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maw-and-pawp · 7 months ago

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Beneath Veiled Faces pt.1

Disclaimer: Robin's and Alma's views on vore doesn't reflect mine. Robin may come off as a little preachy in that one monolog, but just keep in mind that they have strong opinions formed from their own life experiences, and Alma has (less strong) opinions from her own. It's no way intended to say that one type of vore is inherently better than another- the reason the pred here gets the come uppance is purely plot armor lmao. Also, I've never been to a bar or had alcohol! Can you tell? XD Content: NSF/W vore, alcohol, intoxication, discussion of consent and ethics, panic attack, anxiety, unwilling vore, fatal digestion, hurt/comfort, secret missions, first meetings, secret identities, background murder, past slavery, not too graphic violence, unnamed female pred and unnamed ambiguous prey. Lots of fucking world building.

Robin scans the room once again, ears straining to listen to the wind from inside the mixed bar. The lights are dim this time of night, most patrons having either left or had one too many. The perfect time for most predators to make their move on people too drunk to properly fight back. Or run.

This area of the city has been struck with a string of disappearances, all prey folk. An obvious new hunting ground for an inexperienced pred. No matter. If they do this right, their target won't get the experience to get away with it smoothly.

The bartender gives them a strange look from across the room. Robin had tucked themself into the back booth, back to the wall, ordering only the occasional food. It was, admittedly, good food. They're obsessed with the cheese-stuffed potato skins and the sweet potato fries covered with some sort of sweet glaze. But they hadn't ordered any alcohol in a bar all night, just using a fork to stuff their face with finger food. And they had just been caught looking too closely at the patrons and the exits.

Stars they must look so suspicious. They just know they've got ‘that look’ in their eyes again, as Cedar keeps pointing out, that gives people the impression that they're ‘staring straight into your soul’. Ugh. Guess it's time to go up to the bar and actually order something, or blow their cover.

They hand over their ID and smile without teeth. The bartender eyes them a moment longer, before handing it back. He's a tall pred folk, one that would tower even above other mortal preds. As it is, Robin's palms start sweating in their gloves from having to almost throw their head back to look him in the eyes. They focus instead on the little enameled pin tucked across his collar, a cutesy little ghost saying ‘boo-mbtastic!’. As they start to read the menu for something light to sip, he speaks up. “I saw you looking around a lot tonight.”

“I'm waiting for someone,” they confess. It's not the whole truth, obviously, but they can't lie even if they wanted to. He chuckles. His voice rough enough it makes them shiver. They hope they're not flushing. “Got stood up, huh?”

They move to shake their head, but stop mid-movement. A sweet scent tickles their nose, and they have to swallow thickly against the sudden flood. The stool next to them shifts as someone slides in.

“Heyyyy bestie, no time no seeee,” the stranger says. A young prey woman sits next to them, swinging her feet and leaning her face in her hands. A faery prey woman. What in the world…?

“I saw you yesterday, Alma. Like I see you every night.” The woman - Alma - hands over her ID and smiles with teeth. Her pink nose is flushed red already, her pupils blown so only a ring of spring green can be seen. Has she been bar hopping? “Are they with you tonight, then? You can't keep leaving your dates hanging. This one's been here all night waiting.”

The other faery looks surprised, before turning her face to where he's gesturing. She looks them up and down, and smirks conspiratorially. “They are now! You don't mind, do you?” Robin shrugs. It doesn't matter to them, although now they'd have to find a way to thank her for saving their ass there. The man raises an eyebrow and mutters something fond under his breath about ‘damn kids, had me worried’.

They both order, and the bartender turns to start preparing the drinks. Robin tilts their head at the faint whisper in the wind. It's something to focus on instead of the way their stomach clenches. They've eaten enough food tonight, they don't need more, and they've just met Alma. That's not how it's supposed to go back in the homeland. And they've had enough of the nontraditional way. Never again.

She studies them over the edge of her glass of wine. Seemingly sizing them up in turn. After a moment, she comes to a decision, and hisses quietly in their mother tongue, words having a strange accent to them. “Y'know, I thought I was the only one on this side of the Veil.” She smiles toothily, swaying some. They resist the urge to grab her arm to steady her.

“Me too.” They take a sip of the sangria they ordered, trying to wash her scent down with another sweet thing. They need a distraction, so they ask the first thing that comes to mind to keep the conversation going, leaving one ear pricked towards the wind. “What brings you here?”

