What kind of food do fae eat culturally or naturally? Can Sun and Moon handle spicy foods? Do they like hot chocolate?
They’ll eat just about anything! But they do prefer things raw, like raw meat or freshly picked berries. Nectar is also a favorite <33 But they also go a little wild for anything their witch makes
Sun prefers fruits and berries, enjoying some spice here and there, while Moon mostly prefers meat and cannot handle spice at all lmao
I’m off by a few days but oh my god I never expected my own little self indulgent AU to get this much attention, I cannot even begin to tell you all how grateful I am for all the love I’ve received because of this silly thing, and how glad I am that other people than just me enjoy it <33
And ofc I’m celebrating by making an animatic of the song that first inspired the AU in the first place 💕💕
I’ve also uploaded this onto YouTube, but currently it seems like the quality on there has been OBLITERATED and I’m just hoping it’ll be fine later on djdkdknf— I’ll add the link here just in case <33
I'm so excited to present another commission from @catbeastaisha with more Cryptid!Monty from my Cryptid AU fic! This one gets a bit spooky and angsty, like a good ol' episode of Cryptid Sightings. You have a gift for Monty, but said gift ended up stinking up your car. You return to find scratches on the door and a presence lurking in the darkness.
Content Warning for fear, violence, blood, and injury.
———
You’ve made a mistake. Your blood boils at the thought of it, and you press a hand to your face in teeth-grinding frustration.
You left a fish in your car. Granted, it was fresh and wrapped up the way most meat is from the grocery store, but you loathe to think of what the heat, even as it dips into the late evening turn night, would do to the fish in your car.
It’s going to smell like a dock.
Down the boardwalk of the park, passing cypress and spanish moss hanging above the swampy water, you march forward to face your fate; what stinky horror will you uncover? You had brought the fish as a treat for Monty, and as a bit of an experiment. He talks often of his gnawing on the bones of rule breakers, and that extends to marshmallows as a treat, but the small and slim bones of a fish are somewhere in between the two food groups. The cryptid’s diet is as astounding as it is frightening.
You had bought four fish. You had carried away three when you met Monty deep in the marsh, and only realized the loss of one when you arrived to surprise Monty. He roared in delight when he saw your offering, and asked if you were trying to keep him coming around by overindulging him—as it is, it’s very much working.
A small part of you hoped against hope that you had simply left the last fish in your fridge, and then you were too caught up in watching Monty dangle the morsel above his long, gaping maws before swallowing it whole.
The marsh monster has a way of engulfing your attention.
The rest of the evening was spent with a bit of stargazing, and a tender caress from Monty’s claws along your hair and jawline. Then, you began to doze. You couldn’t stay, and promptly woke yourself up to get going. Monty pulled a puppy-like face when pleading with you to let him keep you safe through the night. You smiled and told him another night, when you actually have camping gear on hand.
He seemed resigned, and only pulled you back with the sweeping gentleness of his tail to kiss the top of your head before letting you go. You couldn’t help but laugh at his fish-breath, which he immediately balked and defended as your doing.
You stepped back to try and reach him for an apologetic kiss, but unfortunately had to ask his assistance in bowing low enough for you to reach his scaly cheek with a peck of your mouth.
Now, you leave him and drudge towards the horror of a fish growing hot and smelly in your car.
You've never thought of yourself as an absentminded person. The thoughts swirling through your head lately have been filled with seeing Monty, spending more time out in the swamp, and finding out more about him. A stupid haze that usually conjures when a person is twitterpated.
You’re feeling so much it makes you stupid.
The path drops down to moist dirt before opening into the parking lot. Thankfully, it’s empty save for your lone vehicle parked close to the trail head.
You pull out your keys with a soft jingle before you hear a soft scrape. You stop dead in your tracks.
Your car, small and humble, is jostled. The creak and squeaks of the shocks echo through the darkness, and you peer through it to see a shadowy personage hunkered behind the hood, near the passenger door.
“Monty?” you gasp, furious. “I told you I have to go!”
Did he race all the way over here to simply mess with your car? He’s never done that before. Your chest flares with a spark, a burning heat that threatens to ignite. You step forward once, clutching your keys as if they were a suitable vessel for your anger.
But the lack of stars spares your vision little. Another push against your vehicle, and then a strange huffing sound is followed by a low hoot. Not like a bird. Something deeper, something mammalian.
The scratching deepens, and you stop again. Your heartbeat picks up, and a sense, high and keen within you, whispers that something is not right.
Your eyes fall to the pavement, and the muddy footprints left trailing out of the treelines and around your vehicle. In the dimness, the front door of your vehicle is marred with tooth marks and scratches. Long, dark red hair, sticks to the side mirror, dangling in the air.
“Monty, that’s not funny,” you muster all of your anger, but it falls flat, trembling in fear.
A soft breeze picks up through the parking lot, carrying with it a distinct, foul odor like rotten eggs or a skunk. You can’t decide which is worse.
You inhale sharply and step back. Your shoe kicks against pebbles on the pavement with a loud scrape.
