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cinaed · 1 year

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My D&D OCs

I had fun writing up these descriptions so here, have a look at my TTPRG OCs, both current, one-shot wonders, and emeritus ones. Current Hollyella “Holly” Lightouch • Dungeons and Dragons - Waterdeep Dragon Heist/Curse of Strahd fusion • Chaotic Good • Gnome • She/Her lesbian • 72 • Level 9 trickery cleric of Tymora, is the Waterdeep equivalent of a New Yorker, spent the first decades of her life casually scamming tourists and now is stuck being responsible for her party’s lives, hates Barovia with every fiber of her being and Strahd for cockblocking her upcoming date with the hot leader of a local assassins’ guild. Currently stuck in Castle Ravenloft dealing with a traitor in his household. Yolov • Homebrewed 5E campaign (Astvanor) • Neutral Good • Vedalken • He/Him demisexual disaster • 47 (27 in vedalken years) • Level 12 Order of Scribes wizard whose best friend is his spellbook Es and who is an autistic bundle of anxiety who nevertheless loves magic and his spy/assassin/secret necromancer girlfriend with all his heart. Currently with his friends recovering from rescuing a bunch of prisoners and dealing with the monk’s terrible father.

One-Shot

Asmund Galamista • Homebrewed 5E campaign (Astvanor) • Lawful Good • Half-High Elf • He/Him bisexual • 77 • Level 15 Oath of Devotion paladin of Rova, the nerdiest paladin people have seen in their lives who is built to take hits for his companions and is devoted to protecting a magical Archive of arcane magic and the people who work there. Survived an invasion of the Archive by a lich despite a non-consensual threeway warding bond between his sorcerer/wizard boyfriend and the lich.

Medanne • Astvanor 5E • Lawful Neutral • High Elf • She/Her pansexual • 412 • Level 1 shadow sorcerer/Level 9 whispers bard, is a former spy and assassin who fought in the resistance during a war for independence that eventually freed Valnore from a centuries-long occupation and will forever dislike and distrust her former occupiers. While she is cheerful and flirtatious with almost everyone she meets, she is also ruthless and calculating and absolutely down for murder and arson when it aligns with her current job and especially if it allows her to get some revenge on behalf of Valnore. Ruvaen Exildor • Astvanor 5E • Lawful Evil • High Half-Elf • They/Them aromantic asexual • 218 • Level 10 necromancer, is an antisocial wizard who said no to death and gender and mostly sexuality, during the session mostly wanted to be left in peace until money and treasure was on the table, helped to fund the founding of Yolov’s wizard college over 700 years ago, may or may not be a lich in the current Astvanor campaign, who’s to say. Elaric Zauett • Astvanor 5E • Lawful Good • Firbolg • He/Him bisexual • Firbolg equivalent of 40 • Level 10 divination wizard, is a recently divorced sad dad of triplets who just wanted to spend a nice weekly dinner with his college friends and fellow dads in their silly ‘secret’ organization to forget that his ex-wife was on her honeymoon and instead got attacked by people who mistook their group for an actual secret organization protecting the world. Somehow not the saddest dad in the group. Vikram 'Vik' Madan • Dungeons and Dragons - Earth AU set Halloween 1999 • Chaotic Neutral • Human (Tabaxi stats for ghost form) • They/Them pansexual • 20 • Level 5 phantom rogue who is obsessed with The X-Files and the supernatural, had the best/worst night of their life when ghosts hijacked their body and the bodies of a couple other party-goers at this college Halloween party and they had to fight to get their bodies back.

Kitris Nimblehand • Dungeons and Dragons - Eberron • Chaotic Neutral • Minotaur • She/Her bisexual • 42 • Level 3 war cleric of the Dark Six, is a former soldier who fully expected to die gloriously in war and then the one hundred year war ended and she found herself adrift in peacetime and looking to cause problems.

Szuil ‘Suze’ Brooker • Dungeons and Dragons - Faerun • Chaotic Good • Human • She/Her Lesbian • 36 • Level 12 tempest cleric of Valkur who spends almost all of her time on her pirate-hunting ship The Rising Wave as first mate, stepped unhappily on land for a cleric conference and promptly got involved in a little adventure involving an evil necromancer.

Emeritus Aylara Silvergleaming • Dungeons and Dragons - Hoard of the Dragon Queen • Neutral Good • Half-Elf • She/Her aromantic asexual • 31 • Level 3 knowledge cleric of Deneir who decided that keeping all of the tomes locked away at Candlekeep was ridiculous and went on the run with a library wagon before getting involved in stopping a dragon cult, ended the campaign being responsible for a bronze dragon egg that I headcanon she adopted. My first ever D&D character. Zadre • Dungeons and Dragons - The Sunless Citadel • Chaotic Good • Half-Orc • She/Her lesbian • 26 • Level 3 nature cleric of Sylvanus who went out into the world to prove to the other priests that the whole ‘beware of orcs’ tenet of her faith was wrong, then got embroiled in a number of questions where people kept messing around with nature. Tovia • Dungeons and Dragons - Acquisitions Incorporated • Neutral Good • She/Her lesbian Firbolg • 75 • Level 3 life cleric of Chauntea, a farm girl who went to the big city to help make money to save her family’s struggling farm and accidentally fell in with a bunch of con artists and criminals who were slowly being shamed by her belief in their goodness to be better people.

Bridgette Bindane • Dungeons and Dragons - Curse of Strahd • Neutral Good • Human • She/Her lesbian • 29 • Level 4 abjuration wizard, is more curious for her own good and has willingly gone to Barovia in search of a fellow wizard who disappeared with her adventuring party, left the party in search of her missing friend Cinder while judging everyone and everything in Vallaki.

#Dungeons and Dragons #C: Yolov

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kim-monsterlings · 3 years

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Tyr - M Firbolg x NB Human (Reader) // NSFW Monster Match

Monster match for @wildcardwithaheart / @monsterdaydreamz <3

Matches under the read more!

Content: NSFW/Lemon; drinking alcohol (unspecified), intimate embraces (cuddling, sitting closely together, thigh touching), teasing, flirting, light kissing, mutual pining (idiots to lovers/friends to lovers), slight possessiveness/protectiveness, throat kisses, dirty talk, praise kink, giving oral/blowjob (no explicit release), receiving oral (+ release), fading out

Masterlist // Monster Match Info + Masterlist // My Ko-Fi

Headcanon

So rarely you let your thoughts free in unfamiliar environments that your soft commentary remained unchallenged. You hadn't then considered how out of place you were - invited by a friend, and the burden of a stare weighed heavy on your conscience.

Had you overstepped?

Conversation drifted from the topic (one contentious after your input), though cushions sunk beside you. Returning with two new drinks, braids as thick as an orc's tangling at his nape, you shared a small smile with the firbolg leaning close, braced by an arm behind your shoulders.

From the first question, you knew Tyr would ease his way into your heart.

Voice naturally low, he rumbled, "why would you think that?"

Even the alcohol hadn't coaxed you from your shell, though he presented a newer challenge. "Why wouldn't I?"

When your friend extended an invitation to another gathering - promising it to be not quite a party and not all strangers you couldn't help wondering if Tyr would be there.

The firbolg and the stubble gracing his dusk-toned, rounded jaw barely left your mind before entering another lounge. For having met him only once, you agonised for far too long over what to wear.

It felt like so much longer with how easily you warmed to his presence, and the press of a heavy hand to your lower back came without any sudden nerves on your part - only a flutter in your navel.

Every hope of steering the conversation to something you were knowledgeable on fled. Time passed by clinging to his flippant comments, wanting to learn more about him and by extension, his interests, but you could remember nothing as you found his dark lips rising, frame leaning down against you.

Two unopened bottles clinked in his palm.

"Shall we?"

Sentences flowed without inhibition, even before alcohol banished any last anxieties. At any potential intrusion, Tyr gently guided them away - each time encouraging you to continue with a gentle nod.

That he wanted to hear more flustered you well past finishing your drinks, when he leaned closer.

So close, his hand reached for your thigh and tightened.

"While you find the end of your sentence," he murmured. "I'll get us another drink."

He didn't seat himself that near when he returned and a sudden ache crept over the pleasure of the evening; a reminder that what you shared was nothing more than a common interest in knowledge, not in one another.

Until the next, smaller night, you forced all thoughts of Tyr from mind.

A passing comment had burned you. It lured you together and he braced himself by holding a hand over yours.

Only when your friend laughed did his proximity register.

"Why don't you just kiss already?"

Tyr's words faltered on a sharp breath and you swallowed, whispering, "why would we kiss?"

Nothing more was said, and you left for refills before the firbolg could, desperate for air.

He still followed.

Wide, furred ears twitched as you scuffed your feet.

"Let me be the first to say it." Careful steps closer brought him to stand almost flush against you. "I've been an idiot."

Why don't you just kiss already?

"Glad you've finally come to your senses."

In the pale light, you almost deceived yourself into believing his cheeks were flushed darker when he stroked calloused palms to yours. "Quiet, you." He bowed his head to whisper, "let me kiss you?"

Too shocked to nod - too scared of scaring him away, you lifted to kiss him yourself. If muffled voices searched in your path after a prolonged disappearance, neither of you cared, lost as you were in finally having the other, his touch flitting along your hips.

He tasted sweet on your lips.

"I could learn something from you."

Tyr chuckled. "Took you long enough to admit it."

"Kiss me again?"

There came the conclusion to persisting debates turning into arguments. One lift of your chin or a tap to his jaw signalled the end by a slanting of lips, often too breathless to speak for a long while after.

Drabble

Tonight of all nights - somewhat an anniversary of little more than a month officially dating, the tension knotted through your body couldn't be displaced by a guiding tap of fingertips to your cheeks. However much you adored the firbolg pinning you to his lap by an arm thick with muscle, his lips occasionally soft against your shoulder, your debate wasn't with him.

Never conceding or admitting the retorts you offered were far more comprehensible than their alcohol-induced rant, you itched to leave. Tyr no longer needed to hear you express your unease - when you tried to explain, all that left you was a strained whine - and your slight fidgeting became enough of an indication that he hid a smile in your nape.

He steered you out, eventually leading you home - not without a sharp warning gritted between teeth when the drunken guest baited you back. All of the strain from the night seemed to drain from you indoors, a plea for a calm remainder of the night on the tip of your tongue, only for it to be swept away by Tyr's parting your lips and his deep groan.

Rough palms ran over your waist, down lower, sinking into the backs of your thighs. "You make me so proud," he murmured, thumbs stroking heavy patterns nearer your aching hips. "Clever little thing."

Stuttering and gasping at the arm of the sofa digging against your back, you breathed, "I am?"

"The things your pretty lips can do."

Like that, so simply, you buckled. Resting back and allowing him to guide your palm to his unbuckled trousers, you stroked his hardening length - the same darker hue as his lips, trembling. Tyr nudged his hips forward and stroked over your hair.

"Want to show me what else they do?"

The promise of how your evening would now be spent made your chest tighten. "Please."

Having him ease the swollen head of his cock between your lips filled you with the same warmth he let free in a husky breath of your name. His pleasure surrounded you in every sudden intake as you cupped him, leaning forward, taking him deeper.

"Keep being good for me - so, so good, aren't you?"

When his cock twitched at your tongue tracing his seeping slit, so very near now, he returned the favour by taking you in his arms and laying you on the bed. Tyr never failed to undress you by admiring your outfit, the effort gone into it, and you felt his adoration with the weight of his hips dragging up between yours. Soft sighs nuzzled against your inner thigh - "look at you, waiting so patiently for me," he'd whisper with a gentle kiss - before bringing his tongue where you ached most until you bucked against him.

If engaging in debate with someone else led to this, you would do it more often.

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frostsinth · 3 years

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My dnd session got cancelled last night, so I decided the best coping mechanism was to quick sketch out my firbolg in some casual clothes being all broody.... and instead of my desired outcome...

I accidentally drew my necromancer as a hipster...

Well, whatever. Have a borderline homicidal 7′4″ hipster firbolg then, I guess. Someone probably told him to put on a shirt or something, and he’s mad about that.

Enjoy a speed sketch/color to hint that I currently still have a pulse. Toodles!

#dnd #Dungeons and Dragons #dungeons and drawings #firbolg #necromancer #hipster #terato #exophilia #monster lover #monster x human #giant #Character Design #monster doodles

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artandmartini · 4 years

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low intelligence high wisdom cow man x high intelligence low wisdom goth wizard

They interacted for less than 3 minutes but I already love them a lot. Please date

[ID: A black and white digital drawing of Caduceus and Eodwulf from Critical Role. Eodwulf is a muscular human man with with short black hair in high collar double breasted jacket. Caduceus is a firbolg man with long hair shaved at the sides, He is wearing a poofy sleeved shirt and vest. Eodwulf is saying “I like you” and Cad is saying “Aww Thank you. I like you too”. END ID]

#Caduceus Clay #eodwulf critical role #critical role #critical role fanart #cadwulf #Critical role spoilers #Blumengrove #My art

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randoimago · 3 years

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Changing Forms :: Mighty Nein

Pairing: Platonic Mighty Nein x Reader

Characters: Fjord, Jester Lavorre, Yasha Nydoorin, Beauregard Lionette, Caduceus Clay, Veth Brenatto

Words: 1277

Support Me (if you want): https://ko-fi.com/jinxitty

Notes: Since this is kind of a first meeting it's more of a platonic thing but I hope it is still pretty good! This might end up being a two part thing because I had a lot of fun writing this out and want to do more with this because it is such a cool prompt. Set after Episode 97!!

Request from my Quotev:

So I had this idea for a M9 x reader, if you do those, where the reader is from our world and plays D&D. Then, she gets thrown into Exandria (somehow) and can change into every character she ever made for D&D. Which happens to be quite a few... But, the problem is, she can't control when she changes. And maybe they meet her in one form, then she changes to her regular self a few hours later or something?

"Aw shit." Your now yellow eyes looked at the group of confused, excited, and suspicious looking individuals. You had been doing so good and things just had to get messed up. Out of all the times for your thing to happen, it just had to be when you were almost out of there.

You had gone shopping, as you have to if you want to live in this place. You had a cloak to try and hide as much of your face as you could and were just ready to leave as this big group of people showed up. They all looked familiar to you but you waved that off as you being rather insightful in your previous form which had been a half-elf ranger. You were happen to just walk past the group and leave but the blue tiefling decided that now would be a good time for thaumaturgy and the sudden crashing of windows caused your cloak hood to fly back just as your half-elf form went to half-orc.

