rb if everyone has permission to pet you, if you're such a slut for petting, if you just want a lil pet

Where he goin’

A Rock and a Soft Place

When you get caught somewhere you're not supposed to be, it can have unexpected consequences

Soft, safe, unwilling vore with a brief mention of death.

"Now, what to do with a pesky little agent." 

He can hear the grin in the Fabricator's voice, something sharp and threatening like a predator just out of sight. He'd never liked her—too direct and brutal for his taste; he preferred not to get his hands dirty, but she reveled in it. Had a strange fascination with poisons, which made eating anything around her an uncomfortable affair. But he couldn't deny she did good work—the Mask was a work of art, even if the cold white and blue wasn't quite his taste. And the shrinking device that she'd used to apprehend the Phoenix...

The agent who, despite all his frustration, he couldn't deny his attraction for. Charming and flirty yet mysterious, and so very clever. He stared at the miniscule woman, gears starting to turn in his head. 

"I wonder how long it would take for you to succumb to this." Blinking, he turned his gaze from the jar trapping the Phoenix to see the Fabricator holding a bottle made from thick green glass. It took him a moment to recognize it—the gas from their plot to capture the Prime Minister. 

"I'll get rid of her." He spoke before he realized he was doing it, one hand resting on the lid of the jar. The Fabricator stared at him, head cocked slightly and expression unreadable behind her glasses. 

"You've already failed to get rid of her twice, John. Doctor Zor isn't very happy with your performance so far."

Her insistence on calling him by his first name rankled, but he didn't let it show. "I'm aware. Call it a chance to redeem myself—third time's the charm, right?"

There was a tense moment of silence, before she sighed and waved her hand dismissively. "Fine. But make sure you finish the job this time, whatever you have planned."

Snatching the jar up—and sending the Phoenix stumbling at the sudden motion—, he removed the lid with a quick twist before reaching inside to scoop her out. She yelped, and he could feel her shove at his hand with her kinesis, but he carefully wrapped his fingers around her and lifted her out. Tiny and fragile like a porcelain doll, but so much more detailed than any dollmaker could hope to achieve. 

“Oh, don't worry. I don't think she'll be able to escape this time.” 

The tiny agent stared at him apprehensively, clinging to his gloved fingers—funny, how quickly she went from trying to escape to holding on tight. Though he supposed it would be quite a fall for her at this size. Cute, really. 

He brought her closer to his face, studying her curiously as she stared back. A bite sized little spy, and he wanted to keep ahold of her. Before she could react—and before he could lose his nerve—he opened his mouth wide and shoved her in, ignoring the frightened shout she made as he did.

Immediately she started to struggle, shoving and clawing at her surroundings in an attempt to free herself, but all it accomplished was giving him a better taste—salty and savory, which he expected, but with a surprising sweet, almost floral note too, and an unexpected smoky aftertaste. 

The Phoenix tasted good, he realized. He'd wanted to make it quick, but he couldn't help licking her despite her frantic squirming. Just making sure she was slick enough to swallow without issue, he told himself, but even he knew it was a lie. After a bit, though, he was just dragging it out. He pressed her to the roof of his mouth, ignoring the desperate pleading, and tipped his head to swallow. 

Eurgh, she was a tight fit, but even with the discomfort it was indescribable, feeling the little movements as she was forced down his throat. He swallowed again, one hand touching his chest as he cleared his throat.

“... I seem to have misjudged you.” The Fabricator murmured, another sharp, cold grin spreading across her face after she spoke. He still couldn't read her, but something in her seemed almost impressed.

“Like I said. Don't think she'll be able to escape this time.” His voice was a little rough, but he wasn't surprised. The agent certainly hadn't made it easy—he shuddered as she finally dropped into his stomach and immediately started shoving at the walls. It didn't hurt like she'd most likely expected—no, it felt wonderful, like fireworks running up his spine. “Now, if you'll excuse me.”

“Of course. Enjoy your dinner, John.” She laughed, and he managed to keep his face pleasant until he turned away, his hand coming up to brush against his middle. Oh, he had no intention of making the Phoenix into a simple meal—no, he wanted to keep her around. She was too intriguing to kill.

