You had questions—of course you did. Many of them swirled in your mind, yet none seemed to rise from your throat as you watched Khet'ra storm away. Shyly, and with a pang of guilt, you picked up the cooled bowl of soup. You lifted it to your lips and took a sip.
It was……a bit salty. The yellowish broth carried an earthy flavor—clearly some kind of vegetable stew. Not your favorite, but it was food, and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d eaten. You shuffled closer to Belly, who was happily devouring his portion, already eating more than anyone else around. Some swatted his hands away when he reached for their food. You sighed, trying to savor this fleeting moment of calm, but peace never seemed to last for you.
Barely a minute alone before you heard it.
The others heard it too.
Crying. A pup was wandering nearby, the sound not loud at first—just a broken, frantic whimper that sliced through the air. Something small, desperate, trying so hard to be heard. The cries grew closer. You glanced around just in time to see the little one spot you.
It was the feisty pup who had led you to the main meal earlier, the one you had left behind when you fled. Guilt twisted in your chest as the pup suddenly burst into a sprint—wild, arms outstretched, feet slipping, voice cracking with sobs as they barreled past everything in their way, crying even harder.
Just as the pup was about to reach you, Tarka’do slid into action. His massive hand intercepted the little thing mid-charge, blocking their path with all the casual authority of someone who’s done this before. The pup bounced off his arm, blinking in confusion for half a heartbeat before launching into a full-blown escape attempt—twisting, climbing, grabbing with tiny paws, and escalating their protest from a whine to a full-volume rant. They wriggled and shoved, determined to slip past him.
You set your bowl down, ready to tell Belly to let the little one through—because honestly, watching them cry and strain to get to you was enough to make your chest ache more. Had their parent just abandoned them? Were they okay? But Tarka’do, unfazed and still chewing like nothing was happening, simply shifted his stance to keep the pup contained. The pup’s flailing only intensified, their laser focus on you never wavered. Over and over, they reached, kicked, and squirmed, working themselves into a full-scale tantrum, as if being held back was some kind of crime.
Then, the air shifted.
A shadow swept over the diners. Some swallowed hastily and ducked their heads, others straightened like they were about to be inspected. The space around you seemed to shrink. You looked over……and then up. And further up.
They were taller than Tarka’do.
Seriously—how tall can these aliens get?
You sputtered, watching as the alien’s gaze shifted from the struggling, upset pup to Belly, and for a fleeting moment, to you. The pup made another desperate attempt to get past Belly—louder this time, more insistent—crying out as the larger alien took a step closer. Without realizing it, everyone gave way, moving back to make room, and Belly noticed instantly, pausing his chewing in confusion.
The alien reached down and lifted the pup and only then did Belly recognize the figure behind him. His posture changed immediately—alert, respectful, waiting. The pup didn’t resist being scooped up; instead, the small creature melted into them instinctively, though still upset, still reaching, still straining toward you. The little thing peered over the alien’s shoulder as they turned.
They had to be older—their dreads were white, speckled with gray. What caught you off guard was the large spine braided into those dreads, and the headdress made of some sort of membrane. The pup’s hands clung tightly to their arm, tugging, trying to turn them back, desperately pulling their attention in your direction.
Toward you.
You weren’t sure if you liked that.
The white-dreaded alien shifted their hold—not tighter, but steadier, grounding. Then they turned, following the pup’s eager gaze, the little one squealing in triumph at having won this small contest. Your eyes flicked to Belly just as they stepped back, reaching out, their hand slowly closing around a handful of Belly’s dreads. It wasn’t forceful, but firm enough to make it clear this was no casual pat on the head.
A quiet pull yanked his head back, and he bit down on a snarl that was still visible in his expression. A demand was made—wordless, yet Belly understood. He didn’t pull away, didn’t resist. He waited. The silence stretched, heavy and tense, as the pup continued to reach, still upset, still straining to close the gap between them and you. The white-dreaded alien watched this for a moment before that piercing gaze shifted back to Belly, then to you.
They were waiting for an answer, for something to justify what they were witnessing. The weight of their scrutiny seemed to settle into the air itself, a heavy sensation that almost doubled the gravity in the room. Your body still trembled lightly from your earlier panic, your legs unsteady beneath you, but in that moment you felt the farthest from invisible.
All eyes were on you.
The massive white-dreaded alien fixed their unwavering attention on you, waiting and already judging with a clarity that made you swallow hard as the room seemed to hold its breath. No one spoke, but Belly broke the silence. “Hurt,” he stated, careful to keep any hiss or growl from his voice as the larger alien gave his dreads a firm squeeze.
“Soft ooman……pup bites,” he clarified. That seemed to be enough for them, as his dreads were released. You crawled toward Belly, offering your own weary effort to comfort him, though he seemed more intent on returning to his meal. “Who’s that?” you whispered, but the question went unanswered as you were suddenly hoisted up and slung over their shoulder. The pup squealed in pure joy as you were carried away.
Back to that dreaded dinner scene.
Luckily, you weren’t facing any of them, but that didn’t make it any easier when you were set down and handed the pup, who nestled warmly against your chin. You froze, doing your best not to glance at the armored aliens who clearly seemed displeased by your return. The tension in your throat tightened. The white-dreaded alien studied you, their eyes tracing your gaze toward the warriors feasting contentedly. Without hesitation, they strode over, gripped one of the hunters by the shoulder, and tossed them back. They were finished here—they had to leave.
