#xenomorph activity

[puppetmaster13u]

Meat Marionette 7?? 8????

Thinkin of the lil robins and other kids and just, them trying to build Jarro a meat body maybe. Idk, still rotating Jarro and if he'd have one seeing as they had to build his human form via some different body parts and such...

Anyway did some sleep deprived sketches of each- though I just realized I didn't label Cullen, oh well lol. I like to think the first couple robins are all more flesh and exposed muscle looking as the Tunnels adjust to building bodies that can still, well, grow and develop. They've only just succeeded in building a body that can move and semi function with Bruce after all, and even then it takes a couple years for that body to shift into something more alive with like, a stomach and such that needs more than time in the Hive and some Lazarus water for food and hydration. And even then it's another year or so of the bodies needing to be fed via IV before everything actually becomes semi functional as well, a body.

But anyway, his eleven children!

Dick's body starts out the most simple, but is also the first that they discover that the meat marionettes can in fact evolve seeing as he starts to grow electricity-producing organs almost akin to something like an eel. Which is probably very distressing to Bruce because like, this is his baby?? Who can suddenly tase people which is fine, but what if it gets stronger?

Jason's robin body doesn't get a lot of evolution before the Joker Incident, and then it formed a cocoon to become the next form over a year or so. I do feel like his wings were fluffier and had some down still, not enough to prevent flight, but enough to slow down say, take offs.

By the time Tim & Steph comes around, their bodies have started to develop more armor similar to Bruce's. Like the bodies are slowly developing even when the Hive first creates them from the flesh walls as the Tunnels get better at building living moving bodies. Like it's still are mostly soft larva-esque chitin still, but It's still visibly learning.

And then with Cass her body is far darker, more similar to one of the Bats than the rest of the babies. There's still bits of color- bright yellows to warn for venom and poison- but it's such a sudden left turn that they're concerned about what the Tunnels might do next.

It's a relief when it goes back to more colorful designs with the next ones, even if Duke probably has ended up the most armored straight out of the flesh.

Honestly in general I feel like they're actually very soft if someone gets close enough to touch them. Like they look terrifying, especially in night when it's dark out, but compared to their parent & aunt they're like fluffy baby birds. Something the kids in Gotham are probably familiar with, because the birds will help comfort scared people and victims while Bruce takes care of whatever caused their distress. Sometimes just crouches down and pulls out a small puzzle or something from one of his bags while waiting for the police to arrive while distracting the kids, his own and not.

Jarro if he does have a body like theirs, meat marionette or made by them, I feel like it looks more like some sort of hybrid of whatever the batclan are and some sort of aquatic creature. Like an aquatic (swimming?) xenomorph compared to a runner or a drone. Visibly the same species, but looks almost like a similar caste or subspecies if that makes sense? But honestly if yall have any ideas I am open to them. ______________________________________________________________

Reminder that this Au is a combo of both mine and @phoenixcatch7 so check out their Possessed Doll au, and actually go check them out in general, they have a lot of fun ideas and drabbles <3

[cynicatalyst]

Media with the predalien varient that crosses a xenomorph queen and yautja is HEAVILY slept on.

[milfglupshitto]

hey, there's only us left now

malevolent part 22 shaving scene you will always be famous

this is a digital collage made using photopea- the central image is adapted from this painting from Gabel Karsten's Sink Series!

[dragonikorca]

i think i like drawing them a little too much

not even sure how i did that from memory

anyways hello whoever's reading this, ive been so inactive lately but ive worked up the courage to make a post

[fb9062]

sorry i know its over or whatever but I LOVE watching people's reaction to Meet the Grahams

[sightseertrespasser]

Odds of Survival part 9

Jazz has an itty bitty teeny weeny severe mental breakdown.

Credit once more to @keferon for starting this au.

———————————————————————

Jazz never thought he’d find himself deeply empathizing with the xenomorph from Alien, but here he was.

Doing freak shit.

A lone lifeform trapped on a spaceship with no idea how their technology works, no means of escape and no way to sustain themselves. Skittering across the ceiling and one wrong move away from murdering someone on contact.

Plus, I pop out of my mecha like an actual motherfucking chest burster. So I’m sure that’ll go over GREAT.

The parallels were compounding into existential crisis territory.

It got way too fucking close handling that checkup with the medic. Trying to keep his cool felt like he was trapped in an hours long quick time event. Every question had to be snap judged for the safest possible answer. Completely make shit up and risk getting caught in the act, don’t give away any information and they’ll know you’re hiding something.

Jazz juggled that damn Catch 22 like a professional. Thank you.

Case in point, while one of his mechas arms was still non functional, Jazz managed to maneuver his actual arm inside the cabin to grope around for some water to chug. Without disconnecting from the mecha.

That particular stunt felt like splitting his brain in half with a splintery wedge. The water was absolutely necessary, but the pressure inside his skull rang like an air horn zip-tied open.

Right now the only coherent thought he could form was the overwhelming animal desire to find a dark hidden hole and crawl up inside it. Then repeat that motion by disconnecting from his mecha, finding the most secure hiding spot inside that, and passing out for oh just a quick little 24 to 36 hours.

The pilot paused. Down the hall, mechas- giant alien robots- had noticed his disappearance. Even through the language barrier, Jazz would recognize the opening lyrics to his personal theme song anywhere: “Oh fuck where’d he go?”

Hidden behind rows of pipes, Jazz counted his inhalations until the thuds of metal feet passed him by.

Was the alien invader from The Thing scared? If it had finished building its spaceship would the Thing really have tried to take over the world? Or was it just desperate to go home?

Jazz was panting. Or maybe hyperventilating. He made a conscious effort to pull air through his grit teeth at an even flow. Even though he couldn’t actively feel his human body, the dull droning dread pressed through the disconnect to whisper “You’re running out of time.”

He didn’t know how long he had left before his stupid flesh sack would start giving out, but he needed to be somewhere safe when it happened. He’d make it. He’d make it because he had to to make it. He was the best goddamn pilot in the entire program and that was for one reason and one reason alone: Failure Was Not A Motherfucking Option.

If his options were do it the hard way or not at all, then the hard way was what the world got.

Once the guards passed, Jazz slunk along the wall, reaching upside down to fry another security pad, only for the door to open automatically.

Risking it, Jazz peaked into the room and not seeing or hearing anyone, slipped inside.

Once the door slid shut behind him, Jazz lowered himself to the ground one handed, scanning the room more thoroughly.

More screens, inactive. A chair and a couch. Miscellaneous wall kibbling, a table, cabinets. Windows.

Jazz gasped.

Glowing clouds of light, layered like sheets stretching into infinity. Star clusters like paint splatters on black velvet.

White and amber. A haze of something pink.

Unconsciously, Jazz moved towards the window, until he could lightly tap his visor against the glass. His field of view consumed by galaxies.

Back when they first launched him into space, Jazz had come to terms with the let down that all he’d get to see was a black slate and maybe a couple dots. The space station didn’t have many windows to start with, and all his space walks took place when the sun was “out”, so Jazz never really got to see as much of the Milky Way as his inner child hoped.

Now, the child was quiet. Face pressed against the glass, Jazz felt his throat closing up.

At least I got this. Even if I’ve got a half life, I got to see the stars the way they were meant to be.

He hovered. Wanting to find a song to match this moment, but couldn’t find anything more fitting than his own breathing. The rush of blood in his ears was still loud, but a white noise that could substitute for silence.

Like a marble rolling off a table, Jazz felt his stomach drop a moment before his conscious mind could follow.

“It’s wonderful isn’t it?”

Jazz had his arm cocked back to turn the poor fuckers face into a plate but locked himself mid swing at the last second. The mech had lifted a tablet to protect himself, and the move was such a Bullied Nerd cliche it stopped Jazz cold.

Now that his heart rate was breaking highway speed limits again, the angry radio static that was his racing thoughts drowned out any coherent thoughts of what to say.

The mech peeked out from behind the tablet and wow. That’s a guy. That’s just a straight up dude. Prowl and Elita were bulky enough that Jazz could at least imagine where a pilot could sit. But this guy? He looked like the only thing he could throw out was his back. Jazz didn’t even know “elderly twink” was a look possible for a giant robot.

Mystery Codger was staring at him. Jazz still had a fist raised.

Do something say something do something say something you fucked up you fucked up either kill him or start lying just do anything brain please.

“Could you help me find my glasses?”

