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alittleghostwhoeatsbread · 1 year ago

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Eggy-Preg

Michael got back well after Terry had gone to bed- so late the sky was caught in a state of embarrassed indecision, holding the pinkish purple colour of a pigeon’s breast across its expanse like a blush to the cheeks- and, after hanging up his clothes and stretching, followed suit, falling straight into bed himself with the same form he’d had since the age of twenty-two, which was the tall and tubular one of a cardio-centric green bean. The following day, waking up around two in the afternoon as wet with sweat as a horse in lather, upon his first attempt at sitting up, he found to his surprise that he couldn’t with his usual ease because his usual form had been replaced by one with a belly as bloated as a hot air balloon filled with too much fire and at the point of popping, the pain of it when attempting to bend like a fire had been lit inside him too.

He could hear Terry in the kitchen humming to himself, the tuneless buzzing of a bumblepheliac drawing a colony to him for the purpose of honey themed sex, signifying that he hadn’t noticed upon waking the extended belly of Michael, this signification being made more apparent when, after getting up from the bed as gently and painlessly as he could, each lurch making him feel off balance, as if he could fall onto his lump at any moment, Michael walked into the kitchen and revealed it to him, the humming immediately becoming the strangled half-whistle of a mockingbird being throttled, Terry immediately running over and clasping the lump of his belly in his hands, lifting it slightly as he did and causing an unconscious moan of relief to come from Michael's mouth.

“Michael, what the hell is this? You look pregnant.”

“Don't be stupid. Pregnant. I’m just swollen. But it hurts.”

Terry lifted the extended pyjama shirt of Michael and gazed at the belly that when exposed had the look of a particularly angry acne spot on the verge of doing a Vesuvius, little purple lines running down the sides of it like static images of lightning minimised, his face when gazing the face of an astronaut after getting completely and utterly untethered in the depths of space, his mouth coiling like a snake waiting to strike while, hit by a sudden wave of emotion, his eyes becoming as wet as they would if waves of emotion were actually waves on the ocean, Michael started weeping and wailing of his pain.

The nearest hospital was tiled on the outside, the white and grey combination of new and old false teeth all jumbled up together, and they had to wait in a waiting room made up of stray church hall chairs surrounded by people with a variety of wacky ailments- fake udders superglued to chests, eye balls being held, nails and forks stuck through or into various body parts, etcetera- for a long ol’ time before finally being called in by a small doctor whose nametag said Stephanie. Stephanie was around 5 foot tall, but her white coat trailed on the ground as if it’d been stolen from a much taller doctor by two children who’d decided to play hospital and stacked themselves on top of each other beneath its buttoned up buttons, her face not suggesting otherwise, having the appearance of a ruddy and privately educated twelve tear old on the verge of divorcing their nanny.

She led the two, Michael, whose new weight made him shuffle like a mummy adrift without bandages, trying to lean on Terry but getting nowhere because Terry was too busy patting his own belly to make sure it hadn’t grown, into a small office made of cloth partitions rather than walls and containing just a dusty chest of drawers, a bed, and two rose red chairs that had the scent of many an ass hovering above them and exuding.

“What seems to be the problem?” she asked after waving Michael to sit on the side of the bed, as blank faced as a plate until that plate met a Greek wedding and broke. “I'm joking! You're clearly pregnant. What a surprise that is. You're male, biologically, am I right?... Just as I suspected. One doesn't like to assume such things though. Now, how long has your stomach been like this?”

“Since this morning. I woke up and it was like this, swollen, large. I was fine yesterday. I went for a run, drank a bottle of wine out with colleagues. I was everything but pregnant.”

“He can’t be pregnant,” Terry interrupted with a stamp of the foot. “I mean, where the hell is a baby going to come out of?”

Holding up a medically trained finger, Stephanie gestured for Terry to shut up and help her help Michael, who began sweating excessively again from a hot flush while desperately rubbing his stomach like it was a lamp a genie had recently vacated, off the edge of and onto the centre of the bed, their hands collectively laying him back but only Stephanie’s remaining to fondle and caress the extended belly. She did this fondlement for a while, feeling the skin of the belly in different areas as if trying to find the exact spot she wanted, until, with an, ‘aha!’, cry, she picked up her scalpel and a nearby syringe- already loaded with a sky blue liquid- and, without word or question of permission, injected Michael with it, him falling deeper into the bed and pulling the face of no pain, and her immediately setting about slicing straight down the centre of his stomach with the scalpel.

“Hey!” Terry screamed, reaching for the doctor and the scalpel before being stopped in his tracks by the appearance of not guts and giblets, but a bloody but otherwise very white and large egg- the size really of a bigger than average newborn- which lay in the split skin folds with the innocence eggs always have.

Even though feeling no pain, Michael felt a little something else at the moment of release, a groan of relief bigger than any groan he'd ever groaned before emanating from him and stretching around like elastic as the skin that'd been containing the egg receded back to its normal place, sewing itself back together as if nothing had happened.

“I knew it!” Stephanie whooped. “There are only a few male based pregnancies known and this, an eggy-preg as we called it off the cuff in medical school, is the rarest. There we have it. Your egg.”

“What’s in the egg?” Michael slurred, Terry shouting the same simultaneously.

“In there? What is? Oh, just something. You'll see. Maybe,” with this, she span and gathered a pamphlet that was strung to the chest of drawers with oddly thick cobwebs, blowing dust from it that flew off in a cartoonish grey cloud and floated several metres through the air before gathering like a rain cloud over Terry’s face until he dissipated it with a wave of the hands; the pamphlet was a perfect square rather than the usual rectangle with a green background and a single image as the foreground of an eggshell white egg with one long lightning shaped crack running down its front, the side of a yellow smiley face sticking out that crack like a slowly emerging, oddly coloured- not to mention shaped- piece of caca. “Read this. It’ll explain everything I can tell you and more.”