She snorts. “To the bar or the jungle? Because if it's the first, buddy that's so cliche to ask What's A Pretty Thing Like You Doing In A Place Like This.” Alma giggles as she downs the rest of her wine. She fully turns to face them, leaning her elbow up on the counter not made for her height. Her upright ears flutter, once, twice.

They roll their eyes. “I'm not hitting on you, obviously. You don’t have to answer that if it's personal.”

Alma rolls her eyes right back. She sobers some as she mulls it over. In a hushed tone, she replies, as if anyone happening to be listening could actually understand them. “I'm not the real Alma Florimell. Well, I am but not. It's a whole deal.”

They hum to themself. “Changeling?” They pretend not to be invested in the answer. Truly, how alone must she feel if she was willing to answer a vulnerable question from a stranger? Or drunk. Probably drunk. They shouldn't ask anymore questions like that, then.

“Yeah. Switched at birth and all. Like in a bad comedy drama. I'm lucky that my hosts wanted me even after they realized I'm not normal,” she rambles. The bartender notices that her drink is empty, and she motions for a refill with a muted smile. She sways again. Maybe she's had enough for tonight… They quietly ask for some water in english and push it towards her. “And, well, the real Alma isn't on speaking terms with hers, so I guess I dodged a bullet.”

“You are normal, Alma. Perfectly healthy and average for someone like you, as far as I can tell. And yeah, the plant thing is a little weird, but you're all just weird to me in general.”

They decide to look around again, instinct telling them that something was off. Nothing was out of the ordinary at a glance, though. Exactly how it was before they got caught. They frown slightly to themself before turning back. They redouble their split focus towards the hunt at hand.

“Whatever…” she brushes off. There's no reason to believe them, afterall. They don't even know why they said that. Robin glances down to their hands. Half the glass is gone somehow. Oops. “Wait, how did you know about that?”

“It's really common. It would be weird if you didn't feel more at home with plants than people.”

A momentary silence descends between them. Robin scrambles for something to say. They feel dizzy; from the alcohol or from the sweet treat they're talking to, they can't say. Their stomach rumbles in interest at the thought. They shake their head, realizing they're staring.

It's Alma that breaks the silence. “So, what about you? How’d a windborne end up here? You're not trooping faeries. It must be hard living in a city, especially with no prey. Unless I don't know anything and I should shut up now. No seriously I won't be offended if you tell me to, I ramble all the time, especially when I've had too many. Like now. Yeah.” She sips her water to illustrate the point. The little preything really could talk, huh? Robin likes the sound of her voice, it's deep and smooth, reminding them of Cedar in a strange way. When he's totally relaxed and not nearly soprano from his anxiety. They take out their phone and shoot off a reminder to take his melatonin gummies while they're thinking about him.

Pocketing it, they finally process her words, and freeze. Well, she might not get it, but maybe they can subtly tell her a partial truth so she can draw her own conclusions… They pull up their left sleeve just enough to reveal the old brand curling possessively up their forearm. Their master’s use-name, written in the faery tongue in bold characters. It's an old and ugly memory, but their master’s attendants made sure it healed cleanly. The only apology they could give them as a child freshly ‘acquired’. They don't acknowledge the gasp to their right as they calmly explain, “I'm a free hound, but I can't ever be sure it would stay that way if I went back.”

They pull down their sleeve and fit it back over their glove snuggly. The leather squeaks as they testingly clench their fingers. Stalling, so they don't have to acknowledge the fear Alma is radiating at their side. Her heart is beating so fast, rushing blood close to the surface, making her scent flood the air. It's soured with terror. So dizzy, and shaky, they get up to leave her alone. It's fine. They get it.

Her fingers shoot out and clutch their sleeve. “It's fine! I'm sorry for reacting like this. Give me a minute, you don't have to go!”

They rip their arm away, baring their fangs in a snarl. Heart hammering, they can't breathe enough air into their lungs, and their world lurches forward from the rush of adrenaline and oxygen deprivation. The stool rushes up to meet them and they cling onto it like a lifeline. Everything blurs out of their awareness for several long moments.

When they come back to themself, their ears are ringing, and the bartender has come from behind the counter and laid them down flat on the ground so they wouldn't crash and bring glass with them. He's speaking softly to them, and someone next to them is guiding them through a breathing exercise. They vaguely recognize it as the same one they use with Cedar when he has attacks. Their ears ring.

