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Deep in the heart of Africa, far away from any lion-dominated terrain, a stretch of thick, dense jungle went on for miles. Birds soaring above it could barely see much through the thick trees from above, nor could any grounded animal make out much of the sky from below. Grass, bushes, roots, and dirt comprised of the ground, making traversing through it somewhat difficult, although there were a few clearings to ease one's journey.
Most notable about this jungle, however, were the many rumors and whisperings surrounding it. Many animals would travel inside it, whether for food or just to explore. However, while some would emerge perfectly unharmed, a majority of them who would go in mysteriously would never come back, and were never seen again. And whenever someone went in to search for a missing friend or family member, they too would fail to return. And so the cycle continued, until eventually after it happened too many times, animals largely began spreading word to avoid the place altogether. They had no idea what was in there that was so dangerous, and those who did go in and come back reported seeing nothing unusual.
Such information, however, was not known to the golden lion wandering through it. This was Simba, the lost prince of the Pride Lands.
Simba had been living under Timon and Pumbaa's care for a few years now, after running away from his home as a cub. In that time, he had grown into a young adult. In spite of a heavy grub diet, he had grown into a healthy, handsome lion, with a thick, lush red mane and strong, well-muscled body, though not as big or bulky as his father.
One night, he had awoken from his slumber after a vicious nightmare. It involved the day his father died, and in it he envisioned himself back in the gorge when the stampede occurred. Only this time, his father, rather than trying to save him, taunted him relentlessly for causing him to die, before warping into a hideous figure and pinning the frightened cub down for the wildebeests to finish the job.
This bad dream put Simba in a particularly somber mood, and caused Timon and Pumbaa to stir. Desperate to clear his head, he told the two that he wanted to take a walk on his own for a while, to which they obliged. And so the shaken prince wandered out on his own away from his friends, walking for miles to nowhere in particular. He had come across a stretch of land that he had not fully visited before. He crossed the large sheet of open, flat grasslands, and was now at the entrance to a separate stretch of jungle. Said stretch was one that he had never come close to before, a little ways away from the area he currently called home. Which meant that he was unaware of the rumors surrounding it, or many disappearances that it seemed responsible for.
The lion sighed, looking back at the way he came. He'd had nightmares about that day before, but this one was the worst of them. He just wanted something to make himself feel separate from the rest of the world, like it couldn't touch him or he it. Maybe a stroll through such a thick and obscuring place would make him feel like that.
And so he entered.
Simba wasn't even all that concerned about getting lost. A part of him felt that he would be able to find his way out. Another, possibly larger part of him was okay if it took him a long time. Anything to distract him from his own thoughts.
The brightness of the moon was lessened as he strolled under the thick canopies, but still broke through in many large slivers, casting a sort of ethereal glow over the entire jungle. Simba looked around as he wandered deeper in. Large trees formed a slope-heavy terrain that often required him to leap, weave, and duck his way through. He would sometimes have his path blocked by thick bushes that he had to plow his way through. He was grateful that none of them contained thorns. The area also sported many roots and vines of varying sizes. Some lay sprawled out on the ground. Some dangled and hanged from the leaves and branches. Some were coiled tightly around the thick tree trunks. All in all, this area was similar to the jungle he would usually spend his days in. However, something felt a little … different about it. He couldn't place it, but this place didn't feel fully right.
It's just in my head, he told himself. I'm having a bad night, I just need more time to clear out my thoughts.
Simba suddenly heard what sounded like a rustling of leaves, seeming to come from a little above and behind him. The prince/king jolted his head up in that direction, but saw nothing. He stared at the spot for a few more seconds before hearing the sound again, this time noticing the leaves slightly shaking. In a bout of instinct, he climbed up the trunk of the tree pushed the leaves aside. However, he saw no creature there; only a vine wrapped around the branches. He looked around, but saw no signs of any living thing. He figured that it was some rodent or other small, harmless creature. I'm on edge, I need to relax. Hakuna Matata, right?
With these thoughts, the lion climbed back down and continued his walk, trying to get a grip on himself. Unbeknownst to him, however, once he was far enough away, the solo vine started gently uncurling from the branch, completely on its own, and moving its way down the trunk.
As Simba kept going through the jungle for the next while, he was getting stranger and stranger feelings about this place.
Several times, he could swear he saw something moving out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned to look, he only saw more still plant life. He picked up on more rustling now and then, some of it so faint that he questioned whether he was just imagining it, and couldn't help but feel that it was more than just some rodent.
Every once in a while, Simba would look away from an area for a moment, and when he turned his head back, he couldn't help but feel like the landscape he was just looking at was somehow slightly different, like it had changed in a way he couldn't identify. Usually it was a few roots or vines that he could have sworn were not where they were before. Most alarmingly of all, however, he came across what looked like signs of previous skirmishes or fights. Some sliced up vines were limp on the ground, and nearby them were faint hints of claw marks in the barks of trees and other drier parts of the ground not washed up by dirt or rain.
Simba was getting paranoid about this jungle. He wondered if it was invested with snakes or something. The jungle was appearing to be increasingly dangerous, and yet he hadn't come across anything that would appear explicitly dangerous whatsoever. There were barely any animals in here, and what creatures he did come across were very small and nonthreatening. Yet he was still getting unpleasant vibes from it all, and it was starting to get to his head.
As the young lion's paws continued to pad through the jungle, a vine emerged from a thick bush behind him and slowly started slithering up to him. It moved silently, staying low to the ground. The prince remained unaware as it snaked closer and closer to his feet.
Simba's pace eventually slowed down as he found himself caught up once more in his thoughts. I wonder how everyone is doing back home? he woefully pondered. Mom, Nala, Scar, Zazu. Do they still miss me? It had been a long time since he'd seen any of them. Of course miss me! They have to … Right? He just sighed in regret. They shouldn't. They're better off just forgetting about me after what I did. I-
Simba's troubled thoughts were interrupted when he suddenly felt something brush by his right ankle and gently wrap around it. He gasped and turned his head around swiftly, and his eyes widened to saucers at what he saw. It was a lone, thick, dark-green vine … And it was moving! All on its own, like some kind of snake! The plant was slowly continuing to coil up the lion's ankle and hock, reaching his lower knee. He could see the rest of the vine's length shifting lightly on the ground.
