#predator deterrent

[howdoesone]

How does one get a Golden-rumped Elephant Shrew to wear pants that show off its golden rump?

The golden-rumped elephant shrew (Rhynchocyon chrysopygus) is a fascinating and unique mammal native to the coastal forests of Kenya. Known for its striking golden-colored rump, this small, insectivorous mammal is not only a biological marvel but also a potential candidate for whimsical imaginings—such as getting it to wear pants that accentuate its distinctive golden rump. While this idea is…

[polturn]

Some drawings of my old cryptid OCs.

The headless coyotes are the Leery Mimric, made when a coyote is struck by lightning. They convince humans to wear their masks so they can possess them and pilot their body and cause mischief.

And the other are Clown Apes who are mountain dwelling cryptids with kaleidoscopically patterned faces that can induce hallucinogenic trance states as a predator deterrent (but usually its just hikers).

Art tag for more of these ocs

[daycourtofficial]

Amber eyes, looking into mine

Summary: Eris finds something in his study that triggers him into a frozen state of panic. Who better suited to pulling Eris from his past than his future?

Author’s note: I wrote this in under an hour so please be nice and if there are any typos, no there aren’t 💕 Also technically this is part of my gingerfucker series, but can be read alone and she doesn’t make an appearance, it’s all Eris and the baby okay byeee

TW: panic attack, mentions of being whipped and being burnt

Word count: ~1k

A trade agreement sat on his desk, one that predates his tenure as high lord. Eris had found the document stuffed away in a drawer, abandoning what he was searching for as soon as he recognized it.

His father’s large, obnoxious signature at the bottom, the ridiculously high tariffs on imported goods. He could hear the whip in his ears, feeling his body tense with memory.

It was all too much. He had spoken with his father about the deal, wanting to give incentives for traders to come into Autumn rather than deterrents. Beron had laughed at him, telling him that everything anyone needs can be found in Autumn.

The night hadn’t ended there.

Beron had whipped him for having such a ridiculous idea in front of the other courtiers.

“No son of mine will appear so idiotic before others,” he had said, his voice ringing in Eris’s ears. 

Eris was seated in his chair in his study, but his mind was elsewhere. Down deep, deep in the dungeons of the Forest House, a trek he made many nights, his blood dripping through the house as he limped back to his own chambers.

Chubby hands grip the fabric of his trousers, a body too small traveling up his legs, climbing for what they love most in this world. Little feet find their footing on his thighs, hands leaning against his torso to support their weight.

Amber eyes look at him, searching for praise at the impossible task they just completed. 

His eyes.

What his eyes used to look like, before Beron burnt the joy out of them.

Eris is frozen in place, caught in a spiral of hatred and loathing by his son. His beautiful, wonderfully funny son, who looks at him with the love and adoration his mother looks at him with.

If his son knew all that he had done to prevent Beton’s ire, would his eyes still look for Eris in every room? Would his eyes still fill with tears, his lungs exhaling every breath at bedtime, unable to sleep without seeing his father one last time?

The spitting image of him, his mother finding an old portrait of himself at this age, his son a direct image of the portrait. Was this how he looked when Beron began his tirade of cruelty against his family? Did soft coos of a babe turn into wails at any contact with Beron?

All he had ever known was the flame, the flame within himself that refused to be extinguished, and the flames his father tormented him with for centuries.

He feels those flames on his skin, his own flame desperate to fight it. He feels the heat licking up his forearms, he feels it cascading down his back in waves, searching for every inch of unclaimed skin. He clenches his fists, desperate to bring himself back to reality. Instead, his breathing becomes more ragged, his jaw clenching.

He can smell the flesh burning off of him, feel his stomach churning, his throat filling with bile at the smell, so strong he could taste it.

Tiny fingers grip into his hair, yanking lightly, trying to find balance. The feeling jolts him back, back from the past, back from a place that doesn’t exist anymore. 

The babe stands in his lap, toes gripping his trousers as he tries to learn how to use them. A warmth so unnatural from something so young radiates off of his son. A tear splashes onto the little foot, which the babe immediately burns off. 

Giggles fill the room at his show of his powers and Eris is finally able to move again as he wraps his arms around the young princeling, so unaware of how the world can burn.

He holds him in a tight embrace, squishing his face into the tiny neck, breathing him in. He gives himself five seconds, clutching the clothes covering the babe’s chest.

Five.

He breathes in deeply, his chest heaving with sobs that escape his mouth.

Four.

It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair. It had never been fair. Nothing was fair.

Three.

It took hours to kill Beron, centuries of scheming, and his presence was still felt throughout the court, throughout him-

He feels something cold and wet on his neck, tiny hands still gripping his hair, but his son is slobbering across his neck, his cheek, the movement tickling Eris’s neck. He laughs as he realizes that his son is mimicking how they make him laugh by blowing raspberries into his neck, his cheeks, his stomach.

He delicately pulls the face from his neck, leaning his forehead against his firstborn’s forehead. His eyes are wide with wonder. Everything is new to him and the worst thing he’s experienced is dropping his favorite toy in a mud puddle.

He looks at his father, not sure what to make of him, until Eris slowly smiles at him, his eyes lightening with fondness, catching a bit of the spark from his son’s eyes.

And the baby in his arms smiles back, grabbing Eris’s nose in excitement as he babbles noncoherent sounds. Eris stretches his legs out, sinking into his chair a bit, letting his back relax into the chair. Eris responds to the babbling, occasional hums and responses to whatever he was trying to convey to his father. 

Someday, the words would come. They would flow freely, spilling from his mouth in anger, in sadness, in disbelief. They would come more easily, small things setting off his memories and not allowing him to think of anything until they left him. He would share the burden of his memories.

Someday, the words would come. But not today. Today the incoherent babbling was enough.

[herpsandbirds]

Golden-tailed Gecko (Strophurus taenicauda), family Diplodactylidae, Queensland, Australia

This lizard is capable of spewing a sticky gooey substance from pores on its tail onto predators as a deterrent.

photograph by Rob Valentic

Watch a video of the spewing, here:

This Gecko Shoots the Most Disgusting Liquid Out Of Its Tail (youtube.com)

[epic-dragon-hell-99]

Top 10 Scariest Color/Gene Combos (Part 1/2)

Long post... Be prepared for a fright under the cut 😈

10. Lead Tide

Environmental contamination. What are we doing to our oceans. Tidelord would be disappointed. And also full of lead. (Have dragons invented microplastics yet?) Anyways do not drink these guys especially if you are a baby or something like that.

9. Fire Wasp

Many people are afraid of bees, and many more are afraid of wasps. While both may or may not be able to sting you (depending on species), and one is ultimately a subtype of the other, even people who think every bug is so cool and so cutes might get scared if they had mastery over the element of fire (and can still sting you). I think if a wasp could burn you, it would hurt a lot, and they might also be impervious to fire and smoke as a deterrent. I suppose they could just have a particularly "spicy" venom instead? Good thing there aren't any species of wingless wasp (ant) known for a fiery venom that are prone to being highly invasive in much of the United States and abroad! (Editor's Note: Fire ants are real and can hurt you. For most people in most situations, this is usually an inconvenience more than anything.)