Robin is guided back onto the stool, Alma saying something to the bartender, who after a moment retreats to get them a glass of water. She very carefully doesn't touch them, but she does lean forward into their line of sight, pretty lips softly smiling. It doesn't reach her eyes.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you…”, she murmurs. “I didn't know.”

“I should be the one apologizing. Just. Don't touch me suddenly. Don't grab my arms like that. And we’re golden.” They gulp down their water in one big swallow. “Thanks for helping me through that. You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah I did, idiot. I messed up. I fix it. Thems’ the rules.” She leans back out of their space. “I think I owe you something now, though. For being frightened unnecessarily, and causing a situation where you'd panic.”

“You don't owe me anything. It's fine. It's over, and it was an understandable reaction to that. It's fine.”

She tilts her head, regarding them thoughtfully. “What about dinner? You don't seem like you've gotten enough to eat recently. Your presence is weaker than I know it should be. Or well, it's late for dinner. I could be dessert?”

Robin bites back the first three answers. They are not going to make decisions with their stomach, thank you very much. “Don't offer me your body out of a perceived obligation. That's weird. I would be weird for saying yes to that.”

She flusters. “Hey, don't talk about it like it's sex! And it's not obligation! I thought, maybe, that you would be tempted if I said it like that. To be honest, I just want to disappear right now. Be far away from everything. I don't know, the chiropractor is too expensive. I need to get factory reset and no one is biting. It's just fulfilling a need for eachother. And yeah, I am sorry for earlier. I know bloodhounds don't get a choice in what the person on the other end of the leash makes you do. It was irrational. You'd have torn my throat out already if you were still under someone's thumb. And I know that I get the munchies after a panic attack, I thought that it would probably be welcome to offer you a meal.”

They hum in thought for a moment, choosing their words carefully. “It's not inherently sex, you're right. But I need to approach it like it is. It's a lot of the same questions about consent and autonomy about our bodies. It's not like here in the mortal realm, they die from this all the time. They can't have a culture around respecting a prey as a person in the same way we can. It's inherently intimate, at least for me. You're both food and a person, but here it's food or a person. It's so strange to think about it like that. It feels wrong.” They shiver in disgust at the mere thought. “So following that logic, I'm pretty sure we're both too intoxicated to be making that decision right now.”

Alma’s voice turns teasing. “You've had literally one drink. You're not that much of a lightweight, are you?”

“Guilty as charged. It's the bird bones. Can't be too heavy to fly and all.” They smirk. “Who knew hollow bones were bad at making blood, too?”

“Oh boy. Let's hope you never have to go to the ER!”

“Yeah. Let's hope.”

They settle once again into a comfortable silence. At some point they relocate to the booth Robin had claimed earlier. Alma ends up ordering 3 more wines, and they show her the magic of the glazed sweet potato fries. She teases them for eating fries with a fork, and they dare her to wrap her hands in napkins and not get any grease or glaze on them. She fails spectacularly, over and over, until Robin can't breathe because they're laughing too hard. She playfully kicks under the table.

While they're having fun in good company, the other preds at the bar watch in curiosity. Some had been concerned earlier, when the short one had keeled over. Some were watching with bated breath, placing bets on when the little pred was going to stop playing with their food and eat the tiny prey. In anticipation or cynical worry.

And one was thinking to herself that the little pred was weak. That together with the tiny preything, they'd make a filling meal. The tiny prey was drunk, it wouldn't put up much fight. Couldn't walk, let alone run, so all she had to do was swallow the other one first. Oh yes. It looked so tasty. She hoped her prey paired well with the margarita she's been nursing the whole night.

Her stomach burbled in interest at the thought of dinner tonight. Or perhaps, that was last night's prey still processing. Such a pretty thing, so trusting. It filled her up nice and good. She went home with a squirming gut that night, and put her favorite soap operas on. Rubbed her belly as it purred, bubbling and churning in delight as the little thing screamed for help. Slowly being drowned out by her massive gut roaring to life, thrashing getting weaker as her stomach clenched and melted her prey into nothing. Gods, she can't get enough of it. Truly, this was what she's been missing out on?

She follows them out after they split the bill, and the little pred helps the tiny one walk. They stagger a few times, and the two stop for a moment so the tiny one can bend over a bush. She hears them hiss quiet words to eachother in a language she's never heard before. They sound like snakes, but if snakes were Italian. How interesting.

She slips unnoticed past them with a casual walk. An alleyway was only a bit ahead, where they'd have to pass to call a taxi home. Perfect. Now, just to wait.

