#pet monster

[salomeslashes]

When I say "pet monster" I don't mean that I do tricks. I mean that I sniffed him then showed my belly instead of tearing his throat out and now he's wildly unsure if it's a trap or not but I am not gonna wait patiently forever, y'know?

[another-anonymous-idiot]

GIVE. US. PET MONSTERS. Give us the most horrendous looking creature, an absolutely freaky motherfucker, and have it decide to let a human adopt it, cat style.

And whole we're at it. Let it be suspiciously sentient. The way cats make you feel like they can understand everything you say, they just don't care.

Other specificantions may vary based on your place on the monster-lover to monster-fucker spectrum.

And cuddles!

[cptbtptp00]

Lethal Pet AU

Where your weird looking new friend is actually a super secret test subject escaped from the lab.

And yes, you are essentially petting a nuclear weapon.

Lucky you.

[raveninpink]

Prompt was lure was going to draw someone chasing after a dollar but then decided this was more fitting of the character. She is very obsessed with gold.

[jaskier-cult]

what the fuck is wrong with you

Julian Alfred Pankratz, a small noble boy of Lettenhove, runs away from his lessons to play in the woods, because he would much rather prefer being bare-footed and climbing among the trees than being in some stuffy room learning about assholes who killed their people and then themselves. And, out in the woods, he finds an egg.

He gets excited because he learned about eggs before, and they always hatch into cute little birds. And this egg is really big, so that means this is going to be a really cute bird.

That was logical, right?

The bigger the egg, the cuter the bird?

What he doesn’t know is that it is a griffin egg – not just a griffin, but an arch-griffin egg – that was orphaned by a witcher who killed the griffin and cleared out the nest, but missed this egg, which had rolled away and stayed hidden.

Julian only sees one option, and it’s to carry the egg home so he can care for it and wait for the baby bird to hatch. Because what else would he do? 

<><><><>

He’s in his room when it hatches, and eww – the baby bird is covered in slime and mucus and whatever else had been packed inside the egg, and this is definitely not cute, what were his mentors talking about – but then the baby screeches and rolls around, blind and weak, and its behaviour is cute and Julian’s heart absolutely melts. 

The baby is promptly named Alfie, and Julian uses towels and cloth to clean off the baby, and he scrunches up his nose in confusion, because this is a really weird looking bird.

And ugly.

But ugly as in cute.

So, Julian shrugs and showers the baby in coos and praise and love. 

He hides it from his parents and house staff, keeping Alfie hidden under his bed whenever someone comes in his room. 

She’s so smart, too, as young as she is. She listens so well to Julian, like a trained hound, and she loves curling up with Julian at night at the foot of his bed. To make sure she doesn’t starve, he feeds Alfie leftover scraps from the kitchen, and finds that she really likes meats. Specifically raw meats. Which makes sense because she’s a bird, right? Birds are omnivores, right? 

It’s not until the next week that Julian learns about griffins when he hears servants in the manor talking about the contract the witcher took, and something clicks in his head, and he’s like, “oh, so that’s why it looked like a weird bird. Because it’s a weird bird monster.”

He brings the baby, who is growing really big, too big to fit under his bed now – which he now knows is a griffin – outside again and plays with it and gets so proud and excited when Alfie starts to flap her wings and glide, jumping from high places and chasing after Julian. Alfie is really affectionate and likes to nuzzle and press against Julian like a cat. She even responds to her name, the clever little thing, but only when Julian calls it. 

She also hunts down small rodents all on her own, and even though Julian thinks the raw meat and the blood is kind of disgusting, he still praises her for her hunting skills. 

And she loves praise, and she’ll preen and puff her chest out whenever Julian showers her with love.

Alfie becomes protective over her human, and anytime Julian wanders into the woods with someone else, he quickly has to steer the other person away, lest Alfie mistake them for a danger to her Julian. Years after finding her, Alfie even once mauled a man who tried to rape Julian in the woods, when he was only fourteen, and Julian had never loved Alfie so much before. Immediately after, Alfie sniffed and tried to lick the blood off Julian, making high pitched whining and keening noises, like an overgrown puppy, worried that Julian was hurt. Julian gave her so much praise and coos that day, and he even brought back the best cuts of his dinner for her to enjoy. 

Within a few months of bringing her outside to stay, the griffin grows to full size, and has the power and strength to kill ten men without blinking.  

She’s still cute when she rolls over for Julian to give her belly rubs.

<><><><> 

Imagine Geralt’s surprise and exasperation to learn that the hopeless, painfully vulnerable and naïve bard who followed him, has a massive arch-griffin as a pet.

