Sharing for inspiration

Maladaptive Millenial. A place for my hyperfixations.

[loulouyautja]

City Hunter being a turbulent kid

A thread

Lost one arm with a nuke bomb on it in the city

Let a human uses his technology

Make a mess in someone’s bathroom (tiles were ugly)

Cooks some meth

Takes drugs

Opens doors very discretely

Nocturnal noise

Loud music and dance while grandpa Greyback is trying to sleep

And cherry on the cake:

Has his cheeks on the internet

“That’s not how I raised him!”

[wthtorke]

Avp Elder Headcanons

SFW

Elder is a tired old man and all he ever wants in life is peace and quiet. That said, please hug this man and tell him you love him, he’ll melt. Being an elder is no easy business, he has many responsibilities and being the mothership’s commander drains him to no end. While his position is highly regarded and of the utmost honor, like any job, Elder often finds himself wanting to scream and run away. Though these thoughts do vanish when your relationship gets serious, of course. Elder feels reborn every time he wakes up by your side. There is just something in seeing you laying next to him on the huge bed you share. Yautjas value this part of relationships to another level; being vulnerable. The feeling he gets when he sees you shift a bit, inching more toward him in your sleep is priceless. Nothing could ever compare to knowing that in those 20 minutes he has before having to get up, it’s just you and him. No ship, no clans, no problems. Just the two of you and nothing else. Elder has no time for public displays of affection for he’s very busy during his shift, but he tries his best to check on you at least once during the day if your jobs don’t align.

NS//FW

While one must think Elder must be sexually satisfied due to his position on the ship, Elder held no real interest in pursuing short term partners. No interest and no time, that is. While Elder is patient and doesn’t mind taking things slow, sex with him is intense. He will always favor holding you down and using his weight to pin you down. If you catch him after a particular rough shift, be prepared to be bed ridden for the next day. Another thing he discovers with dating a human is he doesn’t need to be in control all the time. He has an awakening when you tell him he should just lie down and leave the rest to you. Quickly becomes a fan of being taken care of once in a while. If you have a praise thing, Elder is right up your alley. Contrary to belief, he’s very vocal; his job requires him to be vocal and he definitely has no problem telling you how good you’re doing during sex. Just like the praise, he also has no qualms in correcting you if you happen to disobey his rules. While his patience runs thin with overly disobedient/challenging people, hearing you tease to him has him using authority techniques in the best way possible to get you back on track.

— This was seen in November on 💫Patre0n💫

Reminder that I’ve got a $1 tier so pls support this lil gay alien simp, thanks for reading, hope you liked it <3

[wthtorke]

Now now, why don't you guys tell me what was the moment you realized

"Oh shit I'm into that"

when looking at yautjas?

For me it was definitely seeing Celtic for the first time

Like

Idk something gay happened to me that day

[awmpblr]

First time - I was +- 15, summer holidays, I watched Predator 2 on the ooold tv at the cottage, and I was like: why I am not scared and why is this masked guy so hot?

Second time - earlier this year I decided to see all alien and predator movies and ever since the jungle hunter appeared on the screen, I was doomed… immediatelly found fanfictions on ao3 and yada yada

[wthtorke]

