I’m pretty sure harry fucking potter would be dead obvious when he has decided that he wants to marry Draco. He’ll say something like “just out of pure curiosity what’s your ring size?” and Draco would spit his drink.
i will never be over the fact that during first contact a human offered their hand to a vulcan and the vulcan was just like “wow humans are fucking wild” and took it
Humanity’s first contact with Vulcans was some guy going “I’m down to fuck.”
Vulcans’ first contact with Humans was an emphatic “Sure.”
“sir…these…these humans…they greet each other by…” *glances around before furtively whispering* “by clasping hands…”
*prolonged silence* “oh my…”
“sir…sir how will we make first contact with them? surely we…we cannot refuse this handclasping ritual, they will take it as an insult, but what vulcan would agree to such a distasteful and uncomfortable ritual??”
*several pensive moments later* “contact the vulcan high command and tell them to send us kuvak. i once saw that crazy son of a bitch arm wrestle a klingon, he’ll put his hands on anything”
Elsewhere, w/ kuvak: “….my day has come.”
The vulcan who made first contact with humans is named Solkar guys. Y’all just be makin’ up names for characters that already have names.
Bonus: here’s a screencap of Solkar doing the “my body is ready” pose right before he shakes Zefram Cochrane’s hand:
I swear Vulcans only come in two types and they are “distant xenophobes” or “horny on main for humanity”. Also apparently this guy is Spock’s great-grandfather and frankly that explains everything.
Hey so I looked into this at one point and that handshake literally created a lifelong telepathic bond between the two of them, and basically all of Solkar’s descendants were later obsessed with humans, including freaking SPOCK, so I’m not saying that handshake was so gay and good that it created an intergenerational telepathic bond between Solkar’s descendants and humans, but I’m also not….not….saying that.
The last shutter clicked as a third head rolled across the floor.
Derek didn’t see. He was looking at Deucalion with eyes that could not quite believe. This was the man who had killed his parents and sisters, the warmonger, Demon Wolf, who parents used to scare their children into sleeping and doing their chores. He was dressed in the finest suit that plundered-money could buy, and flanked by women—Derek had heard them called many things, but he believed their names were Kali and Jennifer—who were as deadly as they were beautiful.
Deucalion did not look fierce now. They all looked tired, but the Demon Wolf in particular looked drained. His raids had taken the Argent Kingdom, the Ito Lands, and just recently those of the Hale’s last ally, Deaton. Deucalion had tried before for the Hale Kingdom. That time it had been Derek’s parents’ and sisters’ sacrifice that had stopped him. This time it had been Derek’s rage.
Derek looked at the heads of three of Deucalion’s other advisors on the floor of the throne room, blood sinking into the spaces between the polished boards. The eyes of two of them were cloudy. All of their necks were rough; the blades of the swords used to remove them had had been purposefully blunt. It had been three hours since the first one, and it was starting to stink.
Derek did not enjoy this, but the old ways had meaning to the people, even as they filmed what was happening on their iPhones.
The head of the most recent to die blinked a final time. Its eyes would soon be murky, too.
The she ‘wolf, Kali, turned and listened to something that a messenger whispered in her ear so quietly that no other ‘wolf in the room could hear. Kali’s eyes went wide and the grip she had on Deucalion’s arm relaxed a little, but she did not look pleased.
“May I be permitted to speak, my Lord Derek?” She was polite enough, if you ignored the way she bit out his name. Even if she didn’t die here, in front of the court, she would soon enough; Derek let it slide.
“You may.”
“We think we have found a volunteer for the Recompense.”
Derek couldn’t help the growl that grew in his throat. “I will believe it when I hear them speak.” The last one they had delivered, who’d left just before the third, and most recent decapitation, had been skittish and afraid and unable to answer Derek at all, let alone truthfully, when he asked if she came willingly. “I am still not certain you understand the meaning of volunteer. An hour may not yet have passed, but I will be happy to speed up my executioner’s swing if you continue to attempt to play games.”
