Swallowed by Shoebill (Patreon)

[This is a patron reward for @BatgirlSilva! Thank you so so much for the support~] 

Survival is no simple task for humans, a lesson you have learned well. Each day that circles past you has been a reminder of that reality. Food can be plentiful, and it can be scarce. A full tank of fuel can take you far, but having nothing leaves you dangerously vulnerable. Survival, as you’ve come to experience, has little to do with skill, determination, cunning -- none of that matters in this world. Life and death are outcomes based on only two factors: chance, and the whims of the friends.

Humans are a weak, vermin-like species. There was no denying that in the face of the friends, the true dictators of the natural order. To humans, friends are enormous beasts without compare. Wild animals in a shape so familiar, so close to being humans of their own, but in reality, they are inherently unequal, their gargantuan size unrivaled by even the most destructive military might humans anywhere could conjur. Humans are an advanced species despite their size, with the access and understanding to use rare resources such as fuel, but their skyscrapers, their tanks, their civilized lives -- everything they construct could be ravaged to literal dust, merely because a friend saw their lives as something fun to play with.

You can still remember the screech of sirens coming from every building. All at once, the entire city was alerted, broken away from their comfortable, modern lives made safe by tall bushes. The peace immediately succumbed to a scramble of mobs rushing to evacuate the city, all while a rhythm of earthquakes taunted them. It wasn’t long before it appeared, the friend -- a woman, a Serval. She jogged into the city excitedly, stomping down buildings and only realizing it seconds later, long after those majestic structures had become dirt trapped in the ridges of her sole.

You witnessed tens of thousands perish, at least by your estimate. Of course, you were alive now to have kept count in the first place, a thought to be grateful for. During the chaos, you were lucky in finding an unused military jeep, likely abandoned during the attack. It was yours now, and no one could stop you; you were alone, miles and miles away from the home you once knew. It was in ruins, everything, and thus you were left to travel the world, to make it on your own as a straggler.

But everyday was worse than the last. The plains and hills were leisurely only for the giant friends that frequented the area. You were constantly prepared for the uncertain, the possibility of a friend being seen over the horizon. A vision would flash in the corner of your eyes, like a silhouette off in the distance, and a cold sweat would you have immersed in horrific memories. Those nightmares were fake, but one was very real for you at the moment: the absence of fuel. The last canister had run dry that morning, and now your precious vehicle was puttering out.

The plan had been to reach the lake up north, where civilizations were prime to exist. Humans perished quickly, but so too did they reproduce and rebuild. Around waters were they most likely to start as a civilization again, but as true as that was the potential of being hunted by a thirsty friend. You just wanted to restock, ideally, but as your jeep slowed on its course over twigs and pebbles, there is only a hope you could reach civilization at all.

At the very least, you know that you’re close. The dry grass and weeds had given way to mushrooms and reeds, and the ground under your tires was softer, more like mud. Just a little further ahead and I can refuel, you’ve caught yourself saying every minute. The meter for your fuel runs closer to red, and your anxiety appropriately rises.

A thick growth of weeds inhibits your path forward, slowing your jeep down further as it has to plow through grassy barriers. The vehicle hiccups just as another row of weeds is pushed down by its bumper. The power of your vehicle is fading, and so you desperately hold down the gas pedal, urging it to trudge forward. It makes it over a hill of grass, but just as it does, the grass pulls back up from under you -- your wish to move ahead is granted in a twist, as the incline sees your jeep rolling forward in a last burst of speed.

You’re rattled after the bump, but more concerning is the jeep’s fuel. Your eyes despair upon the hard “E” for empty, but before you could go on a private tantrum, you discover something far greater than your petty fuel problem. Shivers already travel up your spine before you can even comprehend that gigantic plume of gray and white in front of you. In your heart, you know what this immensity means, but your denial freezes you in place. You keep looking, awing at the fluff of feathers, wishing it wasn’t what it was; a friend.

Not even a friend, that wasn’t what loomed over you. More laughable than just that, you found yourself under the shade of one’s tail. It wasn’t like Serval’s, which whipped into buildings to casually break down windows and walls. This tail is softer and fluffier, but it also confirms the type of friend this had to be. As your head cranes to put the entire beast into your view, the peak of this titan resolves any doubt: a pair of wings upon the head meant that this was a bird-type friend, one of the most fearsome hunters to be under.

