#gator vore

[fiber-optic-alligator]

Desperation vs. Domestication (Pt. 2)

Pairing: IDW Drift x Human Reader

WARNING: This story contains soft vore. If this makes you uncomfortable, please do not read this story.

Word Count: 4431

Summary: Though you have been lulled into a deep sense of security by Drift's kindness and comfort, you still haven't completely lost the need to be free. A terrible nightmare refuels your desire for escape...but Drift isn't someone who wants to let you go.

HEEHEEHEEHEE I REALLY WANTED TO WRITE A PART 2 OF THIS...so I did. It's because Drift is my all-time favorite Transformer and I absolutely LOVE putting my favorite characters through angst. If you enjoyed reading part 1, then I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Likes, comments, feedback, and reblogs are never expected, but always appreciated! Enjoy! :D

Here is the link to pt. 1 if you haven’t read it!

Also available to read on AO3!

  Two months later…

  You dream of Earth tonight.

  There are fields; you are standing in one. Long Bermuda grass tickles your ankles with the gentle presence of the planet recognizing its own. The endless green is splattered with occasional droplets of color: pink poppies, yellow sunflowers, marigolds, dandelions. It is warm. There is a slight wind blowing, playing with your hair. You turn your face towards the sunlight and bask in the relief of knowing you are home.

  All of a sudden, you hear a sound. Thumping. Steady, rhythmic. Loud. You feel the wind die down and suddenly the sun is gone, and there is only darkness. A massive shadow blots out all of the light. You see a figure looming over you, red-and-white with bright blue eyes that stare into your soul and make you feel terror.

  You try to run, but find you cannot move your legs. There is nothing you can do when you watch a giant hand reach down in slow motion and pluck you up, holding you between titanic fingers. The monster’s mouth opens, and then you are tumbling down, right into an abyss of metal and isolation. The Earth melts away forever. You are trapped. You are alone.

  Shooting forward out of your nightmare, you hear yourself scream. The squishy floor underneath you makes you lose your footing when you scramble upward in a blind panic and fall into Drift’s stomach wall. Everything moves, the organ grumbling unhappily at you being awake. Your hands scramble at the mesh cables. Little pink bubbles of cybernetic blood pop anxiously beneath their semi-transparent surfaces. The walls close in to squeeze, holding you in a secure hug, attempting to keep you still. But you cannot think. You are scared, and you feel trapped, so you desperately begin to thrash and fight against the stomach.

  Drift’s voice booms above you, panicked. “Little one? Little one?!”

  “Let me go!” you shriek. “Please, letmegoletmegoletmego!”

  The walls loosen up, freeing you. You collapse into the fetal position, gasping while sweat beads your brow and your heart goes crazy.

  Drift presses his hands over his middle. “Little one, little one, shhhh, shh, shh, shh,” he hushes frantically. “Safe, safe…safe, all is safe...no need for fear…”

  Gradually, you calm down. Only when you are no longer trembling does Drift tentatively begin to squeeze you again. In and out, slow kneading, like he’s silently coaxing you to continue breathing at a healthier pace. “Little one…okay?” he asks.

  Your voice quivers. “I-I’m fine. I’m okay. It-It was a bad dream. A nightmare.” You sit upright and lean into the stomach wall. Drift holds you close, the undulating muscle relaxing you with its constant massage. His biolights pulse and flicker, a clear sign of his stress. You woke him up with your screams. It makes you feel bad, so you snuggle his cables further. The robot’s stomach is not a big place, but Drift likes to be conscious of you. The support you provide him in completing this task is obviously appreciated, because he hums softly and pats his hand over where you are.

  There is peace again. Peace and warmth. But you don’t feel the usual safety. There is a lingering pit of dread growing deep within your gut, foul roots clawing their way through your body, leaving you jittery, uneased. Your nightmare is the first one in months, and it’s a sure sign things are not right.

  It has been such a long time since you thought of your possible escape plan. You don’t know how long, but you do know that you can’t be comfortable here anymore. Your mind is sending the signals loud and clear.

  No more stalling, you think to yourself. No more being complacent.

  You are not domesticated yet.

  When Drift lets you out of here…you will go through with the plan to take an escape pod home. For real this time.

  It takes you weeks to perfect your plan. And when you do finally have it all figured out, you come to the conclusion that things may end up being more complicated than you thought. Escaping a spaceship filled with giant alien robots is hard enough, yes. But then there’s the issue of what will happen when you return to Earth. You don’t know how long you’ve been abducted. It could be months. It could be years. What if all of your family and friends are long gone by the time you get home? What if things are so different that you’ve been completely left behind?

  No. You can’t think like that. A sharp patting to your cheeks snaps you out of it. Keep it together. This is the moment you have been waiting for. Regardless of what awaits you on Earth, you will be there to face it.

  You’ve packed everything you own into a small fabric knapsack your mech gifted you during your first days here (Who knew robots are such good knitters?). It’s not much, not much at all: snacks Drift gives you, strange pellets that clean your teeth, three cans of filtered water…but that’s all you really require for the trip you are going to embark on. You don’t believe it will be particularly long. The escape pods need to have some sort of device that allows them to leap through lightyears to their destinations. You believe this because you’ve watched the mothership do it from the observation windows Drift likes to bring you to sometimes. Hyperspace will occasionally be activated, with stars and planets blurring together into dazzling white paint streaks before coming to an abrupt halt in a totally new galaxy.

  Now, do you know how lightjumping works? Absolutely not. Last time you were on Earth, no such human technology had been invented yet. So you don’t exactly know how you’ll get the escape pod to lightjump like the ship does. But you’ll find a way. You have no choice.

  Now for the hard part: getting away from Drift long enough to activate the escape pod and blast away. He’s not going to make it easy for you. Drift doesn’t like letting you out of his sight if you aren’t in his room, and hardly lets you roam free. You’ve spent hours, both within his stomach and out, pondering how to go about this. It’s left you with the agonizing decision that you’ll just have to wing it somehow.

  The door to his room slides open. You’ve been sitting on his berth with your hands beneath your head and one leg crossed over the other, thinking, thinking, thinking, that at first you nearly didn’t hear him come in. You sit up to greet him with more eagerness than you’d like to show. The nightmare didn’t stop your affection for Drift from rearing its persistent head.

  There’s no waiting for him to give you his time today. When he enters the room, his focus is immediately on you with no prior distractions. Drift walks with a spring in his step, his finials perking up like an enthusiastic dog. You notice a small white box he holds in one hand, and think nothing of it. Drift’s room is decorated with countless knickknacks from other planets. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s brought some strange little souvenir home.

  “Hey, big guy,” you murmur happily when he kneels down before you. He settles the box to the side and cups both hands behind you, humming his typical car engine-purr greeting. You hug him when he draws you forth so he can nuzzle his nose into your middle. “I’m guessing you missed me?”

  Drift beep-boops excitedly. He gives you an affectionate tickle to your side, causing you to giggle. Your reaction delights him. He keeps it up, and pretty soon you are laughing so hard your stomach hurts. “D-Drift, s-stop! I-I can’t breathe!”

  He gives you one last light prod, then ends the bout of torture with more cuddles. You recover from the laughter, feeling airy and light like nothing else matters except for the giant robot holding you.

  “Little one,” he coos. “My little one.”

  “Mhm,” you mumble goodnaturedly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m yours.”

  He suddenly looks like he’s remembered something very important, and he straightens, chirping rapidly. You watch as he grabs the white box and, to your surprise, presents it to you. You glance at it, then turn to him. “For me?” you ask, pointing at yourself.

  He chirps again and nods.

  You take it from him and open it with a slight air of confusion, because he’s never given you something like this before. You think it might be a piece of jewelry, or some sort of charm. But what you see inside is neither of those things. You suck in a sharp breath of pure disbelief and go numb.

  It’s a collar. A damn collar. Sleek and narrow, its solid red with a single white stripe circumnavigating it. On one side is a strange symbol of a boxy red robot’s face-the same symbol he has on his chest. These are his colors, you realize. He’s making us match. He wants the other mechs to know that he owns you.

  Drift rumbles expectantly. When you remain frozen, unable to pry your eyes away from the collar, he gently pries it out of your now slightly shaking hands. With extreme carefulness, he clasps it around your neck. It fits comfortably and locks with a quiet click.

  “My little one,” he repeats. “Mine.”

  He’s not trying to scare you. You know he isn’t. Yet your throat is dry, and the snug weight of the collar makes you feel sick.

  You need to get the hell off of this ship.

  You spend the night feverishly trying to break the collar off, working yourself up like a caged animal driven mad by captivity. But no matter how hard you yank at it, it remains stubbornly fast around your neck. You refuse to eat the food given to you and cry yourself to sleep within a very concerned Drift’s belly, who can’t seem to console you no matter how hard he tries.

  Drift doesn’t know what to do with you.

  You’ve been moping ever since he gave you the collar. Over the next few days, any sort of drive to escape has left you. You're depressed and disappointed in him for what he’s done. You don’t want to talk to him. You don’t want to accept any of his gifts. Blanket after pillow after plushie-all made by him, with the crude markings of homemade love-are ignored. You shy away from his touch and reject his attention. When he swallows you at night, you give him no inclination you care. You sit like a stone within him and just…stare off vacantly, unable to ignore the collar around your neck.

  He’s brought you to the ship’s doctor multiple times. On the first trip, the old red medic bot looked you over and finished his checkup with a shrug and dismissive chuff. The second time, he growled at Drift and waved him away. And on the third time, he didn’t even let him through the door. There’s nothing physically wrong with you. But mentally, how could they know? How could he know he’s hurt you? You trusted him to treat you with some level of respect despite your situation, and he had, until now. The collar was your breaking point. There truly is no way for him to ever see you as anything more than a pet, and it hurts you, because by god, you love him.

  “…Little one?”

  Drift calls out to you with a soft, sad tone. You huddle up tighter beneath one of your blankets and give no answer.

  You hear him shift at his desk. There’s silence between the two of you that is not wanted. He heaves a low sigh and tries again. “Little one…please?”

  Damn your heart, you can’t keep giving him the silent treatment when he sounds like he’s about to cry.

