#citrus-monk

[vane-sya]

The intelegence of keeping it alive by Citrus-Monk

[ryssbelle]

Asked the folks in trolls server what their characters race and class would be if they were in DnD and here are the results! I designed most of them except Navy who was designed by his creator!

I wonder what adventures they will go on?

Featured OC's and their owners in order from left to right:

Pete Moonshine @melonmass-art

Smiggles @navy-scribble @ivory-rose-art and me teehee

Sprinkle @creta291

Patty @felsicveins

Lief me!

Navy @navy-scribble

Cerulean @secret-citrus

Pigeon @folktroll

close ups of each character are under the cut!

Pete Moonshine, Weretouched humanoid Ranger, not a fan of the full moon

Smiggles the Tiefling Fighter, Chaotic is his only alignment

Sprinkle the Tiefling Sorcerer, hot pink bitch named BREAKFAST

Patty THE PAIN the Half Giant Barbarian who brings the PAIN

Lief the (half) Elf Cleric, just a little guy (or is he?)

Navy the humanoid shifter Rogue, human by day, part animal whenever (emo forever)

Cerulean the half-elf Monk, keeps a level head and knows when not to hold back

Pigeon the Kenku Ranger, all bird and all cowboy

[cryptixani]

matching perfume/colognes to jjk characters...

a/n: i did a bit of background research but i mostly went off gut feeling, and i'm no professional when it comes to fragrances and i haven't actually smelled any of these in person, so please correct me if i'm wrong about any of them!! i added fragantica links if anyone wants to check them out.

warnings: none.

characters: satoru gojo, suguru geto, kento nanami, choso kamo

satoru gojo

i dunno why but i always picture gojo to smell kinda soapy?? not in a bad way but just a very clean, fresh, dove bar kinda smell. i can't picture him smelling overly masculine or mature, it just doesn't seem to fit how i view his personality and all that. i don't think he'd go for more juvenile smells either, but definitely something a bit lighter and fresher than heavy, musky colognes.

so for this i've matched him with prada amber pour homme. from what i could find, it has very soapy and clean notes of neroli and citrus as well as a bit of spice to it. it also supposedly smells very expensive and high quality, which i think would also fit as something for gojo to wear given the fact that he's, yk, fucking loaded.

suguru geto

geto has always given me earthy, oud-y vibes. probably the monk getup and that one figure of him with a smoking pipe. i feel like he'd smell of a woodsy, smokey incense with maybe just a teeny bit of playful floral - overall masculine and mature but with a bit of youthful playfulness.

for that, i've decided to match him with oud essentiel by guerlain. it's a unisex perfume that has top notes of agarwood, leather, and saffron. definitely gives vibes of mystery and luxury, it's described as a darker and heavier fragance with a nice bit of smokiness.

kento nanami

i can't help but imagine him with a very nice, simple, classic masculine fragance. i'm not really too much of a nanami girl (i get the appeal tho) but he seems like such a classic guy. musky and leathery scent for sure, with maybe a bit of light woodsiness.

givenchy gentleman feels like a good fit for nanami. from what i've read it's a very classy, masculine cologne. there's top notes of pepper and bergamot that give it a spicy sort of smell as well as a powderiness to it that then fades out after some wear. supposedly it's a very mature, masculine and 'daddy'ish cologne.

choso kamo

choso gives me kinda sweaty vibes. i say this with all my heart as a choso girlie, i think he smells at least a bit BO-y. not because i think he's dirty, but some people just sweat a lot, yk?

i think haute concentration by yves saint laurent. it's a masculine fragance that has some herbal notes that would work well with a BO smell rather than against it (mask the worst of it and enhance the muskiness). it also has citrus and spicy notes, which i think adds a fresher and more comforting touch, and is described as a slightly dated but still enjoyable sort of masculine scent.

[sylaurin]

Kabniel Shinespark - Stats and Facts

B A S I C S

Name: Kabniel Shinespark

Nicknames: Kab, Sparks

Age: 22 as of the beginning of Dawntrail

Nameday: 7th Sun of the 4th Astral Moon

Race: Hyur Midlander

Gender: Female (mtf trans)

Orientation: Bisexual/polyamorous

Profession: Adventurer, small business owner

P H Y S I C A L   A S P E C T S

Hair: Black with orange highlights, kept long but worn up in braids/tails

Eyes: Green

Skin: tan

Tattoos/scars: none(yet)

F A M I L Y

Parents: Bio parents are Iskra (mother) and Thiago (father) who were part of a Garlean spy network in Ala Mhigo prio to the invasion and during the occupation but fled to Eorzea after becoming pregnant. Thiago is captured during the escape and Iskra barely makes it to Eorzea. Iskra later leaves her twin children in the care of an exiled monk, Rennir, once a lead on Thiago's whereabouts emerges, however she didn't return. Adoptive parents are Defiant Oak (dad) and Silver Allium (mom) a Roegadyn couple that took her in after her "grandfather" was murdered.