Simba let out a shout of shock and disbelief. He lifted and yanked his hind leg about to dislodge the vine, but it kept its grip. Simba growled as he reached back with his front claws, needing to drop down in a half-lying position to reach it. To his surprise, his claws didn't seem to make much progress on it as he sawed through the tendril. Rather, it harshly squeezed his leg, causing Simba to grit his teeth. Annoyed and concerned, the lion lifted his ankle up to his face and sank his teeth into the plant. He pulled back and yanked hard, able to loosen the vine enough to slip his ankle through. The vine began writhing as if in pain - if this thing could move, could it feel pain? - before it seemed to be ready to lash out again. Simba immediately got back onto all fours and darted away from the lone tendril.
What was that?! That vine, it-it was moving! That's impossible! Simba thought as he kept running.
The startled prince kept at a quick pace for another minute, before slowing down to recollect himself. He jerked his head back to look behind him, and thankfully saw that the vine was nowhere to be seen. Simba was unnerved by what just happened. He knew plants were living things that grew and shifted throughout their lifespans, but not like this! That vine not only appeared sentient, but somewhat malevolent. It went after him and wouldn't let go; it didn't just curl around him like most vines did, it was gripping tightly. It also surprisingly took a bit of effort to get off.
Simba then took note of the many other vines that lay still all throughout his location. His anxiety quickly rose as he frantically looked around him, wondered if any of these vines were … alive as well. But they all seemed dormant.
But then he caught something out of the corner of his right eye. He turned and saw what looked like three of the same kind of vines moving towards him from the side, at a quicker pace than the first vine. The lion backed away from them as they wormed closer. Suddenly, they quickly launched out and all wrapped themselves around his left front leg before he could react.
"AH!" Simba screamed out. The roots were climbing further up his leg and reaching his bicep and shoulder, and locked themselves on firmly. The lion pulled his leg back as far as it could go, but while the vines were clearly straining to keep their hold on the large feline, they still didn't let go. They just squeezed tighter, causing Simba to wince. He then saw a few more vines creeping out from a bush, and Simba knew he had to act quickly. So he brought his claws and teeth out to slash and bite at the vines wrapped around him. Combined that with his constant pulling and straining on them, and it was enough to sever them off. The vines spasmed about as a result, before going limp on the jungle floor. Just before the emerging vines made their move, the prince turned and started to run. He looked back, and it didn't seem like the roots were speeding up in response.
Simba slowed down to a walk after about ten seconds. The vines kept slithering and weaving around in the distance, but they didn't seem to be know where he was.
He had never seen anything like this before, and it was scaring him. These things were clearly not friendly, and considering he was in a thick jungle filled with vines, roots, and other plant life, they could come out from anywhere. And yet, he still couldn't tell just how dangerous all of this was. How did this happen? What did these vines want? Were they trying to attack him, or just blindly and aimlessly coiling around anything they sensed by instinct, like a regular vine would coil up a tree? How did they sense where he was? What would they do if he didn't get them off him? Did he do something to provoke them? How much danger was he truly in, if any at all? Were there … other kinds of plants that had somehow become sentient?
The amount of unknowns and the sheer strangeness of this situation put Simba even more on edge. And he didn't feel like sticking around to get answers. He was ready to get out of this place, now.
The lost lion prince had been wandering through this jungle for a while now, trying to find his way out and seemingly making no progress. It was bad enough that he hadn't really been keeping track of his path to begin with - a mistake he was now sorely regretting - but in his frantic attempts to get away from any attacking tendrils, he found himself even more lost. A lot of the surrounding environment looked very similar. It was very possible that he was going around in circles.
It didn't help that as he kept pushing through, he was constantly on edge and looking around anxiously. There were vines all over this place, seemingly around every corner. And Simba had no way of knowing which ones were still and which ones were "alive".
At one point while scanning his surroundings, Simba had backed up and felt his hind legs touch something. He gasped loudly and darted around, only to see it was the base of a large tree. Simba exhaled in relief for a second. But that relief was quickly dashed when a rustling sound came from above. He looked up, and saw that several vines were moving their way down the tree's array of branches, and wriggled down the trunk towards him. Once they were low enough, they reached out and wrapped around his hips and waist. Simba got up onto his hind legs and grabbed all of the vines in his mouth. He ignored the sickening sensation of them squirming against his tongue and dashed off away from the tree, pulling the vines with him. Soon enough, the strain was too much, and the roots snapped. The lion let the limp coils slide off his body as he kept running.
Simba wasn't running for long, though, when out of a bush suddenly jumped another bundle of roots. He gasped as they launched themselves at him and attempted to wrap him up, but the lion kept going, causing the plants to become empty coils holding nothing but air. Simba kept going, running through the bushes, the interweaving tree trunks, and the flatter sections of the jungle, frantically looking around for any more of these things.
He soon paused to catch his breath and reconvene, panting in and out. He didn't see any of the tendrils coming towards him, so he felt like he'd be safe for a moment.
Simba suddenly felt the ground beneath him move and shift. When he looked down, to his horror, five vines slowly broke through the ground right at his feet. Simba, by a hair, managed to avoid getting his legs constricted by sharply pulling each one back whenever the tendrils went for them. When the vines appeared ready to try again, he jumped away. One of them managed to grab his back paw very briefly, before his momentum caused his foot to slip out of its grasp. Simba still slipped from this and collapsed on the ground, but quickly got back on his feet and ran just before the slithering vines reached him again.
So now, not only did he need to look for vines around him, but they could just pop up from the ground! Nowhere was safe! He couldn't lower his guard for even a second without risk of getting caught.
On top of that, it seemed like these sinister roots were becoming more aggressive. At first they would move at a slower, gentler pace and not really pursue him, almost like they were simply curious about him. However, they were gradually moving more quickly and would keep after him for longer. Plus, they were appearing more frequently and in greater numbers. As if they were getting tired of him getting away.
Simba's ears were folded firmly back against his head, and his body was constantly stiff and tense. He could feel his heartbeat racing, and was constantly moving to some degree, as if standing still was fatal. He gasped and jumped at the slightest sound that broke the otherwise dead silence. He was feeling less and less like a predator and more and more like prey by the second. His head swerved around frantically. Come on, please, this place can't go on forever, he thought urgently. Just let me get out of here!
After moving for another little while, the golden prince eventually came across a large set of bushes and leaves that obscured what was in front of him. On edge and nervous, Simba crept up to them and, taking a gulp, slowly pushed them aside with a paw. Doing so revealed a large clearing before him, just flat grassland surrounded by more of the thick jungle. But that was the least on the prince's mind. Because the ground of this clearing was halfway covered in the dreaded vines. They were all writhing around aimlessly in the grass, as if looking for something. Simba crouched down and tried to move as slowly as possible. Soon, though, the roots began to slither in one direction: towards him.
