What if I was cuddling in bed with a sleepy giant who's nuzzling me to their cheek and giving me lazy pecks all over. And just before they doze off they sleepily mumble something like "Man, I'm so glad I didn't eat you when i found you". And I never realized that had been an option. So I spend the rest of the night quietly panicking while being clutched tightly against their face, staring intensely at their mouth and trying to figure out if they actually meant it or not <3
there’s two angles though - do i write it from the POV of the prey? or the predator? (for lack for better terminology)
also most of the tummy tales so far have been pretty soft and gentle, it might take some experimenting to work out a way that i can keep that same feel with a vore scenario.
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.
I have a bad habit of telling myself I can't ask you stuff until I finish... something... But screw it.
In Lunchtime with the Lads, did George and Sapnap end up in a crop or a stomach?
uh oh, now im scared ;P
it was a crop, yea :> unfortunately dreams got the same equipment as a normal owl, so if they went any further the gizzard would not have been kind to them :(
content warnings for: sensory overload, au typical amounts of dehumanization, attempted vore (doesnt happen but… nearly)
It’s honestly a bit of a miracle that things turned out the way they did. After the product loss a couple of years back, there were a couple of very awkward emails to be sent to expectant clients in the very near future. Compensations and excuses and ‘we were not expecting this inconvenience’ and ‘this is to be expected on occasion with live prey, regardless of preparation.’ Maybe even throw in a ‘we are sorry for your loss’ for good measure. But then the product, already written off as a loss, came wandering back. The odds were already calculated as ‘ridiculously low’ by some higher-up of it surviving this long and actually caught and scanned by someone for a microchip rather than eaten immediately.
The product was screaming in a mesh cage as you pulled it off of the shelf. It looked decidedly not happy to have beaten the odds so spectacularly. You gave the cage a light shake, amused as it’s plaintive wail rose in pitch. You noted absentmindedly that its tiny fingers had caught grip on the mesh, and that it held fast in a corner. Dang, you’ll need to go in and detangle it by hand.
The product yelled at you as you opened the cage. “Fuck you!” It screamed hoarsely, in its tiny squeaky human voice. Ok that was adorable. Like it was puffing itself up to look bigger. Seemed to be all bark and no bite though. You reach in to wedge it off of the mesh, and it snapped at you with its tiny blunt teeth. Maybe… some bite. You pulled back, grumbling, and went to grab a pair of gloves before trying again. Last time you let one of them sink their teeth into your hand you had to get rabies shots for weeks. And your supervisor yelled at you. Having pried it loose, you pulled it free and held it carefully, two fingers circling the chest and the other three supporting the flailing legs. With the other hand you opened the scent oil cabinet, and searched for the same label number that the product was microchipped with.
The general consensus was that if a product escaped and somehow was recovered, it would be best to expedite the process of preparation for the client. A lot of times, this meant creating a strong association between the scent of the client and the product’s own safety. A simple enough trick, with the right tools. This one was too dangerous to be put in a group pen, what with it having escaped before. Plus, with its extraordinary amount of luck, it is extremely close to this product’s shipment date.
You took a dropper from the small tincture of scent, similar to all of the others taken from clients upon ordering the product. Generally it’s introduced slowly to the chosen product over a period of time, but with the expedited schedule, corners have to be cut. Management doesn't care - this possibility was spelled out in the fine print when the product was ordered. You squeezed a few droplets of the scent-infused liquid onto the head of the product, carefully making sure it is spread across its face and hands.
The human sputtered and coughed to keep from swallowing the liquid, and yelled at you for attempting to drown it. You have got to know who taught it such language.
You released it back into the mesh cage, ensuring it was closed before carefully carrying it over to a mirror box. You have your own strong opinions on the use of the box, but, well. You need to get paid. You can afford to keep them to yourself.
The yells from the tiny creature got louder as you shut the door, before being completely muffled by the soundproof layering of the box.
Damn rich people and their weird tastes. You’ve never had a human that wants to get eaten, what’s the point in that?
...
It was so loud. And so bright. You had your hands over your ears and your eyes screwed shut and yet the screeching tones wormed their way into your bones and the light burst and popped and shattered through the gaps of your eyelids, painting your vision blood red and white.
You curled tighter, pressing down harder to try and block it out. What was this? Why was this happening?
You had gotten up when trying to tuck your head between your knees to dispel the nausea hadn’t worked, and paced the tiny cage you were stuck in. All around you light bounced off reflective surfaces, making every wall a laser aimed directly at your optic nerves.
You screamed in frustration, and that sound was swallowed up by the pounding tones (and maybe the sound of blood in your ears) effortlessly.
And even if it wasn’t so bright and so loud and so small it was also so cold! Your breath came out in puffs of moisture and you could feel your goosebumps rising on your exposed arms. It was almost better to use your hands to rub warmth into your flesh than pressed over your ears to block out the noise.
Then, without warning, the lights stopped, the sound faded to just the ringing in your ears, and you slumped to the floor. You couldn’t even open your eyes yet to see through the starbursts still popping in the back of your head.
For a long quiet moment you just laid there. Then your anger gripped you again. “Fuck you!” You screamed into the silence, finally getting to hear it come back to you. “I hate you! You sick fuckers!” You spewed your anger into the quiet cold reflective walls, shouting yourself raw. When you paused to take a breath, you stopped for a moment. What was… that smell? Something from the liquid dropped onto you earlier, sure, but then… Why did it smell so familiar? Like you had smelled it after you had escaped, and its identity was right on the tip of your tongue…
You shook your head, wincing and stopping when it stirred up a headache. God, your head hurts.
The lights turned on again. The sound renewed its awful wailing. You went back into frustrated pacing.
...
