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tefifonconnoisseur · 8 days ago

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Ian Lightfoot Vore - The Alldays and Onions Vore Incident - Part 1

This release on Tumblr is admittedly unexpected, but I’ve recently been very anxious about school ending for the semester, and anxiety gives me writer’s block. For the sake of holding true to my promise of two stories by the end of the year, this release was conjured to ensure that I can do that.

Part 1 contains chapters 1-4, while part 2 will contain 5-8. In terms of completion, chapter 5 has been completed and published, while chapters 6-8 have not been drafted. The second story for this year hasn’t been worked on, but it will be regular length so it won’t be an issue. This section takes us from the beginning to the actual voring. Chapters 5-8 are the antics that surround that.

Enjoy! Or don’t, just please don’t harass me. This story’s a bit of an experiment with my OCs, so don’t be too unkind lol. Vore is below the cut.

Alldays and Onions.

What a name, right?

Unlike most news organizations, they exist in every universe, were named after a super dead (sometimes) car manufacturer, and screw up almost every single interview and program by getting into dangerous situations. And who else but Aristotle Buttermilk, the 17 year old gullible journalist with a knack for escalating easily avoidable situations and ruining everything he touched. With CEO Carlene Fernsby acting as both a paternal figure and a being of chaos to the people of this company, they’re kinda like a chaotic family in a way. It might be more clear after you read the text, in which necessary details will be divulged, but it also might become more confusing.

Aristotle Buttermilk was their lead journalist and part-time reporter. A pixie-ish known for his yellow, fabric, star-shaped face and black eyes like a Mario star, he wasn’t as well known for his naïveté. Carlene Fernsby, his boss and guardian with a curly flat green wig and a powerful stance. An ambitious woman, she ruled over her kingdom with an iron fist and would crush anyone or anything (including brand-new Macintoshes) that stood between her and good media production. When she found Aristotle Buttermilk, he was but an outcast pixie variant, but she turned him into a news wizard. If he couldn’t find a story, odds are he’d unknowingly create one with the power of charming ignorance. With her other claim to fame being getting kicked out of a Crumbl Cookie place, she preferred the background, which meant leaving the clumsy Aristotle with only her texts to guide him. Aristotle

These versions of our characters exist in a world without regular humans, so they’re naturally borrowers or pixie variants. Borrowers in a world known for leaps and bounds regarding interspecies equality. New Mushroomton’s the town where both Alldays and Onions, A&O for short (I have to shorten that name or I will burn out my fingers), and the Lightfoot family reside. They’re having a normal day thus far. The home consists of widowed mother Laurel, her irrelevant sheriff boyfriend whose name nobody caught, extroverted RPG-loving older brother Barley, and introverted chess-loving younger brother Ian. Ian had just turned 16, but his birthday had been… interesting. From what A&O knew, an elf had done magic for the first time since ancient times, an event so monumental with no news attention. According to Carlene, said in her scratchy Toad-like voice,

“It’s the perfect opportunity to get us on the map again! We’ve GOT to find this kid and tape him. Extra points for a live demonstration of magic, but we have footage if we can only get an interview.”

Ian was the target of their journalistic prying. Perchance. It’s a scoop, that’s all. Sure, it’d be a massive deal in the historical community if true, and life would probably never be the same, but it’s just a typical Tuesday for Aristotle and his camera crew, even if it’s just a front. ESPECIALLY if it’s just a front.

Aristotle led the reporting team to an address sent by Carlene over the telephone. The text allegedly escorted our friends via Google Maps to the Lightfoot residence. It couldn’t quite be proven, sadly, with how impossible it was to navigate. They only drove around in the best news vehicle money could buy… 50 years ago: a 1973 Winnebago Chieftan with 300,000 miles, an LS swap, and a kitchen which had a semi-working fridge and non-working everything else. Aristotle cannot drive, so his cameraman was behind the boat’s massive nautical wheel and struggled to make basic turns and get up to 50MPH. At least the couches and the mattress in back were comfortable. Not refurbished, but not holey. Pink and lush, but faded as well. This was going to be a fun afternoon of interviewing some random kid, wasn’t it?

We stop this chapter as the news van heads toward their interview candidate, Ian, who they were told was home alone on a cancelled day of school while his brother hung out with friends. How Carlene Fernsby found that out, they’d prefer not to know. Why are we stopping? Well, because the description of characters and the situation before the drama is exposition, merely establishment. The next chapter, though, is when things start to make this afternoon a real ball. What you’ll find out later in the story, through disaster, is that throwing two socially awkward teenagers of drastically different sizes and giving them instructions for cool shots without the use of green screen doesn’t end well.

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**SQUEEEEEEEEK**

The sound of brakes on their last legs squealing as they struggle to stop this borderline couch tank rang throughout the neighborhood, outside the mandatory borrower path to the Lightfoot residence. As this path had previously never been used, it was about as clean as a good shaven head, or at least compared to the well-worn sidewalk for non-tinies. Inside the Winnebago, Aristotle squeezed on to the armrests of the passenger seat, sweating. Actually, that’s not honest. EVERYONE was sweating.

As the engine ceased with the turn of the key, our team scampered down the stairs and to the storage compartments on the side to throw together their equipment and prepare for the interview. Cameras had lenses twisted on and tripods attached like they were unscrewing a can of soup. Microphones were hastily mounted onto ill-fastened belts. Now was the time for the most panic (or at least it would seem). Carlene, infamous for not disclosing specifics she knew all along, had told them the address and that he was home alone. Nothing else. Was he expecting this interview or were they just gonna talk to him out of the blue? This Ian Lightfoot…was he going to treat them like guests or nuisances? Was he boisterous or reserved? All are questions that should’ve been answered, but couldn’t be. They were meant to be here an hour ago in order to get enough time, but Aristotle was mistakenly given the task of passing onto the driver the directions.

Once they slapped together something that could be mistaken for a functional news screw, they slogged up the sidewalk to the borrower steps. Clearly, this home was built after 1970, when this stuff became required on new construction. With a sweaty fist, the beloved Aristotle Buttermilk pounded on the cat door. It was technically a borrower door, but certain architects got away with adding handles to cat doors and making them akin to garage doors.

It was a cheaply built suburb, too, wasn’t it? Aristotle thought to himself as he awaited a response. Seconds felt like minutes as they anxiously watched the door for a sign of movement. After they were about to just cut their losses, the door shimmied as the person on the other side struggled to use an unused door. Aristotle adjusted his watch strap unnecessarily. The lead cameraman and driver, the failed entertainer Pelvis Resley, silently cursed the sky for not letting the Winnebago’s engine, running on welding jobs and prayers, implode on the drive there. The door slid upward, and a soft blue face appeared. Adorned with light freckles and framed on the side by ears and on bottom by hands indicating that the guy was on his hands and knees to look at our friends, his eyebrows tilted and the face tilted to the side to look at Aristotle like his top hat was a boot.