8. Orca Thylacine

A hybrid between an orca and a thylacine would probably be a capable predator on land and at sea, as well as tolerate a broad range of climates. Furthermore, it would have both the motive and the intelligence to enact revenge on humanity or whatever. Has science gone too far?

7. Pumpkin Phantom

Oh no, it's the scary Halloween guy! With an epithet like "phantom," you can be sure this undead dragon is down for some mischief and haunting. Maybe even some shrieking and terrorizing! It may not be the scariest concept on the list, but it isn't for lack of trying. If rates of fatal decapitation spike in your area, we know who to blame...

6. Shadow Clown

Look out! It's Problems the Evil Shadow Clown, from those TikTok animations! Or maybe it's actually Problems the Regular Shadow Clown, who knows? But both clowns and the dark are scary to many people, so a clown *of* darkness? That is probably the scariest thing someone on Earth could imagine. Anyways I'm pretty sure this guy has some sort of Weapons or Dark Powers regardless. (You can also make this entry a joke about juggalos, if you want.)

[valtsv]

fuck it. silt verses oc masterpost. eat up.

- anastasis crane - god-hunter, atheist, and wandering vagabond. both predator and prey in a single being. does dirty work so others don't have to. it's ya boy annie.

- house crane - old money cult family who rebranded after their god was outlawed following the imago war. now they construct and review binding contracts for both peninsulan and linger straits bodies of commerce and government - with an emphasis on the "binding" aspect. rumour has it they've been granted special dispensation to keep practicing their illegal and rather nasty banned rituals, so long as they're discrete and keep providing their services to the people who matter. they don't mix much with anyone outside of the family except on business, and are rarely seen in public. it's generally agreed that the reports of many of them being not altogether human are just scary stories for children, but a few people have claimed (under the influence of a few rounds at the local bar) to have known someone who worked for someone high up in business or politics who can confirm the truth of such claims with their own eyes. of course, these people have generally since disappeared, which makes corroboration difficult. their characteristic spindly, spidery features are probably just a product of ancestral aristocratic inbreeding. probably.

- fen kahron - ferryman presiding over a treacherous stretch of marshland. you will not be able to cross without her help, but that hasn't stopped people from trying, either out of principle or to avoid the toll, which takes the form of something of personal value to the individual. fortunately, her god's mouth is always open. she's not terribly fond of the parish of tide and flesh - her relationship to her god is personal, and they keep trying to convert her. which is silly, really, because she's been dead for a very long time.

- the carrion-herald / the bleach-bone king - an angel/saint(?) of death and decay that feeds on the dead and dying in extreme, remote environments where rescue or retrieval is unlikely. his coming is heralded by his halo of carrion birds seen circling overhead. those who worship him see this as a sign of luck - either you've been chosen to meet him, or to bear witness to his procession.

- harmony joy - a love-saint who leads a dancing plague. once human, she called a god into her in her aching loneliness after being ostracised utterly from her community and forced to bear witness to their collective happiness together, which blessed her to dance forever so beautifully that she would never want for a partner again. she might seem sentient at first, but spend long enough in her company (not recommended) and you'll soon realise that her apparent personality is simply a fragmented collection of lovingly preserved scraps of her past lovers, who, once in her thrall, will dance until their bodies give out, even if their minds should break and skin and sinew should snap and be torn away in strips. sightings of her procession have dwindled in recent years, likely due to modern technological advancements allowing for more effective deterrence and warning systems, as well as the improvements in long-range weaponry, but she still features prominently in urban legends and cautionary tales about staying out late alone.

[vcreatures]

The Red Winged Whip is small, nocturnal drake found throughout temperate forests. Spending most of the day hidden within the canopies or caves very few will actually interact with this dragon. Primarily an insectivore the Red Winged Whip hunts the skies for flying insects but they have been known to also feed on small rodents. Especially during mating season. 

Their name sake derives from the male’s impressive finger appendage that grow from their digitus anularis. The long growths are used in courting displays. Another display shared by both males and females is the false, bioluminescent eye spot. Due to their small stature the Red Winged Whip is regularly preyed upon, but these glowing eyes act as a great deterrent, scaring would be predators. 

[uncharismatic-fauna]

European Starling (Sturnus vulgaris)

Habitat & Distribution

Native to Eurasia, especially Europe, North Africa, and western and central Asia

In the wild they reside in open grasslands and sparse woodlands, but they have also adapted well to living in urban environments

Physical Description

Weight: 58–101 g (2.0–3.6 oz)

Wingspan: 19–23 cm (7.5–9.1 in)

Both males and females have iridescent black plumage with white or yellow speckled markings across the whole body

Behaviour

Individuals live in large flocks, sometimes with over a million members

European starlings are mainly insectivorous, feeding on a variety of species including spiders, flies, moths, grasshoppers, and earwigs

The main predators of European starlings are owls birds of prey; starlings avoid predation by flying in large groups

Key Advantages

European starlings are very agile, and their flight patterns in large groups can confuse predators

Their sharp beaks are a powerful deterrent against potential threats when nesting

See where they stand in the May Mammal Madness Tournament here!

Photo by Kenneth Haas

[fuckyeahfluiddynamics]

How Moths Confuse Bats

When your predators use echolocation to locate you, it pays to have an ultrasonic deterrence. So, many species of ermine moths have structures on their wings known as tymbals.  (Image credit: Wikimedia/entomart; research credit: H. Mendoza Nava et al.; via APS Physics) Read the full article

[tribbetherium]

'The Early Rodentocene, 100 years post-establishment.

Before it was a paradise, it was a hamster hellscape.

Without predators to curb their numbers and a nigh-limitless supply of food, the first hamsters, having escaped the confines of Isla Genesis via land bridges that formed during a period of low sea levels, bred incessantly and exponentially. In the span of a century, they numbered in the hundreds of billions, becoming a tidal wave of hungry nibbling mouths that swept through Nodera, and then Easaterra, Westerna and Ecatoria like a rodent plague of continental proportions. They quickly ravaged the local plant life and introduced invertebrates, reducing once-lush grassland into barren wastes and driving many species of colonists to extinction as their numbers grew unchecked, their consumed biomass converted into even more hungry hamsters.

Eventually, having overrun the still-interconnected four main continents, they finally ran out of food, and began starving en masse: heaps upon heaps of tiny carcasses blanketing the landscape for miles on end and emanating the most terrible smell imaginable all across the land as they decomposed, a nauseating miasma of dead rodent times a hundred billion. And yet, in this putrid panorama of death and decay, some life endured. Fungi and microbes and flies and worms soon returned the nutrients of the dead to the soil, and dormant seeds and insect eggs awaiting the end of the scurrying storm burst back into bloom, nourished by the now richer earth. Trees, boasting lifespans measured in centuries, simply held off producing seeds and filled their leaves with distasteful tannins until the menacing swarms died down. Floating seeds and flying insects, blown across the sea from offshore islands and the unreachable Borealia, blew back inland and colonized the continents once again. And, with a new, enriched environment, new life flourishing once more, the world again became a paradise for the few hardy hamsters that survived the armageddon.