Siblings: she has a twin brother, Kal, separated as children when Iskra failed to return and he was placed in the care of mages once his affinity for magic was discovered. They've met each other in their adventures but have no clue they're related.

Grandparents: Rennir a hyur highlander Monk that was friends with Iskra back in Ala Mhigo, though he only knows her as her cover identity and not as a Garlean operative. He raises Kabniel until he was killed by H'raha Tia, a monk from the secretive Sect of Shadows

In-laws and Other: the Leveilleur family from her bond with Alisaie (which includes Thancred in this AU) and the Dotharl tribe (which includes the WoL Kal’istae Miurani) through her bond with Sadu. Gaius Baelsar, her mother's adoptive father.

Pets: None

S K I L L S

Abilities: Highly skilled martial artist, knows a little bit about magitek (enough to keep her bike on the road without having to rely on the Iron Works overmuch), somewhat skilled in botany learning from her adoptive parents, learned to make various drinks (hard and soft) while working in Costa Del Sol.

Hobbies: Training, competitive fighting, traveling, mischief

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Determination, nothing short of hydaelyn herself can stop Kabniel once she is on her path.

Most Negative Trait: Rowdy, loud and proud. She's often rude and indelicate.

L I K E S

Colors: Orange, red, pink, gold, blue, purple

Smells: the ocean, mountain air, rain, sweat, citrus

Textures: Silk, smooth wood, smooth stone, soft petals, cold water

Drinks: Hot and Iced tea, water, sweet red wine, hot chocolate, mixed drinks

O T H E R    D E T A I L S

Smokes: Never

Drinks: socially on occasion

Drugs: Never

Mount Issuance: She generally didn't have the time or resources to own and maintain a chocobo of her own so she typically walked or rented a bird if she needed to move fast. Eventually though she managed to scrape up enough to commission Nero to build her her motorcycle.

Been Arrested: Yes

Tagged by @paintedscales

[mjjune]

🌈 ROYGBIV Game

Rules: Search your your writing for the colours of the rainbow and post the excerpt.

I plucked this from an open tag from @little-peril-stories <3

open tag! to anyone who sees this and wants to

These snips are all from my newest wip, ds!

RED

I rotated so my face went under the surface, opening my eyes to see through the crystal clear water. Beneath the magmum floor, I could see glimpses of red, heat rising. The heat here, the last of the extinct volcano, was as ancient as this temple.

ORANGE

A smell wafted to me, separate from the sweet roasted scent from the altar. This one was citrus, like the oranges that grew in the palace garden.

YELLOW

“Well, do whatever you want, I say.” Saya slid off the rock, her bare feet landing on the soft white-yellow sand with a thump. “Done pestering me?” “For tonight,” she said. “Enjoy your brooding alone time on the rock.”

GREEN

But I realized the mess they made wasn’t just from stomping, but a residue left in their wake. It left a faint afterglow, a duller green than their skin, that stuck to the dirt and strands of grass. As the afterglow faded away, even in the darkness I could tell it left the blades of grass shriveled and brown and dead.

BLUE

Before I could gawk any further, something skittered by my feet and startled me. It was a salamander, one of the blue ones. It squatted down to see it closer, where I could see its scaley skin. Each scale glowed uniquely, varying shades of blue that, from a distance, looked like one solid color. I ran my finger down the salamander and it nudged me, tail shaking back and forth to assess my threat level. It must have decided I was not a danger to it, as curled up in a circle beneath by finger and let me caress it.

INDIGO PURPLE

The people split down the middle, making room for the familiar voice. Tolai, wearing my favorite of her deep purple robes—the one with the belt made of sand dollars—stepped forth to the front before the warriors and the mysterious monk.

VIOLET BURGUNDY

As if reading my mind, a moth approached me, this one with sharp lines on its wings that reminded me of the triangular pivots of my mami’s earned marks. On the cusp of its larger wings, two small eyes looked back at me, glowing the same burgundy of seers.

DS TAGLIST: (message or comment below to be +/-) @artbyeloquent @bebewrites @careful-fear @cherrybombfangirlwrites @cljordan-imperium @cocomerocollection @elijahrichardwrites @eventideintrigue @faithfire-writes @flowerprose @garthcelyn @hope-hopefully-writes @isabellebissonrouthier @jamieanovels @kingkendrick7 @lexiklecksi @little-mouse-gardens @marrowwife @mr-writes @saintedseraph @saphoblin @thyroidhormones @treesandwords @wildswrites

[kinlochs]

AESTHETIC MEME ! ——

TAGGED BY : @prophetries

TAGGING : @sorrowsick @miidnighters @ofthewildes @weishaupts @divinesleft @magefell and you!

