#ren's point of view

[luvdeathrobots]

POV: Monstro.

*tw: agressão, tentativa de homicídio. Clique aqui para ler a versão no Google Docs.

   Era a última apresentação da noite de eventos das Indústrias Yamamoto. Hana Yamamoto, atual industrial, subia ao palco em meio ao eco de palmas, ao brilho das luzes e ao incentivo dos milhares de sorrisos comprados vindos do palco. Esbanjava em suas expressões nada mais nem menos que o orgulho sólido. 

— Obrigada, obrigada! — Apesar da calmaria na voz, seu sorriso era sádico, era esperto. Não havia vitória maior nos olhos de Hana que não fosse a atenção de seu público. — E é com extremo prazer que nós, das Indústrias Yamamoto, apresentamos a vocês a nossa mais nova invenção: ABR-005! É maior! É melhor! É o soldado perfeito! — Quão mais intensos eram seus adjetivos, mais alta era a voz que a líder trazia. — Conheçam, então, o futuro de titânio! 

   Havia silêncio até Hana sair do palco, as cortinas se abrirem e Ren Yamamoto ser revelado pelas luzes amarelas, vermelhas e azuis. Depois, muito pouco se podia ouvir das vozes presentes na plateia quando ABR-005 surgiu no centro de tudo. A máquina era grande, robusta, de quase dois metros e forma humanóide. Em seu corpo, era destacável a armadura de titânio e detalhes feitos a ouro, assim como o Cinábrio que brilhava em seu centro. Estava preparada para a guerra, aquilo era óbvio; o vermelho misturado ao preto em sua pintura não denunciava outra coisa senão a obsessão pela violência. 

   De início, Ren sabia muito bem com o que lidaria. Conhecia aquele dispositivo desde os esboços duplicados, rasgados e rabiscados de anos atrás. Era, finalmente, o dia que veria o esforço de alguns dos muitos funcionários tomando vida — e futuramente, sabia ele, tomando a vida. Ren não tinha o que temer. Conhecia cada movimento, cada surpresa que aquela máquina tinha a oferecer. Sabia seus limites. Era somente uma brincadeira planejada que futuramente traria a toda sua família não só o nome no topo como a pilha de dinheiro que ele sabia que sua mãe, Hana, gostava. Pelo menos ele achava que era só isso.

   Sua apresentação começou como qualquer outra: um resumo quase inútil sobre ABR-005 e para o que servia. Logo, a luta. Ren era ágil, era preciso. Suas mãos se alternavam em tiros disparados por uma pistola e então pelo arranhão de uma espada, tudo certeiro e totalmente calculado no titânio. Certamente, nada daquilo era suficiente para parar ou ao menos impedir avanços do robô; era apenas uma forma de demonstrar a resistência daquela besta. Do mesmo jeito que aquilo sabia se defender, sabia atacar, e assim foi: golpes precisos, eficientes para apagar qualquer um, mas totalmente ensaiados pelo garoto de magia artificial que simulava uma luta no momento. De maneira bruta e ligeira, ABR-005 apresentava a conversão de uma mão mecânica para uma lâmina totalmente afiada, extensa e de forma similar a uma foice; afinal, não havia nada que simulasse a morte tão bem quanto uma foice. Era esse seu diferencial de todas as máquinas criadas anteriormente: não teria piedade. Aquela força, aquele peso, aquela resistência e aquele gume, tudo era feito para ser preenchido pelo sangue. 

   Ren e ABR-005 ficaram em zigue-zague por certo tempo, tempo o suficiente para o apresentador imaginar que estava no fim. Não estava. O artífice podia jurar já ter visto tudo ensaiado nos dias anteriores, desviado ou acertado, mas havia algo de errado com ABR-005. A máquina brilhava mais. Brilhava o roxo do Cinábrio, brilhava o vermelho de seu corpo. Diferentemente dos padrões ensaiados, a besta começava a tomar tom mais agressivo e desregulado. A lâmina de sua foice outra vez foi vista e nada resumia mais Ren que o susto escancarado em seus olhos. Não conhecia aquilo. Não era aquilo que havia combinado com sua mãe. 

   ABR-005 impacientemente abandonava suas configurações iniciais. Em passos frenéticos, passava a derrubar seu rival com uma rasteira. A foice era cravada em seu rosto e todas as luzes do ambiente se apagavam. Era o preto, o vermelho da máquina e o reflexo das cores em Ren. Se alguém olhasse única e exclusivamente para aquele rapaz, seja a olhos nus ou pela câmera de seus celulares, sentiria nele o desespero de uma enrascada. Estava imobilizado. Não havia disparo de arma, acerto de lâmina ou golpe algum que invertesse sua situação. Então, de repente sentiu a força dos punhos de aço em sua barriga. Nunca em sua vida um golpe o doera tanto quanto aquele; afinal, era misturada a dor física da dor da humilhação pública. 

   Ren só foi capaz de ver outra vez a plateia quando seu corpo foi erguido e carregado pela máquina. Seus amigos, seus irmãos, sua namorada e diversas outras pessoas que ele talvez nunca fosse saber seus nomes gravavam aquele momento tanto em suas memórias quanto em seus celulares. Ele fechou seus olhos em esperança que aquilo acabasse, mas era só o início de seu pesadelo. A voz de sua mãe e industrial Hana roubou dele míseros segundos de atenção — e raiva.

— E é com extremo prazer que nós, das Indústrias Yamamoto — Era sufocante, era duradouro, era mortal. A besta mecânica refletia nos olhos de Ren o desespero eterno de sua alma, assim como sua mãe o fazia pela nada empática voz. —, apresentamos a vocês ABR–005! 

   O barulho dos aplausos invadiram os ouvidos do artífice como um incômodo ruído. Preso ao frio das mãos robóticas de ABR-005, ele não sentia nada mais que a angústia da morte — ou pelo menos do gosto azedo dela. A besta mecânica sorria. De algum jeito, aquele monte de peças sorria dentro do vidro preto e as luzes brancas. Era cruel, era persistente, era programado para aquilo. Os simulados dígitos gélidos apertavam sua garganta de maneira lenta, torturante e psicótica. Aquilo sabia a hora exata de largar seu ponto vital, deixar o corpo cair e então se curvar em total sucesso de sua criação. 

   Nas memórias de Ren Yamamoto, os Eventos de Lançamento sempre foram bons — no passado, no exato passado; agora, jogado ao chão como um nada, eram meras ilusões de respeito, de progresso e de orgulho. Sua visão diminuía aos poucos como a cortina do palco se fechava. Era primeiro o amarelo das luzes, o azulado da besta em seu caminho e o cinza de sua mãe. O ar era rarefeito. Um borrão, um sussurro e um riso; era tudo que conseguia identificar nos curtos segundos consciente, mesmo que não estivesse morto.

 E então tudo era breu.