A few rose in protest, but the White-Dreaded alien’s towering presence silenced them with unspoken authority. The hunters gathered their food and weaponry before departing. Their attention returned to you and the pup in your arms before settling themselves at the head of the gathering. The pup leapt from your grasp, tugging insistently until you sat beside the white-haired alien, then climbed into your lap.
“You spoil her too much, Den-Mother,” one of the others remarked, and several questions in your mind were suddenly answered, the white-dreaded alien was a woman, her name was Den-Mother, and the pup was her daughter. Yet Den-Mother’s focus seemed locked on you. Her pup nibbled at her food, offering small portions to you as well. You shrank under the weight of many curious eyes following her gaze. Clearing your throat to break the silence, you ventured, “So………why are there different groups for eating?” Your eyes swept the scene, taking in the largest group—overflowing with food, bustling with activity, cooking fires sending savory aromas into the air—so different from the smaller, meagerly supplied group you had been with before.
“What a stupid question,” someone scoffed.
You stared at your feet, as if they might offer an escape. “Only those who prove themselves eat here,” Den-Mother stated with all the gravity of knowledge you didn't have yet. “Prove?” you asked, hoping it was something simple. “Hunters, warriors, mothers—those who give their lives and prove themselves worthy of the hunt eat with the clan leader.” another voice chimed in, as the surrounding crowd nodded with such enthusiasm.
The realization hit. Den-Mother was the clan leader. And her pup was lounging in your lap like you were the royal babysitter. You suddenly felt queasy, wondering if you’d just skipped about seven steps in the proving process.
I was re-playing "Unlocking the Wizard's Tower" meta and I had forgotten how tense their dialogue was lol
Just kinda imagined Snargle might giggle about it.
You are…well you were once a school teacher. You quite literally don't belong here. You didn't put a fight, you didn't start the fight. You had nothing to do with the fight.
And yet, you still ended up snatched up and stolen away from your home planet. You count yourself lucky because these……aliens didn't see you as a threat, a thing to hunt, a trophy to claim.
In fact, you think they saw you as a pet.
Rating: M (+18, non-explicit)
Warnings: Panic attack
Tags: Predator, Size Difference, No use of Y/N (Yet), Oc's
Word count: 3,256
Time seemed to tick by slower than a snail. One painfully long second at a time, you sat there, equal parts restless and terrified—and honestly, with good reason. Across the room, Khet’ra was moving on to another blade to sharpen, like a cat cleaning its paws. The massive hunter lounged beside you, staring in that “I’m watching you” way that made you want to evaporate into thin air.
Occasionally, you’d run your fingers through your hair, checking just how dry it was.
“Can…” you began, the fat one popping upright. You cleared your throat. “Can…..I have….something to wear?” you asked, clutching the soft furs like they were the last life line you had. The big one glanced at Khet’ra, who made enough of a slow show as he stood up fully only to turn to face the wall and sit right back down. Message received: no help from him.
A wave of panic hit you—without these furs, you were bare, nude. And worse, Khet’ra owned the furs. If he wanted them back, it was game over. You tightened your grip like your life depended on it. Your dignity certainly did right now.
The big one huffed, rolled his eyes, and gave off the clear sign of someone who’d seen this drama way too many times before. He stared at you once more, then got up and left the hut. You let out a small sigh of relief, though it was short-lived—because, of course, he came back. And this time, he was holding some cloth in his big hands.
Clothes.
For you. What a concept.
He tossed them to you, the tanned pale fabric landing neatly. You stared at it for a moment before cautiously picking it up, turning it over in your hands, searching for collars, sleeves—anything familiar. But, it was nothing more than a narrow strip of cloth, hardly enough to cover much at all, and your face instantly flushed a vivid red.
You glanced toward the towering hunter, ready to protest and explain, but the words caught in your throat as your gaze lingered on him. For the first time, you noticed more than just his imposing size—his clothing, or rather, the lack thereof. Much of his skin was bare, the fabric he wore doing little to conceal him. Your eyes flicked to Khet’ra, who, with his back turned, revealed that only his legs were covered; his broad back and chest were completely exposed.
It seemed clothing here was more suggestion than necessity.
You looked down at the fabric again, puzzling over how to wear it. The massive hunter settled beside you, his watchful gaze fixed on your every move. “How….do I wear this?” you asked, holding the strip toward him. A deep, rumbling chuckle rolled from his chest, intensifying the heat in your cheeks. “Hey!” you protested, but he remained entirely unfazed.
With surprising gentleness, he took hold of your shoulders and turned you away from him, tugging the furs from your body with a swift motion that made you yelp. Carefully, he wrapped the fabric around your chest, tucking it securely at your back, his claws never coming too close. Then he urged you to your feet, winding another length around your hips and rear, letting the excess hang loose.
The fit was…..minimal, covering only what absolutely needed to be hidden, leaving the rest of you startlingly bare. It was far from comfortable, and your skin prickled with self-consciousness.
You looked over yourself, tugging at a few parts in hopes that more could be covered, but would have no such luck.
You tried to shove the embarrassment so far down, desperate to latch onto literally anything else. Unfortunately, nothing could hold your attention, so you ended up fiddling with the translator and tugging at some loose fabric, muttering under your breath. This was just too embarrassing! “I’m..…” you began, tapping your thigh in a frantic little drum before scurrying off. “I’m going to leave now!” you blurted, making a grand exit that included nearly tripping over your own feet but somehow staying upright through sheer panic-powered balance.
