants either. Cobbling together some fitting business attire had been hard, but not impossible. Jimmy had fished this XL gray pencil skirt from the top shelf of the back of her closet, and even so, it was a tight squeeze. As long as she kept her suit jacket buttoned, nobody would notice how badly her blouse was forced to ride up over her turgid bump. What if this wasn’t even a pregnancy? It would make more sense if she had an ovarian cyst. Oh well, the doctor’s appointment was this afternoon, and if she found out she had cancer, Kim wasn’t even sure whether she’d be that upset. She didn’t want to die when life was just starting to get good, but if she had to, dying happy was better than the alternative. She could still put a full day in before the dreaded appointment.

District Attorney Ericsen charged at her, briefcase in hand. “Kim! Do you know where Officer Kirk is?” Ericsen’s eyes were worried, stern, and just a little bit suspicious.

“He’s your witness. Contact his precinct if you can’t find him. Let them know he’ll be held in contempt if he doesn’t show up. This is completely inappropriate to be asking opposing counsel”

“Does Saul Goodman know where Officer Kirk is?” Ericsen made no pretense of the fact that she was asking the same question twice, just slightly reworded.

“No! He does not! I think he would have told me if he did” Kim was under no obligation to answer that last question, but she didn’t feel like playing games. The honest truth was she had shown up today, fully expecting to face the brute on the stand. It was short notice, but if she could file a missing witness charge, that would be good news for Lynn. But the fact remained that the pig’s disappearance was a coincidence! This one was clean of any meddling, from her or her partner.

“Two months! Two months I’d been speaking with him, and he was nothing but willing and able to testify against Percival. I know the signs of when a witness is getting cold feet. When an officer goes missing right before a trial, he doesn’t answer his phone, there are no reports of being injured-on-duty, no hospitalization records in the whole county, and even his relatives can’t explain why he never came home from work yesterday, that starts to look like something else. I’ve seen it before, but this is not cold-feet”

“If you’re accusing my defendant of foul-play, I’d remind you that she cut all ties with gang affiliation after she was released on parole. Putting herself at great risk too, I would add”

“No, I might not have as much sympathy for Percival as you do, but I do pity her. Living in the gutter, getting by day-by-day. If I were writing the laws, I’d categorize severe depression as enough to reduce someone to an animalistic state, to the point where mens rea can’t be proven. But I don’t. And the fact is that Percival struck Kirk in the stomach first, and even if Percival is not a sophisticated criminal, she was still sane enough to understand what she was doing. The point being I agree; she’s not a mastermind, and she currently has no connections to someone who would do this for her. So no… I’m not accusing your client of anything” Ericsen shot Kim the side-eye.

“Again, I’d blame the precinct,” Kim deflected, “It’s not like there’s any shortage of organized crime in this city. Who knows who might have intercepted him, or what he might have done to provoke them? It’s a hazard of the occupation. OR! Maybe he was cooperating with you, then realized how hard perjuring himself would be when the rape was caught on camera, and he decided to hop a plane to Grenada instead. Because frankly I wouldn’t be that worried if I were you. There wasn’t going to be much benefit to having him testify anyway”

Ericsen changed her posture. “How are you feeling, Kim? Are you ok?”

“I’m fine!” she snapped, “You’re like the eighth person to ask me that today. So if I’m sick of anything…!”

“I only ask because it seems like there’s something going around. Just the fall flu season, but a lot of people are out today. I’m kind of under the weather myself”

“I’m sorry” Kim shrugged.

There was a moment of impasse where it seemed the older woman was going to try to feel her belly.

“That’s alright,” the district attorney huffed, “I was just thinking to myself this morning, ‘You know what I need? More paperwork. I hope someone intimidates my officer so I can have to explain to Papadomian why my witness is a no-show’ “ She wandered off muttering to herself. She herself seemed a little off today.

An amorphous hope, a blip of a thought began to bubble up, that if Lynn’s hearing was postponed, maybe Kim could take a sick day after all. But before the hope had words, it was already dashed. The mobile phone in her jacket pocket began to vibrate. It was the office.

“Hello?”

“Hey Kim,” Franchesca fought through a yawn, “I’ve been trying to reach you. Your motion to bump up the Estrada trial was approved, but they insist on trying him as an adult”

“I’ll take it as a victory anyway. When is the date?”

“Next week, Monday the… um… the 15th!” rustling papers could be heard on the other end of the line.

“Today’s the 15th!”

“Oh crud… I’m really sorry. I’m really really sorry! The letter came in, and it sat on the pile, and you know usually I’m so on top of things, but-”

“Franchesca, Franchesca! It’s fine. It’s fall flu season. What’s the time?”