[jamesrb4th]

Arcane rarepair ideas

Tobias x Ximena

Finding love again and helping each other mourn, they seem like they would be very gentle and sweet to each other. Would add a new layer to Caitlyn and Jayce’s sibling dynamic

Babette x Jericho

I actually don’t have a logical argument for this one, but if you’re looking for size difference, look no further

Isha x Ren

I’m putting on my “Isha is alive” truther hat for this one. Over a decade after the battle in Piltover, Ren is working in a clinic in Zaun specializing in Chemtech prosthetics, to try and make sure she does more good than her father did. A young woman starts coming in for maintenance for both of her prosthetic arms. She’s mysterious, always wearing a strange helmet with a bunny mask, only talking to people through sign language. She starts taking Ren around the city, showing her places to go dancing, where to get messy but delicious food, and the calm quiet places where they can be alone. Ren begins to truly fall in love with Zaun, it’s people, and one person in particular. One night, while she’s showing Ren a place among the Firelight bugs, the girl writes a name on the wall “Isha” and removes her mask. Her face is completely covered in glowing blue scars, she seems very self-conscious of them, but Ren tells her she is utterly beautiful and kisses her

[springgonyoyos]

091305

Link Click x ORV

Drew this cuz I need to feed myself…

After s2 confirmed Lu Guang going back in time to save Cheng Xiaoshi, I have never been same it has rewired something in my

[oneroomjestershow]

Playing the days again makes me wonder what if all Angels had a diary where they would write different things about each day and it would be showing of their different perspectives and personalities and their choices and paths of the game, it would be cute

[k-asternix]

Mumbo on his red life is terrifying. He's a little bit like Joel in that he could do so, so much more if he were just slightly better at the survival aspect of the game.

[al-n-cartoons]

Fic-related question for you humans: Where do the Saturdays get their funding?

Context: Ben is suspicious of them seeing as how they are objectively incredibly wealthy while preaching about humanitarianism. They claim to be interested in the Plumbers for research purposes, which he privately doesn’t believe given a lack of disclosures.

Also, do we think Zak would know where his family gets their wealth from or would he have just accepted it as a part of life? He was homeschooled and fairly isolated; would he even truly grasp what other people's lives are like? It is frankly amazing that he isn’t bratty, why do we think that is?

In the fic, the Saturdays are well intentioned and genuinely trying to make interdepartmental relationships for future research ventures— which Ben has no reason to believe.

[hollowwish]

what’s something small that you have a large opinion on?

Those fanmade movie trailers on youtube that look real. Like I'm sure they're all in good fun but they always trick me until I see the channel name. Annoys me everytime without fail

[hermigeddon]

thinking once again about how Martyn and Grian were such perfect foils in third life without even trying. Literally beat for beat, they were perfect opposite mirrors of each other

Both ended up in a role serving someone else. Grian unwillingly due to an accident. Martyn happily due to his own choice

Both stayed in their respective right-hand-man roles for the entire season. Grian viewed his situation as an unhappy one and was looking forward to leaving Scar, but still acted as his loyal ally the whole time. Martyn viewed his situation as perfectly acceptable and beneficial, but still planned to betray Ren at some point

Grian never meant to betray Scar, but ended up killing him. Martyn meant to betray Ren, but ended up dying by his side instead

Like you really couldn’t have written it better

[ironicallyyn]

Alright so guys hear me out!

(btw spoiler of day 5 ahead)

I played day 5 and I'm sure those who've played (and tried to reach the [redacted] route a lot)

Must be aware about the codes or random words that popped out at the end. Especially when the mc tells ren to let mc and moth to spend time together (aka after ren kills the stalker)

So I tried to decode those codes and this is what I came up with

Translation-

HOW INTERESTING, A LOWLY, MEAGRE INTERLOPER ATTEMPTING TO REWRITE WHAT HAS ALREADY BEEN ORDAINED SINCE THE BEGINNING.

Translation-

YOU REMEMBER NOTHING OF YOUR PAST NOR HOW YOU CAME TO BE YET HERE YOU ARE, ATTEMPTING TO DIG UP THE ROOTS OF FATE AS THOUGH IT WERE A WEED AND PLANTING YOUR OWN CORRUPT SEEDLING IN ITS PLACE.

Translation-

PERHAPS WE ARE THE SAME, THEN.

Translation-

I TOO FIND ENJOYMENT IN DISRUPTING THE VINES OF ( _ISMET ) AND WATCHING HIM STRUGGLE.

(I wasn't able to decode the H word as in HMSQOE whether it'll be K or Q here as in Qismet or Kismet. Although I have my doubts on Q)

Translation-

TWAS I WHO GAVE HIM HIS GIFT, AS I DID WITH OTHERS, AND YET HE WASTES SUCH SPOILS ON A LOWLY MORTAL TO BORROW MORE TIME. I SUPPOSE THE LIFE OF MANY MATTERS NOT TO THE LIFE OF ONE.

Translation-

NO MATTER, SUCH TRIVIAL ENTERTAINMENT IS NOT LOST ON ME.

Translation-

GO ON, CONTINUE DEWN THIS FOOLISH, OVERGROWN PATH AND SEE WILL HAPPEN. TIS NOT THY WILTING SOUL I FEED ON, AND IT SHALL NOT BE THY LIFE I CLAIM ONCE THE ENDING HAS BEGUN.

Translation-

AFTER ALL, I AM THE END, JUST AS I AM THE BEGINNING AND THE IN-BETWEEN. THE PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE COMBINED INTO ONE. I AM INEVITABLE.

.

.

.

So yeah although I tried I hope I'm not wrong anywhere

What do y'all think?

@14dayswithyou if possible I'd like your view point on this please🤔

[14dayswithyou]

This Angel has another question! \o

What's it like taking a bath with RENACTED?

✦゜ANSWERED: Hell on earth T_T he takes up soooo much room and won't give you a moment to yourself dshjgjds /silly

cw: It gets NSFW towards the end!! MDNI!

"Think we need more bubbles?"

When you're met with nothing but silence, you look up from your bubble sculpture to see your partner sporting an all too familiar pout on their face. His tattooed arms were crossed over his bare chest like he wanted to prove a point — and as if to fully emphasize their current disdain; Ren turns his head away the moment you make eye contact.

You couldn't help but let out a puff of laughter at the silliness of it all.

"Why are you pouting?" You nudge their leg with your own. "What's wrong?"

"...Why are you all th'way over there?"

'Over there', being on the opposite side of the tub from your beloved boyfriend. Which... didn't make much sense now that you thought about it, seeing as he was the one who (silently) volunteered to take the side with the faucet and drain, which left you with all the space and legroom your heart could desire. Though... it wasn't much, given how massive of a mountain your partner was. Ren was all long, lanky limbs and thick muscle; but it wasn't exactly evident with all the baggy clothing they often chose to wear.

In an attempt to make your beloved hacker feel better about the (albeit childish) situation, you carefully scoot over so that you were resting against one of their legs instead of the tub. But apparently, Ren still wanted more, as a familiar tattooed arm emerges from the water the moment you draw closer and silently beckons you to join him at his side. When you accept — in what world would you ever say no to him and that trademark frown? — Ren pulls you flush against his chest with a content sigh.

They were acting like the cat who got the cream, no doubt.

You barely have a moment to adjust to your new position before you feel Ren's arms wrap around your waist, and his chin finds its place atop your shoulder. Now, your hacker has the perfect view of you rebuilding your bubble castle once more — only this time, you were right where he wanted you.

