CALLING ALL BIRTH BLOGS
if ur a birth kink/fetish blog please reblog so i can find more blogs to follow!!
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@pushywombat
CALLING ALL BIRTH BLOGS
if ur a birth kink/fetish blog please reblog so i can find more blogs to follow!!

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Keep That Crown
Ask: No. 19 during a dystopian tv game show where contestants have to do ridiculous physical challenges while fully dilated and ready to push. Last one to fully give birth wins fabulous prizes.
Thank you Anon, this is the most amazingly ridiculous prompt ever and was a joy to write. The story is completely satire, unrealistic, and purely for entertainment purposes. Special thanks to the talented @exponenshul for writing the third challenge, and to @gravid-transluna for being my incredible beta. You’re both amazing humans! 💜 (8k words)
Prompt: “I can’t stop it… nnghhh I’m pushingg!”
~•~
"Goooooood evening guys and girls. It's Saturday night, we're live, and welcome to another episode of..." "Keep That Crown!" Cheers the studio audience.
The TV presenter, Danny, continues. "For those of you who are new to our little corner of television, this is a game show where we take five mothers-to-be and put them to the test in a number of household challenges. Sounds easy enough, right? Well, the catch is that each mum-to-be is in active labour...and fully dilated! Whoever can complete all five challenges without giving birth has a chance to win our grand prize, and the last one standing will win a whopping £100,000.00!"
"Oooooooh." The audience awes on cue.
Please reblog this if you create:
~ Labour & birth fiction
~ Labour & birth art
~ Fake labour & birth video and/or audio
I want to find and follow more content creators in this community whilst avoiding any images and videos of real life births. Thanks!
Birth Questions:
1.) Birth setting preference (time and place)?
2.) How many babies?
3.) Who would you want for support during the labor/birth? Is there anyone present who isn't helping?
4.) Natural or epidural?
5.) Preferred labor positions?
6.) Induced or overdue? Or right on time?
7.) Sex during labor?
8.) How long does labor last?
9.) How long is the pushing stage?
10.) How long are you crowning for?
11.) Anyone telling you when to push? Or just pushing as you feel you need to?
12.) When does your water break? Does it gush or trickle?
13.) Pushing positions?
14.) How big is the baby (or babies)?
Ask me anything ☺️❤️
Ask away!
Ask me things!
(Note: definitely don't want to give birth myself so I will answer with my preferences in fic!)
Birth Fetish Blogs
I know there’s a post going around about pregnancy fetish blogs and there’s probably already one for a birth fetish as well. However, if you have a birth fetish blog please reblog this post. I’m looking for new blogs to follow.
Pregnancy, Labour & Birth here. Drop me a message.
Me, though I don't post a lot

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Keep thinking about some OCs of mine.
This is, a fic I'm thinking of writing. My intention here is to see if there's any interest, since people saying "yes write this" is very motivating to me! So if you want to read more about this I would love to hear!
We're in some kind of trans-friendly D&D style world.
Yasha is a healer, and a trans man. (We don't call it that, in this world, but I haven't figured out a good way to refer to him yet.) Priest to some kind and friendly god. Mostly stealth. He has potions to masculinise his body, self-made, and a glamour to hide his chest. He's part of an adventuring party, of course. There's a paladin, of a different, righteous and militant god, and a mage, but we don't care about them, or at least I haven't made them yet. We do care about Ronan, the thief.
Ronan is cis. He's small and lithe - even shorter than Yasha - and he can break into almost anything. When our story starts, they have been adventuring with each other, and their paladin and mage, for a few months, and both of them have been stealing glances at each other for most of that time. But while there's no prohibition on queer relationships, there's an expectation that priests like Yasha take love and sex seriously - not necessarily "only while married", but casual sex is frowned upon - and an assumption that thieves like Ronan don't. Plus there's the added complication: the adventuring party doesn't know that Yasha is trans.
The four of them are delving into some abandoned mine that's supposed to be full of monsters and treasure. Something happens - they don't *mean* to split the party, but somehow Yasha and Ronan get trapped, alone together, waiting for rescue underground. They have enough rations for a few days, but they're both worried. Conversation becomes physical comfort, and then cuddling, and eventually sex.
They eventually get out of the dungeon just fine. Their companions rescue them. They find some treasure, and start the long walk back towards civilisation. The journey takes a couple of weeks.
Now, Yasha is a truly excellent healer. He's not much good with spells - they frequently go wrong for him - but he can channel healing through his hands, and he has an excellent spiritual and magical sense of the body and how it's put together. He's just as good at this with his own body as he is with anyone else's: he can tell when he's about to get sick, well before any symptoms arise. He has a very good sense of these things.
About a week into the walk back to town, Yasha feels something catch low down in his belly. It takes him a day or so to work out what that means. After all, he's never been pregnant before. But by the time they get back to town, Yasha can feel, if he pays attention, the tiny new life inside him. Ronan's child.
(To be continued???)
Part two. (Content note: some nausea/vomiting stuff, because early pregnancy.)
Yasha doesn't know what to feel about this. He and Ronan have not had a moment alone since they were rescued, and they were rescued at the beginning of an important talk... which they have not managed to finish. Yasha doesn't know where he stands with Ronan. He doesn't know if the pregnancy will stay; he knows sometimes they don't. He doesn't know if he wants it to or not.
The four of them get back to town. The other three are eager to celebrate their successful mission at the tavern, but Yasha can feel that his body has noticed it's pregnant. It's busily reorganising resources to protect and nurture the tiny new person, and Yasha is exhausted. He excuses himself after one drink, and trudges back to the temple to rest. It's early, but he sleeps like the dead, well past sunrise, though he usually wakes with the sun.
He finds the rest of the party breakfasting in the tavern. They all comment on how late he slept in, and tell Yasha that they've already been hired on for another job. Yasha still feels leaden with exhaustion, despite sleeping for ten hours. He hears his three companions talking excitedly about going delving in some other underground treasure vault, and feels how his body is pouring energy into its new project. He thinks: I can't.