Still muttering, you stepped outside into the oven-like air, which immediately began baking your already dry hair into something resembling straw. You glanced around, half-hoping you could make a break for it, imagining yourself sprinting off into freedom.
That fantasy evaporated the moment the big one appeared, placing a hand the size of a dinner plate on your head. “Run?” he asked, as if plucking the thought straight out of your brain. You offered a tight, painfully polite smile and shook your head. “No, no.” Never in your life had you changed your mind so fast—you weren’t about to test alien cardio capabilities.
“And……what do they call you?” you asked, forcing a casual tone despite the fact you were internally screaming. His mandibles clicked a few times, his eyes lit up, and he proudly patted his stomach. “Belly.”
“Belly?” you echoed. He nodded, positively glowing with pride. “Your name’s Belly?” That got a booming laugh out of him, the kind that rattled your bones. “Tarka’do,” he corrected, pointing at himself. “Belly……is extra name.” A nickname, apparently—and somehow, that was the least weird part of your day.
With a tight nod, you spun on your heels and just….. started walking, picking a direction at random like some kind of dramatic movie character with no plan whatsoever. And of course, Tarka'do—Belly, as he so casually sauntered along—trailed after you with the kind of easy, languid relaxation that made you almost jealous. You quickened your pace, but it was trying to outrun your own shadow, he was just there. You were about to whirl around and tell him to take his swagger elsewhere, you instead found yourself mobbed by a pack of pups, turns out Belly wasn’t your only tail.
A few darted between your legs, others tugged at your new clothes, chattering about how you’d finally figured out how to dress yourself properly. The translator was working overtime now that you could understand them—and oh boy, they had opinions. A sudden chorus of high-pitched chirps rang out, and before you could even process, one had latched onto your arm, another hugged your leg, and a couple were making bold attempts to scale you like a very confused tree. One even succeeded in perching triumphantly on your shoulder, squealing while you wobbled like a top-heavy statue.
They were tiny but powered by their little alien strength, utterly unfazed by the fact that you were not one of them, their parents, or even from their planet. And because the universe has a sense of humor, things only went downhill. “Oh—Hey! Wait—!” you yelped right before losing your balance entirely. Belly was instantly at your side—far too quickly, if you asked your pride—while you flailed, trying and failing to maintain any shred of dignity as little clawed hands poked, tugged, and patted at every available inch of you.
“…Clean!” one chirped, delighted beyond reason. Another grabbed a fistful of your hair, proclaiming with equal joy, “Soft!”
"Why does everyone keep saying that?" you whispered to yourself, carefully prying your hair free from their tiny paws. Belly landed with a heavy thump, instantly drawing the attention of several pups who scrambled toward him, clambering up his shoulders and tugging at his dreads while he rumbled a laugh. You attempted to get up, but the pups had no concept of the human need—or desire—for personal space. Belly scooted closer, peeling a few pups off you and letting them swarm over him, though some stubbornly preferred you. One particularly feisty pup hissed and even bit at Belly, prompting a deep growl from the massive alien.
Instinctively, you sat upright and pulled the pup behind you, glaring at Belly, who barely seemed to register your protective stance. The pup you shielded seized a handful of your hair, leaping up to peer over your shoulder and glare defiantly at Belly, making you wince as you tried to gently free yourself from their grip. The pup retaliated with a nip, and Belly shook himself free of the pups like a dog shaking off water before reaching around you to grab the little one. You lunged to reclaim the squirming creature, watching as it writhed in his grasp, dangling by the scruff, flailing limbs, growling, hissing, and baring its tiny mandibles in an almost comical attempt to intimidate someone as colossal as Belly.
Belly growled back, eyes narrowing.
Once again, you moved into action, stepping between him and the pup, jabbing a finger toward him. Even seated, his head rose to your chest. "Don't you dare! Don't you ever do that!" you scolded sharply, turning to scoop the pup into your arms. It squealed with pure delight at being reunited with you.
"Never. Ever! I would never show that kind of aggression to a child!" you nearly shouted, your old job’s memories flashing into your mind—scenes of children in terrible situations, some with appalling parents. You even carried a few write-ups from times you’d almost fought those parents. It seemed that part of you would never fade.
You glared at Belly, a spark of challenge blazing in your eyes. His own blue eyes lit up with excitement at your defiance, almost glowing in the golden light of the setting twin suns.
Yet he didn’t act on it—he simply rose to his feet, his posture radiating smugness. ' 'Alright,' his stance seemed to say, 'if you think you know better and can handle these pups yourself.' He stepped back, a silent cue the pups seized upon eagerly. In an instant, they swarmed around you again. This time, you managed to keep your footing.
“Jerk,” you hissed, but Belly only crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head to the side so the rings threaded through his dreads chimed softly together. He watched intently as you tried to navigate the chaos, too many small hands tugging at you, herding you along an unknown path. Their voices rose in a chorus of chirps, chatter, and joyful squeals.
You followed still clutching the feisty pup who had decided your hair was theirs to braid. As the twin suns sank lower behind the sands, the pups were lifted away from you one by one, their towering alien parents arriving to collect them. The men and women of this massive species leaned in closer than you liked, yet you couldn’t help but giggle when some pups began to throw dramatic fits, wailing as though losing their favorite toy.
