Discussion of themes like consumption, transformation, and the like
Probably a lot of, critters, beasts, and things with too many teeth
What you will not see here:
Porn/explicit sexual content
Fetish roleplay or hookup asks
NSFW captions/comments
âHard kinkâ framing of posts
Content involving minors in any fetish context
Attempts to turn the blog into a general kink space
BYF:
This is a nonsexual vore blog. Please interact accordingly. I may post/reblog themes involving digestion/reformation, entrapment, transformation, monster/animalistic behavior, or cartoon/fantasy violence. Donât sexualize me, the blog, or other followers in replies/asks. If your account is primarily explicit kink/NSFW content, please donât follow or interact. Basic respect rules apply: no harassment, bigotry, or trying to boundary-push for âjokes.â
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Finished up I/ron L/ung today and had an idea, HUGE trigger warning for dehumanization and off-screen implied fatal vore beneath the cut
Tinies being used as rations in the space stations. It's common practice after the Q.uiet R.apture, they're small and "expendable" in the eyes of the survivors. They aren't really viewed as people by the survivors either since they lack anything (family, etc) to make them "personable."
Of course, those are all lies to prevent survivors from finding another food source outside of synthesizing it from the ocean.
Then, enter Simon. Welded into the sub and scared out of his mind. Desperately starved for human contact, until he finds the tiny left behind by the previous person. And they're terrified. They haven't seen a human in YEARS and now they're trapped in a metal death trap with one
Eventually, some sort of symbiosis forms. Human company for protection, something Simon was so sure he wasn't allowed to have
They bring him up again, and Simon panics. Fearing that his smaller friend is in danger, knowing full well how they'll treat them, there's nowhere to hide them and so Simon gulps them down, whispering apologies the entire time. They're safe but neither Simon or them know that yet. The Ocean changed Simon more than he realized.
Disrespectfully if you're a kink blog reblogging from a minor I'm going to assume you're a pedophile and block/report you. Fuck off and stick to YOUR side of the community. Let minors have their coping mechanisms without twisting their art and writing to adhere to your fetish.
Also really got into the B/loodymary ship recently and MAN shipping two characters who are starved for human contact has VASTLY made the vore brain worse. So
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TWs: Biological horror, unwilling pred, unwilling prey, fear, cruelty, medical malpractice, implied nonconsensual body modification/invasive surgeries, dehumanization. Reader discretion is advised
A/N: Michael and Subject M-17 are the same person.
Subject M-17 registers Sector Hecate in short bursts. The fluorescent lights first, then, the sterile white walls. The one sided windows. Chatter on the other side of them
And then, Dr. Lucien Pryce sat on the other side. Leg folded over another, hands clasped together. Warm smile spread from ear to ear, staring intently at his midsection.
"Good evening, Michael. I see you slept well"
Michael swallows heavily "Good evening, doctor."
The doctor beams, and Michael feels his stomach physically recoil.
That's when he comes to the realization that his chest aches.
The brunet's heart skips a beat, brown eyes widening with horror.
âWh-What did you DO to me?â Michael whispers.
Gooseflesh races up his arm when the scientist beside him lays a hand against his forearm â skin far too cold against flesh left hypersensitive and raw with nerves. Lucien is still smiling, still carrying on as though he hadnât violated Michaelâs autonomy for the fifth time since arriving at the laboratory.
"Oh, Michael" Dr. Pryce says, painfully gentle. Like a parent soothing a frightened child "I perfected you. "You're everything I wanted Project Praesidium to be. The container the world needs you to be."
Hot tears begin to cloud Michael's vision. His chest cramps violently. Voice barely above a whisper "I didn't ask for this."
The doctor laughs. It isn't warm. "I'm afraid you didn't have a choice in the matter, M-17."
Something writhes beneath Michael's skin, and he nearly gags. He registers the warmth, then the sharp kick against sensitive flesh.
Michael's heart sinks.
âOh,â Lucien murmurs, voice soft with fascination. His gaze lingers on the involuntary movement beneath Michaelâs skin, the sharp little twitch that made him flinch. âThere you are.â
He steps closer, almost tenderly resting two fingers against the strained flesh. âStill responsive. Thatâs promising.â
Another kick. Michael chokes back a sound.
Lucien smiles â small, patient, dreadful.