Robin sighs in relief as nothing ends up coming up. It's been a long night for Alma by the looks of it, and they mentally prepare to get strange looks from the taxi driver as they carry a nearly blackout drunk preygirl home. She'd probably be fine on her own, seeing as faery prey are fighters when they don't like what's happening. Vicious things. But it's rained recently, and if she passes out in a puddle…

The hunt tonight was fruitless so far. Well, maybe they could take Alma home and come back to continue. The predator has been attacking in a circular pattern across the city, Missing Persons last being seen at a bar and disappearing after the establishment closes, or after they leave. So the culprit is choosing the victims inside the building.

Of course, serial killers or traffickers aren't entirely ruled out. But the broken antler pieces left in alleys suggest an amatuer predator breaking off the natural defenses of their prey, not wise enough yet to remember to clean up afterwards. Or someone clever enough to make it look like a predator attack to throw off investigators. Not that the police have been any kind of useful to a simple case like this so far. That's why they have to step in now.

They curse their circumstances in their head. If only there were more faery prey - willing prey - they wouldn't have heard about this so late. The wind would've carried the screams for help to them from anywhere in the world. But the longer they go without eating, the more the wind fades from their awareness, the harder it is to maintain the glamour that safely hides away their wings in a pocket dimension. They haven't eaten prey since they were a teenager…

They slowly lead Alma away from the bush as she straightens back up. The designated area for the taxi was just ahead, a little alley between them and the waiting bench.

Someone grabs the back of their shirt and yanks. They feel their body be pulled back into the shadows, reflexively letting go of Alma in the process. Adrenaline shoots up their spine. Something wet hits their face - drool - and they instinctively twist around in the grip of their captor. The attacker is over powered, or caught off guard by their strength, and loses some of their hold on them. Robin strikes out where they're guessing the face is of the predator, and tries not to grin when they feel a crack underneath their fist. They've struck true once again.

The person goes flying. They watch as they - she, bounces off the side of a dumpster and lands on her knees. A vindictive, predatory part of themself purrs in satisfaction in seeing their target brought low. She groans. Growls some generic insult. Or threat. They don't really care what she has to say.

“Found you,” Robin breathes, and Alma slurs. The prey woman leaning on the opposite wall wastes no time in reaching into seemingly nowhere and bringing forth five long purple needles. She throws them. One lands in the dirt by the target’s feet, one in the brick wall, two in the metal, and one strikes true into the predator’s engorged gut. They feel sick as they watch the flesh wobble on impact. The woman goes limp almost instantly.

Robin eyes her for a moment before turning their head to stare at Alma. “What do you mean, ‘found you’?!” They once again say in unison. They shake their head. “You first.”

“I ho arouuund,and…*hic* smell nice. It makes them. It makes them want meeee. So I figired, I've got Para. The stiff that makes you jot move. I trick em into eating it along with me if they're gonna just *hic* take meeee.” Alma rambles. “Yooou turn”

“...I go around and find predators that don't take no for an answer. And I make them take no for an answer.”

“Ohhh you're the killlllerrr. Cooooool”

“And you’re the cause behind preds becoming paralyzed suddenly. Nice.”

“Yeaaah” She slowly sinks down the wall, and Robin moves to help her up. “I wanna go home now.”

The adrenaline is slowly starting to wear off, and the exhaustion setting in. Robin is tired down to their bones after tonight. All in all a successful hunt, with a new ally/friend to boot, but they've done more emotional work tonight than they have since the night they ran. “Yeah. Let's go home.”

Two taxi rides, a deadweight girl on their back up a flight of stairs, and a worried phone call later, Robin is closing their own apartment door behind them. They're asleep in Cedar’s bed before their head hits the pillow.

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maw-and-pawp · 7 months ago

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BVF World Building

Been having Thoughts on how exactly the faery predator and prey dynamic works, and the specifics of Alma and Robin's species. Endure my nerdy infodump

Trooping Fairies - a classification in folklore, fae who live in groups or are encountered in groups

Solitary Fae - a classification in folklore, fae who live alone or are encountered alone

Windborne/Windborn - a predator faery species whose magic is tied to air, smoke, movement and communication. Like all faery preds, they rely on faery prey to replenish the connection to their magic. Solitary Fae

Alseadryad - a prey faery species, who live in groves and forrests. They generate magic, relying on the strength of their bonds to eachother and the plants under their protection to thrive. Trooping Fairies

Alseadryads are me smashing together the folklore of cluricauns, wood wives/moss maidens, and the nymph types aleids and dryads. The Alsea part is actually a reference to the first time and only time aleids were referenced in classical writing. Homer called them "alsea" in the Illiad, Odyssey, and the Homeric Hymn V To Aphrodite.