He tells the party that he isn't feeling well, and they'll have to find a new healer.
That makes it impossible to talk to Ronan. He, with the other two, is rushing around town looking for a new healer; they're eager to leave as soon as possible. There's an awkward moment, when they're finally ready to go - Ronan says, gentle, "I'll see you when we get back?"
They're adventurers. Yasha knows that isn't guaranteed. He nods, and swallows, and lets them go.
The party is away for some time. Yasha takes up his old job as temple healer, healing broken toes and coughs, and slowly, slowly, his condition begins to make itself known.
The exhaustion persists; Yasha is glad to have a job where he can mostly sit.
A few days in, he notices himself needing to pee more often. He checks in with his body; his womb is starting to expand, pressing in on his bladder.
A few days after that, his chest starts to get sore. He usually keeps his chest bound pretty tight, in case his glamour slips, but now he loosens the bindings to be more comfortable. His nipples look puffy and feel sensitive. Despite the looser bindings, he still aches. Three days after that, he has given up the bindings entirely. Two weeks to the day after the party leaves, Yasha wakes up with a queasy stomach. He feels better after some food, but as the days progress, the queasiness gets worse. He starts to notice it between meals. Five days later, he's walking from the temple to the tavern to treat himself to lunch, when the nausea suddenly surges as he's crossing the river. He leans on the rails of the bridge and breathes carefully through his mouth, trying to control himself, but his stomach turns and he throws up twice into the river.
A week later, the vomiting has become a daily occurrence. Yasha likes it best when he gets it out of the way first thing in the morning, but sometimes his stomach doesn't rebel until the end of the night. It happens once a day. Then once or twice. Yasha learns to eat little and often, to drink lots of water and tea, and it helps with the discomfort, but doesn't stop him from needing to throw up.
By the time the adventuring party comes back, after over seven weeks away, Yasha is starting to struggle a little with his clothing. If it weren't for the flat-chest glamour, his chest would be clearly straining against his tunic. It's not visible, especially under a loose tunic, but his waist has thickened a bit, and he's spent a few nights sewing cords into his trousers, because it's started to be difficult to button them, and uncomfortable to leave them buttoned all day.
Word reaches the temple that the party is back one morning while Yasha is taming his stomach with some crackers. He finishes up with his patient - a little girl who scratched her arm on some thorns - and makes his way to the town square. He wonders what he'll say to Ronan. He wonders what Ronan will say to him. It's been almost two months, and they still need to have their talk.
Then he gets to the square, and sees only three figures in the middle of the crowd. The paladin, tall and armoured, shield gleaming in the morning sun. The mage, always next to the paladin, leaning on her staff. And the new healer.
Ronan isn't there.
Yasha's stomach chooses that moment to rebel. He only has time to stagger into an alley before he throws up.
Part three. (Content note: more nausea and vomiting.)
Yasha will spend the next several months of his life regretting his next decision.
He doesn't go back to the square. He doesn't ask his former companions what's happened to Ronan - to the father of his baby, the man he's starting to think he loved. He can't face the prospect of hearing that Ronan is dead. He goes back to the temple already grieving.
He doesn't have to wait long for the party to leave town on another job, taking another thief with them. But with this one change in fortune, the town he's lived in since he was seventeen has turned poisonous to him. Every street corner holds a memory he made with Ronan. He can barely stand to look at the tavern.
He waits a week, but the feeling doesn't change. He doesn't want to be here anymore. He asks the head priest if he knows anywhere that needs a healer, and of course - plenty of places do, especially one of Yasha's talents.
The village he picks is tiny. A temple, a couple of farms, a shop and a handful of little houses. Yasha chooses it because it's as far as possible from here - nearly a month by coach. He packs his things and arranges his travel, says goodbye to his friends. Most of them don't know he's trans, and he's told no one about the pregnancy.
He does not bargain at all on how bad the coach ride will be.
He keeps plenty of water and crackers handy, but the constant jostling of the coach makes his stomach incredibly unhappy. For the first three weeks, he sits in the coach for hours with lips firmly pressed together, fighting the urge to vomit, and throws up every time the coach stops to change horses. He is uncomfortable, exhausted, miserable, and all alone. He can't even talk to his fellow passengers, for fear of throwing up all over them.
The last few days of travel, however, are suddenly better. The queasiness doesn't fade completely, but it recedes to the point where he can relax a little, and maybe talk occasionally, if he's careful.
At last he arrives, tired but feeling a little less wretched, in his new home. He presents himself at the temple, is served a meal, and shown to his new quarters, where he promptly falls asleep for nearly a whole day.
(TBC!)
Part four. (I'm having anxiety, is reblogging my own post the way to do this? Should I make separate posts like I did with Storm? Who knows. Anyway.)
No one in his old town knew Yasha was trans - except Ronan, for a couple of weeks there. When Yasha first moved there, for his priest training, he was only nineteen, had only recently started the change, and was unsure and insecure. No one questioned him, not for a second, for which he was fervently grateful, but now seven years have passed.
Seven years, and he's expecting a baby.
He realises, his first morning in his new home, that he decided to keep the baby the moment he realised Ronan was dead. He's at the beginning of his second trimester now. His tummy has already developed a distinct bulge, and in a month or two, it will be difficult to hide under his clothes. People are going to know who he is.
So he decides to get ahead of it. He tells the head priest he's having a baby. He enquires about the local midwife and tells her too. He begins gathering things he'll need: cloth for nappies; a bassinet; baby clothes. He was expecting to be welcomed, but not with such open arms - soon he's drowning in hand-me-downs and offers of help. Every grandmother in town starts in on a baby blanket, a hat, a pair of socks.
Slowly, as the weeks progress, his belly swells. Subtly at first - and then, almost overnight, he develops a round and noticeable bump, jutting out from his body. A few days later, he feels the first wriggles of movement in his tummy. A couple of weeks after that, the first kick.