One particularly rebellious pup bit their parent in protest, earning themselves the indignity of being held upside down by the ankle, their parent muttering something about how they’d inherited that attitude from their sire.
Once you were alone with just the pup, who had moved on to braid another strand, you waited for their parent to come and collect them. Standing there, a tantalizing aroma began to drift through the air. It smelled delicious, like something cooking—like food. The pup caught the scent, chirped with joy, and wriggled out of your grasp, grabbing your hand and tugging you along.
You followed without hesitation.
The small creature led you around a maze of huts and stalls to the heart of the settlement, where the clan was gathered around a massive stone pot and plates piled high with food, some sizzling over an open fire. Dinner? Normally, you would have found a rock to hide under, clinging to the childish fear that if these aliens caught you at night, they would eat you—a fear that still lingered.
Your gaze swept the scene, taking in parents with their children and towering aliens clad in armor adorned with skulls, bones, fishnets, weaponry, and strange gadgets. They were more terrifying than any being you had ever encountered on this planet—and you knew exactly what they were.
Your chest constricted, breath growing shallow as you gasped for air. A cold sweat broke out even as your body chilled, your legs trembling beneath you, threatening to give way. Cold sweat prickled across your skin even as a chill crept into your bones. Your legs trembled, unsteady, like they might fold beneath you at any second. You couldn’t look away. One of the helmets—That shape. Your vision warped, edges blurring, the world pulling back like it was slipping away from you. A high, piercing ring flooded your ears, swallowing every other sound.
Too loud. Too loud—
You couldn’t feel your hands properly. Your feet felt heavy, distant, like they didn’t belong to you anymore.
You were falling.
Or floating.
You couldn’t tell which was worse. The ground didn’t feel real. Nothing did.
Breathe.
Why can’t I breathe?
The pup tugged at your arm, more urgently now, small hands pulling, confused by your sudden stillness. Startled that you had stopped, unable to pull you forward. Its gaze brimmed with worry as it met your wide-eyed, panic-stricken stare.
You couldn’t move.
You couldn’t move.
The pup tugged at you again, tiny tears welling in its eyes, and a cry escaped its throat, sharp enough to draw the attention of much of the group. Armored figures turned their gazes toward you, and the weight of their stare seemed to sink into your very bones. Before you could think, instinct took over—you spun on your heels and bolted, ripping your hands free from the pup’s grip. You didn’t care where you were going, only that it was away.
Away and far beyond their reach before they caught you again.
You ran, lungs burning, breath tearing through you as the edges of the world began to fade to darkness. Your chest ached with every gasp, your legs screaming for rest, and then—impact. You collided with another figure, a haunting echo of the morning before. But this time, instead of stumbling to the ground, strong arms caught you mid-fall. Panic surged, and you fought wildly, unable to see through the blur of shapes and shadows. “No!” you cried, thrashing, desperate to break free. “Let me go! Let me go!” Not again. Not AGAIN. “Let me GO!”
Suddenly, you felt crushing pressure wrap around you, your feet lifting from the ground as you were held tight. In desperation, your fingers clawed upward, tangling in thick, rope-like locks—only to find the cold, heavy curve of a metal ring. A deep, resonating rumble followed. It was Belly.
Fear still thundered in your veins, but the faint familiarity of Belly’s presence was enough to pierce the storm. Your body gave in, collapsing against him, and the fight bled out of you. In his hold, safe enough for the moment, the dam broke, and you wept until nothing was left but the sound of your sobs.
“What an annoying sound.” Khet’ra was with him, clearly not enjoying your unrestrained wails. He circled around Belly, observing you clutching the larger alien as if your life truly depended on it—and perhaps it did. Belly, unfazed, simply shifted you into a more comfortable position, holding you close and maintaining steady pressure around you.
With only a low chuff, he continued walking toward dinner, Khet’ra by his side. The familiar aroma and faint sounds of cooking made you glance out, only to be met by the same unsettling scene as before. Instinctively, you pressed yourself closer to Belly, who halted upon noticing that something ahead was alarming you. Khet’ra, seemingly indifferent, veered off slightly toward one of the smaller circles.
You watched as he passed a group of armored aliens, several glared and growled, and one hissed at him. Without hesitation, Khet’ra responded by kicking the bowl from their hands.
The near-roar that followed made you flinch, curling inward. Belly, smart enough to avoid the main circle, instead trailed after Khet’ra to a smaller gathering. Space was made for him to sit, keeping you in his lap as food was passed over. Your stomach twisted in knots, leaving you unable to eat, so you simply watched as meats and steaming soup were shared. K’ra grabbed his portion and walked away, climbing onto a ledge to eat in solitude—clearly the lone wolf type.
You glanced around the circle, noting that those present were younger, likely teenagers, or individuals who were not the strongest fighters. Some bore the marks of past battles, missing a limb or a few fingers, a quiet testament to their struggles.
Belly extended a piece of meat toward you, your gaze instantly narrowing on the glint of his claws. A phantom memory of being seized by such talons jolted through you, prompting a quick roll out of his lap and away from him. Tilting his head with curiosity, he offered it again, but you simply leaned back, curling your arms protectively around your legs. Without hesitation, Belly popped the meat into his own maw, chewing as he reached for you once more, intent on pulling you back. Again, you recoiled, your eyes locked on those massive, razor-sharp claws you wanted nowhere near you, unwilling to let him touch you.