Certainly not him, who is attacked promptly after punching said bard.

<><><><> 

“Wait!” Jaskier choked out, still out of breath from being sucker-punched. “Don’t hurt her! Please!”

Geralt ignored the bard, tucking and rolling to avoid a swipe of massive razor-sharp claws. He brings his sword up, but the griffin jumps back, cleverer than most of its kin, and hisses at him, strangely subdued for a normally aggressive monster. It was weird, the way it kept glancing around and back at the bard, like it didn’t want to fight and wanted to fly away. And Geralt usually would have let it go, if not for the fact that it was between him and the bard and posed a danger.

He signed Aard, and the griffin was pushed back, shrieking as it crashed painfully into a tree. 

Geralt brought his sword down to meet it, but then he was being body-checked by the bard, being thrown with unexpected strength. 

“What the fuck –” 

Then the bard stumbled and put his body in the way. “Stop!” 

“Get out of the way, bard,” the witcher growled. 

“No, you can punch me all you want, but I won’t let you hurt Alfie! She was only trying to protect me!” 

The witcher had to blink to ensure he wasn’t hallucinating. 

Then the bard spun around and was running over to the arch-griffin, absolutely and painfully no sense of self-preservation in sight. And then, he fucking cuddled up to the monster. 

“Oh, baby, are you okay?” He asked in a high-pitched, soft voice, as if talking to a kitten. 

That was definitely not a kitten. The furthest thing from it. 

Then the griffin moved, and Geralt was ready to watch the bard’s head be chomped off, when the griffin nuzzled into his chest in what could be called an affectionate manner. 

Geralt blinked. 

The griffin fucking what? 

<><><><> 

It was unsettling to travel with an arch-griffin. It was even more unsettling to see it act like a tame overgrown puppy to a painfully naïve bard, who showered it unconditionally with love, kisses, and praise, near constantly. Jaskier would stroke and pet the griffin whenever he liked, and would fucking climb on its back to ride, and the damned griffin let him.

“Oh, you’re so beautiful! You’re so cute, such a good girl!” Jaskier crooned. “Yes, you are! So majestic! Geralt, isn’t she the cutest thing you’ve ever seen!”

Geralt wouldn’t exactly call an arch-griffin cute.

<><><><> 

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” Lambert said, two seconds into meeting the bard. 

The fucking arch-griffin chirped affectionately and nuzzled into the bard. 

[weirdletter]

The Socialite, by Omar Rayyan, via studiorayyan.com.

[starlling-writes]

How to Care for a Dragon

- Fantasy short story - Monster pet - 1500 words - Suitable for everyone, no warnings - Based on this prompt [pictured below] from @write-it-motherfuckers​: Writing Masterlist

I had no idea how to care for a dragon—

Yet I took the little one in. I left him in the bathroom while I grabbed provisions. Food, water, a couple spare towels. The entire time I gathered things, I was looking up how to care for a dragon. It was all overwhelming. I don’t know why I bothered researching so much; I’d only have to look after him until I handed him over to the wildlife preserve once they opened.

Once work hours finally rolled around, I called up the rescue center and got an appointment right away. Thankfully, the dragon was small enough that I could use the carriers I used to take my ferrets to the vet.

I wasn’t obligated to stay as the vet went about a routine check, but I waited. I was worried about the poor baby. The vet later told me that something likely happened that made the dragon’s mother abandon him. At such a young age, hunting was difficult, thus resulting in him rummaging through my trash. Apparently, I caught him just in time too. He had eaten something that was causing an obstruction. A few more days and…

The surgery was going to be pricey but I could afford it. I had been saving up to go back to school, but this was more important. School could wait, if it meant saving a life. When I mentioned the news to friends, I got mixed reactions. Some were supportive and proud of me for being so kindhearted. A few criticized me, saying I was making a mistake for throwing away my future for a feral animal—I started to cut these people out of my life after this revelation.

I agreed to foster the dragon while he recovered from surgery. The vet office needed the space, and it would cut down on my bill. I still had work, but hopefully I could get someone to come over during my work hours to watch over him. I didn’t trust the little dragon to not destroy my home or attack my ferrets, Socks and Dr. Fusby.

As the days passed, I watched his personality burst forth. Despite all my worries, he loved Socks and Fusby, and they loved him too. While I had to keep the ferrets locked up overnight, all three of them pestered me until I let the little noodles out to play and cuddle and nap with their new scaly friend. My phone was now filled with picture and videos of them.

He needed a name still.