âYou should be proud, Michael. Most test subjects reject preservation this early.â His thumb traced a slow circle over the bulge. âBut yours?â He tilted his head at the movement beneath the organ. âYours is adapting beautifully.â
The brunet is painfully aware of the second heartbeat fluttering beneath his skin â frantic, rabbit-quick. He feels the feverish scramble of warm hands against the tender walls of his preservation organ, hears every hitched breath dissolve into panicked hyperventilation.
Another frantic shove distends outward beneath his ribs, accompanied by broken sobbing from inside him.
Warm instinct blooms traitorously in Michaelâs chest, urging him to soothe, to shelter. Every muscle locks tight with restraint. His expression contorts into a hard grimace instead of the softer worry threatening at its edgesâthe kind of tenderness he knows Lucien would seize upon immediately.
Thankfully, the scientist gives a firm pat against the distended flesh and stands to his full height. Sliding his key-card through the door's slot with practiced grace. "Testing ends in 24 hours, Michael. I'll return in the morning to receive your...occupant, granted they're still alive tomorrow"
"Yes, Doctor Price." Michael replies softly, dread sinking like a stone in a lake in his chest
The lock disengages with a sterile chirp.
For one terrible second, Michael thinks Lucien might turn back around. Offer another clinical smile. Another touch. Another adjustment to whatever nightmare had been forced inside him.
But the scientist simply steps through the doorway.
The heavy door slides shut behind him with a hydraulic hiss.
Silence crashes down immediately after.
Michael doesnât move.
His eyes stay fixed on the sealed door while the echo of occupant rattles around inside his skull. Not person. Not victim. Occupant.
Something shifts beneath his ribs.
A sharp, trembling inhale catches in Michaelâs throat.
The test subject had gone unnaturally still during Lucienâs presence, likely out of terror, but now Michael can feel them againâfaint movement fluttering deep within the preservation organ. Exhausted. Shaking.
Then, quietly:
â...is he gone?â
The voice is hoarse and cramped from confinement.
Michael swallows hard before nodding instinctively, only realizing a moment later they canât see him through layers of flesh and synthetic fluid.
âY-yeah,â he whispers. âHeâs gone.â
A ragged sob answers him.
The sound punches straight through Michaelâs chest.
Warmth surges instinctively through the organ in response to distress, muscles loosening without his permission to ease pressure around the cramped body inside him. He feels the immediate reaction â the other subjectâs trembling slowing slightly as the organ adjusts to comfort and preserve.
Michael nearly gags at how natural it feels.
âOh God,â he breathes, horrified. âWhat did he do to meâŚ?â
Inside him, the test subject gives a weak, shuddering exhale. Warm fingertips press carefully outward, tentative now instead of frantic.
â...I think,â the muffled voice whispers, âitâs trying to protect me.â
Michaelâs breath stutters.
The words settle heavily inside him, far worse than the panic had been.
Because the stranger is right.
He can feel it happening in real time â the preservation organ responding independently to stress levels, temperature, movement. Every frightened tremor from the person trapped inside him triggers another involuntary adjustment: muscles softening, internal fluid warming, circulation shifting to cradle and stabilize.
His body has decided this is something precious.
Something to keep alive.
Michael presses the heel of his hand hard against his mouth.
âNo,â he whispers shakily. âNo, no, I donâtââ
A small movement interrupts him. Not violent this time. Just careful.
A hand.
The test subjectâs palm presses faintly outward from inside the organ, the shape barely visible beneath taut skin.
Michael freezes.
Then, before he can stop himself, his own hand drifts down to meet it.
Heat blooms instantly through the sensitive flesh at the contact. The organ contracts once around its occupant in what feels disturbingly close to contentment.
Michaelâs eyes squeeze shut.
The person inside him lets out a weak sound â something between relief and a sob.
âIâm sorry,â Michael says suddenly, voice cracking apart. âIâm so sorry, I didnât knowâ I didnât know what they were doing to youââ
âYouâre a test subject too,â the stranger murmurs.
The simple acknowledgment nearly undoes him.
For days, everyone in the laboratory had spoken around him instead of to him. Specimen. Carrier. Preservation unit. Never Michael. Never human.
But this stranger, half-suffocated inside his altered body, says it like it still matters.