“C-can I help you guys?” The assumed Ian inquired. So he doesn’t know. That’s two questions answered.

“Uh, um, hi! I’m Aristotle Buttermilk, and we’re here representing Alldays and Onions,” Aristotle shakily replied. “We were… wanting… to interview you regarding the, um, magic you did last weekend.”

The 16 year old froze in contemplation. One can assume what he’s thinking about. While they’re waiting, Wresley pulls out his phone and dials someone, putting his phone up to his ear.

“Is this legal? We should probably ask my family first,” he wondered.

Suddenly, everyone else froze as Pelvis put his phone on speaker and the somewhat annoyed voice of Carlene Fernsby appeared from the phone’s speaker.

“Looking into it, in this jurisdiction, assuming both parties are 16 years or older, it’s a case of both parties agreeing to terms and doing an interview.” She explained to the group. “But just let them know, if they get worried, they can contact us. So what do you say?”

Oh joy. Carlene Fersnby’s now on the line. Pelvis was unaware of the unspoken rule of interviews, a rule which would come back to bite them later: during an interview, do not call Carlene Fernsby, and if you have to, she picks up and doesn’t scream at you, NEVER put it on speaker. No matter how much it sucks not getting information instantly and getting things wrong and getting lectured, no matter how confused one could be, what he did was get Fernsby directly involved with the interviewing process, and when Carlene gets the opportunity to control this process, she milks the interview for everything she can, taking Aristotle’s job of mucking up interview situations. A monumental mistake like this was going to screw them up unless Ian, of course, didn’t consent to be interviewed. He was their lifeline. But luck had been on their side for far too long, as when Ian spoke, everything came crashing down.

“I guess so. Come on in and have a seat.”

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(Quick author’s note: I think you could’ve gotten away without major spoilers from this movie, but this chapter is definitely more oriented around major spoilers, so if you don’t want spoiled, you might wanna wait for Chapter 4)

Interviewing creatures at sizes society had normalized always proved somewhat difficult to tape (they weren’t broadcasted live on a regular day) Our hostages sat on a kitchen counter, a camera pointed at Buttermilk, sitting on a tiny lawn chair near back of a counter, and another at Lightfoot on a stool. Ian, despite being quiet, easily dominated Aristotle’s handheld microphone, so he didn’t need his own. It was reverberated some, but they didn’t have many options. Everything was in place. All that was needed was to record.

Beep. The intro segment would be dealt with live, so he cut to the part where he came in.

“Aristotle Buttermilk reporting, I’m here with one Ian Lightfoot, a local teenager who performed magic for the first time in centuries. We’re coming in for an interview, how are you?” Aristotle read verbatim from the teleprompter. To his credit, he was good at reading aloud.

“Um, I’m doing fine. You?”

“I’m doing just fine. Now,-“

Carlene on the other end recognized a dissatisfactory tone, but her patience was enough to at least keep a kind tone in front of a guest. “Aristotle, your tone was not quite Alldays-quality sweet enough. Could you read it again, but with more energy and different phrasing?”

Aristotle understood what she REALLY meant. “I’ve been doing well, thank you. Now, how did you get into magic?”

Stupid question. Pelvis bit his lip, expecting Carlene to speak again. Thankfully, she was alright with it.

“Well, um, I was more forced into it. My father, um, left me his magic scepter as a gift for when I turned 16, and my brother Barley taught me some spells on a road trip.”

Aristotle had been trained in listening closely, recognizing details left vague, and drafting follow-up questions to dive deeper into a topic.

“A road trip. Sounds fun. Tell me more about it.” Aristotle replied, a bit too deadpan. Carlene took notice.

“Aristotle, tone.” Another eggshell had broken. They needed to be careful to avoid a meltdown at this point. Another take.

“A road trip, say? That sounds fun! Could you tell me a bit about the road trip?” The correct way to follow up that response.

“Well, it was also a bit of a force. I… uh, accidentally brought my father’s bottom half back to life, and we went to go conjure up his other half so we could talk to him, but the spell only lasted 24 hours, so we had to be quick. We took his van and went across town to find a gem to complete the spell. We had a roadblock in stopping at a tavern and accidentally shrinking my brother when I was trying to grow the gas canister. Then there was a dragon, and I had to fight it off, so I didn’t actually get to talk to my father, but it was alright. There was a sense of closure with the whole ordeal.”

“The Manticore’s Tavern? There was a bit of… restructuring… there lately, did you two have anything to do with it?” Aristotle asked, dodging the whole first aspect so Ian could deal with it for him.

Ian was a bit embarrassed about this one, his blue becoming a bit lighter. “Uh… yeah. I argued with her about a map and made her realize that she didn’t like turning it into a family restaurant, so she kicked everyone out and burnt the place down.”

Aristotle had actually been there at the tavern, and it had ruined an Uno tournament and pissed everyone right off. Aristotle was for some reason feeling somewhat responsible for picking a location with an unstable work environment. Of course, he was not about to divulge this information with a stranger, so it was time for a topic change. Or…

“Aristotle! You didn’t tell me the place burnt down! You told me the Uno tournament ended early!” Carlene shouted over the line.

“Oh, you were there? I don’t think I saw you that night. I’d’ve recognized you I think.” Ian added.

Aristotle blushed in the most cartoonish fashion imaginable. “Yes, I was. We were playing Uno when everyone got kicked out, then we smelled fire while we were waiting for a friend in the restroom, so we grabbed him and sat on the curb while the place burnt down. Overall not a great night for us, but it seems like it was worse for you guys.”

“I didn’t think so. It was a long night, and a lot of stressful things happened, but it ended on a bittersweet note. I didn’t meet my father, but Barley and I bonded quite a lot over it.”

Aristotle didn’t mean to start a conversation rather than an interview, but hey, podcasts were popular. Maybe audiences would like it, but for the sake of Carlene, they couldn’t be too casual.

“That’s wonderful. I’m glad to hear that. Now, about that magic, could you please demonstrate a little?”

“Um, I guess so.”

Ian went to go find the scepter, and during the time that they weren’t taping, Carlene became a bit more blunt.

“This interview is BOMBING! Aristotle, save the conversations for off tape. You’re there to get information first and foremost. Fun time is second. And God DAMMIT, Pelvis, I can’t see ANYTHING! KEEP YOUR STUPID PHONE POINTED AT THE SETUP SO I CAN SEE IT! AND DO YOU HAVE TO TWITCH LIKE A LITTLE YORKIE? KEEP STEADY, DAMMIT, STEADDDDYYY! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE SUCH A ******* TWIT!”

