A wedding for a pred and prey. So many possibilities.
Exchanging vows that they will be together forever, but not in the way the unaware priest thinks. The prey keeps blushing, voice trembling as they stumble through their promises. Their pred’s belly rumbles impatiently. The priest finds it worrisome that someone would be drooling over their vows… and why would they end it with “goodbye?”
“You may now–” The priest’s words are sliced through by the muffled, surprised yelp as the pred engulfs their prey’s head. The congregation, aside from a few of the pred’s knowing friends, shrieks in horror as the partner slides effortlessly down the pred’s throat, watching them spit out dress shoes or slurp up the bridal veil like a gossamer noodle. Gowns and suits torn down the middle, months of measurements and alterations tossed aside for the meal of a lifetime. The pred moans and leans back against the wall, massaging their happily squirming belly. There are no cries for salvation or screams from inside; there is only the contented groaning of a stuffed stomach and the panting of an overworked partner.
Turning white, the priest makes a beeline for the exit. The congregation floods out of the doors behind him, save a few curious onlookers and the pred’s friends. Not all of them had the chance to flee, if the wriggling guts on the latter were any indication.
It would seem the reception came early.
At the abandoned reception hall, the pred hefts their dome of flesh onto the banquet table to temporarily relieve themselves of the burden of carrying their meal. Their jubilant friends bestow congratulatory rubs upon the overstretched flesh to welcome the newlyweds. The partner listens carefully over the increasing gurgles of their future paradise as they are wished well from the other side. But, with more massaging hands from the outside, the prey finds their reality beginning to slip away. The gentle pressure combined with the churning muscles and bubbling acid pooling below them has begun to reduce them to tender meat. This is the outcome they wished for, but they don’t have much time left. The pred, realizing this, slowly lifts their belly in acknowledgement, holding their partner’s full weight in their arms one more time.
“When the priest said that marriage was the fusion between two people? He had no idea.”
An affectionate pat of the belly is reciprocated by a weak, loving thrash, causing the surface of their rounding belly to ripple. Now is the true “marriage” that his throng has been waiting for. Drumming their fingers over their taut stomach, the pred dutifully waits for their new life together to begin.
A chorus of gurgles sounds from the pit of their gut, traveling ever upwards. Their belly trembles with the roiling air within, then jiggles wildly as the pleasant gurgles increase to a steady roar. Feeling their muscles contract on their softening food, the pred tilts their head back and toasts their partner into their shared odyssey with a rolling belch that shakes the reception hall. The crowd is silenced.
After the echoes of their partner’s farewell fade away, the pred reluctantly pats their belly. It rumbles joyously, acids faintly sloshing. The fusion of two lovers is done. The friends erupt into cheers, and the pred does the same. Out of the corner of their eye, they spot the squirming stragglers of the congregation as they try to piece together what occurred. Turning to their comrades, the pred smirks.
“Let’s get this party started.”
snowghoul
turnnoffyourmind
romaincrisis
