#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.

[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.

[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

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★ 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

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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

꒰⚘݄꒱₊_______________

[fiber-optic-alligator]

ALLIGATORRRR

GIVE US PRED VIKTOR FIC

AND MY LIFE IS YOURRS

(Shnddnbdbs i’m so sorry-)

OKAY OKAY FIIIIIINE LOL

Glorious Consumption

Pairing: Arcane Herald Viktor x Reader

Summary: After being found and captured by the feared herald who is ushering in a new world, you realize you have met a terrible fate in which there is no way to avoid.

Word Count: 1393

I wrote this in one sitting because I was so into it and I really hope this is what you are asking for!!!

WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS SOFT, SAFE, SFW VORE. IF ANY OF THIS MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, PLEASE DO NOT READ.

The man who looms before you is anything but a true man anymore. Twin pinpricks of sickening gold flicker and focus upon your trembling form through a twisted mask that splits the face of what was once human in two, separating the shut eyes and the tightened lips. His staff quietly clink, clink, clinks with each step he takes; slow, leisurely, like he knows you have no chance of escaping. Yet still, you scoot backwards, a whispering plea for mercy escaping you with the breathlessness of someone who doesn’t wish to meet their fate.

“Poor little one,” the herald says, voice soft and deep, everywhere and nowhere, rumbling straight through your tiny body and striking into your soul. “So lost, so alone. Did you come seeking salvation? Redemption from the flesh?”

“Please,” you say. “Please. Don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you? Why would I hurt you?” The herald bends a knee. Despite how gradual his movements are, they still cause you to flinch. “I only wish to heal, little one. Suffering has no place in my perfect world.”

Massive fingers, dark violet and warped by magic, reach forwards. Your eyes widen and you quickly bow your head, staring down at your own curled fists. Tears drip onto the floor and your skin, heart pounding, brain screaming for you to run, run, danger, run. Yet you are frozen, unable to wrench yourself from this fatal spot. The herald has rendered you terrified beyond your capable limits of handling such extreme emotions. Such power radiates from him, Unearthly. Eldritch. Arcane.

Those fingers curl around you, cupping you in a loose hold with warmth pressing against your spine while his thumb grazes your cheek in a gesture of comfort not suiting him. Your stomach does flips when you are raised up, your face scrunching in visible discomfort.

“Shhh.” You vibrate with the timbre of his voice. “Don’t tense. You are fearing a conclusion which shouldn’t be feared at all.”

Your eyes dart around you, flickering to the beings surrounding the herald like a protective shield. Mechanical denizens of perfect abundance, gold and white with dead eyes all staring straight at you. Marks of the newborn god currently holding you are imprinted on their faces: fingerprints signifying their change into something terrifying. You don’t want that. You want to remain you. So you continue to cry, choking on your own sobs. “Don’t turn me into one of them. Please. I-I don’t want to be like them.”

The herald is silent. He moves his thumb to your chin and forces you to tilt your head up. You have no choice but to meet his gaze. There’s no emotion, no sign of anger or pity. He’s just…blank.

“Why do you fear becoming so much more than you already are?” he asks.

“I don’t want to lose who I am. I don’t want to disappear.” You begin struggling just a tad bit, clutching his thumb tight and giving him your most pleading look. “Please. Please don’t make me go away.”

Again, there’s a pause. Then he sighs. “I do not like seeing you so terrified of me. It is…saddening.” He gives you a squeeze you think is supposed to be comforting. “If you do not seek my healing, then I will not force it upon you. I fear I may end up breaking you if you are not willing.”

Relief settles upon you. You want to give him a thousand thanks for sparing you. But he cuts you off. “However…I cannot simply let you go.”

Disbelief shatters your gratefulness. “W-What?! You’re going to kill me?!”

“Did I say I was going to kill you? Worry not, little one. No harm will befall you as long as I am around.” He hums. “I…do not feel comfortable allowing you to wander unsupervised. You could be hurt. Or worse. Plus…” He brings you close, and you feel some sort of inhalation tousle your hair as he somehow breathes in your scent. “You have a tantalizing aura. I feel…I can make use of you.”

“Make use of me?” you echo weakly.

“Your energy. It will give me the necessary power I need to continue the glorious evolution.” He sees the way your face falls, and he’s quick to comfort you. “Rest assured, I will not hurt you. Nothing I do to you will end up with you wounded or dead. It may be a bit…eh, uncomfortable at first, but I think you will grow used to the feeling. I will even coach you through it.”

“Coach me? Coach me through what?”

The herald’s eyes burn. “Being drained.”

You go pale with horror when the middle of his mask slowly splits into a mouth, strings of black connecting between jutting, razor sharp teeth and saliva dripping from the roof like ugly droplets of oil. You stare into the cavern of hypnotic colors that pulse in and out like breaths, drawing you forth with whispers invading your brain, ushering you on, begging, pleading, please please come here come to us we need you we want you please. A long, serpentine tongue slithering out to lick your cheek makes you cringe back with the terrible realization of what is going to happen to you: you are about to be eaten alive.