With that, Stephanie, with a doctorly flick of the hair, vanished, moving between the curtain partitions separating offices with the ease of a ghost lacking a sheet, losing them, and possibly herself, easily, the them, Michael-the-still-groaning-in-relief and Terry-the-what-the-hell-is-going-on, looking around as if they could find her again and also possibly a way to escape the cage of worry that’d been constructed around themselves. After ten minutes of them looking in a circle without a word, an orderly, who spied them through a crack in the partition, waved a hand at them and, rather forcibly considering the egg in their possession, removed them from the hospital, the egg lying in Michael’s arms as they left but never kept still, being jostled back and forth for comfort purposes as it’d begun growing at a steady pace since its removal from the belly. The egg was the size of a medium sized dog by the time they began their short walk home, though much lighter, and Michael held had to hold it sideways, hands clutching top and bottom, the curve of it blocking most of his forward vision and forcing him to trust Terry, who kept looking at the egg and shaking his head with sighs of annoyance, to direct him in the right direction.

“We’re going to be parents, Terry,” Michael said after a while, the happiness growing in his recently vacated stomach coming out in his voice, making it breathy and wispy as if attempting to vocally impersonate a feather duster. “Parents!”

“Parents. Parents,” Terry repeated every few steps, his face the face of someone doing their best not to impersonate an egg cracker but failing miserably.

Their house had a living room and that living room was large and oval with a slight dip right in the centre of it where a below foundation sink hole the council didn’t want to fix had pulled the pine flooring down from beneath, the egg, which Michael placed to the floor as gently as you would imagine a swan plants their keister on their own eggs, fitting in that slight dip with the perfection of a penis/testicle set in a groin protection cup of a regulation cricketer. Standing back and sitting heavily on the settee, Michael- while Terry ventured to the kitchen with clenched fists – watched the egg continue to expand and began to read the pamphlet, which had only two pages covered in bold text.

YOUR EGG AND YOU: a guide

Page 1 (Introduction): Congratulations, it looks like it’s happened, you’re a proud parent of what at the moment is still just an egg. Am I right to guess you’re worried? That you have no familial attachment to this thing that sprouted in your belly overnight and was then cut from you/emerged naturally from your behind/ vagina?

Here Michael shook his head at the pamphlet and clutched his heart, which had become swollen and choked with love and familial attachment as he walked with his egg home.

Well, you will do, and soon! Your egg produces a pheromone that will make you and your partner (If you have one, eggs can just as easily be made from masturbation alone) fall slowly but deeply into parental love for it. Isn’t that neat? Now I’m going to guess something else. I’m going to guess that you’re probably also scared. Scared that you won’t be up to scratch or that you’ll do something wrong. But I’m a pamphlet, a trustworthy one at that, and I’m here to reassure you and tell you that it’s all going to be okay. Looking after your egg until it hatches will be as easy as pie. Once you’ve laid, or had your egg removed (a recommended method painwise regardless of gender), and taken it home, settle it somewhere comfortable and warm and wait for it reach approximately twice the height of the hatcher. Before it’s the right height, your egg will simply not respond to the following steps.

Page 2 (Steps):

Step 1: Once your egg is precisely twice the height at the hatcher, wait until the sun goes down. And I mean down! Then wrap a blanket- checkered preferably- around its body. Sit next to it and do the same to your own.

Step 2: Begin to tell your egg a story, any story will do. Existing or made up, make up your own mind! Eventually, provided you tell it right, your egg’s shell will begin to glow with a golden light from within. At this point, continuing to talk, remove the blanket.

Step 3: Once your blanket is removed and your egg glowing, you should be able to see the form growing within it. At this point the form should be the same size as you and floating in or around the centre of the egg. Still telling your story, you should begin rubbing the egg with the palm of your hand until the sun comes up.

Step 4: Continue this process night after night after night until your egg hatches!

Disclaimer: The Eggy-Preg Information (EPI) company is NOT responsible for the time frame in which your egg hatches. Nor any deformations, grotesque natures, or personal growths that may happen to you, the egg, or what comes from it. The information provided is for general informational purposes only. All information is provided in good faith; however, we make no representation or warranty of any kind, express or implied, regarding the accuracy, adequacy, validity, reliability, availability, or completeness of any information.

With no pause for consideration, the pamphlet going flying from the hand of Michael and to some dark corner of the room, the mouth of Michael screamed hoarsely, “Terry, tape measure, blankets, checkered, now, get them, two! The pamphlet said.”

Terry, who’d been watching Michael’s reading from the door of the kitchen, a bottle of wine already half drunk in hand and a head filled with thoughts and wonderings about just why exactly he felt so angry and disgusted by the sight of the egg and, by extension, Michael, who before the egg had appeared, he’d loved more than anything and had only felt unconditional feelings for- such as lust and calmness- put his wine bottle down with theatrical slowness once the scream came his way and got the blankets and measure, tossing them at Michael before picking the bottle back up. Not noticing anything wrong with Terry, Not seeing the grinding of the teeth of Terry, the pulsing veins of Terry, barely noticing Terry at all, Michael immediately measured himself- five foot five exactly- and then measured the egg, the expansion of it having seemingly stopped during his reading, with the aid of a nearby armchair which he stood on - exactly 11 feet. Giggling with the glee of a giant baby coming upon a giant mobile in a giant desert, Michael wrapped the larger checkered blanket tight around the bottom half of the eggs width, noting as he did the thick feeling of its shell and the new warmth emanating from it which was akin not to a wide spread fire but the concentrated flame of a match stick, so cosy but intense that when he wrapped his own blanket around his body and huddled close, sweat immediately beaded on his forehead, chest, and groin, and gave himself the feeling of being tucked back in the womb.

“What are you doing? Why did you need them?” Terry finally asked, a two percent fraction of his rage dimming, being replaced by a single percentage of curiosity, a half percent of exclusion, and a final half percent of exclusion induced sadness, the exclusion ad sadness aspects infuriating him so much immediately that they also increased his rage, making his feelings go above 100 percent if you can believe it.

“I have to read it a story now is what the pamphlet says. Now shush, come and sit with us if you’re curious. Try and bond with eggy.”