It didn’t take long for him to understand, and it seemed the rest of the group noticed as well. Setting his food aside, Belly moved toward the ledge where Khet’ra lingered.
From the corner of your eye, you watched them exchange words until Khet’ra hurled a rock at him with a low growl. The act only spurred the larger hunter into climbing the ledge, seizing Khet’ra by his thick dreads, and dragging him down without pause, ignoring the hisses and pained noises. Khet’ra’s mandibles flared wide in protest as he was forced down beside you, and when he attempted to rise again, Belly shoved him back into place.
“Feed,” Belly commanded Khet’ra, gesturing at you.
You scoffed, defiant. “I can feed myself,” you muttered, only to be proven wrong as Belly moved to hand you something to eat.
Khet’ra rolled his eyes, making it clear he refused to help you. You’d already used his bath and his furs, yet he clearly didn’t want to be blamed if you starved. With a grumble and a string of complaints, he snatched up some food and shoved it toward you roughly. You flinched, bracing for the sting of claws…..but you never felt them. Or even saw them.
You took the food only to set it aside, curiosity sparking as you caught his hands in yours. With a swift motion, you tore off his gloves, revealing rough, darker skin beneath. There were no claws. Frowning, you reached for Belly’s hand, making him drop his meat. He growled but didn’t protest as you compared the two—Belly’s sharp, dangerous claws, so natural alongside his mandibles, and Khet’ra’s bare fingers. No claws. Not even nails like yours. Just rough, calloused skin.
“You…..you don’t have claws?” you asked, the words hanging in the air like a spark before a fire. It was the wrong thing to say.
Khet’ra ripped his hands from yours, his eyes glowing with something dangerously close to hatred. He stood abruptly, glaring at you as though you had committed a crime. Fisting the front of your clothing, he yanked you upward, words trembling on the edge of his tongue. You leaned back, trying to escape his heavy, hot breath, until suddenly he dropped you.
Turning his head sharply away, he kicked sand in your direction and stormed off without another word.
You are…well you were once a school teacher. You quite literally don't belong here. You didn't put a fight, you didn't start the fight. You had nothing to do with the fight.
And yet, you still ended up snatched up and stolen away from your home planet. You count yourself lucky because these……aliens didn't see you as a threat, a thing to hunt, a trophy to claim.
In fact, you think they saw you as a pet.
------------------------------------------
I am not a writer and this is just some self-indulgent fun :)
------------------------------------------
Rating: M (+18, non-explicit)
Warnings: Blood, swearing, being yanked around
Tags: Predator, Size Difference, No use of Y/N (Yet), Oc's
Word count: — 3,713
You’ve lost count of how many massive, clawed hands you’ve been passed between, traded from one to another without any apparent reason. It was as if these towering beasts had no idea what to do with you, as though you were a loose end they couldn’t quite decide how to tie off. You were far from dangerous, nowhere near worthy of being considered prey for a hunt.
Yet the pups adored you—immensely.
That seemed to be the sole reason this clan refused to trade you to others.
You’d seen them conversing with travelers, traders, and members of neighboring clans. Many took an interest in you, their curiosity often sparking heated arguments or even outright brawls. You still remember when one of the youngest lunged at a traveler who had pointed at you and spoken. Whatever words they used struck a deep nerve, so much so that it took several adults to pry them away, sending the traveler off and delivering the hot-headed youth a very stern and painful reprimand.
It became clear—this clan had no intention of letting you go.
And yet, sometimes you wished they would.
It wasn’t as though you were truly cared for or attended to. You still wore the same clothes you’d been taken in, your hair unwashed and tangled nearly to a matted mess, with no way to ask for help that yielded anything more than a dismissive pat on the head before you were shooed off to entertain the pups. Nights were spent in temporary tents, taken down the moment they were no longer needed, leaving you drifting in a life that was neither home nor freedom.
They didn’t seem to care in the slightest. To the pups, you were a fascinating treasure. Their tiny hands would clutch yours as they eagerly led you about, or insist you sit so they could climb over you, tugging at your clothes and hair. They babbled in words you couldn’t understand, but somehow you just knew they adored your company. It often became a struggle for their parents to pry them away from you.
Which led to your current predicament—your scalp throbbed with a sharp, lingering sting. One particularly determined pup had refused to let you go, its small yet surprisingly strong fingers gripping your hair until, in the struggle, a few strands were yanked free when their parent finally managed to pull them off you. With a hiss of pain, you rubbed the side of your head, sinking onto the warm sand. Exhaustion weighed heavy under your eyes, tears threatening to spill.
You tried to comb your fingers through your hair, but each attempt ended in tangles that trapped you, forcing painful yanks to free yourself from your own head of hair. Still, you kept trying, even as hot, wet tears rolled down your cheeks. You swallowed the sobs and hiccups, pressing on in a desperate attempt to tame the matted mess, but it was hopeless.
A frustrated cry escaped you as you curled in on yourself, holding your breath like it could somehow hold back the overflow of stress. The silence that followed didn’t hide you for long.
One of the massive beasts approached, looming over your curled form before effortlessly lifting you by your shirt. Its other clawed hand cupped your cheeks, tilting your tear-streaked face toward its gaze. Those keen eyes studied your red-rimmed eyes, your weariness, the tension in your frame. Tilting its head, it called out to the others.
