#a predator to keep

[afreakforyautja]

Trapped (yautja x human)

Part 4

[oop- more interaction with our Yautja 🤭 I love your comments and your support, they keep me writing more 💚]

(Tagging @celticsrightbuttcheek for their ongoing support 🥰)

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath to gather your thoughts.

This is it… this is happening, you told yourself.

You could hear the guttural sounds of the two aliens battling nearby. Quietly, you slipped out of the chamber that had served as your only protection and crept around, desperately searching for something—anything—that could be used as a weapon.

Your panicked hands rummaged through drawers, the noise loud enough to draw the xenomorph’s attention toward you.

That split second of distraction was just enough. The Yautja drove its talons deep into the xenomorph’s ribs, earning a piercing hiss before tossing the creature aside to avoid its acid blood.

You had studied xenomorphs long enough to know their blood could melt through nearly anything on contact.

You had, unfortunately, learned that the hard way.

You could run now. This was your chance, both creatures were locked on each other. You grabbed an intravenous stand and with your hands trembling you began slowly backing out of the lab, keeping your eyes locked on the xenomorph.

Somehow, you felt the Yautja wouldn’t hunt you. You weren’t a worthy challenge in comparison.

The xenomorph, however, would kill anything without a second thought.

It hissed in your direction, and your stomach dropped. But then it looked to the left, where the Yautja had moved to flank it. Strangely, it felt like you and the Yautja were circling the xeno together, like predators converging on a common enemy. The Yautja seemed to notice your synchronized movement, perhaps thinking the same as you.

The enemy of my enemy…

The Yautja wasn’t quick enough this time. Already wounded and bleeding, it didn’t react fast enough when the xenomorph made its choice.

You.

The weaker one.

You froze in fear but stood your ground as the creature lunged. The medical probe you clutched became your only defense. You collapsed under its weight, struggling, your head thrashing side to side as its inner jaw shot out, aiming for your skull.

You held it off, just long enough.

The xeno’s weight lifted suddenly, and you gasped, the breath finally returning to your lungs. You barely registered what was happening, before your eyes locked on the savage scene before you.

The Yautja had pounced. It didn’t roar or cry out. It fought in silence, its primal, brutal attacks overwhelming the xeno. No armor, no advanced weaponry, just claws, fangs, and fury.

Everything you’d studied about their kind told you they were strategic, calculated warriors. But this? This was personal.

You remembered then—this was a younger Yautja. Not an elder. Not even a forehead scar to mark its first successful hunt. That explained the lack of discipline, the rage driving every blow. It wasn’t fighting for honor. It was fighting to end this, no matter the cost.

Please…

You whispered to yourself.

Please run.

This wasn’t your place anymore.

The xenomorph’s tail twitched, about to strike a fatal blow to the yautja’s back.

You saw it, just in time.

You ran forward and shoved the tail aside with your probe before it could pierce through the Yautja’s chest. The predator paused, its masked gaze snapping toward you. It growled, low, furious. It didn’t want your help. This was its fight. You were in the way.

But there was nothing honorable about dying in blind rage, you thought. You ignored its warning growls and pushed the tail aside again.

That second of distraction was all the xenomorph needed. With a violent shove, it knocked the Yautja off of it and launched itself at you.

You hit the floor hard. The impact stole the breath from your lungs, and for a moment, you couldn’t move. The xenomorph raised one deadly arm for the finishing blow—

But it was yanked off you before it could strike, though not without pain: its claws had grabbed a fistful of your hair, ripping it clean from your scalp. You screamed in agony.

The Yautja’s reaction to your scream was unlike anything you expected. A deafening roar erupted from its chest, a sound so raw and agonizing that it made your blood run cold. You clutched your ears, trying to block out the piercing noise.

The predator had lost all restraint.

It straddled the xenomorph now, attacking like a beast possessed. It grabbed the creature’s jaws, prying them open with brute strength. The xeno shrieked and hissed, its inner mouth striking out and biting the Yautja’s hand, but the predator didn’t stop. It wouldn’t stop.

With a final, sickening snap, it broke the xenomorph’s jaws apart, ripping one entirely off and tossing it across the lab. Then it backed away quickly, avoiding the toxic spray of its blood.

It roared loudly, as if savouring its victory.

