I Promise The TMNT 2012 Vore Fic Is On Its Way. Ive Been Quite Busy These Past Few Weeks, But The Story

I promise the TMNT 2012 vore fic is on its way. I’ve been quite busy these past few weeks, but the story is around… let’s say 75% done. My hope is to have it published today or tomorrow.

I’ve actually had the Wattpad cover done since before I started writing, because for some reason I actually planned this out somewhat beforehand. I don’t usually show them off here because they just serve the purpose of being a cover with the story name, author name, and pred-of-the-(metaphorical)week, but F it.

I’m not drawing covers because I don’t do color. Sorry!

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.

TF2 Engineer Vore - Armo’s Destimulation Station

This is the last story that was published before I set up this Tumblr, so I’ve effectively cleared out the back catalog for Tumblr (not for Reddit yet; just created a new SFW writing subreddit lol). This story was originally published on July 19th, 2024, and was requested by the same person who requested the Demoman vore story (which I’m linking here since while you don’t really have to have background info, it would probably be useful even though I contradicted myself in this story lol: https://www.tumblr.com/tefifonconnoisseur/757012614937296896/armos-tale-of-tomfoolery-demoman-vore)

I was asked to have Armo have a sensory overload and that being the inciting incident for the nomming, and so I obliged, doing my best to describe it with the requester’s description, but I don’t personally have sensory overloads so I apologize if my description is inaccurate or misleading. Also, if that would trigger you, please feel free to skip this one out and read something else.

As previously, this story also contains swearing, but maybe not as much Scout hate this time?

Ah, Armo.

The Armorer, as their class denotes them, was an excellent teammate on Blue. Their job consisted of stealing ammo from Red, giving it to Blue, and making distractions for a higher kill count for the team. Their shorter stature made them harder to spot and notice, which made them the perfect choice for this position. As long as they had their headphones, they could handle the stress of the position.

Now, when we say shorter stature, we mean around 3 inches tall, or the perfect height to slide into pockets. This wasn’t the result of some freak experiment, nor a lab accident, but rather how they were born. See, Armo was the Blue HQ’s resident borrower back in the day. They borrowed things like small food morsels, magnets, and other tiny things they wouldn’t have to return. What they were sloppy at was that food part, as they were discovered in a peanut tin by the Blue Spy. When the team came over to investigate, it was the Engineer suggested making them a team member.

The Engineer? Engie himself? Yes. The Engineer. A medium-height, sturdier man with goggles, a Southern accent, a good-natured personality, and some pretty good knowledge thought that their size and experience “borrowing” would make the stealing of things from Red a cakewalk. The Blue Spy scoffed at this and made arguments against this, but he was unsuccessful in this.

However, after so long, several VERY important things happened. These things happened as of a result of an incident where the Demoman had to save Armo from being eaten by eating them himself.

First, Armo was reassigned, gaining the position of Engineering Assistant, which meant he was to work directly with Engie (as he was affectionately yet platonically called). That meant being directly with the protection of someone at all times, which while an annoyance for the Armo, was understandable. Had it been anyone but the chicken-like Red Scout, things would have gone differently for the worse.

Second, Armo became a little more comfortable with being swallowed by his teammates, as odd as that is. There was a sense of protection and peace with it, which helped during some overloads. While most teammates respectfully declined, the Engineer eventually became more comfortable as well. Both of these things were kept exclusive to the headquarters for the sake of Armo. This was until this story, where at the demand of The Administrator, Armo was forced to continue this role on the battlefield.

One other thing we need to mention is the headphone thing mentioned in the beginning. See, Armo was sensitive to loud and constant noises, and their headphones protected them from a sensory overload, which would hinder both themselves and their missions.

Typical day, typical battle against Red for the honor of some dead guys. As you’d expect, Armo stayed with Engie once the battle started and they went off to set up some machine guns. Armo had their headphones on and also assisted, turning nuts and bolting bolts, soldering wires and welding plates as needed. It was going well so far, with each gun being set up and some Red folks getting shot at. However, the third one wasn’t made quite well. The holes for the bolts were slightly too small, so it took some hard wrench twisting to secure. Armo attempted to twist one higher up, but their size and strength weren’t quite enough to secure a bolt that needed this much. So, in a move that was in hindsight unwise, they climbed up onto the wrench and started jumping on it. Their jumps became harder and harder as they became less and less patient. They were running out of time to set this up before it would be needed to shoot out some punks. They jumped up, and landed back down with just enough force to turn the bolt with a loud and prolonged squeaking sound, which sent the Armorer flying onto a cloth being used to hold things, and their headphones down a storm drain.