"What the fuck was that?" The rather rugged-looking female human of the group questioned as she was not hiding the fact that she thinks you're shady, which is understandable considering the circumstances.

"Uh... Changeling?" You hated that your deception is so low in this form. Thankfully, your flaw decided to be even less helpful and change you into a human this time. You had to blink a few times by the lighting change due to your human eyes couldn't see that this shop is a lot more dark than you realized. Your human eyes did see how much of a fucked position you're in though.

"Hey now, it's none of our business what's going on..." The rather tall and fluffy-looking firbolg of the group stated before looking to you as you moved your cloak to hide your face again, wanting to give yourself some protection from the group's suspicious eyes.

"With all the fuckshit we end up in, how do we know that this isn't just adding onto our problems?" The human asked as she gave a huff and looked over at your form as you were trying to hide more in your cloak.

"Were you cursed? You can't control your appearance? We have many experiences with curses." The blue tiefling gave you a gentle smile as she seemed really unphased by this whole thing. If anything she seemed very excited about your flaw.

"Something like that..." You mumbled as you looked past the group to see if there was a way for you to break through. Another of the group, a buff-looking feminine person moved to stand directly in front of the entrance as she seemed to notice your contemplations. Her arms crossed as she raised an eyebrow as if daring you to try.

"Who are you?! Are you trying to spy on us?! Just say the code word Jester and I'll blast em!" Your eyes widened at the sudden exclamations of a halfling woman that was pointing a crossbow at you.

"No! I'm just trying to get my things and leave! I don't know any of you people, I just want to go home." Your last statement held more weight than you wished it did, your heart aching as you thought of all the people you left behind when this incident had happened. Some of the group's eyes softened but some kept suspicion.

"You're not from here?" Another rugged-looking human (all of them look pretty rugged honestly besides the blue tiefling but you weren't going to say that to their face) with a... Zemnian(?) accent asked. You looked around the shop which was empty besides all of you in the entryway, the shop owner was getting a bit suspicious and worried at what was happening. You quickly looked away as you felt your human form melt away into that of a tiefling, wincing at the feeling of horns and a tail popping up.

"Something like that... Can we talk in a less public place?" You asked, voice now having a slight accent with the new form. The group agreed and led you to some inn they were staying at, going to their rooms where the male human started drawing on the ground and grabbing a wire.

You took a deep breath before telling the group what's going on. Well, kind of telling them. You did just meet them and while they feel very familiar, you weren't sure you could trust them just from that. So you told them how you woke up on this continent, not knowing how you got here, and your form changes completely randomly as do your abilities that you have. You keep your memories, thankfully, but if you had magic abilities previously then the next form has a possibility of having no access to that magic.

"Might be that hag..." Beau, as you learned the female human to be, muttered.

"Hag?" You asked in your now perceptive as fuck Goliath form. You did notice you got some appreciative looks from Beau, and Yasha, who you learned to be the intimidating aasimar.

"Says they grant wishes only to grant suffering. Loves cupcakes though. And me!" Jester, the blue tiefling gave a pleased smile as she gave you what had to have been the short version. God this all is sounding so familiar but you still can't place anything. Your Goliath isn't great in History so hopefully your next form can actually think of what the hell is happening.

"So I have to go negotiate with a hag?" You gave a sigh as you massaged your temple, feeling yet another form change into that of a genasi. Caduceus, the firbolg, and Veth, the halfling, seemed very interested in this new form.

"You could travel with us for a bit? We plan on going to Zadash which we have allies in that could look into your situation," Caduceus commented.

"I don't know about that, Caduceus, we get into dangerous situations. We shouldn't drag others into it," Fjord, the half-orc, stated.

"I mean, I know how to fight. It just depends on what type of fighting I do. Could get lucky and get another healer," you told them, giving a shrug. On one hand, yes you wanted to go with them because people like them must have powerful allies that could help you. On the other hand, they're all intimidating as fuck and you didn't know how to react with that.

"Have you tried dispel magic?" Caleb asked you and you gave a nod. Any spells you had that could get rid of a curse or magic were your first instincts to cast.

"Dispel Magic, Restorations, Remove Curse, none of it worked."

"My dad has people that could help... Just saying..." Jester threw that out, not at all trying to make it seem nonchalant as this seemed like she just wanted to see her dad again. You had to repress the grimace from that as you don't know how long it's been since you've seen your own family. "Oh! We could try tarot!" She suddenly jumped up and got Beau rolling her eyes.

"We tell you to do something, you do it. Don't get us killed. Don't stab us in the back. Got it?" Beau was the one that told you that. You looked at everyone in the group, there still being a mix of who agreed with you going and who didn't. You just took a deep breath and looked Beau in the eyes, giving her a nod. They are your best chance of getting home.

"Welcome to the Mighty Nein!" The exclamation of Jester caused realization to finally hit you. Aw shit.

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monstersandmaw · 4 years

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Male drider x female reader - WIP, Part Two (sfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

After a teasing Part One last week, here's 3.5k words of Part Two, featuring two poems, neither of which are my own... Things get off to a very rocky start between the lord of Widowsweb Court and the reader, with the drider not exactly behaving in a manner befitting a lord... Naril, the firbolg gardener that everyone seemed rather taken with, continues to be a complete cinnamon roll.

Hope you enjoy, despite 'his lordship's' terrible manners and behaviour... Part Three has just gone up on Patreon today. He also got dubbed ‘cranky spooder’ over on our Discord server, which I adore.

Enjoy x

On the day you first met the lord of Widowsweb Court, you’d opened up one of the enormous windows to breathe a little life back into the stuffy library.

Having spent four weeks getting to know the collection as it was, you’d taken the opportunity to dust a little as well. That had the added advantage that you were now able to let the air back in without fear of choking clouds of dust billowing up into your face. For a house as enormous as Widowsweb Court, you had been surprised to learn that the staff was so minimal - no more than Naril and his father, Chiara the housekeeper, a valet of the lord whom you never saw, and two other members of staff; one a cook, and one a maid.

Standing beside the heavy, ragged old curtain that dragged its hem on the floorboards like a sullen teenager scuffing their heels, you sighed and stared listlessly out at the enormous park beyond. There was something melancholy about it. The grounds were meticulously kept by Naril, not a leaf out of place, and yet it was deserted.

There should have been parties, the voices of people laughing, the chink of glasses and the murmur of conversation in the evenings as people gathered to watch the sun go down over the stunning vista beyond. Music should have floated across the terrace behind the house, washing out to mingle with the dancing splash of water in the fountain, but that basin with its fantasy carvings and rearing stone centaurs, laughing fauns, and wide-winged harpies remained silent and dry.

“Why is it so sad here?” you whispered to yourself, the backs of your knuckles trailing down the old, warped glass of the leaded window. The shutters of this window had been thrown wide too so that you could see what you were doing, and the light poured in over one of the three long, research tables that lined that half of the dour library. Over the course of the past week, you’d stacked books pertaining to poetry up into huge, teetering piles that now looked more like a model city than anything, with skyscrapers reaching for the moulded plasterwork of the triple-height ceiling.

A low, bitter voice from behind you made you jump. “The name didn’t give it away?”

You yelped and tensed, turning sharply to find a figure occupying the shadows between two looming bookshelves. Unable to see them behind the chiaroscuro contrast in the room, you squinted. “The name?” you croaked when you’d finally recovered your senses.

A long, black, needle-thin leg emerged first from the darkness and you almost recoiled in surprise before another appeared beside it. A drider. The voice belonged to a drider. “Widow’s web…” he said in his low, gravelly voice, the tone heavy and dripping with sour sarcasm.

“Oh.” You blinked and curiosity flared in you. “Do… Do you work here as well? I haven’t met you before…”

The emerging drider stopped, the shadows still concealing his upper body, but you could see that he was one of the deadly, flash-quick driders; slim-built and light boned, and probably full of venom. You swallowed. Perhaps he was some kind of security agent? Perhaps it was his job to keep an eye on the place and make sure people kept their distance from the place. Perhaps he had come to check up on you.

For a long moment, the drider remained silent, and then without a word, he flung a thin volume onto the nearest end of the table, only a yard or so from where he still hung back, half concealed in shadow, and turned wordlessly to go. “See that this one is shelved with the rest,” he growled.

You caught a flash of red on his spider’s abdomen before he completely disappeared. His needle-clawed legs made almost no sound on the floorboards, and if you hadn’t been so stunned by his unexpected appearance and behaviour, you might have gone after him to scold him for treating what had to be a first edition - everything else so far had been - so callously. By the time you heard a sharp creak and the soft click of a secret door closing somewhere, it was too late to follow.

So instead, you left the window and picked up the book. It was an anthology of poems, and as you let the volume fall naturally open in your hands, it revealed a short, painfully bitter poem.

And like a dying lady, lean and pale,

Who totters forth, wrapp'd in a gauzy veil,

Out of her chamber, led by the insane

And feeble wanderings of her fading brain,

The moon arose up in the murky East,

A white and shapeless mass.

No wonder he was so gloomy if this was the kind of thing he read. With a sigh, you closed the book and laid it with the other poetry anthologies, and spent the rest of the day trying to shake the encounter from your mind.

At lunch, Naril leaned over the table and frowned. “You alight?” he asked. “You look kind of… far off…?” It was just the two of you that day, with Naril having come in from the gardens a little later than usual, and his father having already eaten.

You sniffed and blinked, not realising you’d been staring into your bowl without really seeing it. “Yeah,” you croaked. “Listen… I’ve not really asked about… this place much. Why is it called Widowsweb?”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his lanky arms. He was tall, even for a firbolg, and that day he had scraped his long red hair back into a thin plait that hung down his back. His eyes, bright green, turned a little distant. “Apparently a dowager from the Silkfoot family had a falling out with her son, and he was so desperate to be rid of her that he exiled her here and gave the entire estate to his cousin who went with her. The two families diverged there, and never had anything else to do with each other since.”

So what Sarrigan had told you, about the two families being at least distantly related, was true. You wondered if the part about the Silkfoot family not liking humans had played a part in the disagreement. “I know one of the Silkfoots. Not well, but he’s a friend of a friend. He seems nice, but he says his family’s mostly awful.”

Naril was still watching you. “What’s brought this on?” he asked after a moment.

You took a breath and said, “I’m assuming your master is a drider then?”

Naril nodded. “Yeah. You… You didn’t know?”

You shook your head. “I hadn’t given it much thought, if I’m honest. Your father was the one who employed me and dealt with everything on behalf of your ‘master’. I… I think I met him this morning though.”

It was Naril’s turn to look a little surprised. He batted his long-lashed eyelids a few times and then barked a rough laugh. “Seriously?”

“Why is that so strange? He lives here. I find it weirder that I’ve not seen him yet.”

“He never shows himself to any of us. He lives in his wing of the house and literally never goes out. Chiara, and his valet Mason are the only two who ever interact with him directly.”

“Why?”

The firbolg’s surprise melted into something softer. “It’s said he’s cursed, but my father says that’s bollocks.”

“If he’s not cursed, then why? Why live as a recluse?” and why was he so rude?

Naril gave a half shrug and then stood, reaching across the table to collect your plate with his scuffed, scar-knuckled hand and take it to the sink. You murmured your thanks as you waited for him to speak, but he didn’t for a long time. You stood watching him, his shirt dirty and sweat stained, ripped here and there, presumably from the vicious thorns of the roses you’d glimpsed from the windows.

“He lost his wife and their entire clutch when they’d only been married a year or so,” he said at last. The splashing of water in the sink as he washed up almost masked his words, but something in your chest panged when you caught them. “People said he did it. People said he was cursed. People said his whole line was cursed.”

“People say a lot of cruel and stupid things,” a harsh, female voice interjected from the doorway behind you and you turned to find Chiara glowering at the pair of you. Naril cringed and turned his attention back to washing up. “You’d do well to ignore all of them, and repeat none,” she said, fixing her yellow eyes on you. The harpy’s tone was as sharp as her claws, and you didn’t fancy crossing her.

You nodded. You weren’t part of the staff, no matter how welcome Naril and his father had made you feel. You were here to reorganise the library, and then you were going to leave. You had been there for one out of your six contracted months already, and the task seemed gargantuan, but you were determined not to let it get the better of you. Time to get back to it.

“Chiara,” you said carefully, “We weren’t gossipping. I believe I met your master this morning, though he didn’t fully show himself to me. I just wondered who I’d met, that’s all.” With that, you turned and put your hand on Naril’s arm. “Listen, I’d better get going. Thanks for doing that,” you added with a twitch of your chin towards the soapy dishes in the sink.

He bowed his head, his large, cow-like ears waggling softly, and closed his eyes briefly. “Take care up there in the library, eh? Don’t go falling off something or lifting more than you can carry. You look worn out.”

“I am tired,” you said, cracking a yawn almost directly on cue. “I haven’t been sleeping all that well here. Could I borrow you tomorrow for half an hour or so? There’s a massive chest that’s been parked in front of a shelf and I need to move it to get to the books behind it.”

He grinned, his odd, almost feline nose twitching. One lip pulled back to reveal his blunt, herbivore’s teeth and he nodded. “Happy to lend a hand, you know that. After lunch?”

You smiled, feeling a slight heating of your cheeks, and turned for the doorway. “Thank you.”

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and you finally cleared enough shelves to begin putting the first phase of your plan for the library into action.

Three days later, though only as you tucked yourself up in bed for the night, you realised you’d left your phone behind in the library. Cursing, you knew you’d have to go back for it if you were going to get up in time the next day to start work. No one formally kept track of your hours, but your professional pride demanded that you start work at nine, and you didn't fancy sleeping through til gods-knew when, especially given your erratic sleeping patterns of late.

Dressing hastily in jeans and a t-shirt, you grabbed the back door key, with which Mr. Ambleside had entrusted you after your first week on site, and let yourself into the main house.

If Widowsweb Court was creepy in daylight, it was unfathomably eerie at night. Pipes creaked and groaned sporadically, and a draft whistled up the corridor as you fumbled along the passageway that would lead to a servants’ staircase, and eventually, emerged onto the second floor near the library.

