#Predator&Prey

[shadesofmauve]

I want to step away from the art-vs-artist side of the Gaiman issue for a bit, and talk about, well, the rest of it. Because those emotions you're feeling would be the same without the art; the art just adds another layer.

Source: I worked with a guy who turned out to be heavily involved in an international, multi-state sex-slavery/trafficking ring.

He was really nice.

Yeah.

It hits like a dumptruck of shit. You don't feel stable in your world anymore. How could someone you interacted with, liked, also be a truly horrible person? How could your judgement be that bad? How can real people, not stylized cartoon bogeymen, be actually doing this shit?

You have to sit with the fact that you couldn't, or probably couldn't, have known. You should have no guilt as part of this horror — but guilt is almost certainly part of that mess you're feeling, because our brains do this associative thing, and somehow "I liked [the version of] the guy [that I knew]", or his creations, becomes "I made a horrible mistake and should feel guilty."

You didn't, loves, you didn't.

We're human, and we can only go by the information we have. And the information we have is only the smallest glimpse into someone else's life.

I didn't work closely with the guy I knew at work, but we chatted. He wasn't just nice; he was one of the only people outside my tiny department who seemed genuinely nice in a workplace that was rapidly becoming incredibly toxic. He loaned me a bike trainer. Occasionally he'd see me at the bus stop and give me a lift home.

Yup. I was a young woman in my twenties and rode in this guy's car. More than once.

When I tell this story that part usually makes people gasp. "You must feel so scared about what could have happened to you!" "You're so lucky nothing happened!"

No, that's not how it worked. I was never in danger. This guy targeted Korean women with little-to-no English who were coerced and powerless. A white, fluent, US citizen coworker wasn't a potential victim. I got to be a person, not prey.

Y'know that little warning bell that goes off, when you're around someone who might be a danger to you? That animal sense that says "Something is off here, watch out"?

Yeah, that doesn't ping if the preferred prey isn't around.

That's what rattled me the most about this. I liked to think of myself as willing to stand up for people with less power than me. I worked with Japanese exchange students in college and put myself bodily between them and creeps, and I sure as hell got that little alarm when some asian-schoolgirl fetishist schmoozed on them. But we were all there.

I had to learn that the alarm won't go off when the hunter isn't hunting. That it's not the solid indicator I might've thought it was. That sometimes this is what the privilege of not being prey does; it completely masks your ability to detect the horrors that are going on.

A lot of people point out that 'people like that' have amazing charisma and ability to lie and manipulate, and that's true. Anyone who's gotten away with this shit for decades is going to be way smoother than the pathetic little hangers-on I dealt with in university. But it's not just that. I seriously, deeply believe that he saw me as a person, and he did not extend personhood to his victims. We didn't have a fake coworker relationship. We had a real one. And just like I don't know the ins-and-outs of most of my coworkers lives, I had no idea that what he did on his down time was perpetrate horrors.

I know this is getting off the topic, but it's so very important. Especially as a message to cis guys: please understand that you won't recognize a creep the way you might think you will. If you're not the preferred prey, the hind-brain alarm won't go off. You have to listen to victims, not your gut feeling that the person seems perfectly nice and normal. It doesn't mean there's never a false accusation, but face the fact that it's usually real, and you don't have enough information to say otherwise.

So, yeah. It fucking sucks. Writing about this twists my insides into tense knots, and it was almost a decade ago. I was never in danger. No one I knew was hurt!

Just countless, powerless women, horrifically abused by someone who was nice to me.

You don't trust your own judgement quite the same way, after. And as utterly shitty as it is, as twisted up and unstead-in-the-world as I felt the day I found out — I don't actually think that's a bad thing.

I think we all need to question our own judgement. It makes us better people.

I don't see villains around every corner just because I knew one, once. But I do own the fact that I can't know, really know, about anyone except those closest to me. They have their own full lives. They'll go from the pinnacles of kindness to the depths of depravity — and I won't know.