 I had no idea how to care for a dragon—

However, the little guy was in no state to be released into the wild. With a damaged wing, he would likely never fly. And given how bad he had done on his own before, the specialist didn’t think he’d survive long if released. I asked to keep him. He was already used to my place and loved my ferrets. It would be a challenge, but I was up for it. I’d make it work.

After much consultation and agreeing to many follow up appointments with both the vet and the wildlife rehabilitator, they gave me the greenlight.

Now that he was officially mine, I felt comfortable giving him a name. Given he was pale green with black speckles, and what he was eating when I found him, I decided to name him Kiwi.

On the way home, I stopped by the pet store and got a brand new collar for Kiwi. I also got him a harness and a couple toys. The cashier was shocked to see a dragon, but quickly called up their coworkers so they could all gush and pet him. Kiwi loved the attention.

Finally home again, Kiwi wanted nothing more than to play with Socks and Fusby. I picked the furry noodles out of their cage and sat down on the floor. While being a jungle-gym for two ferrets and a baby dragon ended me with a lot of scratches and a rat’s nest where my hair used to be, I did manage to get a cute picture of the four of us. A new family photo. I’d have to get it printed and framed soon.

Training a dragon was similar to training a dog. Sort of. He learned the basic repertoire quickly, and more so that obeying my commands got him food. Then, Kiwi started doing them without prompting. He would walk up to me and sit or lie down, which should have been a good thing. But if I didn’t notice him soon enough, he’d started whining; and if I didn’t give him a treat, he’d start wailing and flapping his wings carelessly, knocking things over.

I really hoped this was just a phase he’d grow out of. Soon.

I wasn’t ready for when Kiwi started breathing fire. I became close friends with the fire department. But after the third major fire Kiwi caused, something had to change.

I began looking for a new home, something made of bricks or stone—something less flammable. The only property I found was quite out of the way, but that made it affordable. When I went to the house for a tour, I learned that it was right next to its own little pond with a rocky shore. I could already see Kiwi sunning himself there in the summer; Socks and Dr. Fusby would enjoy being outside in the warm months too.

I bought the house.

Moving was a hassle in every way possible, but it would be worth it in the end. Now Kiwi had plenty of room to run around. And less things to set on fire. Another thing that worked out well was there were plenty of trees for him to claw. He shed his talons like a cat, and the bigger he grew, the faster he destroyed traditional scratching posts.

How quickly this new house became a home.

 I had no idea how to care for a dragon—

So I grew concerned about Kiwi’s size when he rivaled a moose. He could barely fit in the house now—which was a fact he did not seem to realize. I began renovations. I opened the existing house as much as I could, then added a new room all for Kiwi. It might be more appropriate to call it a barn than a room.

As he grew up, I became less worried about him being outside. His manners had improved greatly and he was such a mama’s boy that I was confident he wouldn’t run away. Some days he’d take longer to return when I called him in for dinner or for bed, but he always came home. I decided to remove the outer doors to his room so he could go in and out whenever he liked.

Then he started climbing the house and the trees. I was at a loss at what to do when he refused to come down. It wasn’t like I could call the fire department to help get him—he was too large for anyone to move without his consent. I wouldn’t have minded exactly, except he kept felling the trees. It was a mess. And I worried about him hurting himself.

At a loss for what to do, I called up the wildlife experts who had helped me when I found him. They suggested that Kiwi likely enjoyed the view and missed flying. Of course, how could I have not guessed that? He often ran around flapping his wings. But that was only half of the issue solved. Now I had to figure out what to do about it.

I was relaxing at home, looking for something to watch on TV, when inspiration struck. It was an old movie that gave me the thought: a tower. There was plenty of land around to build a tower big enough to support Kiwi’s growing weight. I could add scaffolds along the outside for him to climb—and stairs for me to climb so I could join him up there.

Time for more construction.

It was a challenge to keep him off the tower as it was being built. I had to chain him up by the pond to keep him away. His cries and whimpers for freedom broke my heart, but it needed to be done. I offered to help lay some of the stones so the construction would go minutely faster. It was exhausting work.

Once the final brick was set, everyone gathered with food and drinks to watch as I unleashed Kiwi. His eyes were glowing with joy, locked onto the top of the tower. The moment he felt the chain go slack, he bounded forward and scaled the tower like a giant cat. When he reached the top, he let out a jubilant roar and burst of flames; he was so proud and happy.

 I had no idea how to care for a dragon—

But letting one into my life and into my heart was the best decision of my life.

— — —

Writing Masterlist

[tiinamenzel]