Jazz faltered. “Wu- What?”

The mech uncurled from his brief defensive huddle. “My glasses? Spectacles? Ah, object-sight-improve-positive?”

The pistons in his arm faintly hissed as the tension released.

Maybe-

As if this was all normal, the mech gently set the tablet on the table, before squatting and squinting at the floor.

Maybe I just have actual brain damage.

Acting on mental autopilot, Jazz took the opening to behave like a normal person. Crouching and scanning the floor for giant alien robot spectacles.

“My name is Rung by the way. I actually don’t think we’ve met previously.” Rung said that last bit with an odd inflection Jazz didn’t have the brain power to think about.

“Jazz. We definitely haven’t met.” He couldn’t quite keep the exhaustion from making that last bit come out snippy.

Rung simply hummed and continued his search. For his part, Jazz was taking the moment to center himself, preparing the best mask he could on short notice.

How long could he keep faking it? Prowl had been with him since he woke up and he didn’t show any signs of needing to sleep. They had doctors. Prowl cared enough about his “health” to take him to one. If Jazz collapsed in front of anyone, they’d drag his sorry ass back to the medbay and it’d be game over. He couldn’t just ask for a place to crash or else he ran the risk of tipping them off he wasn’t one of them if they really didn’t sleep.

A faint tapping sound made him twitch in his stupor.

“Now where could the blasted thing have gone.” Rung was sat crossed legged on the ground.

With Jazz. Who’d vaguely crumbled into a kneeling ball under a table.

Jazz stared at Rung tapping his glasses against his chin. The orange mech made eye contact, and Jazz swore to god he caught him smile.

He reached out a hand, pointing, “Found ‘em.”

The smile came to fruition. Rung aha-ed and held his glasses before himself, inspecting them fondly.

“All that trouble for such a small problem. And all I needed was to ask for help.”

Jazz let himself sag slightly against the wall. Dully thudding the back of his head. “Okay. I’ll cop that was a good trick.”

“It did pull you out of your spiral didn’t it?” Rung said sounding way too smug. He pulled a cloth out from where-ever-the-fuck and cleaned his glasses with it.

He’d been seeing these mechs pull out and disappear objects all day like a bunch of Looney Toons characters. That kind of lapse in logic didn’t bode well for Jazz’s mental condition.

He let his eyes close, rationing his remaining focus.

“How’d you know that’d work?” He mumbled.

“You seemed afraid. You stalled out when you saw I was afraid.” Rung simply stated before he then asked rhetorically, “You’re a protector aren’t you?”

Jazz made a noncommittal sound. Lying was his first impulse, but he really didn’t feel like giving this guy more material to hook him with.

The mech laughed once anyways, “You are. Unorthodox too. I can see why you have such a hold over Prowl.”

That got his attention, “I do?”

“Oh yes.” He heard Rung shift into a more comfortable position on the floor. “Even if he can’t recognize the feeling anymore, I think you give him hope.”

Jazz wanted to laugh and he would if he had the energy.

Instead Jazz sighed. “I’m kinda at rock bottom right now man. And currently? Lil bit fresh outta hope myself.”

And ideas.

Jazz was of the opinion that any problem was solvable if you were willing to get crazy enough, but this was like trying to solve treading water a million miles from shore with only sharks for company. He either drown slowly or get torn apart the moment the sharks realized he was there.

“Hopeless mechs don’t stop to stare at the stars in wonder, Jazz.” When he opened his eyes, Jazz saw Rung staring him down like he was insulted. “To be hopeless is to let yourself die. Do you intend to die today?”

“No.” He challenged back, body minutely tensing.

“Are you willing to do absolutely anything to keep living?” Rung poked him in the chest.

“Yes.” He responded just as quickly, but there was a rasp to his voice. Something small and quiet. Not easily caught. Not easily killed.

“Even ask for help?” Rung quirked his head at him, shit eating grin growing by the second.

Jazz deflated, groaning loud enough for his mecha’s speakers to vibrate his bones.

“Look, I appreciate the therapy session doc, but asking for help is legitimately not an option for me right now.”

Rung leaned forward, resting his chin on a servo, “Alright then. List your current alternative options that you alone can accomplish, devoid of any assistance whatsoever.”

Jazz didn’t respond.

The silence continued to linger.

“Go on.” Rung gestured.

Cornered, Jazz could feel his horns pin back and a burning sensation in his eyes. He rubbed a hand over his visor even though it didn’t actually help.

“Where’s Prowl?”

Rung chuckled, victorious. The scrawny orange mech scooted out from under the table and stood, offering a servo to Jazz to do the same.

The brief rest left Jazz jelly limbed, which was evidently bad enough to translate to a faint tremble in his mecha. Despite that, Jazz didn’t take Rungs hand because there’s no way in hell that guy could support him if he fell. Elita’s threat over harming her crew was still fresh and shiny in his mind.

“You’ll find his office down that way.” Rung pointed out the direction. “Down the hall, turn left at the first junction, pass by two more doors, turn right at that junction and then keep walking until you reach the end of the hall. His office isn’t labeled but I don’t think that’ll be an issue.”

Rung opened the door and then took a seat in the chair next to the couch. “I’d offer to have Prowl come to meet you here, but I have another appointment coming up shortly.”

Oh uh. He actually is a therapist.

Jazz laughed humorlessly, “Why not invite them to join the party? Make it a group session.”

Avoiding eye contact, Rung fiddled with a stylus, “Ah, that would not do I’m afraid. My next patient recently figured out how to “bite” people by quickly jabbing his helm forward and I’d rather that not be your first encounter with him.”

“Ah. Gotcha.” Jazz simply nodded numbly.

He paused at the doorway, running the directions through his head again, before turning back slightly. “Hey Rung? Thanks.”

“It’s Rung, and you’re… welcome?” The mech trailed off, looking at Jazz with surprise as the door slid shut behind him.

Walking away, Jazz got about thirty feet before realizing he couldn’t turn his head too quickly or else he’d start seeing double. Feeling the countdown drop into double digits, Jazz hurried along Rungs path.

And nearly crashed into another mech.

It had a head like an old school security camera, a single yellow camera lense cycling down to a pinprick at his appearance. The chassis was crazy long and pointed. Out of habit, Jazz tried mapping out what the interior would look like. The pilot seat would need to be horizontal but it was pretty doable. The limbs were definitely on the skinny side but sharp and fast looking. Bonus points for what was definitely front mounted guns.

All in all, solid design. 7/10.

“Hey.” The mech rasped.

Oh fuck right, Alien.

“Sup.” Jazz replied eloquently.

The camera lense eye loosed, upgrading to a coin sized pupil and clearly looking him over.

“Empurata?” The mech said casually pointing to his legs and visor.

“Uh, sure.” Jazz shrugged.

“Same.” Nodded camera-head.

“Cool.”

The two of them awkwardly stood in the hall. Camera-head seemed content to block traffic and Jazz was mentally banging rocks together in hopes of getting a spark of intelligent thought.

“Can I peel off your visor with a knife?”

The mech held a dagger pinched between its crab claws and Jazz had to bite his tongue not to ask why it didn’t just use those.

Instead, the brain rocks came through.

“Rung lost his glasses.” Jazz threw up a thumb, gesturing over his shoulder. “Needs help. Now.”

Good job brain rocks.

“What? He does?” The mechs head popped up like some kind of fucked up goose, before shoving past Jazz, knocking him into the wall.

“HOLD ON DOC I’M COMING!”

The mech folded inside out into a mother fucking helicopter?! Charging down the hall in a whirlwind so strong Jazz could feel it through his mecha.

Jazz counted to five, and crawled back up into the safety of the ceiling pipes.

He blinks, and he’s staring down another hall. Left turn, two doors, right turn. . . Wait. Was that a right or left he just did? He’s upside down so everything should be reversed right?

He doesn’t remember blinking but the hall is at a different angle. New hall? Or did he just turn his head?

Jazz wants to press the heels of his palms into his eyes until everything holds still but he can’t. So he keeps moving. Keeps hiding.

And then he sees the most beautiful goddamn mech in the universe marching down the hall. Followed by half a dozen substantially less impressive mechs with guns drawn.

Stilling, Jazz remained hidden behind the pipes. Evidently alien robots had the same peripheral blindness to ceilings that human security guards did, as none of them noticed him.

Except for Prowl.