It's not a failing. It's just being human. Something to remember before you slap labels on people, before you condemn them or idolize them. Think about how much you can't know, and how flawed our judgement always is.

Grieve for victims, and the feeling of betrayal. But maybe let yourself off the hook, and be a bit slower to skewer others on it.

[kodasea]

Pharyngeel (insatiable insight)

[debbie-sketch]

Among animals there is said to be a mysterious psychic dance between predator and prey.

[werewolf-artfriend]

I don't care what they think !!

[fleshang3l]

Never getting over prey/predator shit,, it’s the perfect blend of intimate and intimidating. Please make me terrified for my life, stalk me, threaten me, hunt me down. Pin me down and rip into me. No matter how much I struggle and beg to be let go,, lift my hips so you can thrust easier inside with your whole body caging me in so I can’t move. Fill me entirely and breed me until I can do nothing but accept it <33

[multific]

Blood and Honor

Yautja x Reader (Teen!Version)

Summary: Your half-Yautja son, now fourteen, has grown restless, his defiance turning to violence.

The tension in your home had been brewing for months, thick and stifling like the heat before a storm.

Your son, fourteen years old and strong beyond his years, had begun to reject your authority.

His Yautja blood demanded dominance, yet he was still so young, so lost between two worlds, too human for the clans, too Yautja for the human life.

And he took it out on you.

“Do not test me,” you warned, voice firm yet calm, as you stood between him and the entrance to your home. He had been pushing, lashing out, knocking things over when anger overtook him.

The child who once clung to you with gentle claws now stared at you with defiance burning in his golden eyes.

“You are weak,” he snarled, his mandibles twitching, muscles coiled with restrained rage. “You do not command me.”

The words cut deeper than you expected.

Your chest ached, not with fear, but with heartbreak.

He didn’t understand.

You weren’t trying to control him, you were trying to protect him. From himself, from the world that would not see him as either human or Yautja.

Before you could respond, his patience snapped.

With a roar, he lunged.

The impact sent you stumbling backwards. Clawed hands found your arms, squeezing too hard, too rough.

Pain seared up your side as you struck the stone wall, your breath knocked from your lungs. And then, before he could strike again, your mate was there.

With terrifying speed, the massive Yautja tore his son away from you, the sheer force of his grip making the boy yelp.

He slammed him against the ground, one knee pressing down hard against his chest, and his own mandibles flared in warning.

“You dare raise your hands against your mother?” his voice was a deep, rough growl, shaking with barely restrained fury. “You disgrace yourself.”

Your son thrashed, but he was no match for his father’s strength.

“She is weak,” the boy spat again, struggling beneath his father's weight. “She does not deserve my submission.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before your mate struck him, not in anger, but with the force of a teacher delivering a harsh lesson.

A sharp cuff to the side of the head, enough to disorient, enough to humble.

“Then you are not worthy of her.”

A stillness fell over the room, suffocating in its weight. Your mate remained crouched over your son, his claws pressing down against the boy’s heaving chest.

“She carried you,” he growled. “She bled for you. She has tended to your wounds, fed you when you were too weak to hunt. She has taught you more than your own kind would ever allow.”

The boy’s breath hitched.

His golden eyes darted to you, still pressed against the wall, a hand clutching your bruised side.

His hands trembled as if he were only now realising what he had done. The scent of your pain filled the air.

Your mate leaned in close near his son’s face, his voice dangerous and unwavering. “You are Yautja. You are human. But you are not a beast. And if you ever dishonour your mother again, you will know the true weight of my wrath.”

The boy stilled beneath him. His breathing came faster, uneven.

You could see the conflict in his young face. He was so much like his father, too much.

And then, he let out a choked sound.

He had never cried before. Not once. Even as a small child, he had held his pain close, refusing to cry as his Yautja blood demanded restraint.

But now, with his father towering above him, with you still clutching your bruised ribs, shame broke him.