Were it not for the light of an almost full moon beaming in through the windows along the corridor, you might have missed the library doors altogether, but as it was, they illuminated the brass fittings so that they gleamed like gold, sparkling and winking at you almost fatefully. You scoffed at the thought, and pushed into the library, the door giving its usual raucous yelp on the hinges.

“Gods, I’ve got to get Naril to look at that,” you grumbled, moving across the floor and wondering if you dared turn all the lights on. Part of you expected a hoard of ghostly spectres to be drifting around the shelves like shades through gravestones.

Before you’d gone three paces, you froze. The whisper of a page turning caught your attention, and you swallowed, heart thudding. Again, you were not alone in there.

“Who’s that?” a sharp, male voice demanded from a table at the back of the room.

“It’s me,” you replied, immediately realising how stupid a thing that was to say to someone who wouldn’t have been familiar with you. You added your name, and followed it up with, “I’m working on the library catalogue.”

“At this time of night?” the scratchy baritone growled.

“I left my phone in here,” you said weakly as you stepped around a bookshelf and found him standing behind the furthest research table from the door. You knew immediately who it was, and your heart was thudding as you wondered just how well the lord of the manor would take it that you were sneaking about his house at this hour of the night. “I need it for my alarm in the morning.”

“It’s over there on the windowsill,” he said carelessly, moonlight running along his outstretched arm like mercury. From what you could see of his body, silhouetted against the light from outside, he was unhealthily thin, and he had long hair that fell loose and unrestrained down his back. He was also huge. Sarrigan was squat, fluffy as a tarantula, and muscular, but this figure was spindly and ominous, and built like a black widow.

“Thank you,” you croaked. “I’m… I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

As you picked up your phone from the sill, you heard him clear his throat, and glanced up to see him shifting a little. He looked like a nightmare demon from a shadow-play, all legs and pendulous body, but something about the angle of his head gave you pause.

He took a slow, rasping inhale. “How… is the work going?”

“Slowly,” you said with a rueful smile. “Mr. Ambleside might be a little out of touch with the collection… It’s larger than I was expecting.”

After a pregnant pause, the drider snorted softly and you broke into a nervous laugh at the innocuously-spoken innuendo.

“Anyway, on that note, I’ll leave you to it. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he said and you watched him walk towards the window. As he moved, you realised what was unnerving about him. One of his legs was missing. Where most driders had eight legs, he had only seven.

You thought about him all the way back to your accommodation, and even after you’d set your phone on your bedside table and lain back to stare at the ceiling, the master of the house still occupied your thoughts.

The next morning, you found your feet taking you to that furthest table, and there you discovered that a book had been left open.

The poem that graced these pages was older by many centuries than the one about the moon. It was written in a language that had long evolved beyond recognition, but you stared at it and trailed your fingers down the verse, murmuring the words aloud in the Old Tongue. It was one you’d studied at university during one of your shorter modules, and you barely remembered any of its translation.

Oft him anhaga are gebideð,

metudes miltse, þeah þe he modcearig

geond lagulade longe sceolde

hreran mid hondum hrimcealde sæ

wadan wræclastas. Wyrd bið ful aræd!

You frowned, muttering words aloud until you’d muddled out a tiny bit of it. “Often, the one who is alone finds grace for himself, the… mercy…? The mercy of the lord? Although he, sorrow hearted… heavy hearted?”

“‘Sorrow-hearted’ works,” came a now-familiar voice from behind you and you jumped, nearly knocking the book from the table. This time you turned to find the drider advancing on you in full view.

Slowly, you let your eyes slide up his body to his face. He wore a crisp white shirt that looked like it had never been worn, the stark, monochrome contrast with his black spider’s body almost jarring. His hair was black, with a thick streak of bright, blood red falling around the right hand side of his face, which was gaunt and sallow, with dark shadows beneath his four red eyes. Around his right two eyes, his white skin was stained dark - almost purple - down his face and a little way onto neck, the birthmark looking like a swirl of watercolour. He blinked slowly at you, as if expecting something; waiting for you to say something rude or thoughtless.

With a start, you remembered the poem, and turned back to it. “Was this what you were reading last night?”

“Mmm. You’ve studied the Old Tongue I take it?” he said, and you turned to find him approaching slowly.

You tried not to let your gaze snag on the void where his leg should have been, and instead looked at the text again. “A little, and it was a while ago. I’m rusty… I think I remember this one. It’s called The Wanderer, isn’t it?”

He nodded, his hair sliding forwards like a black theatre curtain to hide his sunken face. “Not going to chide me for leaving it unshelved?” he sneered as he turned and headed once again for the back of the library. “I never did like librarians, you know?”

Grinding your teeth, and forcing yourself not to snap something rude at the person who was technically your employer, you said, “I’m an archivist, and this is your collection, not mine. One book being out of place is hardly going to though the whole thing into chaos, is it?”

He froze, on the point of leaving, and with an almost theatrical slowness, he turned to regard you. After fixing you with his eerie, red stare, he lifted one side of his upper lip and snarled, “I suppose not.”

And with that, he left you alone and unnerved again.

Work progressed at a glacial pace on the library, but you eventually moved from poetry to non-fiction: travel journals and histories, geographical texts and maps.

Naril grabbed you one bright, weekend morning after breakfast and dragged you out into the gardens for the first time. The two of you spent a couple of glorious hours touring the kitchen garden, the walled garden, the rose garden, the knot garden, and finally the orchards and arboretum. As the pair of you walked, hot and honestly quite tired, back up to the house for refreshments, your eyes naturally found their way to the library windows that overlooked the terrace and lawn at the back of the house, and you were surprised to find them flung open.

You paused and scowled.

“What?” Naril asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I was sure I closed the windows last night…” you murmured.

“Maybe the master is in there,” he said. “You know, I think you’ve seen him more than I have now. What’s he like?”

“Sad.” That was the first word that came to mind. “He strikes me as someone who’s incredibly sad. I’ve only seen him three times now, but each time he seemed so bitter and prickly. It’s like he’s curious about what I’m doing in there, but he doesn’t want to talk to me too much.”

You passed beneath the windows and slid into the house, sighing as the air of the cool stone passage wafted over your sun-warmed skin. No more than an hour later, you found yourself back in the library, but the master wasn’t there and the window was shut again. Easing yourself down into a comfortable chair beside the casement, you let your head loll against the back, and wondered if he ever set foot outside. If Naril was to be believed, the drider never left the confines of his wing for anything other than quick trips to the library.

After a while, you found your eyes drooping, and you inhaled deeply, letting the weight of a doze seep through you like the warmth of a hot bath.

A noise stirred you, and you opened your eyes to find that the light had changed to the vibrant magenta of a clear sunset, and that you were not alone. Squinting at the shelf, with his face far closer to the books than yours needed to be to read the titles, was the lord of Widowsweb Court.

You watched him in silence for a moment, not sure if he knew you were there or not, and took in the lines of his black legs - skinny, barbed, and deadly. The chair creaked as you sat up straighter, and he whipped around, dropping the book with a bang onto the floorboards and rearing up, his front legs rising like lances ready to strike.

“Sorry,” you gasped. “I didn’t mean to make you jump. I didn’t know you hadn’t heard me.”

As he lowered himself back down, you looked up into his face and the expression you found there made your heart stop. He looked furious. “Get out,” he barked. “If you’re not working in here, get out.”

Without another word, you rose and fled the room as sedately as you could muster.

Part Three --->

To be continued next Wednesday… Part Three is currently up on Patreon so you can read it right now on the Pixies and Goblins Tier.

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

#drider #male drider #exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster x human #drider x human #male drider x female reader

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ask-the-crimson-king · 3 years

Text

Primarchs as D&D Characters by a DM

Because I have 0 original thoughts in my mind, I’m hopping on this bandwagon. Inspired to do so based on these two posts. Not going to have much explanation on each choice due to the length of the post, and will be focusing on classes and races because this is a long enough post.

I. Lion El’Jonson - Monster Slayer Ranger. Takes the optional class features; Favored Foe, Deft Explorer, Primal Awareness, and the Dueling fighting style. As for race, I could see him playing a number of things; variant human, tiefling, potentially tabaxi or fallen aasimar.

III. Fulgrim - Dex-based Battlemaster Fighter with the Dueling fighting style or Great Weapon Fighting. Could multi into Bard for expertise, probably wouldn’t go farther than Jack of all Trades. Some sort of fey-associated race, potentially a type of eladrin, or even aasimar. Could also see him playing an aarockra. May even like playing the Yuan-ti later on, because I’m Not Very Clever.

IV. Perturabo - Artillerist or Armorer Artificer. Leaning more towards Armorer since it allows one to have your armor become more versatile (retracting and whatnot on a BA, the Guardian armor abilities, etc.), however either could most likely be argued. Either plays warforged or goliath, and has made a homebrew stone giant playable race.

V. Jaghatai Khan - Dex-based Beast Master Ranger. Duelist or Great Weapon Fighting fighting style. Takes the Mounted Combatant feat. Also takes the optional class features, however he keeps Primeval Awareness. Potential multiclass into Fighter for Brutal Criticals. Plays either a fey-aligned race or variant human. Potentially hawk-flavored aaracockra.

VI. Leman Russ - Path of the Totem Warrior (wolf) or Path of the Beast Barbarian. Goes against the Intelligence is a Dump Stat barbar trope, has an 11 to Int and an 8 to Cha. Plays a shifter (if not going Beast Barbarian), dwarf, or goliath.

VII. Rogal Dorn - Artillerist Artificer. Forgoes spellcasting. May also play a Battle Master or Champion Fighter with the Defense fighting style. Main races are goliath, warforged, or potentially longtooth shifters. Sometimes variant human.

VIII. Konrad Curze - Assassin or Phantom Rogue. Expertise in Intimidation and Investigation or Stealth. Could maybe multi into barbar later on with a reflavored Ancestral Guardians if he goes Phantom Rogue. Would be too late for it to be much use, but could still happen. Plays kenku, fallen aasimar, or potentially tabaxi. Maybe leans into the edgy rogue trope and plays tiefling.

IX. Sanguinius - Oath of Glory Paladin. Takes Great Weapon Fighting, doesn’t have an optimized Charisma (has a 14 Cha for a 20 Str), but his Oath helps him overcome some of the challenges that can be associated with this later on. Plus he can just smite. Plays flavored protector aasimar, aarockra, or even firbolgs.

X. Ferrus Manus - Battle Smith or Artilerist Artificer. Or Forge Cleric, though I can’t see him as much of a spellcaster. Plus Battle Smith gives him extra attack. Unsure about the Steel Defender though. Plays dwarf, minotaur, or warforged.

XII. Angron - Path of the Totem Warrior (bear) or Path of the Berserker Barbarian. Leaning more bear barbar due to resistance to everything except psychic damage, and Angron DID hold up an entire Titan’s foot while it was actively trying to crush him, among many other feats. Plus the whole psyker - Nails interaction. Plays dwarf, minotaur, leonin, and potentially goliath.

XIII. Roboute Guilliman - Oath of the Crown Paladin. Leans a bit into the Lawful Good Babysitter pally trope. Defensive, Duelist, or Protection fighting style. Also does not play with Completely Optimized Charisma, but still has a 16 in it while he has an 18 to strength. Plays human, Gith (Githzerai over Githyanki), or maybe loxodon if he’s feeling adventurous.

XIV. Mortarion - Circle of Spores Druid. May multi into Death Cleric for more necrotic damage goodness. Traded a proficiency for proficiency in alchemist tools. This character is scarier than Konrad’s only because he knows how to flavor how he uses his Spores class features to make everyone at the table think ‘what the fuck’. Plays veldaken, kenku, gnome, or the occasional genasi.

XV. Magnus the Red - Lore Mastery or Divination Wizard or Draconic Ancestry Sorcerer, though he’ll more often play the wizard for more spells. Potential multi for one level into a martial class so he can have his glaive and make it his spellcasting focus. Spell lists change often from day to day, sometimes tries to metagame in order to make sure he has the Right Spell. Any character he makes takes advantage of the Tasha’s lineages thing, and thus has the Telepath or Telekinetic feat. Plays kalashtar, kenku, firbolg, or goliaths. May also play a grung.

XVI. Horus Lupercal - Oath of Redemption Paladin, later changing to Oathbreaker. Optimizes Charisma over Strength, relies on spells like Zone of Truth and Hold Person over smites. Takes Intervention or Protection fighting styles. Multi’s into Bard for Jack of All Trades to get Persuasion and Deception expertise. Plays human, gnome, or longtooth shifter.

XVII. Lorgar Aurelian - Zeal Cleric, later multi into Divine Soul Sorcerer. Has high Wis and Cha, though does focus on strength later on (+2 in Str, +5 Wis and +3 Cha). Plays kalashtar for the persuasion advantage, or loxodon, human, aasimar, and potentially lizardfolk.

XVIII. Vulkan - Drakewarden Ranger or Forge Cleric. Usually goes with Drakewarden. Defensive fighting style. Homebrewed a nice warhammer for himself. Plays dragonborn or lizardfolk, though did once try a kobold for a one-shot.

XIX. Corvus Corax - Assassin Rogue or Gloom Stalker Ranger, with a later multi into Twilight Cleric. Expertise in Stealth and Investigation. Duelist or Defensive fighting style. Homebrewed some better weapons for himself at a later level. Plays kenku, human, goblin, halfling, kalashtar, protector aasimar, or aarakokra.

XX. Alpharius/Omegon - Inquisitor Rogue. Optimized to stay out of combat, only fighting as an absolute necessity. Expertise in Stealth and Sleight of Hand. Plays yuan-ti, lizardfolk, dragonborn, changeling, or shifter.

I can go more into the specific archetypes I see them playing if people are interested. But here you go, my takes on everyone.

#i know too much about D&D lmao #moonclaw speaks #feel free to add your own commentary

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chelsfic · 4 years

Text

Dance With Me - Firbolg x Reader - TAZ fanfic

Previous Parts

One Who Holds My Heart (part one)

Moonbeam(part two)

TAZ masterlist

A/N: Another installment in my Firbolg x Reader drabble series. Reader is female and bisexual. Firbolg is soft and precious.

Summary: Jealousy rears it’s head at Rainer’s dance party and you find yourself questioning where things stands between you and your adored firbolg.