"There." Your tone is laced with something mirthful and lively as you lean into his embrace. "Is this better?

"Much."

"Just make sure you don't fall asleep. Elanor told me that it's not safe to do that." You purposefully ignore how their arms tense up at the mention of your coworker. However, you don't miss how they dip further under the water to run along the inside of your thighs instead.

Ren's real name slips from your lips in warning. You knew exactly what he was trying to do right now. Their hands were ghosting dangerously close to your—

"...'M not doing anything."

"Liar, I can feel you— Ah!"

His fingers casually brush past your most sensitive part, and it has you flinging your head back and clutching onto his forearm. From that reaction alone, you can hear Ren let out a curious hum from behind as their hand moves back to your sex once more.

"Just making sure you're all nice 'n clean down there."

"I-I somehow doubt that..."

"Isn't that the point of baths? T'get clean?" He muses, voice ghosting along the shell of your ear. "...Why were you talking to your coworker about taking baths in the first place, anyway?"

One of the rubber frogs you added ('for ambience!' you recall telling your boyfriend) innocently floats past, and you had half a mind to reach out and turn its gaze away from the intimate scene. Ren still had one hand firmly placed around your stomach to keep you steady while the other was shamelessly running up and down your—

"...Think I'm gonna need to do a thorough inspection. Bend over the tub f'me?"

[orangeocelotmartyn]

Martyn: (not noticing that Ren is sneaking into his scene) Um. That was basically where I've done--where I've used shaders. But aside from that I'm doing it all vanilla. I know that Fwhip is very much on the vanilla, um. On the vanilla kick as well--although I wonder if people's like. Feelings on that will change, when it comes to...like, the vanilla shaders. When they-when they get added into the game. (at this point, Tango is also standing behind Martyn, with Ren peeking out from behind Martyn's shoulder)

Martyn: That's what I'm curious about. (noticing Tango) Hello. (starts laughing when he sees Ren) That's terrifying. Am I needed for something, or no? Tango: No. Martyn: Oh, okay cool. Tango: Just need you to, well. Cub: All good Ren? All good? Ren: This is awkward. Martyn: That's literally just my last sign and I'm all, I'm all finito. (Ren slaps his hands down onto Martyn's shoulders, then releases, wanders off screen) (Martyn laughs) You know you have-feel a presence, I didn't even see in the view finder (Ren laughs from off screen), I just, I just felt like a--(moans) I got the heeby-jeebies all of the sudden. (Ren walks through the camera, out the hallway) It threw me. I can't even remember what I was saying, chat, I lost my train of thought. Uh--

[meinkatzchen]

Not sure if anyone’s ever asked you this, but has Mist ever met Lawrence? If so, what did she think of him?

Did they smoke the za together? /silly

I can say for sure that at the time of BTD2, they could only meet by chance on the street, as passers-by. It just doesn't make sense to me to bring them together by fate, since they, from a story point of view, will not be able to give each other anything, they will not become an impetus for change or an impetus for the development of some new skills.

Besides, Lawrence could push Mist away during even a fleeting meeting, since his scent and, it seems, his aura in general repels animals and attracts scavengers (Ren ignored the possible feeling of discomfort/got too nervous to feel that something was wrong; but I don't think Mist will. I mean, unlike foxes, who are very curious by nature, black-footed cats are more cautious + I think that female beastkins generally react to any dangerous signals, even small ones, from strangers more acutely than males). Besides, she, as a being who is drawn to life and liveliness, would not see anything “nutritious” in Lawrence’s energy; they are too strong opposites, the attraction of which would be uncomfortable for both of them.

[juanarc-thethird]

Team RNJR Adventures #1

In a town far from civilization

Ruby: *Looking at the view of the forest* Wow, I have to admit that this adventure has its moments. What a beautiful view.

Jaune: And it's only going to get better. I booked an eight-hour mule ride to get to the other town.

Ruby: Jaune, doesn't that sound dangerous to you? The terrain doesn't look so good.

Jaune: Ruby, what could go wrong?

Moments later

A terrible storm falls upon our heroes. Jaune, at the front with his mule, tries to guide everyone to safety.

Jaune: GET TO THE BRIDGE IF YOU WANT TO LIVE!!

Nora: AND WHAT ABOUT PEPITO?!

Nora says as she grabs onto Ren and points to one of the mules being taken by the flood created by the rain.

Jaune: PEPITO NOW BELONGS TO THE FOREST!!

(Pepito was later rescued safe and sound)

[lemonlover1110]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 19] Late Night Shenanigans

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Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“Satoru…” You look at him, and he looks back at you with the same confusion. Sayo takes the seat that’s next to Ren’s, leaving Satoru to take a seat next to you on the plane. He could sit literally anywhere else, but he won’t. There’s a lot to talk about anyway.

“Who are you?” Ren asks, his blue eyes wide as he looks at the pretty woman that sits next to him. Sayo smiles at him, unsure of how to introduce herself. She puts out her hand for Ren to shake.

“I’m Sayo. What’s your name, buddy?” She introduces herself, and you’re extremely confused with everything. Her reaction, or rather, lack thereof. Satoru never told you that she knew, but based on his reaction, he didn’t know that she knew either.

“I’m Ren.” He responds with a big smile on his face. He still doesn’t have an idea who Sayo is and why she’s here, but you two seem fine with it, so he’s fine with it. Perhaps she’s like Shoko, a friend of his mom’s.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Ren. I’m your dad’s friend.” Sayo answers, making you even more disoriented. Perhaps she doesn’t want Ren to ask too many questions about who she is, making Satoru’s job easier. Sayo’s eyes then fall on you, “Your son is so cute. He looks just like Satoru.”

“Uhm… Thank you.” You respond. How are you supposed to answer that? That’s Satoru’s wife, a woman who just found out that her husband has a son. Well apparently she didn’t just find out but anyway. There’s a lot of questions that you have to ask, but not in front of Ren.

“You know this is a business trip, right? You can’t–” Satoru begins, making Sayo roll her eyes. She knows this isn’t a business trip, she isn’t a dumbass.

“I’ll stay away, just want to enjoy the beach and relax. Away from everyone.” She says. She gets comfortable in her seat since it’s going to be a long flight.

Ren’s first flight goes smoothly, so much so that he swears he wants to grow up and be a pilot. You wonder how long it’ll last though since last week he wanted to be a firefighter. You managed to nap on the plane so you’re thankfully not too tired when you get to your destination– Plus you avoid the awkward situation that you were put in thanks to Sayo joining your trip.

“Woah!” Ren looks around amazed at the beach house when he steps inside. He’s been inside his grandma’s home many times but for some reason, the much smaller beach house impresses him more. Of course, it’s still pretty big, but nothing compared to Satoru’s childhood home. Satoru chuckles, holding Ren’s hand as Ren begins to look around the place. 

“The bedroom is over there, if you want to unpack and whatnot.” Sayo points to the door. “It’s the master bedroom though. I’m not sure of the arrangement you have with Satoru, but I’m sure he wants you to have the master bedroom.”