You kicked and twisted in its grip, shaking your head violently. “No!” But they didn’t understand that you didn’t want to be stared at, that you wanted nothing more than to be left in peace.
Why couldn’t they just leave you alone?
Your struggle barely registered with them as a few others approached, glancing you over with the same unimpressed indifference, hardly interested in what the problem could be. You were simply upset, and now every little thing seemed to set you off.
What was the problem here?
You twisted and writhed in their grip, flailing as frustration and stress poured out in shouted demands that they put you down and leave you alone. You were certain they were only halfheartedly checking on you, more concerned that the pup’s favorite toy was crying than with your actual distress. The alien words and clicks filled your ears, their mandibles snapping and scraping together, and you were almost positive you heard one of them laugh.
That was enough to push you over the edge you’d been teetering on.
A few more tears slipped free as you rubbed your eyes and bit your tongue.
Screw this!
They didn’t get to treat you like this and expect you to endure it for long. Without attracting their notice, you slid one arm free from your shirt sleeve, shimmied slightly, and dropped out of your shirt entirely. You landed with a soft thud on the sandy ground, still ignored until the sound of your retreating footsteps broke through their apathy.
You were running.
The one who had held you stared after you, then glanced at the empty shirt in their hand before looking back in your direction.
You were running!
Amid what sounded like teasing jabs exchanged between them, none of them were paying attention to the fact that you were getting away—until they decided to follow. They were gaining on you fast. Exhausted, underfed, and filthy, you swore you wouldn’t let them catch you. When one drew close enough to grab you, you ducked sharply and darted in another direction, stumbling over your own feet in your frantic escape.
You wove through buildings and crowded stalls, slipping past towering aliens whose surprised gazes followed your sprint. You had been timid for so long that no one thought to stop you.
You only stopped, gasping and wheezing, when you stared into the wild expanse ahead—a rocky desert scorched under the relentless glare of twin suns. Marching out there would be the sort of bad idea people write cautionary tales about, the kind where your obituary ends with “...and that was the last anyone saw of them.”
Still, with a deep breath and legs wobbling that burned, you lurched forward. Behind you, your pursuers barked out a string of clicks and alien syllables that you simply didn't understand and at this point, you didn't want to.
You refused to look back—nope, no thank you.
Out here you had a shot at some dignity, a chance to clean yourself up, to do something, anything, other than wander aimlessly and serve as afternoon entertainment for their adorable but overly enthusiastic pups.
Granted, those pups would be the only ones you’d actually miss. They adored you in that slobbery, tripping-over-their-own-feet way that made your heart melt. But this was about reclaiming some control, maybe even freedom—assuming you survived.
Unfortunately, your grand escape plan had one tiny flaw, you were terrible at it and tired. Taking a sharp turn to vanish into the rocks, you instead plowed face-first into an alien wall of brick-like muscle. The impact bounced you back, your nose making an unsettling crunch. You hit the ground flailing, clutching your face as blood trickled down.
You were now full-on bawling, the kind of crying that could win awards for sheer volume, as you scrambled back to your feet. Blood and tears glued your tangled, disaster-zone hair to your face, but you still made a valiant—if pitiful—attempt to scuttle away, just in time to be scooped up by the alien you’d literally bumped into.
They held you aloft by your thoroughly abused hair, giving you the once-over like a shopper finding an oddly-shaped vegetable in the produce aisle. Their featureless black mask revealed nothing, but the way they held you at arm’s length screamed, “Wow, this one smells weird.”
The other aliens finally caught sight of you, their previously frantic movements slowing into something suspiciously like amusement. Flailing uselessly because, unfortunately, you weren’t equipped with detachable hair. Your legs barely had the energy to twitch to kick out and fight back, so running was officially off the menu.
You couldn’t turn your head, but you knew that sound—the hissy, chittering mockery of beings who thought they were hilarious. The rude laughter made your eyes sting all over again with fresh tears.
You must have looked like the most pathetic lost pet.
A very stupid lost pet.
The other aliens sauntered off, chuckling to themselves while the one holding you finally dropped you like a disappointing snack. Your legs folded instantly, leaving you sprawled on the ground, too tired to care, and teetering dangerously on the edge of just giving up entirely.
The alien that had dropped you lowered into a crouch, watching the light slowly fade from your eyes. All you wanted was rest, to go home, to be left alone—but that clearly wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Rising again, they seized one of your feet and began to walk, dragging you behind them. Yet, they did not lead you back to the clan. Instead, they skirted around it. You ignored the way the sand scraped and burned against your skin, dismissing the discomfort. Whatever was to happen would happen, it hardly seemed to matter anymore.
You only noticed the hut as you entered it. When they dropped your leg. Even then, you rolled over, making a desperate crawl toward the door. But you were quickly stopped, dragged back, lifted, and tossed onto a pile of furs—soft beneath you, yet you still fought to escape. You pushed against the hands restraining you, twisting and writhing to avoid the claws that gripped you.
What froze you was the glint of a knife, sharp and terrifying. You stared at the weapon and the hand wielding it, yelping when it descended—yet it never touched your skin. Instead, it sliced cleanly through your ragged clothes.
“No!” you cried, too exhausted to care about your sudden nakedness. Those clothes were the last remnants of your world, the final connection to your home and family.