They hoped Ian heard none of the freakout as he turned the corner with a large tree branch. Or perhaps a scepter. He pointed it at a banana while a camera was whipped to the actionin. Ian whispered some Latin incantation, and a beam of light turned the yellow banana blue. And like it was a reality show, everyone clapped.

“Wonderful” Carlene faked a smile and eyed Aristotle, cueing his next words.

“Well, Ian, thanks for the interview, but I’m afraid we’re crunched for time, so thank you and have a nice week!”

As the recording ceased, everyone breathed in and out. Ian smiled and asked if there was anything else they wanted to do. Right before they could say no, Carlene Fernsby decided that enough was not enough, and that mistakes had to be made that would at the very least be recorded. Oh, no, to her she just wanted some cool shots and pictures, but everyone else knew that the former was more likely.

“Actually, we’d like to take a few pictures for the newspaper, if that’s alright.”

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Camera shots weren’t the only shots that were going to be taken.

While Pelvis was busy unscrewing the bottom of a cheap hairbrush that was quite obviously a flask, the crew member previously in charge of sound recording was now pointing Pelvis’ phone camera toward Ian and Aristotle standing in front of him. Aristotle stood idly, waiting for instruction, while Ian sat with his head on his fist, evidently feeling the same way as the rest of the crew now. The interview had strangely gone well, but this photoshoot was giving more time for Aristotle to unwitting slip into disaster, literally or not, and everyone but Ian knew it. Now, what shots could Carlene possibly need?

A few clickbait thumbnails. Yep. Alldays and Onions were known for publishing on several clickbaity news channels to get attention towards their headlines. Trashy, but tolerable. Ms. Fernsby decided what shots went, so she probably trusted that Aristotle wouldn’t get into too much trouble. But she should’ve known better.

The first shot was mundane: magic. She did her very best to pose Ian without him actually seeing her, but that’s admittedly difficult.

“Arm up. No, left. Now put the right one down. Not ALL the way down, back to where your had it! Now chin down. DOWN. A little bit less. Good. Arms, Ian, arms. Put your legs a bit more together so you aren’t wobbling. Okay, make sure one’s still back. Ian, why did your arm move? Thank you. Now do NOT move. I said DON’T MOVE.” Ian’s mood became more anxious after this one.

With the click of the shutter, the simplest shots were done.

“That didn’t seem simple, Carlene” Pelvis muttered.

Carlene retorted, “it’s not about how we get the shot, it’s about how many components are together and how steady or not they are together. Don’t mutter trash like that if you’re not taking the pictures, Pelvis.”

Pelvis was irritated, but he couldn’t say anything more since it was time for shot 2. Carlene had found that people liked it when interviews with “giants” and “tinies” had tacky thumbnails that reflected the size difference. These shots all involved Ian holding Aristotle. People holding people that much smaller than them was considered a threat amongst strangers, and only two very close would do something like that. Socially, this was something the two of them didn’t really feel comfortable doing when they’d barely met, but they’d both figured out that objections would lead to trouble. So, despite any objections, Ian slowly laid his hand on the table for Aristotle.

Aristotle stood there. Despite knowing he had to do this, and the fact that he wanted to, his brain refused to fire the neurons necessary to get the legs to move. He couldn’t get himself to get onto the blue gargantuan palm, so the two sat in limbo, waiting. The only thing that got his ADHD brain to actually work was Carlene yelling at him to move his rear quarters. So Aristotle stumbled onto Ian’s palm and was slowly elevated to eye level, Ian’s digits cupped to act as a protective sort of railing to keep him from falling. Aristotle yelped as he looked up to see the blue face towards him, Ian’s curious seas of black known as pupils focused onto him like a camera lens. Aristotle knew he was smaller than a pixie, and probably smaller than Barley when he was shrunk, with what that look reflected. Now he was at Ian’s mercy, and thankfully, Ian had proved himself to be kind so far.

The second shot was similiar to how the two were positioned at the moment, except Ian had to flatten his hand, and had to kneel so that the camera operator could get a decent angle. Flashes and clicks went off as Aristotle felt like his every detail was being analyzed by the somewhat-shifting eyes. He felt like he was now being silently interviewed, and any sign of weakness would be amplified tenfold, so he somewhat blushed.

Carlene, of course, took notice. She hoped their editors could edit out that blush, and erase any idea in the audience’s heads that this could be romantic before it could be planted. Aristotle was aroace; she would be terrified for him if any fangirl or fanboy was convinced otherwise and saw him as available, or worse, taken. It was certainly rough love she expressed, but she did care about him.

Details not quite necessary aside, it was time for the third shot. Carlene had never attempted this sort of shot before, had never seen anyone do it before, but she had convinced herself that it would make for a killer photo. This shot was decently dangerous, forbidden in good culture, and would require utmost precision to minimize time and leeway for disaster. The shot was: Aristotle Buttermilk lying in a relaxed position inside Ian’s mouth.

I’ll pause for a moment so you can take that in properly…

Obviously, eating people alive was considered taboo, nobody should be eating ANYTHING alive. But to even TEASE it, in the minds of many, was more than enough to cause outrage, outrage that entailed protests and anger. But Carlene, clever, calculated, and cunning, came up with this scheme. Outrage meant people would angrily indulge in them, giving them cash inflow. Any publicity is good publicity, right?

Aristotle was quick to object. This was so far out of his comfort zone, he might as well be at Point Nemo in comparison. Desperate to not have to do it, to step into the maw of a new friend and pose like he was the king of that land, to have to trudge on slimy, silky tongue and risk even worse, he first fished for excuses. They were running short on time, the censors would block it anyway, it could rub badly on him or Ian rather than the company. Even Ian chimed in, saying he didn’t want to have to hold such restraint and control for a measly shot. Pelvis muttered, tired,

“Can we just once NOT do something stupid during an interview that has the capability of disaster and chaos?”

Unfortunately, that simple objection erased Aristotle’s and Ian’s progress in changing her mind.

“Pelvis, just this once is once too much because once they once they’ll wanna once once more. Sure, it has the capability, but I have faith that Ian and Aristotle can handle a 5 second shot. Besides, we can blame Francine for this one since we’re using her camera.” Her voice, while tinny from phone speakers, conveyed what everyone else dreaded: they had to do this shot.

“Ugh, just one shot and then we can go home. Let’s get this done before Carlene’s patience wears thin again.” Pelvis moaned, deciding for the other two. Like any normal person, Pelvis did not want to be yelled at again today. It was too early in the week for her shrieking and stomping twice in a day.

“Welp, let’s go ahead and do this,” Ian sighed. Over the hump of hesitation, Ian’s arm muscles sprouted and he panned his hand closer to his lips, carefully and gently, until the back of his hand slightly tilted and made contact with his chin. Then, with a satisfying pop, his jaw lowered, opening for Aristotle to clamber inside.