Suddenly, all of the noise, the gunshots, the yelling, the generators powering this craphole warehouse, the noise the CFL lights made, all of it shot straight through their ears into their brain, slicing it like a knife and causing an overwhelming feeling, then sinking into their chest and causing them pain. Their ears just kept ringing and being filled and Armo just wanted to take them off, to stop all of this. On the cloth, they just rolled up and covered their ears tight and let some tears stream, and all focus was lost.

One of the things that makes them a great duo is that Engineer is aware of Armo’s susceptibility to loud and constant noise and could tell that it was BAD. This place echoed like crazy, no wonder it was loud. He looked down once he finished a bolt and his goggled eyes were shocked to see the Armorer without their headphones just suffering. Thankfully, the Engineer is good at staying calm. He gently scooped up the Armorer into his palm and brought them close to his face.

At least for now, not a word was spoken between the two individuals, as the outcome of this situation was clear; this wasn’t a foreign affair. The Armo needed a safe, quiet space to reset their head, and the Engineer understood the assignment.

Engineer popped open their mouth and placed Armo onto his cushion of a tongue carefully in the way one places a wine glass onto a table. Next, he clicked his mouth shut. Armo was still overwhelmed as they were slathered in saliva in preparation for the trip to the stomach, but was aware of what was happening and was somewhat relieved somewhere in their head that the deafening sensation would soon cease. The shuffling of them via the tongue was key for the climactic step: with Armo now at the back of the tongue, Engineer took just one deep gulp, and Armo was sent straight down, down into the esophagus towards the core.

Now, those noises that had been Armo’s hell were replaced with the rhythmic heartbeat from Engineer, going at a decent pace despite the stress of war. Rhythmic too was the peristalsis, which after 9 seconds took them into the core of the digestive system: the stomach. This place, unlike the bitchass warehouse, was relieving of the senses. It was dark and relatively quiet, which enabled Armo to slowly cool down and destimulate. While not immediately stated, the quiet,

“Thank you for this”

Armo said was all the Engineer needed to hear so their stress wouldn’t elevate. It was therapeutic for the Engineer and the Armo, Armo obviously destimulating but also Engineer protecting and nurturing Armo in a place where they couldn’t be found. It was heaven.

Oh wait, where were we again? Oh yeah, a war battlefield, right. Yeah, this platonic bonding moment was doomed to be a very short-term moment, as the Engineer had to get back to work using turrets to obliterate Red’s forces. Quickly, he finished the machine gun the two had been working on and used it to destroy an approaching Heavy. Shots fired like lyrics from Rap God, and he was down. The shots, while muffled for Armo, were loud for quite literally everybody else, which compromised this position. Thankfully, with a tip from the Blue Scout, the Soldier was right behind them for a huge shootout.

. . .

Admittedly, that scene is not one Armo was concerned with at the moment, or was even aware of, as they had fallen asleep against the stomach wall, their mind clearing out all of the stress that the noise had caused and giving them a mental break, at least for the moment. Once they woke up, it would be in the hands of Engineer when they were released from within him. It didn’t even matter if the Engineer was killed; the respawn machines would respawn Armo with him. But until that moment arrived, until they had to get back to work, back to the team who would try not to acknowledge anything, to the Engineer who would be working on new headphones, they laid unconscious and at peace, and all was well.

Demotivation has arrived at the tefifonconnoisseur house, and while I am currently in the process of writing a fic involving some… turtles, I’ve been writing much less, maybe 2 paragraphs a day. That’ll be out sometime in September at this rate.

In the meantime, if you have a story request, chances are I’ll be more motivated to write for that, given that I’d actually have motivation to not keep you on the hook forever. If not, that’s okay; my creative writing class should keep my writing consistent for the semester.

See you again soon!

The Peanut Butter Toast Incident (Miles Morales Unaware Vore)

I never promised I was posting these stories in order, mostly because the next story in the chronological order has 4 parts and I’m conflicted on sharing in parts as written or all in one piece. This was the first story I got a request for, and to my knowledge the first Miles Morales vore fic. This does contain unaware vore of a teenager, so be aware that’s below the cut. Enjoy! Or don’t, just please don’t burn me at the stake. I’ve got work tomorrow lol.