“Thank you.” Your voice is weak when you speak, embarrassed and awkward because of this situation. She begins to walk to the stairs but you call out her name before she can get too far, making her stop in her tracks. “Did he tell you?”

“He didn’t. But I have my ways of knowing.” She answers, and you begin to chew on the inside of your cheek since another question lingers in your mind. 

“Aren’t you upset?” You ask her, and a laugh escapes her lips. 

“I don’t care for Satoru as much as you think, honey. I’m surprised he hasn’t talked to you about our arrangement.” She says, which leaves you dumbfounded. You’re speechless, and after standing awkwardly for a minute or so, she decides to go upstairs. 

“Arrangement? What arrangement?” You whisper, walking over to the bedroom that’s on the first floor to unpack. You come to a stop when Ren calls out to you.

“Mommy! Did you see the view!” He yells, and you chuckle as he runs up to you. He’s dragging his father along with him. Ren grabs your hand, and leads the two of you to the big windows that give you a view of the beautiful beach. “Can we go now?”

“The sun is beginning to set, Ren. We can go really early tomorrow.” You say, watching as the sky turns a pinkish color. Ren doesn’t just want to walk along the shoreline, he wants to swim in the water and play in the sand, and it’s too late for that now. It doesn’t help that you’re tired. You know that tonight he’ll be so excited that he won’t be able to sleep, but that’ll make your job all that easier because at the end of the day, he’ll be falling asleep in your arms.

You watch as Satoru pouts as well, but he isn’t going to argue with your decision. Ren looks up at his dad, hopeful that Satoru will do something. But Satoru just ruffles Ren’s hair. Satoru then proceeds to ask, “What do you want for dinner, bud? We can eat whatever you want.”

“Is Sayo going to join us?” You ask, and Satoru shakes his head. His next words just confirm to you that their dynamic is… Weird enough for a husband and wife. Perhaps it should’ve come to your mind when you saw the man making sex eyes to his old secretary, and after he kissed you.

“I don’t want her to.”

Ren was given his own room to sleep in, yet, he chooses to sleep in your bed. You never knew that someone so small could take up so much space, but Ren always has you on the edge of the bed, about to fall off. It’s something that makes Satoru cracks up when he walks into the bedroom to find you nearly on the floor because Ren takes up so much space. He wonders how you’ve managed to fall asleep. Satoru picks up Ren from the bed, carrying him out.

“Daddy?” Ren slowly opens his eyes, feeling how he’s being carried out of bed. Ren wonders what’s happening since he sees it’s still dark out. He feels Satoru kiss his temple, as they walk outside.

“We’re going to the beach, baby.” Satoru answers. It’s very late so they won’t be able to do much, but Satoru wants to let Ren at least play in the sand a bit. He’s been thinking about Ren’s pouty face, disappointed that he had to wait the whole entire day. He doesn’t know why he’s been just thinking about how disappointed Ren was, and it was keeping him awake. “Just for a bit, okay? We’re spending the whole entire day tomorrow here, so I don’t want you to get tired of the beach.”

“I won’t get tired.” Ren reassures his father, making Satoru chuckle. They’re still not staying for too long, he doesn’t want you to wake up and find out that Satoru has taken Ren out. Satoru realizes he forgot to grab a pair of shoes for Ren before walking out but he’s not too worried. It’s just sand, the only worry about it is that it gets everywhere. Satoru crouches down, rolling up Ren’s long pajama pants before the little boy runs to the shore. 

“How’s the water? Is it cold?” Satoru asks as he takes off his own shoes to join his son. 

“It’s warm.” Ren answers, and Satoru quickly verifies it as his feet touch the water. He grabs Ren’s hand before he goes in too deep into the water. Ren ends up taking a seat on the water, and Satoru bites down his lip, running a hand through his hair. He did not expect the child to take a seat in the water and ruin his pajamas. There’s absolutely no way that they won’t get caught now.

Ren begins to splash the water, and Satoru isn’t as stressed. It’s worth it to see Ren happy like this. Plus, he can do just about anything with Ren, after all, Satoru is his father. Satoru smiles, sitting down on the water as well, joining his son. His pajama pants gets completely soaked but he doesn’t mind. Satoru smiles, seeing how much fun Ren is having, “Are you having fun, Ren?”

“Yeah!” He exclaims. And for some reason, as Satoru stares at Ren, it dawns on him that this is something he has longed for– Sure, he’s thought about it, but reality really sets in. This is what he has really wanted for so long, and he finally has it. From you nonetheless. 

A sudden happiness consumes him. He has been happy, he was the happiest he could be when he found out about his son but it just hits him how lucky he is. His little baby boy from the woman he’s loved the most. Satoru picks up Ren from the water, kissing his son’s cheeks then proceeding to kiss all over his face, holding him high as Satoru lays down, completely getting wet.

“Daddy!” Ren squeals, followed by a giggle. It’s the best sound in the world. He’s missed so many years of this but he tries not to think about it, he has time to make it up. Ren is not even five yet, he has a whole life ahead of him. A whole life where Satoru gets to love him.

Satoru puts him down on his chest, hugging him tightly. Satoru appreciates the moment, lifting his head a bit to look at his son’s white hair, and laying back down to look at the stars in the sky. He has the biggest grin on his face. When was the last time he was this happy?

“I love you, Ren.” Satoru says.

“I love you too.” Ren answers. Satoru relaxes with the sound of the waves as they hit the shore, his eyes slowly getting heavier and heavier. He guesses he should let Ren go because he isn’t doing anything while in Satoru’s arms, but Satoru notices that Ren has fallen asleep. 

A sheepish smile comes to his lips, kissing the top of Ren’s head before muttering, “My baby boy.”

Satoru stands up, and just as he turns to walk back to the house, he hears your voice. You’re still in your pajamas, a hand on your hip, shaking your head in disappointment. Satoru feels his face get hot as he walks over to you.

“Sorry, I–” He begins, but you cut him off. 

“There’s no need to apologize, Satoru. He’s your son too, you’ve allowed to do stuff with him.” You say, taking a seat on the sand. Satoru doesn’t know exactly what you’re doing, but he follows your lead. “I would’ve appreciated if you would’ve told me. I woke up a little scared when Ren wasn’t next to me.”

“I’m sorry.” Satoru chuckles. You look over at Ren, who sleeps soundly in his fathers arms. You see he’s wet, and you know he had the time of life. Satoru bites down on his lip before asking, “So… What are we doing now?”

“The sun is going to rise soon. It’s late– Or really early. Depends on how you look at it.” You answer. Satoru didn’t really look at the time when he got Ren, and he certainly lost track of time with Ren. “You can go back inside.”

“No, it’s fine. I want to watch the sunrise with you.” Satoru responds. You both sit in silence, watching the horizon for the first bit of sunlight to appear, but time seems to slow down. Both of your hearts beat fast, as if they were going to beat out of your chest.

“So… Sayo told me that you have an arrangement. Do you want to talk about it?” You speak up, the question bugging your mind. You’re not sure when you’ll have a moment where you’re semi-alone again.

“Not right now, really.” Satoru says, not wanting to ruin the moment now. He misses when the first bit of light graces the sky, his eyes focused on you. He knows he shouldn’t… But he leans in to press a kiss on your cheek, which catches you off guard since your eyes are elsewhere.

