The Introductory Post

The Introductory Post

Hey everyone! I’m tefifonconnoisseur (or tefi if you want), and I’m here to write SFW vore fanfiction, maybe G/T. I’ve been posting on Wattpad since February and have a request drive going there, although you can also request things here. I have a list of stories to write anyway, might as well.

Typically, I prefer to write for fandoms I’m familiar with for the sake of writing in character, so as an example, while I have to admit Bakugou has pred energy, I don’t know enough to write for him. Fandoms I’m familiar with and will write for include (but aren’t limited to) Mario, Sonic (I’ve written for the movies for these), TMNT, lots of Disney and Nickelodeon, Courage the Cowardly Dog, The Hollow, Pokémon, TF2, Marvel, DC, the Wild Kratts, other PBS Kids shows pre-2016, and Harry Potter. I prefer male preds to female personally, but like idk

What I’ll write:

*Giant/Tiny

*Oral Vore (Soft and Safe)

*Most tropes (Fearplay, fluff, unwilling or willing pred and/or prey, unaware, food/drinkplay, and most others)

What I won’t write:

*Non-oral Vore

*Hard and/or Fatal Vore

*Full Tour

*Real People, seriously, no

*Characters whose voice actors have passed away for some reason

*Characters under the age of 14 (I’m willing to age up certain characters, but depends usually).

For a moment, I’ll just be reposting stuff from Wattpad. I will post stories on both platforms.

Reblogging since I posted this 12 hours earlier than I usually post my stories, might’ve gotten lost in the shuffle lol

Wild Kratts Vore - The One with Tazzy Chris

This story was inspired by @voreaz , huge HUGE thanks to their blog for inspiring me to get out of my debating head and actually write Wild Kratts vore, something I’ve been considering since before I knew what vore even was. While I am trying to center this around the episode, I apologize if I deviate too far in the parts I’m not trying to deviate from. Also, continuity doesn’t exist until Athena P says it does, so until she drops a lore video, I’m ignoring it. (Also don’t tag her OR the fandom if you reblog this please, I’m already dying publishing this)

Silence in the night isn’t a thing.

Maybe you’re in the city and there’s cars driving by, or like a small town with the noises of bars, but out in the wilderness, there’s the best kind of night noise: living creatures. Crickets and cicadas chirping, wolves howling, owls hoo-ing, and other noises. The noises of the wilderness are an active sign of flourishing life, even in the times most are asleep, but for the Kratt Brothers, this was the best time to observe the Tasmanian Devil.

Out in Tasmania, the brothers were on a quest, a great and noble quest, to prove that these creatures weren’t actually as scary as people think they are. It was also a chance to help scientists track them, as they are sadly endangered and as such needed to be protected.

Chris was sure to pack only essential tools for tagging. After all, each material was extra weight and as such, only what was necessary should be brought, so while Martin revealing that he only brought a crappy Halloween mask, was surprising, he was calm. Not mad, just kind of surprised.

Aviva took this moment to call them via hologram, eliminating the chance Martin had to explain his thought process or share anything else he brought.

“Simply put the tag on their ear. It doesn’t hurt them and allows us to track them!” She told the boys before going back to work on something, whatever it was is unimportant. Now, one can’t simply grab an animal and put it on the animal; that would cause them distress and maybe pain. The fly cam was the mouseketool for the job, providing a safe and easy way to tag the devils. Walking towards the noises of these creatures, Martin asked Chris,

“Not to be a scaredy cat, but are you sure we wanna do this?”, either afraid of the dark or the very creatures that he preached to be misunderstood.

“We have to! T. Devils are disappearing so quickly, and the more we know about them, the more we’ll be able to help protect them from becoming extinct” Chris replied calmly, his patience grounding Martin’s slightly hysteric fears.

What would help this were if one of these T. Devils didn’t make a scary shadow via Chris’ headlamp, but guess what? Martin, while initially afraid, saw the creature making the shadow and the coating of fear was spread away. Martin did though, feel a tickling sensation on his leg and asked Chris accusatorily if this was a good time for a tickle fight.

“I’m not tickling you right now”

As it turns out, one of the unaptly-named devils was licking his leg, which frightened Martin into Chris’ arms. But these devils didn’t just create fear, they also ate food. Being scavengers, they found a carcass and began eating, giving Chris ample time to put on a tag via the fly cam. [Watching the episode right now for the sake of exposition and they can chew through BONE?!] Tagging went well.