You lay there, breath ragged, heart pounding, staring at the terrifying figure before you.

A true menace, in spirit and flesh. It was deadly and the only thing alive besides you in the room.

The Yautja moved slowly now, chest heaving. It looked at the xenomorph’s hand—still clutching strands of your hair. It knelt, touching them gently, its fingers strangely delicate as they brushed against the human hair. It took a second, trying to make sense of what it meant for you to lose strands of hair.

It meant something entirely different in Yautja culture, you figured, since their dreadlocks were more of an organ than hair.

The Yautja now turned to you and slowly stepped closer.

You instinctively backed away, just a little, unsure of its intentions.

Were you next?

It knelt before you, head tilted slightly, its eyes fixed on the bleeding spot on your scalp. You both stayed still for several long seconds.

When it finally moved, you flinched and shut your eyes.

You expected pain, maybe claws digging in…but instead, you felt the soft weight of its fingers pressing near the wound, careful, almost… curious.

You didn’t move, didn’t breathe too hard, just stared as it tilted its head, like it was trying to make sense of your bleeding. You could feel your heart hammering against your ribs, confused as hell, not knowing what to do. Run, fight, say something?

“It hurts,” you whispered, even though you knew it wouldn’t understand.

It stopped.

To your surprise, a soft purr started rumbling in its chest. You squinted up at it, trying to understand what that meant again. The sound rolled out of its chest in slow, steady waves, and for some reason you could feel it in yours.

You didn’t want it to. You were still scared. You should have been scared.

But that sound…

It was doing something to your nervous system, whether you liked it or not. Your shoulders dropped without you realising it. Your breathing slowed. It was like being wrapped in low-frequency sound that you couldn’t shake off. Some primal part of your brain responded to it like it meant safety. Calm.

You didn’t get it.

When you looked up again, it was still making that sound. Still not moving. Still just watching you quietly.

You noticed its arm then, coated in green blood. Your eyes widened in shock. You reached out instinctively, wanting to check the wound, but stopped halfway, afraid it might lash out.

But the Yautja didn’t move. In fact, it seemed to wait.

“Will you let me help now?” you asked, half-joking. If it had let you help earlier, maybe it wouldn’t be this bad.

The alien let out a low grunt, a sound that could’ve meant anything, but didn’t seem like a no.

You stood slowly, and it rose with you. When you moved, it mirrored you, as if still watching your every step.

You made your way to a specific cabinet. You remembered the tools the Yautja came with when they were captured to be studied—medical equipment and some kind of salve that you had studied before. Human medicine wouldn’t help it, but this… this might.

You reached up to the shelf and grabbed what you needed. The Yautja stood close behind, waiting. You turned to show it.

Its reaction was almost funny, looking between you and the supplies as if realizing, maybe for the first time, that you’d been capable of helping all along.

It grunted again, sounding… annoyed, maybe. Then it strode over to the operating table and sat down with exaggerated weight.

You hesitated.

It flared its mandibles at you, letting out a louder noise this time, clearly impatient.

“Okay, okay,” you muttered, suppressing a strange urge to laugh. You didn’t know why, but the way it behaved—almost human—was oddly comforting. And a little terrifying.

[starburstcosmos]

maybe the real sex was the chess we played along the way

[confusedgato]

Warlord sends his regards to the simps (me a simp too 👁u👁👉🏻👈🏻)

[barksbog]

something i hate about a lot of aquarium games is how they don't consider that people playing them will like and care about fish????

it's so normal to have missions that involve horribly dead fish floating in aquariums and their care parameters are disregarded for aesthetics

[edorazzi]

Due to scheduling conflicts we're celebrating Tintin Day early this month! 🥳

Someone said in tags that they could totally see Tintin needing International Rescuing at some point. What better way for the Hood to put iR's integrity on the line than revealing all to a world-famous reporter? Would the Tracys jeopardise their whole operation to save just one life?!

(Un)fortunately Tintin hasn't shown up at work since 1929, so the only sacrifice here will be an old man's dignity. Again. 🪦

[lime-bucket]

alien/predator: the deadliest of species in a nutshell

[hellenhighwater]

It's looking like the cabinet I was going to buy for the redwall pieces is like. two inches too big to fit in the van, which is frustrating. I'm fighting for my life to not cave to the instinct to trailer it because This Project Is Not For Me Forever, which means I have to be able to transport it in my vehicle

But cmon man. Two inches.

