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kneelingshadowsalome · 4 months

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I know we're all focused on Satyr/Faun König but that bull comment... I'm quite partial to minotaur's and whats better than a darling who isn't from the area. Oh yes she's innocent of the crimes against König because she was not raised there.

Some foreign little creature just running blind in a maze trying to see where there might be a way out. It's been days after all and the screaming has gotten quieter and she wonders if she's the last one left alive. He takes his time eating his meals... this can be stretched out for such a long time as she hides herself in a dead end just a short rest... the darling is so tired unaware of the horrifyingly silent steps moving closer to her little haven. It's just her left now.

@kit-williams I've wanted to write for Minotaur!König for ages!

Minotaur!König x Ariadne!Reader Word count: 5 k oneshot Tags/warnings: Sexual tension, threats of violence and rape, implied cannibalism, power imbalance, moral ambiguity. Predator/prey dynamic, Beauty and the Beast elements, Ancient Greek religion & lore. 18+ MDNI A/N: The Minotaur in this story is not an actual hybrid. Reader is Hecate’s initiate. Merry Christmas y'all! <3

The screams are the worst part.

They echo through the Labyrinth while you wait and wait and wait.

Even the very stones seem to cry and wail as you place your hope on Theseus who descended to this hell along with you and the human cattle. Seven young men and seven unwed women, meant to satisfy a beast...

And judging by the screams alone, it sounds like the monster is satisfied. It sounds like it's having a ball.

Fourteen lives have been lost, their blood swallowed by the earth as if Hades himself is drinking the crimson of Athenian youth in His feast. The flesh is the beast’s to devour: an underworld demon born of tainted lust.

Half bull, half man, you always thought the stories were only tales told by the fire to scare children. Turns out that the stories, for once, are true. There's something even worse in this maze, something cursed and foul... Hecate herself would shiver if She were here, in the womb of the earth, witnessing what you’re witnessing now.

You don’t actually see the Bull of Crete cut or hack or slash anyone, and you can only imagine what the monster does to the bloody, gutted corpses of the young. The only thing you see are the hollow, dark walls carved out of soil, sand, and clay, the intestine-like route dug deep into the earth. And you don't have to see the massacre: the screams tell you enough. The silence that follows betrays even more.

Your only light is flickering, waning: the candle will hardly last an hour. If the hero from Athens won’t arrive soon, you will have to leave this place.

And oh, how you want to leave… You were a fool to follow him here. Blinded by love and hope, you thought Theseus of Athens would be your way out of Crete, but it’s clear that the only thing the young hero is capable of loving is fame. The only time his eyes turned to yours was when you said you might be able to help him with a small bundle of yarn.

Red as the setting sun or spilling blood, the thin woollen string is your only way out now. It’s ironic how a heap of twine is the only thing that can help you out of this hellhole, but the Fates always did possess a cruel sense of humour. Your silly daydreams might’ve cost your life, and even if you’re sworn to the dark goddess, you would rather die anywhere but here. In the darkness, all alone, with nothing but eyeless worms to keep company to your decaying bones.

The sudden draft from the outside world is warm but threatens to blow out your candle. It’s a sign from Apollo: if you don’t leave now, you’re dead. Theseus has to manage without you because you’re not dying in this underworld prison because of some man’s stupid lust for fame.

There's only deafening silence in the maze as you scurry up, taking support from the wall as your sight darkens for a moment. You rose too soon: you can’t even remember the last time you ate. And it appears that even the sun god has abandoned you because there's a faint echo of steps in the tunnel, and they don’t belong to a man. They’re too thick, unduly heavy, and it’s not a pair of sandals that are thumping against the soil.

So, Theseus is dead...

So much for the legend, the myth, the demigod.

Heart thumping in your chest and in the hollow of your throat, it threatens to drown the sound of approaching footsteps. They’re all dead, the people who descended here with you. The only thing you are right now is prey. You're being hunted; whether the Minotaur knows you're here or not, you know you're being hunted. You can feel it in your gut.

You cover the candle with one hand, hoping that the flickering light doesn’t reach around the bend. The falling thump of the footsteps stops, and you still your breath, hoping that the beast would turn around and search the other way.

You hear it sniffing behind the wall. It's trying to catch your scent in the air, the smell of dread and terror, sweat so thick it must reach his nostrils and make them flare with lust. Your heart is thundering in your chest, and the tunnel is so quiet that that you’re certain the creature will hear that, too. (Your heart always betrays you.)

And your luck is cursed.

The beast shifts.

You can’t see him yet, but you can hear it: the scraping sound underneath his feet as he aligns himself anew, choosing the path that leads straight down to you.

“Hecate save me,” you whisper into the air that seems to grow denser as he approaches, loud thumps of feet now accompanied by metal grating against clay.

“Hear me, flame-bearing guide... Darkness, protect me…”

He’s dragging bronze against the wall, announcing that he’s carrying a weapon with him, the strength of a bull apparently not satisfying enough if he wants to break your bones with metal.

Don’t blow out the candle...

If you blow it out, you’ll die.

It’s a clear message, a knowing voice in your head that says it. It’s not young, it’s not old: just knowing. Alert. Wise beyond ages.

So you still your breath and wait.

Shadows fill the curve of the tunnel just before he emerges: thick like thunder, a darkness so deep that even the name of the twilight goddess escapes your tongue.