CHARACTER : cassian amell.

TASTES : peppermint, sage, citrus, earthy, eucalyptus

SMELLS : sandalwood, leather, cedarwood, old books, cardamom, amber, violet

SCENERIES : storm-tossed seas, a desolate back alley, the silence of a library stacked to the brim with text, a battlefield exploding with showers of color and light, a dark and ominous cave with no end in sight, the first break of dawn shining into your eyes

OUTFITS : tapered trousers wrapped at the shin similar to shaolin monk pants, standard tunic, grey warden mage robes and battlemage armor. battered leather gloves that he simply refuses to mend or replace

SOUNDS : ringing bells, shushing in a cathedral, sweet tenor notes of a cello, the twinkle of magic only children seem to hear

OTHER : the reluctant hero, a fleeting chance at freedom, enduring despite losing everything, scathing atheism

[redroomroaving]

The Rivington Three (Geraldus x Donnick x Klaus, E)

Geraldus and Donnick have grown up together in the streets of Rivington, sharing dreams and firsts, as their paths take them to the halls of Ilmater and the ranks of the Harpers.

The circus has moved in next door to the temple; and Klaus struck up a friendship with the monk of Ilmater. Three, joined by having their worlds upturned by the arrival of shapeshifting dopplegangers, come together.

(Short vignette of the Rivington boys, childhood friends to lovers, OT3 vibes. Mirrored on Ao3 here. With thanks to the wonderful @n1ghtmeri and @benicemurphy for fuelling this one.)

“You should put them back,” Geraldus says, his voice coming out as barely above a whisper - watching the boys sharing their spoils, unpeeling one of the stolen oranges with eager fingers.

“Should we?” One of the boys says, jabbing a finger, sticky with citrus already, into his chest, “why?”

Geraldus knows why, already, but as he looks up at them - swallowing and nervous - he wonders why they don’t understand what they’ve done is wrong.

“It’s stealing,” he says, finding his bravery a little now, trying to stand a little taller.

He wishes he was tall, like his brothers - so he could loom over them - instead of feeling so small.

His mother promises it’ll happen for him, too, the growth spurt that inevitably strikes all of the Rivers boys - but it hasn’t happened yet.

“People - people need those -” he tries to explain, gripping his fingers into tight fists at his side, “you can’t just take them.”

The boys look between each other a moment, and laugh; snorting and cruel, dismissive.

“Put them back,” he tries again, louder now.

“Or what?” The boy says, grinning at him with teeth coated with the juice of the stolen fruit, “you’ll cry some more?”

Geraldus feels himself flinch; feels his cheeks begin to burn, and the prickle of tears, almost immediate and shameful, at his eyes - before he can stop them.

“N-no-”

“He’s crying already,” the other boy jeers, stepping forward, too - and Geraldus realises he’s outnumbered and small. He’s powerless to stop them, however much he wants to.

“He’s right,” a voice interrupts - a hand reaching out and pushing away that sticky finger, jabbed into his chest, and another steps in front of him, “it’s theft.”

Geraldus doesn’t know this boy; he’s a little taller than him, and he turns back to him for just a moment to flash him a quick, reassuring smile.

He’s got blonde hair, in tight curls, and hazel eyes - like Geraldus’, but a little darker - and Geraldus thinks for a moment that he looks a bit like an angel, which is a silly thought, but as he blinks away the freshly forming tears, he smiles back.

The boys seem less sure of themselves now, a quick, hesitating glance shared between them.

“C’mon Donny,” the first says, “it’s just a few oranges…”

But the blonde boy folds his arms, and tilts his head, and Geraldus realises quickly that they’re a bit scared of him from the way they shy back.

“Put ‘em back and apologise,” he says, squaring up a bit more, “or I’ll make you.”

Geraldus finds his chest filling up with fluttering as the boys slink away, and the blonde boy turns to him, grabbing his arm with a grin.

“Let’s make sure they do,” he says as he drags him along with him, and they walk, together, to make them return every orange to the merchant’s cart.

He’s proud as the merchant thanks them both, and calls them brave for standing up to them.

“I’m Donnick,” the blonde says as they tread the muddy path back up the hill, “you’re one of the Rivers family, right? Your mother bought the old Miller’s farm?”

Geraldus nods.

“Geraldus,” says.

Donnick repeats his name, to remember it.

–

They’re inseparable, after; hours spent clambering around the hills and cliffsides whilst Geraldus picks flowers, a pleasure he doesn’t need to hide from Donnick as he gathers up clusters of wild garlic and lavender and thyme to cook with in turn.