Not that she knew that, of course. She'd stopped struggling—either she'd exhausted herself, or realized escape was impossible without help. He could feel her curled up and trembling inside as he made his way out of the Fabricator's workshop, but he couldn't say anything to her now. 

As soon as he was outside, he pulled a bottle of antacid out of his pocket and took a swig—which started the Phoenix squirming again, kicking and shoving at the sides of his stomach.

“Relax, I just want to be safe. Would you rather I had let her test her poisons on you?” He muttered, pressing his hand in on her slightly as he walked. Her movements stopped for a moment, before he received a very pointed kick where his hand rested.

“Would've been quicker.” She snapped back at him, just barely audible; he had to strain to hear her. He snorted, letting his hand drop and messaging his chauffeur to come pick him up.

“No it wouldn't. She'd get you on the brink of death before forcing an antidote down your throat so she could do it all over again.” That made her still, shuffling slightly—he imagined her pulling her legs to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. “But I find you too fascinating for that. No, you'll be staying with me from now on, little firebird.”

“Great. Stuck with someone who's already proven willing to eat me.” Oh, he could almost hear the eye roll there. He hummed, pressing on her with his hand again. 

“If you're going to be like that I could just leave you there. I can't imagine it would be very comfortable, though.” Of course, he wouldn't actually put her in danger, but she didn't have to know that yet.

“You- fine, I'll be good, just please- I don't want to go like this.” 

He smirked—that was easier than he'd expected it to be. “That's what I like to hear.”

Something I've always loved, is sleep paralysis demon preds, but there is like no content for them :[

instead of terrifying creature standing at the foot of your bed, it's terrifying creature gulping you down so you can get a good nights rest :]

Trying to choose a name for a horror OC

Been talking about an analog horror (or vorror lol) thing with some friends on discord, and while I have a title for her (The Sanguine Lady), she doesn't have an actual name yet, and I'm torn between a few. Maybe a poll should help lol. Reference for her under the cut because of blood and body horror

An encounter

So because me and some frens have started a thing about silly horror/analog horror stuff on discord I wrote this silly thing with my sona (who I don't think I've really said anything about on here will do that once I feel confident enough to draw him) doing a silly spooky thing

Content warning for unwilling prey, some horror elements and mild(?) body horror

Also @mysticcomfort because you told me to post this here

Wandering is risky, especially when alone. The sightings of unknown phenomena and disappearances and subsequent reappearances of those who do so are exemplary of this. Yet that can end up not deterring some, and even encouraging others, wanting to be the first to record what has been causing the strange happenings. But still, it is best to know the area, lest you get lost.

As one poor soul found out the hard way.

They pushed past branches and gazed up at the sky, void of any stars, trying to find some sense of direction. Every tree seemed identical, and no indicative light could be seen. They trekked through the foliage, hoping that if they continued in a straight line, they would come across something. But at the same time, they questioned if that would really be better than encountering nothing. Quiet shuffling could be heard all around them, and they could swear that branches and roots of trees seemed to appear and disappear. Sometimes, in the dark, the rings on a birch tree’s bark almost seemed like real eyes staring right at them, but a blink got rid of the feeling.

A sudden loud noise startled them, and they walked backwards from it, until they bumped into something. They yelped, starting to panic as they twirled around to face what they bumped into, and saw a strange person wearing a tall hat turn around as well, though notably calmer.

“Woah, woah, you ok? You look like you just saw a ghost.” He said to them, trying to ease them. “You seem lost, are ya lost?”

They explained their plight to the stranger, having let their guard down now that they have another human to talk to. He held his hand up to his face in a thoughtful pose while he listened.

“Hmm. Well, I know the area here quite well, I can help you if you want, just follow me, I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

He began walking off, and they followed suit. They had an uneasy feeling in them, but it was overcome by their relief at finally having someone else to talk to. Besides, of the recent disappearances, everyone had returned and the most damage they were aware of happening to them was nothing more than a few cuts and bruises, the kind that would heal in a week at most.