Unfortunately for them, it would eventually happen again, over and over, throughout the subsequent centuries. A pattern of extreme global boom-and-bust cycles of hamster populations defined the earliest days of the Early Rodentocene, as the ecosystem as a whole struggled to keep this rampant invading species under control. Time and time again, life would rebound from the devastation, only to be destroyed by the growing swarms once more within a few decades. As the centuries passed, however, the extreme pressure the hamsters put on the other species of the planet began to fuel their evolution: in a matter of just a few millennia, many plants, especially grasses, developed enormous rhizomes that grew deep underground, which continued to live on even as hamsters ate their leaves and stems. Invertebrates followed suit, laying large amounts of overwintering eggs in secluded places to assure at least some would survive, timing their emergence by evolutionary trial-and-error to times when hamsters were at their fewest. Some early plants became tougher, or more toxic, or thornier, while invertebrates retaliated with thicker exoskeletons, pinching mandibles, and painful stings to deter them from being eaten. Other species played an opposite game: instead satiating the predators with such a huge influx at the breeding season that they could not all be consumed, leaving a small percentage to survive and reproduce. Finally, and perhaps the most significant deterrent to the uncontrollable hordes, were the opportunistic microbes and invertebrates that, in the abundance of rodent hosts, became parasites and pathogens to them: ones that became particularly devastating when dense populations were in close contact, spreading quickly and causing large-scale deaths when numbers were too high.

As easily-accessible food became scarcer and starvation, disease, and competition began to take its toll, the population booms gradually became less and less severe as time went on, and the mass die-offs too became less and less devastating. Soon, new life began to flourish alongside the hamsters, not in spite of them, and, with their population levels now moderated by factors that kept them getting too overcrowded, the hamsters, once invaders, now became a part of the ecosystem. Some plants evolved to spread their seeds by having hamsters hoard them, while others relied on the nutrients spread by their droppings to grow. And by 10,000 years post-establishment, the periodic overpopulations and mass deaths were a thing of the past: balance restored to a biosphere disrupted by an unexpected arrival.

The world had changed to accommodate the newcomers: but the hamsters themselves were changed by this brutal cycle. With survivors sometimes as few as a hundred or so persisting each die-off, the gene pools narrowed and grew and fluctuated: and through rampant inbreeding, or genetic failsafes to combat the deleterious effects of lessened genetic variety, a plethora of mutations would gradually emerge in the once homogenous population: mutations that, with the aid of time and natural selection, became the catalyst that would shape the hamsters' future for the millions of years to come.'

---------

[bogleech]

How could bioluminesence ever be a deterrent against predation in the deep sea when literally every light down there is made of meat

Is it aposematism, is it batesian mimicry of other dangerous organisms down there?

In some cases it fills the role of "warning colors" for poisonous or bad tasting things! Predators learn the differences between light patterns and come to recognize which ones are not good to eat. But in many cases it's INSIDIOUSLY for the exact reason you point out, that light = meat. Therefore, if you light up like a beacon when a predator bothers you, there's a high chance it will attract an even bigger predator. Maybe the bigger predator eats you anyway, but maybe not! Maybe IT learned that you taste bad, but that you must only be lighting up of another perfectly edible thing is pissing you off. Or maybe, like some species, you just switch all your lights off and curl up and hide when the bigger predator gets there. Or maybe no bigger predator shows up, but the predator already messing with you knows from experience that this COULD happen and has to weight whether it's hungry enough to risk it the longer it continues the attack.

RUDEST use of this are animals like certain squid, worms and this shrimp that can squirt a glowing sticky slimy cloud as they swim away, so their attacker gets confused and blinded WHILE they become a giant neon "free food" sign

[llamagoddessofficial]

Hi! So, this is a question for the Siren AU. How would the boys react to a siren mc (on the predator spectrum) who already has a baby? Not newborn, but certainly still child age. And with her species of siren, oftentimes the males don't stick around and would part away from the female.

It's always important, anywhere in nature, to be incredibly careful of mothers with babies. A mother defending her child is immensely dangerous, she'll fight to the death without question, and even if she were a prey mermaid they'd avoid getting too close to her baby. All the boys would be very careful to give Mc (and her child) space.

Sans: Despite the dangerous reputation that comes with being an orca, Sans would actually be the one that she'd be quickest to accept. This is one of the few occasions where being an orca is to his advantage socially. Orca sirens live in family units, right? And he's all alone. She immediately knows that's odd. And when he starts following them, defending them, bringing them food... it wouldn't take long for her to realise he's bonded with them and considers them his family. There's no other reason for him to act the way he's acting. Her baby likes his funny whistle-click noises, too.

... Her sympathy for his situation only goes so far, though. He still has to prove himself. And prove himself he does; he rarely leaves their side, assisting in hunting and foraging, delighting in teaching her baby. He can let out a few loud calls, and the area clears of almost every predator, nobody willing to fuck with an orca.

He's dedicated, and built for a family. She likes that.

Red: Red's dead charming. He's got that going for him. A handsome, charming shark covered with the marks of his past victories, he screams 'potential mate' and can flirt with her pretty brazenly before her patience at his closeness runs out. His knack for entertaining children also comes in handy... she's much more tolerant with someone that can make her baby giggle like that. That's probably the way he sidles his way into their family unit- making both mother & child laugh while serving as a visual deterrent to any hunters who get the wrong idea. She's naturally cautious about letting a SHARK near her baby considering one bite would be all it took, but he's happy to wait for her to relax.

... He's also very sturdy. Don't forget, he's built for his partner to be an aggressive female shark much larger than him. He can get roughed around by his potential mate (and he'd probably enjoy it) so he's a lot more confident approaching her than the others are. His confidence gives him a casual air that she really likes... it's clear he's not got anything suspicious in mind.

Skull: Unfortunately for our big boy, Skull would have the hardest time convincing Mc that he doesn't want to hurt them. It comes with the territory of being a massive scary deep sea monster. There would be numerous occasions where his attempts to interact with either mother or child would result in Mc charging and attacking him- and though her attempts at causing any damage are totally ineffectual to this giant, it definitely hurts his feelings.

... His one upside... is that he's a ferocious predator. Talk about a provider- he's constantly bringing her and her baby meals, at a rate that almost alarms her. If he thinks Mc isn't eating enough because she's too busy guarding her baby, he brings her meals big enough to sustain her for days. And even if her baby doesn't look hungry he brings meals for them anyway. He's very adept at catching the little prey that her child relies on, his massive dexterous tentacles capable of snatching up anything moving... and though Mc doesn't like him at first, she'll never turn down food.