You scream and flail. Shoving his fingers, trying to free yourself, not even caring if you drop to your death. “Stop! Stopstopstop, please! Don’t do this, I’m begging you!”

The herald ignores you. Feet first you are slipped into his mouth, tongue curling around your legs and slowly bringing you into the hot, moist maw. You grab the ends of his teeth and hold on for life, resisting the insistent tugs of the gigantic muscle. The herald sighs wearily. He brings a hand up and starts to carefully pry your fingers away. You yelp and try to latch back on quicker than he can release you, but he is smart, and quick. In a moment where both of your hands are off of his teeth, he tilts his head and slides you backwards, snapping his mouth shut. You are sealed inside, with no escape in sight.

Screaming and howling and clawing your nails into his tongue, you do everything you can to prevent what is going to happen. But you are too weak, too small, and the herald easily overpowers you. With a resounding gulp, everything is turbulent, and you are pushing past his uvula and down his throat. Psychedelic colors fill your vision, and you lose yourself, screams dying into soft whines. You feel the muscles of his esophagus squeeze you over and over, forcing you downwards, further into his body.

By the time you make it to the stomach, you are exhausted. The colors are gone and are replaced by the dull purple, near black color of his internals. Little spots resembling stars flicker as you are embraced by plush grooves that quiver with each heavy breath you take. You can practically feel the energy leaving you as you stare up at the belly’s faux ceiling. Fear grips you. Tears leak from your eyes.

The herald presses a hand over his middle, feeling you out. When he finds you, he begins rubbing you tenderly. “I can feel you in there. So wonderfully snug. So delicious.” You think you can hear a smile in his voice. “Thank you, little one, for nourishing me. This energy will not go wasted.”

“…I…don’t want to…die…” is all you whisper in reply.

The herald goes silent. His stomach gurgles sadly and moves in, giving you a tight hug. “Hush,” he soothes. “You will not die. In due time, I will release you. Though this won’t be the last time I’ll be swallowing you, I will keep you safe. I will keep you warm. I think you’ll come to love it in there. So don’t be afraid…please.”

You want to submit. You’re tired. So, so tired. His voice is lulling you, and you think you can hear his stomach talking, quietly cooing to you, telling you to sleep. You want to fight for your freedom…you really do…

“Don’t fight,” the herald. “There’s no point. Just let this happen. You are okay. I’ll hold you. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

Your consciousness slips from your grasp, and you are lost in his consumption. With his presence all encompassing, you pass out.

[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???

[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. 💚✨

[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.

[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"!

[allterrribleideas]

TADC Ep 2 Dev Room

Just wanted to say good job with the voice cast this episode! The gator in particular really put in an effort.

I GUESS this is all spoiler territory now so lemme see if I can...spoiler it.

My first time watching I thought this scene when Pomni and the NPC enter the video game asset room was really weirdly paced. It's obviously supposed to be unsettling, again doing the 'show don't tell' which is great, but it's kind of lengthy scene and it starts moving very quickly. I get why they have to do it though, there's limited time and not everything can be explained very quickly so the gator just collapses entirely in like less than a minute. I think maybe some 'offscreening' would have helped here, like maybe we stay honed in on Pomni's perspective and she finds the gator having already learned about the 'false' nature of his world and in the middle of a breakdown. It all kind of plays out too fast IMO. It's framed and scored very nicely though!

Not thinly veiled vore monster shows up next. Not much to say here, except that we get more Jax Antics™️. I'll elaborate on this more later since there's already so much discourse around the 'is Jax an NPC' theory BUT I'll say this scene in particular sort of lends some evidence in that direction. We've seen Caine not be particularly creative when it comes to NPC backstories and motivations, and we have two examples now (the queen in the last episode and the fudge in this one) of Caine falling back on making some NPCs just 'they like killing people for fun'. Jax is like, the exact same! He sympathizes with the murderous ooze monster. I'd even say he treats the NPC fudge BETTER than he treats the 'humans'. It's interesting! I don't like the rabbit but I find him interesting! These are okay beliefs to hold simultaneously!

We're treated to some more Pomni antics, which are cute and I wish we could have maybe had a montage of escape attempts here. Would have been a good way to show time progressing and to have her bond with the gator more, since it sort of just seems like she passes a few charisma checks and they're both friends. But that whole scene is kind of important so I'll rant about it in it's own blurb next!

[picturesquelyperfect]

- if I remember right alligators don’t count as meat during Lent bc they’re cold blooded

- therefore I can vore FNAF Montgomery Gator during Lent

- not that I want to do that, but I could

Tumblr is trying so hard not to let me post the funniest lent picture I've ever seen but I don't give up easy

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

would love to read some gator shane from the stardew furry mod voring some of the other villagers, perhaps even eating the farmer. WG and/or disposal would be cool too

I can do that, he’s one of my faves.