Through the gaps, Jazz watched as Prowl gave rapid fire orders to the armed soldiers behind him. Six mechs. Six guns. Three too many for Jazz to take in his current state. Prowl went silent and his wings twitched. Shivering, Jazz got the deeply uncanny sense he was being intimately observed.

The lights were ringing in a tinnitus B flat. He had the audio feed from his mecha dialed way too high but he couldn’t afford to miss any detail of what would happen next.

Whatever Prowl was said next, it must have been in his native language. Which Jazz found deeply unfair after all the work he’d put into learning Common.

The black and white mech turned to his cohort, waving them down the hall ahead of them. Prowl did not follow, wings still minutely shifting position. Once they were out of sight, Prowl turned on his heel back the way he came. Flicking a single piercing look to Jazz.

Silently. Shakily. Jazz skulked along the shadows after him.

He mental map was fucked. Every time he blinked, Jazz lost track of the most recent few seconds of his life. If Prowl wasn’t stopping every fifty feet to not-so-subtly check that Jazz was still following him, the human didn’t know where he’d end up.

Finally, Prowl reached a door at the end of a hall and entered without any delay. Jazz dropped, moving inside before the door could close again.

“Please don’t freak out.” Jazz cut him off before Prowl could set the tone of this conversation. The mech closed his mouth and after a moment’s consideration, assumed a tense but mostly neutral stance.

“I will not ‘freak out’.” Prowl looked like wanted to say more, but Jazz couldn’t afford that right now.

“Awesome! Because right now I’m freaking out and I won’t be able to keep it together if you start freaking out too.” He was pacing back and forth, not really seeing the mech beside him anymore.

“Jazz.” A servo caught his elbow, stopping him in place. “Where have you been?”

“Oh you know. Here. There. Ceiling mostly. Shockingly unrelated, but I think a talking helicopter wants to wear my face as a hat.” Jazz nodded way too enthusiastically in a manner he hoped translated into an appropriately manic “Please god help me.” grit toothed grin.

Prowl was momentarily speechless before physically shaking off the latest deluge of confusion, “That sounds like Whirl. You would not have encountered them had you stayed in the med bay like you were supposed to. Now I’m asking you again: What are you doing and why are you doing it?”

Audibly cracking, Jazz tried to answer honestly but found his voice locked up. He couldn’t, why couldn’t he..? Why was talking suddenly so fucking hard?

Meanwhile, Prowl just looked defeated. He rubbed that spot between his eyes, not yet letting him go.

“If you cannot provide a reasonable explanation for your sudden shift in behavior, I will have to assume the worst. You leave me no choice but to-“

“I’M REALLY SHORT.” Great. Fantastic. Incredible work brain. Take five.

Prowls optics flickered. Brow furrowing as he looked up at Jazz’s clearly taller mecha.

“That’s not- I mean-.” Jazz clasped his head in his hands, switching back to English. “{I- I- don’t know if this is even real.}”

Something was gripping his arms. Black and white appeared in his vision. “Jazz, please. I can’t help you if I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Common was easy to learn but right now it felt like Jazz was playing Scrabble with a bad hand.

“Prowl, where do you go when you- when you change-body-shape?” He had to stop to breath midway.

Please, please, please this is the last chance for anything to make sense.

But instead the mech slowly shook his head in disbelief, “Where do I..? Nowhere Jazz, it’s still me, I’m not ‘going’ anywhere. My alt form is not a different person.”

The mech gently pulled Jazz’s hands off his head from where he’d been stressing the damage from earlier. “I understand if you’ve never seen an alt mode before but your behavior, your questions, they’re not making any sense.”

Prowl stopped. Optics going wide as placed his servos on Jazz’s wrists. “Jazz are you Crashing?!”

“What? What is that what you call a mental breakdown? Cause yeah I’m having one of those.” He said a little too breathlessly.

“Sit-“ Prowl pulled him down to the floor. “Sit down. I’m calling for a medic.”

“No!” Desperately, Jazz grabbed onto Prowl who was helpless but to join him on the floor. The floodgates opened and Jazz couldn’t stop.

“No no no no, please god no. They’re gonna find out. I need to to tell you. I need to tell you myself. Just, please I’m begging you don’t do it. Give me a chance. Just give me a chance to explain, I don’t want to wake up on a table, please Prowler.”

For his part, Prowl was handling the situation as well as to be expected. He didn’t try to leave again but did get into a more comfortable kneeling position next to the panicking mecha.

“Alright. Alright, I won’t leave. Speak.”

Jazz tried tapping an alternating rhythm on the floor, giving himself literally anything else to focus on. He swallowed back bile and his thrashing fight or flight instincts.

“I’m not-“ Jazz grit his teeth. Telling the truth felt like trying to pop a dislocation back into place. Actually no. Jazz had done that before and it had felt infinitely less unnatural than what he was trying to do now.

Prowl was patient. Bless his heart, motor, whatever he’s got in there. Remaining silent beside him.

The pilot forced himself to take complete breaths, “l. Am not. The same. As you.” One, one two, one two, one two, Jazz counted in time.

“I noticed.” Prowl stated flatly, then softening his expression, “You hadn’t realized you were an alien until now, didn’t you?”

Jazz laughed a little too hysterically, “No, no I Fraggin’ did not. Please don’t freak out.”

“Jazz, you are hardly the first alien species I’ve ever encountered. At least you actually look like a person.”

The pilot got very, very quiet.

“Prowl, what do you think of organics.” Resolutely, Jazz stared down the floor panels, refusing to look anywhere else.

Momentarily, Prowl opened his mouth to speak and shut it again. He shifted to kneel in front of Jazz. Sharp optics darting across his frame. Lightly, Jazz could feel him trace something along his undamaged shoulder. He shivered against his will.

“Jazz.” Prowl got down to where he had to look at him. He spoke so, so softly, “Were you created by organics?”

Well, when a mommy human and a daddy human love each other very much…

“You could say that.” Jazz rasped instead.

He hadn’t even moved, but the energy in the air just went burning cold. Prowl went from soft to deathly serious so fast Jazz visibly flinched.

“Listen to me. You do not have to go back. You do not ever have to go back. I swear on everything I stand for I will not let another one of those things anywhere near you again.” Unintentionally, Prowl was crowding into his space.

Despite himself, Jazz just kept drawing himself in smaller and smaller as Prowl closed in.

“No no no no you don’t get it, that’s not what I meant. That’s not what I am!” He started quiet and steadily grew in volume.

Prowl wasn’t getting it. Instead, raising his voice to match, “No you are wrong! You have a choice now! You aren’t just your function and you aren’t just something they made to die!”

He grabbed Prowl by the shoulders, shaking him, “I DID CHOSE THIS. I KNOW I’M GONNA DIE, BUT THAT’S NOT WHAT I’M FUCKING TALKING ABOUT.”

“Then what ARE you talking about?!” He shouted back.

“I’M ONE OF THEM.” His microphone peaked, and his voice broke.

The quiet hurt. Anything that wasn’t numb hurt. He gulped down air and couldn’t keep more than one eyelid up at a time.

Prowl ground his jaw tightly, practically steaming from reeling back a sense of calm by force, “You are not shorter than me. You are not thinking straight. And You. Are not. An organic.”

Jazz only semi involuntarily rolled his eyes.

“Fuck it.”

He disconnected, and everything hit at once.

Vision went and came back out of focus and way too close. His ears were ringing too badly to hear the sound of his mecha’s chest plates opening, though he knew that they were.

Every fiber of muscle in his body was torn and screaming, he’d throw up later if he had the strength. Jazz did not so much stand as he did lift off the pilot seat and then buckle forward. The hard shell of his pilot suit saved his knee from getting gouged by the corner of the platform he was slipping off of.

That’s fine. He’d land on the steps.

Except, his mecha had been leaning forward hadn’t it?

Like a rag doll, over the edge he went. A huge and blurry and black shape rushing to meet him.

———————————————————————

Is Jazz capable of telling the truth when it’s to save his life? No.

Will he do it out of spite just to prove someone wrong? Yes.

Also, secret props to @somerandomcockroach for showing how fun Rung is to write.

Bonus bit, Prowl finally let his EM field loose far enough for Jazz to notice! It was bad.