Their unease grew, however, when the stranger walked down into a bunker of some kind. 

“I know this seems like a bad idea, but I promise you you’ll be safe.” He gave them a smile, though something about it seemed… off, slightly. But despite their uneasy feelings, they followed in.

There was very little light in the bunker, aside from a ceiling light that only illuminated a small spot in the center of the room. They couldn’t see the person they followed in, and it didn’t help they could swear they saw something slip out from the light as they approached. They called out with a low voice. And shortly after doing so, they heard the door shut behind them, and they swiveled around to look, not that they could see much.

“Sorry to have tricked you like that.” A familiar voice echoed from the side of the room opposite the door, making them swivel around again. As he spoke, some other quieter voices spoke the same words at the same time, but all around them. “I think we can both agree that you would have found it a bit harder to trust me like this.” He approached them, and as he stepped into the light, it was clear he was different. His legs were preceded by black tendrils, swiftly growing on the ground before him in very general directions. His arms seemed to have grown, becoming a material not unlike that of the tendrils on the ground, which they had noticed were on the walls and ceiling as well. And his mouth had grown wider, and was filled with jagged, teal, crystalline teeth, with a couple more of those tendrils flowing out like long tongues, and a similar mouth had formed on the exposed patch of his stomach.

They couldn’t move, couldn’t even speak, paralyzed with fear, while he continued his approach. He lifted his arms and wrapped them around them, meaning they couldn’t move now even if they wanted to.

“I do keep my word, though. I will keep you somewhere safe. Though you… might not like where exactly that is.” As he said that, he began opening his mouth wide, and elongating the tendrils in his mouth, wrapping them around them. They struggled against him, but it proved completely ineffective as they were pulled into the void of this… thing’s mouth. They felt the pull of what might be considered throat muscles pulling them deeper. They couldn’t believe what was happening to them. It had to be a nightmare. They kept being pulled in further and further, until they were curled up in a tight space, unable to escape. They soon eventually passed out from everything that had just happened to them.

…

They jolted up in bed, gasping for breath. In bed… It was a nightmare. They caught their breath and calmed themself down, briefly nervously laughing. They checked themself just in case they were hurt, but nothing was wrong, they were perfectly fine. They breathed a sigh of sheer relief and turned on their bedside lamp. Their paranoia must still be high, as they thought they saw some black tendrils quickly recede into the cracks of their doorframe the moment the room was flooded with light.

Love being reminded of how much of a freak (affectionate) I am by my own subconscious.

I say this, because. . . I had a vore dream. A vore dream where I was eaten, digested nice and goopily, and reformed. Then I cuddled up to my pred and rubbed their belly, blushing when I realized I could feel my own hand on my body.

'Come now darling, you didn't think I'd let you off that easily today. . . Did you?~' This smug bastard kept part of me as sentient fat and reformed the rest to tease me.

. . .

BRO I FUCKING CAN'T-

Does vore need aftercare? Like, imagine you get pampered by your pred's stomach, massaged, squeezed, swaddled and loved, right? And then they spit you up onto a pile of hot, dry towels to clean the spit off of you, and then carry you into a shower to wash the remaining saliva from your skin/hair/fur, and then they dry you off with another warm towel, before finishing the night with some cuddles.

So extra, I love it.

this is the preferred type of stomach for me.

big enough to lay down in, the gentle noises and the pred soft, reassuring voice soothing you and lulling you to sleep...

I'm just kinda dumping all my doodles on here lol

YESSSS

I want to cozy up in a gentleman/gentleperson's stomach so bad. So kindly, and gently swallowing me down, and then sneaking a sip of a fine whiskey to chase me down. Slowly rocking eme from side to side as they waltz about to some whimsical, nostalgic classical music. Quietly reading their favorite, leather bound fiction to me until I cannot possible stay awake any longer.

kinda funny how some people will instantly melt if you just kind of. look at them and lick your lips. the implication is enough to fluster them into a mess.

