havenât drawn in a while
image description: a woman with long hair wearing a long sleeved sheer nightgown rubs her swollen stomach

Janaina Medeiros
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havenât drawn in a while
image description: a woman with long hair wearing a long sleeved sheer nightgown rubs her swollen stomach
havenât drawn in a while
image description: a woman with long hair wearing a long sleeved sheer nightgown rubs her swollen stomach
Cute little selkie gal đŚÂ
Poor thing, your tummy is all puffed up and swollen. Is everything inside sitting heavily in your stomach, weighing you down? Is it bubbling and churning in your belly, forcing you to swallow your nausea? You should know by now that you have a sensitive stomachâŚit would be so cruel of me if I were to shake you up a bit, squeeze you a bit too tightly, or fill you up a bit more. But itâs awfully tempting - youâre so cute when your sweet little tummy is feeling sick. â¤ď¸
Something sinks!
đ¨Uh oh! This just in! Greg Stocks is suddenly submissive and breed-able!
enjoy this compilation of the descent to chaos that had brennan genuinely worried for the health of his and izzy's child
enjoy this compilation of the descent to chaos that had brennan genuinely worried for the health of his and izzy's child
i need jack manhattan pregnant NOW
Hello... I have a gross idea for a prompt. How about a character who ate a ton of super heavy food is feeling really really sick but canât throw up. So they drink a ton of water and then just throw up tons. Bonus points for queasy burps â¤ď¸
this prompt SPOKE TO ME! I hope you love this â¤
Nate had been really excited to see this movie. He really had been.
That was before, though. Before seems like a very vague time long ago, even though it was only about an hour. Before the movie started, he and Darren had gotten a bunch of movie snacks â theyâd had breakfast-for-dinner before leaving home, but they so rarely get to the movie theater that they couldnât help themselves. Besides, they hadnât had that much for dinner: eggs, pork sausage, Greek yogurt. All really filling, yeah, but Nate didnât still feel like heâd actually eaten all that much.
They split a large popcorn first; itâs drenched in butter and salt, just like they both like it, but Darren taps out long before Nate does. Darren moves onto their sweet snacks instead for a palate cleanser, but Nateâs tempted by that, too. His eyes are bigger than his stomach, though.
Nate ends up finishing off their nachos, mozzarella sticks, and Pepsi before the movie reached the forty-five minute mark. When he finished, heâd felt pretty much normal. Really full â really, really full â but not sick.
That started to change after about ten minutes, and now heâs objectively miserable.
He shifts in his seat, trying to find a position that he can sit in that doesnât put uncomfortable pressure on his belly. He tries to pull his legs up, but thereâs not actually enough room in the movie theater seat to do it, especially at his size. Heâs forced to put them back down.
âAre you okay?â Darren whispers to him. Nate freezes, startled at being caught. âBecause youâre really fidgety.â
Nate shifts again, trying to find a position he can stop in comfortably. He settles for one thatâs less than adequate, but good enough. He leans in to Darren and tells him, âJust uncomfortable, donât worry.â
Darren squints at him, narrowing his eyes in the darkness, but doesnât challenge Nate on it. Probably because the woman next to them has turned her head to pointedly look at them until they stop talking.
When Darren returns his attention to the movie, Nate returns his attention to his churning stomach. Since they are in a dark theater, he slips his right arm up through the sleeve of his sweatshirt so he can rub his belly under the fabric. He pushes the material of his t-shirt out of the way so he can put his hand directly on his skin under his sweatshirt; itâs hot to the touch, and he exhales slowly.
He can barely focus on the movie after that. His stomach is way too full, and he feels like heâs maybe overeaten but he canât tell if itâs just because the food was all heavy or because heâs actually overeaten. All he knows is that the circles heâs trying to rub into the side of his belly arenât really working to help him digest at all. Heâs just getting queasier and queasier.
Nate takes another deep breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly through his mouth to try and ground himself. His stomach doesnât settle, but he tries anyways. His hands are starting to get tingly, his palms starting to get clammy and damp with sweat; he can feel a gurgle ripple through his belly under his hand, and he has to bite back the groan that wants to come with it. The next burble makes an audible bubbling sound, his nausea spiking. The back of his neck prickles with cold sweat.
âWas that you?â Darren asks softly. Nate nods; he feels his stomach start to gurgle again, so he shoots to his feet before anyone can hear it.
âBathroom,â he says, quickly and quietly. Darren looks like he wants to say something, so Nate just says, âIâm good, watch the movie,â and starts climbing out of their row.