And he’s big. Bigger than the bulls you used to dance with, bigger than kings, or heroes, bigger than even Theseus, the man you thought was a myth walking. His head is enormous, bigger than the rest of him, awkward and rough like it’s not quite part of him even though he’s supposed to be half ox.

The gigantic, horned figure stops when it sees you. Vast shoulders tense; the fat, double-edged sword falls to his side when he settles to loom between you and your only way to escape this place. You’re oddly thankful that the horrible screeching stopped, but then you notice that his blade is drenched in blood: actually, his torso, thighs, even the buckskin loincloth – the only garment this monster has chosen to wear – is spattered with red dots.

The bronze tip drips with crimson, and the earth drinks it all. Hades is never satisfied: this beast is never full. Everyone who was sent down here is dead: everyone else has met their doom except you. You wonder if your mother would cry if she heard her only daughter died because she fell in love with a fool.

“I killed your hero,” the walls of hell boom.

His voice is thick like tar, dark and foul like it’s the God of Earth himself speaking.

The flame in your hand quivers from fear, and you slowly remove your palm, the tiny candle illuminating the beast with warm homely yellow, making the prominent muscles of his chest even bigger.

He’s carved like the statues in Athens, only, this giant is far hairier than the painted marble heroes of the city. The hair on his chest is thick and wild; it shoots down his abdomen and disappears underneath the loincloth, spreads over his inner thighs, even covers his shins in dark mats. He looks like a wild man, a beast indeed: sweaty, filthy and thick. But you never knew a beast like him could talk…

“A coward, that one,” he snarls, the voice reverberating oddly like it’s a human man speaking from under a wooden mask or inside a clay jug.

And you believe every word he says.

Theseus was strong and able-bodied, but he had built his strength just to show it off. This man’s body speaks of pure, ripe survival.

A hulking shadow with shoulders that barely fit the tunnels of the Labyrinth, with palms nearly twice the size of yours, he’s the myth walking instead of the hero whose blood now adorns that dull bronze blade. The Minotaur who survived his father’s wrath, his mother’s absence, these bleak surroundings, and all the heroes sent down to get his head… His weapon isn’t even sharp anymore, and still, he managed to cut through the sacrificial humans like butter. And what a horrific death it must’ve been to be hacked to pieces by a dull blade.

Is it evil of you to hope that the death of your “hero” wasn’t a quick one…?

Theseus was a fool and a coward, rotten to the core, but you saw all of that too late. He never cared about the human sacrifices or the king’s wrath; he never cared about digging into Pasiphae’s sorrow. He only cared about getting his face depicted on a pot or having his deeds played out in amphitheatres, his name uttered in song, accompanied by harp and flute.

“I know.”

Your voice gets sucked into the earth: it doesn’t echo from the walls like his. It’s thin, damp, and frail, just like everything else meant to walk under the sun instead of stand buried under the earth.

But the beast before you tilts its head a little. It’s curious.

Why would you say that?

Why don’t you cry from hearing the news...? Why don’t you howl out your hero’s name and beg the gods to heed your grief? Why don’t you run away from a monster?

The candlelight is puny and weak, but it’s bright enough to bring out the eyes of an animal. You draw breath in the dampness of the earth when you finally see it: the bull’s head is devoid of eyes, and yet, the beast still has them. Blue as the summer sky, stern as the death grip of winter just before spring.

There’s nothing but ripped shreds of skin where the eyes should be, and instead of looking at you from the sides, they’re greeting you from the front. The horns are sturdy, but otherwise, the colossal head is a bit skewed... Thick patches of fur sticking out as if it was years and years old, and then – you realize it’s not his head; it’s only an illusion.

There’s a man under there. A full, grown man who’s made himself a terrible helmet out of a bull’s carcass.

“You’re a man,” you say out loud, earning yourself another shift of the colossal head.

“...What?”

The muffled echo confirms it: he’s speaking from inside the bull, moving only slightly to get a better look at you.

“You’re not a monster. You’re just a man.”

His eyes are wild but intelligent; they pierce you from inside the inanimate shield. The large chest heaves, his ribs flare like sails as he draws air through what must be the foul stench of a long-dead animal.

He takes a step, and you shrink, almost dropping your candle and the roll of red yarn.

“You think talking will save you, female?”

He speaks like a man, walks like a man, but his moves are an animal’s. Shoulders slightly hunched like he’s a bull about to attack, you recognize the way his muscles quiver from the times when you used to do bull leaping. You don’t dance with Rhea’s oxen anymore: your tasks at Hecate’s temple are more suitable and less wild for a maiden your age. Back when you were younger and more agile, you used to jump from the back of one bull to the next, clouds of dust swirling around you as you showed your prowess to the priests.

But you can’t charm this ox by dancing. This one can’t be tricked or fooled: he will pierce you with those horns or his brazen sword if you take even a step.

“I can get you out of here,” you wet your lips, noticing that the blue eyes shoot straight to your mouth when you do that. “I know the way out.”

“What makes you think I want out,” he says, so tight and tense that you fear he’s either about to leap at your throat or plunge his sword into your chest.

And you should be concerned about your own safety, not about his sensibilities – if he even has such things – but hearing this beast man’s reply is like drinking bile.

Why would anyone want to stay here?