“12:15. Right now it’s 10:4-”

“I know. I only have a little over an hour to prepare. I think I can make it work”

“You’re really not mad?”

“A little”

“I’m sorry”

“Thank you, Franchesca”

*Click!*

She dialed Jimmy; she’d delegated the task of updating the Estrada brief to him, and even if he didn’t have it, she just needed to vent.

________________________________

But the cell phone was sitting on the car seat next to Saul’s briefcase, switched on silent mode. He didn’t hear it buzz.

“What do you mean Lalo’s not dead?” he asked Mike.

“Turns out he had a trap door installed in his bathroom, and a tunnel leading out from under his compound”

“Turns out” Jimmy repeated incredulously.

_____________________________

The phone just rang and rang and eventually went to voicemail. Kim gave up and started to seek out somewhere to sit down and write on the older version of the document, when the parasite in her belly decided to do a summersault. Suddenly a foot was on her bladder.

“Women’s Restroom Out of Order” said the sheet of notebook paper scotch-taped over the door.

“UNISEX” read the sign over the men’s room.

…

When she stepped out of the stall, Bill Oakley was loitering at the sink, washing his hands at the next basin over. It was a bit awkward having the bathrooms desegregated like this, especially given the lack of soundproofing, but they were all adults. Anyway, she was so nauseous she almost didn’t notice he was there at first. “Keep it together!” she commanded herself, “Get this done, then I have permission to pass out”. Something was wrong with her skirt. Ever since she had pulled it back up, it was painfully tight. She adjusted it and adjusted it in front of the mirror, but no matter what, the seams at the waist were threatening to split open. Was she still growing?! Totally illogical, Captain. Then again how did she account for last night? This whole thing felt like science fiction. And if her clothes couldn’t keep this existential crisis contained, what chance did her mind have? Too many questions were pulling her in a million different directions; it was better to keep them stuffed into the confines of the fabric and deal with them later when she got home. Bill looked her up and down, ponytail to flat dress shoe, with a nonplussed expression, and then finally broke the silence.

“Hey Kim… New haircut?” he asked with a tone drier than a saltine.

For the first time this morning, it cracked a smile across her face. “I know right?” she played along, “Probably the only thing left recognizable about me. Lop this off, and I could disappear into the crowd”

“Not on the 19th, you can’t! Martinelli? Let’s just say some details are going to come out in discovery, which I’m pretty sure you were trying to conceal. I was looking forward to the damage I was going to do to your pride”

“Not conceal! You and I just have differing opinions about whether the spring-gun should be treated as an assault with a deadly weapon. Because Martinelli thought it was a toy gun and it went off by accident, blame shifts to the manufacturer. When plead down to products liability, which is all this is, I’ve already given you all the relevant facts. Freely and openly! Anything more would be an unnecessary invasion of the defendant’s privacy”

“Yeah yeah, you can keep singing that song!” the DA taunted, “Until Wednesday! I recommend bringing some bactine!”

“All locker-room talk” she chuckled. She turned for the door, but stopped. “Thank you”

“For what?” Bill straightened his tie in his reflection.

“For not getting all touchy-feely about it. Everyone’s being sickeningly sweet to me today, and you’re the first person who’s talking normally. Even Howard’s being nice to me, but you know… it’s Howard. Even when he’s trying to be nice, he’s an asshole. It doesn’t even matter if he’s right about understanding what I’m dealing with; it’s none of his business. But he is right… My kingdom for a cigarette right about now”

“He’s probably just jealous,” Bill assessed.

“He’s welcome to trade places whenever he wants! I’m sure his life is so hard”

“He’s getting divorced, after all,” he shrugged.

“I didn’t know he was married,” Kim was taken aback.

“Yep. Looks like you get to have it all. Profitable career, big house, stable marriage, baby on the way? While some of us are about to lose everything. Some of us never had that much to start with”

Maybe she couldn’t bring herself to feel sorry for Howard, but she did feel pity for Bill! “At least you said you were moving to an office with a window, right?” she tentatively asked.

“They gave it to someone else”

“Jesus! I wish there was something I could do”

“Not unless you have any female friends you could set me up with?”