Now here’s where things get interesting. While Chris was using the fly cam, a devil came up to him and began observing this large foreign skin monkey that showed up out of nowhere. While Chris was joking about the devil giving him a taste test, what this animal found more appetizing was the creature suit, and took a chomp at it. Sparks and whirring caught Chris’s attention, who told the animal to be careful as to not cause a creature suit malfunction. But as things go, he jinxed himself and suddenly starting shaking as a green glow engulfed him and he became partially Tasmanian Devil, his brain rewired in a more wild sense. Chris was now half man, half creature. Instantly smelling something good, Tazzy Chris (as he was affectionately referred to by witnesses) ran on all fours for the sake of discovering where this meat was. Martin saw this situation and grabbed Chris by the leg just as his malfunction temporarily ceased, with Chris none the wiser of this incident. Chris walked along, malfunctioned again, and returned to normal just as Martin tried to inform Aviva of the situation, who didn’t believe him but started on their way anyway. Chris kept malfunctioning and unmalfuntioning with no knowledge or control.

So this happens, and while they’re still dealing with this crap take care of the whole Zach thing, because truly, that’s not what’s important here. What is important was what happened next [here’s where we deviate from the episode slightly]

This suit, as it turns out, was not something that could be fixed lickety-split. Rather, it would require being hooked up to a computer and the software deactivated so that the suit could be removed for repair. But it was 4 in the morning and since Chris had some level of control, the Tortuga gang decided to leave the issue until after they got some good night’s sleep. After all, it would require focus she just didn’t have, and Chris was too tired to be helpful. So, the issue was put off. With the lights off and sleeping bags out, everyone got in and got rested for a few hours of sleep for tomorrow’s next adventure.

Sadly, this wasn’t going to go too well, and that’s for one simple reason: Martin had been foolish. If you recall, I mentioned that Aviva had interrupted him before he could share everything else he brought. Now, this thing he brought was the miniaturizer, a glorified shrink ray. It was compact enough to fit in the cargo shorts Martin wore, and was so exhausted from taking care of Chris and Zach that he had forgotten to put it up. So there he was, tightly wound in his sleeping bag with a small device in his back pocket against the ground slightly. All it would take for catastrophe was Martin rolling over slightly and pushing the button into the ground. What do you think happened?

The zapping sound, muffled by the bag, was unheard as Martin was shrunk to a tiny size. Immediately waking up in fear and realizing what had just happened, he thrashed and panicked, trying to find his way out of this sleeping bag so he could get someone to help him with returning to normal size.

Meanwhile, Chris was struggling to sleep, as his Tasmanian form had taken over for a hot minute and was wide awake, being nocturnal. While he did roll to his side and start to close his eyes, from the slit of his vision still showing, he saw movement. Small movement in Martin’s bag. His regular reaction would’ve been to jump up and investigate, but the rather feral part of his fried brain saw something else in that lump, something that was quite shocking and yet not realized fully quite yet: food. Some small and defenseless creature that could satiate his ravenous hunger after being rejected the carcass he had so badly craved. It was something. Like a cat preparing for a pounce, he just stared at the lump, watching as it got closer and closer to the edge, tripping and struggling all the way. And then, he saw it: a tiny blue thing. It was extremely dark, so much so that the night vision wasn’t quite helping him decipher what on earth that was. What was it? A monkey? A mouse? Some poor unfortunate flightless bird, like a damn Kiwi?

It truly didn’t matter what it was at this point; it smelled heavenly, like the greatest diner in the state of Oklahoma. It would probably taste even better. Saliva started seeping from his mouth as he started craving whatever the hell that tiny little thing was. Now would’ve been a great time for the malfunctioning suit to switch back, but poor luck fell upon this poor turtle ship, as it would experience a quite unpleasant incident, one only discovered once the sun rose and the dust settled.

Martin, after much struggles and pushes, tripped out of the sleeping bag and onto the cold, hard floor, his arms catching him just in time to not faceplant. He took a moment to get up and tried to look around, to formulate a plan. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the massive green eyes of his transformed brother, his pupils widened beyond the point that they typically go in dark places. It was something more, Martin recognized. What exactly was triggering this response from Chris wasn’t quite clear though. Happiness of seeing his brother? Focus? Hunger? This though, was more analytical thought than Chris was doing.