Simba turned in the other direction, but it seemed that he had gotten careless. Another large mass of what looked like seven to ten vines were creeping towards him at an alarmingly fast rate, some on the ground and some through the tree branches. They were quickly surrounding him, so thinking quickly, he leapt up onto the thick trunk of a tree that was free of vines. He bounced himself off, and landed right on top of the vines on the ground. He made a run for it once more, trampling the lengths of vines. He could feel the tendrils slipping and shifting around under his feet as he ran, and it caused him to shudder even as he got far enough away for them to be out of sight.
He needed to avoid getting distracted again. Who knows what could happen to him if he didn't?
A few more minutes passed, and Simba was no closer to a clear way out of this cursed jungle. All of his constant searching for and running from the living vines had caused him to lose track of where he was. He had to dodge many more attacks at an increasing rate, and there was nowhere safe and nowhere to hide. If he tried getting to higher ground, he came across vines in the trees. If he moved at less than running speed, vines would always come for him at some point. He got particularly frightened whenever the assailants came from the ground right at his feet. It was just another reminder that no matter where he was, he was at risk of getting snatched up.
He came to a stop to gauge his surroundings once more. He didn't have much time, though, as yet another small cluster of tendrils soon emerged from the trees and moved towards him. Simba growled in both fear and annoyance, just as he saw even more vines crawling towards him on the ground. They were coming from many directions, forming a half-circle perimeter around him. More roots then burst out of the ground flailing wildly, causing Simba to jump back. He turned around, only to see even more of the nasty plants approaching. Everywhere he looked, they were coming.
It looked like the wicked vines had run out of patience in their hunt for the young lion. They now surrounded him from all sides and from different heights, all slithering towards him on the ground at a quickened pace.
Simba didn't know what to do as the tendrils closed in on their target. He tried to think of something, but as they got closer and closer by the second, he knew it was now or never. They were almost at his feet. Desperate, he jumped up to try and get over the tips of the tendrils. But just as his hind legs left the ground, two vines launched up and managed to coil themselves around one of his ankles. The lion prince collapsed onto the ground with a thud.
No!
Simba got back up on his feet, prepared to get the ensnaring roots off him. But it was too late. That brief opening was all that the other vines needed to finally reach their target.
As more vines ensnared his other ankle, two vines wrapped around one of his forelegs. Simba roared and reached to claw at them with his other foreleg, only for another vine to snare that one as well. All the while, more tendrils were winding up his hind legs, gradually going further up to squeeze his knees and thighs.
The ensnared young lion went to sink his teeth into the vines and pulled. He managed to get one of his forelegs free, but just then new vines came to replace the ones he just severed. To make things worse, the vines behind him were covering more and more of his body. He could feel the green tendrils' unpleasant grasp around his waist and stomach, while the ones at his hind legs were being reinforced with even more tendrils. None of his squirming or thrashing was shaking them off, and he couldn't cut or bite them off quickly enough.
Simba roared as the vines in front of him went for his shoulders, chest, and neck. They smoothly coiled around them and tightened their hold, causing him to wince and roar once more. Vines began joining in from the sides, wrapping around his torso and providing reinforcements to the vines around his legs.
Simba got on his hind legs and shook himself about. He thrashed, clawed, roared, pulled, did whatever he felt he could, his muscles straining underneath the mass of vines. But the vines were either too strong, too tight, or whatever ones he managed to get off were replaced before he could get rid of any more. Simba bucked, kicked, and clawed in attempts to get himself loose, but these vines were not letting up, and squeezed more tightly at his resistance.
This was unbelievable. He, a strong, grown, powerful lion, was being bested and trapped by a bunch of vines, tendrils of roots. Even with seeming impossibility of sentient plant life aside, it seemed all too unreal. Yet through their numbers, persistence, and surprising strength, they were holding him in place and seemed like they had him in their grasp now.
The lion was scared as he felt the coils slide around his body and grip tighter, movement becoming more and more difficult. He let out a piercing roar and screamed out. "Help! HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!!" He kept roaring in rage and fear, continuing to bite at the vines even though such a thing had been proven insufficient.
Vines had soon reached his head, seemingly wanting to keep every part of his body in their grasp. They worked their way up his neck and to his face. To make matters worse, Simba's roars were soon cut off as one went for his muzzle, coiling around it and squeezing it tightly shut.
"Mmmnphgmm!!!"
Simba reeled his head back and scrunched his muzzle around, trying to get the invasive tendril off, but it held as firmly as the rest of them, and another was quick to join it in muzzling him. He could feel more of the creeping vines weaving through and underneath his luscious mane as they continued their work. A few thicker vines pressed and wrapped themselves firmly over the muzzled lion's lips and around his head, gagging the poor prince even further. "Rrrmmph!!!"
Eventually, Simba felt his ankles being wrapped together. The coils made a sharp tug, and the force caused him to buck and collapse into a half-lying position. He pushed his upper body off the ground with his constricted forelegs, his bound back legs laying sprawled on the ground. His strong biceps had been squeezed tight, bulging under the firm floral wrappings as he kept struggling. As they continued to coil and grip his forelegs, a few of them eventually got to wrapping them both up together at the wrists, causing them to be bound similarly to his hindlegs. He kept his bound front paws pressed firmly against the ground, wanting to avoid being in a lying position. Although at this point it didn't seem like it would make much difference.
The vines just kept coming, continuing to further wrap up all of Simba's body. They kept squeezing tightly. Soon, the trapped lion felt his forelegs give out, and he collapsed onto his side. But this didn't cause the vines to cease. Simba kept struggling and thrashing around, slashing his claws out and trying to cut through any tendril he could. But none of it did any good. He let out a loud moan as the vines gagging him tightened their hold on his muzzle and face, and felt other vines do the same across his squirming body.
Soon, vines managed to creep underneath the golden lion. At one point when his forelegs had been folded against his chest, the sinister plants proceeded to wrap themselves around both them and his chest in wide coils. When they tightened, Simba's already-wrapped forelegs were bound tightly to his chest.
Simba squirmed and flopped about, trying in a last desperate move to inch himself away, but he knew it was useless. The vines had him now. He was bound, gagged, and unable to go anywhere. If one were to look from the trees above, they would see what almost looked like a loose web of thick green vines, converging from every direction onto one point: a wriggling lion at the center, caught in their relentless hold.