They skip rocks across the water, and talk about who they want to be.

Donnick’s not quite sure, yet, but he knows he wants to help people. It’s why he likes to cook.

He helps Geraldus’ mother to bake loaves and takes them to the Temple of Ilmater - where he watches the monks help a man, starving and broken, up the steps to safety. A tall man with dark greying hair, Father Lorgan, ushers words of comfort; promises to bear the burden of the injured man’s suffering.

Lorgan thanks Donnick for the bread with a smile, and Donnick starts to see a future taking shape.

Geraldus isn’t sure either; he wants to help people, but as he watches Donnick poring through the pages of the Temple’s teachings - he isn’t sure this is the sort of place where his future lies.

He picks through the brush of the cliffside as Donnick trails behind, reading, following the trodden trail with steady feet, and breathes in the salt in the air.

He looks down across the shimmering water - and wonders where it is he’s supposed to go. Where he’s supposed to help.

–

They share their firsts; fingers knotted together in the field behind Geraldus’ farmstead; Donnick’s bright hazel eyes tentatively flitting across Geraldus’ own, glancing at his lips, unsure.

Geraldus knows his face is red as he nods, inviting permission.

Donnick clears the space - his lips brushing against Geraldus’, barely more than a touch, but warm. Soft.

Geraldus swallows as their eyes meet again.

Not so scary, afterall; sharing a kiss.

He leans in this time - bringing their lips together again - a fumbling, novice attempt, but he parts his lips with his tongue, and deepens it.

Donnick tastes sweet - of the blackberries they had stolen from the kitchen - and his fingers dig into Geraldus’ hand as their tongues tangle together, hot, hurried, eager.

They part, and he smiles. His smile is as bright as the sky above, and crackling with excitement. The sun catches his hair, casting the gold curls almost copper where the light hits.

No. Not so scary at all, Geraldus thinks, as he kisses him again.

–

In the confines of his cramped, dark room, Donnick’s hair falls across his face. It is getting longer and longer now. He looks down at him with those same hesitant eyes - asking permission again.

“We don’t have to - if you’ve changed your mind-” he starts to say, but Geraldus cuts him short, leaning up to kiss his worry silent.

They’d made it this far, afterall; naked, and terrified. He’s shaking he’s so nervous.

“I want it to be you,” he says, searching Donnick’s eyes, and hoping he still feels the same way.

Donnick’s smile is small now.

“Me too,” he says.

He’s gentle as he slides his fingers across him, taking Geraldus’ length into his hands and kissing him as he touches him like this for the first time.

No longer just hurried kisses and bodies pressed together in artless thrusts through their clothes; this was real. This time there was no turning back.

Geraldus cries out as he presses into him, slow, and tentative.

Donnick kisses his shoulder, reassuring, keeping their fingers tightly laced.

“Tell me if it hurts, ok?” He asks, as he thrusts a little deeper. Geraldus feels the sting of it, but he nods, pressing his forehead against Donnick’s, closing his eyes.

It is hurried thrusts; breathless kisses, dotted against his lips in reassurance as Donnick comes slowly undone in him, finally crumbling with a whimper buried into Geraldus’ hair.

–

It gets easier, after the first time. Geraldus bites down on Donnick’s forearm, to keep silent - to make sure they don’t wake his brothers through the thin walls - as Donnick grips his thighs and bucks into him in deep, eager thrusts.

He’s strong; his grip around Geraldus’ cock firm as he brings him over with him; matching the circling of their hips, drawing the pleasure higher, higher until Geraldus’ teeth are digging into his arm hard - his cry dying against his forearm as he spills across his hand.

The sting - the welcome pain of his teeth a ripple through Donnick - as he lets go, pulling free of Geraldus to release across the bed with a moan.

In the dark they lie together; skin damp with sweat, finding their breath again. Donnick pushes a lock of Geraldus’ hair - dark, soft, beautiful - his beauty growing deeper every year to match - back from his eyes.

They love each other; they have for years now - but Donnick wonders, in these snatched moments, as the heat cools between them, if he’s in love with him too.

Maybe he is.

–

They sit together, a moment, in silence; Geraldus’ fingertips hovering over the fresh skin on Donnick’s back - the scars there just barely healed, red, sore, in furious lines across his flesh.

He hesitates.

“I -'' there were so many of them; so many marks across Donnick’s shoulders, his spine, and bruises, too, around his wrists - where they had been tightly bound.

He has survived his First Suffering, and Geraldus doesn’t truly know what that means.

“Why?” Geraldus asks, when the right words for his feelings fail him.

Donnick looks at the wall ahead, something shifted in his eyes, something harder now.