[littledemo0n]

In honor of killer of killers finally out (and my brokeass not planning on buying any supscriptions anytime soon which means imma have to wait to pirate it) here's more of my Yautja's OC crew + the kids of red boy

[chicken-blitz13]

I’m obsessed with this bird that I just gotta turn it into a Yautja

[densewentz]

Edwin did not read a little ghost girl for filth in the very beginning of the very first episode for trying to pretend that the age she died at had any bearing whatsoever on her actual current level of maturity and capability just for you guys to turn around and use "he died at 16!!!" to vilify the Cat King and Catwin shippers btw

[afreakforyautja]

Trapped (yautja x human)

Part 2

(I was originally going to keep this as just a little prompt, but your support meant the world to me. So here it is! Part 2 💚)

Read Part 1 | Part 3 💚

The battle unfolded in front of you, the xenomorph looking like it had the upper hand. The yautja had no armor, no weapons, but it was fighting back hard, using its talons to stab at the xeno and shove it away.

When the xenomorph finally had the yautja pinned to the floor, its inner jaw (something you’d studied countless times and always found horrifying) extended out of its mouth. That’s when you thought: this is your chance to run.

You bolted out of the lab, smacking your hand against the panel to shut the door behind you. You didn’t look back. You didn’t want to. You just searched desperately for someone, anyone, (preferably human) who could help you.

That’s when the worst realization hit you: everyone was gone. They must’ve evacuated the moment the yautja escaped.

At the end of the corridor, you saw blood. Red blood. There had been a fight. But it wasn’t the yautja’s, otherwise the floor would be painted in that neon green you’d come to recognize so well.

You ran, lungs burning, mind blank, trying to think of anything -anything- that could help you survive. But panic had a grip on your brain, and you couldn’t think fast enough.

The facility was still under lockdown, but then… the doors started opening. All of them. At once. You knew you had only minutes before something worse found you, something that had already taken out the guards at the far end of the base.

You forced yourself to take a breath and closed your eyes. One image came to mind: the most secure room in the entire facility. The place the yautja had been held. It wouldn’t go back there, no way.

You remembered exactly where the room was and sprinted toward it, hoping you could get inside and lock it before it was too late.

You turned left down another corridor… more red stains. More blood. You couldn’t understand how the yautja had escaped and managed to injure so many people on the way out.

No bodies, though. Maybe they’d gotten away, wounded, but alive.

The door to the room stood open, like every other door. You tried not to think too hard about why the alarms had stopped or why everything was unlocked.

Had the yautja figured out the system? Or had the situation been “contained”?

You didn’t care. You rushed inside and went straight for the glass chamber where the yautja had been kept unconscious.

You knew how strong that thing was, nothing could break it. Not even another alien.

The chamber door was open. You slipped inside and sealed it behind you.

It was small, you couldn’t fully sit down if you tried. It had been designed to hold the yautja upright, strapped at the back.

The only problem now was that you were completely visible. If anything walked in, you were a glowing target in a glass box. No cover, nowhere to hide.

Still, the door was locked. You could feel the humid air around you, engineered to mimic the yautja’s natural environment.

You waited. And waited.

Then… movement. A shadow crossed the lab’s entrance. You froze.

You knew how silent these creatures were, perfect hunters. No footsteps. No sound. You’d always found their stealth fascinating. Studying the yautja had taught you that much.

Over the last few months, you’d gotten familiar with this specific specimen. You were certain it was male. But you still referred to it as “the yautja”. The last thing you wanted was to start feeling attached.

The growing shadow at the doorway snapped you out of your thoughts. You crouched down again, trying to make yourself small. Hoping (somehow) it wouldn’t see you.

But how could it not? You were in a damn glass chamber!

The yautja stepped into the room. Its movements were slow, calculated. Silent as always.

Then you saw it, green blood dripping from its left shoulder. The xenomorph must’ve gotten in a bite after all.

For a second, you felt a strange kind of relief. You weren’t dealing with a xenomorph anymore, you were facing something that at least recognized you.

The yautja turned its head. Looked at you. Then looked away…

Just… ignored you. Like you weren’t a threat. Or worth bothering with.