Behold! Some more of my OCs! These guys are from a detective fiction story I had to write for school and oh boy do I love them they’re just so silly goofy. Big guy is Thomas Abbot and he’s a detective, and his friend is Henry Taylor, a gardener

Transcript for what they’re saying cause my writing sucks

Thomas: It appears Miss Agatha is still looking for her dance partner

Henry: Let her! I can’t stand that horrible woman

Thomas: I don’t know, perhaps I should fetch you for her

Henry: Thomas, I will rupture your spleen

opinions on plushie preds go‼

Probably one of of the most underrated preds, like, there is such a sense of nostalgia with plush preds for me!

I used to have a shark sleeping bag, thing, and that was probably one of the reasons I got into vore. I would just lay inside it for hours. (Even though it would feel like I was 2 feet away from the sun) but it just captured my imagination as a kid.

It's just like, your old plushies you love are alive?? And wanna keep you close and protect you??? Yeah!!! I like that!!!

Also plush stomach, which is basically just Is small chamber made of pillows, and fluffy tummy?? Yes please :)

The Devouring of Prometheus

Ohh boy this fic has been over a year in the making and by golly am I proud of it. It was mostly an attempt to imitate Mary Shelley’s writing style while adding more classic lit vore into the world cause oh boy do we need it. This fic is a little darker than my usual fluffy stuff because. You know. It’s Frankenstein. But everything is still safe despite what Victor thinks. Anyways, please enjoy and let me know what you think!

Warnings: Contains soft, safe, unwilling vore, mentions of digestion, mentions of dying, mentions of cannon character death, minor injury, and vomit

Characters: Victor Frankenstein and the Creature

Word Count: 2,830

Mankind has no greater fear than that of being devoured. It is an instinctual fear, engrained deep within our very beings from the moment we are born, as it is in every living being, and yet it is perhaps one of the most uncommon fears to experience in its true, unaltered form. We are quite familiar with the notion of being killed and eaten by a wild beast, since such a thing, while not terribly common in the more civilized parts of the world, is often talked of in books and by explorers returning from long voyages to strange, wild lands. It is a threat to be sure, but perhaps not the most fear inspiring one. A hungry lion might indeed pounce upon you with his teeth and claws bared as if to shred you to ribbons while you lay awake in agony, but in truth he is far more merciful than even most men and will end you swiftly with a bite to the neck before he ever starts to feed. The fear of being eaten in this way, then, is diluted by the promise of a swift death at the claws of a creature who bore you no more malice than you do a butchered duck. 

The terror of being consumed lies not in the act of consumption, but in the method. Stories full of giants and ogres who devour men whole and alive fill the countryside and take captive the minds of all who hear them, filling their dreams with images of gnashing teeth and slavering mouths, capable of sending a grown man down, kicking and screaming, in a single swallow. I must confess I never heard much of these tales growing up, aside from a few Clerval was so fond of telling, and when they did reach my ears, I simply scoffed, laughing such frightening images away in the clear light of day when nothing could seem more ridiculous. They were children’s tales, I thought, simply meant to frighten and entertain, for nothing, man or beast, could swallow whole a living man. Oh, how I wish I had been right. 

He came for me in the night. I was asleep, or nearly so, when a sudden noise at my window startled me awake. At first I assumed it to be the scratching of a branch or perhaps even some night creature making its rounds through the garden outside. After all, I was far more unfamiliar with the Oxford landscape than my dear friend Clerval, who had spent much of his afternoon exploring the grounds, so I felt there to be no need for concern. Indeed, I had nearly turned over to drift back to sleep when I saw his eyes. Those wretched, sunken, yellow eyes staring as if into my very soul through the dusty window I had neglected to lock in my naivety. I might have screamed had fear not grasped my throat and strangled my voice, and though I longed to run, terror turned my legs to lead and forced me to watch as the fiend pried open the window with a delicate ease that seemed almost laughable compared to the rest of his hulking mass. I pulled my sheet up to shield my chest like a child might, entertaining fantasies that perhaps this was simply a nightmare, and if I remained still in my bed then he would be unable to harm me, but when he began to climb through the window with the elegance of a lion stalking his prey, eyes never once leaving me, panic settled over my heart and I realized this was no mere conjuring of an overworked mind. The beast was here, looming over me in my chambers as I trembled in bed with naught but a thin sheet and even thinner night clothes to protect me. 