Immediately, Aristotle’s mind was swirled around with how many obscured details had just been exposed to the lenses of his eyeballs. Massive, pearly teeth, crooked, held so much metaphoric weight, like armor that protected the fleshy knight inside. Healthy tongue with tiny saliva strands glistening with what little light could peek inside. And a rush of warmth struck him in the nerves with minty overtones as his breath twirled around him. This was overstimulating our friend very quickly, and so he froze solid, the warm breath failing to melt away his apprehension-driven paralysis. Just like earlier, his mind only half committed to the bit.

“Aristotle Buttermilk? Earth to Buttermilk,” Carlene shouted, “I don’t know why this is happening again, but if you’re wanting to get home before dark, you had best get your legs moving, and moving NOW.”

The word NOW was what finally scraped away the bond between Aristotle’s feet and the palm beneath them. Slowly, as to not get himself cut, he strolled over to the entrance and lifted one leg up over the rectangular daggers. Then, with gloved hands using said daggers as support, the other leg made it’s way in too. Now he was on the squishy, moist muscle that he had longed to dodge.

The place sucked. Now, Ian’s throat had risen into view, revealing the depths of the body, the beauty of the mortal vessel, and the consequences for error at this point in the game. Inside the mouth of the giant, one must take the utmost precaution to avoid becoming a snack. That meant obedience to the puppet master, and despite Aristotle the elephant being in the entrance to Ian’s internal circus tent, Carlene was still ringleader here.

For the first photo, Aristotle positioned his arms on the teeth like they were a railing, flopping over them, and his knees bending him forward into a relaxed poses where he was using them as support. Quickly, Ian’s mouth was becoming dry with the constant air settling in, which prompted involuntary saliva production, some squirting onto Aristotle. This made Pelvis wheeze, but Aristotle just wiped it off.

Up on the housetop, click click click.

“Let’s try another pose, a bit more in center of the tongue.” Carlene suggested without a choice

With the precision of a Swiss watch, Aristotle shuffled his feet to the center, where a new saliva puddle had just formed. Now, Aristotle laid down on his side, a knee propped up and a hand upon it, and his other arm helping to support his core. It’s a common pose, but effective, and the lack of objection from the clicking noises meant that it was effective here too.

“That’s good enough. Get out of there” were the words everyone had been yearning for, and Carlene finally delivered them.

Now, Aristotle tried slowly to stand, but slid around some. His spine somewhat tingled with anxiety, but he was still fine. With his arms haunched to keep him stable, he attempted to take a step back towards light. Sadly, he borderline moonwalked and ended up farther back than was safe. He tried again, more panicked now, to escape. Luck with slippery surfaces, however, was not a possession of his. Like a complete clown, he slipped backwards and fell backwards just enough to get over the second hump the tongue formed. It also formed a slippery slide, as he accelerated backwards towards Ian’s dark throat. Aristotle clenched his eyes shut and held his breath, untrained but ready. Quickly, he passed the threshold, and Ian’s body gave him no choice. Sputtering and coughing some, the throat became desperate, something had to give, and there was only one possible recourse.

Down through the chimney with good St. Nick.

A sickening gulp emminated from Ian’s neck, and all that could cease, ceased.

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#safe vore #sfw vore #soft vore #fandom vore #gt vore #male pred #nsx vore #giant/tiny #g/t #vore writing #swwh #if I shouldn’t use the swwh tag please let me know #swallowed whole #eaten alive trope

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tefifonconnoisseur · 17 days ago

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THE NEXT STORY IS IN PROGRESS!

This will be my second to last (or last, depending on the order) story of 2024, my inaugural year. It’s possibly going to be the longest story I’ve written yet.

Tonight’s pred of choice is (drumroll please)

Ian Lightfoot (Disney Pixar’s Onward)

3.5 chapters of the next story have been drafted, 3 of which are complete. I don’t publish to Tumblr in chapters, but the 3 finished chapters have been posted to my Wattpad. If you want to read them, they are available if you know where to look. The story is intended on having 7-8 chapters, each with 750-1500 words (current count is 3,519.) I’ll update again when we get closer to release.

And as always, toodles.

#safe vore #sfw vore #soft vore #fandom vore #gt vore #male pred #nsx vore #giant/tiny #g/t #vore talk #vore writing #swallowed whole #eaten alive trope #swwh

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tefifonconnoisseur · 23 days ago

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I’m discovering a new tag all of a sudden called swwh. I’m not sure what it means but there’s some people there I follow so cool, I’ll post there unless I shouldn’t. Since editing my stories with tags isn’t quite doing the trick, I’m reblogging this one to sort of introduce myself to this tag.

TMNT 2012 Vore - The (Ir)regular Reaction

It’s been a minute since I’ve been able to post a proper story, but here we are with another one. I watched this show as a kid and have seen some vore content with today’s pred, Raphael, but truth be told I haven’t watched an episode in around 10 years, so I apologize for any inaccuracies that may appear. Story is below the cut.

9:00 PM

We arrive in the sewers, where three mutant teenage turtles are laying around, watching tonight’s episode of some action show. Michelangelo, the zany one with the orange bandana, is zoned all the way in, munching on pizza. Leonardo, the leader and mature one, is also paying attention. Finally, Raphael, the hot-headed red one, is getting up to grab another slice of pizza since he already ate his first one. Way too quickly, mind you, since he’s hiccuping. He walks into the dining room with the slices of pizza to find Donnie with a random plastic project box, the side cut out and a needle sticking out of it, slightly glowing at the tip, pointed towards a Bubba Gump Glass.

“What’cha got there, Donnie?” Raphael asked, almost intrigued but not quite.

“This, Raph, is a shrink ray, a device that can shrink things down to a minute fraction of its original size. I’m just about to test it and see if the capacitors discharge, we get a working beam, and this glass shrinks.”

“O-Kay” Raphael replied, placing emphasis on the O for the sake of showing how he’s slightly concerned but not enough to do something about it. Although this kind of technology was innovative, he was more interested in the olde and more reliable technology known as the TV playing the show he was missing since Donnie was distracting him from grabbing another slice of the still warm pepperoni pizza. Besides, Donnie probably knew what he was doing, and even if he didn’t, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. It would just blow up and he’d try again. That was one of his favorite traits of his scientific brother: even if he failed 20 times, he had the determination to fix the issues and get the thing working.

9:12 PM

As a new episode of the Star Trek wannabe show began, Raphael’s left ear picked up a high-pitched squealing different to the pitch of the old television in front of him. He had no doubt that Donnie had illuminated the kitchen with the beam he was speaking of. Unfortunately, as these things go, the squeal was interrupted by the sound of a loud explosion. Raph immediately looked on in surprise as he saw his brother, soot covering his face and the device in tatters.

“Are you alright?” Leonardo asked as he went to check on him and clean him up, wiping his face with a wet cloth to get the soot off.