  You push the blanket off of your head. Drift slouches in his chair, back bent like an old man’s. His finials are drooping, and the glow from his biolights is dimmer than usual. He’s obviously been letting his personal hygiene go for the sake of finding a way to help you, and it hurts to know he’s in this state because of your shitty attitude towards what he simply sees as a gift. The collar is a curse, but you can’t exactly tell him that, can you? This entire situation is all your fault.

  It's the treacherous part of your mind which attempts to convince you of this. It partially works. Giving in, you sit up slowly, drawing the blanket tightly around your shoulders and tilting your head while giving him a questioning look.

  He’s surprised by your action, like he genuinely wasn’t expecting you to respond to this extent. But he takes advantage of it. Drift offers you a hopeful smile and picks something up from his desk. He stands and walks to you, going slow. You don’t flinch when he crouches down to your level. The warm light of his eyes leaves a kind feeling on your skin.

  Tentatively, Drift extends his hand. In his palm is a piece of chocolate, one of the many treats he has at his disposal to provide you with when he feels you are being especially good. It’s an olive branch. A reach in the right direction.

  You hesitate…and then you think, Oh, what the hell. Staying mad at Drift when he has no clue he’s done something wrong in the first place won’t get you anywhere. So you accept the candy and take a small bite.

  He sags with relief, exhaust whooshing from his nose as he watches you eat. When you're finished, he moves his hand closer, twining the palm around you and resting the tips of his digits against your head and sides. You hold his index finger, resting your forehead against it and closing your eyes as a sign of trust. But you feel guilty.

  “I’m sorry,” you whisper, knowing he won’t understand. But you say it anyway. “I love you. I love you so, so much. But you're destroying me. I can’t stay here anymore.”

  A tear slips down your cheek. You don’t notice it until Drift gently brushes it away.

  “I have to go.” Your voice breaks. “I need to leave. I hope you’ll learn why. And I hope you won’t hate me for it. I-I don’t think I could handle it if you did. Please don’t hate me. Please don’t think I hated you.”

  Drift coos. His reply is indecipherable. You think he’s trying to comfort you…but you’ll never know for sure.

  He doesn’t swallow you tonight. You don’t know why; maybe he thinks you need a break. Maybe he just wants to hold you in a different fashion this time. You stay awake hours after he falls asleep, your little form nestled in the crook of his neck while he snoozes on his stomach with his arms crossed beneath his massive pillow. You peer off into the darkness, listening to his quiet breaths.

  For the longest time, you’ve thought of this room as yours and his. A space the two of you share together. Ours. It's fed into your delusional ideations of a future in which the two of you learn each other’s languages, where you stand on equal ground, you belonging to him and him belonging to you. A future where mechs and humans join hands and say “I see you. I know you. I understand you and you understand me. Neither of us is higher than the other.”

  But it will never happen. The collar around your neck is physical proof. There is no future between the two of you anymore. If you want to be you again…you need to let Drift go.

  You shuffle away from the bot’s neck and stand. The only parts of him that are lit up right now are the red symbol on his chest and the soft blue of his mouth. He’s so peaceful. This giant alien, who you know has fought in many battles from the scars you can see, is soothed by your presence. You, an insignificant little human being. The dynamic is honestly quite hilarious. You're like his very own version of a chihuahua.

 You want to hug his nose, knowing you will never have another chance again. But Drift is a light sleeper, and you're testing the waters enough already. You can’t risk it. It pains you, but you drop your arms and turn away.

  Using the metal ladder he made for you so you’d have easy access to his berth, you climb down and grab your knapsack. Quietly padding across the long expanse of the room, you make it to the door. It senses your presence and slides open. You force yourself not to look back when you walk out.

   You wonder if he will cry for you when he wakes up and finds you gone.

  The spaceship is ominous at night. The only thing you can hear as you traverse the hallways is your heartbeat pulsing in your ears. You're trying to be quiet; passing by multiple rooms with slumbering bots inside has you holding your breath and then letting it out in a forcefully slow, reedy wheeze. You are, after all, a mouse in a prison filled with cats; slow and steady and silent wins the race.

  You survey the elevator when you get to it, at a loss of how you’ll possibly find a way to operate it due to how small you are. A miracle finds its way to you, however, in the form of a mech. This one you don’t recognize. He has a similar color scheme to Drift, but is noticeably bulkier, with a strange cannon sitting on his right shoulder and a blue eyepiece over the adjacent optic. All of his focus is on the datapad in his hands as he summons the elevator. You wait for the doors to open and for him to step inside before darting after him. Luckily he doesn’t look up once on the short journey. Your cover remains unblown when the doors part again and he heads off. You go in the opposite direction, because like hell are you going to follow the strange robot to someplace where there are probably more strange robots.

  You slip in and out of sight, staying far away from any mechs who are awake. They do not see you, which means you are doing this right-though there are some alarming instances where you think you’ll be caught. One such occurrence happens when a tall, thin blue mech with a chest like the front of a helicopter nearly sees you duck into an open storage room for quick cover. Its single orb ominously scans the darkened room. You watch from beneath a large shelving unit, terrified out of your mind. You don’t move, nor do you make a sound, keeping a shaking hand over your mouth.

  Finally, after what feels like hours, the mech stomps away. You let your head fall forward respitefully.

  You know you're nearing your one-way ticket to Earth when you see bright yellow signs plastered on the walls with loud black alien words telling you to hurry left with the help of large arrows. Escape pod symbols, accompanied by a funny little robot mascot, are the giveaway. You feel a sort of giddy euphoria swell up within you. You're almost there. You're going to escape. You're going to go home. It all seems far too good to be true; sure, you’ve imagined this scenario happening over and over again, but you never really did believe it would happen.

  You pinch your arm multiple times just to make sure you aren’t dreaming. This is not in your head. This is happening. You really are going back to Earth.

  Your collar suddenly vibrates. And then it starts to screech.

  You nearly jump out of your own skin. The alarm is loud, piercing, and undeniably going to alert someone to your presence. You slam your fists against it multiple times, but it doesn’t let up. Your heart sinks when the realization of what's going on hits.

  Shit. He put a tracker in it.

  You need to run. You shove yourself forward into a full-on sprint, dashing down the last remainder of this hallway, then turning the corner and seeing the numerous escape pods all lined up in the wall. You choose the first one, grabbing the edge of the circular door and pulling with all of your might. The tendons in your neck strain as you grunt and slowly bring the door back with you. Clamoring in, you give it one last heave before it shuts on its own and seals you inside. You hear the lock click into place. The entire cabin flickers to life, with the lights on and the control panel booting up. As you expected, everything is far too big for you to reach. But it seems you won’t need to. A loud robotic voice emanates from the central console, speaking to you in the native mech language.

  Your collar is still going off. You don’t have a lot of time.

  “I-I can’t understand you!” you yell over the din. “I’m a human, from Earth! I speak English!”

  The voice pauses. Seconds later, to your amazement, it talks, and you can understand. “Language notifications made. Destination updated. Scanning…” A panel on the ceiling pops open, and a blue light filters out, washing over you. “Scanning complete. Species: Homo Sapien. Homeworld: Earth. Milky Way Galaxy. Status: Critically endangered. Suggesting immediate travel to Earth.”

  You clap your hands. “Yes! Yes, that’s it! Earth, set the destination to Earth!”

  “Destination set. Awaiting command to launch LOST LIGHT LIFEPOD 01.”

  You are about to give the order when something slams against the door. You whirl around, your heart stuttering when you see who’s there. It’s Drift. He’s made it. And he looks horrified. With trembling fingers, he yanks on the handle. When the pod remains fastly shut, he pounds on the circular window with so much force the entire thing shudders and you think he’s going to rip it right off of its hinges. “Little one!” he screams, voice muffled beyond the barrier of glass. “Little one! Open…!” The rest of the sentence comes out as sharp metal shrieks.

  You stand there helplessly. The pod once again inquires for your command, yet you can’t find it within yourself to speak.

  Drift is doing everything he can to get to you. He’s like a rabid beast, clawing at the window, teeth bared in visible frustration. His biolights are going mad when he roars and sends his whole body into the door. This time, it does give a little. You can see some dents in the gray metal.

  This…is a side of Drift you have never seen. It is desperate, vicious. And it terrifies you. You stumble back to the opposite end of the pod and curl up, hugging your knapsack to your chest like a child squeezing their favorite stuffed animal. Drift continues his futile attack on the door, but pauses when he makes eye contact with you. His face falls. His fists relax and slide downward to press palm against the glass.

  He’s quiet as he seems to reflect on how he just presented himself front of you, then whispers heartbrokenly. “...Sorry.” Tears stream down his cheeks. His hot vexation melts away and exposes his remorseful center. “Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Little one. Y/N.”

  Oh my god.

  All noise ceases when you register what he just said. Your name. He said your name. He’s never done that before. You didn’t think he knew your name.

  He learned to say it. For you.

  Drift whimpers like a kicked dog, moving to crouch lower. “Y/N. Y/N, please. Stay. Stay with me. Please don’t go. I love you.”

  You’ve changed his life. You don’t need to be told this. You know you’ve brought him a sense of joy he hasn’t felt in years. You didn’t come here of your own free will. But you freely chose to love him. You gave yourself up and became his everything while he became yours. Isn’t he your home? Isn’t he the one who saved you? Can you really leave someone who cares about you so much?

  Your legs move on their own accord. Your heart beats with his and you take tentative steps towards the door. Drift twitters and gives you an encouraging nod, gesturing for you to keep walking.

  Why do you want to leave him so badly? Why would you want to throw away this perfect life?

  Your little human hands come to rest right over his massive robotic ones. You two are separated, but you think you can feel the warmth coming from him. Drift bonks his forehead against the window anticipatingly. “Come on,” he whispers. “Come on. It’s…okay. You're okay. Please.”

  Your hands are human. You will never see another pair again if you return to him.

  Your life is not supposed to be perfect. A human’s life is messy, and disastrous, and chaotic, and beautiful. His life is too, but not in the same way as yours.

  “Goodbye, Drift,” you murmur, voice breaking. “LOST LIGHT LIFEPOD 01…take me to Earth.”

  The escape pods hums and rumbles. “Command accepted,” it announces. “Preparing ejection in three…two…one.”

