Is It Necessary To Toxicize? Is It Necessary To Be The First To Call Out Literally Everyone Who Doesn't

Judge (points to brain)

Jury (eyes and tongue)

Executioner (stomach)

What if Bowser secretly had a crush on Mario and also secretly was into vore, so he wrote a bunch of fanfics in which he eats Mario, and then Mario finds those fanfics and is, understandably, disturbed, believing that Bowser is some murderer, and everytime he has to go save Peach he is much more jumpy and scared of Bowser, and Bowser realizes that Mario found the fics and is incredibly embaressed. The next time they go kart racing, Bowser flashes Mario a awkward smile, and Mario just starts visibly shaking with fear, turning to Luigi to be like, "He's-a going to fucking kill me, he's-a gonna kill me, Luigi!"

hi tummy enjoyers where are you guys gimme motivation to draw

Sharkgirl and goatgirl girlfriends. They're both dumpsters and can't stop eating random junk. The difference is one is a sea dumpster and the other is a mountain garbage compactor. The shark will sometimes come home and see her goat munching on their furniture. She can't really be too angry though. Heck, the round misshapeness of her belly was indicative that she had a little too much fun eating license plates, tires, and whatever else she found at the bottom of the ocean on her beach day. Oh well, another night of cozying up on the couch to Netflix and belly rubs with their clunky, noisy tummies.

poor little guy is hungry.. surely you'll let him take a sip?

ouugh I love tiny vampire guy.. I have 2 more parts (4 panels) planned but perhaps if there are lovely kofi tippers I'll add some more :>

part 1 (you are here) || part 2 || part 3

ppl have gotta find a better visual shorthand for cops being useless than fatness

Marcus returning to (mostly) human form after gorging himself on some poor soul. His stomach acid is extremely strong so while his skin/body can stretch to accomodate prey it doesnt have to for long before this is all thats left of them.

pest control

The call comes in just past noon. A woman, frantic, says she’s spotted a colony of tinies scurrying around her attic. Probably have been living up there for months, stealing crumbs, making little tunnels in the insulation. She wants them gone—immediately.

“Fast, effective removal,” you assure her over the phone, slipping on your jacket.

“No mess, no chemicals or poison.”

It’s a warm day, and you feel good, stomach still light from the morning. Your last job had been a modest infestation—three tinies in a crawlspace. They’d gone down easy, barely noticeable in your stomach. You could go for something bigger.

it was lunch time after all

The house is tidy, suburban, white shutters, flower beds neatly trimmed. The woman meets you at the door,

“I heard them moving all last night,” she says, ushering you in. “It’s disgusting.”

You nod, but you don’t share her disgust. Tinies aren’t much of a problem—not for you, anyway. You dont think they're gross.

In fact, you find them delicious.

You climb up to the attic, flashlight sweeping over boxes and dust-covered trunks.

you hear—the light, skittering sounds of tiny feet, racing around, trying to stay hidden. You don’t bother setting traps or luring them out. You’ve done this enough to know how to catch a tiny with your own hands.

“I know you’re in here,” you murmur. “Let’s not make this difficult.”

A rustle. One of them bolts—you see it, definitely a tiny- not a rat or anything else, maybe six inches tall. Its darting for a gap in the wood.

You lunge, faster, and scoop them up. They squirm in your palm. You don’t waste time. A quick toss, a parting scream, and then the tight, familiar sensation of something sliding down your throat.

You swallow, and feel the tiny land heavily in your stomach.

More movement in the attic.

there’s no escape.

Another darts for a box, and you catch them just as easily. One by one, they disappear down your gullet, bulging your throat for a moment before joining the others.

You pat your stomach as it begins to stretch, filled with wriggling, panicked tinies.

By the time you finish, you’re full—pleasantly so.

The attic is silent again, no more scurrying. Just you now, satisfied, stuffed, as you climb down.

The woman looks at your middle. She swallows. “You—uh. You got them all?”

You smile, wiping the corner of your mouth. “All taken care of.” you pat your full belly.

She pays you in cash. You head back to your truck, rubbing your belly as it gurgles over its new contents. Another job well done.

You pull out of the driveway, and head back towards the city, one hand on the wheel, one resting on your stuffed stomach.

You'd give yourself a break, you needed time to dispose of the pests properly. You never wanted to show up to a job already full.

You had another client scheduled in the evening. For now, you pulled into a roadside cafe

It's a favourite of yours, whenever you're in this area. A perfect place to hang around and digest.

You take a seat in the corner, shifting slightly to accommodate the fullness in your stomach. The tinies are settling now, movement staggering as digestion takes its course. You rest a hand over your gut, feeling the occasional twitch beneath your palm.

A waitress comes by, chewing gum, pen poised over her notepad. "What can I get ya?"

"Just coffee," you say. You don't need food.

In a few minutes, your drink arrives.

You sip your coffee, eyes half-lidded, and let yourself sink into the feeling. You do kinda like your job.

I need to do another weigh-in bc I pulled my seat back in my car too fast and the whole car shook 😵‍💫