“Yes, I’m alright. Just need to wait a bit and make sure the explosion didn’t make it-“

At nearly exactly this moment, the clock struck and the boys were called in for a mission by their father figure, Master Splinter. They speedily made it over to the dojo, where he stood, hands folded in his lap. The task was relatively straightforward: scout the city and stop the Foot Clan if there were any shenanigans. This was a nightly affair, as Shredder’s posse were always causing mayhem and disruption. So without further delay, they went out to the surface and slunk in the shadows towards an unlocked building with roof access.

9:16 PM

A little bit of this, a little bit of that, the boys made it to the roof of this tall building in Brooklyn. How the lock got picked is anybody’s guess.

“So, Donnie, your shrinking machine exploded in your face, but did you AT LEAST make a beam?” Raph asked

“WHAT? DONNIE MADE A SHRINK RAY?” Michelangelo, the orange-clad and zany one asked, eyes and voice filled with curiosity and awe.

“Indeed I did, Mikey, but it doesn’t quite work. The beam was bright for just a moment before it blew in my face”

“Is that going to affect the mission if we find some foot clan soldiers out?” Leonardo, the mature blue-clad leader asked. “Because if it has the potential to change your size after the fact, you may want to sit this one out.”

“I don’t believe it will, since the beam lost power before it would’ve hit my skin.” Donnie replied, not sounding fully confident in his theory but confident in his desire to participate. This was essentially his job, his duty to the city of New York, and he wasn’t about to skip because some invention blew up. Leo nodded to show acknowledgment.

“Hey, uh, Donnie, you look a little bit… shorter” Raph noticed.

“Don’t try and scare me, Raph!” Donnie yelped.

9:18 PM

Foot Clan soldiers spotted. The boys hopped to a streetlight and slid down it like the Ghostbusters. They could feel the cold night air as they dashed in the shadows towards the Foot Clan. The masked men heard the pitter patters of running right as the boys arrived, weapons branded. These soldiers recognized the turtles, though the purple one, the tallest usually, was now shorter than the blue one. It doesn’t seem like the turtles noticed though, as they were attacked by the soldiers. Donnie, now shorter than a soldier, went one by one, swinging his bo, and making contact with the faces of soldiers.

9:30 PM

While this group of soldiers was down, the night had far from ended. The three turtles took a moment to take a breath. It had been a stressful battle, but was small potatoes compared to what was en route.

“Uh, where on earth is Donnie?” Raph asked, on edge. This sent the brothers into a panicked search. Where could he have run off to during the battle? Mikey looked in the alley, Leo in some other streets. The relative darkness of the night would have obscured him… wondering off? Fighting someone else somewhere close? kidnapped?

“Guys, come here, quick!”

9:32 PM

It was Raph. He had found Donnie, or a miniaturized version of himself at the base of the nearest streetlamp, shivering and standing at a mere 2 inches. It was certainly a sight, their brother who was previously tall being the size of a grape and having to look straight up to see their brothers. Carefully, Raphael offered his hand as a platform for Donnie to step onto, which was accepted. Slowly, as to not give him massive vertigo, Donnie was lifted up to chin level and examined by the other turtles.

“Woah, dude, he’s so small!” Mikey marveled.

“So the whole ‘the beam lost power’ thing was a lie?” Raph demanded.

“No, Raph, it was a- a miscalculation. I truly believed what I said, but it turns out I was incorrect” Donatello defensively replied. He was somewhat nervous, being so high up and in the booming presence of his hotheaded brother, who was now like a building to him sizewise. Admittedly, he had been partially lying; he did think the beam hit him, but that it had lost enough power that it wouldn’t affect his height so drastically. In hindsight, though, the beam didn’t dim nearly that quickly, taking several seconds to dim in some earlier tests. Getting back to normal size was going to be rough.

“Hey, uh, guys? We’re not alone.”

9:35 PM

That bridge would have to be crossed when they got there, though, as there were more immediate threats. To their shock and horror, some Normans had managed to sneak up on them. They had been distracted for just long enough to give the Krang time to locate and thoroughly surround the ninja reptiles.

“If the turtles do not hand over the tiny one to Krang, prepare to die!” One of the slimy little blobs yelled.

So, you’re holding your tiny brother, and all of a sudden surrounded by a bunch of murderous mechs with the sole purpose of taking said tiny brother and then slaughtering the rest of you. What do you do? Any of the following are viable: run away, or keep your brother close and kick some shell; flight or fight. If you’re choosing to fight, just strap the tiny bro into a strap or a holster. These are all regular reactions, something that would be enacted without a word or thought to anyone or anything, things that would be considered “acceptable.”

*wwop*

9:36

That was the noise of someone’s mouth clicking and a bubble of clear saliva popping. Strange, as that didn’t seem like any of the regular reactions. As Donnie felt his shell pinched and his form being dragged upward, it became clear: we’re getting The Irregular Reaction.

Looking down, a red tongue had flopped out like a rug being rolled out, encapsulated by shiny sharp teeth, two of which were pointed into fangs, and pink gums. In the night, he couldn’t see much farther, than some tendrils of saliva near the center of the maw. He could, though, feel the hot, humid breath eminating from below, and hear said breaths. (What we need are mints, darling, mints)

The feeling that was terrifying, though, were the overriding cool drafts as Donnie fell towards the darkness, each second filled with pounding in his ears. After an eternity, with a splat he landed on the fleshy tongue and was rolled back in the humid mouth. He only had time to take a quick look out: his view of the outside world, framed by teeth, until a quick click enshrouded him in darkness.

Like a dog, the tongue lathered him right up in this disgusting liquid, swishing him from cheek to cheek as lubrication of sorts. He snickered internally at the thought of Raph looking like a chipmunk doing that. The organ seemed to struggle moving him farther in, curling upward to try and roll him back, a strange sensation for them both. As in traditional Raph impatience, the world shifted diagonally, just enough for Donnie to start slipping down the slide into the hole below him. He tried clawing up, but it was futile. A threshold was crossed, and a squicky wet sound rang in his ears as he was dragged farther down.

Mikey could only look on in awe, Leo in horror, as Raph’s throat muscles flexed inward and a slight bulge appeared as he swallowed. Raph gagged and thumped his chest to work the irregular form down, swallowing some saliva to assist.

“Dude, that was rad!” Mikey yelled.

“Raph, you could get him killed!” Leo shouted in a more serious tone.

“Relax, dude, Donnie’s being stored. He’ll be fine until we kick these guys’ asses” Raph retorted, which instigated the Normans to fire upon them.

Meanwhile, Donatello’s form was squeezed by an anaconda called esophagus muscles, sliding him down more rhythmically. Bassy thumping pounded in his ears from the heart close by, and he plopped into a bile puddle directly on his shell, now within the confines of the organ known as the stomach. Now obviously, science and chemistry can be a bit smelly. Certain things like sulfurs and thioacetones were known to spread like a disease throughout their small sewer bunker. But this place was different. The bacteria that lived inside the belly secreted some truly sickly stenches. Not to mention mostly digested blobs of what was once pepperoni pizza filling the bile puddle.

