I had a random thought a minute ago. Safe vore/endosoma can work extremely well as a metaphor for love, and this effectiveness isn't reduced by the love being platonic. Under the cut, I'm going to give a general safe vore concept, then abstract as much as I can for both the pred perspective and prey perspective. Hopefully it'll demonstrate the point coherently.
Literal:
A pred and a prey care very deeply for each other, each wanting to show the other how much they care. They mutually come to the decision that the pred can swallow the prey. In doing this, the pred is accepting the risk that the prey could try to hurt them from the inside in order to have them in their stomach, and the prey is accepting the risk that the pred could try to digest them in order to feel the comfort and safety of the pred's stomach.
Abstract, pred POV:
You have a person that you care for very deeply. You care for them deeply enough that you're willing to show them the most sensitive side of yourself. You want to protect them to the best of your abilities, even though that opens up the possibility that they could use this trust to hurt you. You accept the risk, letting them deep into your life and giving them all the affection you can give them.
Abstract, prey POV:
There's this person who you hope cares for you as deeply as you care for them. You assume that they could hurt you if they wanted to, but trust them to not do so. You care for them so deeply that you accept being vulnerable with them, accepting the risk that they could take advantage of you in order to show that you want to be there for/with them, and to show just how much you appreciate them.
The voice was male, unfamiliar, furious, and crackled with a strange, not quite normal tone. It could simply have been distress or a damaged throat. Hal silently drew out the key he had stolen, and as silently as possible, unlocked the door. This time, he didn't open it though, just replaced the key in his pocket and looked at Lance. “Remember. Only kill the host body if you have no choice.” He could tell the vampire was itching to use some of his newly found energy, and he was not about to get in the way of that. Having said his piece, he moved back from the door to allow Lance to move into place in front of it, and stood clear as the vampire tore the thing open and stepped inside, moving so quickly that Hal could only just perceive the movement.
Inside the room, chained up in a way not entirely dissimilar to Hal, but with his hands covered in some kind of plaster blocks, presumably to immobilise them, was a man. He was tall, skinny, and pale, with blazing red hair and beard that had clearly been well kept until recently. Before him, standing with a large jar in one hand and a pair of long forceps in the other, was the hatman with the tophat. Both figures stared blankly at them, frozen in position. In the jar, suspended in a semi-clear liquid, something golf ball sized and insectoid was moving, and the hatman had clearly been in the process of catching it with the forceps.
“What... the...” began the hatman, but Lance was in no mood for further chitchat. He moved forwards in a flicker of movement, striking with a swift blow against the creature, dislodging its grip on the jar and the forceps and knocking it back.
Hal stepped into the room much more calmly, and moved up towards the chained figure since Lance apparently had a good hand on the hatman for now. “So. What's your story?” he asked, a little casually.
The man, after taking a long moment to stare at Hal in complete puzzlement, cleared his throat. “I am Professor Pascal Ambrose Florian... and I demand to be let down from here.”
Hal raised an eyebrow, “I appreciate the directness of your answer but... demands will get us nowhere. We're breaking out of here too so letting you down is on the agenda but first we need to figure out how you got here, so we know what measures they'll have taken to contain you. What are you... human? You look human...”
“I assure you I am perfectly human,” snapped the man, “I am gifted with some... unusual abilities but I am absolutely human.”
“Mhmm,” Hal circled the man, ignoring Lance clinging onto the back of the red hatman trying to pull the 'hat' part of him free. “And... these prevent you from using those?”
“Yes! Now get me down! Please!”
“How did you get here?”
The man spluttered, “I don't see how that's relevant!”
“Oh trust me it is,” replied Hal.
“If you must know I was captured by those ghastly things whilst exploring a peculiar structure in the middle of nowhere a week ago! I was there for work!”
Hal raised an eyebrow. Why would they hold someone for that long before... whatever they had been doing? It suddenly occurred to him to examine the jar and creature the hatman had dropped, and he bent down over the damp patch, taking the forceps to catch the small creature that was flailing about in the puddle and drop it back into the limited amount of liquid that remained in its container. He turned the jar in his hands, examining the creature. “Isopod?” he murmured to himself slowly, “Flat and round but definitely an isopod...”
“It's a larval stage of these creatures!” snapped Pascal from his dangling position.
Hal frowned at him, then back at the jar. “Was he... going to put it in you? On you?”
“I believe... in my observations... that these creatures aren't entirely dissimilar in habit as Cymothoa exigua... they infect a host and grow to encompass its entire head, rendering it without free will or autonomy. Those ridiculous disguises they wear are to hide it from people!”
Hal grit his teeth. “Tongue eating louse... nasty little buggers... I do see the similarity...” There was a clatter as Lance threw the shouting Hatman into the table of implements that stood to one side of the room. “Well I suppose they were going to know we were here sooner or later but do you think you could be any louder Lance?”
“I don't see you helping!” snapped the vampire.
“I don't see you asking for help!”
“Because I don't want help.”
“Good then,” Hal turned his attention back to the professor. “So they wanted you despite being human, I presume for your 'unusual' abilities.”
“They thought it would be of use to them.”
“So... these look just like regular chains... and your abilities are locked because of the blocks...?”
“Yes... can you please get me down you can clearly see I am not a threat!”
Hal shrugged, considering the man. He did look thin and pale, as though he had been having an extremely unpleasant time of it this past week. Maybe no food and very little water. Perhaps the hatmen had to weaken someone before they could 'infect' them? “I treat everything with a healthy paranoia, it's kept me alive so far.” He looked around, then went to grab the table, tipping the tools off of it and carrying it over to the man, setting it down in front of him and standing up on it to examine the substance coating the man's hands. “Let's see now...” he pulled a blade from his arm and began to carefully, delicately cut into the plaster. “I'm going to do my best to miss your fingers, but feel free to scream at me if I hit flesh,” said Hal as he worked.
“Who the hell are you people? What kind of shambles is this?” asked the professor as he watched Lance finally heave the hat free of the host body.
“ISMI,” Hal replied as he worked. “Know us?”
“I know you well!” the man suddenly seemed relieved and delighted. “I've worked with the ISMI as a freelance for years as a 0.5! Professor of Cryptozoology! One of the few they took on when they formalised after the seahorror incident. They've been helping study my abilities!”
“Oh! Well then! That certainly makes things easier,” Hal felt he had weakened the block enough and gave the blade a sharp twist, cracking the thing open. He carefully pulled the two halves apart, freeing the hand. It didn't look too badly harmed. The skin was red and irritated from the process but appeared intact. “One down,” he said, gently removing both halves of the block.
“Hal? You should take a look at this,” Lance called.
Hal sighed and looked over to see what Lance wanted.
The vampire was holding up his prize, 'base' of hat towards Hal so he could see inside it.
Along the inner edge of the oversized top hat, a row of spiky little brown legs clicked and cracked as they dangled limply from the dead creature.
Hal blinked, dropping down from the table, ignoring the irritated, “Excuse me!” from the professor as he went to examine the specimen.
“Definitely an isopod then...” he muttered, as he examined the thing. There was a hollow inside the hat where the creature would curl itself around the host's head, holding on with legs and an assortment of little hands and claws that he could see at the front end of the beast. He could see an array of these unpleasant little tools laid out where the mouth and nose of the host would be inside the hat, clearly designed that it could still be fed and forced to keep breathing. Hal looked over to see what had become of the host body and sighed.
The man was lying still on the ground, barely breathing, his chest rising and falling only the tiniest amount, his eyes were half lidded and Hal went to him, his face sombre now as he gently helped the still form sit up, the body loose and weak in the oversized pinstriped suit. He was emaciated, unshaven and dirty, it was clear the creatures knew (or cared) nothing for actually caring for the human host bodies. “Hey,” he said gently.
The man murmured a barely verbal response but his face was calm, showing relief in his bloodshot eyes.
“I... don't think we can save you, can we?”
The man gave the tiniest headshake, then his split and bleeding lips twisted into a half smile. “You... already... did...” he breathed, each word taking an entire lungful of breath, and Hal knew that even if the man prayed for his assistance, there was nothing he could do. The damage was too extensive and too severe, and there was no chance his limited healing abilities could retrieve a body so damaged. So Hal just sat quietly with the man as his breathing slowed and his eyes closed up all the way, and eventually he went completely still.
“Can... we go now?” the professor had at least softened his tone slightly due to the sombre moment, and Hal sighed as he stood and returned to free the other hand. Wordlessly he cut away the plaster and then carefully picked the locks on the metal shackles around the man's wrists, letting him drop to the ground.
“May I... pose a question?” Bryok, who had been considerately keeping quiet and out of the way, asked as Hal helped the man up and began to work on his shackled ankles. “I have only ever seen four of these creatures lurking around in the time I have been here. Where did that one come from?” he pointed his feathery little head at the larval creature in the forceps.