  The last thing you see and hear before the pod lurches forward and rockets out of its dock is Drift’s agonized expression and his wrenching wail.

  Your vessel speeds away. You get a fantastic view of the ship in all of its stunning glory. It felt so gigantic when you were inside, but from out here, you can fully comprehend its overwhelming proportions. You watch it rapidly shrink as you gain distance from it, until it's just another speck of light in the universe. And when you can’t even see that anymore, you allow yourself to collapse against the floor eagles-spread. You gaze up at the ceiling, feeling surprisingly hollow. There is no victorious sense of triumph, no excitement to return home. You don’t even know where home is anymore. Somehow, after everything you’ve gone through, you’ve come out even more lost than you already were.

  The waterworks start shortly after the escape pod jumps into hyperspace. Heaving sobs, messy tears, you lie there and weep to the stars, not noticing when your collar finally stops beeping.

[hellagator]

Greta says!

Little stray mammals get eaten!!

[technicalgator]

This might be a hot take, but if you claim your blog is “SFW Non Kink/ Safe Space for Minors” and you yourself are an adult, and you write multiple fics about vore, you should probably change that claim and edit the description of your blog.

[maruiguts]

Honestly I get you when you say that Monty could eat you to calm him down.

i mean its kinda hard to rage on a full stomach

[fiber-optic-alligator]

(Not a request dw) (I had to get this idea out of my head real quick.)

The idea of Drift swallowing his Little One to protect them from another mech trying to take them for themselves. The pair of them had been sitting, and idly chatting (Even if it was mostly a one-sided conversation.) when another mech had come along. Clearly interested in getting their servos on a tasty little human. It'd start with Drift growling lowly as a part of his warning to the potential human-thief that it'd be a bad idea to try his patience. Obviously he'd want to talk things out first, but a small possessive part of Drift loathes the idea of being separated from His Little One. So the "chat" is intermingled with his growling.

The next action Drift would take if the intruding mech persists. Would be to scoop his Little One up to keep them out of reach of the other mech, the growling of his engine growing more intense to dissuade the mech from taking things any further.

But if all else fails, Drift is probably just gonna make a show out of swallowing His Little One. Before growling loudly one last time out of possessive irritability, and walking away from where he'd been seated. He loathes acting like that, as it reminds him of his Deadlock days, but he wasn't about to let his Little One be stolen away by someone who wasn't going to be Nearly as careful with them as he is. It just wasn't going to happen. Speaking of which, he has some apologizing to do to His Little One after he gets back to his Habsuite, and retrieves them from his tanks. Oh dear.

Ok, but, the feeling of being swiftly (But carefully) swallowed by Drift while he's growling up a storm would be Far more jarring than the experience of being swallowed typically would be. The world around you shaking rhythmically, loudly as peristalsis drags you further down into Drift's humid depths. But even when you know Drift would never hurt you, (On purpose) being swallowed, and so thoroughly rattled by his animalistic growls fills you with dread as you sink deeper within him. You land in his stomach as he lets out a more aggressive growl. His tanks clench close around you, just as possessively as your mech is behaving externally. But when you feel him get up, and walk away his tank releases it's hold on you allowing you to breathe again.

It's different when he growls with you in his tank, than when he purrs. The sounds of his gentle purring lulls you to sleep most nights, and results in only a slight shaking sensation. But his growls rattle you to your core, and leave you feeling threatened by the typically placid mech. Drift, who loves you too much to let you leave fall into the servos of someone who can't give you the care you need. Like he can. Like he will.

HRRRRRRRGH THIS IS SO GOOD!!!!

I’m sorry I HAD to write something about this. I know this wasn’t a request but this scenario is honestly so, so good. The way you worded it was beautiful. GOD, what I wrote isn’t half as good as what you sent but I was inspired. What I wrote isn't a carbon copy of your idea, but I still really enjoyed putting this idea into story form. GOD I STILL CAN'T GET OVER IT. Drift certainly does love you too much to let you be taken by someone else. He loves you too much to let you leave. After all, you are is little one. There's no changing that.

PLEASE let me know if you like the little story I wrote. THANK YOU AGAIN FOR THE INCREDIBLE ASK! I'm gonna look back at reread at least twenty times now lmao.

WARNING! WHAT IS WRITTEN BELOW THIS CONTAIN SOFT VORE. If this is something that makes you uncomfortable, please do not read!

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“Hey, are you going to have that?”

  Drift looks up. The mech staring back at him is stocky and short. He has some grime splattered across his chassis and arms: oil. An engineer. A name does not stick to the face, and Drift takes a quick moment to try and recall it. Nothing.

  “Excuse me?” is all his confusion will allow him to say.

  “The human.” The stranger gestures to the table. “Are you gonna have it?”

  Drift looks down. On the table is a datapad displaying a sparkling’s story with funny little illustrations. Observing the pictures is you. The library is a quiet place. Drift comes here frequently to either read or simply clear his mind. He enjoys bringing you along as well; ever since you found out there was a library aboard the Lost Light, you have shown a strong fascination with Cybertronian writings. He doesn’t know if you get the gist of what they mean, but you give him such excited, pleading looks when he lets you observe them, that he can’t help but let you indulge. So, he provides you with simple readings. The ones with pictures are what you seem to enjoy best. You’d sit there for hours if you could, looking at the datapad and trying to quietly sound out the Cybertronian words to yourself. It’s not something you do well, but Drift finds it so adorable. You attempting to mimic his language just proves how clever you are.

  He loves to watch you do this, and he frequently jumps in to help you say certain words right. Most of the time the two of you are quietly repeating them to each other in a sort of simple lesson. It’s one of the many things the two of you do as a bonding experience. Primus, Drift loves it.

  So who the hell is this random mech to barge in and interrupt by asking if he can have you?

  “Um.” Drift chuckles in disbelief. “They’re not for sale. Sorry.”

  “Oh, no, nonono.” The mech shakes his head and laughs too. “I don’t want to buy them from you. I want to borrow them. I’ve never had the chance to get my servos on one of these little beauties. It’s rare to find a human that doesn’t already have an owner.” He leers at you, swiping his glossa over his lips. “If you let me have a taste, I’ll pay you. However much you want, name your price.”

  You, who has been silently observing this entire interaction, shrink back nervously. Drift sees the way you look at the other mech in fear, and his mood immediately darkens. Something sour builds in his spark. He slowly reaches forward and curls his digits around you. It’s an obvious display of possessive protection.

  “They’re. Mine,” he growls. The sound is deep and dangerous, continuing on after he spoke his words. Though he doesn’t notice, you are clearly shaken by it. Chirping softly, you press your hand against his palm, trying to get his attention. But he only tightens his hold, never breaking eye contact with the threat before him.

  “Dude, I know they’re yours.” The other mech is clearly unaffected by Drift’s hostility. “You can spare a bit of time with them, can’t you? C’mon, just let me have a taste.”

  He makes a grab for you. Drift’s instincts kick in, and he snatches you away. You yelp when he presses you against his chassis. He makes a mental note to apologize to you later, but right now he needs to play the part of big bad mech. There can be no sign of weakness here. This stranger is clearly bent on stealing you from him. He won’t let that happen. You are his little one. His.

  Drift rises to his pedes, his growls elevating. The other mech doesn’t show any ounce of care and growls back, armor rising to clack. “I’ve waited for so long to try one of these things,” he says. “This might be my only opportunity! Just let me have them!”

  “They aren’t a thing,” Drift hisses. “They are a human. And if you can’t show them the proper respect and care they deserve, then you have no right to own this one, let alone any.”

  “You think just because you're third in command to the captain that you can lecture me on how to treat a human?” The mech gets into Drift’s face and flashes his fangs. “You don’t even know me! I’m not going to hurt it! I just want a taste! Is that so hard for you to allow?”

  “When it comes to a bot like you? Yes. It is.” Drift doesn’t waver. He’s taller than this mech. Stronger, too. Faster, and better at fighting. If it comes down to such actions unfolding, then so be it. He will do anything to protect his little one.

  Speaking of you…you cower in his servos, trying your best to appear invisible. He looks down at you, debating on how to handle this. The other mech obviously doesn’t intend on backing off any time soon, and if things do come down to a fist fight, he obviously can’t defend you like this. His best option for keeping you safe is swallowing you.

  The engineer puffs out his chassis and revs his engine. It’s a challenge.

  Drift accepts it. But not in the way he is thinking.

  He raises you high above his faceplate and lets you drop a little, until he has the back of your shirt pinched between his forefinger and thumb. You kick your legs and squeal, alarmed, and his spark wrenches at the sight. He wants to comfort you. He needs to comfort you. But he can’t, not while he’s making a show of this in order to prove he isn’t someone to be messed with. So despite how disgusted he is with taking advantage of your fear, despite how this makes him feel like a little piece of Deadlock is rising from the grave, he goes through with his decision and decides that if he wants to keep you protected, he needs to scare the other mech off…even if you are scared shitless too.

  He lets you go. Your high-pitched scream is abruptly cut off when you land in his intake and he quickly snaps his jaws shut. Slicking you up with solvent, he tilts his helm back and swallows you, swiftly, but gently. He makes sure the other mech can see you travel down his throat. You are nothing more than a little bulge that disappears into his chassis and is quickly consumed.

  The engineer stares. His mouth is open like he wants to say something, but no words come out.

  Drift licks his lips and continues growling, as loudly as he can. He watches the other mech’s helm lower, optics on the floor. Intimidated. Good.

  “Never come near me or my human again,” he says. “They’re mine. Do you hear me? Mine.”

  The challenger offers no protest. Drift pushes past him and leaves the library, not looking back.

  You have never seen this side of Drift before.

  When he swallows you, he is always careful with you. He takes things slow, allowing you to move along with his pace, giving you every opportunity to tell him no, you don’t want this right now.

  However, this case is entirely different. He didn’t even give you a chance to gather your bearings before he was tossing you into his mouth and gulping you down with a rushed sense of urgency. Oh, he was gentle. Of course he’s always going to be gentle with you. But after watching the way he interacted with that strange mech, who you know wanted to eat you just from the way he had been looking at you like a lion looks at a fresh piece of meat, you can understand why he’s being so quick. This is being done for your preservation.