Donnie threw up a bit in his mouth, but had to suck it up since he knew he’d be here a while. From his bag, he grabbed an LED lantern that provided enough just enough light to see his immediate surroundings. He could make out the wrinkly structure of the floor below him and the walls surrounding him, the foamy mucus higher up. And those pizza blobs, he tried to analyze what ingredients had been, though the thorough destruction from Raphael’s chewing made this a very difficult step. Sights are only one other sense. The sounds of the What a truly fascinating place. A notebook apparated from the bag and allowed Donnie to take notes on his experience. The first creature to be swallowed alive and (hopefully) return to tell the tale. This would be a breakthrough in the realms of science if he could ever publish it. If because turtles and publishing don’t mix quite well.

A bit of butt-kicking usually did cronies good, as the Normans discovered. What was interesting, though, was Donatello’s situation. Every time Raphael dashed towards a Norman with his sai, Donnie felt like he was in a Bugatti going down a drag strip. A kick? It created a lurch sent both Donnie bouncing backwards and a sickly sensation to Raphael’s head. A shot to the stomach? Right. Out.

The remaining pizza from Donnie’s gastrointestinal tract was struggling to stay in its place, a near-identical but smaller copy of the guts Donnie resided in. It was a thought that popped into Donnie’s mind, a curious one about how this was the circumstance inside his own stomach: food churning, bile and acids working away blobs, and wrinkly surfaces with foamy mucus, of course just without a tiny brother stuck inside.

9:40 PM

“Jeez, that was a tough one,” Mikey sighed.

“Yep. Now we can worry about what’s important: Donnie.” Leo stared at Raph

“Uh- of course. Yeah. Only issue is, how do we get him out?”

“I think that vomiting would be the most straightforward way,” Donnie yelled, his voice muffled from the layers of skin and shell, his first time addressing the world outside from within.

“Ugh, I just ate! I’ll be hungry!”

“Well, Raph, there’s still a little bit left for once you get Donnie out. We might as well do it here so that we can try to keep this from Master Splinter,” Leo reasoned, knowing full well that Splinter would somehow, someway, figure out what had really transpired and give Raphael an admittedly somewhat deserved lecture about recklessness. It would be far from his first, and wouldn’t be his last.

“Fine.”

Raphael found a broken bowl on the street in front of an apartment complex and decided to use this as a catch for Donnie. With no other way, he took a deep breath and shoved his hand down his throat. He gagged, but nothing really happened. Another deep breath and another plunge with his now slime-covered fist did the trick, sending up a fluid comprised of digested pizza and, on the first try no less, containing his shrunken brother. With a water bottle, Donnie was showered with lukewarm water that ushered away the fluids enveloping his form.

“You good, Donnie?” Raph inquired.

“I’ve been better,” Donnie replied, “are you gonna be okay?”

“Uggh… yeah. Forget what I said a second ago; I lost my appetite.”

Was this going to deter Raphael from pizza consumption? Maybe for a day, but certainly not forever. The boy’s gotta eat something! Just not his brother preferably. Anyways… it’s 11:22 and I’ve been trying to writing this for 3 weeks, let’s wrap up.

9:50 PM

The boys make it back to their home, tiny brother in tow. Splinter obviously noticed their tiny brothers and requests the story. When told, the lecture alluded to before happened. Donnie, with the help of Leonardo (although all he did was assemble what he was told), was able to reverse the machine’s flow, causing a mini explosion that reverted his size to his original stature. With a long night finally ceased, the boys went off to their bedroom and fell fast asleep, ready to reenergize for their training session the next morning.

And obviously, for the sake of preventing another situation like this, shrinking machines were banned from the household indefinitely.

#swwh

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tefifonconnoisseur · 28 days ago

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I’m 1000% going to regret this, but I’ve made a SFW vore Discord server like I said I might. If anyone wants to be mod, DM me an application or something, idk how this works. This is a permanent link if I did things right (which I probably didn’t) so if it doesn’t work let me know and I’ll resend a link.

This would be a good time for the NSFW people to piss right off, since I don’t want you in my server. If you DO wanna join and can, link is provided.

Toodles, again!

#safe vore #sfw vore #soft vore #fandom vore #gt vore #male pred #nsx vore #giant/tiny #g/t #vore talk #swallowed whole #eaten alive trope #noms #swwh

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tefifonconnoisseur · 29 days ago

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Sorry for the extra post, but I purged almost all of my Vore art from my blog. It’s on a Wattpad story and some is on DeviantArt for the sake of preservation, but I feel like it wasn’t quite fitting the blog. I admittedly have no IDEA how to properly draw despite being taught more than once. I simply don’t comprehend the shapes method. I’m just about incapable of learning how to draw. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m both impatient and a perfectionist, so I’m guaranteed to hate almost everything I make. Or I compare my art at age 17 to artwork other people younger than me make and feel like I’m trash? Idk.

I’m going to stick to stories, which I enjoy making and feel proud of rather than pushing out art of unacceptable quality on the blog. Odds are I’m not going to post artwork on Tumblr again. Sorry for the dumping of words, but I just had to vent, and I have nobody IRL to vent to about this.

Toodles!

#safe vore #sfw vore #soft vore #fandom vore #gt vore #male pred #nsx vore #giant/tiny #g/t #vore talk

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tefifonconnoisseur · 29 days ago

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I’m bored, might make a SFW vore discord server since there simply isn’t enough to go around, and I’d love to interact with some people in the community. Lots are dead and buried. We’ll see, though.

And I need to make a NSFW DNI template thing to put at the bottom of my posts since just a tag isn’t quite doing the trick.

#safe vore #sfw vore #soft vore #fandom vore #gt vore #male pred #nsx vore #vore talk #almost every one I’ve found was either kink or dead #my content is not fetish material #it’s entirely possible that I won’t #but maybe I will

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tefifonconnoisseur · 1 month ago

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For the sake of transparency, here's what's happening the next 2 months:

I plan on writing two more stories, one which is already in planning. I do need to watch the film, but hey, it'll be the first piece of vore for this franchise. All I'll say is it's my first Disney one.

Two special things about this story: 1. For Wattpad, it’ll have a hand-drawn cover, a comic that'll be published alongside it. I might publish it here a few days later. It's not a good hand-drawn cover, but I think it's better than my (early) photoshop covers. The cover's done already lol. 2. I'll be using my OC as prey for the first time in writing.

The second story hasn't been planned yet. This one could be a request slot, as I'll explain below.