They'll probably grow close because Mc doesn't let him near her child. He's always bringing food, and she accepts it on her baby's behalf. With the amount of prey he brings them, there's a lot of time for bonding.

[glitteringcrab]

I've seen this technology before (part 2)

think of the implications think of the implications THINK OF THE FREAKING IMPLICATIONS (trigger warning for sexual abuse)

Sigh... Here we go.

First of all, let's get the easy parts out of the way.

Despite people who are being puppeteered sometimes appear to be in a fugue state (that thousand yard stare lol)--

--or, you know, puppeteered. VIOLENTLY sometimes--

--it's clear that they are also both alive and aware:

Would you say this is pretty much the definition of a mind rape?

I mean, we've seen Unity do pretty much the same thing, but the subjects never seem to be aware that they got possessed, are not traumatized nor upset (and hilariously the quality of their lives was greatly improved when Unity had taken over). I don't know if they forget because Unity is actually kind of nice and makes them forget on purpose to avoid trauma, or if it's just how assimilation by hiveminds works. In any case, it is apparent that this is simply how hiveminds live. Ugly, of course, but in the sense of "a predator has to eat" fashion. Not exactly a choice on the hivemind's part. So... technically also a mind rape, but... also not as evil as what Evil Morty has been doing.

Secondly.

Do we all agree that it seems that the receiver is above Evil Rick's eye? We can see its light going on and off, which would likely not be visible if the receiver was at the height of the bottom eyelid (I'm referring to where Evil Morty's cables are sticking out).

Indeed, the Citadel Rick does not have to stick his whole hand inside Evil Rick's face, just the fingers.

In fact, would you say the receiver is... right... about... here:

(and yes, I combined the two frames to achieve the ultimate creepy frame)

So... in the hypothetical scenario that "the reason Evil Morty has cables sticking out of his eye is that he was once puppeteered himself and some remains of the implant are still in his head"...

...would you say that the place where his own receiver must have been would be... somewhere around here:

Which, accounting for the curvature of the giant cartoon eyes (lol) might be the correct distance from the bottom eyelid if one combines the length of the cables Evil Morty already has sticking out of his eyes and the the length of the cables in the eyepatch.

At the same time, it'd be kinda weird for someone to remove the receiver but not the rest of the implant cables and stuff. I mean, if Rick C-137 was trying to remove such an implant from Morty Prime, wouldn't he be thorough about it? Wouldn't he make sure Morty Prime was completely clean?

Unless, of course, you're hastily trying to gouge your own eye out in desperation:

Oops. You too, eh?

Also, it is interesting to note that it appears Evil Rick was trying to stick the shard in his eye (the left eye, btw, where his receiver was) which is... not how one would typically try to commit suicide when you also have a throat available.

So either the mind control kept Evil Rick's hand far away from his throat on purpose, or there are built-in contingencies that ensure unauthorized removal of the receiver is akin to a death sentence...

...which (in the hypothetical case that Evil Morty was at some point in the past also frantically gouging his own eye out) may be negated if you somehow also managed to gain access to some kind of healing equipment (of which we know Ricks have plenty) and set it to turn on automatically (because you're a very smart, careful boy). I'm not gonna add the screenshots because they're too many, but I'm going to list a few:

the one Rick used to jumpstart Pissmaster's brain

the thing Rick injected Morty with after Morty bully-gunned himself

the one Rick used to restore Morty's arm

Rick's freaking garage

(It's possible by the way that the original receiver Evil Morty had did not have a "contain suicide attempt" function. It's possible that the threat of death was deterrent enough that Evil Morty wouldn't try to remove the receiver on his own. It's possible Evil Morty added the "contain suicide attempt" function to Evil Rick's receiver because he knew from experience that this is a price he might be willing to pay. Which would, you know... also explain why he didn't bother downloading the schematics of Rick Prime's auto-healing ability for himself)

IN ANY CASE, you mutilated yourself successfully, pulled the receiver out of your eye's remains, died, your brain healed (physically), the eye reformed, but happened to reform while the cables were sticking out from when you were pulling the receiver. Uh-oh. It's okay, tuck them back in, no one has to know. Better not inform the Citadel nor update your Morty Agency record on your newest implant, either. You wouldn't want other Ricks to know they only need to attach a receiver in your head to exert complete control over you, huh? (like grabbing a... joystick?) Maybe kill your Rick, if you haven't done it already. Run away.

Sigh. Let's go to the hard parts now.

Fans smarter than me have already pointed out that the Rick-Morty dynamic is deliberately built around the idea of grooming, predation of minors and sexual abuse. A lot of the things in the show are either outright instances of grooming, are meant to refer to sexual abuse or are meant to be allegories to sexual abuse, even though canonically Rick is not grooming Morty for sexual reasons. (I strongly suggest you check out all the above links, by the way. I was disturbed.)

Take also into account that Citadel with its Morty Market also has disturbing similarities to a messed up, horrible foster care system, as well as child trafficking.

Although I can't find all the links (message me if you have them), I had also found posts from fans comparing Evil Morty's actions to sexual abuse, against Ricks and Mortys this time.

The "literal" mind rape he has committed is the most blatant example, in my opinion, but far from the only one. The violence of Evil Rick's puppeteering when he was forced to kill Guard Rick was disturbing. Another fan alluded that Evil Morty making Evil Rick drunk before assaulting him was akin to drugging someone before taking sexual advantage of them. Extra disturbing by Evil Rick's exclamation "Get off me!"

Personally, Evil Morty closing the garage door before attacking reminded me of... other scenes in movies etc, where the assaulter turns up the volume on the radio before commencing his attack. I mean... we've seen all sorts of insane stuff happening in that garage (people exploding, redheads flying in, a flying saucer parking) and none of the neighbors even care. Gene actually had the courage to STEAL a rake from this house of madness. It is all treated as comically absurd. Only when Evil Morty attacks are the happenings treated as an actual violent crime that the perpetrator would want to stay hidden.

And sure, Evil Morty needed a large crowd of alive Mortys to hide amongst, and he needed an excuse to keep them alive so he strapped them on the Morty Dome and tortured them, but did they really have to be naked?

Now, I'm in no way an expert of any sort in any of the above, but I've read that when children (and Morty is 14) do physically violent or sexually aggressive acts against others, it's typically because they've been assaulted themselves in a similar fashion. I guess they're either trying to process what happened, are mimicking it, are venting their frustration on someone weaker, or are simply desensitized to it. SOMEONE PLEASE CORRECT ME IF I'M HORRIBLY WRONG.

I'm sure that canonically, no actual rape has taken place, but given the show's general... vibe... I doubt the above mentioned similarities are a coincidence. I'd say that a 14-year-old boy literally losing all body autonomy by becoming an old man's literal puppet for an unspecified amount of time is as close to the concept as possible without actually being the concept. (Edit: sadly, I no longer think this was only metaphorical. There's no way to explain his utter indifference at torturing Mortys, in the particular fashion that he did, unless he concluded that they'd be having a MUCH EASIER time than HE had.)