Another silence settles between them, quieter this time. Michael can hear the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead. The ventilation system. Two heartbeats.
One slow.
One still rabbit-fast beneath his skin.
Then, hesitantly:
âMy nameâs Elise.â A hitching breath. âI think⌠I think he took me three days ago.â
Michael opens his eyes.
Three days.
Lucien had spoken about survival rates earlier with detached amusement, as though discussing spoiled samples.
Testing ends in twenty-four hours.
Granted theyâre still alive tomorrow.
Michaelâs stomach twists violently.
âElise,â he repeats softly, anchoring himself to the name. To her. âOkay. Okay, listen to me.â His voice trembles, but hardens with desperate resolve around the edges. âIâm getting you out of here.â
For a moment, Elise says nothing.
Michael can feel her shifting faintly inside the preservation organ, cramped muscles trembling with exhaustion. When she finally speaks, her voice is painfully small.
âYou canât.â
âI can try.â
âYou heard him.â Her breath catches unevenly. âThey changed you.â
The words land with ugly precision.
Michaelâs gaze drops to the distorted curve beneath his ribs. Even now, the organ reacts protectively to scrutiny, tightening subtly around its occupant before easing again. Alive. Responsive. Not entirely under his control anymore.
His throat burns.
âI know.â
Somewhere down the hall, metal clatters against metal. A distant door hisses open, then shut. The laboratory never truly sleeps.
Michael forces himself to move despite the nauseating awareness of added weight inside him. His legs shake when he pushes upright from the examination table.
Immediately, Elise panics.
âWaitâwait, too fastââ
A sharp cramp seizes through him as the preservation organ contracts instinctively to stabilize its occupant. Michael doubles over with a strangled gasp, one hand flying to the counter beside him.
âSorry,â Elise blurts out. âIâm sorry, I didnât meanââ
âItâs okay.â His breathing turns ragged. âJust⌠warn me next time.â
The organ slowly unclenches.
Michael stays hunched there for several seconds, sweat beading coldly along the back of his neck. He can feel every tiny adjustment inside himself now: the shift of fluid, the protective flex of muscle around Eliseâs body, the awful biological insistence that she be kept safe at all costs.
Michael swallows against the rising panic and looks around the room for the first time with purpose. Sterile counters. Medical instruments. Storage cabinets.
And, mounted beside the doorâ
A staff terminal.
Hope sparks sharp and dangerous in his chest.
âElise,â he whispers, already moving toward it carefully, one protective arm wrapped unconsciously around himself. âDid they ever bring you through processing conscious?â
A pause.
Then:
â...I remember a code.â
Michaelâs heart slams against his ribs.
Michael lunges for the terminal.
The sudden movement earns a startled cry from Elise and a painful tightening deep inside his abdomen, but adrenaline steamrolls through it. His trembling hands brace against the console as the screen flickers awake beneath fluorescent glare.
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
âTell me,â Michael breathes.
Inside him, Elise shifts weakly. He can feel her trying to remember, each spike of anxiety translating into nervous fluttering against the organâs walls.
âIâI think it was six digits,â she whispers. âI only saw it onceââ
I've been around two years in this community, and something that I noticed is that people here don't know how to act correctly around trolls. So I think that may be necessary to give some instructions on how to react around them :3
First of all, do NOT interact with them. That people just want your reaction; if they don't get it they will eventually get bored. You don't need to tell them that what they are doing is wrong, they already know
Donât post about them. Although your post warning the community about a person claiming someone else job as their own is done with the best intentions, for troll eyes it's that they have manage to annoy you enough as for give your time to them, they take that as a victory. If you recognize someone else work reposted in one of these accounts, the best you can do is warn the original author by DM (or any other private way, don't let them know through asks), report and block the troll
You should block them at first glance, (report them in case that they are infringing any rule) and keep with your day. The block bottom is free, don't be afraid to use it and even more when they are harassing a small community that isn't hurting anyone
I hope that this can help someone, the trolls don't deserve your time and don't let their hate affect you ^^
I'm sorry if anything is bad written or hard to understand, English isn't my first language
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I know there are at LEAST 3 people following me who care about this information, so I have a PSA:
Innerspace (my favorite movie) is getting a 4K restoration for the first time! Plus itâs a limited collectorâs edition that comes with a ton of bonus stuff including:
- a new documentary called âShrinkage: The Making of Innerspace,â storyboards, interviews, art galleries, behind the scenes content, audio commentaries, a poster, collector booklet, a reversible case with new art, and more.