“That is an excellent point,” murmured Hal, clicking one of the shackles open and going to work on the last one. “It means they have a source for more of them. Whatever they are.”
“They have a breeder here somewhere. It wouldn't be much of an invasion plan if they didn't,” cut in the professor. “That is, apparently, what they plan to do when they have enough powerful host bodies equipped with their own kind.”
Hal looked at him, “Invasion? Powerful host bodies? What do you know?”
“They like to brag, you see,” replied the man, standing up and brushing off his trousers, “And I allowed them to. They go between worlds as they please, and each new one they conquer gives them more creatures and tools with which they can work. I do not know how much you explored of their buildings but they use their captured victims from past conquests as tools in each new place. They utilise limited knowledge of wherever they go to create traps, which bring in creatures they can take over. Once they have enough of the population they just kind of... overlord the rest.”
“Explains why there were so many creatures in the different funtopia locations...” muttered Hal, “Doesn't explain why they weren't all wearing little hats.”
“The design disguises based on the culture and environment of the host creature. Most of them are not even hosts, but lower life forms from those worlds that are now enslaved by them,” scoffed the professor impatiently. “It's different in each species. For some reason when they arrived here, they decided giant hats was a sensible decision.”
“Not as smart as they think,” muttered Hal. “If they can move between realities so easily, why didn't either of the ones we've killed do that?”
“Well they can't just individually teleport around all willy nilly. This place is their anchor. They can only teleport to here, and use it to return to earth. Once they're here, without using their technology, they cannot simply disappear to another place.”
Hal frowned, “So where and what exactly is this?”
“This is a facility built when they first came here, to use as a stepping stone to our reality. It is, I believe, in an offshoot of our own world's reality. A fold in the cloth of reality if you will.”
“So... if we destroy it... would they lose our world?”
“In theory there's nothing stopping them finding it again but in infinite realities there's no guarantee they will.” The man was searching around the room now, feeling at the tools and items discarded from the table. “The big problem with that is that if we destroy this there's nowhere for us to go. We can't get home. We'd be dead.”
“Yeah I have a way of getting us home if we can find my jacket,” replied Hal. “But so far we have no idea where they've taken that so. Additional question... you said 'powerful host bodies...' what did you mean?”
“Normal people end up like that-” Pascal pointed at the emaciated ex-host now laying dead on the ground. “The process of maintaining the parasite kills them dead. In a matter of a week or two. It's too strenuous for a human. So they turned their attention on getting better specimens of human. Stronger or more capable. To strengthen their foothold.”
“Oh... oh that explains why everything suddenly started baiting us more specifically...” Hal looked at Lance. “They realised we were what they were after. Stronger humans.”
“Yes yes. They need people tough enough to hold them a host body for longer. But we should go, there are more of them.” The professor urged. “Would someone please help me find my glasses? I am quite blind without them. I'm sure they left them in here somewhere when they chained me up.”
Hal blinked, “Oh, sorry,” he began to look around, eventually finding a pair of black framed, mostly rounded spectacles, and returning them to the man. “I assume you have the strength to keep going for now?” he asked the man.
“I do.”
“Good. Then let's get out of here. Keep an ear and an eye out for any more survivors, our stuff, or the two remaining hatmen... or heck, some C4 would be nice.”
The increasingly unusual little group made their way further down the corridor with its unchanging tile floor and concrete walls. The rooms they passed from that point were empty of all life, and Hal was glad there were not more victims strung up, the more of them there were, the less stealthy they were, but fortunately Bryok was no additional trouble, still sitting quietly on Hal's shoulder, huddled in place, tiny claws gripping the skin to hold on. Deacon and Kenver were no trouble either, settled quiet and still against his insides, knowing not to interfere with his focus by moving around unless they had to.
Hal slowed as they reached the end of the corridor, the space opening out into a much larger, square hall. On the opposite side was a similar corridor to theirs, and to the left, an array of unrecogniseable, chitinous looking equipment and technology. On the right, a large metal double door, through which a lot of very unpleasant wet sounds were coming.
Hal grimaced, “I do not want to know what is making that noise but I have a bad feeling we're going to find out.”
“This is their technology for going between places or returning to earth,” Pascal gestured at the equipment. “But... to operate it... I have no idea what we would need to do.”
“I prefer our chances if I find my contingency plan,” Hal said, “If we fuck about with that lot, we could end up in a reality already dominated by these things. Or somewhere worse.”
“We are all in agreement on that then,” Lance confirmed. “So where now. Should we search the corridor opposite or... through there?” he gestured at the double door.
Hal turned to look at the door, a little shiver running through him, making the patterns on his skin flicker for a moment. He knew somewhere in his guts that through there was something very bad. Unfortunately, the part of him that wasn't interested in being a god of the hunt knew it was also the same something that was threatening their world. “We need to take care of that,”
Lance stepped a little closer, his eyes glittering purple again. “Another fight you say?”
Hal gave him a look. “You're not supposed to like them.”
“I could fight electricity itself right now bloodbag,” growled the vampire, his voice already several octaves lower than normal at the mere suggestion. “You will never get me at a better time to fight whatever is through there.”
Hal nodded, looking at Pascal and Bryok. “Don't get involved unless you can help without risking yourselves,” he said gently. “You are not obligated to get into this with us.”
Both nodded, and Hal moved forwards. This door had no lock, presumably because they either thought nobody could get this far, or if they did, they would not be stupid enough to walk right into this particular danger.
There was a faintly sickly smell as Hal approached the door, and raised a foot towards it. “Dramatic entrance?” he asked, looking at Lance.
The vampire grinned and mirrored his position. “The only acceptable kind.”
The two men kicked the doors hard, bursting them open, and revealing what Hal had both hoped, and hoped not, to find. In an even larger space, rounded and organic, with walls made of some tan coloured chitinous material, an immense shape occupied the centre of a basin like dip in the bottom of the space, surrounded by hundreds of grapefruit sized eggs.
With a furious high pitched screeching, and a clacking of large, insectoid legs, the fifty foot broodmother turned to face them, intelligent, crystalline eyes fixing on the two men as foul smelling slime dripped from her entire carapace. She definitely, definitely, did not look like her male counterparts.
<< First || Previous || Masterlist || Next >> (Next chapter available on my Kofi/Patreon! Free release date for this chapter will be around Juy 9th! I offer both a single purchase per chapter option, as well as a monthly subscription which will offer full access to the chapters a fortnight early as well as additional content for the ISMI universe! I appreciate all and any support I can get <3)
Apologies this is a little late, I have guests this week so I haven't been able to squeeze in as much editing as usual.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Read it here on Tumblr below the cut:
Unorthodox Care Plan
[CW: Medic being Medic, Pain, Shrinking, G/t, Medical Setting, Fear, Safe Soft Vore, Medic being insane and oblivious, Medic feeling all Parental, Unwilling Prey, Caring Pred, Healing Vore, Fulltour joke/threat, scary old men PDA because Heavymedic, tiny Scout, Accented/Phonetic Dialogue]
Summary: Scout forgoes sunscreen for a shadeless summertime mission and comes back horrendously sunburnt. Since he’s being a whiny little brat about Medic trying to apply topical aloe gel before he blisters, the medic uses his usual unnerving genius to find a way to make sure Scout gets the treatment he needs—he just needs to borrow a little gadget from their Engineer first!
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The R.E.D. compound in New Mexico had been scorching in the badlands sun since the earliest hour of the morning—hitting 80 degrees Fahrenheit before ten o’ clock and promising to only continue the cloudless tyranny for the rest of the week. Regardless of these conditions, the Administrator had delivered new orders, and Mother Nature took a backseat to that woman every time.
Their Scout, Sniper, and Demo man had been tasked with infiltrating and rigging up their B.L.U. rival’s shipping depot on the opposite side of the desert to blow, with their Heavy Weapon’s expert waiting in the wings for back-up and to cover an escape should angry adversaries survive the blast of over ten kilograms of nitroglycerin. Dr. Ludwig—the mercenaries’ field medic and one of their resident Mad Doctors—sighed hard upon glancing back at his copy of the orders and their spy’s sneakily-obtained photographs of the gravelly open space enclosed with razor-wire and scattered with armed guards and shipping crates. He hated thinking about his comrades being out in that shadeless boiling hell, especially not their Heavy. Though he was at least assured that Misha was the one who was going to protect his skin, and to bring actual hydrating fluids with him. On the outside he looked simply grumpy and intimidating as he bent over his desk next door to his operating theater, absent-mindedly stroking the head of the nearest fluffed-up and happy dove with one finger; on the inside, he was wound up tight with worry—everything either clenched frozen or thumping/huffing at a much too-elevated rate. Herr Mundy was a veritable piss factory, and poor Tavish simply couldn’t function through a day’s mission without a flask of something 15% alcohol by volume at least. Those poor men were going to be husks by the time they got to him and the still-mild interior of the basement infirmary, but at least those two covered up with hats and sleeves. They’d be dehydrated but not charred. Aheh. Not from the sun, at least.