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, human/firbolg relationship lol

---

You sit on the rim of a large stone fountain, the water’s spray misting your back as you watch the dance floor, miserably. You really have no right to feel this way. You don’t have any claim over him. It was only one stupid kiss. One...silly kiss...under the moonlight...with the thrill of alcohol bubbling in your stomach and the warmth of the bonfire at your back...the firbolg’s formidable arms wrapped around your small frame...he tasted like maple syrup and champagne… It’s ridiculous to think that he’d feel--what?--beholden to you just because you shared a single kiss.

“Hey, I brought you some punch.”

You startle from your morose thoughts and turn to find Rainer beside you in her chair. A grotesque squirrel skeleton holding a goblet hobbles on its hind legs towards you and you accept it with a half smile.

“Oh...thanks so much, Rainer. I...didn’t even think you knew who I was, honestly,” you admit, blushing a little at your own awkwardness. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and sip the punch, your eyes flicking momentarily back to the firbolg, dancing with his arms around a half-giant woman. He’s laughing at something she said and she presses her cheek to his, holding him a little closer. You might puke.

Rainer follows your gaze and her eyes widen as a bemused smile alights her lips.

“Of course, I know you. I invited you to my party, didn’t I? I came over because you’re the only one here who doesn’t seem like she’s having a good time,” she explains and then adds, delicately, “What’s up?”

Your eyes snap back to Rainer and you smile apologetically, “Oh...it’s stupid. And nothing. I don’t think you’d get it, anyway.”

Rainer rolls her eyes, “Try me!”

You turn toward her, giving her your full attention. Rainer. Beautiful, popular Rainer with her shower of blond locks and her sweet smile and her outgoing demeanor. It’s hard for you to imagine a girl like that ever feeling rejected.

“It’s...my friend. We kissed. And I thought that it...meant something. But...now I think maybe I was wrong,” your voice falls off at the end and Rainer leans forward to place her hand over yours.

“And you thought I wouldn’t understand?” she asks incredulously. Rainer glances over to the other side of the dance floor where Fitzroy is rolling his hips in the middle of a circle that includes Snippers, Festo, Argo and Leon. She shakes her head and laughs, “Trust me, I get it. And I can sum it up in three words: men are idiots. Even friend-shaped firbolg men...”

Argo suddenly shoves Fitzroy aside and drops into a complicated and very bad break dancing routine.

“Rainer...you may have a point,” you laugh.

The two of you take to the dance floor and, with Rainer’s infectious confidence to guide you, you set aside your inhibitions and spin, jump and twirl like a fool. You can feel eyes following you across the floor but when you turn to look the firbolg is nowhere in sight and the half-giant woman has moved on to another partner. The chaotic pull of yours and Rainer’s dance moves draws other dancers into your sphere and before you know it you’ve merged with Fitz’s dance circle. The laughter and energy of your friends floods your senses and you forget about your angst for a little while.

You don’t see the Firbolg again until the party is starting to wind down. There’s some low music playing and just a few couples left swaying on the dance floor.

“Hey, where’ve you been, buddy?” you ask when he settles down next to you in the dewy grass at the edge of the cobblestones.

His eyes follow the lingering dancers as he speaks, “I...was walking. Thinking and walking.”

You turn to face him, watching his profile, the long line of his nose, his round, pouty lips…his big, liquid eyes that seem to swallow up the light of the torches surrounding the courtyard, glowing with the borrowed illumination. You feel your heart lift in your chest with the power of your attraction and affection for this man. You’re not a kid, you’ve had your share of partners. Men and women, fat, skinny, tall, short. You’re attracted to something intangible, invisible. Still, you’ve never fallen for someone quite so...non-human before. When you first saw him cradling that baby pegasus he was an alluring mystery to you. As you got to know him you found yourself falling for his goodness and innocence, his booming laughter and deep rumbling voice. But still, even now that you know him well enough to call him friend and to hope for something more, he remains a bit of a mystery.

You lean your shoulder into his arm, giving him a little push to knock him out of his own head.

“Thinking about what?”

That familiar rumble in his chest means he’s choosing his words. He never speaks carelessly. Another thing you love about him.

“About you. About my…,” his voice dips lower and sadness tinges his tone, “my clan. When I sleep I see them...they...mmm...show me things. Tell me things. They would not...approve--I think--of me--uhhhh--feeling things for one as you. An...outsider.”

The words hurt and you don’t try to hide it from him. If the firbolg’s friendship has taught you anything it’s the value of honesty. He looks down at you, seeing the stricken look on your face and hating himself for it. He reaches out one massive hand and gently strokes his fingers along the outside of your arm, the touch is as much an apology as his wounded-baby-gazelle eyes. He can’t help his own doubts and fears. Nor should he.

“I understand,” you murmur, turning your palm up and catching his hand in yours. “Do you still hope to...rejoin them, then? Someday?”

He’s silent for a long time. He lets you cradle his hand in both of yours. You idly play with his fingers, tangling them with your own as he gathers his thoughts.

At length he speaks, “To them I am...nothing…”

Your answer come out in a whisper, “You’re not nothing to me.”

---

The flames of the torches burn low and the night air is beginning to feel sharp with the promise of the coming dawn. The music has long since faded but you take the dance floor together and sway to a symphony of crickets and cicadas from the nearby Unknown Forest. The firbolg holds you in his arms, your feet dangling more than a foot above the ground so that you can look into each other’s eyes as you dance.

Later that night, the firbolg dreams that he’s walking through a familiar, dark forest. He approaches the warm glow of a campfire and he knows that his clan--his family--awaits him there. But instead of feeling alone, unwanted or frightened, he looks down to find you standing there beside him and he feels a warm glow in his chest. His own merry campfire and his own little clan--you and he, together.

#master firbolg #taz firbolg #master firbolg x reader #taz graduation #firbolg x reader #firbolg #justin mcelroy #the adventure zone #chelsfic

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ladyatthecrossroads · 5 years

Note

prompt list 40.“You’re sweeter than cake.” with Caduceus if its not too much trouble?

Sorry this took so long to complete, anon. It’s a bit longer than I expected it to be. I hope you enjoy!Title: Sweeter Than CakePairing: Caduceus x readerWord Count: 2435

It feels good to be back in Zadash. Your adventuring party had dragged you all across the continent of Wildemount and beyond, to the shores of the Menagerie Coast and the waves of the Lucidian Ocean. Finally back in the Empire, you were more than happy to put the relatively lawless ways of the ocean and pirating aside. You had missed this, just walking along the cobbled streets, passing the various vendors out and about with their wares in the Pentamarket. The city was a hectic place, bustling with activity, but it definitely was preferable to struggling to survive on a boat in the middle of the ocean. This was downright relaxing, comparatively.

“Man, I can’t believe Caduceus has never had a birthday party,” comes the trilling voice of Jester as the two of you stroll along the boulevard. The easily excitable tiefling skips along beside you, occasionally linking arms with you for the briefest of moments before rushing off towards whatever stall or tent catches her eye. You, however, have a goal in mind, a very specific goal.

Leaving the rest of your party back at the Leaky Tap, you recall the conversation that brought you here, snooping about the Pentamarket in search of the best variety of baked goods you could find. The subject of birthdays had arisen, and Jester had been very eager to share the details of the various past parties her mama had thrown for her as a little girl. This had led to each of you throwing in your two copper on the matter and your own personal experiences.

Of course, you hadn’t missed the far off look on the firbolg cleric’s face that spoke of fond memories. He had lazily scrubbed at his brilliant pink beard with that thoughtful expression he always wore, commenting plainly on how many seasons it had been since he last celebrated a birthday with his family. And when you had questioned him further on the subject, he appeared to grow sheepish and told you about how his family never really threw “parties,” per se. Birthdays seemed more a day to ponder your personal growth and reflect inwardly on how best to serve the Wildmother. Seeing that this answer didn’t exactly satisfy you, he then made mention that his parents would always cook his favorite food, at least.

You can understand; Caduceus is an incredibly humble individual, after all, and humble celebrations seem enough to please him. Still, you can’t quite shake the odd lingering disquiet you feel. You care for all of your comrades, but the firbolg cleric is very dear to you.

From the first time you had laid eyes on him, he had exuded such a calming aura and had been a paramount force in overcoming your grief and coming to terms with the losses you all had sustained on the road thus far. He always made time to listen when you came to him with a problem, offering helpful advice. He was so insightful, even if he was a bit naïve to the outside world. You’d both promised to lean on each other for support whenever the need arose. It was for your mutual benefit, and ultimately the good of the group, you’d told yourself.

It seemed to just come naturally that you had then fallen for him.

You want to do this for him. He deserves it after everything Caduceus has done for you. For all of you. He deserves to know that he is irrevocably and undeniably a beloved member of the Mighty Nein.

“Oh, what about this one?” Jester’s attention is caught by a baker placing hot fruit pies out to cool in a store window. The aroma seeping out the front door smells nice; the sweetness of candied fruits and the savory scent of freshly baked breads combine and you find yourself leaning forward in that direction to catch more of the delicious fragrance. Your feet move almost of their own accord, drawn in by the promise of tasty treats within. The tiefling cleric is very eager to bound to your side, linking arms with you once again as the two of you enter the shop.

The tinkling of bells announce your arrival, even though the front door is already wide open. Magic almost seems to permeate the air; there’s a palpable buzz of arcane energy, intertwined in the heady scents of the pastries. A young woman wipes her hands on her apron and looks at you, and you can see she is of some sort of Elvish descent; half-elf, you wager. Her blue eyes twinkle at you and though she is fair of face, you can see shining silver strands among her ashen brown hair. It seems impossible to determine her age, as you know that half-elves generally live longer than a human yet not as long as a full-blooded elf.

She regards you with friendly curiosity and a warm smile. “Welcome,” she says, a lilt to her voice that reminds you of a certain lavender-skinned tiefling, and you smile in fond remembrance, “Can I help you find anything today?”

A brief, but detailed conversation ensues, occasionally interrupted by one of many of Jester’s seemingly endless lines of random questions. The clerk seems to have infinite patience. You describe the occasion and general idea of what you’re looking to buy, and she is very helpful in selecting a treat of appropriate taste and size. You leave with a cake box of a medium size and a sense of accomplishment and anticipation. You hope Caduceus will like it.

When you reach the Leaky Tap, your eyes search for your ragtag group. You find them quite easily; even in the dim lighting, Caduceus’s tall frame and pink hair are not difficult to spot. The firbolg’s back is to you as he converses with Fjord and Beau, but Caleb is the one to meet your gaze. A quick assessment of you and the package you hold and he gives you a knowing look when you silently plea for him not to spoil the surprise. He puts his head back down to the book he’s reading but you catch a small glimpse of a smile he tries to hide.

You glance at Jester and the tiefling is practically vibrating in excitement beside you. Her hands go to press upon your shoulders and urge you closer. You can feel your heart beating faster. Together, the two of you cross the room as inconspicuous as you can. Fjord and Beau glance up and over Caduceus’s shoulder, eyes widening and eyebrows cocking, and that gives him the clue to turn around; and that’s when the two of you begin to sing.

It’s entirely worth it. You inhale deeply as Jester and you belt out a somewhat harmonious rendition of Happy Birthday. Your arms present the wrapped confection, held out before you as you circle the table to set it down. Caduceus’s expression is filled with mild surprise and wonderment, his light pink eyes travelling over the expanse of your face before trailing down to the cake box you hold and then back up to meet your eyes. His smile is warm and gentle and you think you can see a faint warming of color bloom across his cheeks. It might just be a trick of the light; you aren’t certain.

“Well,” he says, in that low, rolling rumble of his, “This was unexpected. How nice.” He retracts his hands from where they were folded together on the table before him, and you set down the box. He sits there, eyes glued to you and your face, still smiling, lazy and content.

You puff your chest up in pride and gesture to the box before him. “Well, go on. Open it.” And, watching as those large hands of his move to the simply-tied string holding the container closed, your own fumble together, twisting and wringing as you bite your lip in earnest. “I hope you like it.”

What he reveals is the modestly decorated cake you had picked out. Instead of icing, you had asked for powdered confectioners sugar to be sprinkled liberally about the sponge. The cake itself was actually a dome of a lovely muted shade of green tinted with brown from the baking process. It is a simple design, nothing too fancy, as you had chosen it for flavor rather than looks.

Despite the outward humbleness of the cake’s appearance, Caduceus looks pleased. “Oh, wow. Look at that. That looks…” He closes his eyes and inhales the sweet scent, and you can practically see his eyes roll back in his head beneath his fluttering lids. His smile grows. “I know this smell. It’s wonderful.”

“I thought you would. It’s a tea cake… or, rather, it’s a cake made with tea. Green tea,” you correct yourself.

His head turns and a hand goes to wrap gently around your shoulder and pull you down to him into a hug. “You got me a green tea cake. That’s so nice. You didn’t have to get me a cake.” There’s a light note of bashfulness to his voice and you smile, returning the hug.

“I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to do something nice for you,” you admit, heat rising to your face and you silently thank the gods that there is very low light in the tavern. “You’re always doing things for us, healing us, you know.”

“Yeah, Caduceus,” the other cleric chimes in, that teasing note in her voice as she pops up over on the other side of him, “And you know we wouldn’t do this for just anybody, you know? We really like you. And, I mean, some of us really, really like you. Like, a lot. Like, just so much, you know, so—“

Dear gods, she really did have to just ham it up, didn’t she. You shoot her a glare from behind Caduceus’s back before Fjord pipes up.

“I think the man gets it, Jester,” he says, clearing his throat and trying to inconspicuously glance between the two of you with a look. The air has gotten noticeably warmer, or maybe that’s just you. Either way, you’re grateful for the interference.

The tiefling has the audacity to shoot you an innocent look, despite the mischievous smile clear behind her eyes. When Caduceus turns to look up at you, she makes a rather inappropriate gesture in your line of sight. You want to smack her, but Caduceus grabs your hand and your attention.

“Thank you so much. This is more than anyone’s ever done for me in a long time. Really, thank you.” His eyes are squinted with delight as he looks up at you and his long ears do a happy little flick, and it is the most adorable thing you think you’ve ever seen; a seven-foot-tall, pink-haired firbolg being absolutely giddy at being able to celebrate his birthday so far from his home. He tugs gently on your hand. “Come sit. Let’s eat.”

From his pack, Caduceus produces a set of cutlery to start cutting the cake and you take them gently from his grasp to divvy up the slices yourself. You reserve him the first and biggest piece after sizing up just how much to give to everyone else, after which you all eagerly dig in.