-SSTP

<- First Last ->

[darqx]

Pick up the receiver I'll make you a believer

❗️For commonly asked qs please see my BTD FAQ

After doodling the first image that hug body slam meme immediately came to mind and i couldn't help myself 😂

Thanks very much I'm glad you are enjoying my art and characs! :D

To put the answer simply, Rire used to work for the prior King as a Collector (of souls) and he was that King's only Collector and so got the brunt of his ire for any related, perceived fault. Aside from that personal connection Rire also really disliked him because he viewed the prior king as a useless glutton who failed at ruling a sector (conditions were tanking/had tanked for ages), and which the Royal powers were wasted on.

Almost all of his sunglasses are actually normal human sunglasses, he can just see better than a human can 😎

Anything can be a kink, anon :d

Boring victims are often exceptionally weak-willed victims so that's something in particular he dislikes.

Yes he can play the piano and violin, and horseback ride and ballroom dance etc. Put it this way he has a lot of particular small skills that he picked up during his Earth visits so he could hide in plain sight with the upper echelons XD

Not like how a snake or cat hisses which is what I'm assuming you're implying XDDD He can't bite off a limb (his mouth ain't that big) but his teeth are very sharp so he can feasibly take a chunk out of someone or like, completely bite off something smaller (finger, ear...)

I havent added to it in a while (since I dont often find songs I like enough to actually download lol) but this is my current playlist for him in no particular order:

Anon, the fact you capitalised "Aliens" made me think of Xenomorphs and I had to immediately stop thinking 🤣

On a side note, I can't actually tell you either way because he hasn't encountered an alien (that isn't a demon or a human) lol. He'd probably initially treat an alien much like he would treat a common demon, if they are obviously not human, and then if he realises they are also not quite a demon this could peak his interest.

Pointing you in this direction because regardless of the canon answer this proves he could look good in one LMAO

Sorry to burst your bubble but no :d Though I suppose he could simulate the effect by reverting parts of them to their "liquid" state 🤔 DO WITH THAT INFO WHAT YOU WILL.

It is theoretically similar to a human's.

If you can remember his age then that is how old he is :d I'm not really like other creators who give their characs a definitive "birthday" down to the year, mainly because I don't often have set "time periods" in my stories lol.

His birth date falls somewhere between late October - late November though.

In the context of BTD; they just don't like each other XD Well I can't actually speak for Cain, but Rire not liking Cain is partly a riff on general angel/demon rivalry dynamics, and partly because Rire would see Cain as more of a threat since canonically Cain is way more OP than him.

Most of the time when i draw them Cain is also actively getting in Rire's space whilst Rire is actively trying to avoid him, so there's also that XD

It...depends. On which aspect of "ownership" you're implying. For those that he has deals with, he'd calculate what exactly the value of the deal lost would be and in this situation he'd likely write them off as Cain would be more annoying to handle then they'd be worth (he can always make more deals).

If someone was specifically marked by Rire, that's a different level of possessiveness and he'd actually try cos like

Hey guys some offence but why are some of you sending me asks formatted as if i were ChatGPT

Is there one for like, personal ambition or cunning or something cos I don't think he'd be any of those listed lol.

Rire doesn't have a mobile phone and he doesn't need one because he has a demon power that basically CCTVs all his citizens to himself. And really, if he wants to find you he'll find you.

He's somewhere in the middle of that scale through the sheer fact that he's been around long enough to see technology change and would've kept up with how to use things to blend in better, but also doesn't need to use the electronics to the point that he'd need to be an expert at it.

Is this cos Gato is Canadian cos I don't remember a country location being specified when we did it? |D Personally I figured most of the settings were in the US since the US has the most documented serial killers

Also sos no i dont anon, you'll need to either ask Gato or EP or dig through any of their lore posts they might have left.

Think kind of like Rire (he did learn a lot from her after all), but with a more Elizabethan era socialite vibe. Possibly a black widow but we dont have any proof about that.

Has/had a p good relationship. I use both terms because I still never decided whether she was currently dead or not lol.

Lol a misconception but Rire doesn't actually perceive humans as trash XD Trash suggests that he hates them and they wouldn't be worth regarding at all, whereas Rire usually finds them more like...novelties. Or like whatever that feeling that is associated with viewing ant farms or animals performing tricks is. Rire's mother would view them as more like working animals or livestock.

[omgfangirlland]

YOU ALWAYS UNDERSTAND WHAT IM TRYING TO SAY AND I LOVE YOU FOR IT!! (Yes, i was talking about the Demogorgon)

OMG.. I need more part of this! PLEASE MAKE A PART 2!?

-🔱

Here's part two of this drabble! AND HERE IS PART THREE

(I almost didn't see the one about the date- which is funny considering what I had planned since yesterday :)) but that will be a part three- this is getting too long)

ALSO- none of my drabbles are spell-checked beyond once as I write- they'll never be, so, sorry for any weird misspellings or nonsensical stuff- tho' if someone comments about one of them I'll explain/edit.

Cetanu expected a lot to happen when he took four Young Bloods off the mother ship to hunt, get some more experience before they'd have to go off to get blooded-

He expected the little menaces to butt heads, to argue over who actually killed what, to whine and pout, to try and show off by doing stupid shit- their ship crashing, his hellhound running away wounded, and then finding the mutt in the arms of a Soft Meat wasn't part of it.

The Elder Yautja was war-worn, one of the few survivors, scarred and named after their god of death himself due to the life he'd had so far. And yet, Cetanu felt like he was growing sloppy, maybe it was his ego, maybe he actually thought that by now, nothing would surprise him. He should have known better... And about now, he realized he shouldn't have left the Young Bloods without supervision.

Maybe that's why he walked around without his cloak activated, why he let the surprise clearly show in his body language- maybe the crash affected him as well- but he's sure every one of his kin would let the shock settle in at the sight of an Ooman babying their hellhound as a Xenomorph and infantile Demogorgon snuggled at her feet- and the Flerken lazing around in the window didn't help his confusion.

Was Cetanu offended that his companion barely acknowledged him and just snuggled closer to the human? Yes. Very much so. His mandibles clicked together in annoyance before his eyes settled on the human.

They had a code- and while his clan had been exiled from Yautja Prime, they weren't Blad Bloods. They followed the code; he did. You were clearly not even an unworthy opponent. He remembers Ooman's having a saying- lover, not a fighter- and that seemed to fit you. He can't imagine any other reason why these dangerous aliens lie belly up at your feet, why the Xonomorph didn't attack him on sight. You clearly bewitched them somehow. He called for his hellhound again, from a safe distance, just in case.

The tall alien seemed to sputter as his pup whined loudly, much like a husky would, and just wiggled in your arms until its back was turned to his master. Cetanu was stunned- he knew the little bastard had always been hard-headed, but this was just a straight-up tantrum.

Another call for the hellhound earned a huff from it, and as your eyes locked with the old yautja, he just flung his hand in a show of "Are you seeing this?" You just gave him a shaky smile. "So- he's yours?"

You must be a witch. He refused to believe otherwise, that he simply folded because you smiled at him, a human!... The tea you made was good, however, he did not enjoy the metal straw you gave him with it. "Oh- I think I have some stuff that may help in the shed."

"... Thank you." The robotic voice of the translator on his gauntlet answered as he typed, completely refusing to acknowledge the Flerken you called old boy even as it sat on his shoulder. He realized quicker than anything that happened since the crash that you, in fact, didn't know what dangerous aliens had taken in as... pets. He couldn't help but glare at the Xenomorph that kept handing him a ball, patiently waiting for him to throw it with a wagging tail.

And, as it turns out, he did find something that would help, he just wishes he could have told you not to follow him, but his mutt- that will be getting benched for a while when they get back- was insistent on not leaving your side, flopping to the ground and screaming if he tried to grab him. Cetanu gave up quick.

When Cetanu and you finally reached his crashed ship, his shoulders slumped at the sight of the youngest yautja, a male, screeching his lungs out on top of the ship's wing, not yelling anything specific, just screeching, while his middle siblings, a female and another male, were tussling it out on the ground. The oldest un-blooded, another female, just watched the chaos with a bored expression.

As soon as the youngsters saw him, they froze. The youngest stopped mid-screech, jaws still wide open, while the middle young bloods stopped their fighting. Their eyes immediately went straight to the human and her dangerous team of aliens.

They were more confused than their elder. But they rolled with it- it's what they did, they adapted and survived. Still couldn't not be weirded out by the quadruped Xenomorph helping them out with the rebuilding of the ship. Speaking of- it took them a week to fix enough for one flight back to the mother ship. It would have taken longer if it weren't for you, helping them buy what they needed, because they sure as hell didn't know what the closest Ooman equivalent will be.