It takes him a minute to get out of the theater and find the menâs bathroom, but then he jogs towards it and shoves his way inside. He stops at the sink, checking the place; there didnât seem to be anybody else in there, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
His stomach gurgles again, and he groans, clutching the edge of the sink until his knuckles go white. When the spike of nausea passes, he makes himself release the counter and go into one of the stalls. He falls to his knees, pushing the door shut behind him and locking it with a shaking hand.
When he lifts himself up over the toilet, forearms braced on the rim, his belly churns, overpacked and pressing up into the back of his throat. He lets his jaw hang open, hoping itâll give his body the hint and get things started so this can just be over with. He feels fucking stupid and just wants this to be done so he can stop being so miserable.
Still, though, nothing happens. He shifts himself backwards a little bit, still using one arm to hold himself up over the toilet while the other starts rubbing his belly again. He dislodges a pocket of bubbling air from the soda, and he belches, surging up over the toilet in anticipation. The belch hurts his throat, but nothing else comes up with it.
âFuck,â he curses. He puts his palm back on his swollen stomach, probing until he finds the part where itâs packed the most, right in the upper center. He tries to rub it, but all it does is feel like itâs pushing the contents of his stomach into his throat.
He pants, dropping his head down against the back of the toilet seat. He knows Darren would yell at him for the germs, but he canât bring himself to care. His lips feel cracked, his mouth dry, his belly whirling and sending out sick burbles every few seconds, now.
Nate makes himself get back up to his feet, stripping off his sweatshirt and hanging it up on the coat hook in the stall. He hasnât heard anybody else come into the menâs room, so he opens the stall door and goes to the sink, running the water so he can get a mouthful of it.
He tips his head under the stream so he can get to the water. When he straightens up, tilting his head backwards to swallow it, his belly protests; heâs only just swallowed when he feels the water hit his overpacked stomach and make the nausea spike again, queasiness making his hands go tingly and numb all over.
Nate darts back into the stall, not even managing to close the stall door behind himself before a wet burp comes up. He rubs miserably at his belly, trying to get something else up with it, but thatâs all. It doesnât even offer any relief, and he groans, pushing his forehead into the toilet seat lid again before forcing himself to stand again.
He grabs his sweatshirt off the hook and flushes before leaving the bathroom. He tries to be quick and inconspicuous, even though he saw his own face in the mirror above the sink and he knows exactly how bloodless and sick his face looks.
âHey, can I just have a large water?â Nate asks at the snack counter. The cashier nods, bored, and goes to grab the bottle for him from the small sliding fridge. All the snack smells are starting to overwhelm him, buttery popcorn and salt and sauces andâ
âHere you go,â the cashier says, and Nate shoves a five dollar bill in his hands.
âThanks,â he says. He leaves without getting his change, jogging back to the bathroom. He doesnât care about subtlety all that much anymore; his stomach is starting to churn again, nausea creeping up his spine and the back of his throat.
Nate brings himself back to the bathroom and pushes the door open to find itâs no longer completely unoccupied. Heâs about to panic when he realizes the other guy in the bathroom is Darren, peering into the open handicapped stall at the end of the row of stalls with a confused expression, brow furrowed.
âHey,â Nate manages to get out. Darrenâs head snaps back around.
âHey, whereâd youââ Darren starts to ask, before he actually looks at Nate. He narrows his eyes at him again, calculating. He already knows; Nate wonders why he tries to keep things from Darren ever. âAre you okay?â
âI just donât feel well,â Nate tells him. He holds up the water and shakes it a little bit before cracking it open. He exhales slowly, then takes a small sip.
âAnd the water?â Darren asks, coming to put his hand on Nateâs shoulder. Unfortunately, he does that at the same moment the sip of ice-cold water hits Nateâs stomach, and it churns, pushing up another wet belch. He runs into the nearest stall, dropping back down to his knees and belching into the toilet water.
Nothing comes up again, and Nate mutters, âSorry,â voice cracking.
âItâs okay,â Darren tells him. Nate hears the stall door creak as Darren comes to stand behind him, rubbing his back. âDrink some more of the water, itâll probably help you get it up. Do you think itâs food poisoning?â
âNo,â Nate replies. He sits up on his haunches and twists the bottle open again. He exhales again, gathering himself, then chugs half the bottle.