Established romance with your predator boyfriend headcanons, featuring ✨Scar✨

You hadn’t thought you’d find thoughtfulness and affection in a being from another galaxy if you were being honest. While Scar is big and scary looking, you never met anyone gentler than him. It was a sight to see big clawed hands exploring the objects in your house. The way he dragged his fingers over the framed photos and the figures on your shelves, mesmerized with all the alien objects you owned. His favorite quality time activity was to play games, which consisted mostly of him watching you play, as for even the gentlest of giants broke a controller every now and then. Scar has days where he talks and days where he’s mostly silent, but overall, he’s very expressive with his body language. It, as cliché as it sounded, spoke to you. Yautjas rely more on stances and subtle gestures more than words. But, if it was easy for you to read him, it was the other way around, too. Nothing escaped Scar’s sight. He knew if you had slept well or not, if you were in pain or not, and even the intensity or location of said pain, along with if you felt happy or sad or tired. It was nice not having to explain yourself so often. It was nice to have someone who just…understood you. Nothing brings him more joy to spend time with you, whatever way that might be. For him, it’s nice to be able to be himself with you, there isn’t space for that where he comes from, his life was always fast and riddled with rules and tradition and so many things to consider. It’s nice not to worry about being perceived as weak or an idiot. He can be an idiot with you, that’s one of the most precious things ever for him. Speaking of precious moments, little things in life can top sleeping beside a heavy and warm yautja in the winter, especially a cuddly one like Scar. Scar has the ability to fall asleep within seconds of hitting the bed, but what makes it special is that he will still search around for you while asleep. If he’s not touching you somehow, he doesn’t settle down. More than once did you come back to bed after a late night pee break to find him hazily looking around for you, his hand flat on your side of the bed, still warm, but empty. The purring is ridiculous, of course. The way it makes you feel is even more ridiculous. Nefarious. He gets away with everything because of it. It should be stopped. Not by you, though. No, definitely not by you. Not today, either. You think as you squeeze Scar’s face between your hands, watching him look at you like you’re the slightest bit crazy, but his crazy, nonetheless. He thinks, as he nuzzles into your belly. It’s a safe place you both created, just you, him and the stray cats he pops up with every now and again. - This was posted SIX MONTHS AGO ✨Here✨ so yeah, lots to read there lmao

[io-moon-of-jupiter]

Happy Valentine's Day 💘💌

[garnetcicada]

Ontos' daughter

[gloomwitchwrites]

The Scientific Guide to Yautja Breeding: An Anthology

Log Entry: A1Z- 3117. Xenoanthropology Division. Predator OC x Female Reader.

Content & Warnings (mdni): dubcon, mating rituals, breeding, size difference, mild humor, unprotected piv, possessive behavior

Word Count: 3.5k

While observing a Yautja mating ritual, you enter the forest where the chase is taking place, expecting to observe and record in your science logbook. Little do you know that entering is a form of consent, and there is only one Yautja willing to protect you from the others.

ao3 // main masterlist // scientific guide masterlist

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

“That’s not right,” you mutter, erasing the error.

Field work requires hands and hard tools. Paper and pencil are tangible, holds you present, keeps you focused. They’re also the only tools you have, the rest confiscated when you landed on Yautja Prime, greeted by a Yautja clan that weren’t even the tiniest bit amused to see you.

You weren’t armed. Not a threat. Unworthy prey.

They were rightly pissed you arrived on their homeworld, but thought it better to keep you when you opened your mouth and Yautja followed. Your fluency in Yautja only went so far. They were curious but also suspicious, made worse by the Weyland-Yutani ship you arrived on.

Studying Xenoanthropology in school opened the door to employment with the Weyland-Yutani Corporation. They admired your observations about different alien species, offered you a job, sent you off-world to a colonized star system, on a planet that never saw the sun because of industrial pollution caused by Weyland-Yutani mining operations.

Your job landed you in the research labs, in front of Yautja technology. The Company told you all they wanted was to expand their cultural knowledge on the species, but when you were shown the Yautja ship, asking you to decode and translate the information contained within, you knew then that they didn’t care about Yautja culture. They wanted information. They wanted to find their homeworld.

And being the spontaneous idiot that you are, you did the exact opposite. Destroyed the labs, destroyed their research, destroyed the ship. Erased it all and fled, stealing the coordinates for yourself.

You can’t go home. You can’t return to any world or star system that’s been colonized by humans. Weyland-Yutani is looking for you.

A gentle blow, a rounding of the lips, and the grit of graphite disappears from the page. Angling the notebook toward the light, you glance between it and your point of study.

“Could be worse,” you sigh, returning the notebook to your lap. “Could be better.”

On the page are two sketches, each of a Yautja torso. One female and the other male. Anatomy was never your subject, but it’s still important to document, and here, witnessing this cultural ritual, gives you a clear view of their naked bodies. Trust, built over months, is the only reason you’re currently perched on a tree stump with notebook in hand.