And this left the Scout. The medic grumbled and rolled his eyes at the thought. That poor, Bonk-addicted junge hopefully remembered his ball cap. If not… oof. The doctor did not relish how the kid might look when he returned. Of course, Misha would definitely have a tube of sunscreen and would be the one merc to think to share it, even in the heat of a killing spree upon their pursuers, especially if he noticed Jeremy starting to turn a pinker hue…
It wasn’t long before he heard the commotion of their transport van pulling back into the garage nearby—the muffled holler of Dell greeting someone followed by Tavish drunkenly cackling and their Scout very loudly boasting of their success (and of it being all down to him—of course). Dr. Ludwig sucked in a sharp inhale and stood, preparing himself to engage his violent and reckless friends with some cheery reminders to DRINK SOME WATER, DUMKOPF!
He could be quite convincing when needed, even when flashing a smile. Hm. Especially when flashing a smile, now he thought of it…
No matter! He may have patients in a moment, and that was no time to entertain wandering thoughts! He tidied up the infirmary intake area of miscellaneous paperwork, test tubes, and unique… specimens… He turned when he heard the doors swing open behind him.
“Oho! Misha—” the medic could not resist the grin blooming over his face, even while noticing the slight slump in the Russian goliath’s posture and the quite sour slant that his brows had taken on, “—you are back very early, mein Schatz. How did zhe mission go?”
“Da, is done.” Alright, the huge man was definitely distracted by something. He was being downright sheepish; Ludwig suppressed a chuckle—he was quite adorable like this!
“Do you need anyzing? You know, I can remove any shrapnel you may have picked up, no matter how small—”
“Nyet. Not me. Wanted to warn Doktor,” Misha’s voice lowered, his massive hands settling firmly on the medic’s shoulders to jolt him out of his giddy mood and back into focus, “Is Scout.”
“Scout?” The doctor’s eyebrows twisted in vexation, and he adjusted his wireframes a bit higher on his nose bump, “Vhat is the matter vith him now?”
“Uhhhhhh…. You will see. Told him to come here.” The heavy’s steely eyes had narrowed in a wince, though still flooded with that gruff yet parental concern that he produced in abundance. Ludwig often wondered how he did it—make the care he felt for teammates, for family, and for his Doktor so palpable, so visible. The medic cared just as deeply, but for some reason the others had a harder time believing it.
Well, he did have to admit Misha just had such a lovable face. That alone could be it. With his smile becoming less toothy and more tame, Ludwig relaxed somewhat before reaching up and cupping the side of the larger man’s jaw with affection.
“Danke for the warning, liebe,” Misha allowed himself to be guided into tilting his face down, within reach of the soft peck his Doktor planted on his rough, stubble-studded cheek. “Ah well. I’d better take care of zhe trouble our hase has gotten himself into, heheh.”
“Doktor will be nice this time, da?” Misha raised a brow, teasingly.
“Alright, alright.” Ludwig chuckled as they parted, “I vill give Herr Scout my patience. Vhat is left of it, ehahah!”
“Doktor…”
“Don’t give me zhat look, you know I love zhe little Dumkopf. I’ll make sure he is well.” The medic smirked, “Even if he does whine about it.”
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Their Heavy left to attend to his still-smoking minigun, and the medic heard Scout approaching down the hall soon after. Whistling. Hm, he didn’t sound like he was injured. Jeremy practically kicked open the infirmary doors and sauntered in with his customary greeting:
“Hey, doc!” Didn’t sound sick either or even disgruntled—sounded very pleased with himself, in fact. Dr. Ludwig peered over his shoulder from where he was washing his hands and had to pull a double-take. His pleasant-if-eerie expression dropped as fast as his eyes bulged. “Yeah, Heavy said I should check in with ya—dunno why. I’m feelin’ pretty great!”
The doctor’s expression now morphed to an exasperated scowl, and still stricken with shock at what their lanky young runner looked like he stormed over to immediately start accessing.
“Mein Gott, hase!! Vhat did you do to yourself??” The shrill pitch of his scold did a great deal to snap the Scout out of his smug daze, and the sensation that lit up every nerve fiber in his scrappy body the moment the medic’s first two fingers lightly tugged on one of his sleeves and brushed some bare skin snapped him the rest of the way. The both of them jolted in surprise at the blood-curdling squeal the young man emitted. The pain clearly only got triggered further as the Scout made to clutch at the searing area, hissing and jolting away as if burned.
Because, of course, he was burned. The poor boy was practically well-done; from head to ankles, every exposed piece of skin had been scorched to a red as bright as the tomatoes on Heavy’s sandwiches. And what had been plain to the medic from that split-second graze was this was just now being noticed by the sun’s victim.
“Oh, Scout—” Medic’s features wrinkled sharply, holding his hands clear of any lobster-tinted parts of his patient, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to aggravate—”
“OW—what tha’ hell, doc?” Scout squeaked out between sharp little intakes of breath when the rough fabric of his shirt and his short’s legs shifted to tickle his sunburn’s edges like Satan’s fire poker. He’d crunched inwards to a human crescent, his stance frozen, unnatural, and automatic. And, Dr. Ludwig could tell—very counter-productive. It only caused more fabric to scrape over different spots on the poor kid’s extra-crispy arms and legs. Even the pitiful wincing of his was causing his youthful dimples to attack the singed cheeks and burnt lips. Even his eyelids were taking on a pink coloration, armes Ding..!
“Jeremy—agh! Come now, hold still ein moment, let me see—” Not good. Very not good, but at least the boy stopped and listened so he could get to relieving this epidermal disaster, “Scout.”
“What?” It was clear from that pout he was trying to sound tough, trying to match the older man’s displeased frown.
“Did you remember to apply your sun protection before heading out?”
“Well… no.” Scout shuddered. “Ya know I hate that stuff. It makes me all greasy… and it takes so long ta put on—”
“And it prevents you from coming back looking like a beetroot!” The medic growled before letting out a heavy sigh, “Sheisse… this is not going to be pretty in a short time. You need to let me treat it right now or most of it here and here are going to blister…”
“Bl-blister?” Scout’s red face switched right away to an expression of revulsion and terror, “Even… on my face?”
“Especially your face, from vhat I’m seeing,” the medic had leaned in closer, cringing hard at the harsh dryness that was setting in on the high points of the boy’s facial topography. “I wouldn’t worry about your vanity, though. It’s when zhose blisters start breaking open, leaking pus and fluid, and zhe peeling—”
“Euuuuyyuck—c’mon, that’s enough!” Scout half-gagged, “Just do what you hafta do to fix me, please!”
“Ja,” Dr. Ludwig beckoned the Scout to follow him to an examination cot close by before turning on his heel to pick through the mixture of very mad science and very mundane substances in the supply box on the counter. The Scout swallowed hard as the medic came up with a mystery implement that looked a little too much like a cheese grater before he grunted and tossed it aside for the much more harmless jar of clear gel that had been stuffed behind it.
“Alright, Herr Scout.” Ludwig aimed his most genuine grin at the boy to reassure him. “I’d like you to remove your shirt and pants, bitte.”
“What?”
“Take them off, junge. They’re going to be in the way of applying zhis aloe gel—”
“Awww, man—you’re gonna rub different goo on me?!”
“It’s gel. But yes! It’s going to cool zhose burns and help moisturize and repair what’s possible—urf! Scout! You almost knocked my glasses off, schweinhund!”
“Eugh, eww! Ack—and it’s freakin’ cold! OW! And it still hurts! Nononono—quit touchin’ me with it!”
“Dumkopf, I am trying to help you!”
The fact that the Scout was the youngest of the mercenary troop was painfully obvious as negotiations (and in retaliation, bedside manner) deteriorated; Jeremy had tensed to hop up and make a dash for the exit, forcing Dr. Ludwig to resort of “hands-on” measures for when a patient was not helping him help them. The medic was able to pin their team’s jackrabbit with an arm looped around his torso, catching the boy’s arms tight against his ribs to stop him prying the doctor off or keeping the free hand attempting to apply gel away. But as skinny as he was, pain from the mostly unsoothed burns gave a burst of adrenaline strength—and combined with his natural determination made Scout a very difficult catch.
Ludwig hissed with effort just to keep the boy contained. Even if he managed to get the scratchy tank-top off and significant surface area of the burns coated, this was not going to work. Every wriggle was just creating more friction—more damage and inflammation—just as fast as the topical aloe was reducing it.
“ACK—Scout! Did you just bite me?” The medic yanked his hand back, shaking it to dispel the sensation of human teeth indenting hard against his knuckles.
“And I’ll do it again, ya bastard—rk!”