The flavoring is subtle and not overly sweet and you can tell from the expressions of your compatriots that it had been a good while since they had indulged in something to satisfy their sweet tooth. Beau, Jester, Fjord and Nott all seem to devour their shares within mere seconds, whilst Yasha, Caleb and Caduceus each take their time and savor the experience.

You’re focusing so intently on Caduceus’s reaction, taking in every minute shift in expression with each bite he takes, how he seems to chew so methodically and ensure he gets everything out of it; the taste, the texture, every little nuance and flavor he can possibly experience. It’s downright mesmerizing how one man can be so thorough and savor each little bite.

Jester’s foot connects lightly with your shin under the table, snapping you out of your reverie. Maybe you’d been staring for a bit too long. You snap to attention, bashfully returning you your slice and finishing it off. It was delicious and so worth the cost.

A quick prestidigitation spell cleans off the plates and utensils and you help Caduceus gather and sort them all and put them away while the rest of your crew begin to go about their own independent business. Caleb sticks his nose back into his spell books; Nott has slipped into the crowd and disappeared; Fjord and Jester have gotten into some conversation about what plans to make for the coming day; Yasha is brooding in a corner; and you think you see Beau wandering over to the bar, practically itching to start a tavern brawl.

You, meanwhile, are pointedly not looking at Caduceus, fixating yourself on cleaning up the remnants of dessert and simply enjoying the relative silence before things get too rowdy. After a moment, you steel your nerve, asking, hopefully, “Did you like it?”

You don’t know how he does it, how he’s always so content all the time, how easily he grins like the cat that ate the canary, slowly, languorously. Somehow the world just melts away and it’s only you and him. “I did, thank you.”

“And it wasn’t too sweet?”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head, pink eyes warming over your face, “The cake was sweet, but…” He lifts one large hand, fingers outstretched, and you are powerless to move away as he gently swipes them down your cheek. As he pulls them away, you see a small smudge of powdered sugar that he brushes his thumb over. You lift your hands to your face, semi-self-conscious now of having any more sugar there, feeling the blush rapidly rise to the surface; you pray the light is low enough that the firbolg doesn’t notice.

But then he looks earnestly into your eyes and you catch your breath. His face is so close now that his breath fans across your lips. His thumb catches your chin and he leans in to peck gently at your lips, and you’re melting all over again.

Caduceus pulls away from you, and you see his tongue flicker out to pan over his bottom lip just briefly. Honestly, you feel a little woozy. Did Caduceus just… kiss you? Did that really just happen? You could die happy. He smiles.

“Just as I thought,” he rumbles, “You’re sweeter than cake.”

#critical role x reader #critical role #critical role imagine #critical role campaign 2 #caduceus x reader #caduceus clay #caduceus #mighty nein x reader #the mighty nein #x reader #reader insert #request fill

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if-weshadows-haveoffended · 4 years

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Love Is So Confusing There's No Peace of Mind - Caduceus Clay x Reader

A/N: Me, reading the tag, finishing the fics: guess I gotta add some more then.

I LOVE PINK COW MAN SO FUCKING MUCH AND I LOVE CONFUSED AND EMBARASSED COW MAN EVEN MORE. I JUST LOVE HIM. IF MATTHOLOMEW HURTS EVEN ONE STRAND OF PINK HAIR IM FUCKING RIOTING. Anyway in light of episode 95 I’m gonna make a part 2 to this, so this is pre ep95 somewhere idk. Also Taliesin mentioned in an episode of Talks that Caddy shack always has music playing in his mind (I think he went with Bolero? I imagine the mii channel theme), so I’m playing with that idea.

Title: Love Is So Confusing There's No Peace of Mind Words: 2500+ Masterpost: here (x) Prompt List: here (x) Mixtape Archive: here (x)

Caduceus had been in a considerable pickle since his little outing last night.

Their downtime in Zadash had been pretty uneventful save Jester asking him to accompany her to some bakery or another. With her considerable… addiction seemed the right word… to the baked goods, his days seemed to be spent accompanying her for box after box of iced treats. If he was being honest, he wasn’t entirely sure if this was at all healthy, but at the very least it gave him some opportunity to meet different citizens residing within the city. It was easy, he found, with the adventuring lifestyle to become surprisingly more isolated than during his time at the Blooming Grove. There were days where he wouldn’t even see half of the Nein until it was time for dinner. So he found himself relishing these sorts of occasions, more so now than when the group had been less than reputable.

It was towards the end of their first week in Zadash when Jester tore into the room he shared with Yasha, screaming about something or rather about the most beautiful bakery she had ever seen in all of Exandria.

“DUECES! THEY’RE SO PRETTY! YOU LIKE HAVE TO SEE THEM IT’LL CHANGE YOUR LIFE! THEY’RE LIKE BOUQUETS OF FLOWERS BUT THEY’RE PASTRIES AND OH MY GOD WE’RE LEAVING RIGHT NOW!”

“Is this what you do all the time?” Was what he had eventually asked the surprisingly young owner of the bakery. He wasn’t sure how tall she was for a human, most humans (well everyone) seemed small to him. Jester truly had used all her strength to drag both himself and Nott towards the bakery (Jester had said it was technically a patisserie, not that he knew what that meant).

“Well, it’s a job and I love it?” She pushed back her hair and continued to wipe down the glass displays filled with a myriad of pastries and cakes. Each little dozen was different to the one beside it, and all of them were decorated with delicate buttercream-and in some cases, real- flowers.

“You’re clearly very talented with them,” Caduceus replied, thanking her as she handed him a flaky little pastry piled high with pale green cream and little blossoms. “Oh wow, that’s nice. No, really!”

The young woman had laughed, and he noted the colour about her cheeks. Their conversation had ended there as a number of customers had walked into the patisserie, Jester pulling him out the door and giving her customary farewell. He found himself the following day offering to buy the pastries on Jester’s behalf, solving her problem of being unsure of whether to buy pastries or ditch helping Fjord out with some shopping matters.

He never ended up returning home that afternoon. He’d simply gotten too carried away sitting at the patisserie, chatting with the delightful owner. He’d eventually caught her name (it was a very lovely name, it suited her) and she’d invited him to the pub later that day to hear her and her co-bakers perform as they usually did.

“Not sure how it started but eventually we decided it was a great way to have fun and get some extra pay. Childcare in Zadash isn’t cheap these days,”

“BLOODY SCALPERS!” An elven male baker had shouted while decorating the floral tarts.

“Anyway, you don’t have to come. But I’d really appreciate it if you did!”

And he went, nervously combing fingers through lichen-stained hair as he sat alone by the makeshift stage. His heart pounded in his chest, unsure quite why it felt like doing that. He had no reason to be nervous after all she was quite nice and he was only reciprocating the niceties she was showing him, and the last thing Jester would want was for him to get on the bad side of her “absolute-favourite- the-very-best-the-goddess-of-all-baked-goods-except-for-that-one-bakery-in-Nicodranas-that-does bear-claws” baker. (Or at least he thinks that was all the superlatives Jester mumbled out).

And Caduceus had thought, as he watched her give him a little wave as her band of bakers set up, that perhaps he was finally over these unnecessary jitters. Perhaps he’d be able to listen to her music and perhaps introduce her to the wonders of his little ‘death whistle’ as Caleb liked to call it. Or at least he had thought so until she opened her mouth and began to sing.

He was absolutely transfixed, half of him terrified and wanting to run away, the other never wanting to leave her side. All of time seemed to still and yet flow faster than he could have ever wanted, praying every second he could that he could remain in this moment forever. He found himself unable to form the words that would usually come, as they chatted over dinner following her performance, apologising as he stumbled and stuttered over words. And she would laugh with a shake of her head, kindly bumping her knee against his as they sat huddled up in the performers’ lounge at the back of the tavern. Their talk of every day adventures and his little gripes (gripes was the nicest words) of the Nein in the Xhorhaus, and of the beauty that drove her work.

“…And you see, they’re just such a difficult shade of pink to replicate. Like your hair, I suppose. It’s very pretty,” She had said as they walked home, her hair streaming about in the brisk night breeze. On instinct he found himself moving by her side, curling her under his arm and pressing her against the side of his body. She thanked him, smiling brightly at him, and he smiled back relishing in how perfectly she fit.

They’d fallen into companionable silence, walking their way back to The Leaky Tap. She quirked a brow when he’d mentioned that was where he was staying.

“Well, you’re certainly braver than I am. That dude gives me the creeps.” She made a vague gesture to sweat at the temples and he assumed she meant the Gentleman.

“He’s not so bad.” Caduceus replied with a laugh, his mind desperately searching for ways to stretch this moment out as long as he could. “You really do have such a beautiful voice,”

“No,”

“Really,” He drew closer, holding both her hands in his, “It puts songbirds to shame. I’d love to hear you more.”

“Well, you’re welcome any time Caduceus Clay.”

He froze at that point, feeling her tug him down to press a kiss to his cheek. With a wave she began to walk away, a skip in her step and hands buried into the pockets of her skirt. For how long he stood there, only the Wildmother knew, his face burning up and a sense of giddiness building up within him. All he knew was that he just stood there, staring at cobblestones like some sort of idiot. Part of him mused at how they sparkled just a little under the moonlight.

If Colton ever heard how he was thinking, he’d never hear the end of it.

He couldn’t even find the familiar comfort of sleep, tossing and turning and irritating Frumpkin who had curled into the space by his shoulders. Instead he lay there upon his bedroll awake, staring at the shadows that danced upon the ceiling. His ears twitched at the distant sound of murmurs and Jester’s hushed giggles, but the effort he’d usually use to eavesdrop was simply missing. No, his mind was filled with the feeling of her soft lips pressed against the fuzz of his skin and the way her eyes shone as she had looked at him. And he, cursing his curiosity, found himself lost in the mesmerising depths of her eyes.

And that was how he ended up here, sitting at the vacant bar (save the Nein), asking Jester for help.

At some point his mind began to turn blank, filling with the sounds of a busy hive of bees and the distant memory of music. Jester’s mouth seemed to move much slower than the stream of lively sounds that emanated from herself. He barely registered Nott making some sort of joke that Fjord half-laughed-half-reprimanded her for, attempting to somewhat come to his defence. Caduceus found that sweet- or at least he would if he knew what was happening. Even throwing a look of help at Yasha couldn’t save him from the rising heat in his face and ears as she smiled and said something that threw the group into even more of a chaotic round of laughter. But it was a small quip Jester had made that sent Beau sliding to the floor and Fjord choking for air as he grabbed his stomach. Caduceus did everything he possibly could to just curl in on himself and wish for the Wildmother to send some form of giant carnivorous plant. He was sure Fjord could agitate one enough to swallow him whole.

“What’s this about deflowering the firbolg?” Caleb wandered into the room where he and the others had been discussing his current predicament. Caduceus was unaware that he could get anymore embarrassed than he already was, his face buried into his hands and his tail flicking about erratically.

“Caduceus has a crush!” Jester sang, head sitting on her hands and trying to stifle her giggles.

“I don’t think it’s a straight crush Jessie, it sounds bit more complicated than that.” Fjord tried remedying, throwing him an apologetic look. Caduceus’ ear twitched as he noticed that Fjord was only half apologetic.

“No, Deucey is hopelessly and utterly in the throes of love!” Nott hushed Fjord with a slap to his arm, the latter dramatically complaining of how hurt he was. “Positively twitterpated.”

“Cad needs to fuck,” Beau explained to Caleb as he took the seat next to her, “But like… with feelings and serious monogamy and all that sort of crap.”

“Doesn’t the Wildmother have teachings on sexy times and all that? The Traveller probably does I mean he’s super cool and all that-”

“Well,” Caduceus cut off off Jester’s tangent, his voice louder than usual. He was unaware it could get this high or this loud. It was a terrible reminder of that time they had spent before King Dwendal, the urge to simply feed Ikithon and his rudeness to some deadly creature rearing itself in his mind again. “All… that… is part of nature and something that perpetuates her cycle and her creation. But I don’t think this is what she had in mind…”

“All sorts of animals have courtship rituals, ja?” Caleb not-so-helpfully bought up, Caduceus shot him a brief glare from between his fingers. “I suppose the most helpful question would be: what do you want from this?”

He slowly prised his forehead away from his hands, taking deep breaths and trying to calmly face the group.

What did he want from this?

“And asking the Wildmother is cheating!” Jester added hastily.

Well that removed that option.

He supposed he liked her voice. Music had always filled his mind, the Wildmother present in all the music of nature. Sometimes it felt like it took over. But her laughter, the way she sang, the way she smiled as she sang. Part of him knew that he would never be able to wash those beautiful sounds from his mind.

Jester had often talked about romances and her fairytales, and Beau of other women she’d slept with. Hells, he’d even witnessed Fjord sacrificing himself (not that he needed to) upon the Squall Eater just to appease Avantika. But he’d never considered any of those for himself. He’d always assumed that perhaps, if it ever happened and the Wildmother deemed it part of his destiny, she would send someone along he could perhaps get along with. Someone he could envision just spending hours in silence, understanding and enjoying company. Someone who perhaps understood other parts of him- ones that he very rarely even let his own family see. And she was beautiful, all encompassing and demanding every second of his attention, almost terrifying. But nature was beautiful in that sense as well.

And taking a quick glance up from his hands and a look around the table, the sickening, horrifying realisation that he’d said all this aloud sunk to the pit of his stomach.

“Well,” Caleb coughed into the purring cat in his arms, “That answers that.”

“Perhaps, perhaps oh my gosh Caduceus, what if this is that!” Jester suddenly piped up, grabbing ahold of his shirt and shaking him a little. “You have to see her now! Ohmygosh!”

He vaguely felt himself protesting, saying that perhaps she was misinterpreting things. But Nott only scoffed at him, licking the palm of her hands and trying to tame his hair down the way his mother once did. He felt both Fjord and Yasha heave him out of the seat, pushing him in the vague direction of the door and suggesting something or rather about casually asking- oh no Fjord was saying make a show of it- no, Caleb was suggesting being forthright but gently romantic. Caduceus heard himself somewhat protesting, Nott offering him a swig of liquor and almost succeeding in pouring some down his throat had Jester not shoved in next to him to hand him a bouquet of flowers.

Now where in Melora’s green earth did those appear from. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to know anymore.