A clan matriarch is in heat, ready to mate, but more than one male has caught her eye. Eight yards away from where you sit are a group of male Yautja, five in total. They’re naked except for a stripe of paint on their arms, each a different color designating what subset of the clan they’re from. Females spearhead each clan, typically the strongest amongst their number. When a female Yautja is in heat, her choice must come from a different clan. Like humans, they do not inbreed, the practice causing unfavored genetic traits.

The female Yautja in question, Ahra, is separated from the males, surrounded by other females, their tendrils gray. They are elders, deeply respected and cared for. You focus on her muscled limbs, returning to your sketch, erasing lines and redrawing for emphasis. Tongue between your teeth, you concentrate on the transition from torso to chest to shoulder.

A soft crunch of grass comes from behind you. You quickly turn, finding no one. Frowning, you slowly return to your notebook, only for large hands to yank it from your grasp.

“Bhatul! What are you doing?”

Bhatul, the only Yautja you’ve formed a true connection with, holds your notebook in front of him with both hands, head cocked, black quills falling over one shoulder, several decorated with gold rings. He’s a mix of dusty red, tan, and black spots, common for the members of his clan that live in the warmer, drier regions of Yautja Prime with a healthy amount of smaller quills on his arms and chest.

Using one hand, he turns the notebook around. “Me?” he asks, indicating the half-complete male diagram.

“And what if it is?” you counter, crossing your arms over your chest.

He chuffs. “You show truth. I am strong. Virile.”

The back of your neck grows hot. With you sitting on the tree stump, and him standing in front of you, naked, you have a clear view of his penis. It’s directly in front of your face.

“That’s not—” you begin.

“Do you think she will mate with me?” asks Bhatul.

“Ahra?” Bhatul inclines his head. “Isn’t it a contest?”

“Yes,” nods Bhatul. “We chase. Subdue. Mount.”

“All of you?”

Bhatul huffs, affronted. “A female Yautja has only one—”

You throw up your hands. “Yes. I know. I can see that.” You turn your head in Ahra’s direction. “Quite clearly.”

Bhatul tosses the notebook back to you. You catch it, nearly falling off the stump from the force behind the throw. “You will not enter the forest.”

“Excuse me?”

He steps forward and kneels, bringing him eye-level. “I know you. Too curious.” Bhatul lifts his hand, imitating a head opening and closing its mouth. “Talking.” He changes to two fingers that walk along an invisible surface. “Following.”

You roll your eyes. “You tell me to follow. And I have to.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “Makes other Yautja jealous.”

“Jealous?” you deadpan.

“You are…pet. Other Yautja want pet.”

Unbelievable. You’d pull on one of his mandibles but that would only rile him up more than he already is. Bhatul enjoys pushing your buttons, but it’s never mean. He was the first to approach you without an ulterior motive, to ask questions and answer yours in return. A friend, you suppose.

“So, what?” you laugh. “I’m your dog?”

Bhatul snorts, his mandibles flexing. “Dog?” he repeats slowly, the human word sounding odd in his mouth.

Since arriving, you’ve only spoken Yautja, but write your research in your native language. There are no mandibles for you to use, and the mouth structures are different, but they understand, even when you butcher their words.

“It’s an animal,” you say, switching back to Yautja. “A common pet for humans. Fluffy. Friendly. Cuddles with you. Follows you around.”

Bhatul nods. “You are dog.”

You punch Bhatul in the arm. He makes a rattling, chuffing sound you’ve come to know as the closest thing the Yautja have to laughter.

The first time you heard it, you had asked Bhatul if Yautja only see in infrared as research suggests.

“No,” he had said, tapping a finger close to his eye. “We have a gland. Links to our eyes. Helps us see body heat. Good for hunting.”

“And what if you’re not hunting?”

“The gland isn’t active.” He had leaned in, gaze observing your entire body in a slow perusal. “I can see you clearly.”

You punch Bhatul again. “Are you serious?”