And yet even still, the vines were not ceasing. Even though Simba was fully secured in their grasp, more vines continued to coil up around him and grip tightly, with many overlapping the ones already there. Some came from a little ways away, while others emerged from the ground right next to the lion. They really didn't want their captive getting loose. Simba panted rapidly through his nose, and many brief, stifled groans escaped his sealed mouth.
He could feel them slithering all over his body, wincing in disgust at the sensation. They were moving more slowly and less aggressively now that his struggles were limited. He could feel one smaller vine gently wrapping around a singular hind leg, brushing up his knee and thigh and giving a gentle yet firm squeeze, as if feeling up a meal. Simba shuddered and cringed at the feeling.
"Ghnnnnh! Hmghntgmthht!" Simba's distressed shouts and moans were kept quiet by the vines smothering his mouth and face. The lion kept shaking his head around, jerking it up and down, back and forth. He rubbed the vines against the ground to dislodge them, but this only caused them to tighten in protest.
He tugged his strong forelegs in their restraints, trying to wriggle them out apart or away from his chest. He strained in a single long, continuous heave, but the vines were squeezing back in response. He didn't understand how they could be so tough as to not give from his efforts, but they were firmly locked onto him. Simba flailed his claws around above the ensnaring coils to try and get some cut or slash in, or even just to slip them out, but even if he could, it clearly wouldn't be enough.
He could feel the squeezing on his torso and stomach. It was like they were a vicious constrictor, having gotten a firm, inescapable hold on its prey. Except these tendrils didn't seem to be trying to kill him; he would be dead by now if that were the case.
His back legs wriggled and shifted around. He tried to spread them out and pull to separate them, his efforts doubling each time he felt a vine adjust or curl further around either leg, or both legs at once. Simba wiggled them back and forth opposite each other, and kicked them out violently. But just like his upper body, they were held in a firm vice of vines.
The helpless young lion struggled, squirmed, thrashed, bucked, kicked, and rolled around for a good several more minutes, desperate to escape this horror he had found himself in. He rubbed whatever vines he could against the ground. He shouted out in horror and pain, angered and frightened as no more than some garbled, muffled moans were able to get past the gagging tendrils. All the while the vines didn't seem phased. They were making no attempt to move any more urgently at this point. They knew they got him.
And soon, Simba realized it too. He slumped down in defeat, his head collapsing onto the ground and mane sprawling out wherever the roots hadn't grasped. He tried to take in deep breaths through his nose, trying to calm himself despite the sensation of the creeping and slithering around his constricted body. He had no idea what would happen to him now, what the vines would do with him now that he was all wrapped up in their grip. Was he about to be eaten by some giant carnivorous plant? Would he be choked to death and left as a meal for some passing buzzards? Or maybe this was the Great Kings' doing, putting an enchantment on these plants and punishing him for what he did to his father.
Simba was foolish for coming here, foolish for trying to get lost in this place. He didn't know what was about to happen to him. All he knew is that he would take the fictional nightmare that brought him here over this real-life nightmare any day.
Half an hour had passed. And Simba still lay in the exact same position, wrapped up and gagged by the putrid plants. To his surprise, the vines hadn't done anything more to him outside of constricting him further. They just … kept him there.
That wasn't to say that the situation was any more pleasant. The vines were still as tight as ever, and seemed content to squeeze and tighten up around his whole body at random, causing him to squirm and muffle in discomfort when they did. They were painfully tight, and Simba was having a little trouble breathing as he pumped air in and out of his nose. With his mouth blocked up and the tightened pressure on his chest and neck, he felt like he was slightly suffocating, though not to the point where it truly felt like he was about to die.
Additionally, more vines just kept showing up. It was like word had spread to the other vines throughout the jungle that they had caught something, and they all wanted to come and explore their new captive for themselves. Soon over three quarters of his body was covered in the tendrils, from his forehead to his toes, not too far away from cocooning the lion prince. Though surprisingly his eyes never got covered.
They would move softly, slowly slithering and worming up to him and coiling around whatever they felt like. Simba winced and felt a little sick whenever a vine would curl around his face, almost caressing it as it moved before finding a suitable spot to grab firm hold of. He felt this same sensation all across his body. Vines were weaving through his thick red mane, which had gotten messy from his struggles. They would sneak in and find a comfy spot, such as around his upper chest below where his forelegs were bound to it. Each individual foreleg itself was also caressed and coiled further and further, as were his hind legs. Other times, vines that had already wrapped him up would shift and readjust themselves, before settling back down.
He couldn't help but give out brief spasms at the feel of these thick, snakelike tendrils feeling up and wrapping around his firm body. There was no need for it. He was already securely in their grasp, and that's all they seemed to care about at the moment. So why did they insist on making this experience as unsettling and violating as possible?
Initially, Simba had tried calling out for help, shouting as loudly as he could through the vines. But he soon gave up on this. Not only was there a very small chance that another creature who could help him would be around, but he felt guilty for trying to get their attention. He knew that by luring them over here, he was risking them getting caught and wrapped up just like him.
Simba shifted his body around, rolling back and forth, trying to get at least a little comfortable on the ground while in this ensnaring mess of tendrils. The exhaustion and anxiety were taking a toll on him. He never stopped squirming and trying to get out, but couldn't manage to give it his all. He didn't believe he could escape, so his efforts were not at their full potential.
"Gnnphmm … hnnmm … mmmph …" he weakly moaned.
Soon the physical strain overwhelmed the young lion. He was tired, he was weak, and the pressure and stress on his body from these horrid, unyielding vines were eating away at him. Why did I even come here in the first place? To escape my problems? Is all this just my punishment for thinking I could? Simba's fading spirit caused his mind to start unraveling. I can't … I can't keep fighting anymore. I don't want to keep fighting. He felt another unpleasant squeeze around his chest, followed by one at his ankles. No matter what I do the pain just doesn't go away. I just … I …
… I deserve this, don't I?
Simba slowly closed his eyes, the world getting fuzzier and fuzzier, until he ultimately surrendered to the world of unconsciousness. Unaware if he would ever open them up again. And if all that awaited him was more of this captivity, more of being all wrapped up in this web of cruel vines, he wasn't sure if he wanted to.
The Lion King franchise, the original images in the thumbnail, and all characters used or mentioned, belong to Disney.
I'm gonna keep a lot of this one largely open to interpretation. You can decide what's happening, what the vines want with Simba, or even whether or not this is real or just another bad dream of his.
