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maw-and-pawp · 2 months

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I've been having some hurt/comfort thoughts for awhile now. I might make some ocs around this. SFW, platonic (queerplatonic?), victim blaming, blood mention, background murder, found family, angst and fluff, vore-adjacent.

A pred and a prey duo, in an unlikely friendship. The pred is smaller than the prey, and is somehow vegetarian, but is definitely still intimidating to the prey due to their long claws and sharp teeth and stoic face. They're aware that they come off as threatening to others, and do their best to be kind with their actions, and hide their claws in thick gloves. Besides, if no one knows exactly what they're capable of with those claws, then the chances of being traced back to their "nightshift" are low.

The prey is a survivor of an almost fatal digestion, and they would've been just another victim if their pred hadn't saved them and brought them to a hospital in time. Since then, the prey has both developed trauma from the encounter, and a fragile bond with the pred. The pred insisted to give them their number, afterall. To call just in case they needed help again. For anything.

They started talking, and one thing led to another, and now it's a common occurrence to find the pred in the prey's apartment, taking care of stuff the prey can't always manage on their own now. Making sure the prey doesn't forget to care for themself, helping them run down to the laundromat, cooking for the both of them when the prey can't get out of bed. The pred has been helping them when their family is either too far away to, or blames the prey for what happened (you wouldn't have been taken if you hadn't been alone that night, we raised you better than to go to a mixed bar, let alone by yourself). Because of that, they keep the pred's night time habits to themself, and pointedly do not ask about the faint smell of blood whenever the pred shows up in the mornings. They don't want to know (and they'd like to keep plausible deniability, thank you).

The prey's been going to a support group for others like them. People who were lucky. Someone suggested something like exposure therapy once, mostly as a joke (which wasn't well received). Which...honestly at this point, the prey is tired of being a live wire after what happened, and they would do just about anything to just Go Back To Normal now. So the idea stuck. All they had to do is work up the courage. The prey doesn’t fully trust the pred afterall. They can't after what happened, and what they know the pred is doing to other preds. It's not illegal, technically, if sufficient evidence is found that it truly was in spontaneous aid to a caught prey. But it's not spontaneous. And the pred isn't going to court.

But the pred did say that it was ok to ask for help, even for the 'small' things. Not once have they made them feel like they were anything other than a person...a dear friend. Right. A dear friend. It would be fine.

So they ask to listen to the pred's stomach one weekend. The pred is flustered, confused, stoic face twisted up into a look something like they just got slapped in the face with a fish. Which would be funny, if the prey's heart wasn't trying to run out of their chest from nerves. They quietly explain what they mean to the pred, and the pred's eyes soften in understanding, face unscrunching into something once again unreadable.

The pred is...awkward. If the prey wasn't wholly consumed with their own worries, they would've picked up on the pred's rigid stance as fears of their own...They can't remember the last time someone had touched without the intention to hurt, or to take. And they need to be calm, or their big prey friend will be on edge and that would defeat the point. And their friend deserves to feel safe. Heaven help anyone who takes that away.

They set up in the living room. A cushiony chair is pulled up - a small couch really - and they somehow maneuver the pred to sit in it and the prey to kneel without saying a word. Lots of awkward shuffling, and a pillow for the prey's knees later, and the prey is nosing into the pred's stomach gently.

It's tense underneath their face, and the prey can hear the pred's breath hitch when they first make contact. Slowly, the pred relaxes into the touch, when pain doesn't come. The pred still grips the seat like a lifeline. (It's dizzying, to be so vulnerable, and to do it on purpose)

Then, the prey takes a breath, and presses their ear to the rumbling gut beneath them (it was just before lunch, like they planned). It whined and begged and burbled, warm and hungry. It sends a cold jolt of fear through them, making them freeze. It sounds so loud, so needy, just like it was when it was all around them that night when the acids started flowing in -

Tears are wiped away before they even know it exists. The pred strokes a finger gently through the fur between their eyes, hesitant but firm. They hush the prey, remind them that it's safe. They can stop if they need to. They don't even have to do this at all. They sound close to tears themself. The prey looks up into their face.

The gaze is piercing as it always is. But not unkind. They really would stop if the prey gave the word. They'd get up and get on with their days, and the prey wouldn't be just a meal stewing away inside their pred friend. The pred is more hungry for the tofu in the fridge than them, and their pred is a full head shorter anyways. Even if they wanted to, their pred couldn't take them past the point of no return.