As the days passed, the un-blooded also noticed a few things. How unsure- insecure, you were of your abilities and of how smart you actually were. How Cetanu clearly cares for you, and how his hellhound always found a way to push you into the older Yautja. They also noticed how your family, which they knew you had, didn't care for you. But that's fine. They'll be your family, and they'll make sure their Elder finally has someone by his side.

The first to join the hellhound on his mission of making Cetanu fall for you was the youngest, Yadaedh, who decided that the meat you made on the grill, with your Ooman seasoning, was too good to just leave behind. The oldest, Ni'yteer, was second, as she simply folded over as soon as you smiled up at her and complimented her strength, if her Leader's brother won't have you, she will. The twins, Ve'sto and Echa, decided together that Cetanu was simply stupid, and he'll die alone if they don't intervene and give him a push to see that the soft meat clearly was into him.

While the younger ones took care of Cetanu, Ni'yteer was on you like white on rice, and she dug in as soon as she heard how much you liked looking at the stars. "Do you want to travel space?" Her voice was deep, growly, as the mask translated at the same time she spoke, and you just shrugged. "It'll be fun, I guess. But I can't just up and leave."

"Why? Your family won't care." It was mean, but true, and Ni'yteer knew you needed to hear that from someone else. She could see it on your face. "I know..." You almost whispered. It still hurt. "But I can't just up and leave the other animals." And there it was- that would be easy to fix. Ni'yteer patted her shoulder, clicking her mandibles in a soothing manner like her mother used to.

Cetanu, on the other hand, was ready to tape the youngsters' faces shut. Yes, he knew how soft you were, you were a human, and yes, he knew how nice your hair and hands felt in his, and YES he knew Ni'yteer wanted to court you- Wait- His head snapped towards Echa, clicking maddly. "What?"

And if Echa could smirk, she would have. "Oh yea- after she gets blooded, Ni'yteer wants to come back and claim her little Ooman-" That seemed to do the trick as the elder dropped the tools he was holding and went back to your home. Mission accomplished.

They don't know what happened, how it happened, but the relationship between you two definitely changed. Longing gazes and flustered touches, and a promise that he'll come back. And you just smiled, heart heavy. You didn't believe him, not when your own family didn't, but the three days left were spent in bliss.

The first thing he did when he stepped foot on the mother ship was grab his sister, the leader, and pull her into a private room and childishly threaten her that if she didn't give him a space for his mate and her pets, he'll run away to Earth and elope. It was childish, unfit of him, but he couldn't let someone else take you, Ni'yteer or some other human.

His sister just stared at him. "... Someone fell in love with your ugly mug?"

He got a new space, a whole wing just for him and his lover- the perk of being the little brother of the leader. It, however, took another week before everything was up to par- wall enclosures for the snakes fit with everything they'll need that will keep the air pressure at the ideal Pascal they'll need, the chickens had a space of their own, as did the Demogorgon, big enough for the thing to fit and do as it pleases once grown.

The Xenomorph did take everyone by surprise. "What do you mean your little Ooman tamed it?!" Another elder almost screamed at the information, and Cetanu shrugged. "Exactly what I said."

When the mother ship landed, it did so quietly, but not unseen. And when you opened your back door and saw Cetanu- not even caring when Fluffs and Goober sneaked past to run in circles with Predator- you started tearing up. He did come back, and not to just leave you again, but to take you with him- you and all your fur babies.

By the time Bruce and the others reached the place, the ship was gone, and so were you. Someone took you, his baby- the child he didn't even know moved into the fucking forest to take care of cryptids. That won't do.

...Cetanu's sister was ready to fight him for you if he ever made you sad, and you stopped cooking and making those sweet things you humans were enamored by.

"She's OUR human now-"

"No."

"Yes-"

I am a female yautjas being bigger and stronger truther 😩Ni and Cet are long "haired" and Ve'sto has one side longer than the other.

Y'all seemed to yearn for this part- so I hope you don't mind the tags @lotsakitties @demis2955 @rad4bean @bunnymysteriously

[revelboo]

So a question not a request, what colour do you think is their release? transfluid ? BC in G1 transformers energon is pinkish glowy? And some artists who draw nsfw draw it the same pinkish colour and others white? What do you think? Like how do you imagine it?

I usually imagine pink 🤣 but I grew up with G1. I’d guess it would have to do with their diet, though. Like when TFP Megs gets into his SpaceCrack ™️ or TFP Ratchet gets into synth-en. I’d think if there’s enough in their system, their release would reflect that. Same with unprocessed blue energon, if that’s what they’re ingesting, that’s the color their release would be. 🔞 mass displaced mech 🌶️

Slick

TFP Megatron

• Rumbling lazily as he slips free of you and rolls onto his back, his head turns to watch you push yourself up on shaky legs. Taking satisfaction as his excess trails down your inner thigh. Up until you look down, nose wrinkling and then go still. “Are you still doing your purple psycho drugs?” Gritting his denta, he vents tiredly.

• Hear him growl and you turn his way, brows arched daring him to deny it when his glowing, purple alien slick is running down your leg. Don’t even want to think what his space crack jizz is going to you. “Wherever would you get that idea, pet?” He asks, grinning sharkily as his optics do a lazy perusal of you. You’d noticed his optics hadn’t been as bloody red as normal, but they hadn’t been glowing purple either.

• “No drugs while you’re sparked. How is that so freaking hard to get through that head of yours?” You snap at him, your anger going straight through him to his spike, feeling it stir again as he pushes to his peds and you freeze, attention dipping to his erect spike bobbing between his thighs. “Don’t you dare- I’m mad at you right now.”

• Grinning as he stalks you, he lunges and you bolt the other way, bare feet noisy on his berth as he follows you in no real hurry. It’s not like there’s anywhere you can hide. “If you don’t want me tainting our sparkling, then come take it from me,” he challenges, servos flexing. Because you’re going to sooner or later. This is embarrassing and it’d be a debacle if any of his command finds out he’s a carrier. That his human pet sparked him.

• This again? You have no intention of bailing him out by taking the spark. Especially since he’d not asked before trying to knock you up with his demon spawn. And you’re just trying your best not to think of a mini, evil him. One’s enough. Since it’s his kid it’ll probably burst out of him like a xenomorph and you want nothing to do with it. “I’m good with mini you staying with you.” With him for a dad, that kid doesn’t have a chance anyway and you’d probably end up a chew toy if it has denta like his.

(Sorry I haven’t been too active today, I got sun burnt mowing)

[puppetmaster13u]

Just rotatin straight up feral xeno Bruce who still absolutely despises killing stuck in a lab sort of area in space.

Buddy stuck in a lab alone for a while, not even on a planet but up in space for like, most of his formative years. Growing slowly but steadily up constantly trying to call to a hive that isn't there because he's so far away from anything. Slowly learning and recognizing words and objects through both memories and trial and error while slowly becoming more humanoid. Slowly going from it to her to him as he learns more about himself and gains more individuality from just a number. And then he has his first escape attempt, which failed but spooked the people enough to transfer him to a planet lab early. A larger facility, one where he can learn faster than before, where there are other xenos even if they're kept far away from each other. He can feel them though, distant thoughts and feelings growing stronger by the week as he molts again and again. His second attempt at freedom, he looks more human than he ever has. Enough to trick the sensors into thinking he is one even if he visibly isn't. He doesn't escape that time either, but he's far too valuable to terminate. He's the sixth attempt in his series, one success in the hundredth of batches. But even restrained he continues to learn. Even through tests and experiments, he stays patient. There will be a third attempt at freedom. He knows it, the xenomorphs know it, the scientists know it. There's a nervousness now, with how human he looks. With how similar he looks to them yet not. A wolf in sheep's clothing, one they created with their own hubris, waiting silently on a chain that could break at any moment.

Yet his attempt is thwarted not by humans or androids or anything else, but himself. Then again it's hard not to stop within the labs where there are others like him, others who are smaller, fragile, young. He knows how to open them, has seen others done so. And he might not have succeeded at freedom this time, but he has found something equally important to him.

Okay I have started randomly thinking about the Aliens Vs Predator game (the 2010 one). Specifically the xenomorph campaign, along with xeno-batfam. Y'know, just slowly rotating it.