“I-” His voice cracked. He turned his head, his claws digging into the floor. “I did not mean-”

But you didn’t move. You couldn’t.

The hurt sat too heavy in your chest, not just from the bruises but from the knowledge that he had truly tried to harm you.

Your mate stood, towering over his son as he motioned toward you. “It is not me you must answer to.”

Slowly, painfully, the boy sat up.

He glanced at his father, then at you.

He was still just a child beneath all that defiance, beneath the fangs and claws.

He dragged himself forward on his knees, head bowed, a sign of submission, of shame.

“I hurt you.” His voice was quiet now, hoarse. “I did not mean it. I…” His hands clenched against his thighs. “I only wanted to prove myself. But that is no reason to hurt you.”

Your fingers twitched at your side. He looked so small then, despite his size.

Despite his strength.

Your mate did not interfere. This was between the two of you.

“I don’t like being hurt,” you said at last, voice softer now, but firm. “I don’t like when you look at me and see weakness instead of love.”

The boy flinched.

His claws scraped against the stone floor. “I do not think you are weak,” he admitted, eyes still lowered. “I think… I do not know what I am.”

Your chest tightened. You moved forward, ignoring the sharp sting in your ribs, and reached out. Your fingers cupped his cheek, pulling his gaze to yours. His golden eyes were wide, uncertain, still glassy with held-back tears.

“You are mine,” you whispered. “You always will be.”

A sound escaped him, raw and aching.

He surged forward before you could say anything else, arms wrapping around you, claws trembling against your back.

He buried his face into your shoulder, breathing you in like he used to when he was small.

Your mate let out a deep, approving hum from behind you, watching as his son desired your comfort. A lesson learned, a bond reforged.

As you stroked your son’s back, his body shaking from the weight of everything, you knew this moment had changed him.

For the better.

And for the first time in months, peace settled over your home once more.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[quarterlifekitty]

Thinking about the difference between being called bunny and rabbit by price

Bunny is a soft, helpless domestic little thing. Bred for his amusement (in more ways than one). Gets laid belly up, vulnerable and unaware, for Price to enjoy. Gets hand fed and carefully groomed. Bunny jumps in his lap the minute he sits down when he gets home.

Rabbit is a wide eyed, shaking prey animal that can recognize him for the predator that he is. Can see the glint of his sharp teeth. Gets chased down. Takes food in quick bursts, avoiding grabbing hands. Kicks their legs when finally caught. Needs to be held down firm with their face to the dirt, ass up, pussy presented while they get filled with his kits, teeth buried in their neck.

Edit: a little more

[catcze-hiatus20250524]

cw CNC, monsterfucking, predator/prey

Playing predator/prey with dragon Sylus in the woods…. Trying your best to outwit and outsmart him, standing still like a frightened little animal every time you hear the great flap of his wings, your cunt growing wetter whenever you hear him calling out for you, telling you that it’s pointless to hide from him— that he’ll find you eventually.

And when his hand grabs your ankle, dragging you out from under the bush you’re hiding while you shriek with surprise, he’s smirking, eyes glowing and cocky in the victory that he’d got from you. And, as is his prize for capturing his prey, he pushes you down, folding you in half in a mating press, and stuffing his thick, ridged cock so deep inside your sopping cunt that your eyes roll back and all you can do is cling to his shoulders while he takes his prize for a successful hunt.

[hellsitegenetics]

You always find the nicest pictures of creatures and plants and I love you 4 that

String identified: aa t ct ct cat a at a tat

Closest match: Hippocampus hippocampus genome assembly, chromosome: 21 Common name: Short-Snouted Seahorse

(image source)

[lostbluejayart]

✨ Wildflower ✨

[bondedcloud]

Predator: Badlands. Elle Fanning may possibly playing a Weyland Yutani android role.