It’s a minor detail to your situation, but it belittles you so intensely that you can’t be pried away from thinking of it. If this was the creature’s tail, then the wall ahead of you and its sturdy texture was certainly the ass of this friend, situated on the ground like an abnormal cliff and donning gray-colored shorts. The friend was sitting, her back turned to you, and yet you cowered in your jeep, fingers jittering above the throttle.

You dared not make a noise, but you’re sure you’ve already made too much. Before you could argue if jumping out of the jeep was your best option, you’re humbled by the mere movement of the very creature you wish to flee from. Her head rises higher as she stretches slowly, her wings spreading far before relaxing back into place. You’re captivated watching her, so much so that you didn’t notice a hand flatten some of the grass to your left. It startles you, you think you’re being grabbed, but the hand, wearing fingerless-gloves, is only gripping the ground. She does this so she can turn and look behind herself -- at you.

The little courage you could muster to run away is silenced by the Shoebill’s glare. Her moss-colored eyes are fixated on you and your jeep, their expression brutal and callous, as though you were just a bug. There’s a flicker of curiosity in her stare, the smallest wonder as to what rolled up to her.

Shoebill’s mouth opens. You brace yourself for a mighty roar, covering your ears in a coil of your own arms. Instead of an oppressive battlecry, you hear instead a huge inhale of air, followed by a powerful sigh. The ground quakes, scaring you into looking up. Above you, she yawns; so unimpressed with your arrival in a jeep that she’s still idly waking up and adjusting her posture to examine you. Even this is of intimidating proportions; the tail perks up as her ass lifts off the ground, revealing from under her a wasteland of flatness, a barren field of the very grass and weeds you were struggling to comb past. You watch as the gigantic rear twists to the side, but you don’t intend to see the front of this monster.

You trip out the door of the jeep, willing to leave all your meager supplies behind. You make bounds back the way you came, back towards the towering grass -- how you thought it towered over you, before coming so close to a friend. Behind you, the wind is slashed by the massive movements of Shoebill, and you hear an unnatural clunk and a creak, the sound of metal being strained. You only look back for a split second, seeing your jeep dozens of feet into the air, abducted by a pinch of fingers. You’ve already turned back, rushing into the grass, but you saw something else. That glare, as uncaring as before, still locked onto you.

Moments that feel eternal pass as you charge into the grass, the tall blades whipping against you as you fail to stomp them down. But you’ve gotten to the grass, you think there could be a chance of hiding here -- until darkness suddenly consumes you, preluded only by the faintest shadow. You scream, but it’s a cry for help drowned under the noise of dirt being plowed and weeds being ripped from their roots. A nest of weeds pile all around you as you’ve been caught into Shoebill’s grabbing fist and lifted into the air.

The hand uncoils to unveil a blinding sun above you. You cough and gag, rolled about in the dust and dirt Shoebill had taken along with you. Where your hands and knees make contact with the gloved palm itself, you feel the muscles flex and bend, orchestrating the five giant fingers as they uncurl. In your heaving breaths, you’ve sunken in the realization that you are captured, and that the face of your predator is looming overhead.

The rules of reality as you knew them are tossed aside. You first see in the distance the other hand of Shoebill, a canyon’s gap between you and your jeep -- her jeep, now. You want to reach for it, this treasure that has allowed you to travel so far, but it’s nothing but a toy in Shoebill’s grip. It didn’t matter how heavy the war vehicle was, or how many supplies were cached inside. Shoebill could turn and twist the thing in her fingers, making it appear dainty and fragile.

And then it was gone with hardly a noise you could hear. In an instant, the two fingertips it was wedged between closed together. The jeep crumpled between them into a puff of smoke and a short-lived alarm. You can only observe helplessly as Shoebill grinds her fingers, rolling up the flattened jeep into a grotesque bundle of scrap metal and oil. The fingers unpinch with ease, having never forced themselves much to begin with, and thus the remains of your vehicle scatter in the wind long, long before they can even reach the ground.