“We must learn to endure,” he says, “to take suffering onto ourselves, so we can understand it. So we can suffer for them, until … until we can bear even a fraction of their burden.”

Something has changed. Donnick has changed.

Geraldus can see it in him; in the squaring of his shoulders, the flint in his gaze, the conviction laced through his words. In his First Suffering he has found purpose. He has found something in himself too.

Geraldus lets his fingers brush against the skin, feels the heat of those freshly healed wounds against his fingertips, burning. Donnick lets out a small rasp at the cool of his touch, wincing slightly.

“Are you going to do it?” Donnick asks him, as he pulls his vestments back over his shoulders.

Geraldus watches him quietly, eyes focusing on the small crest he pulls back out from where it is tucked under his collar, to display it proudly on his chest again. The white hands of Ilmater, wrapped in red rope.

Geraldus thinks instead of White Harps, painted on wood in just the same way, creaking as it sways in the wind - and within - the Finders song, gentle and melodic, echoed; a foggy memory that persisted from his early years in the Dalelands.

His jaw still aches from where he had struck him; the thief - after he had chased him through the throngs of the crowd - tackling him to the floor.

As the man had struggled against him, scraping and scrabbling against his grip - catching his cheek with a blow - Geraldus had held firm. He was no scrawny child anymore. He was tall, and fast, and strong.

A man in armour, with a Harp pinned on his chest, had helped him to bring the thief to the guards. He’d called him brave, and Geraldus had remembered the last time he’d felt the glow of pride, from that same word.

He wanted to be brave.

Geraldus nods, trying to find a bit of that same resolve in his own chest. He’s going to be a Harper.

“I’m signing up,” he says, determined, “tomorrow.”

Donnick reaches across, his fingers lingering for a moment on the already forming bruise on his jaw, the split cut of his lip - his expression quiet, and curious.

“Does it hurt?”

Geraldus gives him a small, weak smile.

“Yes,” he says.

Donnick leans across, and kisses him; and it stings a little, against his lips.

–

After Geraldus leaves on his first assignment, it’s months before Donnick realises how lonely he is; filling his time with his new duties, with feeding the hungry, with clearing the vestries and learning the words. Training his body, his mind, to swallow suffering.

He thinks about his friend as he lies in the dark, night after night. He hasn’t had a letter from him in a long time now.

He hopes desperately that he’s safe - tries not to imagine the dangers that Geraldus might have discovered in his new duties. He’s brave; he reminds himself, thinking of Geraldus’ bright smile, his beautiful eyes.

He’s stronger than he seems.

He misses him. Outside of their duties, his brethren speak of little; he finds himself wishing he had someone to speak to again about things other than Ilmater.

He wakes one morning to his brothers and sisters, whispering in the yard; the land beside the temple, which has been empty and closed up for so long, is suddenly teeming with life.

“A circus?” Brother Bill whispers, disapproving, “right here?”

His eyes wider still as he sees the cages being wheeled in; sees the flying, winged imp and the small kobold among them.

“A circus of monsters?” Bill adds, horrified.

“Monsters and men,” Father Lorgan corrects, and suggests perhaps they ought to befriend their new neighbours as they’ll be sharing a fence.

Donnick brings the loaves and a pot of chowder; struggling a little to make his way through the bustle as the circus takes shape before his eyes, a flurry of movement and construction, setting up tents and building structures.

It’s hard to find where he might start, eyes tracing across unfamiliar creatures, humanoid and otherwise in form - until a figure cuts through the crowd, a bright smile and a shock of scarlet hair.

“Need a hand?” He asks, brightly, quickly helping to take the weight of the pot, “I see you’ve brought us food?”

Donnick nods, grateful for a friendly face. It’s certainly that; he’s handsome, eyelids adorned in sparkling red to match the vibrant colours streaked through his hair.

“A … welcome, I guess,” he offers, smiling back.

“Gratefully received,” the scarlet-haired man says, that bright smile growing wider still, “I’m sure we’re not necessarily welcome guests. Most people aren’t thrilled when the minstrels move in next door.”

Donnick shoots him a sheepish smile; true enough.

“You’re welcome to me,” he says, adding, a little blunt, “people are getting sour - we could do with a bit of laughter around here.”

The man’s eyes linger on him, a little glimmer in them as they cast over him quickly.

“An Ilmatari from the temple,” the red-haired man assumes correctly, and gestures, “it’s a beautiful building; I’ve seen a lot of smoke rising - do you have a bonfire, within?”

Donnick nods.

“In the courtyard,” he says, “we keep it fed all the time, in case someone needs warmth.”

“Hmm,” the man considers this, as he helps him carry his offerings to a table, “I’d like to see that.”

He offers a hand.

“Klaus,” he says.

“Donnick,” Donnick replies.