“Devil! What do you want from me!” I cried at last, terror loosening her claws from my throat. “I have not forgotten our agreement, so why do you insist on tormenting me so!” 

I received no reply, the beast more than content to simply stare at my trembling form. Perhaps he enjoyed how weak I must have appeared before him as his eyes flicked over me, almost sizing me up for reasons I could never have comprehended in that moment. Cold and yellow as they were, I could see an inkling of some mysterious emotion behind those eyes, but it’s identity I couldn’t say. Nor did I care. My thoughts were quickly preoccupied as he advanced upon me, padding forwards like some great and terrible cat, until he stopped just shy of the side of my bed, so close I could have reached out and touched him. 

Again, I saw that strange emotion flicker behind his dead eyes, but before I had time to ponder it he wrapped his hands around my chest and lifted me from the safety of my bed with terrifying ease, like one might lift a small child or a doll, and while I screamed and writhed in his hideous grasp, his hold only tightened. My ribs creaked and complained under the pressure and my cries became strangled and choked. With a ghastly popping sound he opened his grotesque mouth, jaw hanging at an angle too wide for any human to achieve, and to my upmost horror he quickly stuffed my head inside with the terrifying efficiency of a ravenous beast. The slimy muscle of his tongue lapped against my face and my body convulsed in disgust as I desperately fought not to be sick. Revolting as my situation was, I did not wish to add my own vomit to the mix, even if it might have disgusted the fiend enough to free me. 

I could see nothing but darkness, each desperate gasp for oxygen only supplying me with the barest sliver of foul air. Teeth ringed my neck like a terrible collar, and for a moment I entertained ideas of those teeth, the very same I had picked and sorted by hand, crashing together to sever my head from my body like some terrible executioner. Before my thoughts could spiral much more in this direction, his grip changed and I was suddenly shoved against the slick, fleshy opening of his throat. My blood curdled and, with a sudden, crushing pressure, my head was crammed downwards in the most painful manner which caused me to cry out in despair. My skull felt as though it would shatter, and I screamed a horrible, terrible shriek of agony and terror as my shoulders were crushed down after me, the tight gullet of the beast threatening to break them into splinters. My vision swam, stars of pain and lack of breath sparking and dancing before my eyes, and though no light followed me into my hellish prison, I could still see the blackest pitch wavering at the edge of my vision, threatening to drown me in its inky embrace. For a moment I wished it would, if only to keep me from the terrible suffering I knew lay before me, but fate is a cruel mistress and before I could sink into that comforting ocean of darkness a terrible pressure bloomed upon the crown of my head and forced me into an open pocket of stinking, putrid air. 

Coughing and gaging I struggled to draw even a single breath. My ribs, now horribly compressed, creaked and shuttered terribly under the pressure of the creature’s throat, and though my legs still flailed outside, and my hands desperately scrambled for a hold on what I felt to be his chin, I did not dare move the length of my compressed torso for fear of inflicting more damage upon myself. Another painful swallow jolted me down, my face jamming roughly into what I presumed to be the bottom of the creature’s dreadful stomach, and the grotesque flesh not only yielded to accept my presence, but did so with an almost pleased sounding groan, if stomachs can be pleased, as if I really were simply a morsel of food to be consumed and forgotten. The sound filled my heart with a terror I’ve never known, and I cried out, though my voice was quickly silenced by the slick flesh as more of my body was squeezed through that terrifically tight ring of muscle and forced to bend and twist to fit my new prison like some sort of contortionist. 