“What was that for?” You ask. You’re a little too happy about it, but you shouldn’t let it happen

“For our son.” 

“You have a wife, and even if you didn’t, our relationship has been long gone, Satoru.” You remind him.

“Just a thank you kiss, nothing else.”

[tbgblr2]

The Ren Faire Situation 

A birth story written in conjunction with @allkindsofpreg

---

“Are you 100% sure?” I asked, not hiding the concern in my voice.

You just smiled “I’ve made up my mind, I’m going.”

We had planned for the last few weeks to go to the local ren faire, where you were looking to get dressed up and enjoy the event, whilst taking what was likely to be the last chance to show off your pregnancy enhanced curves in public before the baby comes.

The problem was, the baby was coming… contractions had started this morning, and 3 hours on, they didn’t seem to want to stop.

So here you were, dressed up in your best pirate/wench outfit, pregnancy fuelled bosom looking magnificent, enhanced by the dress, cleavage spilling out of the top and leaving very little to the imagination, your bump – oddly smaller since your belly dropped a few days ago – still prominent behind the flowy fabric. A tie caught between the two, bright and causing the eye to immediately look at the area it highlights.

I’d always known you were a bit of an exhibitionist… hell, our baby was likely conceived when I was railing you on the balcony of a hotel with a crowd cheering you on from below – but I will admit, I kind of wanted you to myself when you gave birth.

But you wanted to make a spectacle of it. Have all those eyes looking at you. You know you could make it look like it was an accident – you could even make the news - “lady gives birth in public” has always been something that got your juices flowing. And here we are – contractions noticeable but not debilitating, and we’re about to walk out the house to walk half a mile down the road to the fair – and who knows what will happen from there.

“Are you ready, my lord?” you ask in a fake old world accent, pulling the skirt of your dress to the side with one hand and holding your stomach with the other, lowering into a polite curtsy. I take a moment to enjoy the birds eye view down your low lacy neckline before offering my arm and helping you to a standing position. In one fluid motion You’re upright and pressed against me, leaning down for a quick kiss.

“My god, you’re sexy,” I murmur against my lips, hands exploring your body beneath the elaborate folds of your gown.

“Mm, just wait ‘til you see me with a head crowning between my legs.” Even the thought makes you shudder with desire as you hike up the fabric to give me better access there.

I chuckle and slide my hand up your thigh, brushing over the fabric of your panties. “We may not make it to the fair if you keep this up,” I say, applying a bit more stimulation and causing you to gasp. “I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to stay.”

You know I’m wary about your intentions—and honestly, I make a compelling case—but you’re only going to have one first birthing experience and this is how you want to do it. “Don’t worry, baby, it’ll be fun.” I look doubtful as you display your best pout. “It’ll at least keep me distracted.” As if on cue, your stomach tightens, and in turn you make a point of keeping your stance and expression neutral, the only indication that anything’s happening a slight change in your breathing. “See? I can do this.”

“You can do anything,” I agree, removing my hand so that the hem of your dress falls back to the floor. “Guess we should get going then.”

You hook your arm around mine and, perhaps a bit too eagerly, glide out the door.

The walk to the event was a bit slow going, considering your size, but you make the most of it with seeing various turned heads, and the occasional honk and cheer from passing cars as they see your gravid form walking down the street. You had been doing curb walking for the last few weeks to try and get things moving, and automatically fell into that rhythm, up and down, up and down as one foot landed on the curb and another on the road next to it. The added jiggle factor of your breasts bouncing up and down helped with getting you noticed of course. Let’s just say that as we turned the corner into the site of the faire, you were very flustered – and it wasn’t just due to the exercise. We stopped twice on the way for a breather and to let a contraction build and pass, but thankfully we arrived without incident.

You feel another contraction build up while we’re waiting in line for tickets, but it’s easy to ignore amidst the hustle and bustle of the crowd. Everyone is in costume, many with even more on display than you, and, not to be outdone, You loosen your own tie a bit. I notice and cock an eyebrow at you as you give me a wink—perhaps later I’ll tie you up tighter or perhaps take it off altogether; the possibilities are endless and equally thrilling. We can’t keep our hands off each other and the booth attendant has to toss a piece of popcorn at us after a few gruff coughs to get our attention. She seems equal parts amused and irritated when you request two and a half tickets as you press your hands into the curves of your belly, showing it off.

Once inside, you make a beeline straight for the giant turkey legs, dashing off before I realise, surprisingly spritely for someone in your advanced state of pregnancy considering how much walking you had done already. I soon catch up to you as you join the back of the queue - the turkey legs being one of the most popular things in the area meaning the line was always big.

You were panting a little out of breath, but smiled back at me "You're too slow."

I circle my arms around you and pull you back into an embrace, kissing the top of your head as I feel your chest raising and falling in line with your heavy breathing. We both burst into a giggle as the line slowly starts to work its way down.

As we get to the front, the lady serving the food has a wide grin on her face as you approach.

"Hey there, what can I get you and the bump?"

Entirely straight faced, you respond "Bump? Oh this? I just REALLY like the turkey legs." You emphasised the size of your belly by rubbing your hands up and down it tracing the shape under your dress.

Her face was a picture, completely unsure what to do with herself. She was stammering and clueless what to do next, in worry that she was going to offend you, but the onset of another contraction soon put paid to your charade.

You couldn't do much else than wince and rub your belly, but used it as a convenient excuse to apologise to the lady behind the counter and explain that yes, you were indeed pregnant, and you would really like 2 turkey legs. And no… one was for me - you weren’t going to just pig out on them. The baby obviously didn't like you making fun of the poor lady and gave you a kick in punishment.

I was smirking through this entire exchange but we soon got our food serving, a couple of drinks and headed off to watch a band play. As we got to the showground area, one of the local attendants brought over a chair for you to sit down on, whilst I climbed onto the ground between your legs. We sat down and had a few minutes of relaxation until you started to huff and puff a little, hand rubbing your belly.

"Starting to get noticeable I presume?" I asked. You nodded, leaned forward as much as your belly would let you so you could speak in a whisper close to me and said that when we were in the queue for food it was the first contraction which had taken your breath away. You thought it was because you had just rushed to the queue, and the strenuous activity had been an influence… but right now you're sitting down, doing nothing… and yeah, it’s now very noticeable.

"We can always back out?" I asked… already knowing your answer.

"Not a chance. Did you see how much people are looking at me, looking at the bump? This is going to be EPIC!"

We stay listening to the band longer than expected—they’re quite good, and the baby seems to like it. There are little kicks and twists that seem to coincide with the beat and our amusement begins to attract attention. You’re more than happy to let the other people in the audience touch your belly to feel it too, and pretty soon we’ve got the whole crowd dancing along. With a firm grasp of your hand and waist, I twirl and dip you through several more contractions. Another one starts up just as a song ends and I pull you into me, managing to hide the grimace on your face.

Someone comes up when the upbeat tempo begins again and asks if the little one is still boogieing in there, and you turn to her with what you hope is a smile. Clearly something about your face is off, or maybe it’s my laboured breathing or the way you’re holding your stomach, but she asks if you’re okay as you wave her off.

