Im Always Open For Story Requests If Anyones Wanting A Story. Ive Got I Believe 2 Remaining Story Ideas

I’m always open for story requests if anyone’s wanting a story. I’ve got I believe 2 remaining story ideas from my original list I made in February, and will be formulating more once I run out, but requests are what introduced me to TF2, so I’m always willing to do research into making a good story.

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 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.

Please Reblog This If It’s Okay To:

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Need Sfw vore fics recommendations, doesn't matter if original or fanfic.

Preferably g/t :3

(reblog this if you're a sfw vore writer btw I wanna meet y'all)

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.