  But god, that doesn’t mean this isn’t terrifying.

  Everything around you shakes as you are pushed deeper and deeper within him. His esophageal muscles are tight, the rolling sensation of being swallowed not as soothing as it should be. His growls ring in your ears and leave you feeling rattled. He sounds dangerous. He sounds like an animal.

  It scares you.

  When you make it to his stomach, you are practically shoved inside. There is no chance to catch your breath, no opportunity for you to nestle in and get comfortable. The walls move in to give you the tightest squeeze of your life. You are squished uncomfortably between living cables that pulse with the bright, possessive desire to never let you go. Every angle is taken up by him. All you can see is blue biolight. And all you can hear are his throaty rumbles.

  There is no end to it. Even when you feel his stomach gently sway with the rest of his body as he walks away, the organ only holds you closer, gurgling possessively. You feel like you are being told that you are his. Because you are.

  You should be consoled by this fact. But no such feeling comes to compete with the claustrophobic dread that fills you.

  Drift is fuming when he stomps back into his habsuite. He paces back and forth, then drags his chair back and sits in it with a heavy puff of exhaust. Tapping his digits against his desk, he imagines his fist grabbing that engineer by the back of the helm and smashing his faceplate into the nearest wall. How dare he? How dare he just waltz up to him and ask to taste his little one? The nerve of some bots!

  I’ll have to put in a word to Ultra Magnus, he thinks. That engineer should be dismissed. He shouldn’t even be on the Lost Light. Disgusting behavior like that should be punished. It has to-

  He hears a soft whimper. His digits halt their fidgeting. He looks down at his middle and has his internal sensors scan your little form. Your heart rate is through the roof. Your breathing is erratic and unsteady. And…oh no. Oh, no, no, no. You're trembling.

  He loosens his grip on you and gives you room to move. But when that doesn’t do the trick, he decides that keeping you in there while you are in this state will only distress you further. So he clenches his tank muscles again, and pushes you upward, back through his esophagus and into his mouth. He slips you into his servos with practiced ease, turning you gently so you are on your back. You are covered in his solvent, chest heaving as you look up at him. Then, to his horror, you turn away from him and curl up into a little ball. You are still shaking. His spark sinks.

  He gently deposits you onto his desk and fetches one of his fluffiest blankets to wrap you in. You don’t resist him. You just sit there, giving him those big sad eyes you have whenever you are scared.

  “Little one?” Drift whispers.

  You chirp softly and hide your face. He whines. “No, no, don’t do that.” He hooks his index digit under your chin and tilts your head up. “Look at me, little one. Please.”

  You're still so afraid. He realizes that his big act in front of the engineer really affected you. Guilt rises. There has to be a way to get through to you and show you that he’s still the gentle Drift you know.

  He leans forward, cupping you close. Lowering his helm to be at your level, Drift coos out the call you always make when you want his attention. “Hello,” he murmurs in the foreign tongue. “Hello. Hello, hello.”

  You perk up a little when he mimics your calls. Tentatively, you say it back. “…Hello.”

  Drift beams. “Hello, little one.” He ruffles your hair, chuckling when you lean into his touch. “I’m so sorry I scared you. I…I had to show him that you are mine. I don’t want anyone trying to take you from me. They could hurt you. And if that happens…I’ll never be able to live with myself.”

  You seem to understand that he’s asking for your forgiveness. Sighing, you shuffle forward and reach out, pressing your hands against his nose. You chirp; much of it is indecipherable. But then…you begin to speak. Not in your language. In Cybertronain.

  “Love you,” you say to him. “Love you…love you, Drift.”

  He doesn’t know when you learned it. But he knows it’s the first time you’ve said it. He is your first I love you.

  He can’t contain himself. Drift purrs louder, cuddling you. “I love you too, little one. I love you so, so much.”

  You like cuddles. You deserve them. Today was a rough day for both of you. But knowing you still trust him is relieving.  And he promises you…he swears to you, he will never allow anyone to try and threaten you again.

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

If M.onty and A.sgore squared off in a vore duel, who’d come out on top with a full belly?

So honestly I think this goes one of two ways but it depends completely on which A.sgore we're talking about. So here's one with both.

M.onty steps into the arena with a smug grin. He heard his latest meal--because opponent is too kind a word for the fodder he burns through--was going to be some big softie. Gets called “Fluffybuns” by lots of people. Ha! No way someone like that would stand a chance against a guy like M.onty. It’ll be a cinch.

M.onty perks up when he notices said meal coming along. He slurps over his lips with a grin, tail swishing. This'll be easy and fast. In fact, he’ll end this in just one lunge. The second that guy is in bounds, he’s going to fill his gut like he deserves.

--U.ndertale!A.sgore--

A large goat steps into the arena, standing tall and strong. He’s dressed in shining armor, a purple cape fluttering behind him. M.onty doesn’t take much longer to take the sight in before he lunges with a roar. If he had paid attention, he’d have noticed the red trident the goat is wielding before it swung to hit him in the face.

It sends the gator spinning off to the side and crashing to the ground. He’s dazed, blinking rapidly as he tries to pick himself up. His sunglasses are sitting in front of him, cracked. He picks them up and gets back to his feet, putting them on his face in time to turn with a growl and face his meal again.

Only for the sound to die in his throat as he finds himself staring down a drooling, dark maw. “Wait—!” M.onty’s cry is cut off by the snap of jaws as A.sgore engulfs his head in an instant.

M.onty plants his hands on A.sgore’s shoulders, trying to push himself away from the goat. He’s certain he can get out! But A.sgore puts an end to that fast. He grabs M.onty by the waist and quickly hoists the gator up into the air. It gets a muffled yelp from M.onty, whose legs begin to cartwheel wildly. His pushing doesn’t do much to help him now, though, as A.sgore begins to slurp him down.

The whole process is fast and messy. Wet, hard gulps sound out one after another, dragging M.onty’s bulky form down the hatch. His shoulders and chest disappear fast, followed by his stomach which pins his arms down. Then those cartwheeling legs and thrashing tail and being chugged down. And the wagging tip of his tail disappears with a wet slurp behind A.sgore’s lips, the bulge finally sinking down his throat and disappearing.

A.sgore’s armor groans as M.onty is squeezed in behind it. The metal bulges and bloats but holds firm. It makes for an entirely unpleasant experience for M.onty, whose body ends up awkwardly crammed into the tight and oppressive space. He barely has room to move, but with how he’s twisted up into a little ball, he can’t do much of that anyway. His loud, roaring voice barely makes it to A.sgore’s ears past the fat and muscle and armor as well. Anyone looking at the king would hardly notice the gator’s presence.

And then A.sgore flexes his stomach. “BBWWWWWWOOOOOOUUUUUUUURRRRRRPPPPPP!!!!”

The booming belch he let loose helped to muffled the loud screech M.onty let out in his gut, and the second loud screech made by his metal body folding in on itself and crumpling like a tin can. A.sgore’s stomach notably shrinks back down to its normal size before the belch even ends. And the only thing he has to show for it is a pair of cracked, warped sunglasses that flies out of his maw in the last few seconds.

After it ends, A.sgore licks his lips and pats his stomach. That was one of his easiest matches yet. He knows most people underestimate him but as the king of monsters, he’s no pushover. He steps forward to gently pick up the glasses he belched out. It’ll make a nice addition to the little memorial he has for those he’s defeated. He didn’t have much else to pick from, given the rest of M.onty is a molten sludge pumping through his intestines.

A.sgore gives a bow despite no physical audience being around and walks off the way he came. All that metal was a bit hard on his stomach. Some tea should wash it down just fine.

D.eltarune!A.sgore

A large goat walks in, trying to muster up all the courage he can but still having a meek smile. He doesn’t look like much, dressed in a pair of jeans and a pink Hawaiian shirt. He hardly even looks like a fighter. “Fluffybuns” is right…and M.onty is going to spare no mercy.

The gator lunges the second his prey has entered the arena. A.sgore gets out a shocked cry as he’s suddenly staring down a giant, toothy maw flying toward him. M.onty barrels into him and the two quickly go crashing to the ground in a heap.

By the time things settle, M.onty is able to sit up. A.sgore’s ass is being framed by his jaws, thick legs kicking and scrambling wildly. He’s half down the gator’s gullet, screaming face bulging out the scaly gut.

M.onty flicks his head back, sending A.sgore’s kicking legs up into the air and further down his gullet. Another flick of his head and A.sgore’s knee deep. One more flick lets his feet slide past M.onty’s teeth, and with a resounding snap, the gator’s maw slams shut. A final gulp seals the last of A.sgore away, and M.onty’s stomach stretches out into his lap as the goat sinks in.

M.onty gets back to his feet, calling and smacking his gut. It wobbles and sloshes, stretched tight over A.sgore’s form. It makes it easy to see the shape of the goat curled up inside, panic on his face as his paws scramble over the stomach walls and he tries to thrash. The shifting bulges only entertain M.onty more, though, as he starts to pose and show off to the unseen audience.

A.sgore’s muffled screaming and desperate pleas were plenty entertaining to M.onty, but he knew this couldn’t drag on for too long. So he finally widens his stance and tenses his body. Then he gives his entire body a good flex.

For a moment, all it seems to do is make A.sgore stop moving. The walls close in around him more, compacting him into a tightly curled up ball. But his screaming is getting more frantic now. The walls are still trying to close in, and his body is the only resistance to it. The pressure won’t let up though and he can feel the strain it’s making. A few more seconds and—

CRRRRNCH! “HHHWWWWWWWHHHRRRRRRPPPPPPP!!!” M.onty belts out a roaring belch as A.sgore’s body folds in on itself. The goat’s screaming is cut off by the wet, sharp crunching noises of his body being compacted under the strain of the pressure. The gator’s stomach quickly rounds out and shrinks down, reducing the goat into nothing but rich slurry in a matter of seconds. His belch lasted long than A.sgore did.

By the time it’s done, all that’s left is a soft pot belly that’s bubbling and boiling intensely. M.onty thumps his chest a few times and slurps over his lips with a grin. Just as he thought—that was nothing more than another meal.