I know not how long it took the devil to consume me: the darkness of my surroundings and constant pain dulled my senses and left me disoriented to the point where I no longer could even tell up from down. I remember no longer feeling the cold air on my body after some time, my entire being now encased in sweltering heat, and searing pain as my legs were crushed down against my ribs. Finally, it was all over. My entire body had been fully compacted into the creature’s stomach, and although this new development was arguably a much worse position than my previous one, I was far too preoccupied with gulping down precious lungfuls of oxygen to care.

Then, all at once, the reality of my situation came crashing down upon me and with the fervor of a cornered beast I began to lash out and fight, twisting and turning in the confined space in hopes of causing my captor at least the slightest bit of discomfort. 

“Fiend! Devil! Release me at once!” I panted, gnashing my teeth in fear and anger. “This is no way to treat any man, let alone your maker!”

I had no doubt that he could hear my cries and feel my struggles, confined as I was, and yet no answer came. Despite the nature of my location, I was completely and utterly alone, for what man pays attention to his food after he’s eaten it. Again, I tried to call out, to plead for release as I fought against the smothering flesh, and again I was ignored, save for a light pressure against my back from which I hastily jerked away. It was his hand; I knew it instinctively. The brute was no doubt relaxing after so fine a feast of human flesh, and that touch was nothing more then the satisfied gloating of a predator now sated with a filling meal that would last him far longer than any morsel of bread or wine. I was merely something to be enjoyed, digested, and forgotten.

 How many more, I wondered, would be lost in the same way once I had perished. Clearly my current location indicated my captor had grown fond of the taste of human, and with a heart wrenching shudder I suddenly realized I had no way of knowing wether I was the first victim of the monster’s appetite, or if he had already glutted himself with other gentle country folk, just as he had done to me, and I was now resting in their grave. The thought was too much for my already distraught and troubled soul, and the disgust which filled me suddenly became too overwhelming to sustain. With a thick heave I proceeded to retch onto myself, my sick mixing with the beast’s own bile, and I sobbed bitterly for my home. 

“Oh, my dear mountains and precious lake. Will I truly never again delight in your sweet air and radiant beauty? Am I to perish so far from all that is fair and wholesome, without even the cold stars to bare witness to my demise?” I lamented; my voice thick with the grief of a man who believes he is to die isolated from everything he once held dear. 

The spongy flesh seemed to mute my voice effectively as a heavy curtain might, and my words fell upon deaf ears, for no reply came from my creation. My captor. My killer. Was I really to meet my end as nothing more than a meal? My last breath tainted by the stench of bile and vomit? The pressure to my back returned, and although the touch revolted me, I was far too exhausted from my fear and the quickly thinning oxygen to do more than twitch in protest. What difference would it make anyways, my fate was already sealed.

Each breath I drew grew more ragged and gasping with every passing second, my panic having done nothing but quickly use up what little air I had in the stale cell, and in some fever, I realized that, although my air was quickly thinning, I had not yet begun to feel the slightest tingle of digestion. Oh, what sweet twist of fate was this! I still would meet my end as nothing more than a morsel of food this was true, but I would be long since unconscious and perhaps even suffocated before acids truly began to work on me and thus spared the sensation of digesting alive. It was a small assurance, but so consumed was I by grief and terror of my fate that even the small mercy of a painless death brought me comfort. It was more than a man like me deserved after all I’d done. The innocent blood on the creature’s hands stained mine as well, and I thought bitterly of poor darling little William and dear Justine. Their blood has been spilt on my account, and yet, while their deaths had been horrific tragedies, I took solace in knowing they had left the world far quicker than I would, and that I would be seeing them again soon.

My vision swam before me, and with one last shuddering sigh I slumped against the slick walls, no longer attempting to catch my breath, for what would be the point in trying to breathe when there is no air left to fill my lungs. The stomach clenched around me with a disgusting squelch, smothering and squeezing my helpless form as it worked to knead what I presumed to be caustic acids into my sodden clothing and soft flesh, preparing for the undoubtably difficult task of liquifying my un-masticated body. With a gasping, barely audible sob I pressed a trembling hand out against my churning prison walls, cursing my creation and praying my end would be swift. Then the darkness engulfed me, and I knew no more.