The shaking of your car ceases. The dark figure behind your car rises up to a staggering height—seven feet at your best guess—and stares down at you from over the roof of the vehicle. Small, round eyes bear a pale glow in the darkness. Its muscular body is covered in dark red fur. When its lips split apart, long and vicious teeth bare themselves bone-white in the darkness.
It screeches a gut-wrenching sound. You scramble back but it has already hopped upon your car. Metal groans in protest. The frame hisses and bucks before the monster lunges forward. It hits the ground with great strides of its large feet, its long, hairy arms swinging at its side. All you can see is its giant mouth snapping while it squeals in fury.
“MONTY!” You scream.
It’s upon you in seconds. You stumble backwards before throwing your arms up defensively. It barrels into you, engulfing you in the stretch of putrid musk. You gag upon the foul odor, unable to breathe, before your head cracks atop the dirt at the start of the trailhead and the beast bears down upon you.
The monster chomps on your arm. A scream tears from your throat as teeth sink into your flesh, and its small, pale eyes stare directly into you. It begins to beat the ground beside your head in an uncontrolled frenzy.
A clear, sharp panic burns in your brain. You stare up into the face of a monster. It vigorously shakes and your arm is torn further in its jaws. Blood begins to drip from its cruel row of teeth.
Adrenaline flares in your veins. You ball up your free hand and throw a punch directly into its temple. The impact of flesh and bones across your knuckles is solid, but the beast only rears back for a moment, unlocking its jaw to free your arm for one precious second.
Then a roar erupts, vibrating the ground and startling the ape cryptid. Its small eyes widen before a massive, clawed hand slashes the creature. The ground quakes with furious footsteps. You gasp, cradling your arm close to your body, as Monty skirts around you. His tail sweeps close by, touching your side as he roars again. You hunker down under its furious swell. The ape monster screeches again.
Your head begins to drown in a dizzying wave. The only anchor is Monty filling your vision with his heaving shoulders and the trembling power of his body. He lunges forward as the ape attempts to flee across the parking lot.
His clawed hands sink into the side of the creature. Monty towers above it by a foot or two, and drags the hooting and screaming creature closer before he flips it onto its back. Standing above the beast, Monty roars, spitting saliva into its face before he uses his wicked claws to start tearing the ape apart. Raking down its face and ripping into its chest, Monty begins killing the thing that attacked you.
You watch, half in and out, clinging to consciousness out of fear. Blood stains the front of your shirt. You see only a mangled mess of what your arm once was, torn through and shining with crimson.
Monty relentlessly shreds the beast. Its screeching torment echoes across the parking lot before gurgling and quieting all together after Monty digs his claws into its burly neck and slashes clear down to its abdomen. A crack of something bone-like continues as Monty begins ripping limbs from the thing with a madness-induced destruction.
“Monty,” you moan quietly.
He doesn’t stop. The body of the creature is beginning to dissolve, puddling upon the pavement in dark red rivulets of goo, as if Monty melted the being with pure rage.
You pull yourself upright. Cradling your arm close to your middle, you hobble towards the carnage. His hair falls over his face, half-draping the red wrath of his eyes.
“Monty, stop,” you find a strength to speak firmly.
You touch his heaving arm before he can go in for another strike. The marsh monster whirls upon you. Deep, breathless snarls rip through his throat. He hunkers over you, a franticeness you have never seen before upon his face.
“It’s okay, it’s dead,” you say, and dizzily press closer. “It’s okay.”
His nostrils flare before his eyes fall to your arm. A wave of anguish crosses his face. He kneels before you, and touches the elbow of your bleeding limb.
“No, no,” he snarls. “I should have—I shouldn’t let you go.”
His cries turn into growls, but you have to touch him with your good arm again.
“Monty, take me to get help.” You start to slump forward. Your knees buckle completely, but before you hit the pavement, scaly arms catch you. You’re hefted from the ground.
“Hold on, shug,” Monty struggles to control his breathing as he darts back into the swamp, cutting through the wild land. “I’ve got you.”
Your head slumps against his shoulder. Curling into his familiar scent and presence, you let yourself drift in his safety.
Naaaaaaaaaff! Ohmygosh @naffeclipse! I LOVE this! The little tender moments. The way certainty gives way to concern then fear. The bit of horror bleeding into relief when a very angry gator cryptid saves the day only to realize things aren't in the clear. Uuuuuuuugh! Naaaaaaaaaff! This was WONDERFUL! Not to mention, as someone with ADHD and object permanence issues, having forgetting things in the car also speaks to me though, thankfully, a fish hasn't been one of the items (yet). 🥰🐊💕
AHHH Thank you!!! There's so much unfolding but poor Monty went into a rage just to protect his junebug! Now he's just gotta get them help ;-; PFFFT oh gosh yes, the poor fish smell was not helpful in this situation... but at least Monty took care of it! Thank you so much for commissioning me again!
Here’s one of the artfights I’ve done that I had a lot of fun doing 👀 this attack was towards @aspvera I love their Sun and Moon designs sm I just had to draw them
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