“Just overdid it, I think. My back and feet are killing me!”

She hums in sympathy and recalls how difficult those last few weeks always are, how you just wish the baby would get here already.

You’re smiling in earnest as you say to her, “It definitely won’t be long now.”

We go to the sword fighting demonstration next, and the people in the front graciously offer us their seats when they see your bump hovering beside them at eye level. You give them a small curtsy that turns into a very ungraceful plop down onto the beach seat. “I’m just never going to get used to balancing with this thing,” you say by way of apology to the people on either side of you, pressing in the fabric of your dress around your stomach to emphasize its impressive size. “Won’t be a problem much longer, though,” you say, giving it an affectionate pat.

I’m chosen from the audience to participate—our entrance made a bit of a scene and did not go unnoticed by the actors—you whoop and holler as they pull me on the stage. They teach me a few moves and then “challenge” me for my affections, seeming to imply that the baby you’re carrying may or may not be mine, as you somehow wind up on the small platform right along with me. I do surprisingly well mimicking the moves showed to me earlier until finally I’m at a standoff. A contraction hits hard and fast and you double over with a surprised yelp and both of us on the stage turn to look at you—to cover up the slip, you make it part of the performance, like you had feigned a labour pain to fluster him, and shout, “Quick, my love, strike while he is distracted!” The actor takes the cue and allows me to land the final blow while the two of us share a passionate kiss (which earns us a fair few whistles and applause from the crowd) before taking a bow (admittedly, you didn’t bend too low) and running off before anyone can question whether you’re really that good of an actor.

The public escapades up until this point and - after that last contraction - knowing it won’t be long until the big finale has you all hot and bothered as you pull me into what you hope is a vacant tent. You wrap a leg around me waist, your hands toying with the ties of my costume. “Got time for a little more swordplay?”

As we slip into the tent we’re giddy, giggling happily, but after a few furtive glances around to make sure we’re alone, we’re quickly getting serious and down to business. Kissing across your cleavage and up your neck has you shuddering in delight as I take a moment to lift your top over your head and expose your underwear clad body to the world. My hands explore your body as I strip you of the bra you were wearing along with tugging down your panties and leaving them in a crumpled heap on the floor. You’re standing there naked in front of me, glorious in your bountiful pregnant form, as you pull me close and tug down my trousers, bunching them at my feet.

My “sword” is well and truly on display as you’re licking your lips in delight as you manage to find a position you can support your body whilst leaning back against a table, opening your legs in accommodation.

My first thrust was strong, and made you yelp with the unexpected force. One of my hands grasped your hair and pulled your head back exposing your neck further to my kisses as you moaned in delight with my thrusts now slowing to a much more relaxed tempo.

You couldn’t hold that position long with the weight of the baby positioned as it was so you eventually turned and braced yourself against the table with your hands, presenting your ass to me. My knees slid between your legs and pressed lightly to the side, parting your own legs, you bobbed down into a bit of a squat to give even more access.

We scrabbled around in this position for a few thrusts into your waiting pussy but because you were quite low down it was a strain for me to keep thrusting up whilst getting the angle I needed to.

With a quick slap on your behind - resulting in the most magical squeal I’d ever heard - I pulled up a chair and sat on it as you finally lowered yourself on me - giving me free reign to enjoy your breasts and belly as you bounced.

Our groans joined each other as your approaching climax caused you to speed up your actions, my own cum releasing deep into you in a flood as I couldn’t hold back any longer. The resulting sensations tipped you over the edge as your orgasm caused you to yell out with pleasure, lost in the moment of bliss.

The sound you made must have alerted someone passing by as we heard footsteps approaching rapidly. Jumping we both looked at each other as you scampered off with an amazing high speed waddle out of the back door of the tent, as naked as the day you were born - completely oblivious to if there was anyone waiting on the other side.

I grabbed your dress and bra, pulling up my trousers but not fastening them to at least allow me to walk without tripping up. I join you outside to see that thankfully there’s no one there so I hand you over your dress and bra whilst fastening my trousers.

“I’ll need my panties too” you say “you’re dripping out of me down my leg” and that’s when we both realised that in the rush to leave I’d left them in a crumpled heap on the floor.

You shrugged “oh well guess someone will have a nice surprise… and I’ve got to deal with the leak” as you pull the top over your head - not bothering with the bra either, stuffing it tight down and pushing it into my pocket - and glance around the side of the tent in order to get back to the main show area.

We walked around and found somewhere opposite the tent we were at to check on what was happening but no one came out. They’d either dashed out before we got dressed and we missed them, they hadn’t spotted the thing we had left, or were left enjoying them - either way you seemed to be getting a thrill out of what had happened.

The next contraction took you by surprise through as you grasped onto me. I turned my head to see you visibly biting your lip to avoid letting out a scream. Suddenly there was a splash and a puddle formed between your legs. We both knew what that puddle was.

Without the cushion of an amniotic sac, the baby suddenly felt much lower, the contractions much more insistent, and the need to push much more urgent. The groan that emerged from your throat was guttural, instinctual, and you crouched down where you stood, clutching onto my forearms for support.

“Are you pushing?” I asked, slightly whiplashed between the thrills of having sex, nearly getting caught, and now this. “Already?”

You just gave me a squeeze in response, putting all your focus into breathing and controlling you volume until the contraction was over. With my help you stood back up and wrapped your arms around me, both of us still a little shaken.

Even though it came rapidly you were a little more prepared for the next one, able to maintain your standing position while your body worked to bring the baby down. You buried your head into my chest as we swayed together through the worst of it. We were hidden away, tucked in the narrow alley between tents, and any passersby would mistake it for a tender embrace. But we’d have to come out of here eventually if we wanted an audience.

There was a major show going on at the moment—something with jousting and fire and circus performers—and we made our way toward the back of the crowd. The skirt of your dress was large enough that it obscured the worst of your awkward, bow-legged waddle, but it was still a slow process. Your hand never left your belly, as if supporting it from the base would somehow relieve some of the force of the pressure bearing down within it.

Most people’s attention was on the performers, but we did garner a few nervous glances as those closest to us saw your restless shifting form and heard your grunts.

“Are you alright?” asked one of them, who was wearing a ridiculous feathered cap and carrying some sort of wooden instrument, eventually whispered when you were bent over and gasping after a particularly brutal contraction.

You gave him a tight-lipped smile and a strained, “Fine.” They glanced to me for confirmation; I shrugged, but couldn’t quite hide my growing anxiety.

The concerned bard remained undecided, but kept an eye on you, and when you dropped to your knees a few contractions later, determined that it warranted a trip to the medical tent. The bard tried to help you back to your feet, but you had decided that you weren’t going anywhere. You screamed when they tried to lift you, loud enough to stop the production mid-charge, and all eyes in the large stadium turned to gape at you. “I’m- I’m having a baby!” you yell, for the sake of anyone not close enough to see what was happening.