M.onty casually lumbers off after that. One hand is patting his gut and the other is picking white fluff out of his teeth. There’ll probably still be some stuck in there by the time his next meal is staring down his jagged maw. Just a good example of what happens when his faces with a snack, really.

[maruiguts]

i think we can solve his anger issues by eating me...? we must look into this theory and run many experiments

[kaisntbreathing]

★ Information page★

─────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹─────

Hello, I'm Kai I'm a writer and this blog was made for all my Hazbin Hotel, SBG, and Stranger Things enjoyers which are the main fandoms I write for on here but I do write for others.

I'm currently hyperfixated on a few characters *cough* Adam *cough* Lucifer *cough* Vox *cough* Eddie *cough* *cough* Aiden Clark *cough* anyways enjoy.

─────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹─────

[Guide]

→ REQUESTING RULES

→ MY BOUNDARIES

→ WHAT I DO/DONT WRITE

→ LIST OF FANDOMS

→ "TO DO LIST"

─────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹─────

★ Requesting rules ★

→ PLEASE BE KIND.

→ DON'T REQUEST EXTREMELY DARK TOPICS, OR ANYTHING THAT MAYBE TOO TRIGGERING OR OFFENSIVE.

→ DON'T ASK ME ANY PERSONAL QUESTIONS I WILL NOT ANSWER THEM.

→ I DON'T WRITE OC X CANON OR CANON X CANON .

→ PLEASE ADD PRONOUNS FOR THE READER IF YOU DONT I'LL AUTOMATICALLY USE GENDER NEUTRAL PRONOUNS.

─────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹─────

★ My boundaries ★

→ AGAIN PLEASE DON'T ASK ME ANY PERSONAL QUESTIONS I WILL NOT ANSWER THEM AND I WILL NOT BE DOING A FACE REVEAL

→ PLEASE BE RESPECTFUL OF EVERYONE

→ I DON'T FEEL COMFORTABLE WRITING CERTAIN TOPICS SO IF YOU REQUEST SOMETHING AND I DON'T ANSWER IT IT'S EITHER BECAUSE I DIDN'T SEE IT OR BECAUSE I DON'T FEEL COMFORTABLE WRITING IT

─────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹─────

★ What I write ★

(List of fandoms at the bottom of the list)

→ I DO WRITE NSFW (NOT SAFE FOR WORK) BUT NOTHING TOO EXTREME

→ XREADER (You) SCENARIOS, ONE SHOTS, AND HEADCANONS

→ I LOVE WRITTING BOTH ANGST AND FLUFF AND SOMETIMES SOME SMUT

─────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹─────

★ What I don't write ★

→ I REFUSE TO WRITE ANYTHING TO DO WITH INCEST, SUICIDE, VORE, FETISHES (UNREASONABLE ONES), PEDOPHILIA, RAPE, OR EXTREMELY DARK TOPICS

→ I WILL NOT WRITE NSFW FOR ANY CANONICALLY UNDERAGED CHARACTERS EVEN IF THEYRE AGED UP I WILL NOT WRITE THAT

→ I WON'T WRITE ANY OC X CANON OR CANON X CANON UNLESS I'M INTERESTED IN IT, BUT I DEFINITELY WON'T WRITE OC X CANON

─────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹─────

★ List of Fandoms & Characters ★

→ HAZBIN HOTEL

✦ ADAM

✦ ALASTOR

✦ ANGEL DUST

✦ CHARLIE

✦ LUCIFER

✦ LUTE

✦ LILITH

✦ HUSK

✦ NIFFTY

✦ VALENTINO

✦ VOX

✦ VELVETTE

✦ VAGGIE

→ STRANGER THINGS

✦ Eddie Munson

✦ Billy Hargrove

✦ Steve Harrington

✦ Johnathan Byers

✦ Jim Hopper

✦ Nancy Wheeler

→ HELLUVA BOSS

✦ BLITZØ

✦ MOXXIE

✦ MILLY

✦ LOONA

✦ STOLAS

✦ FIZZAROLLI

✦ ASMODEUS

→ OBEY ME

✦ LUCIFER

✦ MAMMON

✦ LEVIATHAN

✦ SATAN

✦ ASMODEUS

✦ BEELZEBUB

✦ BELPHEGOR

✦ DAIVOLO

✦ BARBATOS

✦ LUKE (PLATONIC)

✦ SIMON

✦ SOLOMON

✦ THIRTEEN

DIGITAL CIRCUS

✦ JAX

✦ RAGATHA

✦ POMNI

✦ CAINE

✦ ZOOBLE

✦ KINGER

→ CODMW3

✦ SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY

✦ JOHN PRICE

✦ JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH

✦ KYLE 'GAZ' GARRICK

✦ KONIG

✦ ROACH SANDERSON

✦ ALEJANDRO VARGAS

✦ ROMANOV MAKAROV

✦ KEEGAN .P. RUSS

✦ KATE LASWELL

→ DEMON SLAYER

✦ TANJIRO KAMADO

✦ NEZUKO KAMADO

✦ ZENISTU AGATSUMA

✦ INOSUKE HASHIBIRA

✦ RENGOKU KYOJURO

✦ UZUI TENGAN

✦ SENEMI SHINAGIZAWA

✦ GIYU TOMIOKA

✦ SHINOBU KOCHO

✦ MISTURI KANROJI

✦ GIYOMEI HIJIMA

✦ OBANI IGURO

✦ MUZAN KIBUSTUJI

✦ AKAZA

✦ DOUMA

✦ KOKOSHIBO

✦ GYUTARO

✦ DAKI

✦ RUI

✦ TAMAYO

✦ YUSHIRO

→ MY HERO ACADEMIA

→ FNAF SB / SAMS

✦ SUNRISE

✦ Moondrop

✦ Montgomery Gator

✦ Eclipse

✦ Bloodmoon

✦ Lunar

✦ Gemini

✦ Earth

✦ Solar

✦ Freddy

✦ Roxanne

✦ Chica

→ CREEPYPASTA

✦ eyeless jack

✦ Ben drowned

✦ Ticci toby

✦ Jeff the killer

✦ Masky

✦ Hoodie

✦ Clockwork

✦ Jane the killer

✦ slenderman

✦ splendorman

✦ Laughing jack

─────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹─────

School bus graveyard

Aiden Clark

Taylor

Ben

Ashlyn

Tyler

Logan

★ To-Do List ★

[✓= done]

[Italics= Unfinished]

[Bold = In progress]

۪۫❁ཻུ۪۪┊ THANK YOU FOR VISITING MY PAGE AND I HOPE YOU ALL STAY SAFE AND HYDRATED.

𝒦𝒜ℐ

꒰⚘݄꒱₊_______________

[were--ralph]

Ralph I'm doing a clinical rotation as a part of my X-Ray Tech certification and there's this guy. The whole time we were in the tech room not doing anything he was like, watching mukbang videos for dogs (like eight t-bone steaks on a plate) or videos of people feeding their snakes and gators whole animals. I know that he's 100% a furry into vore but there's absolutely no one else I can tell about this without having to explain the concept of vore to them.

that's.....so weird???

just be like hey bro what's up with the weird animal videos?? are you good???

[fiber-optic-alligator]

For the one word prompts: caught?

For you, anon, you get Rodimus being a well-intentioned asshole! How fun!

WARNING: THIS STORY INCLUDES SAFE VORE. THIS THIS IS SOMETHING THAT MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, THEN PLEASE DO NOT READ.

The night is dark, and you are alone. Sitting at the bar, voices and music mingle together and create a despondent melody which does nothing to ease your aching heart. You stare into the drink you are nursing; the amber liquid makes your lip curl with a grimace. Shaking your head, you push it away.

The bar is lively, yet lonely. You aren’t the only one here who is by themselves, yet the company of solitude isn’t one you wished for or anticipated. Gnawing resentment hollows out your gut. This is the last time you ever trust one of those stupid matchmaking apps. Stood up on the fifth date, and you don’t even know what you’ve done wrong. Is it your clothes? Does your breath smell? What about your hair? Is your personality shitty? You’ve spiraled through the panic and sadness, but now is time for the stage of dull anger. If they didn’t want to be with you, they at least could have told you properly. It’s a whole lot better than being completely left in the unknown.

Someone slides up into the stool next to you. No mind is paid on your part until they speak. “Rough night, huh?”

You lift your eyes to the man and take him in. He’s slouched forward with his arms crossed on the counter, head lowered a bit so he can see your face. His hair is held up by an orange headband, and he has a massive black flame tattoo rippling down his right arm. His eyes are curious and kind. His smile, though soft and without teeth, somehow dazzles you. He’s sort of dressed like he’s ready to go to an 80’s-themed Halloween party…but you can’t deny that he is quite handsome.

You huff and look back at your drink. “I’ll say.”

“It’s fine.” The man’s voice is smooth, practiced. You have a feeling he’s spoken to others in this exact same scenario before. “Plenty of people here are goin’ through it. But you…you seem more defeated than upset.”

You don’t appreciate this stranger butting into your private life while you’re wallowing in your misery. Shooting him a glare, you spit venom from your lips. “I didn’t ask for your pity, and I certainly don’t want it. Who even are you, and why the hell are you trying to talk to me?”

He holds up his hands placatingly. “Woah, woah. I’m not trying to start anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. I just…I saw you, alright? I saw you, and you looked…really down. Kinda tugged at my sparkstrings-uh, heartstrings-to see someone so sad like this. I thought…maybe I can help cheer you up.”

You give him an incredulous look. “Are you trying to hit on me by telling me you’re sad to see me alone at a bar?”

“What? No! Did you not hear a word I just said? You look like you could use some company, that’s all!”

“Well, I don’t want company. I want to be alone.” Your voice cracks a little. I feel like I’ll be alone for the rest of my life.

The man is silent, searching your features with those soulful auburn eyes. His voice is nearly a whisper. “Date chickened out on you?”

“...I guess it’s pretty apparent, isn’t it?”

“Not to be an asshole, but I kinda guess that’s the main reason why I see miserable people drinking alone at a bar.”

You laugh. It’s not a bitter sound, yet it isn’t totally happy either. It’s simply a sign of minor relief to be laughing at all. To feel your heart do that funny little jump that comes with being around someone who doesn’t make you feel totally lost. Despite only having met him a few minutes ago, this man has a charismatic aura about him that naturally pulls you in.