I'm only going to do 1-2 more requests this year. While I highly doubt it'll happen, since requests aren't frequent, if a third request is requested, it won't be published until January. If a request is filed, it'll be the second story left this year (or third).

Toodles!

#safe vore #sfw vore #soft vore #fandom vore #gt vore #male pred #nsx vore #giant/tiny #g/t #vore talk #swallowed whole #eaten alive trope

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tefifonconnoisseur · 1 month ago

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It’s been a while; if you’re interesting in my writing and missed this, here’s a reblog for you, featuring some tags I missed

Sebastian Solace Vore - Fish Stomachs and Laser Pointers

It’s been about 2 months since I’ve been able to post a story, hopefully the rust isn’t too awful. Yes, it’s the Sebastian from Roblox’s Pressure. It was a Wattpad request from QuestionableFurry, and it seemed like fun, so I went ahead with the request). Please enjoy! Or, you know, scroll on past if you’re one of the people mentioned in my pinned post (basically NSFW DNI)

Be warned, vore is below the cut.

(I’m not exactly the biggest expert on Pressure, so please forgive me for inaccuracies to character or lore)

Perhaps prison would’ve been better than the bottom of the ocean.

Although it seems strange to us who understand the concept of dramatic irony, a hopeful Y/N sees this little expedition as a way out of a life-ruining prison sentence, and such an opportunity can’t go to waste. Besides, how hard can it be? Find this crystal left behind in this semi-functional abandoned facility and grab some documents along the way. Can’t be difficult, right?

Well, a guiding voice appears from… somewhere, giving them instructions. A voice dissimilar to the automated one that told them what they were here for. More worker bee than script-bound management. This guy seems more trustworthy but also held back by a chain, as they try to skirt over accidental details they leaked of just how much of a mistake they’ve made not just doing the time. They seem pleasant enough.

With keycard in hand, Y/N swipes the reader and enters the first room. Less room, more glorified hallway, but it’s rife with files to grab. Lockers adorn the sides of certain rooms, fancy sci-fi doors intertwine rooms. Another room requires another keycard, one that illudes Y/N. Every locker was tossed, the drawers flung open, and counters ransacked. Of course, the card was right on the floor, and a misstep proved it. They traversed another room, and another, and another. It’s really quite a drag. It takes 9 rooms for even the lights to flicker. Y/N appreciates SOME difference in this place, but not quite the strange noise from far behind. As it seems to grow, a survival instinct emerges for the first time in their mind, one that screams to get in a locker post haste. Almost the second they make it inside, they see a GIANT ANGLERFISH rush them by and disappear from thin air the second that Y/N steps out, heart beating like an 808.

Terrifying. Simply and utterly terrifying, but it’s okay because they’re not dead yet. Who knows what else could be here? So on they go, their previous positivity stripped and painted over with the expected gloom and fear. Oh dear. The next 30 doors go somewhat well, more drawers searched, more monsters avoided by the skin of their teeth.

Y/N’s least favorite were the three “lookers”. The green one beckoned a look like a siren, then harmed their internal organs. Then the siblings, one that couldn’t be looked at and one that had to be. Thankfully, the tortured souls who hid behind fake doors just required listening out. Y/N learned this the hard way when one slashed their arm. If it weren’t for them; though, they he worst thing here would be the diving rooms. Y/N was provided with a diving tank. Certain rooms would be flooded due to the state of the building, which would require diving in dark places to find a way out. Due to their expendable nature, there was no guarantee the tanks were filled enough to allow them time to search.

During our little summarizing session of supreme timewasting, Y/N has made it to a makeshift shop. A bunch of crates, a table, and a computer all did the trick. And beside the crate were two piercing, glowing eyes. Eyes connected to a gray, angler fish head with fins and messy black locks. He was equipped with a jacket covering the torso of his giant eel-like body, and straps on the rest. This man, ladies and gentlemen, is Sebastian Solace.

Y/N hasn’t seen this individual before, as they don’t usually interact with things of this nature, but their voice… their voice was the one they had heard earlier, the one who had more honestly guided them here. Their most curious feature was their intelligence: they knew perhaps too much, far more than they were willing (or permitted) to share.

“Hello, hello! Come on in, I’m not gonna hurt ya!” He slithered out, revealing his truly large form (around nine feet tall, presumably) and greeted his new guest with enthusiasm and a genuine sense of glee. It occurred to Y/N that they were their first customer.

“Despite what you may have heard, seen, or been told, I am Sebastian. You were told to collect ‘loose assets’ around, documents, vials, whatever. However, if I can make it worth your while, I’m gonna ask you to cut a deal. You give me any research you may have on you, and…”

The rest of their spiel, they zoned out for. Their tail. Their tail. Well, the dark does certainly obscure, but gosh, this guy likes scavenging. Although seemingly, whatever they had was more important to him.

Here, Y/N takes a look at items for sale. Flashlights, batteries, laser things, the works. It’s what they’d expect to be available in an abandoned laboratory. But there was something else, something that would help our petty little friend cause mischief: a laser pointer. They were intended, obviously, to stun monsters and allow time to escape. However, a pair of eyes were in front of them, and our petty Y/N had an idea. Quickly and not carefully, their thumb depressed on the button on, the yells of Solace falling on unlistening ears. Thankfully for Sebastian, though, Y/N missed and hit a mirror. Unfortunately, that laser pointer was more than just a small novelty tool.

In a flash, Y/N lost sight of Sebastian, and being more honest, the room entirely. His surroundings were just gray, dark and more gray. A look up, though, revealed the laser pointer’s true intention. Indeed, Y/N was now looking up at a titanic room, with Sebastian Solace in view, barely able to be seen with a still head. Next to them? Shattering as the laser point practically disintegrated from the fall.

Oh shit

“Well, looks like someone broke the merchandise, you break it you ~ buy it~” Solace cooed.

With their files now on the ground, it became quite obvious that the price couldn’t be payed. I mean, stuff like this is prototypical. While Solace didn’t look angry, he looked almost . . . hungry. A man who was already taller than her and somewhat frightened her now towered over her and had complete control of them and their life. The situation was becoming more tense by the moment as Solace grabbed them by the back of their shirt, staring them in their eyes, their pupils shrunk and their skin two shades lighter than they were when they scampered in the room.

“I-i-i could always find more files and pay for it that way!”

Sebastian, though, seemed uninterested in their now measly possessions.

“Unfortunately, you’re not going to be able to grab files at this size, and I have the only device that can revert you. 0, I’m gonna make you a deal. I’m willing to forgive your debt and return you to regular size if…”

As if Y/N’s little deal with the organization wasn’t already guaranteed to be a regret, the smacking of Sebastian’s lips and their blue tongue slathering their lips sealed in the mood of the day in mental expoy resin.

“If you’re willing to occupy my stomach for a few hours until I can scrounge something permanent. Just so I can alleviate my appetite for a while.” He winked at them and seemingly decided that they couldn’t wait a moment longer.