“You follow me around.”

You keep hitting him. “You ask me to. Why do I have to repeat myself?”

Bhatul grabs your wrist, drawing your hand away from his massive bicep. Instead of releasing your wrist, he continues to hold it, staring into your eyes with an intensity that makes your stomach drop. It’s been happening more and more this look.

“I like your company,” he says, his already gruff, guttural voice deepening. “You ask questions.”

“I ask too many.”

“You do.” He drops your hand but doesn’t stand. “Don’t enter the forest.” And then he’s up, heading toward the male Yautja clustered nearby.

Technically, you’re supposed to listen and obey. You are human, not Yautja. You were not given the same rights or privileges. While in most circumstances, you’d listen to Bhatul, this might be your only opportunity.

With his back to you, you pack up your notebook and grab your satchel, easing into the tree line until the large leaves provide enough coverage to hide you. These are not hunting grounds, and the only predators are the Yautja.

Kneeling behind a tree, you carefully observe Ahra dashing into the trees, the males fanning out, the same amount of distance between each. You count the seconds from when Ahra enters the forest until the males takes off. Not all of them follow in her footsteps. Several branch off, splitting away from the main group, adding distance as they pass the tree line. One of the larger males charges in your direction, his speed immeasurably fast, almost a blur to your eye.

You throw yourself to the ground as he leaps. Above you, the tree violently shakes as he lands and pushes off, jumping to another. Hand over mouth, you wait until you cannot see him and the trees come to rest.

Slowly, you ease onto your knees, grabbing the tree to help haul you up to your feet. One step. Two. There is no rush, no need to run after them. It’ll only draw attention, and the point is to observe, not get in the way. You’ll keep back, follow at a distance, observe what you can, and record it all in your notebook. Bhatul will fill in the blanks.

Keeping to a crouch, you shift between the trees, listening for unusual sounds, watching for any movement. There is the wind, the occasional snapping of a twig, the buzz of insects, or a call of a bird. You’re not entirely sure what you’re listening for except the guttural grunts of mating.

You come to a stop. “What the fuck am I doing?” you groan, rubbing at your temples.

Observing a ritual of a secretive alien species that no one outside the species has seen? An amazing opportunity. Stumbling onto Yautja having sex? Less cool. In fact, not ideal.

Turning around, you take a step, intending to return the way you came. You’re mid-stride, determined, and then you’re flying, scooped off your feet by a large, powerful force. The impact is sudden and hard, temporarily pushing the air from your lungs, shoving you into a bout of dizziness.

Everything spins as you cling to whatever’s grabbed you, attempting to breathe through every jolt and jerk, yanked along like a children’s doll. Your captor lands, the impact shaking your bones. The hold around you loosens until you roll out of their embrace and onto the ground.

“I told you not to enter the forest.”

You turn onto your back, inhaling deeply through your nose, and exhaling through your mouth. You repeat the process until your hands stop shaking and there is no threat of falling if you stand.

You crack open your eyelids, staring up into Bhatul’s grim expression. “I’m observing. That’s what I do.”

He chuffs, mandibles flexing in agitation. “You do not understand.”

You prop yourself on your elbows. “Explain then.” Groaning, you sit up fully, rubbing at your neck and lower back. “Not like you said anything to begin with,” you mutter.

Bhatul releases a guttural snarl, quills swishing as he starts to pace. “This is a mating ritual. You are female.”

No shit you big idiot.

Slowly, you ease onto your knees, placing your palm against a nearby slab of rock to help ease the ascent. “I’m not Yautja. It doesn’t matter.”

Bhatul whirls on you, approaching with such ferocity you hit the rock in your attempt to back away. “It does matter. You are human but you are female.” He reaches out, one finger lightly tracing the side of your throat. “You give off a scent. Different from female Yautja. But we know it all the same.”

“You—you know—”

Bhatul leans in. “I smell it all the time.”

