I may change the name eventually, but for now I’m calling these guys Mothim.
Mothim are smallish, humanoid creatures, usually about 5′ tall, who live on a heavily forested planet. They live among the massive, arched roots of the giant trees, usually not climbing much higher than that, and eat a diet mostly of things that you find among the roots of trees. Lots of fungi, some of which they cultivate themselves, supplemented by insects, certain types of moss, and the occasional scavenged animal carcass.
Most of the large life-forms on their planet live higher in the trees, and they have no living natural predators, though a few species of canopy-dwellers can be trouble for them now and then. Each village generally has a few guards who keep watch in the upper levels and call an alarm if something dangerous turns up.
They have soft greyish fur all over their bodies, interspaced by armor plates. The armor is mostly over their chests and limbs, and is covered by fur in the younger ones. As they get older, they start to lose the fur on their armor to wear and tear, and bald areas on the chest plating are a sign of mid-to-old age. Not unattractive to other Mothim of the same age, but not generally a positive thing on younger ones. They have short fans of antennae with many branches, more branches on the males, and small claws on three-fingered hands.
Mothim are mostly gatherers by nature, and are friendly to other species. They can be shy, though, especially the males. The males, thanks to a now-extinct predator that liked to hunt them down and eat the eggs in their brood pouches, are especially timid in nature and quick to flee from threats. They sometimes have pets of small animals, especially a large variety of terrestrial isopod that makes a helpful scavenger, and get along well with most of the animals around them.
The thing that tends to get the attention of other species is their entire breeding strategy. Mothim come as males and females, and are egg-layers. The females produce a batch of eggs every so often, a few times a year. A female releases pheromones when carrying a batch of eggs that are half mature or more, a soft scent that gets the attention of males, and will generally apply a small amount of scented paint to signal disinterest if she wishes to lay the eggs un-fertilized. Un-fertilized eggs are generally eaten by the parent, or may be used in certain cooking, as there is no attachment to them and the nutrients should be put to use.
The interesting part is the fertilization.
(NSFW discussion below, clearly)
The eggs are coated in a thin membrane that prevents fertilization, and the membrane can dissolve at any time between halfway through the growth of the eggs to slightly over a month after the eggs are deposited. There are also three ways the fertilization can occur, due to the equipment the sexes come with. Males have a penis and a brood pouch, the entrance of the pouch located low on their stomach, and can release sperm either through the penis or into the brood pouch. Females have an ovipositor, located where the penis would be on a male, and what amounts to a vagina. The eggs can be fertilized either through p/v intercourse while still in the female, when the carrying male orgasms after the eggs are deposited, or by another male while the eggs are still in the brood pouch.
The males are shy, and the pheromones released by the bearing females help to relax them as well as attracting them. The scent is nowhere near strong enough to influence their decision about whether or not to carry a batch of eggs, but it helps them physically and mentally relax. This is partly because of their natural timidness, partly because the females are larger than them, and (especially in more inexperienced males) partly because the females’ ovipositors are a bit intimidating.
The males’ penises are thin, tapered, and relatively flexible, partly to allow for them to easily slide into a full brood pouch. The females’ ovipositors, on the other hand, are not small. They’re thick, ridged, and covered in nubs, some with rounded nubs of the same material as their armor, and have a sort of frill/knot about halfway up their length. The nubs and ridges sliding through the entrance of the brood pouch cause the pouch to begin secreting a substance that helps the eggs bind in place, and the frill helps fix the ovipositor in place. The mating involves a lot of cuddling and grooming to relax the both of them, and can take quite a long time depending on how many eggs there are.
Anywhere between 10 and 30 eggs can be laid, mostly depending on the size of the female, and start out about half of palm-size. Once in the male’s pouch, they fix to the sides when possible, absorbing nutrients, and grow to slightly under twice their original size. The entrance of the pouch tightens once the eggs are inside, a series of folds and membranes closing over the passage in, and can be gently coaxed apart by another male hoping to fertilize some of the eggs. This, again, involves plenty of grooming and usually the use of a tongue that happens to rather closely resemble the male’s penis.
The eggs gestate for a few months, and, regardless of when they were fertilized, hatch at the same time or very close to it. Eggs fertilized earlier may produce larger larvae, but the advantage of early fertilization is small.
When the eggs begin to hatch, the male will retreat to somewhere quiet, often accompanied by the female and/or at least one other male, to let the babies free. The adults are cute, but the babies are absolutely not cute by most standards. They are small, pale, and devoid of fluff, resembling fetuses with rather large teeth more than anything else. They scream loudly when hungry, crawl towards things that smell of food, and avoid unpleasant stimulii, but are otherwise unresponsive to most things and show no attachment to the parents.
Babies are generally kept in something that translates to “baby pit”. A hole is dug in the center of a safe area in the village, then lined with stone. A heap of leaf litter is dried in sun or over fire until all the inhabitants have left, then the leaf litter, a bucket of helpful scavengers such as worms, and a few chunks of fungus are thrown into the pit. The babies are put inside, and chunks of various fungus are put in to feed them, but they are largely left to their own devices aside from being kept moist and occasionally provided with more leaves.
The reason they have multiple sires to a clutch, and so many babies at once, is a genetic defect. Having more sires increases the chance of genetics working out favorably, which is important, because the entire species has a genetic defect that causes most of the larvae to be born with severe heart defects. They live as normal for a few days to a month, then fall asleep, and their hearts stop in their sleep. This is not seen as something sad, as the larvae were seen as never meant to live longer than that, and the bodies are quickly consumed by the other larvae. In fact, the other larvae will die if not allowed to consume the bodies, and a batch with an unusually high survival rate will be fed carcasses as protein supplements.
The larvae eat and grow until they’re about toddler-size, then burrow deep into the pit, pupate, and wait for a few months. Eventually, they emerge and start toddling around, yelling loudly until someone comes to pick them up. This is when the babies are considered actually babies, as any that make it to this point will survive, and parents generally come to claim them at this point.
Any Mothim genetically responsible for a batch of eggs can register to parent at the nursery if they wish to, and will be notified when babies start to emerge. They then proceed to wade into the pit and call until at least one baby comes to them, and they parent those babies as their own. They can contribute and not parent, and, if babies are left after all registered genetic parents have come, either the nursery-keepers or non-genetic-parents can come and take some babies. These are generally shyer babies, often males, and are referred to as “quiet ones” as children but are not scorned for their reluctance to approach. Some people are just shy, they understand that.
Mothim are societally obliged to help reproduce at least once. It’s not a law, but any who don’t will be very frequently asked about it unless they have health issues they wish to not pass on. Fortunately, this is a relatively minor thing for Mothim. If they’re female, they’ll produce eggs anyway, and have only to deposit them in a male’s pouch with no further obligation. If they’re male, they can either mate with a female, carry eggs, or mate with a carrying male. This obligation comes from the low survival rate of their offspring, and, though not technically a law, is generally enforced by pressure and pointed inquiries if they start to get older without reproducing. This is fairly rare, though- most are willing.
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