However much of Chris’s mind was there within his current state fluctuated, and right now, his mind was more wild than not. There was no thought, just animal instinct for a moment. With an unzipped sleeping bag, Chris lept out of his bag and pounced onto the unidentified creature, keeping it trapped within his hands. He had caught it and was in complete control of its circumstances now. Curiously, he picked it up in between 2 fingers by some sort of cloth. He ignored the fear that had covered Martin in a white, cold sheet and took a deep sniff of his brother. The smell was so strong, and so appetizing that Chris could wait no longer. Well, at least for a moment. Some more of Chris entered his mind, and thankfully this part told the rest that despite his lack of patience, he should be careful in not to harm this creature but rather to just swallow it whole. Such advice was swiftly taken.

Martin had never been more scared. He’d admit he was a bit of a scaredy cat, was frightened by shadows and the sort, but the fear was always ushered away by rationality and curiousness. This was different, however, in the sense that this was, at least to him, a real threat. He had no control over the situation, no rationality to lean on. For heaven’s sakes, his own brother was treating him as some sort of creature, a mouse, and not as his own flesh and blood brother, his lifelong friend.

Now if he thought that was bad, the lifting up above the head slow opening of Chris’ jaw to reveal his eager and awaiting maw sent a cold shiver down his spine and terminated any hope that this would be easily resolved. The sight was out of a nightmare. The teeth looked sharper and weren’t much of a pleasant invitation. The pink and squishy tongue covered with a veneer of saliva and lowered somewhat in preparation for his presence, for its next meal. At the very least his throat was healthy, flexing somewhat in anticipation for this event, and his teeth were white. The mouth of his brother was human, and yet in a way, more animal, more carnivorous.

The furred fingers gripping his shirt released, and he yelped as he landed face first into a pool of saliva and onto the squishy tongue. Quickly after, Chris’s teeth clicked shut and he was trapped. The tongue pressed up, pinning Martin against the roof and rolled him around with itself, tasting him, savoring him even, like a candy. Martin, evidently, tasted phenomenal, and he wondered if Jimmy ever felt the euphoria his brother was feeling. It wasn’t like that blue whale mouth he was in, as that was bigger and the tongue didn’t do all this. But his thoughts once again skimpered off in fear to the bunker in the back of his mind with their families in tow as Martin once again lost rationality and Chris moved Martin about the mouth, covering him in hot and slightly sticky saliva. I mean, it was NASTY, but in a way, to Martin, it was cool enough. He’d washed worse off of his clothes. Now that he was lathered and in place, the back of the tongue lowered and Chris slightly tilted his head back, allowing gravity to move his brother into his throat. Martin could only scream as he rolled into the back of the throat, and with Chris taking a deep swallow, he was forced into the throat. It took another swallow to get him far enough down for peristalsis to take over for him.

Chris put a finger on his throat to feel the irregular shape of the creature inside him, being tugged deeper and deeper. It was wonderful. This was unlike anything else he had ever done. The feral-ish (have to be careful using that word) part of his malfunctioning mind acting on its urges and following its basic instinct to consume, he felt satisfied at a good meal. Once the morsel that he usually called his brother disappeared beneath the collarbone, he laid back down on his sleeping bag as he felt the drop of Martin falling into his stomach.

It was an unceremoniously plop, really, as Chris didn’t catch himself and landed square on his head and fell backward onto his, well, back. It was indeed a stomach, humid as all hell, with wrinkles everywhere and a clear bile at the bottom that was really just a puddle. As far as sight was concerned, there was none, but as for smell, hoo boy. It was the smell of spoiled food of meals past, of bacteria’s chemicals. Truly, it was rank. He’d rather be back in the mouth of that grouper he saved the pufferfish from. The natural reaction to being eaten alive is usually fear, panic, sadness, etc, and while for a time this is how Martin felt, it was overcome by curiousness before long. He started recording with his creaturepad, marveling at the stomach walls moving and churning him around this moist environment, similar in a way to the swamps they’d been in in Florida while looking for crocodiles. The way the body worked was fascinating and his mind raced, taking notes of the process. How the mouth had soaked him and the muscles of the mouth joined with the throat to swallow him, how said throat had worked to swiftly move him down here, and how the stomach responded to his presence. It was a good thing, him being distracted from his circumstances, how he was trapped in an organ usually filled with acids that would break him down into nutrients to fuel the body.