Female Yautja produce a specific pheromone when in heat, a signal to the males that she’s in her fertile window. Males don’t become senseless beasts. The instinct to reproduce heightens, and their behavior changes. They want to impress, to show the female their strength, that they are good providers and protectors, the fiercest hunter.

Humans don’t produce sex pheromones, but body odor can change, especially for people with female reproductive organs. Body odor can shift during different cycle stages because of hormone changes, but those changing odors don’t trigger sudden behavioral changes in other humans.

But Bhatul isn’t human. Yautja sense of smell is far stronger. What might be a mild shift in odor to you could be a beacon to him. You hadn’t considered it.

“What do you smell?” you ask tentatively.

Bhatul remains where he is. The space between your bodies is nonexistent. You are small and fragile compared to Bhatul’s height and broadness. He easily stands at two and a half meters. You have to bend your neck at a hard angle to look up at him.

“Sweet. Musky. Earthy.” He steps back. “You’re fertile.”

The urge to slap Bhatul increases by the second. You’d do it, too, if only you could reach his stupid face.

“But we can’t. Yautja and humans aren’t compatible.” Bhatul’s silence rings in your ears. He only stares, which makes it worse. “Bhatul.”

“We can. It’s happened before.”

“It’s happened before?” you guffaw, feeling delirious. “That’s impossible. You’re lying.”

As much as Yautja look like monsters, their eyes are deep pools of expression. Bhatul’s gaze cuts through you, twisting your stomach with staunch clarity.

“Humans are worthy prey. They have killed many of our kind. They have skills we lack,” says Bhatul calmly.

You lick your lips, swallowing hard. “Bridge the gap.”

“What gap needs a bridge?” he huffs, glancing around as if one will appear.

“No,” you laugh, some of the anxiety ebbing. “It’s a human expression. It means closing a divide or reducing differences.” You bring your hands together, interlocking your fingers. “Adding the advantages to your species makes you better predators.”

Bhatul nods. “This is why you cannot enter the forest.”

“If I knew—”

“When Ahra is subdued and mating, the other males will follow your scent. Hunt you down. Fight each other for the chance to breed you.” You place your hands below his chest. It’s the easiest spot you can reach. Pushing against Bhatul does nothing to move him or shift you away, not with the slab of rock at your back.

“You walked in willingly.” Bhatul grasps your wrists, drawing your attention to his face. “That is consent. That you want to mate.”

“Take me back. Out of the forest.”

Bhatul shakes his head, his quills swaying. “Leaving will not change things.”

Prior anxiety returns, overwhelming and overloading. Your hands shake. “I don’t want this. I—” Bhatul’s head whips to the right, mandibles flexing, his forked tongue extending slightly to taste the air. “What?” you prompt. “What is it?”

“They’re approaching.” Bhatul’s attention returns to you. “Remove your clothes.”

“No!”

His next words come with a snarl. “It is me or them.”

Maybe if you close your eyes and curl up into a ball, this will all go away. You’ll backtrack, exit the forest, remain on your stump until the whole ceremony is over.

Bhatul, as if sensing your distress, relaxes a fraction. “Do you think I’ll harm you?”

No. I’m just scared.

You shake your head. “No. Not you.”

“I will fight them,” he reassures, “but it’s better to mate.”

A sad smile crosses your lips. “Accepting the mating means I’ve chosen.”

“Yes.”

“Will it stop them from fighting you?”

Bhatul shrugs. “There is always one male that fights.”

“Okay,” you sigh, shuddering. “Okay.”

You’re barely out of your clothes before Bhatul flattens you onto your back on the rock slab. Stretching out, his large frame covers the majority of your body, his weight balanced to keep you in place but not crush. Bhatul’s thick arms cocoon your head, his chin and the bottom of his mandibles brushing lightly against your scalp as he shifts.

Glancing down between your bodies, your heart drops into your stomach. At the tree stump, you received an up front and personal view of Yautja dick from Bhatul and the other males strutting around, chests puffed up as they flaunted for Ahra. What rests against your thigh isn’t some appendage swinging between their legs. This is supposed to go inside you.