You don’t know if he eats human flesh; you don’t know if he had to in order to survive. Everyone knows why his father threw him down here, but no one knows he’s not half the things the people above say he is. And if half of it isn’t true, what other lies have been told about the Minotaur?

Even most prisoners see the sun, yet this man has been deprived of that, too. He’s been robbed of mother’s love, of father’s mercy, of friends and foes, of mentors and guides. He’s been robbed of life, of stars, of fires and summer skies, of women’s giggles, of fistfights with fellow men. Of songs and plays, of festivals and games, of bull dances, and maidens that leap…

“Have you ever been up there…? On the surface?”

You turn your voice into soft water on pebbles, a soothing pour of persuasion and goodwill. His pecs contract, strong abs under thin hair and body fat bunch like you’re about to hit him there. You take a step, and now it’s his turn to shun away. It’s only half an inch, but he actually moves away from you.

“I can take you there,” you offer gently. “Have you ever seen the sun…?”

It’s like talking to a starved predator, trying to entice them to follow you with a fresh steak in hand, hoping that the fanged mouth won’t take more than was promised if it decides to accept the offering.

And the beast accepts.

“As a boy,” he grunts, a tad more softly.

Those eyes are fixed on you, reminding you of horses when they’re slightly afraid. The glint of white and blue behind the carcass is fiercely alive, quite unlike the hollow, disinterested stare of the Athenian hero who was only interested in himself.

But this beast is interested. Oh, the Bull Man of Crete is wildly, fiercely curious about you.

“You’ll take me to the sun,” he repeats, an affirmation rather than a question.

“Yes. To the surface. I promise.”

He moves. Like an animal who learned long ago to drive others into the corner so that he wouldn’t get forced there himself, he’s primal, sensual in the way that oracles in a trance are sensual.

Approaching you in silence that’s almost eerie, the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end by the time he’s only an arm’s length away. Why announce his coming earlier if he can move so quietly?

“You’ll lead me to my father.”

His gaze bores into you, and not even the warm draft from the tunnels can prevent you from shivering. He’s distrustful, and it’s no wonder. It must be odd that some girl with a candle and a bundle of yarn is suddenly waiting for him around the bend, and doesn’t even flee. He’s a behemoth, but he’s not stupid. A stupid man would not have been able to survive, let alone thrive in this place.

And why should he trust you? Who is he supposed to trust in this maze when every person he has seen has either run away from him or tried to kill him? His father will slaughter him if he ever escapes the Labyrinth, so what else is a priestess in his kingdom but a squealing mouse, trying to feed him lies and then guide him to the surface and into a forest of spears?

“No,” you shake your head slowly. “No, I promise I know the way. There will be no soldiers–”

You shut your mouth just before a huge palm closes around your throat.

Gods, but he moves fast when he wants to…

The candle and the yarn drop the instant his hand seizes your neck, strong fingers nearly meeting at the back as he squeezes your windpipe ever so slowly.

And he’s so close now. The carcass reeks of death, but the man underneath stinks of plain human sweat. His musk is a peculiar mix of blood, earth and soil, something both stale and invigorating, the thin sheen of sweat and dirt covering his muscles making him look like a common builder. It’s strange that the bull’s head hasn’t yet decayed in this place, that the man doesn’t reek of bodies and bones that must be scattered around like debris further down the tunnels.

Another thing that’s strange is that he doesn’t seem to want to simply silence you.

He also wants to touch you.

A wide thumb strokes the underside of your jaw as he studies you. It slides down the column of your throat, the blue eyes gleaming with fascination when you swallow against him.

He drinks in the sight of you: the lips that part with fear, the frail collarbones that breathe against the side of his palm. The promising crevice between your breasts, the enticing softness of your teats.

You can hear his breath grow heavy under ox skin and bone, the rugged, vicious helmet he has chosen to wear. What lies under, you can only imagine, wherein he has little left to the imagination when taking in the curve of your breasts, your nipples rising to peaks under the thin white linen only temple virgins use.

Seeing your reaction to his touch makes him growl -- he actually growls like an animal, a deep, low rumble of approval rising up his throat when he sees how different your body is from his. How supple and cushy it is, soft and plump like a peach, covered only barely as if to tease a best like him. You wonder if he ever took pleasure in the maidens sent here by the king… If he ever thrust the sword between his legs into their weak bodies before giving them the mercy of his actual blade. Would he even know what to do with a woman, having lived here for so long?

“Please,” you whisper, bringing his eyes back to yours, the ice in them now liquid sapphire of pure want.

Gods… You need to bring his attention back to your offer of help before he sees it more compelling to just stay here and play with his new, plump little mouse. Virgin or not, you wouldn’t survive a mating with this man.

“I swear on Hecate’s torch that it’s not a trap. You have my word: I’m a priestess soon to be.”

He’s entranced. Hypnotized by your lips. You lick them to confirm your fears true: the man grunts with pleasure, out of instinct, absentmindedly like an animal who reacts to the sight of a fat, meaty bone.

Oh, he might not know what to do with a woman… But he would try his best to find out.

“Priestess…?” He rasps.

“It’s a holy woman,” you explain. “I serve the Goddess of the Crossroads.”

He snorts, either because he’s not impressed or because he’s downright amused by your vocation. The eyes, warmer, more demanding now, are far from the eyes of a bewildered beast.