Kim thought for a moment to consider the question seriously. “Well I think you and Steph could potentially hit it off. But I doubt her wife would appreciate me giving you her number”

“Eh. I’m no-one’s type,” Bill had resigned himself to this fact years ago, “Honestly I’d settle for any male friends you have too. I don’t have any of those either”

“On second thought,” Kim retrieved a paper towel and a pen from her bag, “If you just want someone to talk to, I guess I don’t see the harm. The three of you kind of have the same sense of humor”

Oakley took the flimsy brown napkin with cherishment. Before the conversation could end, he had one last thing to add:

“Speaking of Howard,” he cleared his throat, “and speaking of butting in where I don’t belong, I might have been eavesdropping when Howard was making some rather frantic calls earlier this morning. He mentioned you more than a couple times”

“Who was he talking to?” she leaned against the wall.

“If I had to guess, probably Rebecca, right? There’s still unsettled business about McGill’s estate the four of you have been sifting through?”

“Howard’s been talking to Rebecca?”

“Kind of a lot. I assumed you knew”

“I haven’t been involved since the reading of the will. After the meeting with the scholarship board, we both decided we didn’t want anything else to do with it”

“Well whatever it was, he pretty adamantly wanted to call off the whole thing. Said something about not wanting to destroy an innocent life”

Kim’s stomach gave out an audible gurgle. This had been a nice distraction, but now the sinking feeling was back worse than before.

Between the heavy book bag slung over her shoulder and her shifting center of gravity, each step was becoming an increasingly precarious balancing act as she waddled back down the hallway, but Kim felt like she was starting to get the hang of it. She kept her free hand supporting the underside of her belly, both to keep her passenger calm and to keep the gray pencil skirt from beginning to ride down her hips.

Her house wasn’t that big - she thought - Howard’s house was still bigger. That wasn’t the point of course; she only needed one square acre to call home - one square acre she couldn’t be muscled out of - but still. She didn’t think she was being a pedant, to point out that anyone who still had a car to sleep in had not, in fact, lost everything yet. Hyperbolic claims of victimization like that only proved how sheltered someone really was. She knew so many people who were at the absolute bottom, and she’d been there herself; Howard was nowhere near that point of humility yet.

And as far as her profitable career? That wasn’t what it seemed either. She had money now, sure, but at what cost? Never being able to dismiss a bump in the night again. It’d cost her peace of mind, sleep. Ever since childhood, she’d wanted to live in a movie, but now that the movie had finally begun, she’d do anything to go back to normal. Ever since her husband had retrieved that bail money for the cartel, they were both on a merry-go-round they couldn’t get off of. Really, it was the state of New Mexico’s fault. If they just paid their public defenders a living wage, this all could have been avoided.

The stability of her marriage? That was something that was hard to quantify. It wasn’t close to perfect, but she didn’t necessarily expect better. Of course she and Jimmy were always on the outs, of course they argued constantly; they met at work; fighting was the relationship. But they did see eachother, in ways the rest of the world didn’t, so she really wouldn’t have had it any other way. The man was so much more than a 2-bit con-artist. He was sweet, and loyal, and he actually gave a damn about people. He gave a damn about the depths of rage she concealed under her smile.

... And the baby? The baby! … was a Metaphor…

Somewhere nearby, someone’s cell phone was going off. At least that’s what she thought at first; the tinkling bells were oddly familiar…

La la la la la la la. La la la la la la la…

In the periphery of her vision, an old woman was sitting on one of the benches holding a hand mirror. As Kim walked past her, the mirror caught a light beam from the window and… OW! Kim’s hand flew to cover her right eye. The flash was worse than blinding; something sharp had buried itself under her eyelid. She wanted to dismiss it as an eyelash refusing to lay flat, but no, she was pretty sure she was bleeding. Limping, blinking frantically, trying to avoid suits coming the opposite way as she found a corner of the hallway to pull over. And then as quickly as it had started, the pain was gone. The tears in her hand were crystal clear, no blood, so she couldn’t explain what had just happened. But the air in the hallway was suddenly several degrees cooler, and as the buzzing of the fluorescent lights overhead pulsated in and out, the sound resembled a gravelly voice.

WITCH! WITCH!

The chill passed. Nobody else seemed to have noticed the power surge.

David Estrada (16) was waiting to meet her, standing just inside the bounds of the metal detectors.

“What the hell is this?” Kim criticized his wardrobe as she approached, “David, I thought we talked about this. Suit? Tie? Loafers? Professional clothes! Jeans and a dress shirt at worst!”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Wexler,” came his mealy-mouthed answer, “You know I tried to look for some church-clothes, but your secretary only called me today saying the court hearing was today. And besides, last time you lent me a tie. I wasn’t sure if we were doing that again”

She had been very explicit about the fact that David needed to get his own tie. She looked over his outfit; the camo cargo shorts, the white wifebeater. “At least give me the gold chain,” she ordered.

“Isn’t the whole point of court to represent yourself as you are?”