–

Donnick is still trying to scrub the last of the blood from the floorboards - the stains stubborn and soaked into the wood - when he hears the hurried footsteps approaching.

He looks up, barely has time to register that it’s Geraldus before he clears the room, collapsing at his side on the ground and throwing his arms around him, a tight and desperate embrace.

Donnick pulls him into his arms, feeling him shake there, chest breaking into deep, heaving sobs.

He holds him there and lets him cry; stroking his fingers through his hair as he does, and wonders what has happened.

He didn’t even know he was back in the city; but his chest is aching, ribs pulling apart as he holds him there - the wash of deep relief and the joy of seeing him again drowned beneath his worry.

“They’re all dead,” Geraldus whispers into his shoulder, between sobs, “they’re all dead but me.”

Donnick takes in a few deep breaths; thinking of the stink of blood, still lingering in his nostrils no matter how much he cleans, of Father Lorgan’s body, and swallows.

He knows before Geraldus even needs to say that this is the same; what has happened to him, it’s part of this, too.

He presses a kiss to his hair. It doesn’t matter that it’s been months. It doesn’t matter that they’re not lovers - not really - he offers him love, all the same.

“It’s ok,” he says, “you’re safe.”

Geraldus shakes his head.

“We’re not safe,” he says, “none of us are safe.”

–

“I’m sorry,” Donnick says, watching Geraldus lying there, finally sleeping - exhausted from crying - amongst the pillows and blankets of Klaus’ small tent, “I wasn’t sure where else to take him..”

The Temple is no longer a sanctuary for those in need; its doors no longer open. The notches across his knuckles sting, the frustration he has been throwing at the training dummy in the yard written in his singing limbs.

“It’s ok,” Klaus replies, pressing a cup into his hands - it is a cup of tea, steaming. The heat pouring through the clay settles into his aching fingers, easing. He smiles at him - realising this is why this had been offered - even though he hadn’t asked for it.

Klaus settles next to him, contemplating the figure.

“Bloody dopplegangers,” he says, after a moment, because in a way there’s nothing else to say.

Donnick nods, and lets himself lean against Klaus’ shoulder, grateful. He realises, as he leans into him, that he should have come to him sooner.

Klaus reaches, carefully, to circle a hand around him, pulling him closer.

“I’m sorry about Lorgan,” he says.

“I’m sorry about Dribbles,” Donnick replies.

Klaus takes in a deep breath, tilts his head, just a little, into him, and Donnick feels the shiver as his breath catches against his neck.

“He’s not going to be ok for a while,” Klaus says against his neck, “that’s … what happened, that’s … more than anyone should have to endure.”

Donnick nods. He knows a little about enduring, now.

“I’m not sure any of us are going to be,” he says, “Bill’s already talking about how Lorgan’s teachings died with him.”

Klaus lets out a frustrated, but not surprised, sort of sigh.

“Bill’s a bastard,” he says.

Donnick nods.

They sit together, for a moment; and Geraldus lets out a little sound in his sleep, turning, his brows drawn together in anguish, a whimper, pained, in his throat. His dreams are no escape, Donnick thinks, from his waking horrors.

“We’ll help him together,” Klaus says, watching him too, “ok?”

–

Geraldus wants to get back to the hunt - wants to prove he’s a Harper still - and his frustration is palpable as he’s stuck in place.

“I know,” Klaus says, as brushes his fingers through his hair, gently pulling it into plaits, just like Donnick used to do when they were younger, “but the High Harper is right. You need to be ready.”

“I am ready,” Geraldus counters.

He’s still unsure about this new figure, feeling a bristle of unfamiliarity at his presence, but it’s fading quickly. Klaus doesn’t look at him like he’ll break - like Donnick does - and he gives him things to do with his anxious hands.

Geraldus unpicks the knotted chains in his hand, untangling them as Klaus works on his hair. His fingertips brushing the nape of his neck a moment as he pins it up into a tight bun.

Donnick is back in the temple, making more supplies for the soup kitchen, even as his brothers and sisters try to keep their doors shut.

“Maybe you are,” Klaus says, considering, “but if you’re not - are you sure you can live with that? If you failed, when the moment came?”

Geraldus feels his heart heave; the realisation, miserable, in his chest, that Klaus is right. He can’t fail. He can’t let anyone else die for him.

He is crying, again, before he can stop it. He hates it, that he can’t seem to stop; that it keeps breaking through him, like he’s that scared child trying so hard to be brave again.

“I… I want to be brave…” he says, trying to stop the tears from falling.

Klaus crawls round in front of him, taking him in a moment, and reaching up to blot at his tears with the corner of a velvet sleeve.