Gulping, you press your face into Bhatul’s chest, hands grasping for a hold as he shifts his hips, his cock pressing against your pussy. Looking is impossible. You refuse. All you need to do is stay still for him and it will all be over sooner than you think. Bhatul will protect you from the other males. He won’t hurt you. He said so, but it’s his actions that yell over his words, the lack of aggression over these long months. Bhatul is fearsome. You’ve seen him spar with the other males, but there is none of that with you. Never.

Reaching down, Bhatul fists the base of his cock. As he pumps, large beads of opalescent semen emerge from the slit. Bhatul pumps and shakes, rubbing it all over your pussy. Every time the head of his cock brushes your clit, you bite back a moan.

Does he even know it’s there? Do female Yautja have one, perhaps something similar, or nothing at all?

“Makes penetration easier,” he says, voice low and gruff. The words come from his mouth, but even you understand the primal switch. Yautja males are not much different from human men.

Nuzzling his neck, you inhale deeply, counting down slowly to relax your muscles in anticipation. Bhatul’s response is rolling clicks that remind you of purring. It’s then that the head of him penetrates, a tight stretch that yanks a gasp from you. He thrusts deeper, and this time you crack, choking on a sob as the ribbed shaft rubs deliciously inside you.

Bhatul’s mandibles flex, that pleased clicking returning. “You are different,” he manages, before a loud crunch of breaking wood fills the air.

You freeze, a sudden chill seizing your limbs as Bhatul shifts into the predator he is. The position he takes is defensive but it is also a threat, bleeding aggression at the Yautja looking on. This male is the largest of the group, Ob-Adtoth, if you recall correctly. His skin is pale and yellowish with sections of dark mottling on the sides of his arms and legs. One mandible fang is missing. In its place is a metallic, artificial replacement. Behind him, you notice two other males, approaching slowly, keeping to the trees.

Go away. Go away.

You repeat it internally, pressing as much as yourself as you can to Bhatul’s chest. His embrace tightens, and while you cannot see his face, you can hear him.

There were times when you sat and watched some of the warriors in the practice rings, sparring for the sake of training. On observation, you took their roars for battle cries. They didn’t scare you, only amused you.

Bhatul’s roar in response to Ob-Adtoth’s does not amuse you. Almost otherworldly, the sound that emerges from him silences the forest, shakes the rock beneath you, ignites that innate flight response. It is a bloodied knife. Lethal force. A violent fist. Bhatul is marking his territory, warning the other males away.

Ob-Adtoth steps forward. Bhatul grasps the back of your head, forcing it back, exposing your neck. This is where you fight of flee, to escape danger though the threat is impossible to run from. Ob-Adoth’s mandibles flare wide but so do Bhatul’s.

Not with a roar. Not with anger.

Resting between his mandibles is your exposed neck. His teeth, each one a sharpened needle, touch your skin but do not break the barrier. The coppery tang of human blood is absent. It does not pool in Bhatul’s mouth or clog your throat. Nothing for him to swallow, and nothing for you to choke on.

Ob-Adoth’s chest puffs, shoulders squaring like he’s ready to charge. Bhatul lowers himself over your body, creating a protective shell. His hips shift back, his thick cock drawing out. It’s the thrust forward that has your eyes rolling, your little human teeth biting into Bhatul’s rough skin as he ruts.

Pain is absent. All you know is pleasure. It builds in thunderous waves, crashing against your skull, drowning. The forest is a distant thing, absent from your current reality. Between your legs is wetness, a fullness that borders on bursting, each thrust echoing in your stomach, until it feels like Bhatul is in your throat.

The orgasm is a severing. A snapped twig. The building pressure peaks, and then expands outward, temporarily stealing your breath and voice. Your body shudders, heart hammering, and then you’re moaning, bordering on screaming, the sound muffled as you bite harder into Bhatul’s skin. You vaguely notice bright green as your head falls back; Bhatul’s mandibles still locked around your throat.

Bhatul’s pace increases, and you ragdoll, unable to do much else. You don’t know if the other males still linger in the trees, or if they’re watching, waiting for him to finish, to strike out when they think he’s most vulnerable.