When the light had turned off for the fourth time, the box was opened and a bowl was placed in indelicately. You stumbled to your feet, far slower than you would have wished had the giant holding the bowl been going for you. Then you squinted down at the bowl and groaned.
Pellets. Ah yes, yet another thing you did not miss about the farms. Sure they filled you up and gave you all the nutrition and calories and all that crap. But they tasted like nothing except for a vague salty flavor and an aftertaste that stuck to the back of your throat like grease. Absolute most boring and dry things in the world, especially now that you had a frame of reference built from foods outside of the farms.
Problem was: you were hungry. Your last meal had been before you got caught so that would have been… a day and a half ago? With Puffy? Time already felt weird.
You bit into a pellet. It crunched and filled your mouth instantly with a burst of salt flavored dust. You tried to force the image of potato chips into your mind as you ate another pellet, but the texture was just too wrong for it to stick. You had to keep up your strength though. Eugh.
What to do, what to do… you can’t just stay here. You must not stay here, you don’t want to die. But the cage was smooth steel that only barely had space for your fingers to fit between the links, and was definitely too tough for you to break. The box was… it was too hard to even think in the box, no mind attempting to make escape plans.
You took a drink of water. At least it helped with the oily residue. Kind of.
Maybe you could attempt to run for it the next time the giant who handled you earlier comes around? Well… god, you hadn’t even thought of looking down to see how far the drop would be. What if you fell and broke both of your legs and had to hobble home on crutches? That would suck.
You’ll figure out something. You just need to keep thinking about it.
...
Sometime in the soup of confusion and hurt that time has now become, your mesh cage gains a blanket. It’s thin and soft and smells like everything else and you learn to run for it when the lights turn on. It helps with the blaring bright lights and the cold, and muffled the sound a little bit at least. The smell of it starts to become one of the tiniest bit of comfort amidst the overwhelming everything.
You try to think of escape plans from within your cocoon, but it’s still so hard to think coherently. All you can do is smell the familiar scent of the blanket and feel hatred rise up and strangle you. “Fuck you Wilbur,” you state, a start of a mantra. “Fuck you Phil fuck you Jack fuck you George fuck you Sapnap fuck you Schlatt and Quackity and Niki.”
Fuck you Puffy, for giving me a taste of a true life like that only for this to happen, even worse than before. Maybe it would have been easier for you to just go blindly through your life, not knowing the outside world, just stumbling straight into the maw of the giant you were created to feed without getting to know the bastard personally first.
You curled tighter under your blanket, wishing you could still feel any kind of warmth from it. You hate how hard it is to even remember your life outside of this box anymore.
...
Today was different. You had been left in the dark box for a rest period, but rather than turn on the lights, the mesh cage was slid out of the box for the first time. You curled up in your blanket, sensitive to the fluorescent lights of the room, of the sounds of talking.
The giant handling you scrubbed you as gently as it could with a wet washcloth, stripping you of the layers of dried sweat and oil on your skin. It then brought new clothes, which it dropped in front of you for you to change into.
A part of you that you can’t hear right now, buried as it was under the pounding migraine, said something about more easily digestible fibers, and drew conclusions quickly about why today’s schedule was different. The rest of you couldn’t bring up enough energy to care. The box you were put into was dark at least. The delivery driver wasn’t too loud. You slept. When you woke once more, you were in the hands of someone who smelled entirely too much like you and that blanket smelled.
...
Wilbur’s mood had skyrocketed when he had smelled the tiniest whiff of a tiny, one whose scent he could never forget. Tommy was back? He has been missing for so long that he had feared the worst… not like he doubted Tommy or anything but. Well. Dangerous world and all that.
“Tommy?” He called out, loud enough to be heard through the house and, he hoped, into the walls as well.
He kept calling out as he searched each room. A nagging thought hit him - what if Tommy didn’t want to see him at all? After all, they had parted on… an uncomfortable circumstance. Maybe he didn’t want to see the person who bought his right to exist in the first place ever again.
Wilbur understood. He really did! He probably would have done the same thing under the circumstances. But at the very least, he wanted to see Tommy again, just to make sure he was alright after disappearing on them.
His search turned up nothing, and he had just cracked open the front door to go looking around outside as well when a particularly strong whiff hit him. He was nearby!
He looked down. There was a box on his doorstep.
Oh no.
He was tearing it open with his hands before he had time to think. He pulled papers and a small disc away and found, nestled at the bottom of the box in a styrofoam cube, Tommy. He picked him up right away.
“Tommy!” He stepped back into his house to search for his phone, holding the human up to his face to gauge him better. Was he hurt? How did he get in a box?
The small man cringed visibly, pressing his hands over his ears, and he shivered in Wilbur’s hands.
Wilbur opened his mouth to apologize and maybe get someone else on the phone to help out with this situation, when Tommy’s eyes sprang open and he lunged straight into Wilbur’s mouth. It was sheer surprise that kept Wilbur from following his instincts to bite down and swallow, especially as he took a shallow breath that bathed his sinuses in the human’s scent. Confusion at this out-of-character moment that kept him from eating the friend who he had paid to have the pleasure of consuming for… his… birthday.
That was today wasn’t it.
Tommy had curled up, shaking, near the back of his mouth. For a moment Wilbur tangled with the feeling that this was right, that this was what was supposed to happen. No. This wasn’t right at all. Why was he so quiet, so scared and not Tommy, and why had he thrown himself at someone who he always feared like that?
He carefully coughed, and spat Tommy out into his fist where the boy went back to covering his ears and eyes with his face. Then, carefully keeping his hand away from his mouth and breathing as shallowly as possible to stop his salivary glands from going into double time, he reached for his phone to call Phil.
He needed to get away from Tommy as soon as possible.