“What was that thing?” Shoebill speaks aloud, her megaphone voice pulling your attention to her instantly, as though beckoned to by a god. “It wasn’t very strong. Sorry, human…” She’s apologizing, and worst of all is the sincerity of her tone. Friends weren’t just impossibly strong, but they were intelligent too, and dangerously, they were also naive. They couldn’t understand the world of humans and their technology, just as they couldn’t grasp how such tiny lives were meant to be significant to them. Shoebill’s apology, despite coming from a true emotional place, only brings despair. You’re grimly reminded how fruitless it is to reason for your life.

Shoebill’s focus then befalls you more closely. She raises you up to her bold eyes, still in that stoic state of expression. An arrow of hair divides her eyes, refining that sharp edge that’s solidly on you. Like a blade against your throat, you’re motionless as these gigantic eyes scan you, your entire being analyzed in seconds. You shiver and tremble backwards as you hear the intensity of massive breaths, regardless of how little and mundane they were to the giantess.

“... Is it cold?” Shoebill asks, the slightest tilt to her head as she continues studying you. Even your shivering hasn’t gone unnoticed; she’s more perceptive than some other friends. While you were frozen in her palm, you noticed too late that she was bringing a finger towards you. A digit pointed directly at you comes close and pushes you deeper into the palm. It isn’t crushing, but you’re belittled to know how easily you can be shoved -- actually, you’re being pet by Shoebill, reinforcing your inferior status. The hand that just earlier demonstrated that it could remove a jeep from existence was now prodding you gently, or at least as gently as it could.

“... Cute,” she remarks, her eyes finally blinking yet still showing so little emotion. They were certainly not lifeless, you could tell; she was watching you intensely, until her eyes closed again and her head was raised. She was looking away, and continued with her thought, “... unlike me, n-not when I stare…”

More unbelievable than the fact that you were caught by a gigantic friend was how she turned her head aside, leaving you from her vision. A coherent thought doesn’t develop before your instincts are burning to take over -- now’s your chance, it dawns on you, to try and run. If there ever was the possibility, it was while Shoebill was distracted, so in a mad dash, you trample over the ripped grass in her hand and towards the edge, committed to being anywhere but there.

Of course, you have to halt right before the leap. You look down, suddenly remembering just how high up you were, but not all was dashed. You had run towards the friend, towards her chest, which you confirm is beneath you. You have to plan a landing as you fall, because with such haste, you’ve already made the leap. You know your place in this world, as just a tiny morsel for friends to step over. This is survival, risking it all for meager chances to live into the next day -- thoughts like this bounce in your head, the wind whipping at your ears as you plummet.

Faster than anticipated, you’ve landed atop the friend’s chest, just under the collar of her uniform. After a small bounce against the gray fabric, you’re left on an incline and forced to grapple onto something, lest you slide down too quickly. You manage to grab onto Shoebill’s white tie which drapes down the protruding chest. You first look down that way, the breasts jetting outward like geographical phenomenons, accented with pockets big enough to contain half-a-dozen tanks each. Then, you look up, back towards Shoebill, dreadfully curious of her state of mind, and just as you were fearing, she’s opened her eyes and become aware of your escape.

“Ah… I-It’s getting away…”

In contrast to her passive attitude, you’re ablaze with adrenaline and panic. You scale down the tie in a short slide, but your footing trips and you stumble into a run down the incline. Your feet bounce against the fabric of the tie and the softness of her chest, a scramble downwards reminiscent of a terrified bug. You trip along the tie and roll forward recklessly, unable to stop your momentum in time. As you spiral the rest of the way off the breasts, you see a glimpse of Shoebill’s stare following you, chasing you.

You’re in midair again for just another short time, nothing around to slow your fall. If matters were uncertain before, then there was no predicting what lied ahead now. The autonomy of a living creature is blurred in your mind, washed in the scope at which you were experiencing it so intimately. You land on your back, you’re eager to understand your surroundings -- but you can’t move, despite a hard budge to get back on your feet. You shout when you mean to grunt, and you reach ahead to grip at the gray material swallowing you, like a desperate swim to reach a surface. Like quicksand, so you could imagine, you’re stuck in something that molds around you.

You search for an answer, or maybe another chance to keep escaping. As you try once more to pry yourself free, the gap you’re in widens, and you fall a foot deeper into the gray mouth. You’re understanding it now, that your pathetic sprawling and squirming is all taking place between the thighs of Shoebill. The lap, a place normally associated with comfort and tenderness, is the incidental trap that Shoebill never even had to spring in order to recapture you.