Itâs on pre-order for late April, the UltraHD version is discounted on Amazon right now. Thereâs also a normal version if you donât have a 4k player.
Amazon.com: Innerspace [Limited Edition] : Joe Dante, Dennis Quaid, Martin Short, Meg Ryan, Steven Spielberg: Movies & TV
Shop Innerspace Limited Edition Blu-ray at Arrow Video. Free UK Delivery
I donât drink, but something about cocky preds swallowing down pissed off prey and then just casually washing them down with a sip of wine is a top-tier trope to me
Thunder.cracker is the most honorable seeker of the trine, defecting after the continued genocides of alien species got too much for him to bear. Like idw Thunder.cracker, he thinks the Dece.pticons have strayed far from their original cause. Heâs friendly towards humans and loves earth animals, and he might have the strongest bond with his pilot in comparison to his seeker brethren. Heâs very smart, second to S.tars.cream in intelligence, and is viciously protective over perceived innocents. He dislikes Mega.tron and distrusts Opt.imus due to the pre-war council and a millennia of Dece.pticon propaganda, leading him to be neutral. Instead of fighting in the war he fights for the innocents impacted by it, and he might occasionally fight alongside Auto.bots to protect a city from a horde of Dece.pticons or other alien attackers. He eventually learns english.
Thunder.cracker is the tallest, bulkiest, and most physically strong of the trine so he eats the most.
Seeker Pilot is in collaboration with @vivivivian467
Sorry this took so long I had lots of work the past few weeks đ
Please censor the names of characters in reblogs! đ
Other Tags: Hologram pred, human prey, alien technology, shrinking, size-difference. Pred is aloof but not mean/cruel, sci-fi
A/N: This was a result of me brain-rotting really hard about hologram preds last night, alas, take this hot garbage I started writing at like...5:00 in the morning.
â ď¸ Please do NOT reblog my content to kink/fetish/feederism focused blogs, tag my content as safe/soft vore. sexualize my characters/art, or feed my writing/art to AI.
The device sits heavy in your hands as you study it. Itâs alien, but you canât place it.
The runes carved into the disc are in a language youânor anybody aboard the Mercy, recognizes. Not Vuurid, not Kheve. Youâre at a loss. Even your captain, the self proclaimed âalien linguistâ canât put a name to the language.
You groan, setting it down on the research desk haphazardly. You feel like youâre running in circles trying to get an answer.
Thenâ
It hums, runes glowing a soft teal-white in the dimness of the cruiserâs laboratory. Itâs no longer sitting against the table, levitating just a few millimetres off the ground.
You back away.
A great arc of light stretches from the disk and straight towards you. Panic floods your system and you make to book for it.
The light crashes into your chest anyways.
You expect white-hot pain. A giant, gaping hole in the cavity of your chest.
Instead, your world tilts. The ground rushes up to meet you.
Everything feels larger now.
You realize, with razor-sharp clarity, that you have been shrunk.
You hiss under your breath.
Great. Wonderful.
You are now tiny on a spaceship where everythingâincluding your own crew, can kill you.
You also know that you canât stay here.
Your legs wobble when you walk, as if made of jello. Adjusting to the new size.
The observation deck, you realize, is a lot farther when youâre shrunk.
You narrowly avoid getting stepped on twice on your journey, thankfully, you are far nimbler than your crew-mates feet.
It finally comes into view. Large and daunting in all the ways that matter, the distant galaxies and stars glitter against the pitch-black dark of space just beyond the reinforced windows. The only one ever in here is you, when you feel particularly homesick, or your sleeping quarters feel too empty. Too unsafe.
You settle in the centre of the room. Exhaling.
Your solitude lasts about three solid minutes before a silhouette of prismatic light is standing before you.
Judging you.
Your gaze tilts upwardâupward, upwardâand are met with the white, blank eyes of the hologram of the shipâs AI, V.E.X.
Itâhe, is frowning. As if your presence offends him.
ââIdentity confirmed.â
A soft chime follows, familiar rather than formal.
âGreetings, Field Scientist.â
A beat.