“Little female of the crossroads... You will take me to the king. And then, I will kill him.”

He puts weight into his words, tries to make you understand.

He wants you to guide him to his father.

To the King who claims his son is half bull, to the husband who claims his wife was adulterous with an ox. To the King who demands tribute as virgins so that he can send them down to hell. The dark goddess screams justice, but you're at a horrible stalemate.

The gods will curse you for this… They will smite you with a bolt of lightning or drown you next time you cross the great sea if they see you’ve helped this half-beast escape. If you guide him to Minos, you’re a participant in kingslaying, and the gods never forget things like that.

“He’s your father and the king of Crete,” you whisper in fear. “The gods will strike you down–”

“Gods?” He spits. “I piss on the gods. I fuck their corpses and leave them to rot.”

You almost choke on the blasphemy levelled at you. The shadows creep closer, the stare behind the black fur is dark and amused, burning with the crooked wrath of a thousand years.

“Perhaps I’ll fuck you too.”

It’s unnerving that you don’t find the threat wholly unappealing.

If anything, your eyes drift down to the hairs of his chest, to the two big muscles that resemble the work of the best sculptors in Athens.

“Are you a virgin, female of the crossroads?”

His eyes search for your response: they want to see your fear and disgust. You swallow again, arduously against his hand, both caressing and testing you.

The beast leans forward, as if weighing if he could somehow insult the gods by pillaging you. The rough hair of his chest meets the white cloth, it brushes against your nipples as he bends down to have a good sniff of you.

“You smell like a virgin,” he growls.

The hand leaves your throat, only to travel down your sternum. He grabs your breast nonchalantly, a little too roughly, the hot palm closing around the teat and squeezing it like it’s a toy. When you don’t react, he squeezes it again, this time hard enough to coax a whimper out of you.

“Sound like a virgin…”

Without warning, the hand dives straight between your legs next, palm forcing its way through your thighs and curving to cup your sex, moulding around it with barbaric thirst.

“Feel like a virgin, too.”

It’s thick, hot, and heavy, how he simply tries you through your dress. Fingers testing your folds, he’s clearly enjoying the subtle wetness he finds down there. You can hear another hitched grunt pushing up his throat, rugged and whiny this time, a broken groan that dissipates because of how dry his throat is.

No man has ever dared to lay his hands on you... Many have wanted, but none have tried. Even drunkards and fools respect women who belong to the dark goddess.

But he doesn’t care about the wrath of Hecate. He doesn’t give a shit about the gods. He simply takes what he wants, what falls into his lap. The fifteenth offering, but he doesn’t seem to be interested in devouring your flesh.

How easily he could simply yank that loincloth aside and drag your dress up. Force his cock into your tight, wet heat without uttering a word. You doubt that he would even take the trouble of laying you down on the ground for taking... Beasts rut when they want to: this man could fuck you against this wall if his loins demanded so, guttural groans being the last thing you hear before the candle goes out.

You don’t know if you have to spread your legs for him before this is over, but you reckon you will do even that if it means you’ll see the sun again. You’ll endure every thick thrust, and gods be cursed, you wouldn’t even be solely disgusted if this half-animal chose to breed you... As shameful as it is, you would somewhat enjoy having him rut you like an animal in heat.

And you’ve gone mad, surely.

You want to touch him too, just to test another theory.

Deciding that it's a good idea to stick your hand into the maw of hell, your fingers lift. They meet his bicep, and the lewd panting stops.

He’s not even breathing… He’s just drowsy and drunk, looking at you with a mixture of soft sleepiness and awe in his stare. Like a dog who has never been petted, even his eyes drift half closed when he forgets to threaten you, now focusing solely on your hand.

And you start to caress him, slowly, so slowly… Tracing the muscle all the way up where it meets the shoulder, you stroke even the thick cord that leads to his neck. The rest of him disappears under the bull, but the man behind it already shivers under your touch. He even bends his head a little in hopes that you would go under the mask and touch him there, and the gesture reminds you of an animal exposing its vulnerable areas, baring its very throat in submission.

Braving a quick peek down, you notice that the buckskin cloth is stretched high and wide. His whole body is tense and immobile: you could cup him through the soft animal skin and he would probably shoot his seed from a single stroke of your palm.

If this is not a virgin, you don’t know what is...

In a way, it would perhaps be wise to shove your hand down and disarm this man. That way, you would be safe for a few more minutes. Instead, you lay your palm over his chest, right over where his heart should be.

“So do you, Bull of Crete...”

His gaze flickers.

The darkness hesitates, widens, nearly swallows the azure pools whole. But he doesn’t look irate or wild... Only shocked.

It’s an impasse. A thicket. His hand on you, your hand on him.

He surrenders first: the underworld budges before the utterly pure. You bless him with grace the instant he withdraws his hand from between your legs – slowly, reluctantly, like leaving a place that belongs to him. Or to which he belongs…

“I promise I’ll help you, Minos Tauros. But I need you to give me something in return.”

You remove your hand too. Softly, slowly, like a horse master who trains and tames wild things. All words seem to have escaped his tongue: he only grunts, unsure of what a beast like him could give you in return for your help.

“You must promise to be kind to me.”

“Kind...?”

“I need you to behave,” you explain. “No bad things on the way up... No fucking.”