Thank you for checking this story out!
Originally uploaded on February 1, 2019.
Most notable about this jungle, however, were the many rumors and whisperings surrounding it. Many animals would travel inside it, whether for food or just to explore. However, while some would emerge perfectly unharmed, a majority of them who would go in mysteriously would never come back, and were never seen again. And whenever someone went in to search for a missing friend or family member, they too would fail to return. And so the cycle continued, until eventually after it happened too many times, animals largely began spreading word to avoid the place altogether. They had no idea what was in there that was so dangerous, and those who did go in and come back reported seeing nothing unusual.
Such information, however, was not known to the golden lion wandering through it. This was Simba, the lost prince of the Pride Lands.
Simba had been living under Timon and Pumbaa's care for a few years now, after running away from his home as a cub. In that time, he had grown into a young adult. In spite of a heavy grub diet, he had grown into a healthy, handsome lion, with a thick, lush red mane and strong, well-muscled body, though not as big or bulky as his father.
One night, he had awoken from his slumber after a vicious nightmare. It involved the day his father died, and in it he envisioned himself back in the gorge when the stampede occurred. Only this time, his father, rather than trying to save him, taunted him relentlessly for causing him to die, before warping into a hideous figure and pinning the frightened cub down for the wildebeests to finish the job.
This bad dream put Simba in a particularly somber mood, and caused Timon and Pumbaa to stir. Desperate to clear his head, he told the two that he wanted to take a walk on his own for a while, to which they obliged. And so the shaken prince wandered out on his own away from his friends, walking for miles to nowhere in particular. He had come across a stretch of land that he had not fully visited before. He crossed the large sheet of open, flat grasslands, and was now at the entrance to a separate stretch of jungle. Said stretch was one that he had never come close to before, a little ways away from the area he currently called home. Which meant that he was unaware of the rumors surrounding it, or many disappearances that it seemed responsible for.
The lion sighed, looking back at the way he came. He'd had nightmares about that day before, but this one was the worst of them. He just wanted something to make himself feel separate from the rest of the world, like it couldn't touch him or he it. Maybe a stroll through such a thick and obscuring place would make him feel like that.
And so he entered.
Simba wasn't even all that concerned about getting lost. A part of him felt that he would be able to find his way out. Another, possibly larger part of him was okay if it took him a long time. Anything to distract him from his own thoughts.
The brightness of the moon was lessened as he strolled under the thick canopies, but still broke through in many large slivers, casting a sort of ethereal glow over the entire jungle. Simba looked around as he wandered deeper in. Large trees formed a slope-heavy terrain that often required him to leap, weave, and duck his way through. He would sometimes have his path blocked by thick bushes that he had to plow his way through. He was grateful that none of them contained thorns. The area also sported many roots and vines of varying sizes. Some lay sprawled out on the ground. Some dangled and hanged from the leaves and branches. Some were coiled tightly around the thick tree trunks. All in all, this area was similar to the jungle he would usually spend his days in. However, something felt a little … different about it. He couldn't place it, but this place didn't feel fully right.
It's just in my head, he told himself. I'm having a bad night, I just need more time to clear out my thoughts.
Simba suddenly heard what sounded like a rustling of leaves, seeming to come from a little above and behind him. The prince/king jolted his head up in that direction, but saw nothing. He stared at the spot for a few more seconds before hearing the sound again, this time noticing the leaves slightly shaking. In a bout of instinct, he climbed up the trunk of the tree pushed the leaves aside. However, he saw no creature there; only a vine wrapped around the branches. He looked around, but saw no signs of any living thing. He figured that it was some rodent or other small, harmless creature. I'm on edge, I need to relax. Hakuna Matata, right?
With these thoughts, the lion climbed back down and continued his walk, trying to get a grip on himself. Unbeknownst to him, however, once he was far enough away, the solo vine started gently uncurling from the branch, completely on its own, and moving its way down the trunk.
As Simba kept going through the jungle for the next while, he was getting stranger and stranger feelings about this place.
Several times, he could swear he saw something moving out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned to look, he only saw more still plant life. He picked up on more rustling now and then, some of it so faint that he questioned whether he was just imagining it, and couldn't help but feel that it was more than just some rodent.
Every once in a while, Simba would look away from an area for a moment, and when he turned his head back, he couldn't help but feel like the landscape he was just looking at was somehow slightly different, like it had changed in a way he couldn't identify. Usually it was a few roots or vines that he could have sworn were not where they were before. Most alarmingly of all, however, he came across what looked like signs of previous skirmishes or fights. Some sliced up vines were limp on the ground, and nearby them were faint hints of claw marks in the barks of trees and other drier parts of the ground not washed up by dirt or rain.
Simba was getting paranoid about this jungle. He wondered if it was invested with snakes or something. The jungle was appearing to be increasingly dangerous, and yet he hadn't come across anything that would appear explicitly dangerous whatsoever. There were barely any animals in here, and what creatures he did come across were very small and nonthreatening. Yet he was still getting unpleasant vibes from it all, and it was starting to get to his head.
As the young lion's paws continued to pad through the jungle, a vine emerged from a thick bush behind him and slowly started slithering up to him. It moved silently, staying low to the ground. The prince remained unaware as it snaked closer and closer to his feet.
Simba's pace eventually slowed down as he found himself caught up once more in his thoughts. I wonder how everyone is doing back home? he woefully pondered. Mom, Nala, Scar, Zazu. Do they still miss me? It had been a long time since he'd seen any of them. Of course miss me! They have to … Right? He just sighed in regret. They shouldn't. They're better off just forgetting about me after what I did. I-
Simba's troubled thoughts were interrupted when he suddenly felt something brush by his right ankle and gently wrap around it. He gasped and turned his head around swiftly, and his eyes widened to saucers at what he saw. It was a lone, thick, dark-green vine … And it was moving! All on its own, like some kind of snake! The plant was slowly continuing to coil up the lion's ankle and hock, reaching his lower knee. He could see the rest of the vine's length shifting lightly on the ground.
Simba let out a shout of shock and disbelief. He lifted and yanked his hind leg about to dislodge the vine, but it kept its grip. Simba growled as he reached back with his front claws, needing to drop down in a half-lying position to reach it. To his surprise, his claws didn't seem to make much progress on it as he sawed through the tendril. Rather, it harshly squeezed his leg, causing Simba to grit his teeth. Annoyed and concerned, the lion lifted his ankle up to his face and sank his teeth into the plant. He pulled back and yanked hard, able to loosen the vine enough to slip his ankle through. The vine began writhing as if in pain - if this thing could move, could it feel pain? - before it seemed to be ready to lash out again. Simba immediately got back onto all fours and darted away from the lone tendril.