“Brave,” he repeats, gently, “covers a lot of things. It’s brave to stand up to those around you and fight for what you believe to be true…”

Geraldus meets his eyes, his usual bright grin now a small, understanding smile, “it’s brave to carry on the show, when everything is changed.”

“It is brave to hold your nerve in the face of such horrors as you have seen, Geraldus,” he said, “and it is brave, too, to let yourself grieve what it cost you to do so.”

It has cost him everything, Geraldus realises, and will cost more still.

Geraldus lets himself cry; lets the tears fall.

Klaus lets him - pulling his fingers from the chains, and holding them gently as he does.

His body is singing with it, the sadness rattling through still, buzzing gently as his heaves start to settle and Klaus wipes at his cheeks.

As he blinks away the last of the tears he realises why it is that Donnick brought him here.

Why this is the person Donnick has turned to, whilst he’s been away.

He’s not sure what compulsion drives him to clear the space between them; a desperation, he supposes, to be touched - to feel something else other than sadness for a moment. He parts his lips in a desperate kiss as Klaus holds his fingers against his chest; returning the kiss a moment, before gently pushing him back.

“Geraldus-” he starts, “you - Donnick and you…”

Geraldus reaches for him again, dragging him by the collar back to his lips.

“Please,” he whispers against his lips, “I need… I just need…”

Klaus tangles his fingers into his hair, moves into his kiss, and gives him what he needs.

–

In the tangle, Donnick draws his lips across Geraldus’ neck; adorns him with care as he reaches for Klaus’ hand - wanting his familiar warmth - wanting to lace his fingers with his own.

Geraldus rasps, breaking and gentle as Klaus’s lips draw across him, tongue trailing up his cock, lingering, swirling across his head.

Donnick kisses him, catches those gasps as Klaus takes Geraldus into his mouth - and feels his fingers gripping Donnick’s tighter - reassuring.

Geraldus’ head lolling back, and Donnick kisses at his throat as he moans. He grips his hips, carefully; their bodies familiar to one another, a welcome, happy return to a place of safety as he presses into him, gently - and hears Geraldus cry out.

Klaus crawls up between his legs as Donnick thrusts into Geraldus, slowly, deep. Klaus’ lips find his own, desperate; and Donnick returns his kiss - tastes the salt of Geraldus’ skin lingering on his tongue as Geraldus whimpers between them.

He keeps kissing him as Klaus presses himself against Geraldus, drawing their cocks together in his grasp, working them both in careful, deliberate strokes - matching Donnick’s bucking thrusts.

Geraldus’ fingers tangle into Donnick’s hair, splay across Klaus’ spine to feel his panting breaths. Klaus pins Donnick’s grip, biting at his lip, letting out a moan of his own against his lip. Donnick feels himself closer and closer; trying to hold on even as Geraldus breaks; twisting against him as he comes - and Klaus’s groan against his lip tells him he’s not far behind.

Donnick lets his thrusts quicken; driving harder now as Klaus lets out a growling cry into his throat. He gives into it - finally collapsing through; the wash of pleasure flooding his mind as he grips them both, closer, and lets himself go.

–

“You’re leaving the Temple?” Geraldus asks, as they sit on the grass, looking across at the city - battered, ruined by battle, but standing still - defiant. Rebuilding itself, brick by brick, day by day.

It had survived, just as he had. It will rebuild, just as he will.

Donnick nods.

He twists a ring around his finger, contemplating.

“It’s… complicated,” he says, “there’s something… something I need to do.”

He meets Geraldus’ eyes, now, hesitant.

“There’s someone,” he says, confessing. “Someone who needs me.”

Geraldus searches his gaze; sees the glimmer in them, of something sad, but hopeful. Once again, Donnick has changed. For the first time in months, he sees that resolve in his eyes, that he’d seen all those years before in a quiet room - as he’d drawn fingers across fresh scars.

He smiles, and reaches for his hand.

“You’ll make it through,” he says.

Donnick squeezes his fingers.

“Maybe,” he says, and laughs a little - nervous, “I think I might be a little mad.”

Geraldus smiled wider still.

“You’re not mad,” he says, “you’re in love.”

Donnick takes a breath.

“I hope that’s enough,” he says, eyes distant.

Geraldus holds his hands a little longer. They stay there, in comfortable silence, holding on for that little while longer.

“What about you?” Donnick asks eventually, “are you going back to them? The Harpers?”

Geraldus doesn’t know yet. He’s stuck, waiting here, in this limbo of uncertainty - waiting, waiting - for something else to happen. He wishes he was like Donnick. That he had a something, or a someone, for his heart to point to.

“I think so,” he says.

Donnick squeezes his fingers a little tighter still.

“You’ll make it through, too,” he says.

–

Geraldus tests the pin on his chest, wanting to make sure it was fastened properly. His feet have guided him to the gates of the circus; because where else is there to go? Who else is there to tell?