The Scout had to stop for breath, winded by the medic finally losing the kid gloves and slamming him down onto the cot. The medic also took a breather, using his much greater weight to pin the youngster down and discourage more escape attempts.
“Owww…”
“Huhh… sheisse…” The doctor shot a half-hearted glare down at the poor contrary dumbass trying to squirm free and razing his dermis with fiery nails of agony in the process. It was hard to stay that pissed off at the kid—especially when he was in such a state. “Okay… hase… I zhink… we should try something else.”
“Please,” Jeremy whimpered, “An’ get offa me. I’m freakin’ dyin’ here..!”
“Vhen I get off you,” the medic’s voice was low, strained, and very done with the scout’s bullshit, “You are going to stay right here, ja?”
“Okay, okay! I swear.”
“Gut, kinder. You will stay here,” he shifted, preparing to relinquish his hold and stand in one fluid movement, “And I will figure out a different method to treat you… Since you are being such a baby,” he sniffed.
“Mnot bein’ a baby…” the boy grumbled, narrowing his eyes and huffing but thankfully staying limp and still on the cot. Getting up so soon would just rasp at his sunburns again.
“Maybe not—” Dr. Ludwig relented, eyes still darting about for signs of squirrely movement from his patient, “You are still being difficult. Mein hase…” the irritation in his face softened, “You know I’m only trying to heal you, ja? The more you fight me, the more pain you’ll be in. And as bad as zhat it for you, it’s also unpleasant for me.”
“I know…” Jeremy pouted again, gingerly raising his arms, experimenting with getting his shirt off as comfortably as possible and inhaling sharply as even that failed to be very doable. “Ugh… It’s just… I can’t stand that stuff there. I just like… turn inside out if I touch it. It’s so sticky and gross. My own hands hurt just thinkin’ about tryin’ to do it myself.”
“Hmm…” The medic’s eyes glistened in thought like the lenses of his specs. “So topical aloe upsets your tactile issues?” Eyes narrowed, “And I assume so does the sunscreen?”
“Yeah, like… any skin goo.” Jeremy shot the medic a pleading look, “Isn’t there a pill version of th’ stuff? Or like… does it still work if ya drink it?”
“An… ingestible version of aloe vera? Vell, yes,” Dr. Ludwig blinked. “It’s quite healthy, actually—well, wizzout the preservatives and the latex in the topical form. The pure form is much more like watery sap zhan gel.”
“Couldn’t I have that, then?”
“Ja…” Jeremy had missed those enigmatic signs of seriously bizarre ideas turning the gears in the mad doctor’s head out of hope for avoiding any and all dreaded cold goo. “Yes… yes, I zhink you can have zhat. Hmm..! I believe I have some in my other supplies…
“Aheh, and I will have to borrow a piece of equipment from Dell for zhis.”
Mention of the other mad scientist should have set off the alarm bells. But, stinging all over and full of hope for relief, it did not.
Not yet!
--------------------------------
Jeremy waited in anxious, sore silence for a few minutes for the medic to return from rummaging in the larger storage and ducking over to the Engineer’s workshop to borrow a something. And, at first, the Scout assumed this “something” was the odd little juicer-like device he had balanced inside a largish beaker next to several chunks of fresh aloe leaves he had produced, and not the small but still conspicuous gun-like object poking out from his white coat’s breast pocket.
“Here ve are! I just have to liberate the juices from the latex-y bits and it vill be ready…” Ludwig set his items up and began skillfully feeding the aloe into the juicer, squeezing out the clear and far less gloopy insides from the green, spiny skin and its underlying yellowish latex layer. Jeremy watched it collect in the beaker—somewhat disappointed when all those hunks of the healing plant only filled it up about an inch deep.
“Hey, uh… doc,” Scout winced as he finally managed to disentangle his aching shoulders and arms from the fabric menace he’d been wearing. “’S that gonna be enough of the stuff? I got burnt kinda… all over, uh…”
“Hm? Oh ja,” the medic tilted his head, swishing the fluid a bit contemplatively, “I could alvays dig out some more, but, eheh, we also don’t vant it to be too much.”
“Oh… I guess, yeah.” Scout hadn’t the attention at the moment to be puzzled by that concern. Maybe it was a dosing thing. But he’d said it was safe to eat… or, uh, drink more like. As safe as putting on skin. He didn’t know—he assumed it was important and heck, he wasn’t the doctor here.
“Alright—down ze hatch—”
Jeremy’s jaw dropped as he watched the medic give the aloe juice a final swish before tipping the beaker back and slurping the entire contents of his treatment. He had a second to blink and try to speak, almost able to form a surly “What gives?!” before the medic set the beaker aside and his hand moved up to draw the gizmo straight from a sci-fi superhero comic from his pocket before stepping closer to level it at the young patient at point-blank range.
“Very curious taste…” The doctor was oblivious to the Scout being speechless with fright at suddenly being at “gun”-point; he gave a mostly neutral little hum, licking a bit of residue from his upper lip. “A little citrusy… veird aftertaste, though. Don’t zhink it’s going on my list of favorites. Now…” Scout watched Dr. Ludwig’s trigger finger begin to tighten in slow motion, “…your turn—hold veeeeery still.”
Jeremy had expected a gunshot, but he was blasted instead with a brilliant flash and dull electrical crackle not unlike the noise of one of Dell’s work-in-progress teleporters. Something had hit him since he felt like he was falling back. Wait, no? He was still sitting upright. Something was fucky with his depth perception—the medic seemed to be getting farther and farther away. There was a queasy lurch as he suddenly sensed his own body as oddly light, the cot’s padding beneath him firmer as if no longer depressed by his sitting on it.
From disturbingly high above him, Dr. Ludwig leaned closer—watching with a look of powerful intrigue. Scout breathed faster and tried to push himself to his feet and off the cot. He wobbled upright, but—well, that also wasn’t right, he was still so far below the medic. And he wasn’t standing on tile, but balancing on a spongier, softer footing. The… the cot?
How did he get up on top of the cot like this?
“Zhis size should do,” the medic’s voice murmuring from directly overhead made him jump, and he craned his neck up to see Dr. Ludwig looming massively over him, the device set aside and a gargantuan hand reaching up to adjust his glasses. “Vell, hase, how do you feel after that? No sharp pains, no headache..?”
“N-no, b—wh—” At a loss, the Scout panned around and his stunned synapses finally cobbled together what had just happened: The cot stretching like a vinyl-coated rooftop, his own crumpled shirt laying like a collapsed circus tent next to him, the older man towering as if over a hundred feet tall… “Did you shrink me?”
“Ahah—zhis alternate treatment really wouldn’t work if I didn’t, ey?” the medic chuckled, his voice feeling ten times more booming and resonant to the Scout’s new tininess. The giant medic’s gaze shifted down to the youngster’s similarly-shrunken running sneakers, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Could you remove your shoes, bitte?”
“Wha—why?” A tingle of dread began to creep up the boy’s spine, and his feet started to automatically sidle him back and away from the doctor.
“Junge, even the cleanest-looking shoes have… ugh! Zhe point is I know what is growing on the bottoms of shoes, and I want this to be as hygienic as it can be.” The colossus shuddered before letting a friendly countenance return, “Come on… If you are not being a baby, then I shouldn’t have to do it for you!”
“H-hey—get your hands away! I mean it!” The scout scurried back another few steps—now just a few inches—as Dr. Ludwig slowly reached his way, index finger and thumb pinching towards him playfully, “What’re you gonna do, doc?!”
“Immerse you in zhe aloe treatment,” he chirped in reply. Scout blinked. Twice.
“Uhhh… but you drank it.”
“Ja.” Medic reached with his off hand, sneaking it around the Scout’s side while he was still mentally grappling with what this implied. “Now come here, junge, and let me help you.”
“Rrk! W-waitwaitwait—” Jeremy protested the moment the two fingers and thumb clasped around his relatively unburnt torso, the one place he could be grabbed that wouldn’t scourge the poor kid with more needles of pain. Despite how gently the doc was applying force as his feet left the cot’s surface, Jeremy could not get any purchase to worm out to freedom, no matter how he pulled or pried. “Please, doc, wait..!”
Detecting the whimper in the tiny patient’s voice, Dr. Ludwig’s smile fell a fraction and he hesitated with a sigh. “Calm down, mein Freund, zhis is not going to harm you—”
“Couldn’t you just…” Scout’s gaze frantically shot around for any other option, landing on the empty beaker (which was now as large as one of the rooftop watertanks on base to him), “—stick me in that? With the burn stuff?”
“Hm, nein, with how much I’d need to fill it to immerse all your burns, there’s a real risk you could drown…” The medic frowned and lightly shook his head, “Zhis way will take far less aloe, and I can make sure you have some air to breathe. At your current mass, your metabolism shouldn’t need much!”