You scrambled to clutch the shredded fabric to your chest, tears streaming anew—cold, heavy, and filled with grief. These clothes had been all you had left.
Your gaze met his—wide-eyed, watery, and with a lip quiver but their mask remained as expressive as a brick wall. Now that you were free of your clothes, they lounged back like they were waiting for you to do something. Instead, you scooted away, clutching the tattered fabric like it was a precious relic. You weren’t hurt from pain or exhaustion, oh no—this was heartbreak over seeing your last tie to home reduced to a sad, floppy rag.
You hiccuped, which apparently was as welcome to your captor as nails on a chalkboard. They watched your melodramatic sorrow—face buried in the ruined cloth, wailing like a tragedy. With growing irritation. Then, with a hiss, they slung you over their shoulder, pried the fabric from your fingers, and ignored your flailing limbs. You went full tantrum, kicking, punching, and unleashing the kind of scream that could shatter glass.
"Let me go! Put me down! You absolute jerk!" you cried, not caring that the twin suns gleamed across your completely bare skin. "Put me down right now!" And, to your surprise, they did—by dangling you for a heartbeat before dropping you straight into steaming water. You resurfaced like a drowning cat, coughing, sputtering, and blinking at the rocky ring around you. Steam curled in the air, hot water soothing your aching muscles and rinsing away months of grime.
But you refused to relax. Your face flushed as you crossed your arms and tried in vain to cover yourself when you realized what this was.
Naked. Bathing. And being watched.
The audacity!
You splashed them in outrage, only for them to sidestep. Without missing a beat, they strode over, grabbed your hair, and forced you to sit in the water. Then they crossed their legs behind you and casually removed their mask, gloves, and gauntlets.
Their hands found their way into your hair. You flinched, expecting the scrape of claws—sharp and unrelenting. Instead, their fingers threaded gently through your matted locks, working carefully to untangle the knots. You sat stiffly, keeping yourself covered, but you couldn’t fight off the comforting warmth of the water or the soothing sensation of those hands brushing through your hair.
Against your better judgment, you relaxed, sighing as you leaned back. The alien spoke in a voice that carried words you didn’t understand, but you paid no mind. All you wanted was to bask in the rare kindness of this touch—the first in months.
It was tempting to drift off, to pretend you were safe at home.
You nearly did, until a harsh yank jolted you awake. You pushed yourself away, glaring at the alien before grabbing hold of one of their dreads and giving a sharp tug. A guttural growl escaped them as they shoved your head under the water, holding you there until you released your grip. When you surfaced, coughing, they had stepped back, rubbing at their head and the offended dread, still glaring.
You stuck your tongue out defiantly.
“That’s what you get for pulling my hair,” you huffed. “You pull mine, I pull yours.” The words seemed to ignite something in them—anger, frustration—before they gave an undignified gruff and disappeared into the hut. Seizing the moment, you ran your fingers through your now almost tangle-free hair, scrubbing at the stubborn grime. You needed this more than you realized.
When they returned, you steeled yourself for a hopeless battle. Once again, they seized a fistful of your hair, wrenching you up from the water. Your bare body twisted and writhed as you yelped, clutching at their arm and cursing through the sharp sting.
In their other hand gleamed a collar, and though you shouted your protests, they snapped it around your neck without hesitation. The click echoed in your ears before they released you, sending you plunging back into the water.
You instantly clawed at the collar, desperate to tear it free, but they caught your hands in an unyielding grip. You struggled, trying to wrench yourself away, but their strength was overwhelming, dragging you close until your faces were mere inches apart. Your gaze, almost against your will, swept over their alien features—golden eyes glinting, scales overlapping in segmented armor, mandibles clicking with a low, menacing growl. “It is a translator,” they declared.
And you froze.
And meekly, "oh." They let you go, twisting your around to returned to untangling your hair.
And then…nothing. Awkward, heavy silence hung in the air as the massive alien loomed behind you, his hands working through the tangled nightmare that had once been your hair. With one final tug, he freed you from the mat that had been threatening to become a permanent part of your skull. You stayed tense, because who knew if this was genuine kindness or the world’s weirdest prelude to disaster. “…Thank you,” you muttered, because manners still mattered to you at least, apparently. The alien responded with a snort so loud it could have startled small wildlife, then gave you a shove that nearly sent you face-first into the bath before stalking off.
“Wait!” you blurted, suddenly realizing that, naked and alone in an alien bath spring, you might actually prefer the company of a grumpy space giant. “Uuhhh…” Their glare hit you like a laser blast, making your brain short-circuit. “What…is your name?” you asked, instantly regretting every decision that had led to this moment. They rolled their golden eyes with. “Khet’ra.” Well, that was…….something. At least now he had a name. Him. Definitely him.
You finished scrubbing yourself clean, feeling some of the stress melt away along with the grime, and for a brief, shining moment, life didn’t seem so bad—until you realized there was absolutely nothing to dry off with. Out of sheer mortification, you slid back into the tub like a shame-ridden otter. Looking around before you gathered enough courage or even stupidity to sneak out of the bath and into the hut and snagged one of the furs. Sitting on the rest. Damp, you wrapped yourself up. At least the furs were soft.