He grins. “Look at that. I got a laugh outta you. That’s a good start. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

“I don’t tend to reveal just anything to strangers I’ve only known for less than 24 hours,” you reply.

“Touché. So why don’t we become more than strangers? I believe the term is…acquiescence?”

“Acquaintance.”

“Ah, right.” He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “Sorry. English…isn’t my first language. Anyway, what’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you answer. “What’s yours?”

Panic crosses his face fleetingly. “Um…m-my friends call me…Roddy.”

“Roddy?” You raise an eyebrow. “That’s…interesting.”

“I know, I know, not ideal by people's terms. But it’s just what stuck.” He shrugs. “I like your name better. It’s pretty.”

“You think so?” you ask, unable to hide a genuine smile.

He nods. You are caught in his gaze, and there’s something distinctly captivating. His eyes make you want to believe every word he says. “Why would I lie? It’s a whole lot better than ‘Roddy.’ It’s…nice. I like saying it.”

“I’d hope you’d know better than to try and seduce someone who just got their heart broken.”

“Who says I’m trying to seduce you? Maybe I’m just trying to be your friend.” He laughs, then scoots towards you and dips his head down to peer at you through his lashes. “What, do you think I’m trying to seduce you?”

There it is. You know you’ve lost this battle. “God,” you grumble, ducking away to hide how red your cheeks are. “You are incorrigible.”

“C’mon, it’s making you feel better! You need to get your mind off what happened, right? Hanging out with a friend is exactly how to solve the problem!”

“We aren’t friends. We literally just met.”

He pauses and pouts, leaning back and crossing his arms. You think he almost looks hurt by your claim. “Don’t be like that. We could be friends. This is how humans get to know each other, right? Talking and laughing and bonding?”

You wrinkle your nose in a short chuckle. This guy has the weirdest ways of talking, but you don’t really mind it. You find it endearing. “All of that takes time. I’m not going to trust you instantly. Relationships always need to grow, platonic or not.”

He’s listening with a serious expression. He goes along with what you say, and you genuinely think he’s listening to you. When you’re done, he nods. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come on so forwardly, if I did. I…I’d like to be your friend. You seem like you could use one right now. And…I’m here to find one, too.”

“Finding friends in a bar? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” you ask.

He smiles. “I found you, didn’t I? You fit the bill. I can tell you’re kind…sweet. I think we’d be really good friends.” He reaches forward and brushes his fingers against the top of your hand. Something strange happens; there’s a jolt of static that makes your skin tingle, and a shiver goes down your spine. For a moment, your vision seems to swim, and you think you see flashes of red and orange and Roddy’s eyes turning a bright, alien blue. You blink, disoriented, shaking your head in a vain attempt to clear the sudden fog clouding your mind.

“So, what do you think?” Roddy asks, silky smooth. “Will you let me keep you?”

“Keep me…?” you echo.

“Keep as in…befriend. I want to show you there’s more to this universe than the sadness you’re experiencing. This world…Earth…is so small. Wonderful, but…tiny compared to what else is out there. So much to see, so much to do. So much to find. And guess what? I’m gonna find it all. You wanna come with me?”

“You’re confusing me,” you whisper. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He interlocks his fingers with yours. “Let me show you.”

He leads you out the back door into the bar’s parking lot. You feel like you are walking through a daze. You don’t know what’s happening to you, but you want to put your trust in this man. The way he looks back and gives you such a radiant grin, like the sun itself shining upon you, melts your heart.

In the back of the lot, a car awaits. It looks…retro, like him. Sleek, yet exceedingly loud, it’s some sort of muscle car with a host of red, orange, and yellow. Flame decals are painted across the hood. As the two of you draw closer, the lights turn on and the engine rumbles, growling with a pulse that runs through your bones and makes your heart stutter.

Something feels wrong.

It didn’t before. Roddy exudes no sense of danger. Yet this car…it’s off. Not normal. Alarm bells begin going off in your brain. Your feet drag you to a halt.

Roddy gives you an inquisitive look. “What’s wrong?”

You can’t take your eyes off of the car. “I…I don’t want to go near that thing.”

He winces, worrying at his bottom lip as he glances at the car with a concerning amount of confliction. He squeezes your hand.

“It’ll be okay,” he says. And then, his entire body ripples with a burst of static, and he disappears.

You don’t know what’s happened. Staring at your hand, you blink in shock. You can still feel the warmth of the man’s fingers pressed between yours. Was…was he even there at all? Did you imagine it? No, you couldn’t have. The car is still there. What the hell is going on?!

The car moves.

An alien sound emits from it as you watch it begin to shift in on itself before your very eyes. The mass of metal expands and grows, forming a pair of arms and legs, a torso twisting and snapping into place, massive shoulder blades heaving upward with a head rising up with sharp finials extending like dragon horns. Twin pairs of bright cyan optics open and immediately focus on you. You feel your heart drop straight into the pit of your stomach. It’s a robot. A car-turned-robot. You think you might have ingested too much alcohol, but the way the robot’s body whirs with the smooth sound of machinery as it takes a step towards you, the way you can feel the vibration of its feet hitting the pavement is so, so real, you know this is happening. This isn’t a hallucination.

You still don’t know where Roddy went.

The robot makes a purring noise, squatting down and extending a hand. Panic rips through you, and you stumble back, avoiding the reaching fingers. “No!” you shriek. “Stop! Don’t!”

It pauses and frowns, making a low whining noise. It shuffles closer and gestures for you to get closer. You wish to do no such thing; you want to get as far away from this monster as possible. What does it want with you? To kill you? Eat you? No, robots can’t eat. Is it going to abduct you?

Letting out a huff of exhaust, the robot’s eyes narrow resolvingly. It inches closer, and you continue to move back. There is nowhere to go. You can’t make a run for it. It’s faster. You can tell. There is no chance of escaping.

Your eyes flash to the bar’s back door. Not thinking about the possible consequences, you act only upon pure, desperate instinct. Like a deer bolting from a wolf, you whirl and pelt for the door, pushing every ounce of strength into your legs to propel yourself as quickly as possible. Get away. You need to get away.

You aren’t fast enough.

The robot slams its hand down on top of you. The breath is knocked from your lungs as metal presses you into the pavement. Fingers tightly cage you in, pinning your arms to your sides. Everything spins when you are lifted into the air, slowly, gradually. You cry out and struggle with all of your might, screaming bloody murder at the thing. “No! No! Stop! Stop it! Put me down!”

The robot warbles loudly. Is…Is this fucking thing laughing at you?

Well, all of your bravado goes out the door when it brings you close to its face. Bright optics study you with unsubdued excitement while huge metallic lips part. It grins triumphantly, making a multitude of loud purrs and hums while it turns you side to side like you’re some sort of exotic creature. Fear grips you; there’s so much terror in your soul, you can barely breathe. Too much. This is too much for one night. It’s been tumultuous, and now there’s a giant robot holding you and you might die, you might be-

The robot’s mouth opens wider. There’s a blue pulse deep within it that is the same color as its eyes. You see teeth bigger than your head loom closer as it draws you near, segmented tongue reaching to meet you.

Ah. So you’re going to be eaten, then.

Your scream is cut off when the robot carefully tosses you in. Jaws slam shut and artificial saliva soaks you as you are turned over and tasted again and again and again. Your mind reels with the overstimulation. Everything is happening at once and your brain isn’t keeping up with it. And when you feel the robot tilt its head back and begin pushing you backwards towards its awaiting throat, you can only think of one thing: doom.

Your fingers dig into the plush tongue, searching for any hold that will prevent you from going down. But it is to no avail; the robot simply raises the unbelievable muscle and gives you one last coaxing nudge. With a shriek, you are caught. The throat bobs and gives out a squelching glk. Blue light completely envelops you as you are squeezed and kneaded at all angles. It’s a long journey, one you are hardly conscious of since you nearly pass out from your terror. And when you make it to your final destination, there is no letting up in the embrace. Walls of muscle made out of strange, squishy cables filled with pumping pink liquid force you to sink into their warmth. By god, you are so warm. The robot’s stomach gurgles happily, giving you long repetitive squeezes. You aren’t in any pain. But you are exhausted from the mental and physical strain being eaten alive has exposed you to.

Lying on your stomach, you try to push yourself up in order to fight. The stomach senses this and hugs you even tighter. Your arms shake with fatigue, and you fall back down into the puddle of saliva you landed in. There’s no use fighting. You can’t get out.

Somewhere above you, the robot is purring. A steady hand presses against you from the outside and begins lightly massaging your little form. You let out a weak groan that is meant to be words; perhaps a plea for mercy, or maybe a string of curses. Whatever the intention might be, you don’t have the energy to properly form it. Right now, all you want to do is sleep.

So you do. You are out like a light, pink being the last thing you see. All the while, Roddy’s words repeat themselves to you, over and over and over again. “Will you let me keep you?”

It seems he’s decided not to give you a choice.

[saturno-sol]

YOU WOULD VORE MOTH?!?!?

Sneef snort snorfs at you

IM SNEEFIN. IM SNORFLIN HERE.

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

Hi! Can we get some M.onty g.ator vore where he digests his bandmates and maybe a few visitors to gain muscles?

I'm always up for some M.onty vore!

With a flick of his head and a wet gulp, M.onty sends the last pair of kicking legs down the hatch. He slurps wetly over his teeth and huffs out a deep, sated sigh. He can feel the human sink into his gut, bulging it out another notch and making his casing groan. He gives his stomach a few harsh pats and lets loose a deep roar of a belch.

“This has gotta be enough,” M.onty rumbles, looking down at his middle. His stomach is hanging down to his knees, sticking out by several feet. It bulges and shifts all on its own, a decent gaggle of humans packed deeply inside. Their muffled screams overlap, making it hard to pick out any particular voices, especially through the thick material of his gut and the harsh gurgles coming out.

M.onty is sick of being anything but top dog. B.onnie and F.reddy are bigger than him. They’re more popular. They’re always calling the shots. But M.onty plans on changing that. He just needs to get bigger. Once he towers over both of them, they won’t dare to say a thing! But to do that, he needs fuel for his mass…easiest way to get a load of that at once? Mulch a few guys! He’s cleared out his golf course completely of drunk college students and bored dads, and it’s gotta give him what he wants.