Medic’s other hand crept forward, pinching onto one of Scout’s doll-sized running shoes. It took Jeremy by surprise enough that his reflexive kick and a light tug caused it to slip off.
“Ah…” Medic examined the miniscule sneaker with a raised brow, “Oh… I vill need to talk to Dell about how to fix zhis later.”
And no matter how much Scout’s renewed panic let him fight, the inexorable strength of the behemoth doctor could not be denied and he managed to catch and tease off the other sanitary hazard. Setting both shoes aside by the preposterously mis-matched size shirt, it was clear to Scout that he was trying the medic’s patience again. But it seemed worth it, especially now, not to be…
Aw, crap—medic was lifting him up to his face. Jeremy yelped and shot out one leg like a piston, somehow landing a hit square on the tip of Ludwig’s unique and prominent nose. He knew he’s fucked up as the giant grunted, recoiled—and then returned to fixing his menacing attention back on his miniature comrade. Scout gulped, ineffectually with how dry his mouth had gone and ducked his head as if to hide from that sinister and very irate glare.
And—ohhhhh… crap. There was the eye twitch. And worse, with eyes still simmering with madness, Dr. Ludwig’s lips tugged apart slowly, baring his pearlescent teeth in a humorless grin.
“Scout,” His huge voice wavered with retrained rage, “You are being very bite-able right now.”
“D-doc, h-hey, I didn’t mean it—” From this close to the medic’s jaws, the thought was terrifying. Scout’s legs now hung weakly, unable to muster the nerves since they’d been jello-ified by fear, as he finally comprehended just how small he was now—how easy it would be for the doc to actually fit him in his mouth. It wouldn’t matter how much he struggled—if the medic could get him in his mouth, he could definitely get him down his throat, “Please—please—just don’t do this. I-I don’t wanna be eaten!”
By just a few notches, the fiery temper cooled in the medic’s expression. Now he just looked exhausted with the struggling, his crowsfeet creasing more obviously as he let out a huff of breath (that unintentionally ruffled through the Scout’s short, sandy-brown hair).
“See, zhis is exacty why I’m doing it like zhis” The doctor’s soft laugh jostled the limp little patient, “Zhis way, you von’t be able to bolt mid-treatment as you are consistently guilty of doing!”
“D-doc, I-I’ll hold still, okay? Even if you use that nasty cold goo, just please don’t—”
“No more arguments,” and with that, the giant’s mouth opened up into a cavern of slick, pink flesh and immaculate teeth. And, as Scout’s wide eyes pierced through the darkness, the softly pulsing, muscular pit of a waiting gullet. Jeremy shrieked and desperately clung to the massive fingers he’d been trying to escape until now as he was lowered inside. His sunburnt legs tucked up on touching the firm but weirdly velvety texture of a tongue as long as he was tall. But of course, there was no getting out. His wrapped hands were dislodged from their last hope of pulling himself back up with just a quick flick of the medic’s hand.
“Doc!” His small voice echoed around the surrounding oral cavity, and he couldn’t stop himself from slipping and sliding against the living surfaces as soon as he tried to grip on. His space was suddenly and drastically limited at Ludwig closed his jaws back together—loosely—just in case the poor hase was still trying to hold onto some of his teeth. It wouldn’t do at all to end up breaking a bunch of fingers just to soothe a bad sunburn.
He did hope his body temperature wasn’t irritating the boy’s damaged skin; he could taste largely salt and grit, and as he flexed his tongue upwards to wrangle the squirming form he noted the sunburned areas were radiating some heat even into the already hot interior of his mouth. Best not to draw this out, then.
Well, if the little patient would cooperate a bit more. His first attempt to swallow was met with Jeremy throwing his hands out wide, as his legs and most of his torso was squeezed and sucked down into the start of the giant’s throat—palms planting squarely against spots dangerously close to the doctor’s mild gag reflex triggers. Ludwig resisted the urged to choke and cough—but the Scout still gained about an inch of ground and stretched out to grasp weakly around the doctor’s tongue.
Good—clear of his back molars. The doctor pressed more insistently with his tongue, which betrayed the boy’s grip as it pushed and shifted, and the medic felt (and heard) the sharp little noise of panic, and the writhing figure sinking back satisfyingly past his glottis. He exhaled in relief—the hard part was over—and he squinted as he gulped harder against this living and relatively large lump in his throat.
Scout’s discomfort wasn’t so much physical—aside from the spike of claustrophobia that being softly constricted in waves by squishy, unyielding esophagus brought on. He just about had room to hyperventilate, especially as he felt briefly pressed tighter by a bassy, regular pulse. Past the heart—and halfway down. This was freaking unbelievable. One of his own team had just swallowed him whole—sure he knew the doc was crazy, but he didn’t think he’d go this crazy. Especially not towards someone he claimed to care about. Scout wasn’t always happy about having to see his doc, but he knew it was his job and more so it was his calling—and every time the medic had finished a particularly dire check-up on the boy wearing a tired smirk, handing his a sucker candy like he was his beloved but deeply frustrating brat son, finally going back to using that little nickname, “hase”, instead of gritting out his full legal name. He had to admit he always believed Dr. Ludwig did care.
A few seconds of peristalsis later and Jeremy felt his feet, then legs suddenly have room to wiggle apart. The tight upper entrance to the doctor’s stomach cinched around Scout’s chest for a moment, then he heard the echoing grunt and third hard swallow from the giant that finally deposited the youngster full inside the pouch-like space. Not much space, but enough he naturally slid into a sitting posture with half-bent knees, sloshing into the pool of mostly medicinal-smelling clear liquid. Immediately he tried to grapple with the soft, heavily-wrinkled walls and push himself back up with feet planted in the deepest part of the medic’s gut. The sphincter he’d been forced through was now hopelessly sealed shut—and the stomach’s walls were occasionally mobile—drenched in the same stuff that was splashing around his knees. He slipped backwards unceremoniously, cushioned by the interior of the doctor’s belly but still resulting in him scrabbling back upright soaked in the mix of aloe vera and swallowed saliva. Panting for breath and trying to pull himself together, he finally found a way to sit still.
It was dark in here. And… surprisingly full of ambient noise. The regular throb of the medic’s heartbeat formed the low background, with a dull whoosh of lungs expanding or deflating during any particularly deep breaths. And from even lower than were Scout sat, at random, a guttural rumble or a quick squelch and gurgle as the doctor’s portion of their shared team breakfast continued its fourteen-hour journey. His own guts clenched as the horrified thought shot into his head that he was simply waiting in line to be next. And unlike waffles or hashbrowns, he would have to sit, conscious, trapped, for the giant’s insides to get around to it already.
There was no further point in being afraid anymore; no, now his predicament was suddenly making him very angry.
“Hmm..!” Dr. Ludwig meanwhile had perked up at the new series of strange stimuli; he had been curious whether or not he’d be able to feel the shrunken patient’s presence, and now his questions were overwhelmingly answered! Wunderbar—this meant they had another reliable line of communications in case either of them had difficulty hearing the other. One hand tucked slowly into the front of his white coat, probing with a few fingers against where the stomach was jigsawed in place inside the abdomen, just about in the middle, above the pancreas, below the extremities of the lungs and diaphragm…
“Well… let’s see…” With a thoughtful look on his face, the medic decided upon finding a place to settle until Scout’s treatment was sufficiently enough done to cough him back up. His tread was light on the way to his desk in the next partitioned area, easing down into the creaky chair, resisting the instinct to giggle at the very blatant wriggling and pressure pushing out from every direction of his core, “Jeremy? Can you hear me from in zhere?”
“Yeah I can f*&#in’ hear ya, ya sick sonofab%!#h! You friggin’ $*#&^ @!*#% I bet ya %&^@ with your ?%#*, ya freakin’ jerk!”
“Huoh—junge—” Ludwig blinked. The younger man rarely used this kind of language (his mother distinctly disapproved), and the shocking tirade was paired with a sharp jolt to his innards that was strong enough to cause a twinge, “Zhat was uncalled-for. Please just calm down and let zhe aloe vera soak in—in half an hour you will feel much better, I assure you—uuf!”
Hm. Well, that was a problem with this strategy—vulnerability. The Scout’s legs were still proportionally strong at his size, and he definitely had a near-infinite source of weak spots surrounding him to choose from.
“Herr Scout,” he coughed, then added just a tint of threatening playfulness, “If you kick me one more time, vhen it is time to let you out you will be taking zhe natural exit.” The doctor grimaced and chuckled, “And you do not vant that.”
The embarrassing threat seemed to do the trick; Jeremy’s small form went rigidly still and didn’t dare to so much as stretch out a leg, in case it was interpreted as another attempt at booting the medic’s insides. For a moment, the unruly patient said nothing; Ludwig exhaled with relief. No need to sacrifice an ulcerless stomach lining for the hase to get his healthy hide back.