(We will say this takes place bedore the second one but after the first. Also Y/N for flavor points (which means your name). I know he has a roommate, but oh well. A Marvel plot with this plot was suggested by nickyjel123, and I figured I’d use my own Marvel pred “crush” [idk the term for preferred pred in a non-sexual way if there is one])

A normal morning in a dorm is, as you’d expect, usually plain and consists of mundane tasks one does to prepare themselves for a long, monotonous day of school work. Things like getting dressed, brushing teeth, preparing one’s backpack, making coffee in the communal kitchen or some cereal if you’re a baller. This is done with a level of grog often from bad sleep. For Miles Morales, this was that morning. Upon unceremoniously popping open his eyes due to a loud alarm and slowly stretching and making his way out of the bottom bunk, he began to get dressed in uniform, a typical suit that made him even more tired. Slowly, he lifted his pants onto his waist, weaved his black, slightly cracked leather belt through, and buttoned way too many buttons. Checking himself in the mirror, he had bags under his eyes from a study-filled night previously and his hair was somewhat greasy, although today Miles couldn’t be bothered to rectify his uncleanliness with anything but layers of deodorant and a spritz of gel. This was his appearance as he went through the door and towards the communal kitchen.

For Y/N though, this would be a morning that would live in infamy for its lack of luck and sheer stupidity that could rival certain programs on children’s cartoon programming. Upon awakening, Y/N popped up and slammed their head against the ceiling, causing a red circular mark to appear on their forehead. This awoke the folks in the dorm above them, who of all people were the worst ones to deal with. The particular gentleman involved in the forthcoming drama has chosen to remain anonymous, but shall henceforth be referred to by a fake name: Buford.

Buford was a STEM student pursuing the highest level of education offered at Brooklyn Visions Academy and in several of the same classes as Miles. Buford, however, was a rougher personality from old money who was not fond of Miles, but more importantly hated Y/N due to their pursuing of art and their more effeminate personality. He would often call Y/N names in passing or would steal their things and destroy them. This time though, he was in the mood to make Y/N’s day so much worse. See, his brother had created a device that could reduce matter to a fraction of its size, effectively shrinking it. Due to the nature of atoms, this effect would be temporary and last for a time that hasn’t quite been measured, but was less than 12 hours based on testimony.

This device was Buford’s way of payback: to shrink them so that hopefully they’d end up getting into hjinx. See, he doubted Y/N could be actually killed; the increased density of the atoms made the recipient of the shrinking much more resilient to things like falls or being stepped on. It would just suck and scare Y/N some. So, Buford set his action into plan and shot an orb into the floor vent, as the bouncing would inevitably lead to it reaching Y/N’s bed. The orb made a loud electric banging sound with each bounce, bouncing faster until it eventually sunk down the vent and directly onto Y/N’s sore head, making a splatting sound as it was absorbed into their hair follicles.

At first, Y/N found this to be an annoyance, slightly peeved that Buford had, at least in their mind, shot them with some sort of pellet. As they made his way to the ladder, they thought it might be a couple inches taller, but chalked it up to their grogginess and near-concussion a few moments prior. However, as they descended the ladder, they found that each step was farther away from their foot, until they had to leap off the bottom of the ladder. At this precise moment, they took a deep look around and started realizing what exactly was happening to them: shrinking, and at a pretty good rate. They noticed the details of the carpet become finer and finer, and eventually decently sized until each little follicle was up to their waist. Thankfully, their oversized shirt and pajamas had been afflicted by this orb’s atom reduction as well due to complicated things that we aren’t going to bother explaining because any attempt to do so would be so far off from logic, it would be a disservice to us and you.

As you’d expect when someone who’s usually decent height becomes a few inches tall, fear gripped their heart like a snapping turtle: unceasing and hard. At this moment, Y/N had nothing: no aid, no way to call for help, no method of finding anyone, and not much vocal power to even try. Some other factors included the fact that it was cleaning day, so someone would be in to vacuum them up, as well as it was a school day, so if they didn’t get help soon, they’d have to wait until 4, or later if Miles didn’t come back, as was a trend.

A trend that didn’t offer Y/N too many favors. Miles was pretty good at art, but Y/N couldn’t get pointers on theirs for often several days at a time. Typical schoolwork was not our protagonist’s strongest still, which made things even worse when help vanished from the dorm. They often had to find someone else to help them, which tended to be people who didn’t exactly know what they were teaching either.

However, it was the morning, and they knew that Miles would be eating peanut butter toast in the kitchen for an amount of time as he would often talk with a friend or two. If Y/N could make it over in time, they could get help. As quick as they could (which was honestly not bad pace), they ran off to the dorm commons.