What was that?! That vine, it-it was moving! That's impossible! Simba thought as he kept running.
The startled prince kept at a quick pace for another minute, before slowing down to recollect himself. He jerked his head back to look behind him, and thankfully saw that the vine was nowhere to be seen. Simba was unnerved by what just happened. He knew plants were living things that grew and shifted throughout their lifespans, but not like this! That vine not only appeared sentient, but somewhat malevolent. It went after him and wouldn't let go; it didn't just curl around him like most vines did, it was gripping tightly. It also surprisingly took a bit of effort to get off.
Simba then took note of the many other vines that lay still all throughout his location. His anxiety quickly rose as he frantically looked around him, wondered if any of these vines were … alive as well. But they all seemed dormant.
But then he caught something out of the corner of his right eye. He turned and saw what looked like three of the same kind of vines moving towards him from the side, at a quicker pace than the first vine. The lion backed away from them as they wormed closer. Suddenly, they quickly launched out and all wrapped themselves around his left front leg before he could react.
"AH!" Simba screamed out. The roots were climbing further up his leg and reaching his bicep and shoulder, and locked themselves on firmly. The lion pulled his leg back as far as it could go, but while the vines were clearly straining to keep their hold on the large feline, they still didn't let go. They just squeezed tighter, causing Simba to wince. He then saw a few more vines creeping out from a bush, and Simba knew he had to act quickly. So he brought his claws and teeth out to slash and bite at the vines wrapped around him. Combined that with his constant pulling and straining on them, and it was enough to sever them off. The vines spasmed about as a result, before going limp on the jungle floor. Just before the emerging vines made their move, the prince turned and started to run. He looked back, and it didn't seem like the roots were speeding up in response.
Simba slowed down to a walk after about ten seconds. The vines kept slithering and weaving around in the distance, but they didn't seem to be know where he was.
He had never seen anything like this before, and it was scaring him. These things were clearly not friendly, and considering he was in a thick jungle filled with vines, roots, and other plant life, they could come out from anywhere. And yet, he still couldn't tell just how dangerous all of this was. How did this happen? What did these vines want? Were they trying to attack him, or just blindly and aimlessly coiling around anything they sensed by instinct, like a regular vine would coil up a tree? How did they sense where he was? What would they do if he didn't get them off him? Did he do something to provoke them? How much danger was he truly in, if any at all? Were there … other kinds of plants that had somehow become sentient?
The amount of unknowns and the sheer strangeness of this situation put Simba even more on edge. And he didn't feel like sticking around to get answers. He was ready to get out of this place, now.
The lost lion prince had been wandering through this jungle for a while now, trying to find his way out and seemingly making no progress. It was bad enough that he hadn't really been keeping track of his path to begin with - a mistake he was now sorely regretting - but in his frantic attempts to get away from any attacking tendrils, he found himself even more lost. A lot of the surrounding environment looked very similar. It was very possible that he was going around in circles.
It didn't help that as he kept pushing through, he was constantly on edge and looking around anxiously. There were vines all over this place, seemingly around every corner. And Simba had no way of knowing which ones were still and which ones were "alive".
At one point while scanning his surroundings, Simba had backed up and felt his hind legs touch something. He gasped loudly and darted around, only to see it was the base of a large tree. Simba exhaled in relief for a second. But that relief was quickly dashed when a rustling sound came from above. He looked up, and saw that several vines were moving their way down the tree's array of branches, and wriggled down the trunk towards him. Once they were low enough, they reached out and wrapped around his hips and waist. Simba got up onto his hind legs and grabbed all of the vines in his mouth. He ignored the sickening sensation of them squirming against his tongue and dashed off away from the tree, pulling the vines with him. Soon enough, the strain was too much, and the roots snapped. The lion let the limp coils slide off his body as he kept running.
Simba wasn't running for long, though, when out of a bush suddenly jumped another bundle of roots. He gasped as they launched themselves at him and attempted to wrap him up, but the lion kept going, causing the plants to become empty coils holding nothing but air. Simba kept going, running through the bushes, the interweaving tree trunks, and the flatter sections of the jungle, frantically looking around for any more of these things.
He soon paused to catch his breath and reconvene, panting in and out. He didn't see any of the tendrils coming towards him, so he felt like he'd be safe for a moment.
Simba suddenly felt the ground beneath him move and shift. When he looked down, to his horror, five vines slowly broke through the ground right at his feet. Simba, by a hair, managed to avoid getting his legs constricted by sharply pulling each one back whenever the tendrils went for them. When the vines appeared ready to try again, he jumped away. One of them managed to grab his back paw very briefly, before his momentum caused his foot to slip out of its grasp. Simba still slipped from this and collapsed on the ground, but quickly got back on his feet and ran just before the slithering vines reached him again.
So now, not only did he need to look for vines around him, but they could just pop up from the ground! Nowhere was safe! He couldn't lower his guard for even a second without risk of getting caught.
On top of that, it seemed like these sinister roots were becoming more aggressive. At first they would move at a slower, gentler pace and not really pursue him, almost like they were simply curious about him. However, they were gradually moving more quickly and would keep after him for longer. Plus, they were appearing more frequently and in greater numbers. As if they were getting tired of him getting away.
Simba's ears were folded firmly back against his head, and his body was constantly stiff and tense. He could feel his heartbeat racing, and was constantly moving to some degree, as if standing still was fatal. He gasped and jumped at the slightest sound that broke the otherwise dead silence. He was feeling less and less like a predator and more and more like prey by the second. His head swerved around frantically. Come on, please, this place can't go on forever, he thought urgently. Just let me get out of here!
After moving for another little while, the golden prince eventually came across a large set of bushes and leaves that obscured what was in front of him. On edge and nervous, Simba crept up to them and, taking a gulp, slowly pushed them aside with a paw. Doing so revealed a large clearing before him, just flat grassland surrounded by more of the thick jungle. But that was the least on the prince's mind. Because the ground of this clearing was halfway covered in the dreaded vines. They were all writhing around aimlessly in the grass, as if looking for something. Simba crouched down and tried to move as slowly as possible. Soon, though, the roots began to slither in one direction: towards him.