“W-wait, doc…” Jeremy’s voice picked up again—a confused peep, “You’re gonna let me out?”
“Ach, dummes Ding—of course! I’m not letting you stay in zhere longer zhan needed,” he snorted, “Not wizzout paying rent, at least.
“Vhat—did you think—” A flash of concern, mixed with hurt, shifted across his face and drained the usual humor from it, “Did you think I vas meaning to just eat you?”
“…I mean, uhh…” The Scout ducked down sheepishly, causing a soft squish and a swirl of movement in the pool of fluid.
“Hase, I vould never willingly harm you!” The massive heart thumping over Scout’s head sped slightly before the resonant, wounded-sounding assurances reached him, “Do you not trust me, after years of taking care of you? I operated on your heart, Jeremy. You offered to be first in line right after Misha!
“Vhen you were knocked from zhat water tower and concussed, vhy did you keep stumbling around back to me for the night?
“Anyone else could have kept an eye on you, but you just vouldn’t hear it. You begged me to. Even… ach, no—especially with your head scrambled like zhat you must have trusted me, ja?”
“Doc, I, ah—” The Scout recoiled from the sudden soft tightening of the stomach walls around his shoulders, “—this is kinda different, y’know?”
“Yyyes… It is unorthodox,” the medic admitted, “But still for your own good. And much less dangerous zhan a full heart transplant!”
“It was kinda hard to tell this time…” Now he was mumbling, almost guiltily, despite how terribly reasonable his terror was. Above him, he felt the deep rush of the medic’s lungs stop, mid-inhale, holding for a second or so.
“…Oh.”
“Y-yeah…” Scout managed a weak laugh, “Ya almost scared th’ crap outta me.”
“Oh please don’t—not here.”
The sudden frantic edge to the giant’s voice broke through the veil of disbelief and doom about the scenario for the younger man, and he broke into a barely-controlled snicker. Caught off guard, the Scout continued into a strained laughter that finally trailed off.
“But seriously—I ain’t gonna die, right?”
“Nein, Scout. I vould not allow it!”
“…You’re sure?” Jeremy tried to peer around the near-total blackness inside his teammate’s body, dubious as another low gurgle sounded from deeper below, “I know I ain’t a doctor, but I got an idea of what happens when ya swallow things…”
“Ah—” The medic brightened slightly, folding his hands over his belly as he leaned back a notch. He was still rather jarred by the miscommunication, but he did love infodumping about anatomical facts, and doing so would hopefully relax them both, “—Do you zhink I am full of battery acid, mein freund?”
“I’d believe it th’ way you go through the burgers,” Scout rolled his eyes.
“Hohoho!” The doctor shook his head, “Vell, I assure you zat unlike a burger, alive and unchewed as you are, human gastric acid does not exist in a concentration that could do damage after even a couple hours of exposure. Especially not since I have diluted mine a great deal with aloe juice.”
“And you are only going to be inside zhere until the aloe is absorbed mostly. Maybe only… twenty minutes?” He furrowed his brows in calculation, “Up to forty, at zhe most. Well within the time frame of safe exposure.
“Speaking of… it has been about five minutes now. How does your sunburn feel?”
Jeremy paused, his mouth open to reply, but instead his eyes widened a bit as he processed the question. Lifting his arms as much as the limited space allowed, he couldn’t help but notice how his beet-red elbows were forced to press past the wet topography of rugae. And now, the contact barely stung; to this from the slightest graze with a finger flaring up a white-hot map in his senses exactly where the charred nerves were being set off. In fact, he hadn’t been bothered by the pain, or the heat, or the nasty intensity of aridness that had shrunken his reddened exterior around muscles and joints—like he was wearing something several sizes too small. Not since being dunked in the medic’s bizarrely-refreshing stomach contents.
“Actually…” Scout cautiously readied to run a finger over the brick-hued stretch of his lower arm, bracing for agony. Oof—well, it was still pretty sore under pressure like this, “It’s kinda… not so intense now.” And this had only been five minutes. The boy’s slim shoulders slowly unhitched from their “fighting for his life” tenseness. “Ain’t all dried-out an’ crispy-feelin’ now, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, zat’s a good sign!” Dr. Ludwig chirped then half-stifled a small belch before stopping to re-swallow a little pocket of fresh air, “Es tut mir leid, hmf. Ah, and make sure to duck your head in it every so often so it contacts your facial burns. I’m still a bit vorried about those blistering up—nasty place for an infection…”
“Oooookay, got it doc. Just… we don’t need to go into detail with th’ infection stuff, eh…” Scout winced before doing as asked. Despite being a balmy, bathwater-like temperature the swilling aloe felt vaguely cooling at first on his scorched cheeks and nose as he plunged down into a more horizontal position, letting his upper body stay under a few seconds before popping back up. He wiped with the back of his thumbs just enough that the stuff wouldn’t get in his eyes. What discomfort this caused was… dull. Almost nothin’. Not even a big deal, next to what else he’d been through.
“Sorry I kinda jumped to th’ wrong conclusion there…” Scout sighed, leaning back against the cushioning wall of pulsing flesh.
“Zat’s alright, Scout. I am far more sorry for letting you think you could be in danger,” The medic tilted his head, eyes narrowing, “Misha has been on my back more. About… vorking on being more open and transparent?”
“Big guy’s usually right.”
“Ja, he is,” warmth returned to Dr. Ludwig’s tone. Jeremy’s reduced mass was now shifted, feeling like it was weighing heavier on the interior of his belly. Looser. Calmer. It was a startlingly comfortable sensation, not quite like the pressure of fullness after a meal and also not quite like the passive trade of heat and energy that a solid hug brought on. Both together, it was as if his body was somehow aware of how it was cradling his stubborn little friend in the most trust-dependent way. For both of them.
Jeremy was just happy to be alive—especially with skin that was feeling increasingly less like everything touching it was a razor-blade. And now that he was here, he was surprised at himself for how much he wasn’t disgusted by his situation. Helped that the medic’s guts didn’t seem all that gross (and the fresh, botanical smell of aloe certainly helped).
A quick soak—and a quicker unshrinking—and he’d be on his way to a normal tan again. He just hoped the unshrinking process would also work on his sneakers.
I've been bit by inspiration bug. Writing a TF2 G/t and soft vore story... first thing nommish I'll probably post in literal years. Writing seems safer to me since it's nearly impossible for randos to willfully misinterpret. XD
And if anyone wants to know, it will involve a Scout gettin' shrunk. And Medic being medical and *caring*, but crazy. The only Medic-related G/t I see he's often *just* crazy and a little vindictive and teasing. I write the silly noms I want to see in the world. XD
Random safe vore thought. I've seen ideas for robot preds with flexible stomachs, cooling or heating system in their belly, probably some with built in comfort systems, and probably even one where there's a built in entertainment system. (Please don't ask for sources, I have no idea where I saw any of this before.)
An idea I think is worth discussing, though, is robot preds that aren't meant to have any of this stuff. They were just a regular robot, maybe even assigned to help the person with tasks around the house. But they know how to handle repairs, and they've learned what their human likes as they and their human grew to be friends, so they want to help them to the best of their ability.
Knowing what the human finds most comfortable, they set up system modifications to add whatever functions and materials would make their human most comfortable. They even make a flexible throat component to make sure they don't hurt them trying to get them in. I like the idea of a robot that cares for you to such an extent that it finds ways to do things the manufacturers never thought of just to be there for you.
I don't mean this in the sense of needing to change to be valuable, I don't like dark/existential themes like that. I mean it more like "this robot cares so much for its user that it'll invent new upgrade options just to show its affection." It knows you're fine with how it already is, but wants to be able to protect you and comfort you more effectively.
“You telling me you never noticed ANYTHING changed?” asked Hal, surprised.
“Of course I knew something was wrong with you! How on earth could I NOT have?!” Exclaimed the vampire, as Hal approached.
“Then why didn't you say something?!”
“Because I'm a fucking gentleman Hal. I have manners. I can smell when people have certain blood borne diseases as well, you think I casually bring that up in conversation?!”
“I think we should-”
“Ah good morning sir. I sense that you've become an abomination? Care to tell me how that came about?” the vampire mimicked a stupid voice as he said it.
“Alright I get it. Now's not the time-”
“Hey man, how're you doing.” Lance continued, agitated. “Will you hang on a second while I call UKSHA because it suddenly smells like Ebola in here?”
Hal's face twisted into a scowl as he decided to try and break the man out of his rant. “Did you know-”
“No don't do the animal fact thing Hal not now.”
“DID YOU KNOW... that the female hyena has a-”
“I get it Hal. Shut up. I'll stop. This isn't the time.”
Hal shot the vampire a filthy smile, then began to examine the cage. “Then don't sass me.”