It had been a strange pronouncement by Lydia the evening before, but Derek had no reason to doubt his seer’s predictions: Derek should ask for compensation for Deucalion’s attempt on his lands in the form of a volunteer willing to be publicly claimed. She said that Deucalion’s clan would bring him a tribute from their ranks.
The volunteer, Lydia had assured Derek, would be his Mate.
Peter had been the one to suggest the removal of heads for each hour that passed without Deucalion successfully producing the volunteer. Derek had thought it a little excessive, but hadn’t vetoed it.
Now, Kali whispered to Deucalion, and the man’s frown made his face seem even older than the last three months of battles had.
“This person has asked to be offered.” Deucalion had as much difficulty saying that as his minions did addressing Derek with any respect. His heart did not skip a beat as he spoke though, it seemed this was a true volunteer.
Kali mouthed something, presumably a name, at Jennifer, and the Darach also frowned. This tribute was not someone, it seemed, that they were happy to lose hold of. Now Derek was truly interested.
He sat back further in his throne and and snapped out, “Then bring them, now. We will not wait the hour this time.”
The doors to the hall opened again, and Derek wondered if the rest of the room could hear his gasp or see the way his cock had hardened in his pants. The young man’s heart beat was strong and his head was held high. He wore the same robes that had been wrapped around the frightened woman only half an hour before.
Peter whispered to someone, “Be ready to dim the lights and bring the libations.” Apparently he, at least, had heard Derek’s reaction.
Derek stepped down off his throne platform, around the puddles of blood, and over to the soft bench that had been placed in the centre of the room. The young man—he could not be called a boy, he had twenty summers on him at least, if not a few more—had the dark hair and eyes of one from the west, but his skin looked more like one from the north. Derek sucked in a sharp breath and tasted the sharp bite of magic in the young man’s scent. No wonder Deucalion didn’t want to part with him.
“What is your name?” Derek asked the tribute.
“Stilinski, my Lord. I am late of Deaton’s court.” His voice was rich and deep.
Derek’s cock grew harder.
“Do you stand here as a volunteer?”
“I do, my Lord Hale. A year ago I watched them kill my friends and family before they took a handful of us into the
Deucalion
clan. I have no wish to see any further blood shed. I don’t know if I will survive your bite, but I offer my body and my throat to you.”
No lies. Derek stepped closer, and the young man finally showed an ounce of fear. He should, even if Derek had no intention of harming him.
“Very well.”
Derek heard Peter’s whispered, “Now,” and most of the lights faded and the guards started to herd the bulk of the audience out. The Recompense needed witnesses, but only one or two were necessary. Derek’s uncle, his parents’ four advisors, and Deucalion and the last two of his, would be more than enough eyes to observe the physical claim.
The doors clicked shut at the bottom of the hall, and Derek stepped to the end of the bench. Stilinski dropped his cloak to reveal that his skin was even paler on his torso. Derek wrinkled his nose at the Deaton clan-mark high on the young man’s back. It would fade with the bite, at least.
The young man placed his hands on the bench and leaned forward, presenting himself. Derek breathed in again as Peter popped the wine bottle open.
Lydia, no matter how bizarre her predictions, had never been wrong, and she hadn’t been this time.
Derek didn’t even bother shrugging off his jacket. He went to his knees, pulled Stilinski’s cheeks apart and licked a stripe up the young man’s balls and over his hole. All Derek could smell was desire, then he tasted the champagne Peter was pouring and said, “The knot will pull the first time, but I will make this as good as I can for you,” to Stilinski. He just managed to address Deucalion before his fangs dropped, “We accept your Recompense for now. My Mate will decide your fates tomorrow.”
Name a conspiracy theory superior in raw power to “there are no actual forests on Earth"
imma need some context on that cause WHAT?
“forests” = minuscule form of what trees on Earth can be, basically saplings “mesas” = not landforms, but petrified ancient tree trunks IIRC the theory goes that all forests on Earth were destroyed ages ago and it takes them ridiculous times to regrow, with those giant mammoth redwood trees just being the oldest ones that have grown the most
If you ever feel bad about having trouble naming things, remember that John Steinbeck’s working title for of mice and men was ‘Something that Happened’
shealwaysreads 