“Oh, I almost let a human get away,” you hear her comment. Above you, her hands hesitantly float around, taking their time to grab you again. Her head leans over you, and her intimidating stare is darkened by a shadow. Your heart races, for you’re able to see under her fluff of bangs and view the fullness of her eyes, so concentrated and curious with what they laid on. “That would have been so embarrassing…”

Defeat seems imminent, yet you can’t accept it. You grip at the thighs and tug, but it’s only her gray tights that you can pull towards you, and the cloth snaps back into place before you can pull yourself up. You manage to twist around so that you’re back to facing Shoebill’s front, and right away you’re greeted with the crotch of her shorts.

Your situation is dire, yet you still freeze up before grabbing at the material. An unusual warmth has surrounded you, but only now have you noticed. It’s her body heat that makes you sweat, but the position you’re in only adds steam. You shake your head, you focus on your escape once more. Her shorts are sturdier, so you can actually begin climbing up, desperately seizing the stitching with both arms.

But you’re then plucked from the thighs, and like that, you know you’ll no longer get away from her. The fat of her exposed fingertips now consume you like the thighs did, overwhelming you less but more restrictive. Your anger boils, you punch down at the finger, and only hurt yourself for trying. Even if you could wriggle free, the fall below may not be as fortunate as the times before.

Shoebill has since relaxed even more, changing her posture so that she stood on her knees more upright, bigger than before. Her stare beams on your form again, and you try to avoid marveling at it. But all that’s left around you is the open air, high above a forest of grass, overlooked by titanic trees. There’s nothing except Shoebill, the final arbiter of your fate, her eyes locked on you in judgement.

“I don’t want you to slip away again,” Shoebill explains, as though she were doing a courtesy. “I should just eat you now before I lose track of you…”

The persistent sinking feeling in your chest submerges into darker waters, and your struggles between the fingers ultimately collapses. Without any fanfare, without a hint of sympathy, Shoebill’s intentions are made clear. You imagine that, due to her tone, there had to be some pity in her soul, some sense that this was unnecessary, but when you look into her eyes searching for that mercy, all you see is a standard blankness. Her stoicism taunts you, an apathy to what horrible fate she plans to execute.

Your begging is met with no reply, proving it to be as useless as you imagined. The fingers urge you closer to her face, they direct you to her mouth. The lips part and you flinch as though blinded by a light, but it’s the void inside that you fret from. The weight of giant eyes has been relieved as you’re moved further, Shoebill no longer capable of watching her prey.

A tongue slithers outward like an entirely new animal to fear. It’s soaked wet with saliva, prepared completely for you, stretched like a bed to be placed on. You push at the air in a final bout of resistance, but Shoebill decides for you that you will enter the red cavern of her mouth. A finger behind you tosses you inside, forcing you head-first onto the slippery tongue. Immediately you sense the change in atmosphere, physically feeling the evolution of danger you’re in. The air is thicker with the moisture of spit, the light is thinner as it filters past two rows of teeth. You raise your head as you survey the bleak scene, and as you do, a drip of slobber slaps you from above, descending from the cave roof.

A moan rattles you. She tastes you, a thought that causes you to jump where you lay. You can only stand on your feet for one second before your balance is foiled, the tongue beneath you shifting and bending. A roll of red flesh captures you in a slick grasp, against all your wishes you’re plunged ahead by the strength of Shoebill’s tongue. It launches you closer to the throat, a dark hole with seemingly no end, but one swallow sees you devoured into it. Your existence is reduced to that of a clump in her throat, a bite-sized snack that she ingests with ease. You scream into the nothingness, you scratch at the organic walls, but the dropping sensation never ceases. Coated in a hefty layer of her saliva, Shoebill has consumed you with little more than a breath.

Shoebill’s gulp is satisfying, careless of the torment she’s unleashed you to. You are no meal to her, an insulting part of your diminishing reality, a fact made clear to you in the vast openness of her stomach. The chamber you reside within oozes with digestive fluids, and sounds of gurgling are constant and arrhythmic. Darkness imposes your vision, yet you can still feel it haunting you, even deep within her -- that glare, perhaps piercing through her stomach to you even still, quietly staring at where her human has undoubtedly ended.