But that was peculiar, how they were just not there, something Martin picked up on after feeling the mucus on the stomach wall protecting it from self-destructing. Why on Earth weren’t digestive enzymes present? He was grateful they weren’t here so he wasn’t in danger, but still, perplexing, no? The space without said threat was relaxing in a way, the heat and limited bile working to soothe his weary body and tired mind, to sort of whirl him to sleep. While he was laying against the wall, he was fighting to stay awake, but ultimately, he lost the battle and dozed off to unconsciousness.

Hours passed, and as the sun rose, Chris had fallen asleep, but Aviva had woken up, had already hooked his suit up to her computer so that she could patch the code and allow Chris to be free from his creature power suit. She knew that T. Devils were nocturnal and Chris too by extension, so she wouldn’t be pressed for time to do it before Chris’s suit glitched again and he went off to do something. This was barely an inconvenience this way.

When Chris finally rose, his suit had been removed and was back to normal, oblivious to the events that had transpired just hours ago. He took a look at Martin’s sleeping bag and found it empty, save for the miniaturizer. It looked like it had gone off. This was worrying: if Martin had shrunken in the night, where was he now? Then, he heard a peculiar sound from his core. A sound unlike the heartbeats and gurgles that were standard, it was almost . . . Snoring?

Peculiar, but it couldn’t be what he thought. He should just call Martin, ask him where he was. When he dialed Martin, he could hear his ringtone coming from-

His suspicions were true. He theorized that his tazzy form had seen Martin shrunken and decided he was prey, catching him and swallowing him whole. But there weren’t any acids present, thankfully, so Martin had unintentionally fallen asleep. He didn’t blame him: it had been a LONG night, so he needed some rest. Chris chose not to inform the others of his discovery, but rather to talk a morning walk. Once Martin woke up, Chris would release him. They’d tell the others that he had had a run in with a hungry devil, but not which hungry devil. Then, they’d wait until night to tag more of the devils. But until then (and until Aviva and Koki inevitably found out the truth and lectured them), it would just be an alone nature walk, but with Martin, not truly alone.

I’m in a G/T mood, might write a solely G/T fic, maybe even introduce OCs. I’ve got them, but my issue is I’d want to use ones I’ve introduced elsewhere, but I don’t want anyone finding that “elsewhere”.

Like vore is cool but G/T by itself is a goldmine.

Armo’s Tale of Tomfoolery (Demoman Vore)

Admittedly, I don’t really care that much about TF2, and my only knowledge of the lore comes from Dead Meat’s video on that horror movie. When I wrote this, I hadn’t seen it but I got this request and was just like “cool, ok”. Even made an OC I’ll probably never draw and an AU for the first time, fun stuff. This was originally written on May 14, 2024 and contains swearing, some mild violence, alcohol, drinkplay, Scout hate, and mentions of object vore. While originally split to include a cliffhanger, I’m omitting that in this release. Enjoy!

(My knowledge of Demoman and TF2 as a whole is limited, so while I have done some research prior to writing, I apologize for any inaccuracies to the lore or certain character behaviors)

It’s battle day, innit.

Yup, ‘tis battle day. The war between red and blue continues again, as tends to happen when wars are instigated for the sick pleasure of viewers from around the world. While you’d think it’s the same as usual, this is incorrect. Blue Team has a truck up their sleeve, a new recruit, a borrower who is referred to as the Armorer, named as such because his job is to steal ammo and other things from opponents and turn in said thieved goods to his teammates. This is possible thanks to his oddly high strength. Simple, right? Well, for the first few battles, it was.