âWhoa, alright,â Darren says. âSlow down. Are you sick?â
âI mean, yââ
âLike, the flu,â Darren amends, before Nate can make a smartass comment. He puts the back of his hand against Nateâs forehead, then cups his cheek in his palm. âYou donât feel like you have a fever.â
âI think I just ate too much,â Nate tells him. His voice feels weak as his belly starts to churn up with all the water heâs just swallowed. He looks down at the bottle again and shivers from the cold sweat on his skin, but he makes himself drink the rest of it, barely pausing to breathe.
âYouâre gonna make yourself sick,â Darren scolds him.
âThatâs the point,â Nate reminds him. He sets the bottle of water aside and leans back, tipping his head back against the wall of the stall. Darren strokes his hair back from his sweaty forehead.
âSorry you donât feel good,â Darren says.
âSorry Iâm ruining date night,â Nate replies. Darren tweaks the end of his nose.
âThereâll be other nights,â Darren tells him. âJust focus on feeling better right now.â
Nate nods, closing his eyes. The roomâs starting to tilt a little, spinning and blurring around his dizzy eyes as his stomach twists. He exhales slowly through his mouth, but it doesnât bring any relief anymore. Another wet burp slips up, and he shudders.
He moves slowly, getting back to his knees and dropping his head over the toilet again. He braces his elbows and forearms along the toilet, gripping the back of the seat tightly with his hands until his fingers go all white with the strain of it.
âDeep breaths, there you go,â Darren says. He rubs Nateâs back and tells him, âJust let it up, donât force it. Itâll come. I got you.â
Nate belches again, then whimpers involuntarily, a sick gurgle making the nausea spike again. He pushes his cheek into the cool porcelain of the toilet, groaning. âFuck, I feel so fucking sick.â
âI know, baby,â Darren says. âI got you.â
Nate shivers. Darren keeps rubbing his back in long, slow loops as another belch comes up. This one feels worse than the others, thick and pulling, making something shift in his churning belly. He adjusts himself where heâs kneeling, dropping his head over the bowl, and burps again.
At the end of this one, he can feel something, and heâs so desperate for this to be over that he makes himself cough it up â a mouthful of bile.
âThere you go,â Darren murmurs. Nate grips the rim of the toilet again as he belches up a thin trickle of vomit, hanging from his lips in strings as he tries to spit it out. He doesnât have a chance to succeed before the next gag comes, making him retch once, then twice, before he belches hard and a wave of vomit comes up.
His stomach feels even worse from that, churning and twisting around the overfull contents of his belly, trying to force it all out at once. He sobs without even meaning to, breath catching and tears starting to spill as another wave of vomit comes.
âHey, youâre okay,â Darren tells him. âYouâre okay. Just breathe.â
Nate canât answer, one of his arms dropping to wrap around his heaving tummy. He groans again, belching up a mouthful of popcorn and pork sausage and puke, spitting it into the toilet with the rest. He tries to wipe at his face with the back of his wrist, but Darren stops him. He cleans him off with a wad of toilet paper instead before flushing and letting Nate fall back over the bowl again.
âAre you gonna be sick again?â Darren asks. Nate can only nod, hanging his head over the water as the next wave starts to surge up inside of him. âOkay, itâs okay. Iâm right here.â
Nate appreciates it, but he still canât answer as his stomach tosses and forces up another thick wave of his dinner and their snacks. His throat burns, his mouth tastes horrible and fuzzy-thick, and he just wants it to be over; his stomach is roiling so badly he feels like heâs going to be sick for the rest of his life.
He has no choice but to wrap both of his arms around his aching stomach, dropping his cheek against the toilet rim and just breathing, waiting for the next wave to come. He can feel it as it crests, and he sobs, lifting his head just a little to belch the bile into the water.
âOh, you poor thing,â Darren says softly. Nateâs stomach convulses, the sick contents frothing up with the water and the Pepsi now that thereâs enough room for it; he barely has enough time to push his head back over the water before he belches, long and low, pulling a thick wave of vomit from the very pit of his belly.
âI want to go home,â Nate tells him, exhausted and crying and so fucking miserable. He just wants Darren to fix everything like he always does.
âOkay, weâll go home,â Darren says. âAre you finished?â Nate shakes his head, lifting himself back up over the toilet again as another deep belch brings up a mouthful of what he thinks were nachos. He sobs again. âItâs okay, youâre almost done. Then weâll go, okay?â
Nate nods miserably. His belly roils again, the contents beating against the sides of his tummy before swirling up into his esophagus again. The queasiness spikes impossibly again, his hands slick with sweat as he digs his fingers into his sides, trying desperately for any sort of relief. The straining is nearly as bad as the nausea, and trying to force it to be over just makes the muscles of his stomach hurt worse.