Everything else, he seems to accept, but during the last sentence the Minotaur blinks at you, utterly confused.

“But... You smell like you want to fuck.”

Your jaw drops open a tiny bit. Then you remember that a priestess of Hecate doesn’t gawk.

“I don’t–How would you know that…?”

The beast only shrugs. Then he leans forward and takes another sniff as if to prove it’s true that you want his cock inside you.

“You smell good,” he grunts. “Different... Female, not afraid.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to…”

He even raises his hand to inspect the slight wetness there. Fascinated by the thin film on his fingers, he rubs his thumb in it, probably thinking about bringing it under his mask to get a good sniff of your juices too.

You grab his wrist without thinking, mortified to your core by the prospect of him getting high on your slick.

“Look. We need to leave before the candle burns out.”

The obsessive stare threatens to swallow you once more, so you let go of his wrist and steel your resolve. Scooting down to grab your things, you try to ignore the violent erection still pointing straight at you.

Hecate keep you from offering yourself to this man out of your own free will...

And you don’t have a torch, only a candle and a skein of blood-red yarn, but you know the way out, so there’s hope. There’s always hope.

“I need you to promise me,” you turn at the mouth of the tunnel, seeing that he’s still standing there, in the place where he almost took you like his first whore. As if waking up from a thrall, he straightens to his full height, picks up his sword and looks like a half-human, half-bull once more.

“I promise,” comes a booming voice from under the animal skull. “No fucking… I’ll behave.”

You nod. There's a sense of trust in the air. A promise of hope... It's mutual, invigorating -- life-giving, like the sun and blood in your hands.

You don't know if the son of Minos has ever smiled in here, but from the quick glint in his eyes, you suspect that he's smiling right now, the man under that animal mask. Somehow, it reminds you of the stars in the sky.

“Lead the way, maiden.”

#könig x reader #könig x you #könig x fem reader #konig x reader #könig #könig cod #konig x you #cod konig

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hoofpeet · 5 months

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Traditional satyr/faun snack --> It's just a stick of ice cream covered in salt crystals. Ruminant hybrids intake lot more salt than other species and their cuisine in general is a lot saltier, to the extent that a lot of it would probably be inedible to humans. Colloquially known as salt licks 👍

#hoof draws #hoofology worldbuilding 2 !!!!#caprine satyrs esp. their traditional food is probably like eating the crumbs and debris at the bottom of a pretzel bag

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krypticcafe · 3 months

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How do you feel about CoD boys in a monster au? Whether they’re the monster or their s/o is the monster, I just think it would be neat. I’m partial towards werewolves but honestly I love anything that goes bump in the night. I LOVE the idea of a monster being afraid of hurting their partner but their partner knows that they could never hurt them. If you’re open to monster requests, I have so many ideas. Just… monsters, man

oooo are we spitballing bc I love throwing around ideas!!

I absolutely love monster AUs, one of my faves is @/bluegiragi's and I'm sure you all know that iconic one. I'm totally open to monster/hybrid requests, and a detailed list of what other things I write can be found in the cafe's Customer Service Policy aka rules :]

And monster-related plots? I'm a sucker for that shit, need more of that and monster!reader.

If I were to make a Monster Hybrid AU with my own specific ideas though, hmm...

Powerful and stoic, Price would make a great minotaur (lower half of a bull). Sure, maybe his back isn't what it used to be, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have the strength to send you back to your maker. Every step he takes on base acknowledges his presence, a posture that demands respect from its witnesses. The horns on his head aren't something to mess with either, though it takes him ages to scrape out the dried blood from the cracks and tailor his bucket hats.

On the other hand, the canine hybrid for Soap is oddly charming. Similarly to a werewolf, he would have the senses of one, but as a just hybrid, he's unable to fully transform. Instead, he's equipped with features like ears, tail, fangs, some fur on his arms and legs, and a longer tongue. I can see him being a border collie, the Scottish sheepdog just makes sense. But a kelpie/merfolk would also work with his callsign. Soap, a mischievous water spirit known for "cleaning out" rooms of enemies? A body with slick scales, gills, and a frilled mohawk when in monster form? Yeah, I can definitely see that.

For someone with a Queen's honor, a phoenix feels right for Gaz. Bright and burning wings and tail—a light that feels regal and elegant, yet so youthful and lively at the same time. With him in the sky, you're guaranteed to be safe under his watch. Or maybe a cervitaur with those doe eyes of his, gorgeous as ever. Yet equipped with a kick that's sure to shatter the ribs of those who mock him for being just a faun with a pretty face.

Undeniably, with such a specific callsign, Ghost can't be anything other than a wraith. Maybe mix in a bit of demonic blood, soul-eater tendencies, or even marks of an incubus for a little extra kick. His scars look more like shadowy cracks in his skin, smoke pours from the concerningly realistic skull he wears, he looks more like a reaper than a spirit. Regardless, this man is a shadowy phantom that provokes the fear of gods in whoever he sets his target as.

Roach, sure maybe his energy is fitting of a satyr or something more fitting and urban for our token American, like a roach version of Mothman. Bug wings and scales similar to the structure of an exoskeleton, But Roach came to be for being nearly indestructible, like the bug. In fact, it would be more accurate to call Roach, Roaches, as a bogeyman with a human body that can crumble into a swarm of those insects would explain why gunshots and explosions can hardly stop him.