But perhaps they were right. Perhaps, as Caleb supplied into his ear holdinga pearl to his forehead, that the small kiss was indicative that she also wished to get to know him better. Despite all his reservations, he found himself somehow trying to listen to every single fragment of conflicting advice Fjord and Beau were throwing at him. He even found himself listening to Nott practically shouting some carnal knowledge into his ear, Jester enthusiastically joining in as he practically tripped over Fjord’s feet. Fjord held him up, though he seemed to be finding it difficult to meet his gaze as the two continued relating all information they thought would help. Yasha, thankfully saving him, cleared her throat and levelled the two with a glare.

“You got this Cad! I believe in you!” Beau had slapped his shoulder hard enough for him to almost stumble out the Leaky Tap, “I’m so proud!” she wiped away a stray tear from the corner of her eye, resting her shoulder against Yasha who only nodded in agreement.

He took several steps out the door, fiddling with his earring and adjusting the bouquet in his hands. Caduceus noticed with a start that the delicate blossoms matched that impossibly sweet shade of pink she had mentioned. The ones that dusted her most favourite of baked creations and held pride of place at the centre of her display. He took one look back, noticing his friends all standing at the door, thumbs up and shooing him enthusiastically to go after her.

Well, there was no time like the present. He straightened his shoulders, and an unbidden grin forming upon his face, he headed in the direction of the bakery with a determined step.

“AND BRING ME BACK PASTRIES IF YOU TWO AREN’T LIKE YOU KNOW BANGING AND MAKING MINI FOLLOWERS FOR THE WILDMOTHER!”

#caduceus clay x reader #mighty nein x reader #critical role x reader

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mollymaymaukme · 5 years

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Mollymauk x Reader: From Beyond the Grave, Part 13

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13 , Part 14

You want to protest as his lips leave instead of linger but you are only being supported by his arm wrapped about you and are forced to lay your head back against his shoulder.

You heave in deep breaths that feel foreign to your lungs as you become accustomed to their function once again. “Let’s get you warm.” He presses another kiss to your hair as he gets to his feet with you cradled in his arms.

“This way friend.” A slow and deep voice you are so familiar with says. But you’ve no extra energy to even look about for Caduceus or any of the others surrounding you for that matter.

Your vision is hazy and every now and then black spots surge forth and threaten to take you under again. So you lay limp in Molly’s arms, a hand absentmindedly going to curl into the material of his shirt.

Instead of his stupidly low cut shirt your fingers trace over the three raw wounds. Molly hisses in pain and you take your hand away with a frown. There was something important about those marks. Something that was just out of reach and the further you strained to remember the more your head spun.

You are led into a stone temple you are semi familiar with because of Caduceus’ descriptions. There is a square room with a few benches and a stone altar. Your group is led into a side room where there is some strange mash of storage and a kitchen. Logs are thrown into the fire pit by Kitor that is set into the wall.

Molly sits as close to the fire as he dares. Hands running over your body in an attempt to restore circulation. You keep your face tucked into his neck, breathing in his scent and listening to his pulse thrum against your ear.

Everything going on around you is just background noise and fuzzy sensations. You feel a hand on the back of your neck that is probably not Molly’s but you’ve no energy to turn to see who it is. Words are exchanged between Molly and another, you can tell from the vibrations in his chest. Something about a healing spell not working. Slowly your body begins to loosen as warmth penetrates your muscles and bones.

A little while after you become more aware of others that are shuffling about this room and in the main temple. Warily you lift your head to look around. You see a female firbolg, who you are fairly certain must be Nila sitting in a corner weaving long vines into some kind of container. Beside her is another firbolg with long pink hair swept into a bun drinking from a cup.

He meets your gaze with a smile before getting to his feet. You watch him move back and forth a few times before he is presenting you and Molly with two mismatched cups of steaming tea. Molly rejects his but does not stop Caduceus from passing one to you, “Here. This’ll make you feel a little bit warmer inside, Lily.”

You nod your thanks and hesitantly begin to sip at the hot tea. Caduceus was right. With every sip you grow a bit warmer and your throat is slowly soothed.

Once finished Mollymauk takes the cup from your fingers and sets it off to the side. His hand coming back up to card through your hair as he looks you over. “You feeling better Y/n?”

After a moment of mentally checking yourself over you give a small nod. A loud bang from the main temple accompanied by many voices chastising and squabbling catches your ear. “Who are they?” Your voice greatly improved from its coarseness earlier but is still quiet.

“A group of friends I’ve been traveling with. . .do you feel up to meeting them?” You know that if you said no he wouldn’t press the matter. And even though you were not fond of large groups, especially of strangers, you were even less fond of the unknown. So you nod and Mollymauk promptly helps you to your feet. It is a slow affair to get to the doorway as you both shake out the pins and needles from your limbs.

You have to rely on Mollymauk’s support to walk and to fast a movement of your head makes your vision swim. But eventually you both enter the main temple. A strange mis matched group is sitting among the benches and chatting with one another in various circles.

Yahsa is the first to notice your entrance. Her abrupt silence mid sentence drawing the attention of the lithe woman sitting next to her. You offer a small smile in the barbarians direction before she is on her feet in an instant. Within a few long strides she reaches you. Pulling both you and Molly into a tight embrace.

“I am happy to see you not dead.” her soft voice pricking tears in your eyes. How many nights had you listened to her read aloud to you and Molly. Sharing laughter by the fire light. Picking new flowers for her to press into her journal and being rewarded with a rare smile from the barbarian and sometimes even a hug. Not counting Molly she was your closest friend. You three being a tight knit trio back in the circus.

Guilt sat heavy on your concious for having put her through this again. It must have been devastating to lose Molly and then to find her other closest companion half alive in the dirt after being missing for so long. Especially considering everything that had transpired in her past.

She draws back and you hold up an open hand in offering for a high five.

---

“No!” Molly whines as he rolls away from you. “High fives are where you meet with open palms, like this.” He claps his hands together above his head, the movement throwing shadows across his face from the fire light.

The entire carnival was currently gathered around as everyone finishes the last of their meal. It was later than usual as you all had finished packing up the tent from the latest town and decided to head straight out and gain some distance before sundown.

You hold up your closed fist “What is this one then? I thought this was the greeting where two hands meet?”

“That is a fist bump. And both touch hands with someone, one just uses closed fists and the other an open palm.”

Yasha is sitting on Molly’s other side and is focused on polishing her sword. Molly scoots closer to her, throwing a look over his shoulder as if to say ‘watch closely’. “Hey Yash, high five?”

The barbarian woman doesn't look up from where she is turning the blade to examine it in the fire light. Her closed fist taps Molly's offered hand and the tiefling crumples with a dramatic wail.

Yahsa finally looks over at the Molly who is grabbing at his horns “Why does the universe hate me so much?”

“Oh, was that the wrong one?” Her voice soft and confused as she looks over at you.

“Yup.” You nod “But Molly I don’t see the big deal? Isn’t it a greeting nonetheless when the hands meet regardless of how you hold them?”

Red eyes glower at you, without any actual anger, “No! A fist bump is a bump and a High five is a clap!”

Even without pupils you can imagine his eyes rolling as Yasha claps once and mutters “High five” to herself.

“How am I more socially savvy than the two of you combined” He groans flopping over once again.

“That is debatable Mollymauk!” Gustav calls from across the fire where he was finishing the last of the late supper.

“Yeah, the three of you are just one walking chaotic mess.” Orna chuckles.

Of the three of you only Molly takes offense at her words. “How dare you lump me with them! I have far more social prowess than that.” He huffs folding his arms across his chest.

“Ah yes” Bo rumbles “I recall such examples as nearly getting arrested for offending a lady and of course when you scared them kiddies back to their mother’s skirts.”

Molly splutters and hops to his feet in an attempt to defend himself “First off I’d fallen into her by accident and was trying to apologize, and secondly those kids were asking for me to ‘talk tiefling’ for them!”

You hold out your hand to him and he begrudgingly takes it so you can pull him back to your side. He pouts as you urge him to sit, your hand releasing his to instead fuss over the chains of his horns that had become tangled in his hair.

“You know kids always seem to be drawn to Y/n and repelled by you Mollymauk.” Orna practically cackles. It was true. Any place you traveled, by the end of the week you’d have a flock of beggar children following you as closely as your own shadow.

Molly makes a pitiful whining sound at the observation and wilts into your lap. Yasha, used to his antics, doesn’t bat an eye and just silently gets to her feet to retire to bed. “Hey Yasha!” You call lifting up your hand as she passes. The barbarian woman shares a wink with you and taps your open hand with a fist before going to her tent.

Molly’s soft “Whyyyyyy” is muffled by your thigh but you giggle anyways.

It became a fun little game between you and Yasha to see how riled up you could make Molly by trading inaccurate greetings. The favorite always being the mash of the fist bump and high five.

---

You see her two toned eyes water as she meets your palm with a fist. Molly’s quiet tease of “Dorks” seems to be the breaking point for all of you. After a few more poorly hidden sniffles and embracing one another Yasha steps back.

Her movement triggers some kind of signal to the others, most likely by habit, that it was safe to approach now. Seeing this mass of strangers however instinctually makes you flinch. You find you are unable to step back due to Molly’s arm around your waist, but he senses your discomfort and holds out a hand to the others. “How about we all just sit back down, yeah?”

There is a few discontented murmurs but they all go back to sitting on the benches. You are overly aware that you are the center of attention and your hand holds Mollys sleeve in a white knuckled grip.

Yasha helps Molly assist you to a bench currently only occupied by a scuffed up human holding an orange ball of fur. You dislike how his gaze seems to penetrate you but he says nothing, just stands and goes to take the vacant spot beside the human woman.

Molly and Yasha sit on either side of you. The tiefling has both an arm and tail wrapped around you to keep you flush against his side and Yasha’s knee gently bumps yours as she sits straight backed with her arms crossed over her chest.

A goblin that scrambled up beside the man is peering at you with large yellow eyes. “What's your name dead girl?” She asks leaning forward on her heels.

It is obvious the goblin does not expect your gaze nor voice to be sharp when you answer “Y/n.”

“Woah, woah. Lets not go rufflin each others feathers so soon.” A half orc speaks up from where he sits.

You turn to look at him. He offers a small smile that you can tell is forced and fake. You get the sense that if Molly and Yasha were not at your side this group might be far more abrasive than they already seem to be.

“I’m Fjord.” He says as though it were a peace offering. When you say nothing he clears his throat and goes around the circle. “This is Jester.” He points to a blue tiefling beside him who seems to be practically vibrating with excitement “That’s Beau, Caleb, Nott--the rude one--oh and here's Caduceus. This is his temple.” The firbolg ducking through the entrance to come and sit on the other side of Jester.

“Nila and her family are back in the kitchen. They wanted to give us some privacy and keep from overwhelming Callalily.” He explains. Pink eyes stare you down, looking for recognition you realize, and you attempt to avoid his gaze. However the single second your eyes had met before you look down at your lap seemed to be all the confirmation he needed.

A tense silence lay heavily over this strange group before Caduceus decides to mercifully break it. “So are all of you acquainted with Lily or. . .?”

“No. Just Yasha and I.” Molly speaks up “But you all did see her at the carnival before everything went to shit.”

“Handing out flowers!” Jester exclaims, most likely connecting the conversation not long ago in the tavern and back to the original meeting of the Nein.

You just nod, eyes constantly scanning across this assembled group. Molly said they were his friends so maybe you should be less crass but it was hard to trust so many new faces.

“How’d you end up, y’know” Beau motions towards the ground “If you were in Trostenwald? I mean, Caduceus told us how he found you but what happened in between?”

You cringe as the most heavy looks come from your two companions. It is only for their benefit, and not for the strangers, that you chose to speak at all. “When everyone scattered a group of us ran to the forest, to wait for stragglers. I told them to go ahead without me because I was. . .” You look down at your hands, twisting your fingers together “I was waiting to see if Molly had not been arrested.”

The sharp intake of breath next to you feels like a slap. “I thought you’d run. . .I, I-”

Yasha’s hand reaches behind you to gently squeeze Molly’s shoulder “We’d both thought you had left. . .We’re sorry Y/n.”

“You didn’t know. It was a foolish decision on my part-” Molly attempts to speak but Yasha must silence him because he falls quiet “Slavers stumbled across me and I didn’t really stand a chance against five of them.” You shrugged “We slowly made our way North, picking up more invalids as we went. I assume I eventually succumbed to the cold and the next thing I knew I was waking up here.”

You don’t even look in Caduceus’ direction as you speak, unsure how the words will come out when you both know that it is a lie.You remember a lot more than the last two hours.

And either the group is convinced by your words or they don’t feel like calling bullshit on the newly resurrected girl.

@lizziepopanime, @spirithorse100, @rednighthood, @delpyelp, @high-king-margo-hanson, @notstinglesstoo, @what-the-fuck-is-gender, @valiantlyminiaturecreature

#mollymauk #mollymauk x reader #m9 #mighty nein #mollymauk fic #mollymauk fanfiction #caleb #beau #yasha #jester #fjord #nott #critical role #cr #cr2 #frumpkin #critical role fanfiction #fix it fic

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kim-monsterlings · 3 years

Text

Gwynna - F Firbolg x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

The pictures do not belong to me. I only created the mood board. Do not repost my work anywhere.

Content: NSFW/Lemon; mentions of deceit, flirting, an obsession with fruity lip gloss, kissing, sort of strip tease (reader), nipple play (kissing, touching), fingering + orgasming, fluff

Wordcount: 2708

“Tropemas” Summary: for months, the firbolg hadn’t made any progress in her module, until you found out she had already passed it

Notes: Gwynna was my absolute favourite to write and I fell in love with her so this was me intending to personally save best for last - though my gnoll Ollie comes close second. This was intended to be my last tropemas story, but things got away with me and Farren the lich will be here soon. For now, enjoy my absolute sweetheart Gwyn <3

Masterlist // “Tropemas” Masterlist

Being lied to stung. It stung like an anchor breaking the surface of the ocean as your stomach fell, knees weak and heart aching, but not all lies. Only some.

This lie did the opposite.

Finding the firbolg you had tutored for the last eight weeks leaving a classroom she had no business being in - not with her grades, not without passing the module she came to you for help in - hadn’t left you struggling for breath. Beyond the fog clouding your thoughts, the deceit turned you against the wall before she saw you too.