“Nope!” Kim kept her palm outstretched expectantly. David groaned but relinquished the necklace.

“Well this is who I am…” Estrada stubbornly finished the thought under his breath.

There was no time left for debate. The defense scrambled to their table just before the bailiff announced the entrance of the judge.

“All rise. The honorable Judge Toledo presiding”

The justice was an unfamiliar face to Kim. Weathered and sagging, though he couldn’t be more than 55. It looked as if his pale jowled face was sculpted by filling a nylon stocking with tofu. Maybe he had lost weight recently, but his skin had not yet gotten the memo. A broom of fire-engine red hair sat lopsided on his head like a crown of straw. His eyes were tiny blue marbles.

“David Estrada…” Toledo began, but the defendant shot to his feet and blurted out, “Not guilty!”

Kim put a hand on his shoulder to let David know he should sit back down; “Please excuse my client’s exuberance. As you can see, he’s very young and his only experience with criminal procedure comes from television. (. . .) We are actually prepared to take a plea deal on counts 1 and 2; the malicious mischief and the criminal trespass. We are only contesting count 3; larceny”

“I see. And in pre-trial, you stated that you also wished to contest count 4. Is that still correct?”

**Count 4?**

The color began to rise in her cheeks as she burrowed back into her notes. She found the old brief, but it only mentioned charges 1-3! What was Count 4?! Clearly, she knew enough about it at some point to submit a plea. The domino effect of the day’s failures, delays, procrastinations and miscommunications were finally gaining momentum. Was this the result of deliberately pouring alcohol on her memory each night, or was 221 cases maybe just too many cases for any one person to juggle in a month? Hard to say whether her nerves upset the fetus or the other way around, but now there was a dull stabbing pain developing under her kidney. Toledo glared at her before impatiently turning his attention back to the district attorney.

“Hello, everyone,” began the prosecutor, “My name is Simon Rodriguez. I represent the district of San Berndillio county and the state of New Mexico, and it’s ironic the defense should characterize her client as ‘young and inexperienced’, as Mr. Estrada has in fact committed this exact crime already once before. The prosecution will show that at 2:43 pm, Tuesday, October 19th, 2004, Mr. Estrada picked up a cinder block and threw it through the front window of Jared's Jewelry on 2260 Louisiana Blvd. It was his intent to smash the glass of the property then, during the confusion, enter and steal a diamond and silver necklace costing $3,850. This act constituted a criminal trespass and Mr. Estrada did this while the business was open and operating. As a result, the victim, Ms. Bellamy, sustained lacerations on her face and arms from the broken glass…”

Ok now Kim was sure this was the first mention of a fourth charge against David. If Count 4 was a battery, which is what the prosecution seemed to be asserting, they would have needed to notify her about the witness ahead of time. And she was certain she’d never seen this woman before in her life. The prosecutor was a stranger too. Rodriguez kept smugly staring daggers at her as he gave his opening argument. It wasn’t clear what, but he seemed to expect something more than to just win the case. The man looked like an elf, with warm brown eyes, a sharp little face, and a cap of black hair greased down like he was Dracula. While his stature was reminiscent of a lawn jockey, something about the way he smoothly paced the floor made his legs look much longer than the rest of him. In truth, something about him reminded her of Lalo Salamanca, and that only made the baby kick more anxiously in protest.

“Objection!” Kim heaved herself into a standing position, “m-MMMs. Bellamy is a surprise witness. The defense has not been given time to prepare a cross examination, and therefore her testimony should be inadmMMMhis…able”

“Overruled. You had the opportunity to object to this witness in pre-trial. The court cannot make exceptions to accommodate your lack of organization, Ms. Wexler”

That was odd, she thought! She’d been nervous in court more times than she could count, but never before had she developed a stutter like that. She coughed repeatedly, trying to clear her throat from whatever had caused her to get caught on her M’s like that. When she glanced back into Mr. Rodriguez’s eyes, the ethereal tune from that horror movie last night started to ring in her ears again.

La la la la la la la. La la la la la la la.

“The court will now hear the opening arguments of the defense”

She stood up again and cleared her throat. “Good afternoon. I’m Kim Wexler, co-council for the defense. Yes, it is true that David Estrada broke the window of the jewelry store. Yes, it is true that because he entered the store illegally, this was trespassing. But! Any intent to commit larceny had already been abandoned by the time he entered the premises. Store security footage shows that the defendant touched the necklace, but never asported it. The burden is on the prosecution to prove that Estrada at any point intended to permanently deprive “Jared’s” of its property. At worst, he is guilty of an abandoned attempt. As for the battery charges? There is an issue of transferred intent because her injuries occurred during the commision of a separate crime, but my client is innocent until proven guilty”

At this, David interjected, “Yeah! And let the record show I only grabbed the necklace as an act of protest!”