His arms, which were once a protective cocoon, lift you off the rock, bringing your bodies flush. Bhatul is no longer thrusting, only panting, his cock inside you but still. His mandibles flex, releasing your throat.

You turn your head, survey the forest. “They’re gone.”

Bhatul slowly withdraws his cock, and with it comes a rush of cum. He gently flips you onto your stomach, taking position again, easing his cock into your cunt until your toes curl and you whimper.

“No,” he says. “Maybe.” Your cheek meets cool rock, hands reaching to grasp the edges of the slab. Bhatul begins again. “I must mark what’s mine.”

[awmpblr]

Mar-Tess!Kr-Akh'

aka Tesak for Oomans who are not able to pronounce his name with their funny mouth.

[leafy-yezi]

them

[fantasyofthealps]

Random ass Yautja Doodles GO!!!!

(1) Jully on babysitting duty. She just became an honoury 'auntie' the moment she came to the clan with Sam, because the pups are absolutely fascinated with her. And her cool big spear.

(2) Now this is an interesting question: Do you think Yautja breastfeed or do they chew up food into tiny chucks like how birds do it? The choice is you're....

(3) Just a proud papa Yautja showing off his beautiful (and extremely spicy) pup. Yes, she does bite.

[awmpblr]

I can't imagine what goes through the minds of people who watch Predator and DON'T think to themselves: "God, that alien is hot."

Especially the first Predator with Jungle Hunter?

Any ideas?

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

every time a new hyperfixation finds me, it finds me like this

[awmpblr]

A young Yautja found some strange footprints

I wanted to draw some yautja without armor, just in his comfy loincloth and few decoration. No backstory, just a tribute to these beautiful creatures. ;)

[hijerking]

[smileyfolly]

yknow ever since people realized tumblr isnt dead and have decided to flock here from twitter and tiktok ive seen a huge influx of people in fandom spaces who dont reblog anything. at all.

like, i used to have an art blog with 340 followers. not a ton but not a small amount either given how this website works with creators. and in my experience back then even the ones who only left likes still reblogged other things or at least posted their own stuff. literally the only empty blogs were clearly bots.

but on this New art blog, i've had so many people with fandom-specific headers and icons with actual usernames as urls and some kind of title or description, but have. Nothing. no posts. all they do is like things. and it's always public, too. their following list and their likes list.

and honestly all it makes me think is that these people are New and also don't know how tumblr works. how likes don't give exposure. not even in a "oh, i know it doesn't give exposure, but i'm still going to reblog anyways" way, but in a genuine honest to god straight up doesn't realize tumblr likes don't work like twitter's.

PLEASE please if you're from tiktok or twitter or whatever please reblog people's art both fandom and original if you like it!! and maybe actually pad out your blog's content in some way so people won't potentially see you as a bot and block you.

REBLOG ARTIST'S WORK. THIS IS THE ONLY WAY THEY GET ANY ATTENTION ON THIS WEBSITE OH MY GOD. PLEASE. I BEG of you

[awmpblr]

My pretty boyyyyy Shaman. I am so happy about this purchase.

[shamelessforyautja]

I feel like Yautjas would be somewhat curious about human hair. like, how its maintained, styled, and definitely on haircuts. im sure they have their own haircare for their trendrils?dreads? but they don't have the same amount of strands as humans do (closest one was feral). so I wonder if they'd see human hair as tedious.

your yautja watching you style your hair in the morning or watching it get styled and wondering if your in pain.

you'll catch him watching hair tutorials and lowkey cringing bc if it was them getting their "hair" done then OUCH! (I like to think their dreads are sensitive)

your yautja finding out you LOVE scalp scratches and making it routine before bedtime. he loves to see you drift off with his hands/claws on your head (plus he feels a bit scandalous)

[berriessfantasylover]

You stole the words right out of my mouth; the Yautja must be obsessed with hair, and the fact that it's not sensitive like their "dreadlocks," but the scalp is 😭🩷