Of course, this is just a theory. We don't know if anything like this has happened. However, the truth is that while we've seen plenty of miserable Mortys in the Citadel, none of them seem to be as angry, traumatized, nor desperate as Evil Morty. They all managed to smile, or find companionship among each other, or even among Ricks (Cop Rick, I'm looking at you). Evil Morty is the only one who did completely messed up things to an extreme scale without batting an eyelid, just so he could get as far away as possible. He didn't exactly seem to enjoy his journey to freedom, either.

His face here as he finishes the transmitter reads to me as a particularly sad and defeated "...I'm really doing this, then" thought.

And (like actual sexual abuse victims) it's not likely he could have safely unburdened himself by sharing the secret of what happened to him with someone in the Citadel. Another Rick might have taken advantage of him in the same way, once he realized the opportunity was available.

Not to mention that by telling someone he would risk hearing some variation of "you asked for it by being cocky and not doing what you were told" or "being completely controlled by a Rick was the best thing that ever happened to you, you finally stopped doing dumb mistakes". The Rick who puppeteered him could have also framed it as "I'm doing this for your sake, because you keep getting yourself injured in adventures".

And he mustn't let himself react overly emotionally or go into hysterics about it, because then he'll get mind-blown and forget everything that happened (roofied, much?) and be vulnerable to it again. Or, even worse, he may be discarded as "defective" and end up in that Morty slaughterhouse... So he must really tone down his emoting.

He could have theoretically confessed to another Morty, but we've already seen Mortys throwing each other under the bus in their bid to survive. I wouldn't like my chances, personally.

So it seems to me that he be stuck in the Citadel, simming in his own fear, grief and anger with no one to confide to (although gaining a level-up in confidence (cockyness, if you want) given that he successfully orchestrated his own escape attempt). Either living in the lousy conditions of Morty Town, surrounded by clueless Mortys who, if ever discovered that he could get mind-controlled might tip off a Rick in exchange of a better quality of life. Or partnering with a Rick, living every day in fear that his secret might get revealed accidentally and that he'd end up dissected and studied, or simply controlled once again. (It would be even more dangerous if his Rick was wanted by the Citadel, and Evil Morty was in danger of getting executed for assisting him.) And, of course, we know that Citadel Ricks do not form lasting bonds with their Mortys. Even if his secret was never discovered, Evil Morty would find neither peace, nor family in the company of the Rick of the Day who adopted him.

I also think there is a lot of internalized victim blaming among the Mortys in the citadel. At some point he might have been convinced that he really did ask for it by not behaving. And this puts the eyepatch in a... different perspective. It made sense that he used the eyepatch initially, that's pretty much the only place where he could put his transmitter. But after he gained access to aaaaall the Citadel's tech as president, he built a lot of cool things. Couldn't he have built a better interface, one that doesn't require an eyepatch?

I mean... he definitely improved the eyepatch itself. In the beginning he had to connect it with his implanted cables manually:

But after he became president, it appears that it connects automatically. No longer necessary to stick your fingers in your own eye socket (yayyy).

It's unclear if the cables themselves are still there (they might be!) but some part of the original implant definitely remains. However, why still use an eyepatch at all? However he may have started off originally, we can't really say that he incapable of performing surgery to himself by the time season 7 rolls in because we saw him have a plethora of body augmentations, and yet he still wears an eyepatch. Couldn't he have also altered the implant in his brain so that he keeps any potential perks but no longer needs an external eyepatch?

Sure, maybe he enjoys triggering Rick's fear of pirates (even though he wears it when he is alone outside the CFC). Or maybe he thinks he looks cool wearing it. Or maybe he's just an angsty teenager.

Or... Well... if the whole experience is a source of shame and self-blame for him, he may be metaphorically hiding the place of intrusion... or, conversely, a physical reminder that he managed to literally cut himself free might make him feel better. I tend to think it's the latter.

This is all just a theory. Maybe he simply is evil.

Or maybe he's heartbroken by being constantly discarded in the "adoption" program of the Morty Market to the point where he felt he would explode. Ricks scouring the universe for Mortys meant that blowing the CFC was the only way he could be left alone in peace.

...But I'm leaning towards him having one more reason to run away as far as he can without looking back.

(and as of now, I get the feeling that he hasn't run away far enough)

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Kijimuna

CR 2

Chaotic Neutral Small Humanoid

Adventure Path: Jade Regent: Tides of Honor, pg. 84-85

These coastal cousins of the common goblinoids lack most of the malicious bent that can be found in goblin clans in the Inner Sea Region, for more than a few reasons; they don't want for food, they live simple lives, and their pyromania is considerably less destructive than that of their landlocked kin. Unlike many of the larger goblin clans in the Inner Sea, the Kijimuna are also cut off entirely from the wicked teachings of the Goblin Hero-Gods (this ironically includes Zogmugot, despite her dominion over goblin shoreline societies) and instead their culture seems to have been born from kindly spirits of fire and the sea... not that any of them remember it. Whatever story in their past happened to make them the way they are today is lost to time.

Combat-wise, the Kijimuna are nothing to write home about; this article is mostly about their lore and behavior rather than what they can do in a fight. They come armed with spears that deal 1d6+1 damage with one attack, and most of them carry around entangling nets to make their victims easier to beat to death. More often than not the spears are only used as deterrence, the Kiji rarely ever fighting to the death and preferring to render enemies unconscious, then steal their stuff and leave them tied up somewhere for someone else to find. Any fights to the end are always the result of someone attacking to kill THEM first, and in every other case, they prefer to take it easy.

The most shocking thing they can do is Steal Fire, calling any nonmagical fire of campfire size or smaller to their hand and turning it into a ghostly Dancing Lights at their command. The Kijimuna can command their orbs to crash into someone or something, either causing 2d6 Fire damage (and potentially igniting something flammable), or outlining them in ghostly fire (as Faerie Fire) for 5 hours. Both modes have their uses, but ironically, it's likely the Faerie Fire that's the more dangerous one! Any source of flame snuffed by Steal Fire cannot be relit for 24 entire hours, and Faerie Fire makes the victim glow like a beacon for every predator in the coastal forests the Kiji call home... predators they can no longer see coming or ward off with flame, because they can't relight their torches or campfires. Kijimuna are not especially dangerous on their own, but they can still cost someone their life indirectly... not that they're in a hurry to.

Kijimuna spend the majority of their days doing one of three things: fishing, planning pranks, and pulling pranks. Living on the bounty of the seas has given them a +4 racial bonus to both the act of fishing itself AND to Swim checks, giving them a total of +9 to Profession (Fisherman) and +10 to Swim, typically meaning a single Kiji can catch far more than it will ever need to eat on a given day. A portion of their catches, in fact, end up rotting on the shore when they inevitably get abandoned, the Kiji growing bored of the act and forgetting to store their food. They fish both for sustenance and for entertainment, and when fishing is no longer fun, they quickly move on to the aforementioned pranks.