Miles got distracted in the communal kitchen for a minute catching up on last-minute studying for a Physics exam that was inevitably going to nab him a decent grade. Whether this grade was up to scrutiny was another question. This setback didn’t matter too much; Miles tended to eat pretty quickly without his table manners being watched like a hawk by his parents. They had always done everything they could to raise Miles to become a model member of society: making sure he was putting in maximum effort into his work, learning life lessons, and other things that would keep him from a life of poverty and violence. Unfortunately, one lesson was not taught, a lesson that doesn’t matter nearly as much unless you’ve got an enemy around: check your food BEFORE you eat it. It was a lesson often learned by those with allergies and the picky eaters of our society, oftentimes the hard way for the latter who naturally assumed their sandwich wouldn’t have mayonnaise and made their server suffer for their lack of foresight. For those without that though, who cares?

Y/N panted, but as they looked up, an exhausted gasp emitted from them. Miles was gargantuan, his upper details barely visible from their view, but the smaller details of their shoes and legs were heightened. Every speck of sweat, every scratch and imperfection in the leather, every leg hair was visible as if it was under a magnifying glass. Those details were heightened at a level humanity often never gets to see. This daze that Y/N experienced didn’t last, as it was rudely shattered by the bellowing pop of the toaster.

Time was running out. Y/N found a stool and wrapped themselves around the leg of it, inching their way up like a caterpillar. After lots of pain, they managed to reach up onto the seat and pull themselves off. They jumped onto the handle of a drawer, but losing grip in one of their hands. Sweat from their hand transferred to the handle and loosened its grip too. Looking down, the hard tile promised a swift death to anyone who dared fall from such a height onto it. Closing his eyes, his grip let loose and he fell…

As Miles spread his peanut butter onto his toast, he thought about his roommate, Y/N. He heard a bang from their hall, and he wondered if it was Y/N banging their head hard or if it was Buford ding-dong-ditching him for the 2nd time this week. He was fully aware of the beef between the two, and hoped that he wouldn’t have to go to Buford’s again and risk losing their acquaintanceship. Then again, Y/N was a closer friend, so did he need to ditch Buford.

His thoughts lead the peanut butter toast to slip from the plate, landing upright below the handle of the drawer, exactly where Y/N fell. The timing was perfect, and Y/N survived by falling into the peanut butter. The impact still winded them for a moment, but they realized they were in this peanut butter. They didn’t realize yet that the peanut butter was slightly sticky.

Within the 5 seconds it fell, Miles gripped the toast, unaware of his roommate near the edge. A sense of vertigo fell upon Y/N as they rose up to Miles’ level. Their near-death accident not only had been prevented, it might nab them help. As loud as their baby little lungs could provide, they shouted out for Miles for assistance. Despite their effort however, their sound waves were unable to penetrate Miles’ large greasy ears, in part due to a loud fan keeping the air circulating in the room, an in part due to his minute size. At the very least, Miles’ eyes worked perfectly and hopefully would notice them waving their arms. It was with a degree of effort and their frustration that their arms had sunk into the thick, creamy peanut butter. Despite all of his effort into waving, they couldn’t penetrate the creamy butter. Their only hope was for Miles to spot them. To their utter fear, when Miles opened his mouth wide, revealing all of the details in their tongue and gums that they realized in fear that they had not been noticed. They couldn’t help but notice that his teeth were white and shiny, but sharp and somewhat pointy. The taste buds and other spots on his thick pink tongue were quite obvious at this size. Saliva coated it in a thin veneer, revealing Miles’ ravenous hunger. His throat looked healthy, with a lack of tonsils noticeable and his uvula being relatively short, not grabbable, that’s for sure. As their heart beat faster and faster with fear, Miles bit down on the bit of toast Y/N resided in. Quickly, Y/N was covered in moist toast and water-soaked peanut butter and was swished back and forth, somehow missing every single tooth that bit down on the clumps of food in Miles’ mouth. Hot, somewhat minty, somewhat rank breath filled the cavern and made the air stagnant. This was hell. Every single second that ticked by was filled with yelling and fear, filth and heat. Y/N screamed for help, begging Miles not to swallow. A wet sound rang through as their begging fell on deaf ears and they slid towards the awaiting opening to the throat.

Miles switched the fan off, and while continued chewing heard a familiar voice, extremely quiet but close at the same time. In order to hear this voice better, he decided to gulp down the food in his mouth, sending Y/N down the slick, wet tube known as the esophagus. He thought he had heard the voice say not to swallow, but he couldn’t imagine why.