Kim rubbed the palms of both her hands against her forehead slowly. With a gritted smile, she requested a recess.

“Sustained. But you only have three minutes”

She grabbed David by the arm and pulled him back out into the hallway outside the courtroom. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” she confronted him.

“Do you know where that diamond necklace came from?! I Googled it! De Beers relies on slavery in the Congo to this day to make a profit. And then more slavery in India to assemble the jewelry. And the courts’ attitude is that as long as it happens overseas, and as long as they’re importing the rocks from middlemen, it’s legal! I wasn’t trying to hurt that lady, but if I ruined her fancy romantic shopping spree because she was standing too close to an artifact of human rights abuses, I can’t sincerely say I’m sorry”

“Do you really want to do the ‘This whole system is out of order!’ thing today? Fine! I’ll go home and eat Cheerios, and you can represent yourself. I would love to be doing that instead right now”

“Not like it would be much difference! All you’ve done is sit there and agree with the prosecutor. Is that what they teach you in law school? How to take it like a bitch?!”

“I have done nothing but bend over backwards for you since we met. Most public defenders would have mentally checked out the moment you rejected a full plea deal and insisted on taking this to trial. I told you it was a bad idea. And yet here I am. Angry that you were stupid enough to commit the same crime twice, angry that you couldn’t just keep your nose clean and work for your grandfather like I told you to, angry that all the strings I pulled for you the first time have been thrown out the window. But I’m here!”

“Oh yeah, thanks so much for that, by the way! That’s right, I took your advice the first time. I went back to my grandpa and begged for a job. I mopped the floors like you said. I scrubbed the toilets like you said. Picked up a pretty nasty stomach virus in the process too. But what you might not have counted on is that my grandfather is an abusive prick!”

“He was the only one who was willing to bail you out for the first cinder block, and he bailed you out this time too”

“You’re right! He has money! He must be a saint. Look I don’t know what nice-guy act he gave you, but you don’t know what he’s like behind closed doors. Are you really going to tell me to go back to him? Like that’s helping keep my life on track? Do you want that on your conscience? If so, I think I’d rather go to jail. I can’t drop the soap no matter where I go; at least in prison it wouldn’t be incest. I mean we all knew it was alway going to be this way anyway, right? Forget protecting people; god forbid an international corporation loses a few shiny stones”

Kim sighed. This was at the same time the most rewarding aspect of working with minors, and the most exhausting. The world hadn’t yet sanded their dreams and principles down to a tiny nub. The job meant having to convince them that putting a little faith into the justice system to work as intended was not, in fact, emblematic of the rise of a fascist dictatorship. Only when we lose faith and start resorting to extralegal methods of expression, is fascism empowered.

“... How much do you need?” she asked in a hushed tone.

“Huh?”

“I can get you emancipated. We can press charges against your grandfather. Find a motel room to move into. I can support you if you promise to stay out of trouble. I’ll write you a check every month. You can start looking into correspondence school. You made a mess in there trying to self-advocate, but you clearly have critical thinking skills. You could go be a lawyer too. I don’t want to see you throw your life away. I admire your passion, and it’s not even that you’re wrong about De Beers. All I’m asking for is a little patience, and for now you let me do the talking”

“I don’t want your money. I want you to do your job. There’s an angle to this, about how I wasn’t stealing the necklace, I was stealing it back. Or… or it’s a free speech issue or something. There’s an angle that could work”

In terms of rule statements, David was objectively wrong. Even if the courts weren’t corrupt, larceny of stolen property was not a defense. A defender would have to be out of her mind to try that strategy. But it was hard not to respect the mischievous, optimistic glint in the kid’s eyes.

“Come on, Ms. Wexler. You know I’m right!”

After much grumbling, she nodded and gave a flat “OK”. Just as her phone buzzed that the three minutes were up.