He grows and grows. He starts talking to his baby, day after day, checking in with his spirit-sense as the baby grows, as his breasts swell and start to produce their first milk. His ankles get puffy and a little sore. His back aches after a long day. The piles of baby clothes grow.
At seven months, he moves out of his temple quarters and into a little house near the village. It's a cottage, just big enough for one man and his child. The local carpenter makes him a bassinet, promises him a crib for when the baby is a little older. Yasha busies himself with all the usual work of a village healer, with preparing for his child. He's friends with the midwife, with most of the village's young parents, with most of the town's small children.
He is, at last, home. His baby is healthy and safe. He's ready for fatherhood.
Then, a week before his due date, everything falls apart.
Keep thinking about some OCs of mine.
This is, a fic I'm thinking of writing. My intention here is to see if there's any interest, since people saying "yes write this" is very motivating to me! So if you want to read more about this I would love to hear!
We're in some kind of trans-friendly D&D style world.
Yasha is a healer, and a trans man. (We don't call it that, in this world, but I haven't figured out a good way to refer to him yet.) Priest to some kind and friendly god. Mostly stealth. He has potions to masculinise his body, self-made, and a glamour to hide his chest. He's part of an adventuring party, of course. There's a paladin, of a different, righteous and militant god, and a mage, but we don't care about them, or at least I haven't made them yet. We do care about Ronan, the thief.
Ronan is cis. He's small and lithe - even shorter than Yasha - and he can break into almost anything. When our story starts, they have been adventuring with each other, and their paladin and mage, for a few months, and both of them have been stealing glances at each other for most of that time. But while there's no prohibition on queer relationships, there's an expectation that priests like Yasha take love and sex seriously - not necessarily "only while married", but casual sex is frowned upon - and an assumption that thieves like Ronan don't. Plus there's the added complication: the adventuring party doesn't know that Yasha is trans.
The four of them are delving into some abandoned mine that's supposed to be full of monsters and treasure. Something happens - they don't *mean* to split the party, but somehow Yasha and Ronan get trapped, alone together, waiting for rescue underground. They have enough rations for a few days, but they're both worried. Conversation becomes physical comfort, and then cuddling, and eventually sex.
They eventually get out of the dungeon just fine. Their companions rescue them. They find some treasure, and start the long walk back towards civilisation. The journey takes a couple of weeks.
Now, Yasha is a truly excellent healer. He's not much good with spells - they frequently go wrong for him - but he can channel healing through his hands, and he has an excellent spiritual and magical sense of the body and how it's put together. He's just as good at this with his own body as he is with anyone else's: he can tell when he's about to get sick, well before any symptoms arise. He has a very good sense of these things.
About a week into the walk back to town, Yasha feels something catch low down in his belly. It takes him a day or so to work out what that means. After all, he's never been pregnant before. But by the time they get back to town, Yasha can feel, if he pays attention, the tiny new life inside him. Ronan's child.
(To be continued???)
Part two. (Content note: some nausea/vomiting stuff, because early pregnancy.)
Yasha doesn't know what to feel about this. He and Ronan have not had a moment alone since they were rescued, and they were rescued at the beginning of an important talk... which they have not managed to finish. Yasha doesn't know where he stands with Ronan. He doesn't know if the pregnancy will stay; he knows sometimes they don't. He doesn't know if he wants it to or not.
The four of them get back to town. The other three are eager to celebrate their successful mission at the tavern, but Yasha can feel that his body has noticed it's pregnant. It's busily reorganising resources to protect and nurture the tiny new person, and Yasha is exhausted. He excuses himself after one drink, and trudges back to the temple to rest. It's early, but he sleeps like the dead, well past sunrise, though he usually wakes with the sun.
He finds the rest of the party breakfasting in the tavern. They all comment on how late he slept in, and tell Yasha that they've already been hired on for another job. Yasha still feels leaden with exhaustion, despite sleeping for ten hours. He hears his three companions talking excitedly about going delving in some other underground treasure vault, and feels how his body is pouring energy into its new project. He thinks: I can't.
He tells the party that he isn't feeling well, and they'll have to find a new healer.
That makes it impossible to talk to Ronan. He, with the other two, is rushing around town looking for a new healer; they're eager to leave as soon as possible. There's an awkward moment, when they're finally ready to go - Ronan says, gentle, "I'll see you when we get back?"
They're adventurers. Yasha knows that isn't guaranteed. He nods, and swallows, and lets them go.
The party is away for some time. Yasha takes up his old job as temple healer, healing broken toes and coughs, and slowly, slowly, his condition begins to make itself known.
The exhaustion persists; Yasha is glad to have a job where he can mostly sit.
A few days in, he notices himself needing to pee more often. He checks in with his body; his womb is starting to expand, pressing in on his bladder.
A few days after that, his chest starts to get sore. He usually keeps his chest bound pretty tight, in case his glamour slips, but now he loosens the bindings to be more comfortable. His nipples look puffy and feel sensitive. Despite the looser bindings, he still aches. Three days after that, he has given up the bindings entirely. Two weeks to the day after the party leaves, Yasha wakes up with a queasy stomach. He feels better after some food, but as the days progress, the queasiness gets worse. He starts to notice it between meals. Five days later, he's walking from the temple to the tavern to treat himself to lunch, when the nausea suddenly surges as he's crossing the river. He leans on the rails of the bridge and breathes carefully through his mouth, trying to control himself, but his stomach turns and he throws up twice into the river.
A week later, the vomiting has become a daily occurrence. Yasha likes it best when he gets it out of the way first thing in the morning, but sometimes his stomach doesn't rebel until the end of the night. It happens once a day. Then once or twice. Yasha learns to eat little and often, to drink lots of water and tea, and it helps with the discomfort, but doesn't stop him from needing to throw up.
By the time the adventuring party comes back, after over seven weeks away, Yasha is starting to struggle a little with his clothing. If it weren't for the flat-chest glamour, his chest would be clearly straining against his tunic. It's not visible, especially under a loose tunic, but his waist has thickened a bit, and he's spent a few nights sewing cords into his trousers, because it's started to be difficult to button them, and uncomfortable to leave them buttoned all day.