Fear coursed through Y/N’s vains as the rhythmic gulping sent them further and further down the tube, squeezing them and keeping air from their chest, nearly making him pass out, until eventually they fell into the stomach, face first into the liquid below. This place was essentially a smelly sauna cranked. The place was immensely hot and stagnant, with a liquid smelling of acid hiked up to Y/N’s chest. White bubbles covered the walls like vines. Despite what they had just learned about the sulfuric acid present in the stomach, Y/N weirdly felt no pain or any other effect. It was just unbearably hot. They continued to yell, but were drowned out by the churning noises as the stomach processed the toast clumps next to him. Just when they thought this couldn’t be any more miserable, clumps of peanut butter and toast fell onto them and penetrated their already-ruined clothes and just made them feel even worse, as if the humidity couldn’t ruin their mood more.

Miles, finished with the meal, wondered what the voice had wanted him not to swallow for. It has sounded like Y/N, but it couldn’t have been them. Maybe it was his imagination or someone’s phone in the hall behind the wall they were facing. Around this time, Buford entered the room, eyeing Miles as he grabbed a protein shake from the fridge.

“Hey [Buford], have you seen Y/N this morning? I’m worried about them?” Miles inquired.

“No”, Buford said, giggling.

Miles didn’t believe Buford, saying, “Don’t lie to me. I know you two have something against each other. If you did something, I’m going to have to report you, and I don’t think that would be worth your time with how many warnings you’ve received already.”

Buford realized he wasn’t in the mood to go to the office despite the fact that his parents would make this charge go away like the others.

“Let’s just say my new atom reducer works…”, he replied, dashing away like a coward.

Miles, tired as he was, attempted to piece together everything in his mind. He wondered if Y/N had managed to get to him…

About this time is when he realized what had happened: he had somehow, someway, eaten Y/N. His closest friend here, he had just swallowed them, consumed them like they were nothing to him but just a garnish. Miles felt light-headed and a sense of vertigo at this moment and ran to the trash can, vomiting everything in his stomach out.

Around the time Buford came around, Y/N had gone from yelling to crying. They were now alone in this hell of an organ, with nobody knowing about this. He was going to die here, and nobody would even know what had happened. His tears were interrupted when the entire stomach sloshed to the side, knocking Y/N into the juices. The entire stomach squished up, and Y/N was shoved forcefully back up the tube and expelled past the uvula and every single tooth into the waste bin.

Miles quickly spotted Y/N and cupped them into his palm, hyperventilating and panicking.

“I’m so sorry dude, are you okay?! I’m so so sorry! I can’t believe I let this happen to you!”

Y/N replied hoarsely,

“It’s fine, I’m good,” Y/N replied, tears still stuck on their face indicating that they weren’t good at all. Miles grabbed a moist paper towel and washed Y/N off. This was an odd sensation. Here he was, holding his friend in his hand, cradling and protecting him in his most vulnerable position, like a baby is by their mother. Y/N felt like a baby, but felt nurtured and protected, cared about. Staring into Miles’ large spherical eyes, he saw Miles in a different way. More than a friend, but a protector, a caregiver, maybe even more. They almost didn’t want this moment to end.

Miles checked his watch and realized he was running out of time. Apologizing, he left Y/N on the dresser of the dorm with a granola bar and a cotton ball for a chair, and dashed out. Y/N was usually annoyed when Miles left him in times like this, irritated or just generally apathetic. But now, he wished that Miles would be there, not for his help, but for his presence and care. There was also the issue of their classes. They would have to miss them and had no alibi or excuse. Thankfully, Y/N generally had a good reputation and didn’t miss many classes, so punishment wouldn’t be that severe.

By the time Miles returned that afternoon, Y/N had returned to normal size, clearly having showered and changed clothes. They kinda looked cute in their Rolling Stones shirt and lounge pants, with their messy hair nearly covering their eyes. The situation earlier had been a nightmare for them both, and would be henceforth referred to as the “Peanut Butter Toast Incident”, but was more of a bonding experience for the two. Miles moved from peanut butter toast to other kinds of toast and refused to eat it with peanut butter up until the writing of this story at least.

We’d love to tell you that Buford changed or got any consequences for this, but nothing could be proven for sure. Burford improved none, as you’d expect. A few weeks later, due to separate circumstances, they did move a floor up in the dorms, but that’s about it.

As for Miles and Y/N, this was the start of a close relationship, whether platonic or romantic we don’t care to know. It was either way the start of something new between the two that started with Buford and some peanut butter toast.

Tumblr 1000% knows what they’re doing. I would be shocked if they didn’t. Strangely enough, I don’t think I’d really care about this anime besides this one scene.

Could use more saliva imo.