“I don’t want to bond with any eggy,” Terry muttered around the rim of his wine bottle while going to sit on the settee regardless. “What are you going to tell it.”

“I don’t think it matters. Just something. I’ll make something up.”

Settling, rubbing his behind on the floor like a bear scratching up against a tree, coughing to clear his throat, Michael gazed directly at the egg, sitting so close his vision was a sea of white so white it resembled the teeth in the prize selection part of the tooth fairy’s tooth collection, and began to speak.

“There was a time when floorboards weren’t just floorboards. When floorboards weren’t just dead planks of wood. When floorboards were… ALIVE! Living breathing planks that had eyes, three of them, and large mouths with even larger tongues. Red or purple tongues that spilled out across their bodies moistly and made it so every footstep on them had the sound of a wet sponge being wrung. Humans lived peacefully with the floorboards. We coexisted. They gave us flooring for our houses and in return we cared for them. Rubbed linseed oil on them, sanded them so they didn’t get splintered, and fed their tongues water every day so they didn’t dry out. It was a perfect arrangement… until it wasn’t! Until the time came when a floorboard appeared that wasn’t the same as the other floorboards. When a floorboard appeared that was strange.”

Here the egg began to glow with the golden light the pamphlet had promised- a blinding light that radiated outwards and got weaker the further it stretched from the egg, like a candle a child was supposed to follow but that moved much faster than their little legs could do- a glow that made Michael squeal before remembering he wasn’t supposed to stop speaking, and a glow that had Terry throw his hands up at the ridiculousness of the entire situation with the result of the top of his head getting splattered with grape blood.

“Ummm, yes, strange! A strange floorboard appeared,” Michael continued, beginning the unwinding of the blanket from around the egg with the gentle movements of someone who’d abandoned childhood emotions unwrapping a surprise gift, revealing the form within before it was fully unwrapped, Michael swiftly tearing the rest of the blanket off as those childhood feelings came roaring back with no memory of abandonment.

The form exposed was a shadowy outlineish thing that looked as if sketched with charcoal floating in the centre of the egg, bobbing slightly up and down and vaguely resembling a giant featherless chicken from waist down, with thin bony legs that ended in three large claw tipped toes, and from the waist up looking more like a standard human with the exception being similar claws at the ends of its fingers and an elephantal shape of the head, a giant trunkish thing stretching out past its chin.

“What the fuck,” Terry spat into his lap while Michael began step 3, rubbing the egg gently with the palm of his hand. “That’s not like us. What is that. It’s disgusting.”

“-unlike the other floorboards with hair covering it and teeth in its mouth too. Sharp teeth, fangs really,” Michael turned and glared at Terry, shushing him with his spare hand. “People suggested that the reason for this floorboard’s odd appearance was the result of it being born rather than made, the result of an inter-species relationship between human and board. This suggested hybrid wasn’t peaceful like the other floorboards. It didn’t want to work with humans. It was angry. Aggressive. It bit feet when they stepped on it and each foot bit made it grow larger. Made it grow different features. Like arms and legs. Like more hair. With these features there was no stopping it from rising from the floor and becoming a moveableboard, one that proceeded, for no reason at all, to start killing humans but not floorboards. How did the humans know it was this moveableboard doing the killing, I bet you’re wondering? Well, I’ll tell you. It left calling cards so that there would be no confusion. Bits of its hair, teeth marks, written notes saying, ‘It was meeeeee, the moveableboard!’ and ‘I hate humans. Boards unite!’. It didn’t take long before the human race decided that they had to do something about this and do something about it fast.”

With the story continuing, Terry, wanting no part in what he was witnessing, not even a small observer one, after standing up with his mouth agape, backed out of the room with unconscious dump truck reversal noises stumbling out of his mouth like drops of dripping water, hands no longer clenching but agape also and wiggling as if signing him off a stage.

“-the hero who’d been chosen, that young bald girl, clutched the plastic spear she’d been given with both hands. She knew that killing the moveableboard would kill all the floorboards too but having lost everything in her journey to reach the spot the moveable board lay sleeping in, she didn’t hesitate. She brought it down. Hitting the sleeping moveableboard right in the middle. Piercing the hair covering the wood and then the wood itself. Splintering the bits that resisted. Sending its acquired arms and legs wild and drying the wet wet eyes of it. Killing not just it, but all floor objects forever. Making them all as they are now, inanimate.”

The glow of the egg faded when the story finished with the finality of a baby’s eyes closing and Michael, tiptoeing like a ballerina on the verge of being kicked out of the most famed ballet school around if she doesn’t find the strength in her heart to stay on en pointe for longer than forty eight hours, crept from the room with a tired but contented sigh.

The night was filled with the peaceful snores of Michael- who’d kissed the air in the general direction of Terry’s cheek before undressing and going straight to sleep without a glance at or a word direct toward the open mouthed horror held upon, and within, his face- and with the hurried packing sounds of Terry doing just that, tossing all and whatever he could find in the dark into a bag. Followed by the sounds of fleeing, of running away, the front door shutting, the cat flap that’d never been used except for the one time Michael had, for a joke, attempted to crawl through it and gotten stuck, flapping once as the would be father disappear around a bend. Michael dreamt strange dreams whilst this fleeing was taking place, as if he was being gifted new stories to tell, strange dreams of bright colours and moving kitchen appliances that wanted to remove the skin off him and replace it with puff pastry, and when he woke up, early in the morning before the sun had risen but after the moon had vanished, he was cold but had no urge to turn and rub Terry for warmth for he somehow knew without really thinking about it that he was gone, instead he just went to the living room to embrace the egg.

Claiming maternity leave from his work was easy- he simply emailed and sent them a photo of him and his egg in an embrace and they sent back a thumbs up and two heart emojis with a detailed description of his new pay schedule- and the following free from outside obligations days and weeks past in the parental bliss of him sitting before the egg all day every day, thinking up stories for the night, rubbing its shell like it was a mackerel and he a mackerel enthusiast, and staring blank eyed out the window, waiting for the sun do its thing. The need for food or drink had seemingly left him, instead he got his nourishment from the tales he told in the same manner the egg seemed to, the form within the shell, when the golden glow revealed it, growing outwards with each passing day and each passing story until it reached the sides of the egg and then beginning its growing decent downwards towards the base.