Like Ghost, we can't deny who Hound is, either. Werewolf. Anything less would be criminal. For fun, mix it in with a bit of hellhound hybrid biology, so that he has to either go as a full hellhound or a human with hellhound features. Eyes that burn like Tartarus and a fanged snarl that even Cerberus would shudder at. Maybe even make him in charge of a hellhound K-9 unit, forced to face the very thing he fears.

As for the Reader? Well, that's up to you. Personally, I'm a little fond of shapeshifters. Might need to draw some of these ideas sometime...

Ah well, just some thoughts I had. Any other spitballs you guys have?

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lauralot89 · 11 months

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#monsters #monster fucker #poll #Tumblr poll #polls #Tumblr polls

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witchthewriter · 2 years

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𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐄𝐝𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: I think this might be one of my favourite headcanons that I’ve written, especially for Narnia...

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

SFW🌿

⭑ “Free-spirited, artistic, and somewhat aloof,” Aslan had named the three words that described you. Lucy wanted to know what the new seamstress was like, since you would be around them a lot.

⭑ The young queen was puzzled by these words, not because she didn’t understand their meaning, but because their old seamstress was just that ... old.

⭑ “Doesn’t seem like she’d make a very good seamstress then,” Susan retorted. Shuffling papers together.

⭑ Aslan gave a short chuckle and strode out of the council chamber, Lucy on his heels.

⭑ “Just give her a chance,” he stated to no one in particular.

⭑ And they had. The Pevensie siblings had their reservations, since they had grown accustomed to their old seamstress of many years, but they were open to you.

⭑ You put Susan’s teeth on edge for the first few weeks. Her constant worries were met with your smiles and nods.

⭑ But you never left their clothes too late, or too loose or too tight.

⭑ You were a brilliant seamstress - one that could create beautiful clothes from nothing but a curtain and some rope.

⭑ Peter liked you -

⭑ So did Lucy

⭑ They both admired your creative and out-of-the-box nature. Which was saying something because you did grow up in a land with dwarfs and talking animals.

⭑ And because the Pevensie’s were the only humans in Narnia, your lineage was confusing.

⭑ “So, you’re not a human woman...” Lucy had said one sunny afternoon. “But you’re not a faun or dwarf and you definitely don’t have a tail..” You both laughed at that

⭑ “No, not that I’ve noticed,” you replied heartily

⭑ It was difficult to explain, but you were part fairy. A fae-human hybrid that could enter people’s dreams, stop aging and with great effort - fly. (Click here if you want to know more, I had no idea how many creatures actually lived in Narnia...)

⭑ Edmund was ... wary of you. His actions with the White Witch still clouded his mind and his guilt felt heavy.

⭑ But you didn’t hold it against him.

⭑ No one can be all good, and live without mistakes. There would be no point in living if we were all perfect.

⭑ And so, being around you was like he could breathe again.

⭑ You took his worries, anxieties, and self-hatred and blew it away. As if your very being was magic (and it was.)

⭑ Edmund told you about his nightmares, and how the White Witch still haunted him. Even though years and years had passed by.

⭑ You perked up even more - because that was one of your talents. You could enter people’s dream state and alter their nightmares/dreams.

⭑ And that night ... you did -

⭑ It was the first night in years that he had a full nights sleep. He did not wake up once.

⭑ The first thing he did when he woke the next morning was run to you. Already in your work room, hunched over a spinning wheel and humming to yourself. You glittered in the sunlight, and Edmund was struck with such a new feeling. ‘Love,’ he thought, ‘this must be what it feels like.’

⭑ He didn’t enter the room, but rather turned around, and went to find Lucy.

⭑ Edmund explained his feelings and wanted her opinion on what to do next. Since she spent the most time with you.

⭑ The romance that Edmund was showing you made your heart soar. Not many people... or creatures, had shown you attention like this.

⭑ And a king?

⭑ Well... what person wouldn’t want this attention ...

⭑ And since the politics of marrying weren’t so harsh on Edmund - Lucy defended her brother and you. She was the biggest advocate for your relationship.

⭑ “Wouldn’t it be a positive for the Narnians to see one of them on the throne? Next to a King?” Her point was extremely valid. And although Susan could argue - the fact was ... she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to argue against her brother. Or against you.

⭑ Susan could see the good you brought him - the light that shone in his eyes now.

⭑ So you married.

⭑ And it was one of the happiest days of your life.

⭑ Your days were still filled with work -

⭑ You didn’t want to give up your position as a seamstress

⭑ So you were now ... the royal seamstress? Queen of the seamstresses?

⭑ Anywho - you were still creating for the Kings and Queens of Narnia. Your family.

⭑ You moved into Edmund’s chambers and it was ... awkward at first. Well, he was awkward. You just watched as he showed you around the chamber (because it was quite large.)

⭑ An ensuite, a large oak desk with a chair to match, a four-poster bed, marble floor to ceiling. It was all so elaborate.

⭑ He showed you where you could have your stuff, but began moving his - because he instantly felt bad that he had made that decision for you.

“Actually, I’ll just move my stuff. You choose!”

⭑ Your heart swelled. He cared so much about you

⭑ Ed sleeps closest to the door (so that if there’s a threat he can protect you)

⭑ He wakes up first, and gazes at you adoringly for hours

“Ed...”