S.hane groans, putting a hand to his head as it throbs. He's woken up outside, again. With a handover, again. And...with a bloated, groaning gut, again. It takes him several minutes to get to his feet, his gut wobbling as he does. A sickly belch escapes him, the flavor of booze and some kind of meat thick on his breath. "Who was it this time..?" the gator grumbles, still trying to rub the ache from his temples. This is the fourth...or maybe fifth time he's woken up with someone he knows long since flushed through his guts. As if the beer wasn't bad enough for his health, his waistline has been ballooning like crazy since this habit started. Even his hoodie barely fits anymore, a sliver of scales peeking out from under it at all times. He gives his gut the same soothing rub he's been giving his head. It lets out a low groan, the building pressure of an entire person's worth of shit deep in his bowels. At least he woke up fully this time. Last time he had to ditch his pants with the pile he dropped off in it in his sleep and waddle home half-naked, as if he needs even more shame in his life on top of what he gets normally. His guts groan again and the gator winces. "Alright, alright..." Glancing around to make sure he's alone, S.hane drops his pants and squats down. He's still trying to recall last night as thick loaves of shit slide out from his ass and pile up on the ground under him. It can't be S.ebastion, he ate the wolf a month ago. It's not that farmer that stopped by, either, because S.hane devoured him last week. His head hurts trying to recall last night, though, and the gator grunts both from the pain and the force of something solid pushing out of his ass. A bit more shit slops out and he sighs, standing up again and hiding up his pants to give the pile a once over. That's definitely a bear skull sticking out of the top, but L.iam had been the first person he ate. When S.hane recognizes white tufts of fur in the pile, he feels a little sick. "G.us..?" he asks as if the pile of crap can answer him. The bear must have tried to cut S.hane off or something...and the gator got rid of the problem. The same thing happened with E.mil two months ago. His gut grumbles slightly and he pats it a few times with a sigh. Well...he won't be going to the bar any time soon, then. Maybe that's for the best...or maybe he can start getting on the bus and visiting one in the city. S.hane grumbles and starts wobbling back home. He needs to deal with the hangover before he thinks about where to get his booze from now.

S.hane can't sit still as he watches S.ebartion and A.lbert play the arcade cabinet together. He needed it so he didn't start buying beers, but those two had been at it since the place opened, and they kept brushing S.hane off every time the gator tried to tell them he wanted a turn. His eyes keep flickering from the two of them to the bar, and his stomach lets out a soft groan. He can't take it. He stands up abruptly and walks over to the two. Drooling jaws open wide, and without them looking, they snap down over A.lbert's head first. The dragon lets out a muffled yelp of surprise and S.hane starts gulping raveously, wasting no time in devouring the man. His gut bloats out rapidly as A.lbert drops in, pressing up against the machine. With a wet slurp, he's sucking down the dragon's wiggling tail, and he locks eyes with S.ebastian. The wolf raises his hands up, taking a step back. "Y-You can have the game, I'll just--" S.hane grabs him by the hoodie and yanks him forward, into the same drooling maw the dragon just disappeared into. S.ebastion struggles a lot more than A.lbert did, but other than hitting the arcade cabinet a few times, he was guzzled down just as easily. With a final gulp, twitching paws sink down S.hane's gullet, and the gator lets out a thick belch. His hoodie is riding up over his gut now, distinct bulges of dragon and wolf writhing around as best they can in his tank. S.hane gives it a few pats before focusing all of his attention onto the game. He'll let them out once he's gotten a few rounds in, he tells himself. Even as his gut presses more into the machine, and their screaming becomes more frantic as the gator's guts churn harder. Purple scales and black fur lace a few of his belches, but he's too absorbed in the game to really notice. It's when the saloon is being closed up for the night and S.hane is waddling off with a soft, sloshing gut that he recalls what was supposed to do. But a few thick gurgles from the round dome hanging off of him is all the proof he needs that his promise to let them out is going to be a little...different. He'd fulfill that promise on his walk home, heading a bit deeper into the woods to find a quiet place to squat down. A horrible smell fills the air as soft logs of shit begin to squeeze out of him and pile up in a heap. Bones stretch him out awkwardly, coaxing little groans out of S.hane as he drops the two men off. S.ebastian's skull makes the gator whine, but A.lbert's gets a soft yelp from him as those short horns give him an extra stretch. By the time he's done, there's a soft heap of manure slopped against a tree, black fur and purple scales dotting the brown muck. Two skulls sit half buried on top, and S.hane feels a bit of guilt bubble in his gut...or gas, as the feeling passes when he lets out a soft burp. At least now no one will be hogging the machine anymore.