Consummate pranksters, Kiji can spend hours concocting their jokes, their homes literally littered with diagrams and sketches of their next big prank (whether they have the same belief about the written word as landlocked goblins is not stated), making their huts, caverns, and tree-houses look like the lairs of some maniacal villain. When it comes to launching them, things rarely go as well as they hope for, but part of the fun is trying at all! Besides, if they DO end up working, then it's all the better.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, Kiji pranks run the full gamut of harmless but inconvenient to legitimately dangerous, with the Kiji having difficulty grasping why anyone wouldn't want to be a part of their comedy acts (which, again, points towards them having fey origins). To the Kiji, being included in the bit is an honor, and anyone who grows angry or resentful over being pranked--even if the prank caused them actual harm--is just a spoilsport who clearly needs to be pranked even harder until they can see the actual humor in it, in much the same way a comedian who offends someone with an off-color joke may attempt to double down on them until the soured audience member either leaves or laughs. In this case, though, the poor target may eventually die... though in the Kiji's defense, this isn't on purpose.

Kiji are not killers, you see. They try and avoid directly causing deaths to any creature that doesn't wish them death first, with only the dreaded octopus (a creature they are, as a whole, irrationally terrified of) earning their lethal ire no matter what. Any settlement living nearby a clan of Kiji never fears for starvation, as the goblinkin will gladly stock their storerooms with fish (even and especially if they have to break in to do it), and the Kiji will even come to their defense as guardians if a true threat actually arises. There are a few reasons why they do this, mostly because if their friends and neighbors die, they'll have no one to share fish and jokes with!

Perhaps their lackadaisical and mischievous approach to life also has something to do with the fact that they have a maximum lifespan of 15 years, with most of them passing away at around 10, an absolutely ephemeral pittance when half the playable ancestries can easily hit 100 and still have life left in them. With their own histories lost to their kind, Kijimuna may be subconsciously motivated by the need to be remembered by someone else. A single human being can see four, five, or even six generations of Kiji come and go, so they can remember pranks pulled in the past, acting as unintentional living libraries of things the Kiji have already done and essentially forcing the next generation to come up with new material, because the old jokes won't work on them anymore.

You can read more about them here.

[bleachification]

tell me pretty lies

pairing: chuuya x reader

notes: this is actually a part two to this: <3

author’s notes: this is incredibly rushed so please ignore the weird ass pacing near the end ok ty mwah

Kunikida is glaring at Dazai. The latter does not acknowledge the former. In fact, he can't, given that he’s currently curled up into a fetal position and dead asleep on top of Kunikida’s desk.

“Oh my god,” Atsushi whispers.

You nod solemnly. “He’s gonna kill him.”

You and the white-haired boy are currently crouched down behind a bookshelf at the agency, peeking through the gaps at the Shakespearean tragedy unfolding before you.

Atsushi leans over and whispers again: “Should we call the police?”

“We are the police,” you hiss.

“The normal police!”

“What, and have them arrest Kunikida for second-degree murder? The agency would fall to shambles!”

Atsushi opens his mouth to retort, only to be interrupted by a sudden piercing screech.

Atsushi stares at you. You stare back. Both of you share the same expression.

Oh shit.

You both burst from your hiding space and sprint towards the noise, fully ready to stop Kunikida from committing bloody murder. The sight that greets you halts both you and Atsushi in your tracks.

The scream did not come from Dazai.

Your eyes widen, and you’re sure Atsushi’s follow suit. It is the only appropriate reaction to the scene before you. Dazai is wide awake now, backed up against the wall in terror and amusement, and has his arms outstretched in what can only be described as a defensive stance. Clenched tight in Dazai’s bandaged hands is the instrument of Kunikida’s anger—although anger doesn’t quite encompass the extent of emotions that have taken over Kunikida. The man is furious. His face is so red you’re afraid he’s going to faint—or explode. What's even more terrifying is the look in his eyes—one of a crazed person blind to reason.

Atsushi backs away until he’s on the opposite side of the room and as far away from his superiors as possible.

Traitor.

You, on the other hand, slowly inch between the two men and hold out your hands in a placating gesture—as if trying to ward off a predator who has locked onto its prey.

“Kunikida, calm down. We can talk this out. It was just an accident, right, Dazai? You signal at him with a tight smile, silently indicating for him to nod his head and agree.

Instead, Dazai does what he always does: open his big, fat mouth.

“I did him a favour!”

Kunikida’s eye twitches… and then he charges.

“Atsushi!” You yelp.

The boy leaps from his spot and full-force tackles Kunikida to the floor as you grab Dazai by the ear and aggressively yank him out the door and into the buzzing streets of Yokohama, hoping the presence of witnesses will be an effective deterrent to Kunikida’s killing intent.

Dazai is still protesting when you drag him to a quiet bar snuggled into the corner of a practically desolate street. It’s a familiar place—one that ignites a spark of nostalgia within you. You used to frequent this place quite often with a certain short-tempered redhead.

Once inside, you sit Dazai at the bar and raise a questioning brow. “Did you have to provoke him like that?”

Dazai just shrugs and orders a few drinks, shamelessly flirting with the waitress while doing so.

“There’s a lovely bridge down by the city that we could throw ourselves—“ His words turn muffled as you shove a hand to his mouth and politely send the waitress away, apologizing as she leaves with the order.

He finally wrenches free from your grip. “Hey!”

You turn your gaze back towards him, a warning in your eyes.

He clears his throat. “So…”

“You’re going to regret that, you know,” you sigh.

Dazai sits back, relaxed. “He was overdue for a haircut anyway.”

You groan and drop your head into your hands, actively willing the oncoming headache away. You can still vividly picture the long bundle of blonde hair lying on the floor, frayed at the ends where Dazai snipped it off with a pair of office scissors.

He is so screwed.

“Enough about that bore. I needed to talk to you anyway; I got a mission for you,” Dazai interrupts your thoughts, a small smile on his lips. He always manages to exude an air of nonchalance, even when he’s anything but.

“What is it?”

He flashes a smile at the waitress as she sets down your drinks, and you thank her before turning your attention back to the man opposite you.

“There’s an event—a charity ball. One Port Mafia executive and a few of his subordinates are slated to attend. I need you to infiltrate the party as a guest and gather information from our high-ranked target,” he explains.

You narrow your eyes. There’s something Dazai isn’t telling you. You can tell by the way he’s fiddling with the drink coaster.

“Why me? I’m a doctor. My undercover days are long over,” you prod. There were much younger, active field agents that would be better suited to the job. So why you?

Dazai hesitates. That’s never a good sign.

“The… agency believes you are uniquely qualified for this role.”

“Who’s the target?” You push him for a better answer. There’s something else—-something bigger he’s hiding.

Dazai murmurs.

“What?”

“I said it’s Chuuya.” Dazai rushes the words out so quickly that you can’t comprehend what he says at first.

And then it clicks.

“Absolutely not!” Your glass clatters as you shoot up in your seat.