Just thinking of a what if scenario slash crossover y'know. I mean the vibes are there with xenomorph experiments and all that y'know. Just pondering on if Bruce never ended up on Earth per se

Heck maybe the JL don't even exist yet or something idk, just rotatin ideas rn lol

Here's a playthrough with no commentary on if anyone is curious, though do be warned for blood violence and death, y'know the usual for Alien lol

[space-emperor]

It’s kind of funny to me that the Djesh started as an afterthought/side joke that didn’t feature largely in the plot but have absolutely become the most interesting part of the story to me.

They’re big old parasitic xenomorph-lookin space bug women, right? They do not have a binary sex—only a select few choose to metamorpihize into a reproductively mature imago, while the others remain infertile neonates for their entire lives. Functionally they are all hermaphroditic and can reproduce sexually or asexually depending on environmental pressures. But also: they’re all women. As far as they’re concerned, so is everyone else.

Their closest concept to gender is relational:

A mother is anyone who creates with her body. This could be a literal gestational mother who lays eggs, fertilizes, or gives birth, but it can also mean a creature or person serving as host to the parasitic larvae. A mother in this sense is typically a final, fatal role immediately preceding death.

The Djesh do not distinguish between “mother” and “aunt” but for translation purposes it’s easier to explain with different terms. An aunt is a type of parent who participates in the rearing of young. If a mother or host survives and helps to raise a child, it counts as an aunt-parent. An aunt’s role is to teach and protect and to transmit stories from one generation to the next. An ideal Djesh family consists of many aunts raising young communally—possibly dozens. A family with too few aunts is considered deeply taboo in a way that’s comparable to incest. A Djesh encountering a two-parent nuclear human family for the first time would be horrified and disturbed and have trouble accepting that an intelligent species would reproduce like animals.

A sister is any independent adult who is not actively occupying a parental role. An aunt will revert to sister when her young reach adulthood. An aunt who abandons her role before then is committing a grave taboo—if a Djesh encounters a human who has been deployed on a military or scientific endeavor and left children at home, she will be repulsed and disturbed and potentially hostile.

A daughter is anyone, specifically a child, dependent upon a caregiver. I haven’t made up my mind yet on how this intersects with Djesh conceptions of disability but it’s something I may want to explore.

A Djesh will continue to molt and grow indefinitely. It’s possible that they have the technical capacity for immortality, with no set upper limit. They can regenerate limbs with each molt of their skeletons. As they age, however, the time between each molt grows longer, and the process becomes more difficult and perilous. Because this molting process functions as the only natural limitation on lifespan, there is a taboo against interfering. To succumb to the temptation to help a loved one with a bad molt that would otherwise kill them is to curse them and is a kind of spiritual betrayal… it’s very evil and very, very romantic. The idea of it is horrifying and tragic but they also eat that shit up like it’s Shakespeare.

Most importantly, of course, the Djesh are biologically dependent upon stories. They cannot be Djesh without them. You could incubate and hatch a Djesh egg in a laboratory and provide the larva with all the nutrients it required, but unless you (and, ideally, your entire team) spent time constantly telling it stories, it would never grow into a Djesh. It would survive, sure, but it would take the form of a weird gelatinous animal. This is why Djesh familial units consist of many aunts: the stories and narratives they pass on give Djesh children physical form and act as genetic information more substantially than whatever they inherit biologically. The more stories, the more diverse and robust their DNA-analogue. This is why most Djesh remain neonates and die infertile—they are able to reproduce more effectively by passing down stories than by producing/fertilizing eggs.

Turantirok is sometimes described as the Djesh “religion”. And it is, but only sort of—different populations may have different mythologies and beliefs, but turantirok is better defined as the cosmic force that drives narrative. To other species, Djesh may seem to behave erratically and seemingly act against their own interests. Even those few who manage to get around the language barrier struggle to understand the Djesh, and they are broadly regarded by other species as dangerously insane. In reality, Djesh have an innate instinct for turantirok—they will act according to whatever they believe best furthers a cosmic narrative, up to and including self-destruction. This was an evolutionary adaptation to pass on better stories to their descendants, but now that their planet is incorporated into a galactic civilization, turantirok may be an existential threat.

[alienkisser8783]

I'm trying to get back into writing please don't judge me I know it's bad 😭

Yautja/GN! Reader

Part 1

---------------------------------------------------------

After ages of hard work, you had yourself a nice life. A small cabin in the woods, a small farm and garden, and you hunted for meat when you needed.

That was until you started finding blood splatters in the forest randomly.

Was it hunters? A bear?

You didn't know.

A few of your animals started going missing, and your pets acted up at night.

This night, your dog was standing at the glass doors that lead to your front porch. You grabbed a bat, worried something was going after one of your animals. You walked toward the barn silently and heard a hissing sound.

In the dark, you couldn't see what it was, all you could see was light shining off the thing. You could see the shine off its head as it charged you and you swung the bat down on its head, over and over. The thing's blood was bright green and it made the bat start to dissolve. But it was dead. They grabbed a spot light off a shelf, looking around the barn. The thing had killed a few of the chickens. They kicked at it to see if it was still alive. The thing was massive, a serpent, buglike creature. It was shiny black, with a sharp tail and an elongated head. They crouched down to study it.

Where did the damned thing go? He thought to himself, he'd been sent to get rid of a group of loose xenomorphs caused by a human lab. He'd eliminated all except one that had gotten away. He tracked where it had been, discovering a small farm. He activated his cloaking, looking around. The thuds of a weapon landing echoed through the trees. Turning the corner to look into the barn, he saw a human standing there. They were panting, a nearly disintegrated bat in their hand. A kiande amedha lay slain before them. They were blooded. He let out a quiet purr.

You heard a sound and whipped around to look behind you. Worried another one of the things was coming, you clung to your remains of a bat. You saw nothing as you shined the flashlight.

"Hello?" You spoke softly, hoping it was a person instead of another one of those things.

With a quiet whir, something appeared. It was around 8 feet tall, wearing armor, and a mask. You stumbled back, gasping in a breath. The being approached you, and you were backed into a wall. A soft purring sound left its mouth. It didn't attack you, or seem like it would harm you. It walked over to the dead thing, cutting off it's tail with a knife from its side. It approached you again, with the things tail. There was a hiss as it removed its mask. You didn't flinch as this night had been confusing enough. It motioned to a scarred mark on its forehead, and then motioned to your cheek. You nodded, mostly confused and it lifted the tail, marking a scar on your face. It hurt like a bitch, making you wince a little bit. Afterwards the large being dropped the tail. You swallowed.

He had not expected to see a human standing over the corpse of a kiande amedha. He decided he would reveal himself and mark them as they were blooded and now worthy. They weren't very big compared to him, but they had a bit of muscle, from working this farm, he assumed. They were panicked at first when they saw him, stumbling backwards. They nearly tripped over their own feet. He approached, looking them up and down.

You leaned back against the wall, not knowing what to do.

"What was that thing?" You asked.

"Kiande amedha." It growled. His mask translated it into human audio clips. "Hard Meat." It said in two voice clips.

"What are you? Who are you?" You asked.

It pointed at it's chest. "Yautja. Tar'uk."

It then pointed at your chest. "Ooman. Name?"

"I'm Y/N." You spoke.

"Are you injured?" It clicked and the helmet translated into audio clips.

"Not that I know of." You replied.

"Let me see you." His helmet spoke.

He grabbed your arm, lifting it up to look over you. He saw no injuries other than a cut on your leg. You were still confused as to what his intentions were, just watching him as he looked you over. He reached behind his back for what seemed to be a medkit, pulling out a blue gel. He smeared it on the wound and you groaned in pain, sliding down the wall to sit down.

"Ow! Goddamn!" You yell, the gel stung, badly.

He clicked apologetically. He knew the healing gel stung badly, but it would close their wound much faster.

His helmet played a voice clip of someone saying sorry.

They looked up at him, holding their injured leg. The wound was already closing.

"At least you're nice," they sighed.

[boneapplet]

Bloodline Unknown pt 3

Relationship: Yautja!oc x human!oc/afab!reader

Warnings: minor description of injury, minor reference to cauterizing a wound

Word Count: 542

Requested Tags for All Works: @beckyninja @runin64 @ilovewolvezz

Requested Tags: @r4inlov3r

Masterlist

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4 | pt 5 | pt 6 | pt 7

Kaelen follows them in silence, each step crunching softly in the snow as the wind howls low across the ridge. Body screaming for rest, for warmth, but fear—and something else—keeps her upright. Curiosity. Survival. The flare had bought her a chance. Now she must earn whatever comes next.