Word reaches the temple that the party is back one morning while Yasha is taming his stomach with some crackers. He finishes up with his patient - a little girl who scratched her arm on some thorns - and makes his way to the town square. He wonders what he'll say to Ronan. He wonders what Ronan will say to him. It's been almost two months, and they still need to have their talk.
Then he gets to the square, and sees only three figures in the middle of the crowd. The paladin, tall and armoured, shield gleaming in the morning sun. The mage, always next to the paladin, leaning on her staff. And the new healer.
Ronan isn't there.
Yasha's stomach chooses that moment to rebel. He only has time to stagger into an alley before he throws up.
Part three. (Content note: more nausea and vomiting.)
Yasha will spend the next several months of his life regretting his next decision.
He doesn't go back to the square. He doesn't ask his former companions what's happened to Ronan - to the father of his baby, the man he's starting to think he loved. He can't face the prospect of hearing that Ronan is dead. He goes back to the temple already grieving.
He doesn't have to wait long for the party to leave town on another job, taking another thief with them. But with this one change in fortune, the town he's lived in since he was seventeen has turned poisonous to him. Every street corner holds a memory he made with Ronan. He can barely stand to look at the tavern.
He waits a week, but the feeling doesn't change. He doesn't want to be here anymore. He asks the head priest if he knows anywhere that needs a healer, and of course - plenty of places do, especially one of Yasha's talents.
The village he picks is tiny. A temple, a couple of farms, a shop and a handful of little houses. Yasha chooses it because it's as far as possible from here - nearly a month by coach. He packs his things and arranges his travel, says goodbye to his friends. Most of them don't know he's trans, and he's told no one about the pregnancy.
He does not bargain at all on how bad the coach ride will be.
He keeps plenty of water and crackers handy, but the constant jostling of the coach makes his stomach incredibly unhappy. For the first three weeks, he sits in the coach for hours with lips firmly pressed together, fighting the urge to vomit, and throws up every time the coach stops to change horses. He is uncomfortable, exhausted, miserable, and all alone. He can't even talk to his fellow passengers, for fear of throwing up all over them.
The last few days of travel, however, are suddenly better. The queasiness doesn't fade completely, but it recedes to the point where he can relax a little, and maybe talk occasionally, if he's careful.
At last he arrives, tired but feeling a little less wretched, in his new home. He presents himself at the temple, is served a meal, and shown to his new quarters, where he promptly falls asleep for nearly a whole day.
(TBC!)
My instructions to you
Gently now… It’s coming. Don’t rush it. Just breathe. I see the head. You feel like you want to push? OK, do what your body tells you. Inhale deeply, concentrate, and push hard. Push! That’s it, good job. You’re doing so well. You feel the head coming down now? You feel it moving in your canal? It’s really opening you up. Remember to breathe, now. In… And out. Slow, focused breaths. In. And out. Good. Very good. The head is getting really close, I see lots of dark hair… Good job, breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth. Yes, just like that. You feel like you need to push again? Then go ahead. Let’s see a big push. Yes. Yes, that’s it. Big big push. Here it comes. I’m guiding the baby’s head out now. I’m holding it between my hands. It’s coming out of you, just keep it up. Push! You’re such a good pusher! Push, now, just like that! Just a little more now… Yes, that’s it. The head is out! Everything is fine, take a moment and breathe for a bit. In and out. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Yes, good. Your baby is doing fine and so are you. One more deep breath. In. And out. Good. Excellent. Ready to push again? OK. Focus. Get ready. Concentrate. And push! Yes, yes! Push! Here it comes, keep pushing! You’re so awesome! Just a little bit more now. Keep the intensity up, keep pushing… Give it everything you’ve got. Push! Push, you wonderful one! I can’t believe how fantastic you are doing. Push just a little bit more. Just a bit more now. Push!
Ah! You did it! Your baby is out! Well done.
Keep thinking about some OCs of mine.
This is, a fic I'm thinking of writing. My intention here is to see if there's any interest, since people saying "yes write this" is very motivating to me! So if you want to read more about this I would love to hear!
We're in some kind of trans-friendly D&D style world.
Yasha is a healer, and a trans man. (We don't call it that, in this world, but I haven't figured out a good way to refer to him yet.) Priest to some kind and friendly god. Mostly stealth. He has potions to masculinise his body, self-made, and a glamour to hide his chest. He's part of an adventuring party, of course. There's a paladin, of a different, righteous and militant god, and a mage, but we don't care about them, or at least I haven't made them yet. We do care about Ronan, the thief.
Ronan is cis. He's small and lithe - even shorter than Yasha - and he can break into almost anything. When our story starts, they have been adventuring with each other, and their paladin and mage, for a few months, and both of them have been stealing glances at each other for most of that time. But while there's no prohibition on queer relationships, there's an expectation that priests like Yasha take love and sex seriously - not necessarily "only while married", but casual sex is frowned upon - and an assumption that thieves like Ronan don't. Plus there's the added complication: the adventuring party doesn't know that Yasha is trans.
The four of them are delving into some abandoned mine that's supposed to be full of monsters and treasure. Something happens - they don't *mean* to split the party, but somehow Yasha and Ronan get trapped, alone together, waiting for rescue underground. They have enough rations for a few days, but they're both worried. Conversation becomes physical comfort, and then cuddling, and eventually sex.
They eventually get out of the dungeon just fine. Their companions rescue them. They find some treasure, and start the long walk back towards civilisation. The journey takes a couple of weeks.
Now, Yasha is a truly excellent healer. He's not much good with spells - they frequently go wrong for him - but he can channel healing through his hands, and he has an excellent spiritual and magical sense of the body and how it's put together. He's just as good at this with his own body as he is with anyone else's: he can tell when he's about to get sick, well before any symptoms arise. He has a very good sense of these things.