(They wonder what it's like to be so short. Preds were usually a head taller than the prey or more. Perhaps their pred isn't a vegetarian by choice at all - they can't catch anyone being so small. They might also not be quick and strong and lethal by choice either...it must be easy to confuse the pred for a prey, or it might not functionally matter to some)

Armed with this knowledge, the prey nuzzles back in without a word. Their pred's breath hitches again, and comes out shaky when the prey snakes a hand upwards to run their thumb gently over their clothed lower belly. The same comforting little circles that their pred had been rubbing between their eyes a moment ago. They tense along with the motion, and the prey goes rigid again as the wet glorps roar again under their sensitive ears, announcing to the world just how much their pred's tummy was enjoying the attention (even if it would prefer attention from the inside at the moment). The prey counts the pred's climbing heartbeat, and stubbornly holds on even as they (both) shake in restrained fear. As the hour passes, they've never felt so safe and yet so afraid.

They decide that it's been a productive day, schedule another encounter next weekend, and break for lunch. No, the prey did not eat the last of the tofu, thank you very much. They much prefer the beansprouts anyways.

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bio-nerds-corner · 2 years

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Judas Goat

have some old soti ;P er... i actually started all of this on before charlie appeared in dsmp itself

i had some more ideas for this one, but i just couldnt think of somewhere to end it on. seems to be a pattern with my stuff :(

TWs for dehumanization, hard vore

A bell rang below, just behind him. If Quackity were a stupid hunter, a foolish novice, he would’ve turned to capture the human who had stayed behind to ring it. But to an expert it was the sound of a clock starting, his time running out rapidly. With that bell all others would scatter and he would only have so long to catch them all. He pressed forward, towards the blip on the radio tracker, net at the ready, and was rewarded with a louder clash of hammer on metal immediately in front of him. Transmitting the signal of his arrival and distracting him all at once.

He ignored the bell. And the next one. As they got more desperate, attempting more loudly to announce the humans presence and draw him away from the nest. Like a bird feigning a broken wing to lead predators away from defenseless chicks.

He had only ever fallen for that one once. At least the sacrificial human that stayed behind while it’s hive abandoned it was sweet and young tasting.

He crashed out into the colony, foot smashing down into a fragile habitat, and the swarm of humans scattered in all directions. He could see a pattern to the mob movements, and cast a weighted net that took down more tiny buildings with it, trapping humans beneath the debris and tightly corded rope. It seems they only had barely begun running for the underbrush around him when he had arrived. Good, that meant he would get the lions share of this nest.

It was hard making sure he got every one of them. The first couple of times he tried this trick there were some that scattered and made even thinking about hunting in that direction worthless.

He taught Charlie how to count afterward, and he would proudly tell him the population of the human settlement just before he got to work.

He didn’t care for alive humans in his meals, to be honest. After the first attempt with a mesh cage he stuck to an airtight plastic tupperware so they could quietly suffocate for him. By the time he got home from such excursions it was hardly an issue handling them. They were all floppy and weird a lot of the time but. Well. Their meat was just as good.

Sometimes one of them survived long enough to revive just as he stuck them in his mouth. It definitely was a curious sensation, feeling it’s weak little kicks and gasps, but he wouldn’t say it was as intoxicating as Wilbur always described it. Really, he preferred the crunch to the useless begging. Plus, it reminded him too much of Charlie’s little voice, and he didn’t want to have to imagine his pet in among the limp bodies, no matter how weird nightmares he had about biting down hard on the defenseless little creature.

Quackity strung up the first net, twisting it neatly so it scooped up all of the humans caught beneath, before throwing it over his shoulder. He could hear the screams and cries and whines of anger and fear, some of it strange and warblingly close to Charlie’s own voice but wrong in such particular ways. They all kicked and thrashed like a net full of fish, but only succeeded in injuring one another. Bruises didn’t taste the best but it was a minor setback all things considered. He took a second to mentally count them - 14, not bad. He’d have to check how many there were in total when he found Charlie.

Now for the second net. No way in hell will they clump together like this group was, and traps won’t work when they already know he’s here, so he’ll just have to grab for it.

Using the other net he had as a bag, he quickly started grabbing any human within reach, breaking the remaining settlements to weed out the stragglers hiding in there. A few smaller ones fled, and he considered briefly letting them run off to grow larger for his next hunts, before deciding he probably wouldn’t ever be able to find them again and scooping them up.

It almost got mindless, combing the remains of the human colony for those frozen in terror or trapped by the debris of their home. He eventually stopped and recounted, happy with the amount he’d gotten. 21 in all - well, 22 if he counted the squalling infant one of them clung to, but they barely were even a bite-full so he didn’t.