Like it was rehearsed, he dropped his mask, his slimy maw popped open and revealed an abyss inside, their throat nearly obscured by shadow (though not enough to hide a faint uvula outline). Their oddly blue tongue expectedly awaited them below, divoting for them even, like a date pulling out a chair for their lover. The smell of rotten fish permeated through the stuffy air right into the nostrils of Y/N. Maybe some other smells, but none so pungent. Teeth sharp as knives and as beige as an old pillow glistened like jewelry decorated the space and created a tinge of suspense and edge (both literal and metaphorical). Teeth could easily tear them apart. This mouth wasn’t quite normal; it was ornate and beautiful, though slimy and filthy as you’d expect. This was, though, a sight that instantly created anxiety and panic.

Y/N, of course, panicked, slipping out of their grasp, but like shrimp, Sebastian caught them on their squishy tongue and clicked his teeth shut, enshrouding them in darkness. The fish smell singed the hairs protecting their nose, eyes, and every other sensory organ. They were in a tiny saliva puddle that seeped through their clothes. The cavern, though, was alive and moved, soaking the rest of them as if they’d fallen in the pool, shuffling them around the place carefully. Squelching noises occurred as they were pressed against the roof of his mouth, releasing some liquid from said clothing. They squirmed in a futile attempt to do something, anything, in an instinctual fury. But the control lied solely with Sebastian Solace, a creature with full intelligence and full control of this situation; Y/N deep down realized that there was one, single way to get out of this, one path to continue this journey. The path, however, wasn’t going to be terribly pleasant. They were at the cliff between the tongue and esophagus, between the world outside and the world within Sebastian, and it was about that time of the process. Yikes.

*GLK*

Within an instant, everything tumbled and turned, topsy turvey, and Y/N fell down Sebastian’s throat and made contact with the muscles below. Like a closed electrical circuit, their presence allowed the muscles to get to work, passing them off to the stomach via a tube that squeezed, attempting to compact them into a shape. Thankfully, it only had the power to do this to normal food, something Y/N was far from. A bassy heartbeat echoed their bones, vibrated their soul. Lungs seemed to also contribute, but not as much as some other scuba-sounding organ. Gills, perhaps? Some other fishy organ?

Anatomy be damned, it could be anything. Sebastian, clearly, wasn’t human. That could be discerned from the anglerfish lure, the whale-snake tail, their clammy gray skin and glowing eyes that made up his physique. However, from running the description in his head, he wasn’t sure what he could be. He seemed to be a hybrid, an amalgamation of several different creatures. Is that what they’re choosing to think about while they’re literally being eaten? Consumed by this thing? Of course. What on earth else could they think about to attempt to distract them from this nonsense? They’re surrounded by him, might as well think about the whole picture.

Speaking of, a valve opened and out fell Y/N like a drop of water into their stomach. Or whatever this place was, because it didn’t FEEL like a stomach usually would. Rather than slimy and wrinkly, the surface under the stew was soft and squishy. The stew itself was barely an inch of saliva, with not an iota of acid to be found. This was essentially a water bed, and like a bed, man was it comfortable.

Perhaps Y/N benefited more from this deal than Sebastian did, as they had time to destress from the dozen near-death experiences they’ve had, time to reset and refresh for however many more rooms resided in an inhabitable state down here. Sure, Sebastian got to curb pain and feel good, but Y/N felt a great (platonic) pleasure from the relaxed state that the flesh sack was providing. They settled into the flesh some and their eyes started to struggle.

“Well SOMEONE’S making themselves comfortable. How’s it like in there? I’ve always wondered what it’s like to be able to relax inside a belly” Sebastian openly wondered.

But Y/N heard not a word of it. With a thin saliva blanket and a waterbed of gut flesh below them, they quickly lost the battle with their own body and fell asleep, snoring indicating to Sebastian their descent to dreamland.

“Heh, couldn’t resist”

. . .

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, not quite escaped from the deep unconscious state they’d entered. They had a good sleep for the first time in a period of time that couldn’t be accurately measured.

“Finally awake, huh? It’s been almost 24 hours, glad you’re still alive” Sebastian nested, “It’s about time to finish the deal up. Can’t stay forever”

Gradually, the walls around Y/N churned like a stomach should, slowly compacting them. They somewhat panicked, worried they’d be squeezed and juiced, until the sphincter above reopened like a spotlight above them and roughly pulled them up in a chunky and unnatural way. After about 9 seconds, their head peeked up above the back of the tongue and revealed them to the world. With a gross sound I won’t describe for fear of brain rot, they fell onto his hand and almost instantly were thrown into pink light. Like a time lapse of one of those magic growing products, they steadily reduced to normal height, if not an inch taller.

“Welp, in fear of you breaking another product, I’m going to show you to the door. Good luck ahead, and feel free to come back if you happen to die.” He put his bottom right arm over his shoulder and slithered to the rustic-esque door past the table with the radio.

What a reassuring thought, they sarcastically said to themselves. Death wasn’t an optimal outcome of this, as it would be tragic to fall so hard from a stupid opportunity.

Unless he’s serious, and they’ll return after death like this is Hell. If that’s the case, hopefully he wouldn’t mind another temporary meal filling, because something like that is something that, while unorthodox, provided them the greatest comfort and escape, the best sleep one can have in Hell.

#swallowed whole #roblox vore #nonfatal vore #g/t #sfw vore #swwh

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tefifonconnoisseur · 1 month ago

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Sebastian Solace Vore - Fish Stomachs and Laser Pointers

Be warned, vore is below the cut.

(I’m not exactly the biggest expert on Pressure, so please forgive me for inaccuracies to character or lore)

Perhaps prison would’ve been better than the bottom of the ocean.

Oh shit

“Well, looks like someone broke the merchandise, you break it you ~ buy it~” Solace cooed.

“I-i-i could always find more files and pay for it that way!”

Sebastian, though, seemed uninterested in their now measly possessions.

*GLK*

“Well SOMEONE’S making themselves comfortable. How’s it like in there? I’ve always wondered what it’s like to be able to relax inside a belly” Sebastian openly wondered.

“Heh, couldn’t resist”

. . .

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, not quite escaped from the deep unconscious state they’d entered. They had a good sleep for the first time in a period of time that couldn’t be accurately measured.

“Finally awake, huh? It’s been almost 24 hours, glad you’re still alive” Sebastian nested, “It’s about time to finish the deal up. Can’t stay forever”

What a reassuring thought, they sarcastically said to themselves. Death wasn’t an optimal outcome of this, as it would be tragic to fall so hard from a stupid opportunity.

#safe vore #soft vore #sfw vore #fandom vore #gt vore #giant/tiny #male pred #nsx vore #g/t #noms #nsfw dni #vore writing #Roblox vore

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