It has been three months since you patched up Chuuya in that abandoned tunnel, and you haven’t seen him since. You don’t plan on breaking that streak.

“Hear me out—“

“I said no,” you snap.

Now it’s Dazai’s turn to sigh. “Please. Just sit and listen.”

Against all rationale, you do. Although you’re visibly irritated—a fact Dazai takes into consideration as he broaches the topic once more.

“The mission is more of a… peace negotiation? We need you to set up a meeting with their executives as the agency requires to speak with them about sensitive matters,” he explains. Dazai takes a sip of whiskey as he lets the information sink in.

“You want me to set up a meeting between the Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia?”

“Exactly.”

“Through Chuuya?”

“Yup.”

“Have you hit your head again?” You think he must have if he’s asking such a ridiculous thing from you.

Another Dazai sigh.

“I think you are our best chance at getting near Chuuya without inciting bloodshed or conflict.”

You’re staring at the table, a maelstrom of thoughts swirling through your head like a disaster-level hurricane.

“Do you have any idea what you’re asking of me?” Your voice comes out low with the slightest tremble. You bite your lip as you await his answer.

Dazai drums his fingers on the bartop and lowers his head into his palm. “I know Chuuya. And I know you. Talk to him; it’s the only way things can be fixed.”

You swallow. Trying to fix things between you and Chuuya is like trying to reconstruct a glass vase dropped from a thousand feet onto concrete. Whatever he felt for you has been viscerally tainted by your betrayal.

“That’s a nice little fantasy. Sadly, real life doesn’t work that way. I refuse,” you reply.

You drain your glass, and the scotch burns as it slides down your throat. You almost relish the pain—maybe because you believe it’s deserved.

“You’ve been mopey as hell these last few months. Even more so than before. It’s depressing—even for me,” Dazai snorts.

You roll your eyes. The past few weeks haven’t been the best, but it’s not like you’re drowning in tears, ice cream, and shitty rom-coms.

“That’s rich coming from you.”

Dazai ignores you. “Talk to him. It’ll be good for both of you. I’m sure he’s just as mopey over at that garbage dump they call an organization.”

Are you going to do this? Are you really going to put yourself through all this again?

Dazai hits the final nail in the coffin. “Plus, the agency’s counting on you.”

Yes. Yes, you are.

Fuck.

“Fine. One hour. If I can’t convince him in one hour, I’m walking my ass right out the door.”

Dazai smiles, and his entire face brightens up. “Deal!”

You reluctantly shake his hand, already bracing for what’s going to be one of the worst nights of your life.

“Oh, and [Y/N]?”

“Yeah?”

“Chuuya—not that he’ll ever admit it—needs you,” Dazai squeezes your shoulder. “And I think you need him too.”

—

“This is a tremendously bad idea!” You hiss into the microphone as you’re let into the lavish venue.

All you get in response is Dazai’s infuriating giggles as you make your way down the hall, being extra careful not to trip over the formal attire you’re adorned in.

The night of the event comes a week after your talk with Dazai. After a whirlwind day of pampering and tailoring, you finally make your debut at the party.

A set of platinum-gilded doors greet you alongside a server as you near the end of the hall. He checks over your ticket and, once satisfied, allows you into the incredibly spacious ballroom.

Massive ivory pillars stand firm along the north and south ends, only partially hidden behind the tens of tables piled high with delicacies and wine. Classical music ebbs and flows throughout the room, courtesy of the musicians nestled in the far back. Servers with platters of champagne flutes whisk around the considerable venue like bees in a hive. You snatch one off of a passing waitress and down it in one go.

You’ll need much more of that to get through the night.

You make your way through the crowd, dodging as a couple swaying to the music veers into your path.

Where is he? One part of you dreads the sight of Chuuya, but another part—the less logical part—aches in his absence.

“I don’t see him,” you murmur to Dazai.

“Just keep a lookout,” Dazai replies.

Another twenty minutes go by. You’re four drinks in by now.

“He hasn’t shown up. I’m going to get some air.” You breeze past the throes of partygoers and make your way down a quiet hallway that leads to an open balcony.

The cool night air is a welcome reprieve on your warm skin. You close your eyes and let the silence take over, tuning out the buzz of the party behind you.

A shuffling noise behind you snaps you from your haze. It’s followed by a thumping noise and a few curses from the person behind you.

You slowly turn around to see what’s happening as he apologizes.

“Crap, sorry. I didn’t realize anyone would be—“

The man stops mid-sentence. You stop breathing altogether.

“Chuuya.”

“What?! He’s there?” Dazai exclaims into your ear. You ignore him, too preoccupied with the thundering in your chest and the cause of it—the man in front of you.

He looks stricken. It makes your heart sink.

“Why are you here?”

You gulp. He’s right; you shouldn’t be here. You have no right to be here. You’re not brave enough for this. Not brave enough to face and hurt him once more—-not when you know your mere presence causes him agony.

“I’m here to talk. Can we just talk? Please?” You’re terrified he will turn his back and leave—which would be a horrible, cruel irony.

Chuuya locks eyes with you, but there’s none of the kindness he used to reserve for you there. Ice-cold.

“We have nothing to talk about. You’re an enemy [Y/N], don’t you get that? One of your detective buddies is probably listening in on this conversation right now,” Chuuya spits.

Each word is a knife to your chest. Partially because he’s right, and you hate yourself for it, and partially because the person in front of you is nothing like the Chuuya you used to know. The Chuuya who demanded medical attention for paper cuts just so he could spend time with you, who threw away all his favourite snacks because you mentioned you were mildly allergic, who once memorized your favourite song so he could sing it with you at karaoke without embarrassing you. That sweet, gentle man is gone and in his place is a hardened shell of his former self.

You consider leaving. You consider lying to him, tell him he’s wrong, that he can trust you. But none of that’s going to piece together your fractured relationship. So instead, you look him dead in the eye and remove your earpiece. Once it’s off, you drop it to the ground and crush the device under your heel.

“Will you listen to what I have to say now?”

Chuuya says nothing, so you take his silence as a yes.

“I want to apologize,” you begin.

He scoffs and shoves his hands into his pockets. A nervous tic. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

You swallow again. The lump in your throat is making it hard to breathe.

“Not for… what happened. I know you won’t believe me about that. I’m sorry I said you were just a job. You weren’t. Not in the slightest.”

He laughs, though it’s void of humour. Chuuya steps forward, closer and closer, until he’s only inches away. You can make out the dark circles under his eyes and the bitterness in his gaze.

You suck in a sharp breath at his proximity. His cologne is making your head spin.

“Liar,” he seethes.

You shift. You’re even closer now, but your expression has changed. “Believe what you want, but that’s the truth. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you; I still don’t want that.”

“Then why the hell did you leave?” He’s almost shouting now.

You anxiously run a hand through your hair. “I had to. I couldn’t face you knowing you saw me as your enemy.” The last word leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“You could have stayed. We could have worked it out, somehow,” he argues.