[shrimsour]

Goober, eldritch squid/octo guy. The guy ever omg!! Doom morph haters DNI!!! /lh

Bro has 2 sides

[baaaaaaaam]

Feral

[luzz56crown]

My pookie since now 🩷

[multific]

A Father’s Teachings, A Mother’s Love

Yautja x Reader (Toddler!Version)

Summary: When your half-Yautja son’s instincts lead him to act out, it is up to your mate to teach him the true meaning of strength and honour.

The shriek of frustration echoed through the walls of your home, followed by the sound of something heavy crashing on the ground.

You exhaled, pressing your fingers to your temple as the pounding in your head only grew worse.

Your son, your beloved but utterly disobedient little half-Yautja son, was once again throwing a tantrum.

You had tried everything, calm words, firm commands, even attempting to hold him still in your arms like you used to when he was smaller.

But now, at three years old, he was stronger, faster. His Yautja blood made him stubborn, his instincts urging him to challenge, to push, and to dominate.

And unfortunately, today, you were his chosen target.

“Gah-dee!” he growled in his broken mix of Yautja and English, knocking over a chair. “Weak! No listen!”

You took a slow breath, trying to keep yourself calm.

He had been testing you all day, grabbing at things he shouldn’t, growling when you corrected him, ignoring your words entirely.

But the last straw came when he yanked your arm too hard, his tiny claws scratching across your skin.

The sting was minor, but the intent behind it cut much deeper.

Your eyes darkened. “Enough.”

Your voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument.

He bared his tiny fists, but when he saw the look in your eyes, hesitation flickered across his face. Even as young as he was, he knew he had pushed too far.

Before he could say another word, a shadow loomed over the both of you.

Your mate had been observing quietly, his sharp golden eyes taking in every act of disobedience, every defiant glare your son had given you.

He had waited, as Yautja fathers did, to see how you would handle the challenge.

But now, as his son crossed a line, he stepped in.

Your child's defiance momentarily stopped at his father’s presence. “You dare wound your mother?” The deep voice sent a shiver down your spine.

Your son huffed, attempting to puff out his chest, but your mate only tilted his head, calm but dangerous energy radiated off of him. Like a predator watching its prey.

“Mother is weak,” your son muttered, though his voice lacked its earlier confidence. “No fight. No strength.”

A deep, rumbling growl filled the air.

Your mate knelt before him, gripping the back of his tiny neck in a firm but controlled gesture, an unmistakable sign of dominance in Yautja culture. Not meant to harm, but to force submission.

Your son froze, his tiny claws twitching as he looked up at the father he so desperately wanted to impress.

“Strength is not in claw or fang alone,” your mate said, his voice slow and deep. “It is in restraint. It is in wisdom. It is in honour.”

Your son blinked, confusion evident in his eyes.

“She gave you life,” your mate continued, tilting his head toward you. “She has nurtured you, taught you, protected you. And you dishonour her?”

Your son shifted uncomfortably, his small mandibles twitching.

He was still too young to fully understand, but he knew his father’s disappointment was something he did not wish to bear.

Your mate released him, watching as he hesitated before turning to you. His large eyes, so much like his father’s, were filled with uncertainty and regret.

“I… I sorry.” His voice was small now, a stark contrast to the loud defiance of moments ago.

His little hands twitched as if wanting to reach for you but not knowing if you would allow it.

Your anger had not fully vanished, but as you looked down at your son, you saw past the misbehaviour of the child who simply wanted to find his place between two completely different worlds.

You knelt down and held your arms open.

He hesitated only for a moment before running into your embrace, his small body trembling as he pressed his forehead against your shoulder.

“I love you,” you whispered into his hair. “But you must never hurt me again.”

He sniffled, his small arms tightening around you. “I be good. I promise.”

Your mate’s approving growl was low but unmistakable.

He reached out, resting a large hand on both of you, solidifying the bond between the three of you. You looked at him, silently thanking him.

Parenting a half-Yautja child was never going to be easy, but as your son curled closer into your arms, you knew one thing for certain.

Love, honour, and strength would guide you.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/