Ra’thek leads, powerful strides cutting a path through the snow-laden terrain, every movement deliberate, the predator’s aura radiating off him like heat from a forge. Skurr’va limps slightly, supported now by Zhika, who keeps shooting Kaelen glances full of suspicion and something like fascination.

Stopping in a shallow ice basin, half shielded by the skeletal remains of a frozen tree. With swift, practiced movements, Ra’thek begins clearing space, carving a wide arc into the snow while Zhika activates a compact heat core embedding it in the ground. A low thrum follows, and a shimmer of warmth ghosts over them as the device begins to melt the snow around it.

Kaelen hovers just outside the circle of warmth, clutching her sling tight. She doesn’t know the rules, doesn’t know if stepping closer would be seen as an intrusion or an invitation. Skurr’va grunts, flicking two fingers toward the center. A gesture. Not hostile.

Stepping forward slowly, carefully. No one stops her. She sits down on the ground, legs tucked beneath her to conserve warmth. Zhika crouches beside Skurr’va, inspecting the wound she’d sealed. Running a claw lightly along the cauterized edge and made a short clicking sound—approval, maybe. He looks up and towards her.

“You… helk,” he says slowly, tongue thick around the words. “Naht… enenii?”

Kaelen meets his gaze. “I’m a xenobiologist. I wasn’t supposed to be here. The crash wasn’t an accident.”

Zhika tilts his head. Ra’thek stills. Even Skurr’va glances at her, the weight of their attention sudden and immense.

“My team… we were transporting something. A hybrid. Engineered.” She swallows. “It got loose. Killed almost everyone on board before we hit atmosphere.”

Ra’thek makes a deep, guttural sound—more vibration than speech.

Zhika translates, rough and halting: “He zay… huliss. Dangk’rss.”

“I know,” Kaelen says. “That thing—if it’s still alive—it’s not just dangerous. It was made to hunt. Everything.”

Skurr’va narrows his eyes. “Nade?”

She nods. “Spliced. Xenomorph base. Human. Other DNA. No scent, no heat. It adapts. Fast.”

Zhika hisses low through his mandibles. His fingers dance over his gauntlet, tapping glyphs. A projection flares to life—an aerial scan. Life signs pulse across the basin. One burns brighter than the others.

“Tahrg’k,” Ra’thek growls.

Kaelen leans in. “That’s it. It’s moving fast. If it’s this close…”

She trails off, eyes flicking to Skurr’va. He is still bleeding a bit beneath the wrap. Ra’thek seems to consider, then moves—smooth and sudden. He draws a second blade from his back and steps toward Kaelen. Not menacing—deliberate. She stiffens as he extends the hilt to her. Her hand hovers, then closes around it.

“Yuh fa’yt,” he manages to say.

Not a question.

Kaelen meets his gaze, blade heavy in her grip. “Then I fight.”

Zhika lets out a breathy, clicking laugh. Mandibles quirking as a grin stretches across his face—sharp, wild. Not prey. Not just a voice. She was now part of the hunt.

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: No summary, rather tame, but this like a warning of how far Blasius can go. However, I didn’t include everything as to not spoil his story.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k.

TW // Smut, Tentacles, Things Where It Shouldn’t Be, Crossing Humane Boundaries.

|°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°| {Set Validity}

You’re not quite sure how you got an appendage stuck down your throat with your hands grasping up at Blasius like your life depended on it. You were just trying to move about your own house in the kitchen. Trying to find something to make, swaying your hips then bam! You're suddenly laid back on your own counter with your legs spread open for a certain, bulky marine to take place like he does fit. His armor body completely leaning over yours as the openings in his armor give a squelching sound. The ceramite pieces moving up and down in a breathing-like pattern, telling you that he is not what he seems like from very up close.

“Blasius.” You breathe and talk when you can. Without feeling his tentacles go beyond the humane boundaries of the back of your mouth and down your throat. Feeling like he was searching for something inside of you; trying to push himself further down (without hurting you of course). You were grateful when… throatfucking? With Blasius as you’ve practically trained yourself not to gag at his peculiar actions. His actions that were claimed to be more brutal than what you have read in the books and seen in a couple of movies…

In all honesty? You didn’t think it was too bad. To be… tentacle fucked by the Death Guard. To feel how he could reach places no other sexually active man could, but like a… a doctor could… It was strange, but not bad at all. Pleasurable really. There really wasn’t a time you felt like shit in the morning or at nights or the next… day? Or was it weeks? Either way, you felt too numb and tingly inside to even feel and think about the possible pain he could bring you. If you think he did, you’re pretty sure he would succumb to a lowly puddle as his goal was not to make you feel bad at all. He wants you happy with possible kin growing inside of you.

He creates this… slime around his mass? When he goes to town with you, lathering you with it. It’s nothing harmful sexually or even normally. More like it was just a type of… saliva lobs? Acts like a lubricant and scent marker more or so, but he only produces it when he thinks he’s going to get hot and heavy with you like right now. The joint's of his armor is starting to get slick and drip down onto your clothing. More tentacles coming out to rub the strange slime into your clothing and wrap himself around you the more he can stick and shove his tentacles inside of you, very eager to stuff you with everything he can.

He rumbles down at you, saying the only thing he knows how to speak. “Nest Mother, Nest Mother, Nest Mother.” His words only increasing repetitions when he can smell and feel you weaking beneath him; slowly submitting to his ways of trying to mate with you. He knows immediately what makes you tick. What makes you scream and squirm, and he absolutely loves it. Loves to make you feel overstimulated and at his mercy. He is just doing so well! Isn’t he? Oh, he is! Look at your tearful eyes! Your body is restricting around him too! Let him take care of you like this every day, yes? Yet, he knows you like your independency…

Though, that doesn’t stop him from trying to put a baby inside of you. From anywhere he can: stomach (god damn Xenomorph,) womb, ovary’s, urethra(male.) He will have his damn dream of filling up a nest with his own, blooded kin one way or another. Even at the cost of talking to a Thousand Son to somehow up his chances. Perhaps, he can learn a thing or two from them too.

However, right now he’s just focused on the tight heat of your mouth. How your muscles still pulse with warmth when he’s so far down, nearly going past your diaphragm. His tentacle a bit curled and constricting as he makes sure you can still breathe out of your nose so he can continuously explore the anatomy of a female human. He had too many calls where you have passed out on him, and he gets really sad, and whimpers about it. Believing that he immediately becomes a bad mate towards you for his instinctual actions.

You can feel how everything curls inside of you though. It doesn’t hurt, just… strange. It feels evasive, but it’s gentle. It confuses your brain just a bit. Should it push; throw up this foreign thing out of you? Should it not? You seem to like this thing down you a lot… You’re still taking his tentacles either way. He won’t mind the acid in your stomach. Hell, he eats people. You're the most delicious thing he will tenticalfuck. Anything that tastes of you is better compared to what the grandfathers' brews.

You groan as a squelch sounds out between your saliva coated lips. The tentacles deep in your throat showing no mercy, testing your own limits. Your hands patting Blasius armor that was- is practically curled around you: your hands patting him 3 times. Your senses a bit overwhelmed whenever he tries to push the limits of humanoid you.

He rumbles lowly in response, but ever slowly and purposefully drags his own tentacle out of your throat, mouth then back into his mass with swirly motions. A rather excessive amount of your own saliva and his slime still connecting to two of you by the bottom of your lips and his moving mass beneath his armor. It truthfully should have felt disgusting, sinful, but something in your mind just… blocks those thoughts. You find nothing wrong, nothing dirty about taking in this very much inhumane creature before you with the lower half of his armor trying to rut up into you between your legs.

“Oh, Blasius.” You sigh his name, leaning your back down a bit on the cold counter. A shiver going through your body as your legs try to move around his mass and hook around him, and you do, in a way. Your legs ending up under his armor and squeezing slightly at his mass. The slime of him, and the internal heat of him more sensible there while you can feel his armor cover your legs as well. His gauntlets, full of gleaming tentacles exploring the side of you for a second before he seems to get impatient at your show of submission. What he perceives as submission: lowered forms, rears up and even just laying down. His gauntlets squeezing at your hips, trying to pull you as close as possible. Trying to engulf you with only him.