He shook the second bag a bit to hear the collective wail go up for a moment, before pulling the airtight box out of his bag. It would be just big enough to fit both bags if he shimmied it around and the humans didn’t flail too much.

As it were, he had overestimated the box size a little bit. Cursing, he pulled the second bag back out again and fished through it for the human carrying a child. He could easily just crunch into them now, but he liked to be hygienic with his food and, plus, he didn’t care much for the scared and angry noises all the others would go into a flurry about as soon as he did.

So he dropped the two onto the remaining building that hadn’t toppled from his poking and probing, and finally got the bags packed properly. The yelling and whining from the humans was greatly muffled as soon as the seal clicked.

He half-turned and pulled out his whistle before noticing the released human was staring at him, apparently frozen. With a frown, he poked at it, shoving it in the other direction. “What are you waiting for, an invitation?” For gods sake, how had they even survived this long in the first place? No wonder they’re endangered in the wild now.

He carefully retrieves charlie at this point, and the people trapped in the box start yelling and screaming. from quackity’s pov its just a bunch of panicking, and he puts the bag away carefully at that point. to charlie, its the screams of betrayal, the horror that someone they tried to help betrayed them like that. he seems entirely unaffected by the muffled hatred spat at him.

quackity pats him gently on the head, and returns him to his travel cage, already thinking about recipes he will have to try with this batch.

After that whole debacle with Tommy, Quackity was… torn. Because on the one hand he wanted to be a supportive friend, wanted to change his ways (he could go vegan right? Right?) in solidarity, but on the other…

There was Charlie, who he had been caring for for years at this point, who had started as this fun little project to see if he could train a tracker human and had become a comfort to him, a pet.

Tommy is a person and yet, despite him trying his best to convince himself otherwise, Charlie would always be a pet to him. After all, Tommy wouldn’t ever come to him wanting cuddles, or so blindly trust him when he lifted him up to a dark cupboard to ‘please please please smash that horrible bug I found in there I can’t do it myself’ or march proudly into a human settlement with the knowledge that he would end it.

Right? Right. That’s a pet thing.

He was sitting on the couch, scrolling unhappily through his phone as he tried to think. Under his cupped hand against his chest was Charlie, breathing softly. So small and fragile, yet so undeniably trustingly his.

(That possessiveness, that’s probably what stopped him from ever seeing Charlie as anything but a pet. The human was his and had been his for so long, and nothing could change that. )

What would happen if someone came over to his house one day and saw all of the little things he had added over the years for Charlie? The enclosure that had grown from that pathetic first attempt and now was the envy of human-keeper forums? Would they understand? Or would he be judged for it now that Tommy’s out?

Wait shit - had he ever talked about Charlie on stream? Quackity wracked his brain for a moment before remembering that no, he hasn’t, because he had decided early on he didn’t want to be seen as the kind of ‘crazy human guy’ to own a battalion of humans and only eat ‘home grown food’ with all of the euphemisms attached. So Charlie’s still a secret.

It would be so incredibly easy to make Charlie stay a secret. Take down the enclosures today and ‘accidentally’ crush Charlie underfoot. Or maybe even finally eat him, have one final taste of human before giving it up and taking the evidence with him. It would be so easy, he was literally within Quackity’s grasp.

… no. He could never do that. Not only does the idea make him absolutely sick to his stomach, he couldn’t imagine ever looking Tommy in his little eyes and saying that he was trustworthy with a clear conscience after doing something like that. Charlie was so small and trusted him so much, he couldn’t do something like that to him.

He let out a long breath, shifting his feathers, and Charlie groggily lifted a head in attention. Quackity hurriedly muttered out quiet nonsense words, assurances and purrs and Charlie tucked his head in again next to his heart.

Yea. He could never just kill Charlie in cold blood. He was about ten years too late for that to ever happen.

So what could he do? Continue hiding Charlie, consolidating all of the little additions to his house to a single room that he could lock when guests were over? It would be a fix, but the part of him that has now spent far too long moderating and commenting on human husbandry forums screamed at him about confinement. Stupid morals and good pet-care values.

In hindsight, there was only ever one solution to this issue. He would have to let Charlie go.

…

His hands fumbled on Charlie’s bright green collar like an idiot as he gingerly unclasped it. Charlie was sitting up straight, not moving at all like he was always trained to when Quackity was preparing him for an ‘excursion.’ He hesitated for a long moment, before handing the collar over to Charlie.