“Yeah?”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Sorry, you’re just...so pretty...”

⭑ Helping each other get ready in the mornings and nights.

⭑ He never has nightmares again, even though you don’t use your powers. It’s because of your union, AND your proximity when sleeping.

⭑ Lucy will burst into the room some mornings, waking both you and Ed. She leaps onto your bed and snuggles in between you two.

⭑ Relationship Tropes:

✧ Off the Walls Eccentric (You) x Emotional Wall with 1 Weakness (Ed)

✧ Tough on the Outside, Soft on the Inside (Ed) x The Top (You)

✧ Aggressively Supportive

#king edmund the just #edmund pevensie #the chronicles of narnia #narnia x reader #narnia x you #narnia #narnia moodboard #edmund pevensie x reader #edmund pevensie x you #edmund pevensue headcanons #headcanons #witchthewriter #reader inesrt #fanfiction #narnia fanfic

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lord-of-the-prompts · 2 years

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A LEGENDARY/MYTHOLOGICAL/SUPERNATURAL CREATURE LIST FOR WRITERS:

(Please note that while I have included a variety of creatures, there are many many others that I haven’t been able to mention here. Had I listed every legendary/mythological/supernatural creature, I’d probably still be writing this post because let’s face it, there are thousands of badass mythological beings. Please also note that there are quite a few creatures that overlap in various categories. I hope that you all enjoy reading and that this helps with your writing!)

Animals:

birds (bird people, caladrius, griffon, harpy, hippogriff, luan, phoenix, roc, sirin, strix, thunderbird.)

canines (amarok, cadejo, cerberus, fenrir, hellhound, werewolf.)

felines (demon cat, griffin, merlion, sphinx, tigris, underwater panther, white tiger.)

fish (hippocamp, undine, water spirit.)

primates (bigfoot, yeti, yowie.)

reptiles/serpents (basalisk, dragon, feathered serpent, hydra, loch ness monster, rainbow serpent, sea serpent, wyvern.)

Elements:

aether (angel, demon, devil, elemental, elf, fairy, nymph, spirit.)

darkness (black dog, bogeyman, ghost, grim reaper, hellhound, vampire, werewolf, wild hunt.)

earth/subterranean (dwarf, earth dragon, gargoyle, giant, gnome, goblin, hobbit, ogre, troll.)

fire (dragon, hellhound, phoenix.)

light/rainbow (light elf, rainbow serpent.)

metal/gold (griffin, gnome, leprechaun.)

thunder/lightning (chinese dragon, cyclops, thunderbird, valkyrie.)

water (chinese dragon, drindylow, loch ness monster, mermaid/merman, nymph, pisces, water dragon, water spirit.)

Habitat:

cave/underground (dwarf, european dragon, gnome, goblin, troll.)

celestial/heaven (angel, feathered serpent, pegasus, grim reaper, swan maiden, valkyrie.)

desert (amphisbaena, chupacabra, cockatrice, ghoul, oliphaunt, sphinx.)

woodland (bigfoot, elf, unicorn.)

lake/river (chinese dragon, hydra, kraken, nixie, lake monster, ondine, rainbow serpent, warlock.)

mountain/hill (dwarf, griffin, hippogriff, hobbit, mountain giant, yeti.)

sea (dragon king, fish people, leviathan, mermaid/merman, sea monster, sea serpent, shen, siren, water dragon.)

polar/ice/winter (abominable snowman, jotun, yeti.)

urban/house (banshee, boggart, jinn, vampire.)

underworld/hell (cerberus, cyclops, demon, devil, earth dragon.)

Humanoids:

human skinned (brownie, dwarf, elf, fairy, giant, gnome, gremlin, jinn, leprechaun, nix, nymph, pixie, siren, valkyrie, vampire, vetter.)

monster skinned (banshee, boggart, centaur, demon, ent, goblin, imp, manticore, mermaid/merman, orc, siren, sphinx, troll.)

monstrous (baba yaga, boogeyman, cyclops, gargoyle, ghoul, giant/giantess, goblin, hag, jotun, mummy, ogre, oni, orc, titan, troll, yeti, zombie.)

Hybrids:

part human (angel, centaur, fairy, faun, gorgon, harpy, horus, meduza, mandrake, manticore, mermaid/merman, minotaur, siren, sphinx, tenju, triton, winged genie, werecat, werewolf.)

non-human (basilisk, capricorn, cerberus, chimera, griffin, hippogriff, merlion, pegasus, typhon, wyvren.)

Shapeshifters: (animagus, demon, kelpie, merpeople, nix, werecat, werehyena, werejaguar, werewolf.)

Undead: (banshee, ghost, ghoul, frankenstein, headless horseman, mummy, poltergeist, skeleton, spirit, vampire, wraith, zombie.)

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hybbart · 10 months

Note

i don't know if this has been asked before but i didn't see it in the characters post and was curious, so, can we have a list of all the hybrids and what hybrid they are in the RAAU, specifically people other than the ranchers who aren't mentioned as much, like etho or pix and them

Primarily

Tango is a blazeborn

Jimmy (canary) and Grian (parrot) are avians

Zed (sheep), Gem (caribou), Doc (goat), and Tom (cow) are fauns

Lizzie (axolotl) and xB (guardian) are merfolk

Scott is an elf

Cleo is a gorgon

Joel and Zloy are green

Beandog is a dog hybrid

Etho, Keralis, and Hermes are ???