Simba turned in the other direction, but it seemed that he had gotten careless. Another large mass of what looked like seven to ten vines were creeping towards him at an alarmingly fast rate, some on the ground and some through the tree branches. They were quickly surrounding him, so thinking quickly, he leapt up onto the thick trunk of a tree that was free of vines. He bounced himself off, and landed right on top of the vines on the ground. He made a run for it once more, trampling the lengths of vines. He could feel the tendrils slipping and shifting around under his feet as he ran, and it caused him to shudder even as he got far enough away for them to be out of sight.
He needed to avoid getting distracted again. Who knows what could happen to him if he didn't?
A few more minutes passed, and Simba was no closer to a clear way out of this cursed jungle. All of his constant searching for and running from the living vines had caused him to lose track of where he was. He had to dodge many more attacks at an increasing rate, and there was nowhere safe and nowhere to hide. If he tried getting to higher ground, he came across vines in the trees. If he moved at less than running speed, vines would always come for him at some point. He got particularly frightened whenever the assailants came from the ground right at his feet. It was just another reminder that no matter where he was, he was at risk of getting snatched up.
He came to a stop to gauge his surroundings once more. He didn't have much time, though, as yet another small cluster of tendrils soon emerged from the trees and moved towards him. Simba growled in both fear and annoyance, just as he saw even more vines crawling towards him on the ground. They were coming from many directions, forming a half-circle perimeter around him. More roots then burst out of the ground flailing wildly, causing Simba to jump back. He turned around, only to see even more of the nasty plants approaching. Everywhere he looked, they were coming.
It looked like the wicked vines had run out of patience in their hunt for the young lion. They now surrounded him from all sides and from different heights, all slithering towards him on the ground at a quickened pace.
Simba didn't know what to do as the tendrils closed in on their target. He tried to think of something, but as they got closer and closer by the second, he knew it was now or never. They were almost at his feet. Desperate, he jumped up to try and get over the tips of the tendrils. But just as his hind legs left the ground, two vines launched up and managed to coil themselves around one of his ankles. The lion prince collapsed onto the ground with a thud.
No!
Simba got back up on his feet, prepared to get the ensnaring roots off him. But it was too late. That brief opening was all that the other vines needed to finally reach their target.
As more vines ensnared his other ankle, two vines wrapped around one of his forelegs. Simba roared and reached to claw at them with his other foreleg, only for another vine to snare that one as well. All the while, more tendrils were winding up his hind legs, gradually going further up to squeeze his knees and thighs.
The ensnared young lion went to sink his teeth into the vines and pulled. He managed to get one of his forelegs free, but just then new vines came to replace the ones he just severed. To make things worse, the vines behind him were covering more and more of his body. He could feel the green tendrils' unpleasant grasp around his waist and stomach, while the ones at his hind legs were being reinforced with even more tendrils. None of his squirming or thrashing was shaking them off, and he couldn't cut or bite them off quickly enough.
Simba roared as the vines in front of him went for his shoulders, chest, and neck. They smoothly coiled around them and tightened their hold, causing him to wince and roar once more. Vines began joining in from the sides, wrapping around his torso and providing reinforcements to the vines around his legs.
Simba got on his hind legs and shook himself about. He thrashed, clawed, roared, pulled, did whatever he felt he could, his muscles straining underneath the mass of vines. But the vines were either too strong, too tight, or whatever ones he managed to get off were replaced before he could get rid of any more. Simba bucked, kicked, and clawed in attempts to get himself loose, but these vines were not letting up, and squeezed more tightly at his resistance.
This was unbelievable. He, a strong, grown, powerful lion, was being bested and trapped by a bunch of vines, tendrils of roots. Even with seeming impossibility of sentient plant life aside, it seemed all too unreal. Yet through their numbers, persistence, and surprising strength, they were holding him in place and seemed like they had him in their grasp now.
The lion was scared as he felt the coils slide around his body and grip tighter, movement becoming more and more difficult. He let out a piercing roar and screamed out. "Help! HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!!" He kept roaring in rage and fear, continuing to bite at the vines even though such a thing had been proven insufficient.
Vines had soon reached his head, seemingly wanting to keep every part of his body in their grasp. They worked their way up his neck and to his face. To make matters worse, Simba's roars were soon cut off as one went for his muzzle, coiling around it and squeezing it tightly shut.
"Mmmnphgmm!!!"
Simba reeled his head back and scrunched his muzzle around, trying to get the invasive tendril off, but it held as firmly as the rest of them, and another was quick to join it in muzzling him. He could feel more of the creeping vines weaving through and underneath his luscious mane as they continued their work. A few thicker vines pressed and wrapped themselves firmly over the muzzled lion's lips and around his head, gagging the poor prince even further. "Rrrmmph!!!"
Eventually, Simba felt his ankles being wrapped together. The coils made a sharp tug, and the force caused him to buck and collapse into a half-lying position. He pushed his upper body off the ground with his constricted forelegs, his bound back legs laying sprawled on the ground. His strong biceps had been squeezed tight, bulging under the firm floral wrappings as he kept struggling. As they continued to coil and grip his forelegs, a few of them eventually got to wrapping them both up together at the wrists, causing them to be bound similarly to his hindlegs. He kept his bound front paws pressed firmly against the ground, wanting to avoid being in a lying position. Although at this point it didn't seem like it would make much difference.
The vines just kept coming, continuing to further wrap up all of Simba's body. They kept squeezing tightly. Soon, the trapped lion felt his forelegs give out, and he collapsed onto his side. But this didn't cause the vines to cease. Simba kept struggling and thrashing around, slashing his claws out and trying to cut through any tendril he could. But none of it did any good. He let out a loud moan as the vines gagging him tightened their hold on his muzzle and face, and felt other vines do the same across his squirming body.
Soon, vines managed to creep underneath the golden lion. At one point when his forelegs had been folded against his chest, the sinister plants proceeded to wrap themselves around both them and his chest in wide coils. When they tightened, Simba's already-wrapped forelegs were bound tightly to his chest.
Simba squirmed and flopped about, trying in a last desperate move to inch himself away, but he knew it was useless. The vines had him now. He was bound, gagged, and unable to go anywhere. If one were to look from the trees above, they would see what almost looked like a loose web of thick green vines, converging from every direction onto one point: a wriggling lion at the center, caught in their relentless hold.