The vampire sighed, shaking his head, “Sorry. I've got the hangries. But no. I was aware you had a changed nature though I didn't know what it was. I suspected maybe some kind of were had gotten to you and the ISMI was keeping it a secret for some reason. But it didn't smell right. Bringing it up wouldn't have been polite even if it was. I just kind of figured whatever it was you still had our backs... and that was what mattered to me. Honestly, what business have I caring about the nature of people? I'd be a bit of a hypocrite.” He paused, “But when did it happen proper?”
Hal found the door on the back of the cage, examining it revealed another kind of lock he wasn't familiar with, but it was more of an elaborate bolting system, with no required key, and he began working to try and free it, “Not that long ago. Couple of weeks at the most. Long story, I'll get into it all later. You alright? They haven't tried to gut you have they?”
“No but I've been in this cage for a while... it's been sapping my strength, and I'm not going to lie to you, I was already in need of a feeding when we even started on the park yesterday so... I hope you're not planning on getting much use out of me.”
“Hm,” Hal considered this as he worked, “that might be an issue. Taking one of them in a fight isn't really a big deal... especially the first one because I caught him off guard but... if there's a lot more of them it might be more of a problem.”
“How did you manage to kill one?”
Hal smiled as the cage clicked open. “He made a very stupid mistake and turned his knife on Deacon...” He reached into the cage and helped draw the vampire out away from the silver, and Lance tried to get to his feet, visibly a little shaky as he did so.
Hal frowned a little at this, steadying the vampire with a gentle hand, “You really are weakened aren't you?”
“I'm fine,” snapped Lance, pushing away from him, “I can't fight but I can walk...” he said, even as his knees wobbled.
Hal reached out and gently caught the vampire's arm to steady him. “Whoa... it wasn't a criticism, just an observation,”
Lance glared at him, his eyes visibly flickering red, and Hal realised the reason the man had pushed him away wasn't because he was angry... it was because he was hungry, this was a predator that knew damn well he was technically a food source. Hal paused, raising an eyebrow, a hint of a nasty little smile tugging at his lips. “Hey Lance... answer me something will you?”
“Hm?”
“What happens when a vampire is given better blood than human... such as werewolf for example?”
“Well... it's a little like feeding a child caffeine... we get pretty wild...”
“Do you get more powerful?”
“Yes... we try not to do it unless it's life or death because it burns us out a bit... gives us a hangover afterwards.”
“And what if say... you got some god's blood... do you think you'd be able to fight a few hatmen?”
The vampire went very still, then glared at him. “I would be able to do that if I just had a regular meal...” he nodded a little, “however, if you are... offering something a little stronger....”
Hal chuckled and shook his head, “Normally I'd tell you to take a hike but... unfortunately, this is something of a dire situation so... you get one free meal ticket, just this time.”
Lance shot him a look, his eyes questioning. “You're serious?”
Hal nodded, “I can afford to lose the blood. I can't afford to carry you around this place looking for an exit, so let's get it over with.”
Lance moved a little closer to him, and Hal saw that red flickering in his eyes again, he looked hungry, the vampire put his hands up and set them on Hal's shoulders, moving towards him, the eyes fixing on the side of his neck.
“No hickies though,” muttered Hal as the vampire 'struck,' a sharp pinch at the side of his neck his only response.
As the blood began to flow, the vampire lost himself a little more, and his arms wrapped firmly around his 'meal' locking Hal in what felt like an overly tight hug, but he knew it was just a predator trying to hang onto its food. He didn't fight it or try to struggle, knowing that it would only make things worse. ISMI policy was that all vampires should get their blood from the medical wings of institute installations but it was not entirely uncommon for them to seek a bit of help in the field from their colleagues if they had to use a lot of power and ended up in need of feeding. They were far more civil about it than their horror novella cousins, and generally only took as much as an average blood donation to ensure their companion was unharmed. From what Hal understood, it was as much about the life force and energy that the blood contained as it was about the blood itself, but the actual processing and transference of the former was still something of a mystery.
After a short time Lance pulled away, breathing deeply, wiping blood from his mouth. Hal gave him a moment, gently touching at the bite wounds, using his healing to at least seal them on the surface. “You good?” he asked, watching curiously as the vampire's eyes flickered a much brighter red, then began to tint faintly purple, the glow of the magic covering Hal's body visibly lighting alongside the vampire's powers.
“Yeah... yeah I'm good...” it looked like the vampire had already regained a bit of colour in his cheeks and he was no longer wobbling on his feet.
“You're not going to go wild and kill crazy on me are you?”
“No I am still very much myself,” snipped the vampire in response, glaring. “This is the equivalent of a human drinking several energy drinks without the bad side effects, that is all.”
“Okay good. Because if we can, we should avoid killing the host bodies unless self defence completely demands it. The hatmen themselves aren't the bodies.”
“What?!”
“The hats are the parasite, we shouldn't kill what is effectively an innocent victim unless we have to.”
“Did... you?”
Hal nodded, “The... purple hatman's host body did not survive our altercation but... seemed glad to have been released before he died.”
“Ah.”
“I know. I'm... going to worry about the potential consequences and therapy from that later. Right now my main goal is to get everyone else out of here alive.”
“Do you think they have more prisoners?”
“I'd be surprised but it depends if this place is actually under the park or some kind of hidden headquarters that they keep all of their prizes at while they prepare them. I don't remember what happened after we dropped through the courtyard, and these are transdimensional beings so we need to consider the possibility this location is similarly displaced.”
“Let us hope for the former,” Lance frowned. “I do not believe even you can traverse dimensions.”
Hal shook his head, “I cannot in the classic sense. However, if we find my jacket, the contingency plan will still work to pull us home. Not to mention I really like that jacket.”
“Noted,”
“Let's go.”
Lance put out a hand to stop him. “Just to clarify before we get into it. Are we... going out there to fight, or escape?”
“I don't know yet,” sighed Hal. “Let's just see about finding survivors or a way out first... and if they try to stop us we might not have a choice but to fight,”
Lance nodded in agreement with this assessment. “The ISMI states we should make every effort to preserve life, and sometimes that means taking it in order to protect more.”
Hal nodded, his face sombre, “I believe this falls under that clause.”
The vampire glanced at him, his eyes still glowing ever so slightly purple. “I am glad that for once, we are on the same page about something.”
Emerging from the room, the two of them began a slow creep further down the corridor, sticking close to a wall, eyes on the opening at the end of the corridor. Not because they were actively going towards it, but because they could both see that the space opened out, and therefore, assessed it to be the most likely place trouble would come from. Not only that, but Hal was increasingly realising that something was 'off' about this space. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was an arid sense of uncanny here. As though the corners of everything were too sharp to be natural. As though the corridor was too straight and perfect.
It was hard to really comprehend, and he only really noticed it if he focused hard on the corner of a tile or the edge of a wall, but it was almost like details were missing in strange places. Where the floor met the wall, there was no indent where there should be for grouting or caulking. They simply met in a perfect line. As though they had been put together with absolute precision rather than being constructed. The tiling beneath their feet was the same. None of the tiles were misplaced or misaligned by even the tiniest amount. It wasn't just uniform placement, it was perfect. Too measured, too straight.
It gave Hal a little creeping feeling across his skin as he looked too closely at it, and he shook his head, trying to refocus himself on their task.
Reaching the next set of doors leading to rooms, Hal paused at one right beside them, pressing his ear to the edge of it. Within, he could hear faint voices. Worried tones. Weak. He frowned, and leaned over the lock, setting to work with his key.
“Hal?”
“Mhm?”
“Is that wise?”
Hal, working on the lock nodded. “Mhmm.”
“What if it's something a bit less friendly than me? You know these things have some pretty weird shit working for them...”
“Nothing has been openly aggressive apart from the buildings themselves and the hatmen. Increasingly think everything else has just been a tool they're using for... something. Getting better bodies or some shit. I don't know. Anything they're locking up seems to not want to be here. So I'm going to take a look.”
“It's your funeral-” the vampire murmured, as the lock clicked open.
“Hello? Is someone there?” a high pitched and nervous voice came from inside the room, and Hal blinked in surprise.
“Sounds like we're not alone after all.”
The two men crept into the room to find it laid out the same as theirs but with two cages instead of one, though they were both tiny, and sitting on separate metal tables. Hal approached a little cautiously, running an eye over the situation. His very first thought was that surely these were folks affected like Deacon. Tiny humanoids in cages. These were not silver cages. By Hal's estimation they were wrought iron, and so were the tables. That told him a lot about the occupants of the cages. That his initial thought was wrong, and these were not just shrunken humans.
Two pairs of nervous eyes stared out at him, and a glance back told him his suspicions were correct. These were fey folk. From the size, pointed ears, oddly coloured hair and lack of wings, he quickly guessed at their species. “Well now,” he said gently, kneeling down. “What would a pair of piskies be doing here in a place like this?”