The stories flowed from Michael like ripe grapes budding on the vine, being plucked off and dropped onto grassy floors to bounce into the mouths of babes, hitting the ground running and taking with them narratives including flower buds, embers from fires, elephant whispers, karate chop calls, frozen dormice, on fire post officers, little girls with no ears, little girls with too many ears, cassette tapes, sausage rolls, mushrooms with tentacles, potatoes being boiled and mashed and stuck in a stew, afro wearing unicorns, dogs smoking weed, cats injecting heroin, the queen of Arabia doing the fandango, happy endings, no endings, sad endings, bad endings, wicked plants, the stabbing pain of being stabbed, and a centaur being milked. After a while, the form in the egg began to respond to the stories, audibly as well as visually that is, going further than what the pamphlet had said it would do when it said it would simply glow, making a high pitched whining sound when it glowed and growed that was a cross between an electronic buzz and a dog whining for food. The sound, which began small at first, so that for a while Michael thought it was nothing but wind squeezing its way, like a leg into trousers much too small for them or a condom over a hand, through a gap in a window, got louder and changed from night to night, keeping the same base sound but adding buzzes or meeps or beeps depending on what story was being told, and would have been incomprehensible if it hadn’t been for Michael’s acute maternal instincts which swiftly picked up a pattern within them. Sometimes when telling a story, he would slip one of the sounds he’d heard the egg make into it as if it had always meant to be there, like a piece of pie slotting itself back into the whole, and enjoy the way the egg would sort of shake in response, rocking on its base without fear of falling, which Michael noted as a good thing, ‘It’ll be brave!’, went his thoughts, ‘God, I’m proud.’

The form in the egg stopped growing just before its feet touched the bottom of the shell and there wasn’t enough room for it at all, it didn’t matter that the stories kept coming or that the rubbing didn’t stop, it stayed just as it was, still eating the tales, still making its noises as it heard them- the sounds growing louder even, resounding as they echoed and bounced off the surface of the shell and then the surface of its body- but hearing them, digesting them, as if no longer hungry at all. Michael, as peaceful in heart as an anteater face to face with all the ants it could eat anteater style, didn’t worry and continued to spin his tales, weaving a thread through each night, throwing in more and more of the eggs own noises from his own mouth and just trying to enjoy the extra time he got to spend with the child when it was still just an egg, the nourishment of tales he was receiving from what he gave out giving his skin a shiny milky glow, like a recently waxed surface.

While this was all happening, though not right at any specific moment and rather just in a similar time frame, Terry was sitting on a plastic bench eating a carton of scrambled eggs in front of a petrol station advertising advent calendars in June and beginning to weep, his left hand stretching out towards the empty space to the left of him as if there was someone there to hold it and comfort him, scrambling with it, hitting nothing but net over and over until it finally promoted him to toss the scrambled egg in the manner of a cricketing bowler-hat, where it landed on concrete with the hiss and splatter of whitish lava. Terry had been alone since he’d left Michael and the egg, spending his days, and then weeks, on various benches and in public toilets masturbating over the thought of Michael’s personality before he’d held the egg inside and hating the egg violently for appearing, for getting in the way of things, for being around,, for not having something inside it that looked normal, until the point when the egg flashed through his mind during the climax of one of his masturbation sessions and that hate became for himself. It was that moment of self-hatred that brought Terry to buy scrambled eggs to eat, but it was the pangs of it, like the pangs the sight of a premature rose would prick a fully bloomed rose with, that also made him decide to go back home, deciding that if eating eggs in spite of his hatred for the egg waiting for him at home was enough to bring him to tears then perhaps he could be a parent to whatever the hell kind of creature that was growing in it and, maybe, if he told Michael about his tears and how they’d flowed- probably leaving the part where he’d had to eat egg to find it out- he would forgive him for leaving too.

It took Terry over two days to get home, not because he’d travelled very far at all, having not even left the city, just taking the local bus routes as far they would take him before removing him, but because he was a coward and despite his resolution, he was still afraid that the music he assumed he was bound to face would send its most jagged notes forward to strike his face. When he finally did arrive back, the bus squeaking to a stop at the stop just outside the premises, him- having been poised by the door- flying out as if ejected by the force of its brakeage and snake-strike door opening speed, he stood on the doorstep in the dark for over an hour with a shivering of the lip and a quivering of the leg, staring at the curtained window to the left of the door that would have looked through into the living room if the curtains making it curtained hadn’t been curtained shut. He couldn’t see any possibilities or clues for the type of reception he’d receive through the curtain, no shadows danced on the fabric despite the soft golden light that emanated from within, illuminating them with an ethereal angelic glow that suggested that even the slightest movement from within would have sent some black things WALTZING.

The house wasn’t quiet when he, finally, with a sigh and a shudder and a desperation to ignore the fact that he was wishing with all his might that the egg wasn’t an egg anymore but a normal child, a human looking one at that, and that Michael wasn’t the Michael he’d left but the Michael who made him hard, opened the door. The house was loud, filled with strange noises, whoops and beeps and growls and grunts and whistles and clicks, that didn’t seem to be coming from one direct spot but rather from everywhere all at once and called to his mind, for reasons unknown to him, the comparison of them to the silent screams of a hemlock garden being picked or a cactus being dethorned. The house was dark except for the golden glow that flickered like the tail end of coy candle flame, a door, standing halfway open with the patience of a giant mouth waiting for an unsuspecting traveller to mistake it for a cave, blocked an immediate view into the living room and a sighter of what was causing the brightness, until Terry played the role of an unsuspecting traveller and went in, one arm proffered in a half circle awaiting a hug and the other with the hand extended, palm up and out and waiting to push back whatever ran at him if whatever had hatched. Both of those arms freezing in place as a feeling tickled his fanny to completion and his eyes and ears were confronted with the sight and sound of not one, but two eggs, giant ones at that- filling the room like it was the room itself that was the egg- sitting side by side, glowing their glow and showcasing the decidedly strange forms inside them, filling the air with stories.