And yet even still, the vines were not ceasing. Even though Simba was fully secured in their grasp, more vines continued to coil up around him and grip tightly, with many overlapping the ones already there. Some came from a little ways away, while others emerged from the ground right next to the lion. They really didn't want their captive getting loose. Simba panted rapidly through his nose, and many brief, stifled groans escaped his sealed mouth.
He could feel them slithering all over his body, wincing in disgust at the sensation. They were moving more slowly and less aggressively now that his struggles were limited. He could feel one smaller vine gently wrapping around a singular hind leg, brushing up his knee and thigh and giving a gentle yet firm squeeze, as if feeling up a meal. Simba shuddered and cringed at the feeling.
"Ghnnnnh! Hmghntgmthht!" Simba's distressed shouts and moans were kept quiet by the vines smothering his mouth and face. The lion kept shaking his head around, jerking it up and down, back and forth. He rubbed the vines against the ground to dislodge them, but this only caused them to tighten in protest.
He tugged his strong forelegs in their restraints, trying to wriggle them out apart or away from his chest. He strained in a single long, continuous heave, but the vines were squeezing back in response. He didn't understand how they could be so tough as to not give from his efforts, but they were firmly locked onto him. Simba flailed his claws around above the ensnaring coils to try and get some cut or slash in, or even just to slip them out, but even if he could, it clearly wouldn't be enough.
He could feel the squeezing on his torso and stomach. It was like they were a vicious constrictor, having gotten a firm, inescapable hold on its prey. Except these tendrils didn't seem to be trying to kill him; he would be dead by now if that were the case.
His back legs wriggled and shifted around. He tried to spread them out and pull to separate them, his efforts doubling each time he felt a vine adjust or curl further around either leg, or both legs at once. Simba wiggled them back and forth opposite each other, and kicked them out violently. But just like his upper body, they were held in a firm vice of vines.
The helpless young lion struggled, squirmed, thrashed, bucked, kicked, and rolled around for a good several more minutes, desperate to escape this horror he had found himself in. He rubbed whatever vines he could against the ground. He shouted out in horror and pain, angered and frightened as no more than some garbled, muffled moans were able to get past the gagging tendrils. All the while the vines didn't seem phased. They were making no attempt to move any more urgently at this point. They knew they got him.
And soon, Simba realized it too. He slumped down in defeat, his head collapsing onto the ground and mane sprawling out wherever the roots hadn't grasped. He tried to take in deep breaths through his nose, trying to calm himself despite the sensation of the creeping and slithering around his constricted body. He had no idea what would happen to him now, what the vines would do with him now that he was all wrapped up in their grip. Was he about to be eaten by some giant carnivorous plant? Would he be choked to death and left as a meal for some passing buzzards? Or maybe this was the Great Kings' doing, putting an enchantment on these plants and punishing him for what he did to his father.
Simba was foolish for coming here, foolish for trying to get lost in this place. He didn't know what was about to happen to him. All he knew is that he would take the fictional nightmare that brought him here over this real-life nightmare any day.
Half an hour had passed. And Simba still lay in the exact same position, wrapped up and gagged by the putrid plants. To his surprise, the vines hadn't done anything more to him outside of constricting him further. They just … kept him there.
That wasn't to say that the situation was any more pleasant. The vines were still as tight as ever, and seemed content to squeeze and tighten up around his whole body at random, causing him to squirm and muffle in discomfort when they did. They were painfully tight, and Simba was having a little trouble breathing as he pumped air in and out of his nose. With his mouth blocked up and the tightened pressure on his chest and neck, he felt like he was slightly suffocating, though not to the point where it truly felt like he was about to die.
Additionally, more vines just kept showing up. It was like word had spread to the other vines throughout the jungle that they had caught something, and they all wanted to come and explore their new captive for themselves. Soon over three quarters of his body was covered in the tendrils, from his forehead to his toes, not too far away from cocooning the lion prince. Though surprisingly his eyes never got covered.
They would move softly, slowly slithering and worming up to him and coiling around whatever they felt like. Simba winced and felt a little sick whenever a vine would curl around his face, almost caressing it as it moved before finding a suitable spot to grab firm hold of. He felt this same sensation all across his body. Vines were weaving through his thick red mane, which had gotten messy from his struggles. They would sneak in and find a comfy spot, such as around his upper chest below where his forelegs were bound to it. Each individual foreleg itself was also caressed and coiled further and further, as were his hind legs. Other times, vines that had already wrapped him up would shift and readjust themselves, before settling back down.
He couldn't help but give out brief spasms at the feel of these thick, snakelike tendrils feeling up and wrapping around his firm body. There was no need for it. He was already securely in their grasp, and that's all they seemed to care about at the moment. So why did they insist on making this experience as unsettling and violating as possible?
Initially, Simba had tried calling out for help, shouting as loudly as he could through the vines. But he soon gave up on this. Not only was there a very small chance that another creature who could help him would be around, but he felt guilty for trying to get their attention. He knew that by luring them over here, he was risking them getting caught and wrapped up just like him.
Simba shifted his body around, rolling back and forth, trying to get at least a little comfortable on the ground while in this ensnaring mess of tendrils. The exhaustion and anxiety were taking a toll on him. He never stopped squirming and trying to get out, but couldn't manage to give it his all. He didn't believe he could escape, so his efforts were not at their full potential.
"Gnnphmm … hnnmm … mmmph …" he weakly moaned.
Soon the physical strain overwhelmed the young lion. He was tired, he was weak, and the pressure and stress on his body from these horrid, unyielding vines were eating away at him. Why did I even come here in the first place? To escape my problems? Is all this just my punishment for thinking I could? Simba's fading spirit caused his mind to start unraveling. I can't … I can't keep fighting anymore. I don't want to keep fighting. He felt another unpleasant squeeze around his chest, followed by one at his ankles. No matter what I do the pain just doesn't go away. I just … I …
… I deserve this, don't I?
Simba slowly closed his eyes, the world getting fuzzier and fuzzier, until he ultimately surrendered to the world of unconsciousness. Unaware if he would ever open them up again. And if all that awaited him was more of this captivity, more of being all wrapped up in this web of cruel vines, he wasn't sure if he wanted to.
The Lion King franchise, the original images in the thumbnail, and all characters used or mentioned, belong to Disney.
I'm gonna keep a lot of this one largely open to interpretation. You can decide what's happening, what the vines want with Simba, or even whether or not this is real or just another bad dream of his.
Thank you for checking this story out!
Originally uploaded on February 1, 2019.
Category Story / Bondage
Species Lion
Size 1280 x 1233px
File Size 175.9 kB
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