As a prey species in a half-sized/size difference setting, I needed to emphasize how small they are in comparison to the people nomming them. So I took that from the cluricauns and the moss maidens. Not nearly as tiny, but yeah. I mentioned earlier that Alseadryads rely on their connection to the plants Under Their Protection to thrive, and not the least of which is that it gives them the ability to reform after being devoured as long as their plant buddies are still kicking (dryad and aleid style). It's in their best interest to defend them in turn, and goddammit they will. Cluricauns defend their unwilling roommates and homes from malicious outsiders, and wood wives will chase you out of the forrest if you harm the saplings they care for, intentionally or not. So if you threaten them or theirs, an alseadryad will End You Personally.

Alma's tendency to poison the mortal preds she entices is considered a mature and righteous response to anyone raised the Fae Wilds. A fairy trap if I ever saw one lmao.

Several factors go into how the culture of willing vore came about. Firstly, a predator would have to go out of their way to fatal vore. Destroy a whole grove or stretch of forest, with not even one tiniest thing left alive. Tedious, and dangerous, because tending to the plant buddies is a communal effort. The whole neighborhood wants you Dead. Maybe the whole town.

So that's not an option. Still, taking a prey against their will, you're going to wake up with a pillow pressed against your face in the middle of the night if you don't take precautions. If you don't get stabbed in the first place.

There were two options presented to the ancient predators. One, hard vore. Two, creating a friendly and symbiotic relationship with their prey, fostering a system of mutual trust.

The majority tried hard vore first, specifically the avian class of windborne, but there were massive losses on both sides as a blood fued brewed.

So. Through natural selection and several peace treaties, the ones that chose the second option became the standard. Keep in mind that the ancient pred and prey conflict would've been going on at the same time as the mortal realms Neolithic Era equivalent. Thousands and thousands of years have passed. It's only in relatively recent times that nonconsensual vore and hard vore have become a major concern again with the rise of a class of Loan Shark Slave Masters. Bloodhounds don't get a choice, and neither do the food slaves. Every free person is kept under the thumb of the Masters through fear tactics, or enlist their services to remove unwanted persons. Bloodhounds are assassins, after all.

Windborne can look very similar to mortal preds at first glance, some classes more than others. Similarly human-looking, sharp teeth and sharp claws. If you've ever seen a pixie from Peter Pan then you understand what a baby one looks like. They hatch from eggs unlike many other sentient species. They all start out palm sized and insectoid, but they can do something truly amazing during a specific phase of their lives.

Between the ages of 0-5, if they lose their wings, they can regrow them. The wings come back based on the environment they're raised in. If they're being raised in a forest, it returns as the same insectoid wings, with some variation with butterflies mixed in. If they're being raised in a cave, bats. The mountains, birds. By water, the wings return as clouds.

The bat class is further separated by their diets. They eat more fruit, and only drink blood. A combination of flying foxes and vampire bats. Yes, this is a vampire fairy I will not apologize for putting vampires in with your fantasy vore. They're hot and interesting and I should say it /j

Considering that their magic touches on communication -sound has to travel through the air- windborns can hear things many miles away, can use their voices to entrance or entice, and several classes can temporarily turn into wind and ride it to where they'd like to go.

In light of the voice thing, I'm going to call the water windborn the siren class. Why the fuck not. Vampires exist, sirens exist, werewolves are gonna find a way to squirm in next I swear.

It's relevant to Robin on this last one - windborne claws are made to tear things apart, not grab. It's why they wear the gloves near constantly. Slices through flesh like butter, and it doesn't help that the avian class practically have talons.

Getting back to the wing thing. Pred parents usually wait until their child is around 3 years old before removing the wings of their kid. They have to be sure that they're not going to move in the interim, because they only get 3 chances at this, and only once can be traumatic. It's usually painless with modern technology, but knowing that someone is going to tear your limb off is probably not the best thing for feeling safe. But it's tradition, and windborne are solitary fae. They won't live with anyone as an adult. They need to be adapted to their environment and be self-sufficient.

Eveelution as fairy predator species

#v0re #beneath veiled faces #bvf worldbuilding #vore writing #fairy prey #fairy pred #lol thanks for listening to my ted talk

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