About a week into the walk back to town, Yasha feels something catch low down in his belly. It takes him a day or so to work out what that means. After all, he's never been pregnant before. But by the time they get back to town, Yasha can feel, if he pays attention, the tiny new life inside him. Ronan's child.
(To be continued???)
Part two. (Content note: some nausea/vomiting stuff, because early pregnancy.)
Yasha doesn't know what to feel about this. He and Ronan have not had a moment alone since they were rescued, and they were rescued at the beginning of an important talk... which they have not managed to finish. Yasha doesn't know where he stands with Ronan. He doesn't know if the pregnancy will stay; he knows sometimes they don't. He doesn't know if he wants it to or not.
The four of them get back to town. The other three are eager to celebrate their successful mission at the tavern, but Yasha can feel that his body has noticed it's pregnant. It's busily reorganising resources to protect and nurture the tiny new person, and Yasha is exhausted. He excuses himself after one drink, and trudges back to the temple to rest. It's early, but he sleeps like the dead, well past sunrise, though he usually wakes with the sun.
He finds the rest of the party breakfasting in the tavern. They all comment on how late he slept in, and tell Yasha that they've already been hired on for another job. Yasha still feels leaden with exhaustion, despite sleeping for ten hours. He hears his three companions talking excitedly about going delving in some other underground treasure vault, and feels how his body is pouring energy into its new project. He thinks: I can't.
He tells the party that he isn't feeling well, and they'll have to find a new healer.
That makes it impossible to talk to Ronan. He, with the other two, is rushing around town looking for a new healer; they're eager to leave as soon as possible. There's an awkward moment, when they're finally ready to go - Ronan says, gentle, "I'll see you when we get back?"
They're adventurers. Yasha knows that isn't guaranteed. He nods, and swallows, and lets them go.
The party is away for some time. Yasha takes up his old job as temple healer, healing broken toes and coughs, and slowly, slowly, his condition begins to make itself known.
The exhaustion persists; Yasha is glad to have a job where he can mostly sit.
A few days in, he notices himself needing to pee more often. He checks in with his body; his womb is starting to expand, pressing in on his bladder.
A few days after that, his chest starts to get sore. He usually keeps his chest bound pretty tight, in case his glamour slips, but now he loosens the bindings to be more comfortable. His nipples look puffy and feel sensitive. Despite the looser bindings, he still aches. Three days after that, he has given up the bindings entirely. Two weeks to the day after the party leaves, Yasha wakes up with a queasy stomach. He feels better after some food, but as the days progress, the queasiness gets worse. He starts to notice it between meals. Five days later, he's walking from the temple to the tavern to treat himself to lunch, when the nausea suddenly surges as he's crossing the river. He leans on the rails of the bridge and breathes carefully through his mouth, trying to control himself, but his stomach turns and he throws up twice into the river.
A week later, the vomiting has become a daily occurrence. Yasha likes it best when he gets it out of the way first thing in the morning, but sometimes his stomach doesn't rebel until the end of the night. It happens once a day. Then once or twice. Yasha learns to eat little and often, to drink lots of water and tea, and it helps with the discomfort, but doesn't stop him from needing to throw up.
By the time the adventuring party comes back, after over seven weeks away, Yasha is starting to struggle a little with his clothing. If it weren't for the flat-chest glamour, his chest would be clearly straining against his tunic. It's not visible, especially under a loose tunic, but his waist has thickened a bit, and he's spent a few nights sewing cords into his trousers, because it's started to be difficult to button them, and uncomfortable to leave them buttoned all day.
Word reaches the temple that the party is back one morning while Yasha is taming his stomach with some crackers. He finishes up with his patient - a little girl who scratched her arm on some thorns - and makes his way to the town square. He wonders what he'll say to Ronan. He wonders what Ronan will say to him. It's been almost two months, and they still need to have their talk.
Then he gets to the square, and sees only three figures in the middle of the crowd. The paladin, tall and armoured, shield gleaming in the morning sun. The mage, always next to the paladin, leaning on her staff. And the new healer.
Ronan isn't there.
Yasha's stomach chooses that moment to rebel. He only has time to stagger into an alley before he throws up.
Keep thinking about some OCs of mine.
This is, a fic I'm thinking of writing. My intention here is to see if there's any interest, since people saying "yes write this" is very motivating to me! So if you want to read more about this I would love to hear!
We're in some kind of trans-friendly D&D style world.
Yasha is a healer, and a trans man. (We don't call it that, in this world, but I haven't figured out a good way to refer to him yet.) Priest to some kind and friendly god. Mostly stealth. He has potions to masculinise his body, self-made, and a glamour to hide his chest. He's part of an adventuring party, of course. There's a paladin, of a different, righteous and militant god, and a mage, but we don't care about them, or at least I haven't made them yet. We do care about Ronan, the thief.
Ronan is cis. He's small and lithe - even shorter than Yasha - and he can break into almost anything. When our story starts, they have been adventuring with each other, and their paladin and mage, for a few months, and both of them have been stealing glances at each other for most of that time. But while there's no prohibition on queer relationships, there's an expectation that priests like Yasha take love and sex seriously - not necessarily "only while married", but casual sex is frowned upon - and an assumption that thieves like Ronan don't. Plus there's the added complication: the adventuring party doesn't know that Yasha is trans.
The four of them are delving into some abandoned mine that's supposed to be full of monsters and treasure. Something happens - they don't *mean* to split the party, but somehow Yasha and Ronan get trapped, alone together, waiting for rescue underground. They have enough rations for a few days, but they're both worried. Conversation becomes physical comfort, and then cuddling, and eventually sex.
They eventually get out of the dungeon just fine. Their companions rescue them. They find some treasure, and start the long walk back towards civilisation. The journey takes a couple of weeks.
Now, Yasha is a truly excellent healer. He's not much good with spells - they frequently go wrong for him - but he can channel healing through his hands, and he has an excellent spiritual and magical sense of the body and how it's put together. He's just as good at this with his own body as he is with anyone else's: he can tell when he's about to get sick, well before any symptoms arise. He has a very good sense of these things.