In that same classroom, Silverstone - a silver fox of a wyvern-shifter - had taught you the year before, in the year Gwynna studied in. Only he taught the optional module, and it was all he led. If Gwynna hadn't passed the one you tutored, her compulsory module, she couldn't have taken it.

Which seemed odd, as she'd failed her past two exams.

The library remained ever quiet when you set up your usual booth with old textbook notes and the textbook itself, decorated in part by Gwynna's doodling as she tired of your lessons; small flowers matching those she wove into her bright hair, like the flowers she grew at home far from the city, or small notes you later stumbled upon, on paper torn from her notepad, and always little compliments: 'you looked cute today', 'i love your perfume', 'try the tea with honey i promise you'll love it!'

Many of your prior tutees had passed the module with your help, yet Gwynna’s grades only worsened since spending longer hours with you. Her lack of focus had changed how you tutored, though it was obvious now her inability to settle wasn’t through boredom or confusion, but because she already knew it all.

You greeted the golden-skinned firbolg with the same smile as always, smothered in her warm hug. Standing “only” at seven foot - apparently short for firbolgs - and always carrying the scent of the woods and flowers, you returned the close hug and breathed deep. She was glowing in the sunlight, wearing wide, flared trousers and a warm jumper.

"I bought tea," you said. Her wide ears twitched as you handed her a cup. "Three sugars, no honey."

"No honey?"

"They didn't have any, Gwyn. It's a university library café." Her sigh lifted your smile, and maybe a little cruelly, too. "I wanted to try something today. Practice exam."

Her voice weakened. "Tea without honey and a practice exam? Do you hate me?"

The knot in your chest forced you to take her hand with a small squeeze before her crestfallen face ruined you. She played you too well after weeks together: always with the soft, doe eyes and pinned back ears. Gwynna exhaled - her next words inevitably to question if she still had a test, until you closed her warm fingers around a pen.

Baby blue eyes narrowed. "What are you doing for an hour?"

“Looking over some old material.” You smiled, not ignorant to her throat bobbing. The textbook for Silverstone’s module rested before you. “Never hurts to refresh it.”

Her lips parted on a breath many times, so close to speaking. It was your pen bitten by her teeth and not the first - you had separate pens for her now. She hadn’t yet opened the test when she straightened. "Did you reconsider tutoring more modules?"

“Like Silverstone’s?” Beneath overgrown bangs, she looked to you with a soft nod. “Maybe once you pass your module, I’d reconsider.”

The pen returned to her glossy lips. On the first evening of coffees and yawns, Gwynna asked of other modules but this was the only one you tutored. Not even a week later, she failed her exam. Had it counted toward her final grade, the sessions would have been far longer beforehand and from then - until a second mock she again failed, the nights together in your corner of the library ran long after dark.

With her final only over a month from today, her grades from practice exams were still low. You almost wanted to see how long she could pretend for.

"Do you want to try the tea?"

The small, paper cup dripped damp marks onto her unopened test paper and you smiled. "Don't distract yourself, Gwyn."

"I'm not! Isn't yours so plain?"

"Will you at least try the test if I try it?"

In the same sweet tone you pretended to reconsider tutoring for Silverstone, Gwynna passed her tea. “I might.”

The sweetness stuck on your tongue; too sickly, far too hot, but you loved it. Not for the tea but the fruity flavour of her lipgloss on the rim. It wasn’t the tea warming through you, tightening your chest. Her lips curled; she could read you too well, but not well enough to know why you were flushed.

"Finish the test."

Every new question, she stalled. Her pen spun in her slender fingers or her tail twitched by your hip. Those feigned moments of confusion had before guilted you for failing to help her, but tonight you sipped your tea and watched when her forehead scrunched.

Then she would deliberately choose the wrong answer.

"Worst score yet, Gwyn." Only someone with a complete understanding of which answers were right could fail so spectacularly, but she winced all the same. “Your mock next week,” your said quietly - there wasn’t one, not with the final so close, but Gwynna had no idea as she looked up. “Would a change of environment help? If could bring honey tea to yours.”

“No.” The pain sharp in your chest couldn’t be only the desire to catch her in the act of failing, but you fought it. Gwynna brushed her long fringe from her rounding eyes before touching her hand to yours. "I have sweeter tea at home."

"Friday?"

Friday worked.

From then to Friday, you shared one more evening bundled in the corner booth. Gwynna never once touched a pen or a textbook in the session. For hours, she leaned against you, legs pressed tight and her tail wound to your ankles. So far your favourite night together as she spoke of home - even inviting you back in the holidays to the woods. Despite her teasing for your scrawled handwriting, nothing warmed you more than her warm hands taking yours, tracing the smudged ink and she held it until the end of your session.

Dressing in the outfit she always complimented most on Friday evening was coincidence, nothing more.

Her single flat off wasn’t far from you, both living off of campus, though Gwynna distanced from city centre. The flat’s cosy quiet led you into a tiny lounge where she hugged you close - “look at you! So pretty,” she’d whispered, leaning down - before leading you round with a hand in yours to the smaller kitchen.

In plain sight, Silverstone’s textbook tucked beneath the module you taught on her coffee table.

"Before I make tea," she hummed, filling the kettle. Her hair swung in a thick plait down to the middle of her back as she turned, eyes bright. "You're not making me do another practice test are, you?"

"Would you throw me out if I did?"

"Yes."

“Maybe later,” you teased. Her lips twitched but she held a frown until reaching for mugs on a shelf much taller than you. “How are you finding things?"

Her voice warmed the small room, backed by the small clinks of her spoon in the mugs. Without asking, she made your tea how you liked - frowning and grumbling at the lack of sugar as she did, before offering you a biscuit. Homemade, so you couldn't resist.

"How do you find our sessions, too?"

Gwynna blinked over her shoulder before winking. "Highlights of my week."

Streetlights softened the smile on her dark lips. They glistened with her fruity lipgloss, pulled into a wider smile when you welcomed the hot tea in her favourite mug; favourite for her favourite person, she'd whispered, and the golden tint to her skin flushed.

"I forgot to ask..." She hummed so gently you nearly refrained from asking, scared of upsetting her. Though she had lied to you for weeks, so spoke softly, casually. "How do you find Silverstone? Do you like him?"

"Oh, I love him! He teaches almost like you, actually-"

If you hadn’t reached for her hand, her sweet tea and mug would have shattered by your feet. From curses to apologies, she stammered, quieting the more she backed away from the kitchen. She never moved her hand from yours.

Silverstone had been your favourite lecturer. To hear her compare you was a high compliment and a reassurance that your style of tutoring wasn’t an utter failing. Had she not refused to look back at you, the compliment would’ve meant much more.

One, soft gasp came at her legs pressing back against the sofa. She had nowhere to run to with her fingertips still brushing yours. Her fringe shadowed her closed eyes. With every call of her name, her ears turned back, so you tiptoed. Her frilly collar tickled your palm but it was enough to lower her for your lips to meet.

All seven foot of her fainted back. Her arms stroked around your waist until you followed her down. She lost all timidity in settling you on her lap and turning her face against yours, foreheads together.

"You kissed me. You just kissed me."

"And I'd do it again, Gwyn.” Her breath came as a whine when you loosened her collar to stroke her neck. “If you let me."

Her kiss was your answer. She tasted of sweet fruits, more than just the gloss of her lips, more than the tea still warm on her tongue, like she was yours to taste and hold. The warm hand then stroking your hip tightened, gently running lower until she was squeezing your ass and shifting you closer across her wide thighs.

"I never meant to lie," she whispered. Like the reminder of her deceit could lose you, she ran her nose to yours and indulged again until you gasped. "That was... that was a lie. I did mean to lie to you. I didn't want you to stop tutoring me, and-"

“Gwyn, none of that matters. Not when you’re trying to undress me.”

Even leaning back beneath you, her face rose above yours. She softened her kiss and her fingers before tentative on your back dipped beneath the waist of your trousers, low enough you hummed into her lips and louder with her tongue sweet to yours. Loose strays on her nape ran through your fingertips, holding her closer with parted mouth kisses following your jaw lower.

"When did you pass the module?"

She mumbled something into your throat so low you couldn't hear, and sighed. "The day after we met."

"Gwynna, that... you never needed my help?"

Her cheeks flushed a warmer shade. "I nearly corrected you sometimes. I'm sorry! I'm," she rasped, curling you close when you reared back, jaw fallen low. "I can make it up to you?"

Heat rounded her stare, eyelashes fluttering in a deliberate, blatant look down and up to your warming face. She was the one to unbuckle your belt, but you rose from her thighs with a parting kiss to stand, bending lower to undress.

Gwynna curled her fingers into the edge of the sofa cushions. Standing before her in only your underwear made you hesitate, but her soft, whispered plea undid the clasp of your bra. Her groan muffled behind bitten lips though she never once looked away when your thumbs tucked behind the hem of your underwear, and they fell.

Nothing could delay her any longer with you bare and in reach. The strength of a firbolg dragged you returned to straddling her lap. Her thighs spread wider and parted your legs, bound close at her mercy. Though with the way she trembled, a whisper of your name before she lifted a hand to your chest, you had never felt more in control.

"How are you going to make it up to me, Gwyn?"

Her smile was your last sight before she stole your breath and tasted your moan. Sweet and warm, delicate like the careful touch exploring you. The smooth pad of her thumb stroked your nipple and shivers bloomed beneath her touch

Her lips silenced you. Sweet and warm, delicate like her touch as she explored you. The pad of her thumb stroked your nipple and she ran her fingertips down your spine, sending small shivers through you.

Not following the falling of her palm left you crying and holding her shoulders tight. Her finger stroked low and entered you to the knuckle. Gwynna’s laugh softened to a shy smile.

“Like this,” she said and curled her finger to stroke deeper, following your fluttering walls around her. “Is this okay?”

That she asked warmed you, but you were quicker to burn when your body clenched against two crooked fingers. “More. More, please.”

It was an oversight, not to follow her fallen hand; an oversight making you cry and curse and clutch her shoulders tight when she eased a thick finger between your legs, a sheepish smile lifting her lips when she looked up.

“More,” she echoed. Only her hand cupping your nape held you from falling back when your back arched in pleasure. With her fingers finding a hastening rhythm, her thumb brushed against your clit before rubbing it firmer. “More?”

She held you tighter when you panted, “give me everything.”

Her blouse fell loose on her arms under your hands until your bodies pressed flush, the heat of her stirring through to where her fingers slowed. Gwynna stole the breath you desperately needed when your eyes rolled back, the coaxing of her three fingers lifting you to your peak.

Gwynna’s breathing deepened with yours. Each stroke of her fingers came against your hips grinding down, her hair loose under your tugging. “What do you need? You’re so close,” she hummed, nestling against your chest and sucking your nipple into her mouth. “So pretty.”

She was there, touching you where you needed to be touched, breathing as hard and as hot as you were. "How does it feel? What do you need?"

“I need you. To touch-”

Her cosy flat erupted with light. Gwynna’s kisses marked your chest above your racing heart but never slowed the firm touch on your swollen clit. Through your legs trembling and walls clenching around her still moving hand, she prolonged the intense pleasure until your cries softened into quieter moans against her shoulder.

Warm arms curled you to her chest, slumped and still tingling. Her nose bumped yours and on lifting your glossy stare, her lips parted to suck your release from her fingers. The teasing wink as she licked you from her lips made your stomach flutter.

"Was that okay?"

"More than okay," you mumbled. "Lie to me anytime."

Her forehead creased. "We never finished our tea."

"Gwyn, we won't finish them."

Nestled into your throat, her lips pulled up. She nibbled at your jaw and laid close, the both of you swaying until the rush faded and your breathing slowed. In the pause before you begged Gwynna to carry you to her bedroom - your legs still trembled, her hand running up to your thigh - you tipped her chin up. Her eyes closed in anticipation of a kiss which you surrendered too before swallowing a laugh.

"You'll find this funny," you began, and she hummed, tucking hair behind your ear. "I planned on asking you out when I was no longer your tutor."

Gwynna's wide ears drooped. "This took so long because of me?"

"That depends." As you had, she shivered from the brush of your fingertips running along the cups of her bra; it would be off in minutes. "How long have you wanted me?"

"Why do you think I wanted you as my tutor?"

“Take me to your bedroom,” you whispered.

Gwynna laid you down on her bed, where the night drifted passed in many kisses and returned favours, until you woke to do it again.

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kim-monsterlings · 3 years

Text

Monster Match Masterlist - CLOSED

Once finished, monster matches will be uploaded here rather than my main exophilia masterlist!