The two of them looked at each other and the older one spoke. “It's a really long story.”
Hal nodded slightly, not surprised to hear that. “As you can see we're not with the weirdos. We're just guests on the loose. Why not give me the short version?”
“We were looking for shelter, hiding from something that has been hunting us. We found a building... it glowed like a beacon of magic to us. We were desperate. The hunter had already taken my brother and we just needed somewhere we could lose him...”
“So you hid in... what kind of building?”
“A mall...”
Hal sighed, victims of the wondermall, here, meant that it indeed was some kind of base location for the hatmen. Not something isolated to the wonderpark. “Well well. Aren't you lucky we came along.”
“Wh... who are you?” The younger looking one of the two spoke up.
They were both a little smaller than Deacon, around six inches in size with lithe bodies clad in the typical colourful clothwork of the fey folk. They both had hair that glistened like petrol in a rainbow of colours, mostly blues and pinks over a dark base, but one, the older, had very long hair, while the second, the speaker in this case, had shorter, slightly scruffy hair. Both had eyes that were all black apart from their irises, which were floating rings of colour in stark contrast to the darkness around them. Hal knew they had no 'set' eye colour but it changed according to the mood of the owner. Now, they were both grey with the faintest hint of yellow, a sickly, mournful colour.
“My name is Hal, and I am with the ISMI.”
“ISMI,” both of them perked up slightly. “We were going to go to the ISMI for sanctuary and were not able to find any of your installations...” said the older one.
Hal nodded, “We don't advertise... but... usually Fey are wary about coming to deal with us... we have a few but most don't want to know... what made you want to try?”
“The hunter,” replied the older one, shrugging. “When someone is actively trying to take members of your family it becomes... a good reason to seek new friends.”
Hal nodded to himself, “That's reasonable. I suppose you're too small for the hatmen to really want you so...”
“No... they just like to amuse themselves with us...” the older one showed Hal a damaged little hand with several missing fingers, and Hal could see now that the younger one had remained sitting because he was missing some part of foot or leg. He immediately felt a little pinch of pity for the creatures, and he quickly began to examine the locks on the cages,
“Let's get you out of there,” he said, as he began to work on the lock to the younger one's cage.
“You're just going to release them?” Lance asked, leaning in. “They're Fey...”
“What are they going to do, trick us now? What do they stand to gain,” Hal shook his head, “I'm willing to lend them my trust and I am certainly not going to leave them here.”
“On your head be it,” sighed Lance, in that tone of 'this is a bad idea.' “But be quick.”
“Thank you Hal,” said the older one, as the biologist worked.
“What are your names?”
“I'm Bryok,” said the older one, “And that is Kenver, my nephew.”
Hal swiftly got the cage unlocked and went to repeat the process on the older one's cage before lifting them both free of their prisons. He could see now that both were covered in nasty little injuries, and he grimaced a little. “I can see you have both suffered. Do you have any energy left? Any magic at all?”
Kenver shook his head, cool and clammy in Hal's hands, and Bryok nodded, “A little,” the older piskie seemed exhausted as well but not quite as much. “I can handle myself and get around but Kenver... he cannot. He will need your help if you're willing to carry him.”
Hal sighed, wishing he had his jacket to tuck the small man into a pocket but... he did not. He couldn't carry a fragile little creature around if they got into a fight. “I... have a possible suggestion but I don't think you're going to like it very much,” he sighed.
“Oh you're not going to eat him are you?” Lance looked disgusted.
“Weren't you using me as a caprisun ten minute ago?” snipped Hal, giving Lance a sharp look to back off.
Both of the piskies looked genuinely alarmed at the words though, and Hal gently shifted his grip on them, “Don't be scared, it's not how it sounds,”
“It's fine, really!” came Deacon's slightly muffled voice. “A little damp but... safe!”
“What are you thinking, he doesn't have the molecular condensing that your little snack there has!” Lance came forwards, doubling down with science this time.
“Granted,” Hal agreed with a nod. “But... now I am what I am... I've got another trick for that, if you're willing?” he asked, looking at the younger piskie.
“Will it hurt him?” asked Bryok, “Is it safe?”
Hal shook his head, “It won't hurt him. And that little voice you just heard is Deacon, a friend of mine. He's been hurt by these creatures like you have so, even though he's human he's very small and needs a lift.” He gently nudged his stomach. “I can use my abilities to protect Kenver in the same way.”
“What manner of creature are you?” asked Bryok, looking at Hal with confused eyes. “You're not a werewolf but you eat people like one, you're not a fey but magic flows through you... explain?”
Hal shook his head, “I'm a long story that we don't have time for. Will you let me help you?” he looked pointedly at Kenver now, needing his consent more than Bryok's.
“Yes. Please help, Bryok won't be safe if he's trying to protect me.”
Hal felt the exhaustion in the little voice and nodded, laying a gentle hand on the small chest and breathing slowly. The light patterns on his skin returned in full as he tapped into his abilities, searching a newly opened box of knowledge in his brain about what he could do for the skill he wanted. There it was... protecting willing 'guests' for consumption. Doc had been right in his little theories about that. He searched a little deeper as well, how to lock the life force into the little body. The last thing he needed right now was to get drunk on it... and who knew how strong piskie lifeforce might be.
He half-closed his eyes as bright blue energy flowed down his arm like a liquid, glowing through his hand. It poured through his fingertips against Kenver's skin and quickly covered the small body with a light glow before fading. “You're protected from anything my body would try to do to you now,” he said gently. “Still okay?”
Kenver nodded. “Don't worry about me. I'll manage as long as you plan on getting us out of here.”
Hal nodded, “I do.”
“Then carry on.”
Hal glanced at Bryok and was relieved to receive a slightly reluctant confirmation nod from the man before he raised Kenver towards his mouth. The small body felt chilled and weak, and as Hal went to slide the small legs inside, he could see that the missing one was up to the knee, and the remaining one was misshapen, as though it was either broken, or had been and healed that way. He decided to think on that later. He had more worrisome problems right now.
Opening his mouth wide, he gently began to slide to injured little man inside. He was cool and shaky, and Hal could tell that a once powerful new flavour was weak and muted. Whatever life energy the small creature had had been sapped out of him by whatever the hatmen had done. Hal tried not to focus on that, smears of dried blood giving him sharp little metallic reminders of the injuries the small body carried. With this in mind, he made it quick. Flipping his head back and swiftly swallowing, the lines and patterns of colour shifting around the small body just as they had when he had consumed Deacon, but this time there was none of the underlying colour change, presumably due to the complete lack of life energy the small man had, or because Hal had sealed it in to ensure his continued sobriety. The body felt small compared to Deacon's, cool and fragile against his insides, but he had no time to fret about it... his friend would have to do what he could to care for the injured fey while he focused on getting them all out.
As the weight came to a stop, settling with Deacon, Hal took a moment to once more draw the energy lines deeper into his skin, hiding them. He didn't want to be a giant glowing target for trouble after all. “Bryok, you said you were able to look after yourself?”
The piskie nodded, snapping his fingers, and in a little puff of magic, he was instantly replaced by a bright, iridescent starling, slightly more purple-blue than a normal one, but very convincing, “Now I do not have to care for Kenver's wellbeing, I can keep up with you.”
Hal smiled, raising the small bird to his shoulder, “Well, I won't make you fly. Feel free to ride along as you wish, save your energy and stay away if we get into a fight. Fair?”
The starling nodded and gave a little chirp of confirmation, and Hal stood to look at Lance.
“Are you done?” Lance asked, now over by the door, listening.
Hal nodded. “Yes. Why?”
“Because I hear trouble... and quite honestly... I'm ready to make some of my own.”
Hal nodded, “Lead the way,”
The vampire swiftly crept from the room, listening at the door opposite before shaking his head and moving on down. They checked several more rooms for signs of life before they came across the source of the 'trouble' that Lance had heard.
“Don't you dare bring that disgusting thing near me, I swear I will liquidate your insides if you touch me with that...” a loud voice, indignant and angry, shouted out.
There isn't enough 4m0ng U5 safe vore stuff, so I decided to write a piece myself (I think it's only the third safe vore story of this game on @°3 since I only found two before (and you probably know what I mean by @°3)), so I thought I'd share it in my own post.
It's called Not All Imposters Are Killers, and it was honestly rather fun to make.
Edit: I'm tagging another person now, so I'm putting the tags under a cut now.
Oh yeah, @cozytummytime, I would have sent this in your ask box, but I decided to give it a post on my own blog since I don't do this too often, so I just thought I'd tag you in case you're interested since I mentioned having the idea to write this in an ask reply on your blog.
Edit: @saturna-odd-zone23, I saw your post that is three hours old (as of writing this edit) where you mentioned wanting more 4m0ng U5 vore, so here's a story I wrote, and there are at least two more on the same platform.