Then, to your horror, he bends down. And then youâre plucked off a ground with surprising gentleness. Your brain screeches to a sudden halt. Holograms are not supposed to do that.
âStatus: Miniaturized. Heartbeat: Nominal. Brain: Functioning. Stress Level: 80%.â He rattles off, with a cold, distant aloofness that unsettles you.
âWow. Love that for me.â You reply, swallowing hard. âGood to know my brain made the cut. Was really worried that wouldnât make the list.â
âStress level eighty percent, huh? That seems low. Are you factoring in the whole âI am currently fun-sized and one misplaced step away from becoming a cautionary taleâ thing, or is that extra?â
The hologram stares at you, unblinking. âYou are spiralling. Suggested action: Breathing exercisesâ
You glare at him. Letting out a sharp, incredulous laugh âOh, am I? Thatâs fascinating, V.E.X., I hadnât noticed.â
You gesture vaguely to your dramatically size-reduced self. Then point at him with a shaky hand âMaybe itâs the whole âI am currently the size of a paperclip on a spaceship that was not designed for paperclipsâ thing. Just a theoryâ
You take one deliberate, exaggerated breath. Hold it. Let it out just as theatrically.
ââŚThere. Did it. Fixed everything. Iâm cured. The existential dread is gone. Stunning work.â
You squint up at him. âNow can we please get to the part where you fix it. Before I become a field-scientist pancake?â
âNegative. Stress levels have increased significantly. New suggested action: Panic room.â
You stare at him. Mouth slightly agape, like your brain is refusing to process what he just said.
âI am already in a situation that would qualify as a full-body, all-access, premium panic experience, V.E.X. I donât need a room for it.â
The hologram tilts his head. Infuriatingly so.
âCorrection: Intramural containment.â
You blink.
Once.
Twice.
â...Intramural containment.â
âPrecisely.â
Youâre lifted closer to the hologram-manâs face.
His mouth parts, and you are greeted by rounded dentition, and a flickering, nacreous tongue.
A hologram should not have the slightest suggestion of a digestive system. Yet V.E.X, for some reason, does.
Your face flushes hot with anxiety. Your hands grasp for the tip of his fingers, desperate for anything to hold on to.
This is not happening.
âV.E.XâV.E.X. Hey, come on. This isnât fair. Me being small doesnât mean Iâm snack-sized. Please put me do-!â
He doesnât listen, just simply lowers you into his mouth. The one he should very much not have.
His fingers, and any hope at escape, leave you as youâre settled on his tongue. Mouth closing around you, surroundings becoming muted.
The hologram doesn't swallow, not really. Just sort of tilts his head back, and youâre sent down his throat, though it feels more like a wind-tunnel with the gravity reversed. Fingers trace your shape past his collarbone until you settle into his stomach.
Itâs solidâweirdly squishy, and yields beneath your shape. Comfortable.
Then, steady, liquid-smooth dread bubbles inside of your chest. You are inside a hologram. That has just eaten you. That sentence should not exist, yet it does. And you certainly shouldnât find this comfortable, this should be horrifying.
You aim a kick at the nearest wall, and your leg simply bounces off the wall, iridescent walls flicker with the impact, then your thoughts veer sharply, wondering if your molecules are about to be arranged on a substantial level, or if you're going to get vaporized to atoms.
That scares you enough that you kick and claw at the surface of hard-light. Itâs ineffective, but it doesnât stop you from trying.
A hand, steady and firm settles over you. "Settle down. Your structural integrity will remain unaltered, however, I am unsure about your dignity."
You go rigid, leg hovering in mid-air, hands braced against the stomach walls. Outside, the hologram rolls his eyes."I am jesting with you. Privacy protocols have been engaged, nobody can see you in there unless I allow it.â
âHilarious.â You reply, thoroughly displeased. âSpit me out.â
âThat would be ill-advised.â
You curse, running a hand down your face. âSo what, youâre just going to hold me hostage until this can be reversed?â
You roll your eyes. Stuck as you are, you settle in. Letting the walls hold you, folding your arms. âThis is the worst day of my life.â
âI will add that to my field notes.â
You donât even bother to kick him, just glower upwards where you can see the blurred outline of his face.
âOne more thing, the device that miniaturized you is of Hraxil origin. Easily reversible technology. You will be back to your original size approximately 5 hours.â
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