The human frowned at it and looked up. “Why are you giving me this?”

Quackity shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, I just want you to keep it safe.” And, like a good pet, Charlie appeared satisfied by that answer. He carefully folded the fabric up and put it into an inside pocket of the custom-tailored jacket he had gotten a couple of years back. Quackity poked at the backpack, always too small for him to do anything more than fumble with the straps, but he made sure he could feel the little food packs and container of food pellets in case he was out too long and everything else was used up.

Maybe I should get him some more. He won’t be coming back after all, he’ll need it.

But then… he might get suspicious.

Why should I worry about him getting suspicious now? He’s leaving and he can’t do anything about it.

Still, it would break his heart to see Charlie get all sad about this before it was strictly necessary. He continued fussing with the backpack as the human laced his little boots confidently.

“The weather looks good for the rest of the week so take your time,” he said, trying to keep his voice from wobbling. “See the sights and all that shit, y’know.”

Charlie hummed, tugging without much effort at the bag in his grasp. Quackity gave it up easily, checking nervously that his claws didn’t leave scratches on the fabric. Humans were just so fragile right when he didn’t want them to be.

“You’ve been sad for a while,” Charlie said suddenly, not looking up from the backpack. “I’ll do a good enough job to help you out, and it’ll be ok. Promise.”

Quackity’s heart almost broke right then and there. Don’t think about it.

“Radio,” Quackity commanded, pushing through the hiccup in his throat, finally putting aside the bedding he was ineffectively tying for Charlie’s smaller and more nimble hands, and trying to absorb himself in the checklist for a little bit longer. Charlie turned his back to him, raising his shirt and exposing the radio transmitter sewn into a dark undershirt which, with the shirt and coat, would be entirely invisible.

Quackity carefully checked the battery life, that it was still transmitting, and nodded. While it wouldn’t be necessary this time… he would like to keep an eye on his pet for as long as he can. “You’re good, alright come on now.”

He held out a hand and once again like a proper and obedient pet, Charlie hopped on with little complaint. Quackity hoisted up the bag with his other hand, transferring it into Charlie’s grasp and bending down to pick up the travel enclosure.

Seeing Charlie holding his bag, sitting behind the bars of the travel enclosure with a hand half held onto one of the metal rods, Quackity steeled himself. This was the best option. This was the only option.

Then he grabbed his keys and got in his car.

He tried to make himself promise that he wouldn’t look back after letting Charlie out in the woods, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep it.

...

Quackity never made mistakes ever but… taking in these humans so soon after losing (leaving behind) Charlie definitely didn’t help that feeling of useless loss. It was just a favor for Technoblade (who absolutely TERRIFIED him so he would do whatever he said) to help out with a couple of rather discombobulated humans that had passed him by. Karl was sweet in many of the ways that Charlie is (was), and frankly distressing in a number of other ways. Begging to be killed? To be eaten and completely forgotten about?

(He spent way too many nights staring at the ceiling of his room, wondering if what he did to Charlie was any better than what the people did to Karl. He definitely didn’t check the radio tracker to see if Charlie’s signal was still active, definitely not.)

As would be expected of any farmed human, Karl took well to the remaining stock of human-grade pellet food that Quackity still had around, though he experimented with some of the weirder sauces in his collection and created rather disgusting concoctions as a result. It seemed that the variety of taste, rather than the quality of it, was what intrigued Karl the most.

God he missed Charlie. He could feel himself slipping back into that day-to-day existence that owning a pet human created. He almost wanted to pull out one of the old enclosures from the garage, except that would entirely defeat the purpose of leaving behind his pet.

He could get some of Charlie’s old clothes out though, couldn’t he? That wouldn’t seem weird, plenty of people had human clothes lying around, even if just for the novelty.

Karl took to the soft worn fleece jacket like it was made for him, even if it was slightly oversized-looking. Tailored for a larger frame, a more active lifestyle.

Quackity tries to come to terms with caring for Karl without immediately coddling him like he had for charlie. he finds it so very hard to solve the problem of owning and caring for someone that he needs to also think of as a sentient being who could be self sufficient without him if he so tried.

one day, further into the future, he logs on to check his old accounts, the ones he had when he had kept charlie, where he talked to other misguided giants who did the same thing. and there’s a message directed to him

its from charlie.

he wants to talk. wants to come back into quackity’s life, despite everything he’s done.

#SOTI content #my fics #vore adjacent #beta fic #mcyt vore #at one point in time i was considering making this one an epistolary fic too #but ah well

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