Monster Match Count: 24

Last Updated: 03/12/2021

Masterlist // Monster Match Info // My Ko-Fi

01, Jem - M Naga x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

02, Luca - M Werewolf x F Human (Reader) // SFW

03, Janus - M Minotaur x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

04, Valo - M Drider x AFAB NB Human (Reader) // NSFW

05, Kiana - F Werebear x F Human (Reader) // SFW

06, Sahn - M Lizardfolk x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

07, Elsie - F Vampire x M Human (Reader) // NSFW

08, Kyo - M Oni x F Human (Reader) // SFW

09, Niran - M Rakshasa x M Human (Reader) // SFW

10, Dana - F Ghost x NB Human (Reader) // NSFW

11, Ronan - M Naga x F Human (Reader) // SFW

12, Kip - M Bat Person x F Human (Reader) // NSFW - Grapefruit

13, Deon - M Tiefling x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

14, Olwen - F Succubus x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

15, Laurel - NB Forest Guardian Fae x F Human (Reader) // SFW

16, Alwyn - NB Moth x GN Human (Reader) // SFW

17, Levi - M Harpy x F Human (Reader) // SFW

18, Tyr - M Firbolg x NB Human (Reader) // NSFW

19, Bastian - M Fae x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

20, Emyr - M Selkie x F Human (Reader) // SFW

21, Vin - M Orc x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

22, Keir - M Drider x M Human (Reader) // NSFW

23, Noemi - F Faun x AFAB NB Human (Reader) // NSFW - birthday present for @weasleasley <3

24, Ren - M Tiefling x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

#exophilia #exophilia writing #monster match #monster matches #kim-monsterlings monster match #exo #monster match kim-monsterlings ask #masterlist #exophilia masterlist #masterpost #monsterlist #exo writing

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kim-monsterlings · 4 years

Text

Exophilia Masterlist

Introducing Me // Requests // My Commissions - CLOSED

Updated: 31/10/2021 - Bucky Barnes ghost AU

Story count: 22

My Ko-Fi

Monster Matches - CLOSED// Monster Match Masterlist

Tropemas Masterlist

Faebruary Masterlist

Mini Kinktober Commissions - Info

-Cubi

Leigh // F Succubus x GN Human (Reader) // NSFW

Demons

Idella // F Demon x GN Human (Reader) // SFW

Dullahan

Lars // M Dullahan x M Human (Reader) // NSFW

Fae

Torben // M Fae x F Human (Reader) // SFW

Firbolg

Gwynna // F Firbolg x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

Gargoyles

Galan // M Gargoyle x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

Ghosts

Bucky Barnes // M Ghost x F Human (Reader) // NSFW - Kinktober Challenge

Gnolls

Ollie // M Gnoll x GN Human (Reader) // SFW

Goblins

Vardelk // M Goblin x GN Human (Reader) // SFW

Hellhounds

Danon // M Hellhound x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

Kelpies

Cathair // M Kelpie x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

Kitsune

Roan // M Kitsune x F Human (Reader) // NSFW - Kinktober

Mer

Brae // M Mer x M Human (Reader) // NSFW

Minotaurs

Neo // M Minotaur x F Human (Reader) // SFW

Nagas

Kaan // M Naga x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

Nokken

Edel // M Nokken x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

Orcs

Raynar // M Orc x F Human (Reader) // SFW

Eladan // M Orc x GN Human (Reader) // SFW

Other

Bellamy // GN Cursed x F Human (Reader) // SFW

Selkies

Enan // M Selkie x F Human (Reader) // NSFW - Kinktober

Tiefling

Trine // F Tiefling x GN Human (Reader) // NSFW - Kinktober

Were-

Cane // M Werewolf x GN Human (Reader) // SFW

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monstersandmaw · 4 years

Text

Male drider x reader (sfw) - Part One

It’s Wednesday, so that means it’s ‘new’ story time. This one has been up on Patreon for a week already, and Part Two has gone live today already.

Content: Female reader takes up a job as an archivist in a creepy old house and is surprised to find that 'the master' refuses to be seen at all... Very much ‘Beauty and the Beast’ inspired, if you will. Cameos from Sarrigan Silkfoot and Damien the orc chocolatier (Tumblr links). Wordcount: 2464

EDIT: my favourite comment from patrons on part two has been ‘cranky spooder’

WANTED: Librarian to take on an extensive, re-cataloguing project in a large, private collection. Diverse collection includes books, clay and stone tablets, scrolls, parchments, and various other media. Applicant must be willing to live on-site in a relatively remote location, and archival qualifications preferred, though demonstrable experience may suffice. Board and lodging will be provided throughout the duration of the project. It is anticipated that it should take between four to six months. More details to be supplied to the candidate following a successful interview.

---

You stared at the strange advert in the paper and let your teeth sink slowly into your lip, a frown playing across your forehead. This was… honestly right up your street in terms of experience and qualifications. In that moment, sitting at the table in your favourite coffee shop in Starfall Springs while a summer rain shower hammered down outside, you wanted to wave that advertisement in the face of everyone who’d said a postgraduate qualification in archive and records management would render you essentially bankrupt and completely unemployable. If this was anything to go by, they were only half wrong. You were practically bankrupt. Well, up to your eyeballs in student loans at least.

“Fuck it,” you hissed under your breath, ripping out the advert and getting out your phone. There was no email contact, but there was a number, and you saved it to your contacts in case you lost the little shred of newspaper, and decided to call as soon as you got home.

The phone wasn’t exactly your preferred method of communication, but it was all you had, so after psyching yourself up, you punched in the numbers and paced about, waiting for someone to answer.

Abruptly, the dial tone cut off, and a crackling on the other end of the line announced that someone had picked up. “Hello…? I’m… I’m calling about the archivist’s role advertised in the Starfall Chronicle… I was hoping for a bit more information.”

“Oh,” came a reedy, thin voice. “Your qualifications?”

You told them and then waited for them to speak.

“Hmm. And your experience?”

You swallowed. “I… I helped the Starfall Museum in transferring their computer system from the manual catalogues…” you said, suddenly feeling like this was the interview already.

“Mmm. So your experience is not extensive then.”

It wasn’t a question, and you ground your teeth.

“Just how am I supposed to get this vast acreage of mythical experience if no one hires anyone without it? I can get you three stunning references from the museum curators and staff, as well as from my professors at university,” you said hotly. And instantly regretted it. “I’m sorry,” you added hastily. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Yes you did,” they chuckled, voice husky and fragile. “And you’re perfectly right. I think you might do well at this in fact.”

“I… what?”

Another soft snort. “What information would you like to know then?”

“Where is it, for a start?”

There was an uncomfortable pause, and you’d just been on the point of asking if they were still there when they spoke again. “There’s an old estate to the north of Starfall Springs.”

You frowned. You’d heard rumours as a child growing up here that there was some mad old nightmare creature who lived in the woods on the slopes of Starfall Mountain and came down into the town on the new moon snatched naughty children from their beds, but you'd long dismissed it as nonsense to make kids behave. Still, it sent a tingle of apprehension down your spine.

“I’ve heard something of it,” you said carefully. “Not much.”

“Widowsweb Court,” the person said with reticence. “The estate dates back centuries, and the collection is in need of some care and attention. If you would be willing to live on the estate in your own, self-contained apartment, with meals provided in the kitchens of the main house should you wish it, then I think you sound like the right person for the role.”

“When would you want me to start?”

In the end, it took you less than a month to get everything organised.

On the evening of your departure, you and your friends celebrated on Temple Meadow, the huge swathe of public park surrounding the town’s religious building, and as you lay back on the blanket, staring up at the sky and surrounded by friends, you saw a shooting star sear through the canopy of glimmering stars above.

Sarrigan Silkfoot and his partner lay curled up nearby, and Damien, the huge orc from the chocolaterie in town, had tucked his own partner’s head against the crook of his colossal shoulder. A thought occurred to you as you watched Sarrigan toss his head back and laugh at a joke whispered in his ear, and you sat up.

“Sarrigan?”

“Mm?” he hummed, laughter still dancing in his eight red eyes.

“I know you don’t talk much about your family, but do you know of any other estates around here?” You hadn’t mentioned exactly where the job was, just that it wasn’t in Starfall Springs itself.

“Why d’you ask?”

“The place I’m going to for this job is called Widowsweb Court, but the library said it’s been abandoned for years, and I couldn’t find much about it on the internet either.”

He went still at the mention of its name. “Widowsweb you say?”

You nodded and realised you had the attention of everyone in your small group.

Sarrigan straightened and tucked a strand of his long, black hair behind a tapering ear. “It used to be part of the Silkfoot family holdings… way, way back,” he began, gesturing with his hand. “But about four hundred years or so ago, there was a disagreement between the then patriarch of the family and the dowager, his mother. He essentially annexed the property and disowned the entire estate. He could have sold it, but apparently he felt just guilty enough not to turf her out onto the street…”

“Why? I mean, what did she do?”

Sarrigan shrugged. “No idea. Knowing my family, it probably had something to do with anti-human sentiments…” he winked at you and added, “We really didn’t like your kind invading these parts…”

“We’re not exactly a majority round here,” his partner said, thwacking him in the belly with the back of a hand.

“True,” he said before turning back to you. “But you’re saying someone actually lives there?”

Damien leaned across and grinned, “Could be a long-lost relative, Sarrigan!”

“Well, whoever my employer is, they have a huge collection to reorganise, so I’m in.”

“You don’t even know the name of the person who’s paying you?” Damien gawped.

You shook your head. “A Mr. Ambleside is taking care of that. He’s apparently employed to keep the estate running and such… He’s the one who interviewed me.”

“Ambleside is an old family name from these parts,” Sarrigan said thoughtfully. “Well, you make sure you keep in touch, hmm?”

“Will do,” you nodded.

The only problem was, you discovered after Damien had dropped you off and fussed endlessly over you outside the tumble-down gates of the estate, that there was no phone reception way out here. Not even a single, sputtering bar.

As the tail lights of Damien’s truck disappeared, you pushed the iron gates open, the hinges screeching in protest loud enough that you thought your arrival would be announced all the way back down into Starfall, a two hour drive away.

Heaving your huge suitcase into your hand, you began to struggle down the driveway. Overgrown, potholed, and muddy, the road was barely even a road after the recent rain.

Ancient, thick-boled trees hung over the drive, branches meeting in the middle like lovers fingers interlaced, and after half a mile of walking, you stopped, exhausted, and sat on your suitcase. You’d made it out of the small, gnarled copse that bordered the edge of the estate, but the parklands that lay beyond seemed to stretch for miles. The thought of hauling your sizable suitcase all that way made you feel faint, especially in the stifling sun. There was at least a cooling breeze that lifted your hair and caressed your skin, but honestly, it was hopeless.

Eventually, after perhaps a quarter of an hour of sitting there, getting warmer and thirstier, and growing no less exhausted, you caught sight of a movement on the driveway. Squinting, you made out a horse and cart, and sitting atop the driver’s bench, a figure with a wide-brimmed hat on their head.

The closer they got, the more you were able to make out, and when they were perhaps fifty yards away, you stood up. They looked to be an elderly firbolg, with warm-brown skin and flaming red hair and beard.

The horse was an elderly, bony looking thing, and the cart just as rickety, but the firbolg drew to a halt beside you and barked your name in a familiar voice.

“Mr. Ambleside?”

“Yes, that’s me,” he said. “You’re early.”

“A little, yes.”

“Well, climb in. Do you need a hand with your bag?”

You looked at it, and then at the height of the cart bed. “If you wouldn't mind?”

He nodded and climbed carefully down. You weren’t sure how old firbolgs got, but he didn’t exactly look young. Having said that, he hauled your bag into the back like it weighed nothing at all and then helped you up to sit beside him on the bench before turning the cart around and heading back up the driveway.

The house itself was nestled in a clump of massive elm trees, masked from view until almost the last moment. “I’ll show you to the cottage, and then you can come up to the house for some refreshments. You’ll start work tomorrow at nine.”

You nodded, not wanting to rock the proverbial boat. “Is it just you and… er… your - our - employer here then?” you ventured after a few minutes of silence with only the rumbling of the cart for background noise.

He shrugged. “My boy works here in the grounds too, and there’s Chiara who tends to the household. Other than that, yes. And the master, of course.”

“Will I be meeting him?” you asked.

Mr. Ambleside looked positively scandalised. “Oh heavens no!” he gasped.

“Right. I see. He’s… unwell?”

That drew a deep scowl from the firbolg’s thick, heavy brows. “No,” he said, but it sounded like he was buying time. “No, he’s not unwell. He just… prefers a solitary life. You are to enter through the back door to the kitchens, proceed up the route to the library that I will show you, and return the same way when you’re done, is that clear?”

“Perfectly,” you said, wondering just what you’d got yourself into.

“If you need to use a telephone at any time, you may use the landline in my office.”

That news came as a huge relief, and you clung to it as you were shown the slightly dusty stable-house apartment just across the courtyard from the main house. Widowsweb Court was a massive country pile, with filigree stonework and steeply pitched, slate-tiled roofs, and it wouldn’t have looked out of place in a horror movie.

Your first week passed without incident. You assessed the vast, rambling collection, and saw immediately that it would definitely take much, much longer than the six months for which you’d been contracted to get to grips with it and get it into a decent order. Even if you had a team of ten strong people to help you, there was no way you could reorganise all the shelves in the cavernous library. It was as large and as varied as any national archives, and contained books and scrolls on everything from ancient magic to the development of medicine in various countries across the world.

Travel journals were rammed in next to tomes on mathematics, poetry beside animal husbandry, and gemology beside botany. There was no scheme to it, and after two weeks, you nearly had a complete breakdown.

Covered in dust and suddenly vastly overwhelmed by the looming, dark bookshelves, you simply sat down on the floorboards and let your head fall forwards into your hands. This was a gargantuan effort for one person to tackle alone.

Something rattled in the stacks and you gasped, sitting up straight, heart hammering. “Hello?”

Silence followed, but after only another few seconds, you heard a skittering of limbs and the slam of a door. Except, there was only one doorway to the library, and it was behind you.

Standing somewhat shakily, you swiped your tears away and paced steadily along the floorboards towards the source of the noise. When you found nothing but dusty stacks and silent books, you swallowed and turned away.

At supper that night, you ate with Mr. Ambleside and his son, Naril, who was perhaps a year or two younger than you, and looked very much like his father. Noticing your pensive expression, he leaned over and asked in his softly-articulated purr if everything was alright. “You look… I don’t know… Did something happen?”

You sighed, nudging food listlessly around your plate. “I was feeling a bit overwhelmed by the project today…” you said. “And… I heard a noise in the library that startled me, that’s all.”

The two of them exchanged looks and then Mr. Ambleside said, “That was probably the master…”

“But I thought…” you began, though you hardly knew what you thought about the mysterious person who supposedly ran the estate, pulling all the strings from a hidden room in the old house and never revealing himself to anyone.

“Why do you think he wanted the collection organised?” Mr. Ambleside chuckled into his potatoes. “He’s an avid reader, but doesn’t have the patience to do it himself. Plus, he doesn’t see too well any more.”

“Oh,” you breathed. “All those books, and… that seems so cruel… Is he very old?”

Naril shook his head. “No, he’s maybe ten years or so older than us? Chiara reads to him in the evenings if his eyes get tired, and —”

“—Naril, that’s enough,” Mr. Ambleside barked, and Naril’s fluffy ears tucked right back against his head. “We do not gossip about the master.”

“Sorry, father,” he said, shooting you a look that conveyed a fair bit. ‘If you want to know more, ask me when he’s not around’ it said.

For another week, your recataloguing was left undisturbed by noises, but after four weeks of being at Widowsweb Court, you encountered ‘the master’ for the first time, and he was nothing like you’d thought he would be, though perhaps the name of the place should have given it away.

Part Two --->

To be continued next Wednesday... Part Two is currently up on Patreon so you can read it right now on the Pixies and Goblins Tier.

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#exophilia #drider #drider x reader #male drider x reader #monster boyfriend #beauty and the beast inspired #firbolg

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