vorethoughtsforhornythots

[vorethoughtsforhornythots]

The silly lil guy has fear triggered aggression, he’s about to bite

[vorethoughtsforhornythots]

Giant: *SFW/Non-Fatal*

Me:

No hate to individuals but the concept is just so.... disappointing.

[vorethoughtsforhornythots]

Rest & Digest (NSFW)

Never did anything for 8/8 before, will probably never do it again. Time is an illusion, and the year is almost over already. Fuck. Anyway, here’s some horror-ass, serial killer coded shit for all the other gross freaks. Its short and vague but, man, this is my bread and butter. Hope the vibe I’m going for translates well. Happy Vore Day!

            She couldn’t see. This wasn’t the hollow, reddish dark from before, however. The kind that, if she moved her hand close enough, she could just make out the silhouette of her fingers. This was blindness. Pitch black. She could feel her eyes open but was unable to perceive anything. That was all she could feel. Everything else was numb.

            She couldn’t feel herself. Not her legs, or her arms. Not her skin or her bones. But she could feel her eyes. Numbly blinking in that same steaming lake she barely remembers plopping into. She could no longer feel the strange bog. Not the clammy tightness or the occasional rumbles.  Not the heavy-weightless shifting of immense flesh all around her, or the subtle sting that worked on her so slowly. All she had, beyond her blinking eyes, was sound.

It must have been days of that numbness. Days of that blindness. All she had left was her ability to hear. Before, she heard her own screams echoing from the fleshy walls of her tomb. Then, when her voice became horse and her joints too tired to bang out in protest, more noises taunted her. Deep, moist gurgling that she learned took her sight. Haunting bubbling that later numbed her body. And something else that still lingered beyond the endless grumbles. Something that came and went between times of rest and times of weak consciousness. It was the distant sound of voices.

Crying. Laughing. Music. Static. Whatever this distant something was, it was the only thing keeping her sane. It reminded her of home. Of fresh air. It reminded her of how summer nights could be so warm and bright, and winter days so dark and cool. The contradictions of the world beyond that she took for granted. If she could feel, she knew she would cry whenever she heard that distant something click on. Or maybe she was always crying in the dark. Ruined cheeks forever streaked with tears.

Even though she couldn't see, and she couldn't feel, and she couldn't move, and she couldn't breathe—just maybe she could speak. She didn't know within this steaming limbo if she was forever mute or always screaming. She had long stopped feeling her body being shifted around in the slimy blackness. She had thought her voice went with her strength. But maybe all she needed to do was try one more time. Maybe if she could will her eyes to close completely and remember summer nights and winter days, her voice would somehow return. Though she couldn't feel any air enter her lungs and what air she could detect reeked of bile, she allowed herself the strength to try. And without seeing, without feeling, without moving her body or taking much breath, whatever power was left in her melting body allowed for one last scream. Her own air ripping through the pungent tightness. Her own sound drowning out the once comforting distant static.

***

            Like clockwork, he clicked on the evening news. Before allowing his immense weight--almost 8 feet of fat and muscle--to punish his old chair, he always clicked on the news. The only reason he was able to remember her face was the fact that it was plastered on his screen every night at the same time. Sometimes it would be her smiling picture on a missing persons flyer. At other times it would be a crying couple that shared her features. He of course wondered if they tasted just as good as she did. He also couldn't help but wonder how her face looked now. Not nearly as pretty. Not nearly as flawless. A soft and mulling mass. Not even a parent could love.

            They must still really love you though, he thought, rubbing his ever-gurgling gut with one hand and changing the channel with the other. After a week and a half, I know I would have given up. Oh, well.

            A sudden and immense belch erupted from his insides. He knew as predators like himself always seemed to know, that was far from a final breath. It was surprising. Jarring. And the subtle squirm that accompanied that reminded him of those early days. He couldn't wait to have another one. He smiled down at his ever-working belly.

            “Good,” he groaned. “Looks like you still have some fight.”

[vorethoughtsforhornythots]

Worthless

[vorethoughtsforhornythots]

[vorethoughtsforhornythots]

[vorethoughtsforhornythots]

making a new character, the Very way

step 1: design them

step 2: draw them eat someone

[vorethoughtsforhornythots]

Okay. Can't get this out of my head.

Giant world, not too unlike our own, just a little more advanced. While humans are in the dark ages, giants are sliding into their 1930s. Odd, colossal, future-elves they seem like.

Humans who visit this giant world are usually witches. Most witches avoid cities and live in massive forests. However, some covens sneak into people's houses to take resources and find a steady place to stay with all the food and shelter they need. Giants perceive them, these flying magic using things hiding in their homes, as faeries.

Witches are to giants as fae are to us: mysterious little magic using borrowers from a different world.

[vorethoughtsforhornythots]

Hmmm thinking about the delicious stages of post-digestion. After a few long hours of a orey squirming, struggling, and screaming to be let out, they finally succumb to the pred's stomach and are churned and melted down...

All of that sludge is slowly pumped throughout the pred's body. Soon, their stomach is empty again, but their intestines are full of what was previously a living person. Now, though, they've been reduced to sustenance, nothing more than a plump curve in the pred's gut. Come morning, there will be almost no sign that the pred indulged in such a meal... Except for a small layer of pudge added to the pred's hips.

[vorethoughtsforhornythots]

whats ur favorite vore

the kind where a character eats another character

jokes aside, UHHHHHHH

I guess soft fatal vore with size difference between pred and prey. other kinds can be fun too, like absorption. but a lot of the time I really love digestion, something about a living being reduced to meaty paste is very alluring. especially in mass vore wherein a giant pred devours multiple prey and all individuals just become uniform lifeless mush is, wow!

[vorethoughtsforhornythots]

I ain't been writing but I have been drawing. Take this new Rooney. Hopefully changing it up a bit will actually make me wanna make something this year lol

[vorethoughtsforhornythots]

So much in my drafts I could finish--schedule throughout the month even! But I'm trapped and I never ending cycle of just getting so tuckered out after staring blankly at a wall for hours.

Anyone else ever get that feeling at like 1am where all the executive dysfunction just goes away and you have extreme motivation. But you know you need sleep, and then you have to hold yourself back from doing the thing, which sucks.

Yeah thats me right now.

[vorethoughtsforhornythots]

G/t includes people who think it's sexy. Kinks are not evil, nor are they eternally activated, just waiting for their hosts to see someone pretty tall or pretty short or pretty to turn them into twisted, drooling mockeries of humanity. I never had a choice. It was what I was born with. There's times I wish it was not the case, especially when I see discourse that makes considering any sort of sexual act in the context of size difference an immoral act.

[vorethoughtsforhornythots]

G/t includes people who think it's sexy. Kinks are not evil, nor are they eternally activated, just waiting for their hosts to see someone pretty tall or pretty short or pretty to turn them into twisted, drooling mockeries of humanity. I never had a choice. It was what I was born with. There's times I wish it was not the case, especially when I see discourse that makes considering any sort of sexual act in the context of size difference an immoral act.

[vorethoughtsforhornythots]

[vorethoughtsforhornythots]

"Don't take it personally, little bird. I am with child, my increased appetite is only natural~"

[vorethoughtsforhornythots]

“Story Time” With Staple - Little Red Riding Hood - by Staple