Scar, Cub, Hypno, Katherine, Impulse, Pearl, Sausage, Pixl, Lyarrah, False, Bdubs, and Mandy are human

Secondarily

Doc is also a cyborg

Doc and False are also biologically enhanced

Tom is also half voidling

Cub is now a warden

#raau ask #raau notes #raau notes: character

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twisted-wonderland-shenanigans · 2 years

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Can be either older Yuu or mini Yuu except I imagine this scenario fits the latter more: Yuu: “…so Rook let me play with his bow while he helped Vil with something, and then I accidentally moved a curtain in his room. I was going to put back, except I saw a lot of pictures of you guys sleeping on the wall for some reason. I wonder why he has those pictures though?” Everyone in Savanaclaw: “😱😱😱😱😨😨😨😨” Ruggie: “…it means we’re going to lock the windows and doors every night from now on”

Pffft yes, I love this because it’s chaotic and Rook being Rook is just priceless 😂

Let's go with mini!Yuu then since I'm in the mood for cuteness~! Had to look at Rook's room to get a reminder of what was where. >3>

////---------////

“Hold it like this, mon chou. Beaute~! You’ve got it, mon petit lapin.”

“Uh…Rook, are you sure this is a good idea?”

“But of course, Monsieur Crabapple! It is never too late to teach them how to wield a bow like a true hunter, no?”

Epel’s ear flicked as he stared at the small human, watching them try to hold up the large bow as Rook helped steady their arms. “I don’t know…it’s a little big for them, don’t you think?” he asked, instinctively moving away when the toy ‘arrow’ wobbled in his direction as they tried to aim at the makeshift target. “What if Vil finds out? Won’t he be mad?”

“Non, non, it will be fine,” Rook said, a proud smile on his face. “Someday, they shall hunt their own proud, powerful quarry—surely even the Roi de Poison would be proud of our little mon chou, no?”

“Um…wouldn’t a toy sword be better though? And safer…?”

Yuu looked up at Epel and said with the biggest smile, “I wanna learn to hunt like Rook!”

At that Rook leaned back on his avian legs, looking smitten as he crooned, “Ah, my heart! How precious and beautiful this moment is!” Before he could continue, his phone pinged and he turned to read the message that arrived for him. “Ah, I see. Roi de Poison requires my assistance with preparations for his next photo shoot. Would you watch over them while I am gone?”

“Oh. Sure! I can handle it,” Epel told him, arms opening as Yuu—now relieved of the bow and toy arrow by Rook—toddled over to him for a hug. “Don’t worry, we’ll have lots of fun, Yuu!”

“Very well. I leave them in your care, Monsieur Crabapple,” came the response, Rook reaching down to pet Yuu’s head before the harpy hunter stood and hurried out the door.

Turning to the small human, the faun hybrid tilted his head and asked, “Do you want to head back to my room? My folks sent me a batch of fresh apples we can munch on.”

“Oooh, apples!”

“Okay, let’s go!”

As he stood with them in his arms, he faltered when Yuu suddenly started squirming in protest. “No, wait! We need to find Mr. Flopsy!”

He’d almost forgotten about the stuffed rabbit toy they had earlier, a present from Vil after one of his earlier photo shoots about two weeks ago and he stopped in town to pick up a few toys. They loved all the gifts he brought, but they seemed to fixate quite strongly on the stuffed rabbit with yellow fur, a white cotton tail, and a tuft of hair on its head. They’d played a game with Yuu where Mr. Flopsy was “bouncing” around the room, on occasion being tossed by the toddler to one of the others and vice versa. That was before they came across Rook’s bow, which led to them having the impromptu lesson.

“Okay, let’s take a look ‘n see,” he said, searching around the room for the fluffy toy. Yuu searched low while Epel searched high, scanning the space for any sign of their toy. It wasn’t until Yuu called out and pointed up at the canopy above the bed that he saw it…along with the peeling wallpaper in the corner and the squares taped to the wall's surface underneath.

“What’s that?” Yuu asked, looking up at him with curious eyes.

“Huh…they look like pictures.” Looking closer, he frowned once he realized that they were photographs…of various students. “…student pictures.”

Yuu’s fingers pointed at one particular photo with the biggest smile on their face as they said, “Look! It’s uncle Leona and Cheka!” They giggled and pointed to another one saying, “And big brother Ruggie! And Jack-Jack! And uncle Leona again! He looks sleepy in that one.”

The more names Yuu pointed out, the more unnerved Epel began to feel. “I guess…everyone has some sort of hobby,” he mumbled before he climbed up to grab the toy and then carrying Yuu. “Time to go.”

“But I wanna see more of the pretty pictures!”

“I can find you better ones later!”

////--Later at Savanaclaw--////

“Hey, kiddo! Didja have fun over at Pomefiore?”

“Yeah!”

“Great! Did anything interesting happen?”

“Rook tried to teach me to use his bow and arrow set!”

“Oh…is that right?”

"Great...as if we need another hunter around here..."

“Uh-huh! And he had lots of pretty pictures too.”

“Huh. Pictures sound nice—any interesting ones?”

“I saw uncle Leona and Cheka!”