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bellyprincess · 1 year ago

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re: your latest post + >Stacking Preg in profile 👀 Imagine putting one baby after another inside you, until your belly button finally pops out... and that's before they start growing~

I can't even describe the way my jaw dropped open reading this.

To already be popped out before they start growing? PHEW, by the time I deliver, my belly button is going to be a weapon! And...probably in its own zip code. 🤣 but my pussy is drooling just thinking about it... 🤤 I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off of it, just constantly rubbing and flicking the little protrusion on my bump as both finally start to grow outwards even more~ what if you...put some more in me? for funsies!🤭

#my brain will be wrapped around this idea for the next week now

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islakaliko · 8 days ago

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— Home is where you are

disclaimer: a/b/o universe, alpha john price, male omega reader, very self indulged, m!preg

< previous | next >

The sound of laughter echoed through the old farmhouse, warm and alive with life. It was a cool spring morning—sunlight streamed in through the kitchen windows, dancing off the worn wooden floors. The scent of freshly baked cinnamon rolls and coffee filled the air, blending with the soft hum of the radio playing an old love song.

John Price stood at the stove, his sleeves rolled up and an apron tied haphazardly over his broad chest. His salt-and-pepper beard was dusted with a bit of flour, and there was a gentle smile playing on his lips as he flipped another pancake onto the growing stack. Behind him, seven pairs of feet thundered through the house.

(y/n) waddled into the kitchen, a hand resting on his round belly. At 28 weeks with twins, his balance was a bit off, and he leaned against the doorframe for support. His cheeks were flushed with warmth and happiness, a soft smile on his face as he watched his mate wrangle breakfast and the kids all at once.

“Morning, love,” John said, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes softened the moment they landed on (y/n). He set down the spatula, walked over, and pressed a kiss to (y/n)’s temple. His hand automatically went to his belly, rubbing circles over the bump. “Girls kickin’ already?”

“They’ve been doing somersaults since 5 a.m.,” (y/n) laughed, leaning into the touch. “I think they want cinnamon rolls.”

“Smart girls,” John chuckled, giving the bump one last pat before turning back to the stove. “Food’s almost ready.”

Oliver, the oldest at thirteen, came rushing in next, trying his best to look mature but still with messy bed hair and one sock missing. He offered his papa a mumbled “good morning” and helped set the table without being asked. Behind him came the twins, Noah and James, arguing about whose LEGO creation was better.

“Guys, no fighting in the kitchen,” (y/n) said, gently but firmly.

“Yes, dad,” they chorused.

Emma danced in, twirling in one of (y/n)’s oversized sweaters. “I helped Izzy braid her hair!” she beamed.

Isabella followed closely behind, looking proud of her slightly lopsided braid and holding a storybook in her hands. Benjamin toddled in after them, dragging a stuffed dinosaur and half-asleep still, his thumb in his mouth. Two-year-old William was perched on John’s hip, babbling about toast.

(y/n) watched them all, eyes glossy with emotion.

“Everything okay?” John asked quietly, noticing the look on (y/n)’s face.

(y/n) nodded, his heart full to bursting. “I just… never imagined this. You. Me. Them. It’s perfect, John.”

John turned the stove off and came over, wrapping one strong arm around his omega’s waist, the other still balancing William easily. “Told you,” he murmured into (y/n)’s hair. “Always wanted a big family. But never imagined I’d get this lucky.”

They stood there in the kitchen, surrounded by the chaos of love, little voices, and pancake syrup, and it felt like the world had paused just for them—for this moment. For this home.

(y/n) looked up at John, tears in his eyes. “The girls are going to love it here.”

“They already do,” John whispered, pressing a kiss to his omega’s lips as their children filled the room behind them, calling out for juice and pancakes and hugs.

#call of duty x male reader #cod x male reader #john price x male reader #john price x reader #john price x y/n #john price x you #x male reader #john price #call of duty #cod

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vorteqcarbon · 1 year ago

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HOW CARBON FIBER IS MADE - DRY VS. WET

Dive into the fascinating world of carbon fiber manufacturing. Explore the intricate processes of creating both dry and wet carbon fiber, and understand the differences between these techniques. Learn how these materials are shaping the future of the automotive industry, providing lightweight solutions for high-performance vehicles.

CRAFTING PERFECTION: UNVEILING THE ART OF MAKING CARBON FIBER - DRY VS. WET

Introduction: Carbon fiber has become synonymous with high-performance and lightweight materials, revolutionizing industries like automotive with its exceptional strength-to-weight ratio. In this detailed exploration, we delve into the manufacturing processes of two prominent types: dry carbon fiber and wet carbon fiber. Understanding the nuances of these methods sheds light on the artistry behind creating components that adorn high-end vehicles, such as those from BMW, Audi, and Mercedes, and the aftermarket scene.

SECTION 1: THE ESSENCE OF CARBON FIBER

To appreciate the crafting of carbon fiber, we must first understand its essence. At its core, carbon fiber is composed of thin strands of carbon atoms aligned in a crystalline pattern. These strands, often thinner than a human hair, are bundled together to form threads, and these threads, in turn, are woven into a fabric or mat. The magic happens when this fabric is impregnated with a polymer resin, creating a material that is incredibly strong yet remarkably lightweight.

SECTION 2: THE DRY CARBON FIBER PROCESS

Dry carbon fiber, also known as pre-preg carbon fiber, involves the use of carbon fiber fabric that is pre-impregnated with resin. The term "dry" refers to the absence of excess resin, making the material almost dry to the touch. The process starts with the cutting of carbon fiber sheets, followed by the layering of these sheets into molds, forming the desired shape of the component.