The Armorer was incredible at their job. While the Red Heavy was busy firing his minigun, he managed to steal his handgun. Once or twice, the Red Spy lost his pistol to the Armorer and managed to nab Blue Team kills. Nobody’s exactly looking for him, and his borrower experience makes him sneaky and quick, which is why he managed to steal so much without being found out. In addition to his main goal, he was also equipped with extremely tiny mines with a powerful punch that could knock an enemy over. This equipped him with an ability to assist in eliminations. Heaven knows he wouldn’t be out there if he wasn’t useful. Unfortunately, as anyone with basic foresight can tell you, this wouldn’t last and frankly couldn’t. It would only be a matter of time before he was found out.

It was turning out to be a normal Granary match at the beginning. The teams were pretty evenly matched and the Armorer was on his way to do his job. He stole some guns, some .45 caliber rounds, a shoelace, typical things. For the rest of his teammates, they got decent amounts of KOs. Blue Spy imitated Red Heavy and got several eliminations this way. At one point, Armo snuck into the pockets of an opponent, and the opponent thought they were a mouse and tried to get them out, while Demoman (who will come up later) snuck up and threw a Molotov at them.

About 2 minutes in though, Armo was spotted. Red Scout was doing… scouting, when he managed to spot Y/N in the opening, dashing from behind a shipping container to in between two of them. He at first thought it was some blue gerbil, as tons of gerbils exist in granaries, but then some logic managed to set into his troglodyte brain and he realized that it was some tiny man on Blue. Interesting… slowly, he followed Armo, attempting to weasel his way between the containers in the same way and getting his shoe stuck for a minute. Armo felt like he was being watched, and looked for a way across the man.

This is where the Demoman comes in. A Scottish man, he had drank a bottle of whiskey already and was somewhat tipsy at the moment. His usually locked chest had a broken latch due to a bar fight the previous night in which the chest was used as a weapon, so Armorer was able to hide inside it next to the whiskey bottle. Screaming loudly, he tried to get Demo’s attention.

“Hey Demo! Can I get a ride in your chest across the map?”

“Eh sure, bu’ I’m not responsible if ya get nicked”

So the Armorer hitched a ride in the whiskey chest with Demoman, sitting down upon a bottle of Scotch while holding on to the side of the chest. Every step and subsequent bounce made Armo slip and nearly fall off the bottle. It sucked. The Red Scout, following behind, took a second to wait for a moment when Demo was distracted and snatched Armo by the shirt collar.

“Looky here, we got ourselves a little thief, huh?”

Armo is staring into his eyes, more pissed than terrified at this gigantic twerp, analyzing his motives and every little facial twitch and expression he can find. Several pores were clogged, and his eyes had very little baggage, like he’d actually managed to sleep well knowing that nobody really liked him. Was he going to eat him?

“Chasing you’s worked up an appetite, huh? Maybe I’ll just eat you and fix that!”

He claimed he was, but the chance he had of getting Armo down his little chicken throat were slim to none. And even, EVEN if he somehow did, Armo would just blow a hole in his stomach because he’s not in the mood for that. Obviously, this won’t work. Guess who didn’t pick up on any of that? Scout, who slowly and in attempting to look cool licked his lips and opened wide.

[At this point, I split the story originally which explains the first paragraph, but I don’t really wanna this time]

You may think with the cliffhanger that I’m going to actually let Scout go through with this, but for the sake of everyone including myself actually enjoying this story, no.

Demo had just killed a Heavy with a grenade when he realizes that Armo wasn’t on his bottle. Where did he go? Did he fall out? In his still-decent vision, he spots Scout with Armo dangling above his mouth, and dashes over, snatching Armo with his big sweaty hands.

“Ey you! You ain’t gonna be eatin’ my wee little man ‘ere!”

“What makes you say that, Cyclops?”

“I’ll just eat ‘im me-self”

Now, one thing you have to understand is that Demoman makes good on his threats, which makes them more like promises. With a swift little hand flick, he tosses Armo right into his open maw and clicks his teeth shut right in front of Scout. Swallowing a teammate wasn’t his attention today, but anything to spite Scout is worth his time.

Armo is currently inside the mouth, beginning to get pissed. The Demo tongue swirls around him some, coating him in hot, whiskey-scented saliva as his nostrils burn off from the lingering alcohol and plaque around. He attempts to get up and shoot the everloving crap out of the teeth, but each attempt leaves him slipping back down like he’s on a waterslide. After having his outfit soaked, he’s pushed near to the back of the throat.