And honestly, that was fine by you. Even if it wanted to get to you, it couldn’t break through the glass.

Probably.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

rewatching sk8 the infinity and one thing that I missed the first time around is just how carefully Adam curates his actions in his pursuit of Langa. every detail in what he does is carefully tailored to groom and isolate Langa further. and a major example of that is when Adam challenges Reki to their second race.

he does it as a direct respond to watching Langa and Reki make up on his fucking spy cameras. he doesn’t like that Langa repaired that friendship. He wanted him to stay isolated and lost. And he designs his challenge to Reki to sever that relationship again.

He challenges Reki in a note written in English. That’s not Reki’s native language, and it’s not Adam’s either. And it’s not one either of them are shown to be proficient in. It’s Langa’s native language. Langa has to translate it for Reki. Even though the challenge is to Reki, the entire thing is demonstrably for Langa’s sake.

The note calls Reki the third wheel. He makes Langa explain that Reki’s the unwanted, unneeded addition that Adam wants to cull. And Adam doesn’t even try to hide that that’s what’s this is about, because he says it. The race is about to start, and he tells Reki that he’s doing this so that Reki ends up screaming in a pile of pain, and he wants Langa to see it.

If he had actually managed to injure Reki the way he planned, that would have potentially isolated Langa again the way he wanted to. If you love anyone but me, I’ll put them in the hospital. Safer for everyone else if you’re alone.

Because he’s an abuser that wants to be the only one in Langa’s world. So he’ll hurt everyone Langa loves, and he’ll make sure Langa knows it was about him, right down to what language he uses.

[lambmotifz]

pre hell dean is a herding dog. post hell dean is a wolf

[bumblingbabooshka]

Predation. [Patreon | Commissions]

[serpentface]

A typical example of a kulimane hunting dog, a prized animal in Imperial Wardin. They represent the most positive feelings towards dogs in this cultural sphere, an animal that otherwise has an often ambiguous or even disdained status.

Kulimane are the 'hybrid' offspring of domesticated sighthound breeds and the kuliku (colloquially called 'salt wolves'). Kuliku are not actual wolves, but rather the feral descendants of VERY ancient domesticated dogs that have been living wild for millennia in grassland, savannahs, and semi-desert, and are fully functional and efficient predators. Kuliku have slender builds, huge lungs, and long legs, and use bursts of tremendous speed to chase down prey. They mostly take small game, like rabbits, hares, birds, and hippegalga, though pairs are capable of bringing down mid-sized ungulates. They do not readily mate with fully domesticated dogs, but can be encouraged to do so in captivity, thus producing the kulimane.

The production of kulimane was introduced by the third Burri empire and has been fully adopted into contemporary Imperial Wardin. Kulimane are commonly seen as the best and most ideal of hunting dogs, combining the speed, power, and heat resistance and predatory instincts of their wild parents, and the loyalty and tameness, and other bred-in qualities of their sighthound parents. In practice, most Kulimane used in hunting will have been the product of several generations of breeding to produce an ideal animal (initial 'hybrid' generations are often still too wild). Their appearance can vary wildly, but the ideal form for a kulimane is to have a domestic-type coat (fully solid colors are preferred, but rare) and to retain the pointed ears and black tail tip of their wild ancestors.

Most kulimane are independent, intelligent animals that will form close and protective bonds with their handlers, but will be shy and wary of strangers. They usually retain strong territorial instincts from their wild ancestors, and can double as excellent guard dogs. Their disposition towards other dogs can vary- a well socialized kulimane can usually be introduced to new dogs with few issues, but some have striking tendencies to aggression towards strange dogs, and are often muzzled in public. Most are kept in same-sex sibling pairs, and away from unfamiliar or unrelated dogs. They are rarely outright cuddly, often preferring to sit at a distance than to sit on one's lap, but are appreciative of praise and affection from their owners.

Well trained kulimane make for truly excellent sighthounds. They can quickly adapt to changing situations in the field with little to no input from handlers, and quickly and instinctively dispatch most small prey. Their high prey drives Can be a problem for owners. They are frequently known to kill livestock and sacrificial stock, and have a tendency towards surplus killing. You don't want a kulimane to get in with your poultry.