“Y’all ready for this?” M.onty roars out, smacking his gut again with a laugh. He still can’t understand what anyone in there is saying but he didn’t care. “Time to get mulched! Let's rock and roll!” Baring his teeth, M.onty focuses all of his energy on his middle, flexing down with everything he could muster. And being a robot, his stomach might as well be a trash compactor.

Snaps and crunches and screams ring out in a grisly cacophony of noise. M.onty’s stomach visibly flexes down, crushing the many people inside together. Limbs and terrified faces stretch out his gut as everything is squeezed, only for those shapes to get squished and crushed down into unrecognizable shapes. M.onty roars out as his stomach wobbles and shrinks several inches, then more, and more. Each time more messy squelches and wet crunches echo out as a couple thousand pounds of human meat is puréed and pumped through his system.

M.onty’s entire body groans and vibrates with energy. Then there’s some creaks and whines as he starts to grow, his muscles developing further. His arms bulge and ripple, his pecs swell with strength, and his legs and tail grow thicker and stronger. M.onty’s stomach flattens out with a deep, harsh rumble, showing off far more defined abs than before. A deep, heavy sigh rolls out of M.onty as his body settles. And then he blasts out another meaty belch.

M.onty looks over himself and flexes his arms a bit. He frowns, tail flickering with annoyance. “What the hell?! That was, like, twenty people, and this is all you could do?! I’m not even any taller! Agh, I’m gonna rip you all to…oh, right. Already dead.” He huffs and rubs over his stomach with a frown. He could spend all day snacking on people and not get any bigger. What should he..?

An idea comes to M.onty and he smirks. “If you guys aren’t worth any meat…maybe those other jerks are.” Going right for B.onnie and F.reddy could be a problem. But…there is someone in the band that’s actually smaller than him. That’ll be just the boost he needs. With a grin, M.onty stomps off, already stalking his prey.

F.oxy is easy to find. He’s at the newly installed bar, his favorite place to be since it lets him drink rum and tell his stories to drunkards. Though, right now, the bar is barren other than the fox and the bit serving drinks. It makes it easy for M.onty to stomp in unbothered. F.oxy doesn’t notice until the gator bumps into his back and makes him spill his drink.

“Yarg, watch where yer goin’ ya—“ F.oxy turns around to keep talking, just for M.onty to grab him by the throat. The pirate squeaks as he’s yanked up into the air, seeing M.onty’s wide, toothy grin in his face.

“Hey, Captain,” M.onty rumbles. “I need your drunk ass to help me out for a second. Don’t worry, it’ll be quick.” Before F.oxy can try to respond, M.onty shoves the fox’s muzzle right between his pecs. F.oxy starts to wiggle pathetically, but M.onty keeps him pressed up against the bar. There’s nowhere for him to go other than further in, with the back of his head being pushed down and squeezed further between M.onty’s pecs.

“Aaaah yeah,” M.onty huffs, pulling his fingers out from his own pecs. F.oxy’s neck deep in them now and M.onty can feel his muffled voice vibrating inside of him. “You’re gonna look way better on me, Captain. So you better…nngh…thank me for it!” M.onty cups his hands under F.oxy’s ass and pushes hard, grunting and huffing as he forces even more of the fox into his chest.

F.oxy’s arms get pinned down fast, his shoulders, chest, and stomach all squeezing into M.onty’s chest with ease. It makes the gator’s chest start to bulge out as it’s filled. F.oxy’s legs kick around, hanging out comically. M.onty squeezes F.oxy’s ass before shoving it into his chest with a huff. Then he grabs F.oxy by the ankles and starts pushing his legs in. His chest swells more and more, until only F.oxy’s twitching feet are poking out. M.onty chuckles and pushes down with a finger, getting knuckle deep in his own pecs before pulling away.

M.onty admits his chest, crudely groping over it as he feels F.oxy struggling inside. Muffled yelling just barely makes it out, bulges shifting around as the pirate struggles inside. “Heh…my chest is already so thick, I can’t hear a damn thing you’re saying! So I’m just gonna assume you’re begging me to crush you into pec meat. And I’m happy to help out!”

M.onty flexes his chest, getting a clearer—though still muffled—scream out of F.oxy. “Hff…alright, let’s try that again.” Another flex, this one with more effort out into it. Something inside crunches and F.oxy thrashes with a howl. “Ugh, c’mon, F.oxy! You’re already stuck in there! Just…let me kill you already! You’re…pec…meat!” M.onty flexes again with a snarl. F.oxy’s scream warps with the sound of crunching metal, the Pirate’s body finally giving out and being compacted down in M.onty’s body. The gator’s pecs twitch and bounce as they smooth out with instantaneous effects.

M.onty’s muscles swell again, mass and power flowing through him to give him more. At the same time, his body groans deeply as he suddenly grows a few inches. His body gets wider, muscles thicker and stronger, and his pecs especially ballooning in size as a lot of F.oxy adds to them. Red hair also begins to cover M.onty, coming from his chest and under his arms, as well as over his abs. A slight scent fills the air, a thick musk that’s emanating from the gator.

M.onty takes several deep breaths, his chest rising and falling with each one. He rumbles softly and flexes over his new muscles a few times, feeling the tingling sensation in them slowly fading. “Haa…see? Wasn’t that hard, was it, pec meat? You look way better like this.” M.onty squeezes his pecs, grinning. “And I…look way better, too! Heh, let's see those two jerks try calling the shots now. In fact…I bet I can get even bigger. And if I’m in charge, who even needs those two?” Chuckling to himself, M.onty returns to his hunt, this time with new prey in mind.

B.onnie and F.reddy were just too predictable. The two of them are spending their time together between major performances, being all lovey-dovey between B.onnie Bowl. It’s a private space just the two of them can go so they can enjoy their time together. Well, until M.onty comes in, interrupting the two of them.

F.reddy gets flustered and pulls away from B.onnie, who doesn’t seem as bothered. He’s moreso surprised by M.onty’s new look. He gets to his feet, finding himself just slightly shorter than the gator, not including his ears. “Woah, Mont, you get a redesign or something?”

M.onty grins, tail flicking back and forth. “Something like that. Jealous?” He flexes his arms and bounces his pecs, shamelessly showing off to the rabbit. “C’mere, cop a feel. I don’t mind.”

B.onnie does step forward, putting a hand on one of M.onty’s arms. “Wow, that’s definitely something. What’s with that smell, though?”

“What, you like it? Lemme help ya get a good whiff then!” He grabs B.onnie by the back of the head, lifting his right arm up and planting the rabbit’s face right into his furry pit. B.onnie lets out a muffled cry, trying and failing to push himself away.

“M.onty!” F.reddy practically jumps to his feet now and rushes over. “That is not funny, let him go at once!”

“Don’t be jealous~” M.onty says, lowering his arm on B.onnie’s head. “You can get a smell, too!” He grabs F.reddy by the scruff, overpowering the bear with ease and shoving his face into the other pit. “Yeeeah, that’s it. That’s the smell of a real leader! Go on, get a deeper smell!” M.onty lowers his other and over F.reddy and squeezes down on them, grunting as he wedges their heads into his pits.

M.onty’s muscles flex and bulge as he starts to pull his bandmates in deeper. Their muffled voices get harder to hear as they start to disappear, shoulders squeezing into M.onty’s pits, followed by their chests. M.onty lifts his arms up now, continuing to flex them to drag more of their bodies in. F.reddy and B.onnie keep trying to thrash, pushing and pounding on M.onty’s body up until they get pinned down by their stomachs sinking in.

Their legs start kicking now, lifting off the ground and steadily sliding upward. M.onty’s arms keeping swelling outward, muscles bulging and shifting as F.reddy and B.onnie get squished into his biceps. M.onty growls lowly, enjoying the sensation and relishing in each flex he gives as it sucks in several more inches of his bandmates. Their legs steadily disappear, kicking and twitching, all the way to the end. Two pairs of feet sink beneath the red fur of M.onty’s pits and he lets out a deep, satisfied sigh.

“That’s…the…stuff,” M.onty huffs out, flexing over his arms with each word. His biceps are bulging around F.reddy and B.onnie, their faces or hands occasionally stretching him out. “This is it. I’m in charge now. You two are just going to make me even better! So hurry up, I wanna feel you two die!” Month flexes his arms down tightly again, feeling the bodies of the two animatronics straining under the pressure.

“C’mon…hurry up!” M.onty demands, flexing his arms again. “I’m bigger and stronger than both of you!” Another flex. He can hear B.onnie lot out a particularly loud yell and something inside his arm gets crushed. “You’re already inside of me, there’s nothing you can do!” Another flex makes F.reddy yell out Month’s name, just barely audible, as something folds and the bulges shift. “Make me better…make me bigger…and get outta my way! Just die!” M.onty roars and flexes down with all his might.

Screeching, warping metal overpowers M.onty’s roar. B.onnie shrieks as his body folds and compresses, and F.reddy tries to plea as he’s crushed and flattened. Both of their voices fade with wet crunches as their heads cave under the immense pressure, and Month’s arms round out and shrink down as their bodies are reduced into nothing.

And M.onty grows. His body ripples and shifts, groans and creaks, as everything changes. He shoots up inch after inch after inch, becoming a full foot taller. His body swells, arms and legs thickening with muscle, looking like tree trunks. His pecs shoot out a couple of inches, more mass adding to him. His stomach is rock hard, abs twitching and flexing involuntarily. Even his tail grows in length and thickness, whipping around dangerously. More body hair covers his body, blanketing his pecs in a thick red and peppering the rest of his torso. He even grows a five o’clock shadow. The stink of musk is now a thick, constant presence he has that would likely be suffocating from its source. Even his voice gets deeper, his roar making the room rumble around him.

And then it’s over. The tingling, burning sensation fades as quickly as it came. M.onty pants and huffs, his muscles still flexing slightly on their own. He’s a walking wall of muscle, far bigger than any of the animatronics had been. He slowly feels over his body, a grin curling onto his muzzle as he does.