You shake your head. “I was a spy. You wouldn’t have wanted—“

“You have no idea what I wanted! I didn’t care, [Y/N]. All I wanted was you. But you didn’t even stick around long enough to find that out.”

You’re tearing up now. The burning sensation in your eyes is at its peak as a tear rolls down your cheek. You can barely make out Chuuya behind such watery lenses.

“Damn it, why are you—“ He’s panicking now. Chuuya always freaks out when you cry. It’s comforting to know some things haven’t changed.

He yanks out something from his pocket and awkwardly tries to hand it to you. You start full-on sobbing once you realize what he’s given you—the embroidered silk handkerchief you got him for his birthday. You blame the alcohol for the sensitiveness you've experienced tonight.

A few minutes later and you’re still a mess, but a much less weepy mess than before. You’re leaning against the stone balcony, and Chuuya’s sitting across from you, much like that night in the tunnel.

“Thank you.” Your voice comes out weak—-strained.

“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbles. He’s supposed to be angry at you, but you’ve put him in an awkward situation. The moment he saw tears in your eyes, all logical thought flew out of his mind. At that moment, his only goal was to find a way to stop you from crying.

“I can’t believe you still have this,” you murmur as you fold the cloth into a tidy square. You try to hand it back to Chuuya, but instead, he briefly glances at it and pushes your hand away.

“Keep it.”

The knot in your chest tightens.

Silence fills the space once again. The party is still alive and electric, but it seems miles away from the pit of misery you’ve found yourself in.

Chuuya stares up—toward the glittering black mass above that’s decorated with thousands and thousands of stars. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move. He has nothing more to say to you.

Chuuya’s going to leave.

That sudden petrifying thought sends you into a panic.

All at once, the sky tilts, and it takes your ability to breathe with it. Your lungs are screaming—begging for air, and your head feels like it has lifted from your shoulders and begun floating away. The world is distorted… warping… shit.

Everything is wrong.

Someone’s calling for you—crying out your name. They sound scared. Why are they scared?

Amidst the chaos, something soft is draped around your shoulders. A jacket. It’s warm. And it smells familiar—like cedarwood and nutmeg and—

“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. Can you hear me, [Y/N]? You’re safe, I promise.”

Chuuya.

He’s here. He didn’t leave. He’s right in front of you, holding your face in his hands so gently that one might think you were made of glass. Your hands dig into his suit as you clench your fists around the fabric. He is the only thing anchoring you to reality right now.

You draw in a deep breath. The dizziness is slowly fading. A few minutes of breathing exercises later, you’re no longer in hysterics, and the world is clear again.

Chuuya hasn’t moved, his hands still cup your head, and the worry in his expression doesn’t wane. He’s wiping your tears away, but you didn’t even know you were crying—and you definitely don’t care once you realize Chuuya’s eyes are shiny with his own tears.

Now you’re filled with a sense of concern. Automatically, your hands reach for his face, doing the same for him as he’s been doing for you. It must look ridiculous, but you don’t particularly care.

“Why are you crying?” You whisper.

Chuuya drops his hands from your face and clutches onto your wrists instead. “You scared me. You started heaving and sobbing, and I didn’t know what to do. I tried calling for you, and when you didn’t answer, I just—I didn’t….”

Chuuya grips you harder—as if making sure you're real. Like he‘s afraid you’d disappear again if he let go.

“I was fucking terrified, okay?”

You thumb away another droplet as he closes his eyes and leans into your touch.

“You’re supposed to hate me,” you note.

“I know,” he breathes.

The silence drags on for a few minutes as you let him gather his composure. Chuuya’s tears have stopped, but he doesn’t lean away from your touch like you thought he would.

“Do you?”

You’re not so sure you want to hear the answer. In fact, you’re not sure you can survive it.

Chuuya tilts his head until you see your reflection in his eyes. “I wanted to marry you. Had the ring ready and everything.”

You freeze. That is not the answer you expected. But you shake off the shock and give him a small smile.

“I would’ve said yes.”

Chuuya sucks in a sharp breath and pulls back—only a little. “Don’t…don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Lie. You think you’re making it better, but it just hurts more. I beg of you, no more lies—even the pretty ones.”

Another blade to the heart. It feels like you’re dying from the inside out. You’ve got nothing to lose at this point, so you say the one thing you’ve wanted to tell him for the past few months.

“I love you.”

Chuuya’s expression morphs into one of pure anguish. He doesn’t believe you.

“Stop,” he rasps.

But you don’t. You stare him dead in the eyes as you tell him again.

He’s shaking his head, silently pleading for you to stop. You ignore him. You have to do this. You have to convince him.

“I love you. I loved you then, and I love you now—that has never changed. And I know you won’t believe me, but if you asked me again, right now, I would say yes.”

You half-expect him to walk away and half-expect him to reject you. To your utter surprise, Chuuya does neither. Instead, he drops his head to your shoulder and mumbles something you can’t quite make out.

“Hm?”

“Marry me.”

You almost keel over from the shock. You didn’t think he’d actually ask you again.

“Chuuya, you’re not thinking straight—“

“You said you’d marry me if I asked again, so here I am: asking again.”

You’re trembling. “But you don’t believe me.”

“If that’s all it takes to have you again, I’ll believe anything you tell me. I’ll believe the Earth circles the sun, that Bigfoot is real, and gravity doesn’t exist. I don’t care. I’ll make a fool out of myself if it means you’ll laugh for me again. I’ll defect if you want me to, just… stay. Marry me and stay.”

Chuuya’s voice is breaking, but his gaze is steady as it awaits your answer.

You nod. “Absolutely ye—“

You’re interrupted by the press of Chuuya’s lips against your own. You melt against him as his hand comes up to cup the base of your neck.

Chuuya groans. He’s died and gone to heaven. He forgot how good you tasted: like home. It’s dangerous how addicting you are—he could get drunk on your lips alone.

A sudden thought pokes into the corner of your mind as Chuuya pulls you closer.

“Wait!” You force him back with a palm to his chest.

He glares at your hand, annoyed that it’s pushing him away from you. “What?”

“Both the agency and the mafia will want to come, so I guess they got their neutral meeting ground, but who specifically do we invite?”

Chuuya makes a face. “Anyone but Dazai.”

You burst out laughing—partially because of the joke, but mainly because of how elated you are to be back in Chuuya’s arms.

[makairodonx]

Spectember 2024 Day 16: Great Konik

The Great Konik, one of Potworia’s most charismatic animals, is the largest and heaviest species of horse found on the planet, with adults standing 3 meters tall at the withers and weighing about one-and-a-half tons. The Great Konik inhabits the grasslands of Jariloia, where it lives in large herds that consist of a single territorial stallion and a harem of mares and their foals, and it can subsist on vegetation of any varying quality. The distinctive stripes on the horse’s legs are said to not only break the animal’s profile against the tall grasses of its habitat and confuse predators such as the Panther-Rats and Hammer-Head Terror Birds (which mainly feed on foals and subadults) but to also serve as a deterrent against biting flies.