Good kulimane stock is very difficult to produce and takes several generations of breeding, and the animals can be very costly to maintain and keep in good hunting conditions. As such they are VERY expensive animals, and function as status symbols. Sighthounds in of themselves have associations with wealth, and kulimane are specifically associated with royalty and the social elite. They represent the most venerated and beloved end of a very, very wide spectrum of cultural opinions towards dogs in the Imperial Wardi sphere.

The status of dogs in the cultural schema mostly depends on their perceived role. Working dogs tend to have positive cultural connotations- guard dogs and especially hunting dogs are seen as noble animals and symbols of loyalty, and herding and livestock guardian dogs are of great practical value in the rural sphere. Keeping dogs for pure companionship is fairly uncommon, though there are a few established companion breeds in the region. The practice of raising livestock dog breeds has decreased or become obsolete in parts of the region, largely due to Burri influence (which regards the meat of predators and scavengers as wholly unsuitable for consumption), but meat specific breeds like the salutachin are still valued in the city-state of Wardin as providers of an excellent, delicacy meat. The commonality between all valued dogs in Imperial Wardin is their utility, well-established roles, and sharp distinction from feral dogs.

Feral dogs are a fact of life around most settlements. Imperial Wardi cultural outlooks on them tend to be highly negative, characterizing these as uniquely greedy, cowardly, lowly pest animals at best and depraved corpse eaters at worst. Exact attitudes vary throughout the Imperial Wardi cultural sphere, but one near-ubiquitous element is regarding the excrement of feral dogs (and corpses of feral dogs) as potent sources of spiritual pollution that should never be touched with bare skin, and should ideally be removed and buried in barren ground (or their polluting influence should at least be mitigated with a blessing of the tainted location). Superstition holds that stepping in the feces of feral dogs can inflict curses, and the word for 'dogshit' is one of the most insulting terms available in the language.

Hatred of feral dogs is particularly acute in the city-state of Godsmouth. The core city experienced a collective cultural trauma as a result of a siege during the formation of the Wardi empire, in which civilians starved en-masse and descriptions of bodies being eaten in the streets by feral dogs (which were, in turn, eaten by starving civilians) dominate historical records of the event. Feral dogs are by and large hated in this part of the region and seen as outright vile animals and acute sources of spiritual pollution via their very presence. They are actively culled on a routine basis. The outskirts of the city of Godsmouth and some of the city-state's towns have unique practices of allowing semi-tame hyenas free movement through settlements, where they fulfill the dogs' function as refuse cleaners and keep dog populations in check.

While the keeping of feral dogs is generally frowned upon throughout the region, individuals caring for their local feral populations or adopting feral puppies is not unknown, and the distinction between feral and kept dogs (and stigma towards the former) is MUCH less pronounced in many rural communities, where semi-feral dogs may be valued as likable or useful village animals.

No dog breeds are standardized (or even technically 'breeds' in any modern sense), but there is usually great effort to keep working, livestock, and companion dog stocks wholly separate from feral dogs. The word that roughly means ‘mutt’ in this language does not refer to mixed dog breeds as a whole (or even crosses between different types of working dog), but specifically crosses between kept breeds and feral dogs, which is generally regarded as unfavorable (though not uncommon, both due to inevitability in a world without spaying, and practicality- these crosses may produce perfectly good working or companion dogs, and introduction of feral stock reduces inbreeding).

The dog is one of the constellations in the Wardi zodiac, found at the heel of the Hunter constellation and variously interpreted as either being a noble hunting dog trailing its master, or a lowly scavenger looking for scraps. The latter characterization tends to win out in terms of the characterization of its associated birthsign. Being born under the sign of the dog is mostly regarded as inauspicious, and a potential indication of a cowardly, stupid, lustful, and greedy character (though some positive qualities are ascribed, chiefly loyalty).

‘Chinops’ (literally ‘dog-born’) refers neutrally to the dog birth sign, while ‘chinmachen’ (‘dog-faced’) is an epithet given to those considered to have the associated personality traits, which is rarely anything BUT an insult. (These also spawn the purely derogatory phrases of ‘chisnops’, ‘chismachen’, and ‘chismache’, which have functional meanings closest to ‘son of a bitch’ ‘bitch/slut’ and ‘cunt’ respectively)

[rufinator]

Art I did for my Arch Nemesis Friend

My Xeno, His Berserker Predator