The elaborate ties of your dress were already loosened and askew from our previous activities, so it was easy enough to subtly work the laces and slide the fabric from your upper body. It looked like an accident when the heavy textiles fell dramatically around your kneeling form, exposing your full, heavy breasts and huge belly. I knelt beside you, as if making moves to preserve your modesty, but you lurched forward suddenly onto your hands, the dress falling down your thighs and exposing the rest of you.

The restricting fabric prevented your knees from widening as they needed to, and you begged me to get it the rest of the way off you. I helped you crawl forward a step and as a result your legs were blissfully free, but this position hid the spectacle from your audience.

You grabbed for me and held as you got your feet under you, lowering into a deep squat with your breasts, belly, and pussy facing out toward the crowd. You moved my hands to your inner thighs, forcing them open wider and pulling open your dilated folds, and pushed.

The realisation of what just happened seemed to ripple through the crowd - the immediate people around us either recoiling in shock, or many grabbing their phones and hitting record.

As much as you were incredibly turned on by the attention you were getting, the force of the contraction making you to push out our baby was a significantly more pressing concern. You bellow out, completely uncaring who hears it “this hurts more than anything I’ve ever done… labouring all day… it’s just…” your voice was cut short as you simply howled in pain as your eyes closed and you bore down, desperate to move the blockage between your legs.

As the contraction began to fade and you started to regain your senses your head turned towards me, you had tears in your eyes. “Help me” you managed pitifully.

I managed to lean in close to you so my whispering voice could only be heard by you “how are you feeling? Is this just an act or does it hurt?”

“It fucking hurts…” your reply had tones of desperation in it. The next contraction was quick to pick up and you were soon pushing again, a bulge visible between your wide splayed legs suggesting the head was going to be very big.

“Here here now you poor baby, let’s see if we can help you” came a voice. I looked up, and you managed the same to see an older woman - 60s or older - pushing her way through the crowds and trying to force - unsuccessfully - to make those recording the spectacle on their phones stop and give you a little dignity.

She grunted with exertion as she kneeled down between your legs, her hands reaching down to the bulge, surprisingly chilly against your hot, distended skin. You shivered - I was trying to work out if it was through the ministrations of the lady who walked up touching your sensitive areas, or you had just orgasmed from the attention you were getting.

“I’ve pushed out 8 babies myself and caught 5 grand babies from my daughters” she offered “so these hands are good hands and know what to do.”

“What do I do?” you asked, echoing her words back to her.

She chuckled and gave me a wry smile. “In my experience—and from the looks of it, yours too—whatever your body tells you.”

“Oh god,” you groaned, the pressure bearing down between your hips insisting that you bear down with it. “I need to- I need—“

“Baby’s head’s right there, I think you’re safe to push whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m not ready! It wasn’t supposed to be like this; there’s so many—hnghhh, fuck—people!” Your words dissolved into moans as you yanked desperately against my flared knees, but all that did was pull taut your skin and emphasize just how small your opening was in comparison to the large head bulging behind it.

“That’s it, let it stretch,” the woman soothed, running her fingers along the edges of the modest crown. You pressed yourself into her touch and she hummed in recognition. “Nothing to be self-conscious of here, dear. Do whatever feels good for you; it’s all natural.”

You brought your fingers to your clit and rubbed a few quick circles before the stimulation became too much. You cradled your belly as you pushed, but your hands soon wandered to your breasts, your nipples, and the resulting whines were a mix of pleasure and pain.

“It’s too big!” You wailed between pushes, looking to me in desperation. “It hurts. It’s burning, please, do something.”

I looked to the woman and she shrugged. “She’s the boss.”

I looked warily around at the many pairs of eyes fixed on us, but they faded into the background as soon as I wrapped my body around yours. You took one of my hands in yours and guided the other one between your legs as another shot of pain jolted out from your stomach, up your spine and through your hips. I thumbed gently at your sensitive nub and explored the changes in the folds that I knew so well.

“Help me stretch.” came your plea.

I dipped a finger under your stretched skin, gently tracing the cap of our baby’s head. Another contraction started and you pushed, my fingertips spreading you open even wider than the head. I pulled away quickly at your pained yelp, but it had helped—the head was staying put now, even between pushes.

“It’s stuck, it’s- I’m going to tear!”

“Oh no you don’t,” the woman said, getting her hands in the way between us, taking back up their work with the emerging head. She placed her palm flat against the exposed crown, applying a fairly firm pressure to keep it from coming out even as I continued to stretch painfully around it—prolonging the torture. “Pant. Pant, now,” she instructed.

“Please, I need to push, let me push!” you whined, unable to resist your body’s urges. You bore down again, but she just pressed in harder as you cried out as the two impossible pressures clashed right at the peak of your pain.

I had managed to get myself out of her way and resulted in getting directly behind you. You shoved your hips back, desperate to retreat from her iron grip, and your ass rubbed against my hard cock. You hear me whisper a string of curses and ground harder against my hips—if you had to suffer on the precipice of release, so would I.

You shuddered and relaxed a bit as the contraction waned, and the woman likewise relaxed her grip against you. There were a few gasps as she pulled her hand away and the crowd got an unobstructed view of the massive crowning head.

The view of a couple of flashes from people’s cameras were ingrained in your mind as you sit there, panting, the few moments of respite between contractions giving you little time to pant through and get some energy back before you needed to push again.

You leaned back against me, rubbing my engorged cock between your body and the fabric of my jeans. I let out a little groan as I felt myself approach my own little precipice.

The next contraction ramped up though and more of the same happened again - the desperate need to do nothing else but push, and this random stranger lady pressing back against all your effort.

You lost it as the frustration toppled you, all focus on the pain radiating between your belly and your legs, and this woman who was actively trying to make it harder for you.

“Let me push!” You screamed between gasps of the contraction as she just tutted at you.

“Don’t be a baby dearie” she took it in her stride. “I’ll let you stretch nice and slow so you don’t tear. You have a big one here.”

“Please!” You gasped, “Please… I’ll tear, I just need it out and you’re stopping me.” The last word was a chilling wail.

Despite your obvious discomfort my own sordid desires were being tweaked simply by the amount of effort you were putting in. Your body pressed back into me as you undertook push after push, my cock getting rubbed more and more.

I felt myself release as you wailed out. My cock pulsing and throbbing as each squirt filled my underwear. I felt it run down my leg. I pulled you in close grabbing your hands and crossing them over your chest pulling you tight against me as I hoped that there was no evidence of the leak on my trousers with all the cameras trained on us right now.

My shiver wasn’t missed by you as you look up in my eyes, meeting me with a weary but loving grin, for a few moments you smiled until the smile was replaced by a scowl as once more it was time to push.

Your body twisted and trembled as the war against instinct continued. Your hands grasped at nothing as you sought an outlet for the pent up energy you couldn’t focus into your core—your fingers clawed at my hair, the grass, the fabric of your discarded dress, the tight skin of your stomach.

“Fuck this hurts,” you huffed, more for me than for the onlookers. Then, louder, “Another contraction, already?”

You reached a shaking, tentative hand between your legs, brushing the woman’s aside and winced as your fingers grazed the tender flesh. It bowed and flexed with the force of the contraction alone and you whimpered as your lips peeled slowly back around the widest part of the head.