…

The prosecution called the witness, a glassy-eyed woman named Dawn Bellamy, to the stand. Mostly, Dawn just stared off into the distance with a naive grin, but while being sworn in, she perked up at the mention of god. Her testimony revealed that she had been standing over twelve feet away from the window when it broke. In fact, in Kim’s opinion, the “lacerations” on her face and arms looked more like acne. On cross examination, Kim asked Dawn if she had seen any medical experts about her injuries. Dawn said she did, and presented a note which was (a) written on blank paper as opposed to any physician’s stationary, and (b) not at all specific about what happened to her skin. When Kim requested that Toledo read the letter himself and wait for verification that Dr. Patcher was a licensed doctor before admitting it into evidence, the judge took one brief glance at the note, stated “It doesn’t look like anything to me”, and treated the note as admissible. Then the case took a sharp turn! The witness revealed that she was one month pregnant at the time of the larceny. This led to a protracted and uncomfortable debate about whether Estrada should have known she was pregnant based on her appearance. And Rodriguez acted supremely smug as he made an extremely bizarre decision; he drew a parallel to Sherwood v. Walker to argue that because Dawn’s status as a pregnant woman was a substantial fact, the court should rule based on her status at the time, not based on Estrada’s mistaken belief.

Oh come on, she thought. He didn’t have to make it so easy: “Motion for jury instruction: Sherwood v. Walker set the precedent for mistake of fact in contract law. It has no holding on a criminal case. Not to mention it’s a Michigan case and has no control over New Mexico jurisdiction”

“Motion Denied. Legal precedent can be extrapolated from contract law”

“I’m not even asking that Mr. Rodriguez should amend his conclusion. McDuffie v. State sets a clear precedent that battery against a pregnant victim is a violent felony under the American Career Criminal Act. But McDuffie had reason to believe his victim was pregnant, plus he punched her in the stomach, plus she suffered a miscarriage. Here, the victim suffered no damages”

“Motion Denied”

“Mm- (cough) My concern, your honor, is that when you bring in comparisons to Sherwood, you treat the value of life as too specifically quantifiable. The crime of battery is no longer an offense against a person, but against their value as a commodity to produce value in the future. It’s important to treat a battery against an individual woman the same as a battery against a lone man, and take into account any additional statutes elevating the victim’s status as a protected class. We must treat these protected class statutes as what they are - nothing more, nothing less - when determining a fair sentence. Because the alternative is a double standard in the law that does not, in fact, elevate a pregnant woman’s value above a man’s, but cuts the value of every nonpregnant woman in half. After all, before Walker knew Rose was a fertile cow, he was preparing to send her to the slaughterhouse. I can’t imagine translating such a precedent for livestock onto humans”

She was sweating profusely under these lights. She wanted to take her jacket off, but underneath, she could feel that her boobs had outgrown and spilled out over the top of her blouse. Her shirt and her bra had twisted together into a bunched up wring of fabric, and her skin itched. It was breaking her concentration something awful the way beads of moisture dripped from her underarms.

Toledo beckoned her close to the bench and growled, “Do you want to be held in contempt?”

“NoooOOOOOhh!” The sound that came out of her was deep and animalistic. It worried her how good it felt. That is to say, it made the stomachache much more bearable as a wave of pleasure radiated through her.

“Good. As I was saying, I am prepared to adopt that precedent. As recent as Dred Scott v. Sandford, the US has recognized a value innate to the labor a person could potentially provide in the future…”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing! She had stood at this table plenty of times, and tolerated old white men vomiting bad standup comedy or failed slam poetry in place of judicial analysis. But this… this was something new! What was even happening?! Who was this guy and what did he think he was doing?!

She opened her mouth to point out the painfully obvious - that the case had been overturned by constitutional amendment over a century ago - but the words wouldn’t cooperate. Her own throat and tongue were betraying her, and all she could say was “Moo! MOOOO!”

Rodriguez continued to lecture the jury about how frail and fragile Ms. Bellamy was. How - seemingly as an act of property damage against Mr. Bellamy - the battery was a serious offense. Kim wanted badly to interrupt him by screaming that the woman was not weak and by extension neither was she, but it was hard to say that convincingly, when she was gripping the banister, fighting vertigo just to find her way back to her seat. The cramp refused to let up. She felt incredibly bloated, and the muscles in her thighs and abdominals were straining under the building feeling of pressure.

She was being scrutinized from every angle; the stubborn incumbency of Judge Toledo, the vacant, placid gaze of the witness, Mrs. Bellamy, David - who wanted to be respectful and avert his gaze, but as a teenage boy - he lacked impulse control, the malicious stare of the district attorney, and finally, the jury, who were seeming more and more 2-dimensional by the moment.

Rip! Rip! Ping! Ping! Ping!

The pencil skirt ripped in two places on both sides of her ass, and the buttons on her jacket shot off in the direction of the gallery. Her massive ripe melon of a stomach hung out for the whole court to see. Veiny stretch marks which hadn’t been there this morning were sprouting up from her pelvis. With her naked breasts exposed, it was obvious that the dampness was not just from her sweat. Her tits felt huge, pendulous, and sore, and milk was starting to leak from her browning nipples. She gasped for air, finally able to breathe freely for the first time this morning. Toledo had abandoned all pretense of professionalism and was leaning out of his seat to get a better view of her. Rodriguez was visibly pitching a tent, and he was just shaking his head side to side as if to say “I told you so”.