Once the layers are stacked, the entire mold is placed into an autoclave, a high-pressure curing chamber. The combination of heat and pressure activates the resin, bonding the carbon fiber layers into a rigid structure. The result is a lightweight and strong component, often favored in the aftermarket scene for its high stiffness and precise fit.

SECTION 3: WET CARBON FIBER PRODUCTION

Wet carbon fiber manufacturing, in contrast, involves the infusion of dry carbon fabric with liquid resin during the molding process. In this method, the carbon fiber fabric is laid into the mold, and liquid resin is applied over the layers, saturating the fabric. This process is typically less precise than the dry method due to the potential for resin to pool or unevenly distribute.

After the wet layup, the mold is left to cure. This process doesn't require the high pressure of an autoclave but may involve longer curing times. The result is a component with a higher resin-to-fiber ratio compared to dry carbon fiber. While wet carbon fiber is generally heavier due to the excess resin, it can be more cost-effective for large-scale production.

SECTION 4: PERFORMANCE BENEFITS OF DRY CARBON FIBER

The performance benefits of dry carbon fiber are significant. The controlled resin content ensures a higher strength-to-weight ratio, making it an ideal choice for components where minimizing weight is crucial, such as in high-performance vehicles. The precise manufacturing process also results in components with excellent fit and finish, appealing to enthusiasts seeking both aesthetics and performance.

Dry carbon fiber components are often used in critical areas like aerodynamics, where the balance between weight and strength is paramount. Spoilers, diffusers, and body panels crafted from dry carbon fiber contribute to improved handling and overall performance.

SECTION 5: THE ECONOMICAL APPEAL OF WET CARBON FIBER

While wet carbon fiber may not match the precise engineering of its dry counterpart, it has its own set of advantages, particularly in terms of cost-effectiveness. The wet layup process allows for more straightforward and less labor-intensive manufacturing, making it suitable for mass production.

Automakers producing vehicles in larger quantities may opt for wet carbon fiber to maintain a balance between performance and production costs. While slightly heavier due to the excess resin, wet carbon fiber components still offer impressive strength and durability, making them a practical choice for various applications.

SECTION 6: COMPLEX SHAPES AND DESIGN FLEXIBILITY

Both dry and wet carbon fiber methods allow for the creation of complex shapes and offer design flexibility. The nature of the material, coupled with advanced molding techniques, enables the crafting of intricate components that enhance both aesthetics and functionality.

Whether it's the aggressive lines of a front splitter or the flowing curves of a rear diffuser, carbon fiber components can be tailored to meet specific design requirements. This versatility ensures that manufacturers and aftermarket specialists can push the boundaries of innovation in automotive design.

SECTION 7: LIGHTWEIGHT LUXURY IN HIGH-END VEHICLES

For automakers like BMW, Audi, and Mercedes, integrating carbon fiber into their high-end vehicles is about more than just performance; it's a statement of luxury and technological prowess. Components like carbon fiber roofs, hoods, and interior trims enhance the aesthetic appeal while contributing to the overall lightweight design philosophy of these manufacturers.

The decision to use either dry or wet carbon fiber often depends on the intended application. In areas where weight reduction is critical, such as the roof or hood, automakers might opt for the precision of dry carbon fiber. In less weight-sensitive areas, like interior trims, the economical advantages of wet carbon fiber may be preferred.

SECTION 8: LONG-TERM DURABILITY

When considering the long-term durability of carbon fiber components, both methods demonstrate remarkable endurance. Properly manufactured carbon fiber parts, whether dry or wet, are known for their resistance to corrosion and fatigue. This longevity is a significant factor in their widespread adoption, not only in high-performance vehicles but also in everyday applications.

The inherent resistance of carbon fiber to environmental elements, such as UV radiation and moisture, ensures that these components maintain their structural integrity and appearance over the long term. This durability contributes to the appeal of carbon fiber for automotive enthusiasts seeking both performance and lasting quality.

SECTION 9: ENVIRONMENTAL IMPACT

In recent years, the automotive industry has placed a growing emphasis on environmental sustainability, and carbon fiber has a role to play in this movement. The production of carbon fiber involves energy-intensive processes, but the material's lightweight nature can contribute to reduced fuel consumption and emissions during the operational phase of vehicles.

Additionally, advancements in recycling technologies are making it possible to recycle carbon fiber components, further minimizing the environmental impact. The choice between dry and wet carbon fiber, however, doesn't significantly affect the material's overall eco friendliness, as both methods share similar environmental considerations.

SECTION 10: CONCLUSION

In conclusion, the art of making carbon fiber involves a delicate dance between precision engineering and cost-effectiveness. The choice between dry and wet carbon fiber methods depends on the specific requirements of the application and the goals of the manufacture or aftermarket specialist.

For high-performance vehicles like those from BMW, Audi, and Mercedes, the use of carbon fiber is more than a trend; it's a testament to a commitment to lightweight design, superior performance, and aesthetic excellence. Whether dry or wet, carbon fiber components continue to shape the automotive industry, providing enthusiasts with a perfect blend of form and function.

Delve into the fascinating world of carbon fiber manufacturing. Explore the intricate processes of creating both dry and wet carbon fiber, and understand the differences between these techniques. Learn how these materials are shaping the future of the automotive industry, providing lightweight solutions.

This post was originally published on Vorteq Carbon.

#automotive #car parts #accessories #carbon fiber #wet carbon fiber

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directturbinescontrol · 2 years ago

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Why should you manufacture printed circuit boards?

In gadgets, printed circuit sheets, or PCBs, are utilized to precisely uphold electronic parts which have their association leads patched onto copper cushions in surface mount applications or through rilled openings in the board and copper cushions for binding the part leads in through-opening applications. A board configuration might have all through-opening parts on the top or part side, a blend of through-opening and surface mount on the top side just, a blend of through-opening and surface mount parts on the top side and surface mount parts on the base or circuit side, or surface mount parts on the top and base sides of the board.