“That’s better,” M.onty growls, voice rumbling deep from his chest. “No one needs you guys. You’re just more of me now! That’s better than whatever pointless lives you had before!” He laughs, turning to stomp out of the room. He has to duck to squeeze out the doorway. “Better go out and show off the new bod. Gotta make sure everyone forgets about you jerks. Don’t need you cramping my style again.”

[mrprettywhenhecries]

rules.

1.  This is a discourse free blog. 

✔︎ I will not tolerate / interact with discourse.  If you send hate or try to start drama in my inbox, your ask will be deleted and you will be blocked.  I am liberal with the block button and believe in curating your own internet and fandom experience. ✔︎ This is a Billy Hargrove safe blog (obviously), but I have no issues with any of the other ST characters. ✔︎ While I prefer to ship canon/oc and have many notps, I have no issue with people who are pro-shippers, unless you're a dick.

2.  Icon Requests:

✔︎ Icon requests are always open. ✔︎ Just let me know which character(s) & if you want any specific colour/pattern/gradient(s) for the backgrounds.

3. Writing Requests:

✔︎ Status will be updated in my navigation post. ✔︎ I am not obligated to fill every request that I receive. ✔︎ I write what inspires me at the time, so I don’t necessarily answer requests in the order which I receive them. ✔︎ If I’m not vibing a request or if it makes me uncomfortable, it doesn’t mean it’s bad, just that I might not be up for writing it. ✔︎ I prefer sentence starters or broad scenarios when receiving a request rather than a super specific scenario. ✔︎ When requesting, please don’t spam requests. I’m not your personal writing machine. ✔︎ I write fem!reader/gn!reader or x oc only.  I try to be as inclusive as possible, but my reader characters are not completely blank slates — they usually have some sort of loose back story/personality. ✔︎ Characters I will write for: Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington, Gator Tillman, Baron Lamram, & Benny Cross.

4. Things I won’t write:

✔︎ canon ships / mlm ✔︎ RPF / real person fic ✔︎ noncon– I will write dubcon, but I won’t write explicit noncon unless it’s consensual noncon ✔︎ heavy degradation / overly mean doms ✔︎ infidelity fic (it depends – I will not write Character cheating on Reader or vice versa.  Character cheating on someone else with Reader, or vice versa is OK!) ✔︎ nsfw content with minors ✔︎ incest/stepcest/psudeocest ✔︎ scat/vore/bloodplay (piss/omorashi is OK!) ✔︎ bimbofication/bimbo reader ✔︎ hybrids/creatures/omegaverse ✔︎ coming out fics - as a queer/trans person this is a stressful enough subject for me irl and I just am not interested in exploring it in fic ✔︎ song fics ✔︎ specific reader characters (for example, a reader character that looks a certain way, has a particular trait/power or is related to another character) ✔︎ if you’re unsure if there’s a topic I will or won’t write, feel free to ask!

5. Just be nice! I love chatting with new people and screaming about fictional characters. 💚✨

[evigtlivihimlen]

Evangelisten vs Församlingen?

EVANGELISTEN vs FÖRSAMLINGEN?! Evangelistkallelsen är en tjänstegåva som inte släpps fram idag i flertalet av de traditionella frikyrkorna. Den uppmuntras eller får inte utvecklas fritt, möjligen i begränsad mänsklig styrning utefter världsliga hänsyn och då finns inte heller Andens smörjelse eftersom man lämnat det Bibliska mönstret. Frimodigt och radikalt predikande av Evangeliet är Bibelns och väckelsehistoriens sätt. Javisst, liknelser, vittnesbörd och ett gripande bildspråk må ingå som ett stöd, men det rena och raka Evangeliet är i absolut fokus och centralt för predikandet, mitt ibland folket på gator och torg. Och därtill predikar evangelisten "väckelse" till slumrande kristna som behöver vakna upp och vara vittnen i Ande och kraft…

Men, idag skyfflas många med evangelistkallelsen undan till passiva medlöpare till livlös religion, där det ofta hänvisas till visdom, sundhet och mognad och ett förkastande av det "överhettade ovisliga evangeliserandet", de (evangelisterna) blir övertalade att vara annat än de är, för att upprätthålla en falsk fasad av "Guds församling". Ledorden är försiktighet, lågmäldhet, relationsbyggande, "kärleksgärningar"; Att bli vän med och omtyckt av allt och alla har blivit den nya "heliga vägen" och sättet att evangelisera.

Fenomenet är bara ett av det kompromissande och världstillvända "avfallets" konsekvenser i många av dagens församlingar… För evangelisterna som lyckas vakna upp ur sin påtvingade religiösa koma gäller att finna församlingar och gemenskaper som bejakar evangelistgåvan och inte stoppar eller begränsar den… Angående "ovislighet" så är det sällan fråga om brott mot Guds visdom utan snarare mänsklig visdom som inte tål radikalt Biblisk och andlig evangelisation. Självfallet bör evangelisten ha "mentorer" som kan korrigera och tillrättavisa vid verkligt behov. Och jodå, det är väldigt viktigt att evangelisten verkar tillsammans med lokala församlingar, de nyfrälsta eller sökande människor måste ju ha någonstans att ta vägen när de väl fått evangeliet…Vad är det för mening med att fånga fisk som sedan inte tas till vara utan lämnas att ruttna och förgås? Evangelisten Måste samarbeta med lokala församlingar, men det är ett lika stort "måste" att dessa församlingar är någorlunda fungerande friska källor och inte giftbägare där de flesta blir andligt sjuka och inget sant lärjungaskap utvecklas.

"På frukten känner vi trädet" sade Jesus, så det bör inte vara alltför svårt att se var fåren kan finna trygga vattenkällor, där de kan frodas i lärjungaskap och utrustas för tjänst. Jag vill tro att de som hör Herren till har den Helige Ande som påvisar vilka församlingar de kan nalkas för gemenskap och samarbete, och undvika ormgropar eller döda diken, att börja gräva i sådant vore mycket värre än ensam isolering ty där finns inget hopp, ingen framtid; Blott fiendens redskap och mänsklig kontroll till att kväsa och gräva ner varje tjänste- och nådegåva, varje sant andlig föresats och varje väckelseton…

Betänk, vi har inte haft verklig väckelse i våra nordiska länder på decennier. Det finns orsaker, ett är Slakten av Evangelisterna, i viss "andlig" bemärkelse eller liknelse inte olikt Katolska kyrkans inkvisition då allt väckelsefolk förföljdes och tusentals blev martyrer. Idag är det ännu inte fråga om fysisk eliminering, men väl andlig sådan. Så, den himmelska uppmaningen, nödropet är "Släpp Evangelisterna fria!" Ge dem utrymme, stöd och uppmuntran att vara såsom Gud vill ha dem, göra det Anden leder dem till. Hindra inte, styr och begränsa ej! Glöm inte vad Ordet säger, det kommer en Räkenskapens dag, då alla religiösa slöjor och dimridåer faller och varje ord, gärning och beslut tas fram i ljuset. I Jak.3:1 står det "Mina bröder, inte många bör bli lärare. Ni vet ju att vi skall få en strängare dom"…Där och då dör den närmast perversa religiösa stoltheten, obefogade högmodet krymper till skräckslagen ångest inför en förtärande eld som prövar varje sekund av våra levda liv, i synnerhet hos dem som burit församlingsansvar. Guds nåd och barmhärtighet segrar, absolut för alla som ödmjukar sig och lyder, följer sin Herre Jesus i kärlek och förtröstan, ja, totalt beroende. Men för dem som hårdnackat vägrat i decennier, hindrat Andens verk och vilja i församlingen? Stått emot det Bibliska sättet, och gör stolt så alltjämt? Frank Mangs, vars böcker är väckelsehistoriska skatter skrev skakande ord om avfallets yttersta skräckscenario hos vissa troende, nämligen "Ty de var döda, de hade förlorat förmågan att uppleva en andlig kris!"…Och just här finns orsaken till varför du som troende eller evangelist inte ska gräva ner dig i döda diken, ifall ledarskapet består av denna sorts troende; du blir som du umgås eller snarare, det du matas med, och att finna tillbaka till den smala vägen där Jesus vandrar blir allt mer svårt ju mer du gräver i gyttjan, du dras ner och fastnar alltmer, och möjligheten till "väckelse" finns inte där, det finns inga förutsättningar, tvärtom…

Nej, spring till församlingar och gemenskaper där du står på trygg Biblisk grund, där Guds Ande får verka fritt och därmed Jesus förhärligas bland de sina, det finns fortfarande många sådana friska källor, jag har besökt dem runtom i Norden. De behöver dig och du dem, var ledd av den Helige Ande! Är du evangelist, du vet om du är det, spelar ingen roll vad människor säger! Gud har talat till ditt innersta från allra början, i dina första nyfrälsta steg. Oavsett hur ditt liv varit eller vad änn som skett: GE INTE UPP! RES DIG UPP! FORTSÄTT FRIMODIGT FRAMÅT! HERREN HJÄLPER NÄR DU AGERAR I DIN KALLELSE! "Be och ni skall få, sök och ni skall finna, bulta och dörren skall öppnas för er. Ty var och en som ber, han får, och den som söker, han finner, och för den som bultar skall dörren öppnas" (Luk.11:9-10)… ☝️🙏

P.S! Evangelisten är en av tjänstegåvorna, och utan att fördjupa oss i omfattande Bibliska referenser kan sägas att evangelister borde bli försörjda av församlingen, för att kunna få utrymme verka. Så var det förr i tiden. Idag måste 99% av evangelisterna ha världsligt jobb och försöka orka utföra kallelsen på den lilla tid som blir över…Många tar deltidsjobb för att kunna fungera någorlunda. Istället förväntas evangelisten vara med och bekosta kyrkobyggnaden och pastorslönen, kanske få en smula till traktat från församlingen. Är detta Guds vilja? Säkert?… Hör alla församlingsledare i dessa avfälliga tider Guds röst och ledning? Många evangelister suckar i vånda i sin bönekammare över sina talenter och kallelse som är inlåsta, de våndas i nöd över alla ofrälsta de kunde ha nått med Evangeliet…Vi behöver be 🙏 om Väckelse så att även detta missförhållande läggs till rätta i församlingarna. "Släpp fångarna, mitt folk, mina tjänare fria"!