At that moment, she was released from the hex on her vocal chords. She straightened her posture. Kim’s face was beet red, nevertheless she tried to keep her head held high.

“If I may please,” she spoke slowly, loudly, and deliberately, “request a recess to change my clothes”

“Uh… Sustained…” Toledo banged the gavel, “I think we got everything we needed. This trial will resume at some time next month”

“Thank you” our heroine said with as much decorum as she could muster. She marched out, holding her left arm over her boobs and keeping the dregs of her skirt together with her right.

David watched her leave, and it took a minute before it occurred to him that he should follow her into the hallway. He found her gulping down water at the fountain and tugged on the sleeve of her jacket.

“What the hell happened?!”

“I don’t know,” Kim answered, exasperated.

“Well are you going to be okay?!”

“I don’t know”

“What do I do now?!”

“The trial will resume in a month. Silver lining, this gives us more time to prepare… I must be having a bad dream. This is all just too weird”

“You think?”

“No. I mean I know every judge in this court. Every district attorney. And I’d never seen either of those guys before. That man did not conduct himself like an experienced judge”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. Best case scenario, we can file a complaint and appeal. Worst case scenario… I just don’t know. Nothing about this was normal”

“Are you scared?”

Their eyes locked, “Don’t do anything until I figure this out, promise? Then you can throw as many bricks as you want”

She turned and headed for the exit at the end of the hallway. When she started to feel tears of humiliation run down her cheeks, she picked up her pace. By the time she reached the door, she was running to escape.

#better call saul #kim wexler #bcs #jimmy mcgill #jimmy x kim #saul goodman #mcwexler #rhea seehorn #better call saul fanfic #mcwexlerjr #bob odenkirk #pregnancy fanfic #rapid pregnancy #body horrow cw

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miax1119 · 9 months

Text

Never again

Fanfiction based on The Man from Snowy river - The McGregor saga Kathleen and Matt

Kathleen and Montana had been taken prisoners by horse thieves. The horse thieves had knocked them unconscious and transported them to an unknown ranch in the mountains, where they´d been for two months. Matt and Rob had followed but lost track a few days ago. Luckily Matt had friends in the mountains and had found shelter for a few days. Matts good friend O´Donnell was familiar with the horse thieves and was interested in getting rid of them once for all. O´Donnel, Matt and Rob therefore spend a few days gathering supporters.

At the ranch Kathleen and Montanna were kept in handcuffs making their whole life quite difficult. The three outlaws were keen on both women, touching and kissing them while the women tried to do the chores the men told them too. If women got too frisky a slap on the side of the head was sure to keep them on track.

Montanna had noticed quickly that Kathleen was as ill tempered as herself, but lately she was loosing color and temper. She seemed white as a sheet and swayed on her feet now and then. One afternoon one of the men came home with a dead animal for the women to cook. Normally that kind of thing wouldn’t bother Kathleen, but the smell of the animal was too much, and she hurried to the sink and emptied her stomach. Her nausea had been coming and going for the past week, but this time she couldn’t hold it in. Montanna was by her side, supporting her weight and Kathleen slid to the floor. The men laughed at her, making fun of her week stomach and left with the expectation of a homecooked meal by sundown. “What´s going on with you Kathleen?” “Oh it´s nothing… just a bug I guess” Montanna wasn’t convinced so she noted to keep an eye on Kathleen.

Kathleen got through supper and to bed exhausted. Why was she so tired? The next morning, she felt even worse. The world was spinning around as she sat on the bedside and her stomach was whirling around.

“Montanna! Montanna” Montanna was woken by Kathleen soft alarming voice “What?” “Bucket, fast!” Montanna was fast on her feet to fetch the bucket for Kathleen just in time before she emptied what little content she held. “You´re not okay! What´s going on?” Montanna felt Kathleens forehead but felt no fever. The temperature outside was cold and moist from a rainy night. Both women slept only in their under gowns huddled together in a small bed with one big blanket. Montanna couldn’t help but notice Kathleen rounder bosom as they laid close together at night but also as she saw her washing by the table in their room. No room for modesty. Also, she hadn’t observed Kathleen having her monthly. They had been here for more than two months.