About a week into the walk back to town, Yasha feels something catch low down in his belly. It takes him a day or so to work out what that means. After all, he's never been pregnant before. But by the time they get back to town, Yasha can feel, if he pays attention, the tiny new life inside him. Ronan's child.
(To be continued???)

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What Were Left Behind
"We have two more in labor!" A nurse yelled over a cacophony of labored howls while clutching their own distended mound. An older woman breathing steadily and a very lightly dressed young woman crying while holding a supremely large belly stood next to the nurse.
"I'll be there-ngh, in a moment!" You shout back as you press your arm firmly into a woman's abdomen. Your own stomach constricts viciously as seconds pass.
"I-I don't want it! Don't make me have it!" The woman shrieked beneath you. The shoulders of her child spread her pussy wide.
You ignore her and press harder. You need to clear some beds out and you couldn't wait for this woman to give in to her body or lose consciousness. The baby needed to be birthed now or else. You jam your elbow in harder.
The woman shrieked as the baby erupted from her pussy into the hands of one of the nurses. The woman fell into a heap, her crying intensifying as the cries of her baby entered her ears. The nurse tried to put the baby in the mothers hands but the act was met with stern and frantic rejection.
You instruct the nurse to clean them up and get them out of the bed as soon as possible. You take one step back from the bed and are met with the feeling of water dripping down your legs. Your time is coming soon too.
You look out amongst the rows of birth beds. Women young and old filled them, struggling against the trial of birth.
You were in the same struggle the other women here were in. Your baby is sitting right behind your dilating cervix, waiting to be born. Your skin tight bump's underside is visible to all with how ill fitting your clothes were. It didn't help that it had dropped significantly. Each wide gaited step you take is accompanied with a downward shift in your crotch.
i wanna play the sims but EVERY time i play the sims i just end up getting every sim i possibly can pregnant and then im horny, and im at work rn so maybe i shouldnt 😩😩😩😩
Time to install an mpreg mod and get all the boys pregnant too.
oh you dont even need a mod for that. and frankly practically every sim i get pregnant is a guy already
Ahaha not just me huh?
Storm
Part Twelve
"Shit," Danny says again. "You're crowning."
Ethan thinks, a little unkindly, No shit, Sherlock, but he's still mid-contraction. He can't really talk. And a second later it's time to push again, and he stops panting to suck in the needed air.
Danny's behind him, but he's too busy to look over his shoulder. Pushing, listening to his body instead of Danny's rough anxious breaths, feeling the baby's head stretch him wider, wider, a little more... too much too much too much time to pause. The baby's head slips back a little, but he knows now that's normal, it happens at the end of every push. It's how his body stretches, relaxes, stretches, and finds the next limit.
One more wave of pushing, and the contraction's over. Ethan gasps for air and says, breathy, "Hi."
"Hi." Danny crouches next to him, putting a hand over Ethan's on the arm of the sofa. "How's this position? Do you want to move?"
Ethan feels a wave of appreciation for how quickly Danny's got over his shock, and takes back the unkind thought. "I think I'm..." He huffs, needing air. "Fine. I'm okay."
"You're doing so great," Danny says. "She's nearly here." He leans forward, touching his forehead to Ethan's, very lightly. "I saw her eyebrows."
Ethan gasps a laugh. "She's got eyebrows!"
"She's got eyebrows. Where do you want me, when you're pushing?"
Ethan shakes his head, not knowing. He'd reconciled himself to doing this alone, and including Danny in the experience so late in the game is...
It's hard. There was a rhythm. It was a good rhythm. He wants to keep it.
At last he says, "Hold my hands?" And that's all he has time for before the next contraction.
It's slow, painful progress, but having Danny there, touching him, makes it easier. Touching him, and talking - hardly stopping, changing tack as Ethan switches between phases. "There you go, that's it, nice slow pushes, that's good, that's good, you're doing great," he says, as Ethan pushes, and when he stops, panting, "Good, great, you're doing so well, my love, deep breaths now..."
They talked about this. They talked and talked about it. They didn't expect Danny only to arrive halfway through the pushing phase, but they planned for this birth.
Ethan doesn't remember that there was supposed to be a midwife here until the contraction is over, and that's when Danny seems to remember, too. "Should I call Juliet?"
"You didn't?"
"I sort of drove here in a panic."
"...yeah. Um." Ethan pants. "I need you here. Call her after?"
"Okay."
Danny's sitting on the sofa, holding Ethan's hands. Ethan shifts a little sideways, grabbing Danny's knees instead of the arm, and says, "This okay?"
"Whatever you need, honey."
"I might lean on you. It might hurt."
"I think you'll still be in more pain." Danny threads his fingers between Ethan's, and they wait together, not for very long, before another contraction begins.
He leans into the pushing phase. After only a few seconds, the sensations change yet again, and he gasps.
There's no more stretching to do. The baby is moving down, easy. He pauses, sucking in a fresh lungful of air, and...
"HNNNNNNNNNNNNGH!"
...pushes with all his might. The rest of the baby's head slips out of him with a pop, and a little gush of fluid, leaving him gasping at the relief.
"Was that the head? Is the head out?"
Ethan can't talk, but he nods. The gasps turn to heavy panting as he listens to his body.
Wait. Wait. The baby's turning, and it's the strangest sensation. He can feel his daughter's shoulders, shifting position inside him, and then... easy, easy. He gives a little push, and feels himself stretch in a slightly different way. Easy. Easy. Open up...
It doesn't take much more. He doesn't even have to rest or pant; he simply gives a couple of light pushes and feels himself stretch around the baby's shoulders, as - pop! pop! - first one, then the other comes free.
And the contraction isn't over. He tightens his grip on Danny's hands, and sucks in an enormous breath to fuel the final phase.
He thinks, This is it.
And pushes with everything he's got.