Use of GE Speedtronics sheets

The sheets are likewise used to electrically associate the necessary leads for every part utilizing conductive copper follows. The part cushions and association follows are scratched from copper sheets overlaid onto a non-conductive substrate. Printed circuit sheets are planned as single favoured copper cushions and follows on one side of the board just, twofold favoured copper cushions and follows on the top and base sides of the board.

Single- and double-sided sheets

Single or twofold sided sheets comprise of a centre dielectric material, like FR-4 epoxy fiberglass, with copper plating on one or the two sides of GE MK IV. This copper plating is carved away to frame the genuine copper cushions and association follows on the board surfaces as a feature of the board producing process. A multi-facet board comprises of various layers of dielectric material that has been impregnated with cements, and these layers are utilized to isolate the layers of copper plating. These layers are adjusted and afterward fortified into a solitary board structure under intensity and tension.

In a multi-facet board plan, there are two techniques used to develop the ideal number of layers. The centre stack-up strategy, which is a more established innovation, utilizes a middle layer of pre-preg material with a layer of centre material above and one more layer of centre material underneath. This blend of one pre-preg layer in IS200TPROH1B and two centre layers would make a 4-layer board.

https://directturbinecontrols.com/

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roundrabbit · 2 years ago

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tumblrs gonna stack these weird but have these cute preg pics of some of my favorite canon characters but with absolutley no context cos it’s all long and au/RP based

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let-me-fill-you · 1 year ago

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Woagh,, I didn't expect you to combine all of those prompts together into a single scenario... but it works!! You have a strange and interesting world here, belly kink aside~ Woof tho..

I want you to think about someone massive - belly stretching for dozens of feet; so large that they cannot move, but all of their needs are taken care of by others. Are they the last fertile person on Earth, the burden of repopulation resting solely on their shoulders? A pred who eats a whole town in single sitting? Someone who has unbirthed many, many people over the course of their life, and continues to add new additions?~

(I'm blending these options together, with a lil bit of sci-fi 💞)

Urso groaned as his whole body seemed to quake from the kicking of his pups, "Ahhh, I think it's nearly time..."

"You sure they're not just hungry, darling?" His lover purred, watching the movement of the pups.

"I literally just ate." He pointed to the peak of his swell, where some prey were clearly shifting around in his gut.

"Give it a few minutes, we don't want to get everyone riled up too soon." Lyra rubbed at one of the pup's elbows that was clearly jabbing Urso from within.

Urso moaned and leaned back, trying to get comfortable with his truly massive belly swollen out before him. He'd been enjoying life as an immobile broodmare for a long time, and had grown used to being at the mercy of his ever demanding pups.

Many many many years ago Urso had been just as human as everyone else, but for reasons beyond humanity's comprehension, energies began to change in humans. It seemed humans were the only ones affected by what was deemed a "time shift". Certain things in humans were too fast and others too slow, and nothing was consistent. Some had hearts that beat too fast and died quickly thereafter, some had skin that all but shed non-stop leaving them raw constantly, though most were sexually shifted, many would be quickly struck with sexual desire and then nothing, leaving people very rarely able to procreate, and most unwilling to risk the possibility of a child growing inside them in a few hours or a few years. As much as people feared being too fast, some were too slow, slow to think, slow to move, slow to breathe. Urso hadn't discovered what he was affected with, everything seemed normal, though he knew something was either far too fast or slow.

Whatever caused the time shift was never discovered, there were theories, but nothing concrete. Along with the change in time, some people began to see things that were previously unseen, Urso was among those lucky few. He was terrified at first but upon realizing that the odd entities did little more than acknowledge his presence, it wasn't too difficult to navigate.

The only time an entity spoke to him, it was some sort of wish granter, a genie or a fairy or something, notoriously untrustworthy, but with the state of things Urso couldn't exactly refuse. So many societies had collapsed into chaos, turns out humans don't handle an inability to enjoy sex well at all. What did he need to wish for in order to have some semblance of normalcy and safety?

He of course tried to wish for things to go back to normal, to undo the time shift all together, but the creature had refused. It didn't explain what the limitation of the wishes were which didn't help.

Ultimately, Urso could only wish for the ability to bless people with children that were unaffected by the time shift.

The spirit didn't refuse this, and with the wave of a hand they were in a beautiful open field, another wave of its hand and a huge stone building appeared amongst the flowers. Then it was gone. Urso, with no clue where he was or what to do, could only go into the odd building and hope to find an explanation.

It was a massive structure, like a palace, and was well stocked with food and medicines and many of the luxuries that had disappeared with society's collapse. The giant library looked like it would take years to fully look through, and much of it appeared to be contents about survival and life skills. As he finished looking around the entire place, returning to the biggest room inside, he still had no idea what he was meant to do exactly.

Then a group entered the place, quickly running into Urso.

"Is this place yours?" The man who looked to be leading the group asked. He was tall and rugged looking, long dark hair, muscles, tan skin, he looked like an actor.

"Uh, yes, I would say so."

"We've been sent here to help you with your wish." He held out his hand which Urso shook readily.

"I'm Urso. And you are?"

"Lyra. Nice to meet you."

He was introduced to the group and though he was still uncertain what he was meant to do, showed them around the place. Soon they were working together to make things more livable in what they were now calling home, saving seeds from their food stores and growing new food, taking the long trail to the nearest town to share their supplies, which through some magical means always replenished overnight. It seemed that the palace was nearly frozen in time, barely crawling forward at all, meaning those living within were effectively free from the time shift as long as they were inside. It wasn't long before more people joined them, growing their numbers and developing an odd culture of their own together.

Along with a melting pot culture, Urso also found himself receptive to Lyra's flirtations. The two were even better at leading together. As they had an unending supply of food, it didn't surprise anyone that they all looked healthy, Urso was happy that his wish seemed to include benefits. Their clear well-being attracted more people over time, and it seemed as more people lived there, the stockpile only grew.

As he was walking through the library looking for something to read he found an old tome that inexplicably fell off the shelf closest to him. It was full of information on bizarre magic, depicting all kinds of mind boggling feats. He tried showing it to the others, but it seemed they all lacked the eyes to see the unseen and couldn't read a word of it.