âJust breathe,â Darren tells him. âIâve got you. Just breathe, and then itâll all come, and then weâll go home and get some sleep, okay? That sound okay?â
âYeah,â Nate breathes. He belches, then burps up a trickle of sick, spitting it into the toilet. It hangs from his lip in a string, and he just hangs his head over the water, too exhausted to do anything about it at this point. Itâs just going to happen again.
âItâll be okay,â Darren repeats. Nate knows that logically, but he doesnât feel like itâll all be okay, right now. Darrenâs keeping him grounded, though; he doesnât deserve him.
âI donât deserve you,â Nate tells him, because heâs nearly delirious with nausea and it feels important that Darren know this.
âShush,â Darren says, predictably. âI love you. Stop saying things like that when youâre covered in puke.â
Nate huffs a weak laugh before sitting up to belch up another wave of vomit. Darren keeps rubbing his back, kneeling on the bathroom floor beside his boyfriend to wait it out with him.
Here is the prompt list some of us are using for inspiration
Thoughts on cowboy robot with "internal self replication equipment?"
klnjfebskdajsbfsz,hjehu4y75gryuib54kwhie8fy9hiudbekjt4n,se.grj,du5i7gurtb,djkui5hgbrjkgixd8hrubkjsleiogrhubhdkenjthufrgilsbk.4iurhgi45rdtjcyhvgjbk4i8oery7gbfesli48nir
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Word count: 3900 CW: mpreg, rapid pregnancy, mention of animal death, graphic depiction of labor, graphic depiction of birth
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Problem was, he wasn't made for this.
Home Unit J8-N was made for softer living: spending his years doing chores, rearing children, running errands, being the perfect modern household assistant, like all Roald's Home Unit androids were. His warranty clearly stated that modification or use of the unit outside the parameters of his original programming would result in subpar performance.
But to hell with that-- he was having the time of his life.
Like his warranty, the once-proud interplanetary department store chain, Roald's, was in the dust. They once carried everything from rocket fuel filters to baby clothes, with Home Units fitting somewhere in the middle, situated on their very own sale kiosk next to the automatic dishwashers. No one knew if they were sentient the entire time, or if the androids gained sentience sometime after Roald's tanked (due to the popularity of teleportation-based home delivery services), but suddenly, here were close to a million robo-nannies with opinions and emotions, half of them still in boxes, the other half in someone's possession, with no megacorporation to take responsibility.
J8-N was lucky enough to have opened his eyes in a warehouse, the collective thoughts and experiences of every Home Unit that was and had ever been buzzing in his core matrixâ but he didn't stay there for long. Using his first few seconds of awareness, he digitally perused the world in which he now lived, and decided he didnât like it, so he brushed off the packing peanuts and hitched a ride on a hover-semi to Mars.
And that's where he'd been for the past six years: taking a terraforming stipend from the government to raise cattle, and calling himself Jaden. Most folks had a hard time saying no to something with a human face when it asks to leave and pursue its own interests, so there were Home Units spread out all across the solar system doing all kinds of things. Voting and ownership rights were still a little dodgy in some places, but they'd give land to just about anyone on Mars, so that's where quite a few of them had ended up.
Including the gentleman he was currently on his way to sell these young heifers to. After raising them from calves himself, he was trading a handful of them for the services of a repairman for the next five years.
Driving the small herd through the dusty terrain of his red home was Jaden's idea of a good time. Half a dozen of his long-haired cattle meandered in a loose formation in front of him, while he guided them on horseback down the vague suggestion of a road. Flanking them was the wide expanse of a valley, dotted with hardy grasses and the occasional carpet of lichen-- some of the only things that would grow here-- framed by towering mesas and windswept spires in the distance.
Though the sun shone bright in the cloudless, grey-blue sky, the temperature was a silicone-biting 3 degrees celsius, cold enough to make his hydraulics lock up every now and then, but layers of thick clothing helped keep the heat from his processors in, with the added benefit of keeping the fines out of his joints. Life in solitude (except for the cows) on Mars was hard, but he didn't mind the discomfort; the struggle reminded him that he'd been made for something else entirely, and defied that destiny simply because he'd wanted toâ it reminded him that he was alive.
However, on this particular day, Jaden could do without so much reminding.
Morty for @drpeppertummy! heâs CUTE AND SWEET AND PRETTY and I enjoyed every second of drawing him!!!!
been doing some studies! very happy with how these came out
Jus Thinkin bout Toni