Due to the circumstances in which I had fallen unconscious I fully expected to never wake again, so when I started awake some unknown amount of time later in the very bed I had been snatched out of, I could seldom comprehend what was happening. My first thought was that my horrendous experience had been naut but a dream; an apparition brought upon me by the dreadful task I knew I would soon be required to complete. Then I became aware of the disgusting film of sticky, foul smelling sick coating my body and the dull, yet throbbing pain in my ribs, and my blood ran cold. It had been no dream. My creation truly had assaulted me in the night, swallowed me whole and alive, and, by some miracle, vomited me back out before his digestive system could process me. In fact, aside from my ribs, which were badly bruised, I appeared whole and unharmed. Not even a drop of acid had singed my clothes, and my skin was fair and unblemished as it had always been. I pressed a hand to my cheek as if to make certain of my unharmed state, and then, to my own surprise, I began to laugh. It was not a mirthful laugh, but rather one of incredulous shock and relief as I grasped at my warm and unharmed skin. So certain had I been that those final moments filled with slimy blackness and foul reeking air inside the creature would be my last that the cold air of my room and the sting of my nails against my face might well have been gifts from Heaven itself. Even now I marvel at my incredible escape and wonder what could possibly have prompted the monster to give up as filling a meal as I surely must have been. I do not think I shall ever know, but judging from the healthy nature which I possessed upon waking, I can only assume he realized he could not process me as he intended and his body expelled me, though wether such an expulsion was voluntary on his part I still could not say. Nonetheless I knew I was no doubt incredibly fortunate to have survived such an encounter and my resolve had the been strengthened. Where before I had postponed my promise, I vowed to not do so again, for who knew how long the wretched beast would be content to wait and leave me and others be. As soon as I was able, I would set to work creating another who would contain his terrible urges and put this dreadful encounter behind me forever. 

Oh boy, I have been having so much I/EYTD brainrot. May as well share a few scenarios with my favorite blorbo, John Juniper.

-Being a fan who’s lucky enough to meet your favorite star for lunch. Not realizing that you’re about to get a very intimate meet and greet…

-Basically going through Operation: Jet Set, but he’s actually on the plane with you. You get shrunken down, and he’s offering you the comfiest seat on the jet. It’ll be several hours before you land, you’re thousands of feet above the Atlantic Ocean with nowhere to run, and he knows every inch of the jet. You won’t stay hidden long…

-Deciding to deal with Agent Phoenix by swallowing them down. He might not decide to kill them (since you know…I don’t like fatal), but it’s effective at keeping them out of the way.

-Being one of his staff and being eaten for whatever reason. Could be as a punishment, or simply because he wanted a nice, squirmy snack..or it could even be as a reward.

-Unaware vore. Enjoying a glass of wine, not knowing that you’ve fallen in either accidentally or intentionally. It won’t be long before you’re sent down to his belly along with a mouthful of Riesling.

-Give the man a shrink ray and he’ll have a grand old time hunting down a captured agent.

I watched a submarine movie earlier today, and it got me thinking about giant underwater preds again. So, an idea:

A pirate crew gets attacked by a powerful sea monster, which wrecks their ship and devours everyone on board. However, one of the shipmates, someone capable of using magic, realizes that the monster is attacking humans due to an injury which prevents it from hunting its usual food like giant squid. This crewmate manages to heal the monster's injury as a sign of goodwill. The monster, as a token of gratitude, keeps the crew safe in its cavernous belly, letting its favorite crew member rest in its mouth.

Now, seaside towns tell of a bizarre band of people who appear on the shoreline without a ship, only appearing for a day or two to stock up on supplies, before disappearing back into the jaws of the great beast. Other pirates are terrified of the crew that not only survived getting eaten by a sea monster, but now thrive within its gut.

If these pirates now call a sea monster's stomach home, what else are they capable of?

Comfort vore should be more popular.

I think it’s wholesome when it’s used as a way to comfort the prey and help them relax, but it’s kinda rare.

Idk. I think being swallowed down by a protective pred would be a soothing experience and I don’t know why more people don’t talk about it.