“Alright, now we’ve got ‘em right where we want ‘em. Give it all you’ve got, honey!” I almost hissed the words trying to keep it quiet enough that only you could hear.

In your opinion, sweeter words had never been spoken and wasted no time putting your chin to your chest and giving a hard shove. In a cruel twist of fate, the baby now seemed content to stay right where it was. You tried again, pushing harder this time, and howled in frustration when it didn’t budge.

“Come on now, girl, push!” came the woman, I had echoed something similar.

“I’m trying, it’s- fuck, it’s really stuck!”

After another two contractions of stalled progress, she finally believed me. “How about we get you on your feet,” she suggested. “Come on now, help her up,” she prompted, but I froze, keeping you tight against me.

“My- I can’t,” I whispered frantically in your ear, and you nodded— you understood.

You waited for the next contraction, took a deep breath, and leaned forward putting everything into the push, making an effort to make sure that the lady’s hands wouldn’t get in the way of this push. Your hips lifted just enough so they were hovering on top of my crotch and you screamed, all the anxious and excited attention fuelling another mighty push as the head shot out the rest of the way with an impressive gush of fluids… which sprayed across the entire front of my trousers, concealing and blending with any other stains that might have been present.

“Fuck,” you gasped, both in surprise and relief, as you got the rest of the way to your feet. Then an agonized, “Fuck!” as the baby spun and the shoulders settled quickly and violently into place against your tortured hole. You bent my knees and braced your palms against your thighs as you started to push again.

The lady beckoned me forward and I dashed around from behind you to kneel in front, hands poised in place just under the dangling head of our baby.

Now at eye level with your pussy, I watched as the shoulders bulged and gravity threatened to pull the heavy child the rest of the way out. “What should I do?” I asked the old woman, though my eyes never left you.

“Catch!” she said with a laugh, and I raised your hands just in time for the baby to slide into my grasp.

Your yell of triumph was magical as the vernix-covered baby slid into my hands, the lady, unexpectedly diving forward to catch you under the arms as you sagged, threatening to collapse with the effort. You were gasping, panting for air, you were shell shocked, but one thing was clear – you had realised you had done it. My god you were grinning.

The lady helped lower you to the ground as I held on for dear life to our baby – a daughter – my eyes weirdly focused on the umbilical cord connecting the small bundle in my hands to your gaped opening.

“Shit” was all I could mutter.

“Shit, indeed” you echoed.

You realised a blanket was suddenly placed over your shoulders as paramedics arrived, covering you up from the gawping onlookers. You’d done it. You had your dream. You’d given birth in front of a crowd. No doubt Youtube and who knows what other sites will be flooded with footage of this tomorrow. At least we know we will have a record of our birth.

The baby was taken from me as her umbilical cord was cut, and she was checked over. I sat next to you in a daze as paramedics helped check you over.

You leaned in close to me as you kissed me and then got very close to my ear, whispering so no one else could hear. “We need to go one better next time. We live stream to the entire internet !”

[ooooo-mcyt]

I will say I've always found the Widows Curse to be dubious.

The two seasons where I'd say it's undeniable Grian outlived his alliance are Third Life and Secret Life. Grian won Third Life, so he outlived everyone that season, and in Secret Life Grian died only minutes after his only other teammates were both gone.

Limited Life and Wild Life hit a bit on the semantics of the rules. Grian DID outlive a team in both seasons, but in both cases he then joined another team which he didn't outlive. I am willing to count both seasons toward the widows curse because The Bad Boys and The Spanners were both undeniably Grian's "main" team in their respective seasons, but I wanted to bring up the case for some grey area here anyways.

Last Life is the first one I'd argue we REALLY stretch the Widows Curse for. Because if we're counting The Southlands as Grian's "main alliance" to justify the Widows Curse through Mumbo, Jimmy, and Impulse dying before Grian, I'd like to point out that Martyn outlived Grian. This is where people argue that Martyn doesn't count because they weren't allied at the time Grian died, however, Grian wasn't allied with Jimmy or Mumbo when they died either, so it's a bit odd to me that Jimmy and Mumbo dying is Grian outliving his allies but Grian dying before Martyn "doesn't count" because they weren't allied at that point. I'd also make a case that Joel should actually be counted as one of Grian's main allies in Last Life just as much as The Southlanders would be (and in fact joel was grian's only ally at the time of grian's death), and Joel outlived Grian. I see how Last Life can be stretched to fit the "Widows Curse", but you have to interpret "main allies" in a very specific way (counting mumbo and jimmy because southlands but not counting martyn because the southlands broke up and also not counting joel even though he was grian's main ally for arguably just as long as any of the southlanders?) to make the curse work in a clear cut way.

And then in Double Life, Grian just didn't outlive his main ally. Yes, Grian outlived BigB, and I don't want to minimize the significance of their relationship, but objectively, for the entire series, Scar was Grian's main partner. They were soulmates, they shared a base, they enacted pretty much every plan together because they were a team. And Grian technically died before Scar, so I'd argue Grian objectively did not outlive his "main ally" in Double Life.

It's also worth noting that Grian was out first in Real Life and therefore objectively did not outlive any of his allies.

Overall I'd say it's fair to say the "Widows Curse" as defined by Grian outliving all of his main allies has happened in four seasons; Third Life, Limited Life, Secret Life, and Wild Life.

Now, four is, admittedly, the most times someone has outlived their teams. HOWEVER. There are ten other players I'd argue have outlived their teams more than once; BigB, Scott, Ren, Joel, Pearl, Martyn, Impulse, Scar, Tango, and Cleo. This is a death game, people die, and there's always going to be a 'last survivor' who outlives any given team (unsurprisingly, every single life series winner is on the list of people who have outlived their teams more than once because, i mean, that's just part of winning the series, isn't it?). Grian has outlived his teams the most, sure, but not by much, and not in "every season" like I see claimed.

So what's the point here? Well, the main thesis of this post is obviously that I think the "Widows Curse" is a heavily stretched concept that poses what is in reality bad luck, coincidence, and the normal unfortunate realities of a death game, as either a curse by the universe or, depending on the person, a result of Grian allegedly presenting a consistent danger to his teammates.

Which isn't to say I don't think there's any value in the "widows curse" as a concept, because I believe the "widows curse" is very real and very fascinating. However, I don't view it as a curse, or as a result of selfish or cruel behavior from Grian. I think the "widows curse" is a manifestation of Grian's guilt complex. Grian uniquely makes himself responsible for his teammates, pushes himself into a role where it seems like his job to take care of them and keep them safe, and when his teammates die, Grian will often grieve and self blame in ways other players wouldn't. The Widows Curse doesn't exist as magical hex, nor as a consequence of Grian's actions, the Widows Curse exists within Grian's mind, through the constant creeping self blame, through the "it's your fault", "you ruined your team", "you're a traitor", "it was your job to protect them", the million "what-ifs" within his own mind, telling him that he should have done better, that he lets people down, that he is the curse. And we, the viewers (the watchers), time and time again reinforce this, creating blame for things that have no one to blame, speaking a curse into existence and creating an imagined monster out of the misplaced guilt of someone who deserves so much better.