He rumbles again at you, his shifting helmet looking you up and down like he was asking you off something. He may be impatient, but at least he was asking for permission now rather than before, taking you as he likes. Taking you every time you were already pleasing yourself. Your mind in a blissed state to let him take you then. Yet, over time he has learned to take well, sometimes take foreplay and permission into consideration. Mostly when you seem frustrated; possibly angry at him.

His tentacles swarm around you, spreading that slime all over you. Some appendages slowly slipping up the arm holes of your shirt, bottom of your shirt, the legs holes of your pants, zipper, and waistline. Leaving nothing untouched by him. A low coo coming from him when he finds your heat between your legs. His tentacle automatically dipping between your folds, slowly going up and down, testing you. Feeling how ready you are for him. How wet you are for him.

He can hear you sigh contentedly at him. Feeling how you gently roll your hips back into him, accepting of his actions of mating with you. A sweet, quiet purr leaving him as he moves the tentacle against your entrance to push and curl inside of your pulsing walls. Loving how you mewl out and arch your back for him. His tentacles in your shirt taking immediate attention to wrap around you, trailing down your spine before coming back around to settle on the underside of your breasts, pulling your upper body up a bit closer to his curling form. He was just practically holding you just by himself rather the kitchen counter he placed you on.

He, however, is not much for pleasure himself. Don’t get him wrong, he’ll breed you and keep you warm on his tentacles for weeks if he was in his season, and out of it. He just likes to swim in your pleasure. He can smell your arousal after all, feel it too when he curls his tentacle inside of you just right. Another mewl and a bit of a ramble leaving your lips he violated just moments ago. Your sweet sounds practically praising him as a good mate the more he explores deeper inside of you. The tip of his appendage gently licking at your cervix, preparing you for him just to go a bit deeper than no human man could.

Tilting his helmet, he gently nuzzles against your slime covered collarbone to try and calm you as he felt your body shutter at the sudden touch to your cervix. Again, to you, it didn’t feel painful at all to you, just strange and definitely felt far better than going to the doctors when they have to check you down there with their metal, cold tools. He was a far better candidate to check you… That is if he wasn’t trying to breed you all the time.

He waits until you nuzzle into his helmet, your own little sounds of whimpering coos escaping you, and he finds it absolutely adorable. His appendage inside of you gently squirming against your cervix, trying to get through to your womb when he would have the most success in trying to fertilize you. His tentacle giving a few more wiggles and pops through. Your body shuttering and going limp violently around him, and he thrills at you. Nuzzling back into you, keeping you close while he holds still within you. Waiting just a bit to stuff your little womb full of him.

He may finish; breed you quickly, but not with you feeling like pure jello in the morning. Your body unable to walk for at least half the day, stuck with a very prideful Death Guard that has cleaned himself up quite nicely, but he left you covered in a layer of his slime. His helmet always cooing down at you while his gauntlets keep you down on the bed. Revoking you of your rights to be independent. Actually growling at you when you continue to ignore his clear demand of staying in bed. Not to take a shower that would wash off what keeps you fine and dandy, smelling like him. He figured that one quick…

[ancient-debris]

I like the idea of representing aberrant monsters (beings from other dimensions/realities that don't belong here, think stuff like Cthulhu, Beholders, tentacles from outer space, possibly even stuff like Xenomorphs or the Flood from Halo, etc.) as having a sort of smeary half-blurry half chromatic aberration effect applied to them, sort of like if reality and/or your brain itself is trying to constantly fill in what it considers something that Doesn't Belong. It only goes away briefly in moments if you look directly near or at them which causes the world around them to take on a blurry, smeary and hue-shifted/altered appearance. They're all like a square peg in a round hole and only cease to be aberrant once fully dead and disposed of properly by some sort of active chemical process such as burning, salting, or bleaching them. Simply burying them in soil does no good, but may make your roses glow a little brighter...

[chernaboglord]

Idk if anyone would read this or care to know 😅. But this post will be Cuauhtémoc my predator oc lore, and backstory. Thank you to those who read it. I hope you enjoy it 😊

Cuauhtémoc story starts as a very pup from his tribe. He was considered to be "weak" and "runt" out of the litter of his brothers and sisters. None of the elders or his own parents thought he wouldn't make it through this life, except for one elder. It wasn't out of love or sympathy, but the elder wanted to give the young pup the training so he could get a somewhat fighting chance. The rest was up to him to decide to fight or die.

Cuauhtémoc grew and strengthened his skills and made through his training and rituals. Most thought it was luck that the runt made it to the coming of age ritual. During the time they were taken to Earth for the ritual. They landed in Mexico, where the Aztecs thrived, taught them how to build, and were worshiped as gods.

Cuauhtémoc while preparing for the hunt. He often watched the Aztec warriors train and battle each other. To him, they were honorable warriors and mimic the fighting style mixed with the yautja fighting style. The Day came, and him and his brothers went in. Many doubted that he would live and be killed off first, even his brothers doubted he would make through the ritual.

In the pyramid, where the xenomorphs were bred and lurked. Most of his brothers were killed and stood alone. He took down the xenomorph one by one, but there were too many, along with the face huggers and the Queen.

He could have easily used the bomb,but he was tired of seeing as a runt, saw using the wrist gauntlet to activate the bomb, and he saw it as him being weak. So he took his time to clean out the hive from the xenomorphs and the queen they released. Cuauhtémoc was wounded but pushed on to face down the queen with limited weapons.

After the constant struggle, he took down the queen but was injured from the fight. He set off the bomb to wipe out the eggs and his fallen brothers' bodies. He took the queen 's head and walked out of the temple as the bomb went off.

He took the head to his elders and the ancient that was watching over. Standing tall despite him being exhausted and wounded. He completed the ritual and was now a blooded warrior. From there, he was respected and went on many hunts.

He returned a hundred years later, and he remembered the Aztec and their mighty warriors. He saw them as worthy prey and respected them, how they fought and how unpredictable they were. He wanted a worthy human kill. So he hunted that most powerful and feared warrior of the aztecs.

After an instance battle and nearly dying himself, he claimed his trophy and earned his mark. But he didn't stop hunting, proving his worth. That's why some people that heard about this fight called him "Cuauhtémoc" and spread tales about him of his aggression and determination. He kept that name for one reason or another.

His tale was spread throughout the galaxies and in the yautja society of his successful hunts. Despite almost dying several times, he comes back more determined than before. As he grew in ranks, the more aztec tribal inspired clothing he added to reflect that. Along the headpiece that was wears.

Over time, his name was feared and respected. He hunts were legendary from taking down 2 more xenomorph queens, predaliens, xenomorphs, humans, and many other dangerous creatures across the galaxy. Most dared not to cross him or fought to be taught by him. With those hunts, he grew bigger, taller, stronger, but also wiser.

Now, as the status of Ancient and foster many pups in his lifetime, Now he led many clans and taught many young predators made the member clothing and armor in remembrance of the Aztecs, the warriors that he admired so much. His clan became the highest successful clan in terms of strength and hunting. He is respected among the other ancients. He was also different from the other ancients. He was kinder in a sense that he let in the yautja there are considered "weak" or were kicked out of their previous clan or abandoning are welcomed into his clan. Since he believed the "weak" as a lot more to fight for. As long they showed they could fight, they earned their stay and show their worth.

His tale and status strike fear into others and command respect. His presence alone can silence a room, even facing down a rowdy and angry predator trying to show their strength. He doesn't need to roar or flare his manibles. All it takes is for him to stand there, showing no hesitation or fear. Making even the most hardened, hot-headed, strong warriors to back off in silence, woth their head hung low.

There's one thing he deemed his greatest failer. When he got a small group to capture an alien queen for the next upcoming ritual. One of the Youngbloods that wanted to show that he could take down the queen rather than capture it made the mission go south. Many of the clan members from that group died except the Youngblood. Cuauhtémoc stepped in and killed the queen before more damage was done. Now that Youngblood turned into a bad blood and being hunted. Cuauhtémoc will always see it as he greatest failler, while others see it as great strength to have 4 xenomorph queen heads.

Despite being an ancient with more responsibilities, he still hunts. Some warriors believed he was immortal to continue hunting for so long, even in his old age. Some believed he was god not showing any signs of stopping anytime soon. Cuauhtémoc own words are, "The day I can't weld my weapon is the day I step down." Meaning he's not stopping anytime soon.