“You´re pregnant, right?” “Please don’t say anything to the men… it will give them an advantage when Matt finds us. They´ll use me against Matt” Montanne knew Kathleen was right. They were interrupted by gunshot and cheering men. They got dressed fast and awaited the door to be unlocked which didn’t take long. The men were hungry. It was inconvenient with the handcuffs and made cooking and housework ten times more slow. “Ah come her woman and let me warm you up. You´re white as a sheet and cold as ice” The boss pulled Kathleen down on his lap and felt his way around her waist and breasts. “Oh my lord, I think they grew overnight, and I can just feel they missed me” He laughed and ripped her blouse open as he buried his face in her bosom. Then he leaned her over the table, as he made his way under her dress. The two other men cheered yelling and laughing “Yeah show her a good time, boss!” Montanna tried to help but the other two made sure to knock her unconscious to the floor. The boos turned Kathleen on her flat on her stomach and pushed her dress up and ripped her briefs. Just as he was about to have his way with her the door was knocked in and Matt and Rob burst inside and shot the three men dead to the ground. Matt rushed to Kathleen and tossed her skirts down to cover her. Rob took care of Montanna and the bleeding cut at the side of her head. Matt didn’t get to talk to Kathleen before she fell into his arm unconscious. He felt a lump in his throat as he watched her ripped blouse and held her close to him on the floor. “What the hell did they do to her? Rob, tell me those men are dead, or I´m going send them to hell” Rob looked at the broken woman in his fathers arms and his heart broke. He didn’t dare wonder what else had been going on. Montanna regained consciousness and helped Matt with Kathleen. “She looks awful Montanna. No color and thinner than ever” Matt was really worried. “Yeah, she hasn’t been feeling well lately” “I can see that” When Kathleen got around she cried in Matts arms while O´Donnells men took care of the bodies of the horse thieves. O´Donnell also arranged a carriage for the two women. “Let´s make sure Kathleen gets a smooth ride home, okay boys!” Montanna ordered.

Home at Langara Kathleen didn’t say much. She just sat by the fire. She couldn’t seem to get warm again. Matt was greatly concerned for her. How much the thieve did to her he didn’t know, Kathleen wouldn’t speak of it. He didn’t know of the pregnancy yet either. But she would have to tell him soon. She was already showing. The doctor had assured her everything was alright with the baby. She was four and a half months along.

Montanna came by to visit regularly, and she seemed to get through to Kathleen.

“Kathleen you are making everybody worry sick. You got to talk about it. What happened after I was knocked out?”

A tear escaped Kathleens eye. “You know what happened! You heard Matt and Rob talk about the state I was in” Kathleen was yelling at Montanna and got up from the chair. She was only in her nightgown, and to Montanna it was obvious that Kathleen was showing a nice little baby bump.

“No body´s been talking about you or what you looked like. We´re just worried about you… and the baby”

Montanna reached forward to touch Kathleens abdomen, but Kathleen hit her hand away.

“Don’t touch me!”

Matt, Rob and Michael got into the livingroom at the sound of Kathleens agitated voice:

Montanna kept talking “Kathleen listen, you´ve got to start living again. Think of Michael, of Matt and of yourself”

Tears were running freely down Kathleens cheeks “Why Montanna? Why? I´m soiled. I´m not worth loving anymore. I´m filthy” Kathleen was shaking, and Montanna tried to comfort her by holding her close. Then she took one of Kathleens hands and guided it to her abdomen.

“Feel it Kathleen. Feel the life inside you. It´s not soiled or filthy. It´s your little angel. Can you feel it”

Matts heart almost stopped. He wanted to go to Kathleen, but Rob stopped him. “Let Montanna calm her down”.

Kathleens other hand also found the place where the small bubbles were telling her the baby was moving.

She looked down and smiled through her tears. When she looked up it was into Matts warm sympathetic eyes. He neared her carefully and admired her beautiful body and glowing red hair and the way her hand cradled her swelling abdomen.

He sat down on his knees and softly put his large hands on her hips and then sliding them towards her abdomen. Kathleen put her hand over his and he kissed them.

“Why didn’t you tell me? A baby, Kathleen”

“I was afraid you´d think it was one of the thieves baby… But I´m sure it´s not”

Matt got on his feet and opened his arms for her to walk into. Which she did. Head on his shoulder she cried and begged for forgiveness. He took her head between his hand kissed her and looked deep into her eyes “You have nothing to beg for. This wasn’t your fault”

With time Kathleen believed Matts words and with time she became her old self.

By summertime Kathleen and Matt welcomed a little girl. They called her Hope.

Life continued at Langara.

#themanfromsnowyriver #themcgregorsaga #kathleeno´neil #kathleenandmatt

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