You sat there, hair damp and hanging loose like a mop. At long last, you were clean—truly, gloriously clean—after months of grime that could probably qualify as its own ecosystem. It felt strange, like wearing someone else’s skin, but undeniably better. What felt downright bizarre, however, was the collar at your throat, humming faintly. This ridiculous contraption somehow translated the world’s symphony of clicks, hisses, and nonsense into actual words, a language you can finally understand.
And your current captor? Oh, just the picture of unsettling domesticity.
He sat nearby, sharpening a blade with the kind of slow, deliberate patience that made you wonder if he was timing it to the beat of your rising anxiety. It was almost…meditative. If meditation involved looming threats and pointy metal.
You did your best to not look at him. Or the hut door. Or the tantalizing possibility of escape that dangled in your mind like an inconvenient daydream. No, the plan now was simple: stay incredibly still and hope the universe forgot you existed. Maybe then you could get real rest, sleep. Maybe even food. Even if you had to acquire it through stealth worthy of a raccoon raiding a trash bin.
Naturally, the universe decided to be difficult.
Heavy, purposeful footsteps thudded outside, each one sounding like it was stomping on your fragile hopes. Khet’re’s head snapped toward the door. He growled low and deep, tossed the blade aside, and stomped over. You, apparently, had been downgraded from “captive” to “furniture” in his priorities as he left the hut. Outside, his muffled voice would he heard—maybe an argument—filtered through, though your translator only caught fragments. Whatever it was, it sounded one-sided.
The entrance to the hut darkened as something enormous ducked inside. Your brain stalled for a moment, struggling to process exactly what you were seeing.
Tall. Broad. Shoulders so massive they looked capable of lifting small vehicles with ease. Long, thick dreadlocks cascaded down, absurdly long, several dragging across the floor behind him. Metal rings chimed softly as he moved, and red ribbons were threaded through the locks. He was by far the largest alien you had seen yet—both in height and sheer width. In his grasp, massive clawed hands encircled Khet’ra’s throat. Not squeezing, merely holding him aloft, watching with eerie calm as the smaller alien thrashed and shoved against the unyielding grip.
Then, slowly, lazily, his gaze found its way to you.
He froze. You froze.
For several long seconds, the big hunter stared at you, then tilted his head to the side. Dropping Khet’ra unceremoniously, he rumbled, “…Small.” He rumbled.
You blinked several times, instinctively tucking more of the furs around yourself. That…..that was the first thing he noticed? The giant stepped closer, the ground shifting under his weight, and you scooted back until your spine pressed against the wall.
He crouched when he was close enough, and up close he was even more imposing. His bright blue eyes locked on you with an intense, almost childlike fascination, as though you were some strange, newly discovered creature. Like a shiny, exotic insect. And with a sinking feeling, you realized that was probably exactly how he saw you.
He leaned closer. Closer.
Closer.
You helded your breath as a single enormous finger reached out and poked you. He poked your arms. You yelped and bapped at his hand. The hunter jerked back, slightly surpised but he returned to your personal space quickly. The translor hummed, "….Soft." You stared at him, at those dreads and mandable with terrifying teeth. He stared back.
Slowly and with the kind of scientific curiosity usually reserved for poking mysterious buttons, he prodded your arm again. "Stop that!" you snapped, swatting at his massive hand. The giant blinked, glanced at his hand as if it had betrayed him, then looked back at you.
Without warning, a deep, rumbling sound rolled from his chest, vibrating through yours. The translator hiccuped before spitting out, “…Funny.” Behind him, Khet’ra loomed, the very picture of annoyed disinterest.
The larger aliens gaze shifted to your damp hair, and with surprising delicacy, he lifted a few strands between two claws, inspecting them as though they were priceless silk. “…Strange… fur,” he declared.
“I am not fur,” you said flatly, pressing your back further against the wall in a clear attempt becoming one with it. He considered this, then nodded sagely. “…Small not-fur.” You opened your mouth, then shut it again. Really, where does one even start?
His vivid blue eyes flicked toward Khet’ra. “…Yours?” you spluttered instantly. “I am not his—” “No,” Khet’ra cut in, blunt as a hammer. The big hunter tilted his head, processing this, before turning back to you. “…Good.” You frowned. “Good for what?” Determined not to be excluded, you demanded clarity. His mandibles spread in what could only be described as a grin. “…You run?” Your stomach performed a graceful swan dive into your shoes.
Khet’ra returned to his spot, blade in hand, resuming the sharpening with the calm menace of someone who’d been waiting all day for this moment. “Do not.” The big one blinked slowly, eyes glued to you like you were the most fascinating bug in the room. “…Why?” Khet’ra didn’t even glance up, steel rasping against whetstone.
“Because,” he said evenly, “you will chase.” The bug hunter’s eyes lit up. “…Yes.” You stared between them in disbelief. “You two are not seriously treating this like a game.” The towering hunter leaned in until he was far too close for comfort, curiosity radiating like heat. “…Run?” he asked, almost wagging an invisible tail.
You crossed your arms. “Absolutely not.” He let out a sigh. “…Unfortunate.” Still, he didn’t budge. Instead, he plopped down beside you with the grace of a falling boulder, dreadlocks spilling across the furs like some dramatic visual flourish.
Apparently, the strange little not-fur creature was worth watching.
hey um. so sorry to tell you this, but op of that post plays toys kinda weird. yeah you should just block them, that's not how normal people play with toys
dailybridgerton
theartofmadeline
titsay
annaxmalina
2087