That's all it takes. One gigantic push, and the rest of the baby's body slides out of him. Danny releases his hands, leaving Ethan grabbing his knees, and Ethan doesn't know why until Danny's hands are down between his legs, and something heavy is dragging down from the pit of his stomach, and the contraction is over, and there's the overwhelmingly beautiful sound of a baby crying.
Ethan looks down.
She does have eyebrows. She has a whole face. She's bright red all over, streaked with blood and fluid, cord still attached, and her face is scrunched up with crying. Ethan says, "Oh... oh..." and reaches out for his daughter as he sits down hard on the pile of towels.
Together, they place her on Ethan's stomach, and he slowly guides her to his breast. The sensation of her little gums clamping onto his nipple makes him gasp, and then she sucks, and milk flows, and just like that, he's feeding baby.
He looks up, and Danny is crying. Mouth twisted, tears running down his face, fogging his glasses... completely silent. Ethan reaches out, and takes one of Danny's hands, letting him cup the baby's head as she drinks hungrily.
"That's our daughter," Ethan says, and Danny lets out a single, gulping sob. "That's our little girl."
There's a pause.
"I think we should call her," Ethan says, ragged, and that's when he realises he's crying too. "Storm."
Danny gives a short, sniffly laugh. "Really?"
"Maybe a middle name. I like the one we had."
"Kathryn." Danny's voice is still distorted with tears. "Kathryn Storm? Kathryn Rachel Storm?"
"Kathryn Rachel Storm Hughes-Warrington." Ethan sniffs. "God, what a name. Poor kid."
"I think it's beautiful," Danny says. "Just like her."
He takes his glasses off to wipe his face, and comes to sit on the floor, next to Ethan. Ethan doesn't mention that Danny will get blood and amniotic fluid and God knows what else all over his work clothes, or that the placenta hasn't come, or that they haven't cut the cord. He leans sideways, damp with sweat and exhausted, and puts his head on Danny's shoulder. Danny puts an arm around him and kisses his forehead.
"I'll call Juliet," he says.
Ethan almost tells him not to, but Danny keeps talking.
"In a minute."
And wrapped in his husband's arms, with his baby daughter still suckling and tears still rolling down his face, Ethan closes his eyes.
The End
Thought I would make a masterpost for this fic I seem to be writing, so it's a bit easier to navigate between parts without me posting a lin
✨reblog if you're accepting anonymous asks about anything✨
Storm
Part Eleven
Puuuuuuush...
The contraction keeps rolling through Ethan, squeezing down. He breathes in, deep and fast, and huffs it out through his mouth. In... huff it out. In... hold... huff it out.
Puuuuuuuuuush.
In... and hold. His mind is a whirl of panic. He doesn't want this, he can't do this, he's not ready, but second by second the pressure is taking over. In... hold... More than pressure. He feels full, so full, the hard round shape of the baby's head pressing down between his legs and he wants it out. Out. Out!
Puuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuush!
He's still holding his breath, he can't seem to let it go; his mouth won't (push!) make the right shape. His teeth click together and (push!!) clench, and his grip tightens on the arm of the (PUSH!!!) sofa. He's not (PUUUUSH!!!!) ready. He can't he can't he (PUUUUSSSHHHH!!!!) can't this isn't happening he isn't
"Hnnnnnnnnnnngh!"
He has the shocking realisation that he's pushing, after it starts against his will. And a moment later, a sweet burst of excitement and elation. He can feel her moving! She's coming! He's doing it! He's having a baby!
The next push feels good. He doesn't forget the pain - it's far too intense to ignore - but it becomes less important than the sensation of the baby moving down between his legs, the sense of gradual progress as he pushes her down further, and further. He can feel his body reshaping around her as she descends.
When the contraction is over he falls forward against the arm of the sofa, gasping, pouring sweat. He still feels pushy, but without his muscles squeezing down, the urge is bearable, and he needs to get what rest he can. He decides he wants his feet under him, and - slow, careful, achy - comes up into a squat, leaning heavily on the sofa to support his swollen, tender body. When he's there, he gingerly puts a hand between his legs to feel.
There's a decided bulge, and when he presses up very lightly he can feel her, a solid curve. She's on the way.
The next contraction hits, and Ethan needs both hands holding onto the sofa for support. This time his only thought of resisting is to realise that it wouldn't be remotely possible; what was a downish sort of squeeze goes down, down, down, down, DOWN. He's pushing long before the contraction peaks, following the waves of pressure provided by the contraction. PUUUUUUUUUUSH, and rest. PUUUUUUUUUUSH, and rest. On and on as the contraction rolls.
Down she goes.
Ethan has long since stopped counting contractions. He's barely aware of anything happening outside his own body - not the light in the room, not the sound of wind and rain. There's only pain and pressure and progress. Between contractions he pants, needing as much air as possible, and feels the bulge between his legs, a little bigger every time, until the sensations change again.
He's pushing and pushing when he notices - oh. A little stretch.
A stretch is happening. He's stretching open. Opening up to let the baby out.
Slowly now, he thinks. Easy. The urge to push is still overwhelming, but he starts to think, Okay, okay, work with it. Work with me here. He remembers that panting ought to help him resist, and that going slow will help prevent tearing. So he pants, only pushing when the waves of pressure are at their strongest, and then as gently as he can. Trying to stop, or at least slow down, when the stretch feels like it's getting too much.
By the time the contraction breaks, it's starting to burn. He feels again, between his legs, and this time feels his mouth go open and his eyes go wide, because -
There she is!
He's touching his daughter.
She's completely bald, skin smooth and sticky-wet with blood and fluids from inside him. He rubs a fingertip over the top of her head, careful and gentle, and whispers, breathless, "Let's get you out of there, kid."
But slowly. Slowly.
The next contraction hits. The work now isn't just pushing - it's pushing at the right pace, with the right force, with only the sensations in his body to guide him. Stretch... stretch... too much okay okay pant, pant, wait, breathe, let your body get used to it... now stretch a little more... okay okay...