Demoman doesn’t want this terrible gunpowder-flavored boy going down raw. Not only would that hurt like a bitch, but whiskey tastes better anyway. So he grabs out his whiskey, pops off the cork with a corkscrew, and takes a big swig of it straight from the bottle. Armo, meanwhile, sees this and immediately dies inside, but also holds his breath as the liquids send him right past the epiglottis into the esophagus. His eyes are somewhat burning with spare whiskey that’s made it into his eyeballs, and he’s holding his breath for dear life so he doesn’t drown in the flaming liquid.

Back outside, Demo sticks his tongue right out at Scout, revealing the empty mouth where an Armo once sat.

“Dude, you’re gross”, Scout can only reply as he gets shot from behind by the Blue Mesic

“What on Eart zwas happening here?”

“‘Ad to eat Armo to protect ‘im”.

“Zat can’t be safe! We must leave at once for ze base!”

Thankfully, Blue Team heard the announcer say “Victory” from the sky and so they needn’t worry too much about the tiny man in Demo’s guts.

Speaking of the tiny man in Demo’s guts, if there were light inside the stomach, you’d see his face red with rage and maybe steam coming from his ears. With absolutely no hesitation, he grabs an AK-47 and wrecks havoc inside Demoman’s person. If he hadn’t been drinking, he might have felt it, too. Pissed with his clothes ruined by his least favorite alcoholic beverage (he’s more into dry wines), being hot and sweating profusely from the humidity of this swampy stomach, he shouts obscenities nobody can really hear over the songs of the stomach churning whiskey and potentially a granola bar.

Back at HQ, the blue Medic, rather than give Demoman ipecac syrup or shove his fingers down his throat, finds an ingenious solution to the problem, a solution that only a man with a PhD and years of experience in the field of medicine could cook up in such a dire moment: beating the shit out of Demo’s stomach until he vomits up the Armorer and maybe some blood too. This is when Demoman’s beer belly and lack of abs come in handy, as within several brass-knuckled punches, Armo is on the floor surrounded by brown vomit and some blood, as I predicted. The Medic begins panicking and babbling in a German accent as he rushes to clean Armo off while Armo is shouting at Demoman words and phrases that I cannot in good conscience repeat here. Lots of shouting is occurring as the Heavy and Spy back away slowly. The Blue Scout was watching TikTok when he heard this and came in completely oblivious to the massive scene that had been occurring, and man was it one.

It’s five hours later now and Armo is sitting with Demo and Heavy on the couch watching Santa Claus Conquers the Martians and discussing the incident from earlier. Armo brings up Red Scout, and Heavy and Spy both ramble on about what an idiot Red Scout is, how he would’ve choked to death on a deadly battlefield of all places had he gone through with attempting to swallow Armo.

The Spy brings up the idea that maybe Armo shouldn’t be out there anymore.

“This is proof that this was never going to work”, the Spy, the guy who suggested this in the first place says. “I told you all!”

“Eh, that’s fine”, Armo replied, “I can always do server work or something.”

And so it was. Armo got to work on computers. His size proved effective in repairing parts on old Windows XP computers, bought when the Heavy Update was first talked about. Thus, the neverending war for amusement continued, and everyone involved learned from this experience.

This is except for Red Scout, who did try to swallow a spark plug to prove to his red team companions he could have eaten Armo, and received the Heimlich as a result.

I’m not exactly at a good time to repost my Movie Sonic vore story from Wattpad, but I will once I get time today.

Also, just for my constructive criticism and improvement, why do you all love the Peanut Butter Toast incident so much?

I’ve always considered doing vore art. I’ve always WANTED to draw vore art. So many characters with so little vore content that I’d love to both draw and write for them. I mean that’s why I stopped lurking and actually joined: to make vore content nobody else was. Not to mention my Wattpad covers could use some good looks.

But then I remember that what I consider the best drawing I did during my drawing class still isn’t up to the standard of art I would consume. I get told it’s good but I don’t believe them. I’m shocked I passed. I’d look at the art of my peers and I’ve legitimately almost cried.

So this is why my Wattpad covers are bad photoshops and I only write rather than doing both: because I’m usually actually okay with my writing, but in no way have I ever been proud of my drawings.

Anyway, Wilds Kratts vore fic in progress, don’t expect to see more art from me anytime soon. Bye!