Pouring over the old tome for days, Urso found what he needed to do at last. Painting a series of glyphs on his skin and reading aloud the chant from the pages, his body began to change right before his eyes. No longer merely healthy, Urso was growing fat, moaning as he finished reading the chant and his body swelled wider. Quickly it became impossible for him to hold himself up, his muscles unable to lift such sudden weight, and he was stuck sitting on his widening rear.

"This isn't too terribly big..." He muttered as the growing finally stopped, he could probably move with some help. His body felt huge, but pleasurable. The soft skin, the stretch marks, the jiggle, it felt right.

"Lyra!" He called, hoping that someone would hear him through his door. He probably should've asked for someone to help him with this strange ritual. "Lyra! Anybody?"

He heard hurried footsteps before his door flew open.

Lyra stood in the doorway dumbstruck, eyes looking over the much larger man, "Are... Are you okay?"

"Yes, but I can't move. Could you give me a hand? There's a spell for weightlessness in that book there, but I can't reach it."

By the end of the day Urso was waddling about the palace, Lyra practically glued to his side.

"Just what were you thinking doing that alone? What if I hadn't heard you? What if something had gone wrong?"

"I'm perfectly fine, and you did hear me. Everything worked out, didn't it?"

"Was this what you were wishing for?"

"You didn't know before you came?"

"No. I just knew we had to come here."

"I wished for a way to give people children that didn't have the time shift."

"And what does that have to do with you getting so big?" Despite his less than polite choice of words, Urso could see the desire in his eyes.

"Well, it's a requirement to make my wish happen. I've got all the spells I'll need to make this work, but first we should explain it to everyone, let's have a meeting."

Urso explained to the others in the encampment what his plans were, and that he'd need sixteen others to complete the spell, eight willing and eight unwilling. Once he explained what the others would need to do in order to complete the spell, eight people readily volunteered, much to Urso's delight.

Eight other people were dragged to the palace while Urso set everything up in the massive central room they'd be performing the spell in. The people of the encampment bowed down before Urso as Lyra fed him each of the eight outsiders. These sacrifices were all kicking up a storm in his stomach but it was a thrilling sensation. He felt so full and had to gulp so hard to swallow them all, and yet it felt so good once each of them was inside.

"Now for the fun part." Urso smiled as he approached the eight volunteers, lowering his wet cunt onto the first one in the row, the spell he'd applied to his body allowing him to stretch to accommodate the sheer size.

The combined wriggling of the prey in his gut on top of the shifting volunteers being pulled into his womb was ecstacy. The glyphs painted on him glowed as his body accepted all eight of his new pups. He still felt positively gravid, belly stretched around all sixteen of them, it seemed his weightless spell was wearing off.

Lyra helped him get settled on a giant cushion before going to find some cream for his lover's over stretched skin. Urso could only sit there in bliss, his mind spinning with plans.

The powerful magic required eight willing volunteers to act as a harness to Urso's magic, from within his body he could steer their excess energy to others to form healthy pregnancies in anyone near him. The eight sacrifices in his gut were giving him the energy to make such a sudden transformation safely.

The pups inside his womb never regressed over the years, in fact they grew quite plump inside his spoiled body, and would eagerly move about within him whenever they got hungry or it was time to transfer their excess energy into others. Over the years, more people heard about the "fertile palace", migrated to it and found themselves well fed and heavy with children that would be free from the time shift. Some had no desire for children and were happier serving Urso or being fattened up and consumed to feed his huge swell. It was discovered that his milk was good at healing sicknesses and soon he was almost always attached to a pump.

Urso was content as a fertility conductor, planting healthy pregnancies into willing worshippers wasn't difficult work, and he enjoyed watching everyone grow. The children born in the palace were healthy and happy and had no trouble with the time shift. If he could've jumped for joy when it was first confirmed, he would've, the best he could manage was jiggling with delighted laughter.

"Hmm, Love, I think it really is time... Urp!" All the eager kicking of his pups along with his recent meal was a lot of sensation all at once, despite how huge he'd gotten, it wasn't any less intense now than it had been in the beginning.

"Alright, let's get everyone ready." Lyra opened a door and several naked worshippers made their way into the room, slowly approaching their benefactor's mountain of a belly. His belly towered over even tall people, and seemed to stick out so far, Urso couldn't see past it and his globe breasts hardly at all, but he didn't mind. This was what he wanted to be, after all.

One by one people approached and pressed themselves against Urso's huge body, as he directed energy into each of them they began to swell with brood and milk. Each one was nicely round as they waddled to an area of cushions to catch their breath. Urso could see that some were going to have multiples and others heavy singles, the energy he'd placed in them choosing randomly how many they'd carry.

As the last of the eager worshippers were filled with young, Urso felt his own pups settle inside him finally.

"Whoo, you boys finally tucker yourselves out in there?" He asked quietly, giving his heavy form a rub.

Lyra gave his belly a kiss before meeting his lips passionately, "Are you gonna fill people up long after the time shift is fixed?"

"I don't see why not to. Even once the time shift is gone, plenty of people will still want to be filled with babies." He smiled as his little ones seemed to finally go to sleep, "Besides, I can't let these pups out, this is where they belong."

"What if I told you that there's apparently another influx of worshippers arriving within the week." Lyra's eyes burned with lust.

"They'd still take a bit of time to settle in, get a bit fat, then I'm sure we could fill them up too. You like watching me fill everyone up."

"I do. I'll dote on you and these pups until the end of time. Even if everyone else leaves, I'm staying and tending to you and the pups. Now," Lyra kissed one of his chins, "It's time for dessert. You worked hard filling all these people, you've earned a reward."

"I love you." Urso grinned, tears pricked in the corner of his eyes, "You and the pups are the best part of my wish."

"I love you too."

#; preg #; hyper preg #; preg transfer #; unbirth #; endo #; vore #; mine #; lactation #; long and perma preg #; stacking preg

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