He doesn't know what time it is, and he doesn't care. Not how long he's been in labour, how long he's been pushing, how long since he sent that text - none of it matters. The only time that matters is now, and now he is giving birth to his daughter, second by second, breath by breath, push by push, contraction by contraction. Twice more, the wave of pain breaks, and he rests and touches his daughters head, able to feel more of it each time. Twice more, he takes a huge sucking breath as a new contraction begins, riding the start of it to push as long as he's able, stretch... pant... wait... rest... okay... here we go...
It burns worse and worse. He whines and keens and moans as he pushes, feeling the head opening him wider and wider, bit by bit. That's all he's focused on. The work of childbirth, his body telling him what work to do, what stage he's at. Push, or rest. Stretch, or breathe. The roar of the rain is forgotten.
If he hears a different roar, the roar of a car engine approaching outside, he doesn't register or process it. Not the scrape and click of a key in the front door, either. Nor the door opening and closing, nor fast-paced, frantic footsteps. He's pushing, and pushing, and resting, until suddenly his concentration is broken.
"Ethan?!"
Danny's voice.
"Oh my god, you're really - " A couple of harsh, terrified breaths, and then Danny says, "Shit. Oh shit."
Thought I would make a masterpost for this fic I seem to be writing, so it's a bit easier to navigate between parts without me posting a lin

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Storm
Part Ten
He should charge his phone.
He has to charge his phone.
If Danny got that text, he'll respond, or call in a panic, and he'll freak out when Ethan can't respond. If he didn't get the text... please please please let it have gone through. But if it didn't, with a charged phone, Ethan can try again.
There's a charger by the TV. It's only a few feet away, but to Ethan, that feels like a bold and almost impossible journey. He'll have to crawl, pausing more than he moves for contraction after contraction, and hope the window of usefulness is still long enough when he gets there to find the cable and plug in his phone. And... wait... trickle...
...what?
It's coming from between his legs. Trickle... trickle... drip-drip-drip... drip-drip... trickle... Is he peeing? No. He just used the bathroom, and his bladder doesn't feel full, and anyway it's not... coming from there...
He wastes the entire window trying to understand what's happening. Maybe a second before the next contraction hits, he thinks, Is that my water? And then - pain. Pressure. GUSH. Fluid splashes on the towels between his feet, and doesn't stop dripping after. He bellows; the pressure is so much stronger now, restless, moving, going down. He realises, partway through, that he wants to be upright, and drags himself forward until he can grab the arm of the sofa for support.
There. Better. Now... open up...
The window of usefulness closes after that. The contractions just keep coming, and all he can manage between them is rest, breathe, maybe shift position a little. His phone lies dead on a towel behind him, forgotten. There's nothing left, for Ethan, except the hard, agonising squeeze of his muscles, and the growing awareness of the baby's head, moving a little lower with each wave of pain.
He loses track of time completely. He has no idea how long it's been when he feels it.
Something shifts. The restless pressure starts to get... urgent... but the urgency fades as the contraction comes to an end, leaving him a little frustrated on top of the breathlessness. He wants... he wants... he's not sure what, but he wants it.
The next contraction grips him, and he feels it again. Urgency. Going down. Even the rolling squeeze of his muscles feels a little more downish, and as the contraction builds he thinks, I want I want I want but can't quite complete the thought.
Building. Building. I want. I want. I need... to...
He grips the arm of the sofa. His chin drops to his chest, and his knees spread as wide as they can go on the towel. He can't think of anything except slow, solid downward movement, incremental but inexorable, until at last the contraction hits its peak and he feels something new. Like a voice, soft but insistent, speaking up from between his legs.
...push?...
Oh no.
...push?...
No no.
...puush?...
Not yet. Please. Danny isn't here, he thinks. No one's here. Please, not yet. I'm not ready.
His body fairly screams at him: I AM!
...puuuuush...
He sucks in a quick, panicky, sobbing breath, and forces it out, but the urge is getting stronger.
Here she comes.
Thought I would make a masterpost for this fic I seem to be writing, so it's a bit easier to navigate between parts without me posting a lin
Storm
Part Nine
Ethan watches his phone anxiously as its battery creeps down, and the contractions creep closer. Under five minutes... four and a half... closer and closer to four. 5%, and dropping. The window of usefulness has narrowed; Ethan isn't measuring it specifically, and he's too far gone for any kind of accurate maths, but he thinks it's under a minute now. Too short. Too short.
Soon now, he thinks, it'll be gone completely. Only waves of pain, and space to recover, and at some unclear point after that, he'll have to push. He can feel the shape of the baby's head now as it drops a little further with each contraction.
He's on his hands and knees, in his nest of towels and blankets by the sofa, the phone on the floor near his face. When a contraction comes he rocks and sways his hips, spreading his legs. The last thing he did before he settled in the nest was a bathroom trip - it took nearly fifteen minutes, and he had to crawl most of the way back - and he left all his clothes in the toilet. He's sweaty and overheated, exhausted, and the rain and wind and thunder are still roaring outside.
He stops using the app. Instead he watches the time on his phone and tries to count the difference between 17:18 and 17:22, not sure for far too long if the right answer is 3 or 4. He wants the chance of texting Danny if the power comes back.
At 3%, the kitchen light flickers on.
He has time to look around at the sudden brightness and gasp before a contraction hits and his world is reduced again to pain and pressure. Then, panting, he looks at his phone - and remembers, soggily, that the router will take a few minutes to connect.
Two more contractions.
2%.
The window of usefulness is only seconds now. He spends two of them composing the text.
Baby coming come home
At the beginning of the third window, he hits Send, and stares at the little blue line, willing it to go through. "Please... please... AAAAHHHH!" The pain of another contraction makes him close his eyes, and plant his knees wider on the floor, and sway, and moan, and scream. God... the pressure...
When he opens his eyes and looks back at his phone, it's dead.
Thought I would make a masterpost for this fic I seem to be writing, so it's a bit easier to navigate between parts without me posting a lin