Klaus is reading something as he approaches; and he glances up, taking him in - his lips breaking into a bright, sudden smile.

“Well,” he greets, pushing away from the railings as Geraldus approaches, “now that’s a welcome sight.”

Geraldus feels a little flush on his cheeks as he brushes his hair behind his ear, Klaus’ gaze roving over him, over his armour, appreciative.

“What do you think?” He asks.

“I feel safer already,” Klaus says, grinning.

Geraldus feels himself wanting to flinch, instinctive.

“You’re teasing me,” he says.

Klaus shakes his head.

“Not even a little,” he says, his grin shifting, his smile sincere, “it suits you - Harper.”

Geraldus smiles, and moves to his side, to look out across the town with him. Klaus reaches for his arm, looping his own around it, and rests his hands across Geraldus’ own, warm and reassuring.

“You need some company - for the ceremony?” He asks.

Geraldus nods.

“Thanks,” he says, and then after a long moment, “do you think Donny will make it?”

Klaus nudges him a little.

“Of course he will,” he says, “how could he miss it?”

[mr-stottlemonk]

If Adrian and Leland wore cologne, what would their scents be?

hm, for Leland i'm feeling he'd be having old spice XD XD. but for really fancy ocassions i think he'd wear Brut by Faberge or Polo Ralph Lauren (the 60's and 70's brands)

UHH, mr. monk huh, i think he'd go for something pretty basic, not sure what cause i see him more of a "all his clothes have this really fresh, clean or citrus detergent smell" :3c

[unorthodoxsavvy]

do you still do those vibe check things?

if so...

@phantom-w0lfbane or @aspenonpawzzz

phantom-w0lfbane

aspenonpawzzz

Ice Cream Flavor:

Chocolate | Vanilla | Strawberry | Mint Chocolate Chip | Cookie Dough | Cookies and Cream | Moose Tracks | Peanut Butter | Cotton Candy | Superman | S’mores | Lavender | Blueberry | Melon | Citrus | Pumpkin

Pokémon Type:

Bug | Grass | Flying | Water | Fire | Ice | Electric | Rock | Ground | Dragon | Ghost | Dark | Fairy | Psychic | Normal | Steel | Poison | Fighting

Pride Flag Stripe:

Pink (sex) | Red (life) | Orange (healing) | Yellow (sunlight) | Green (nature) | Turquoise (magic/art) | Indigo (serenity) | Violet (spirit)

Greek Gods and Goddesses:

Aphrodite | Athena | Artemis | Ares | Apollo | Demeter | Dionysus | Hades | Hera | Hermes | Poseidon | Zeus

Supernatural Entity:

Ghost | Alien | Cryptid | Werewolf | Vampire | Demon | Angel

Cryptid:

Mothman | Bigfoot | Nessie | Jersey Devil | Chupacabra | Fresno Nightcrawler | Flatwoods Monster | Jackalope

DnD Class:

Barbarian | Bard | Cleric | Druid | Fighter | Monk | Paladin | Ranger | Rogue | Sorcerer | Warlock | Wizard

Time of Day:

Dawn | Morning | Noon | Afternoon | Dusk | Night | Midnight | The Witching Hour

Century:

1000s | 1100s | 1200s | 1300s | 1400s | 1500s | 1600s | 1700s | 1800s | 1900s

Decade:

1900s | 1910s | 1920s | 1930s | 1940s | 1950s | 1960s | 1970s | 1980s | 1990s

Month/Day

January | Feburary | March | April | May | June | July | August | Septemeber | October | November | December | Monday | Tuesday | Wednesday | Thursday | Friday | Saturday | Sunday

Aesthetic:

Cottagecore | Cabincore | Goblincore | Horrorcore | Scenecore | Trendercore | Kidcore | Lovecore | Fantasycore | Dark Acedemia | Punk | Goth | Webcore | Pastel Kawaii/Pastel Goth | Grunge | Theatrecore | Yellowcore | Honeycore | Vulture Culture | Vaporwave | Naturecore | Adventurecore | None/Other

[lazulisong]

٩( ᐛ )و

it's that time of year again, where i make a an increasingly hopeless search for electrolyte solution WITHOUT artificial sweeteners or stevia. (monk fruit is on thin ice.)

٩( ᐛ )و

(im happy to get suggestions but with the caveat that i have a very very strong aversion to any sweeteners that aren't cane sugar or a depressingly short list of natural sweeteners, due to having the type of strep colony in my tonsils that could go from "ow i guess" to crying in pain in less than 12 hours as a small child. how did that give me an aversion? liquid penicillin being sweetened with aspartame, that's how.)

by this point i've given up and accepted i will be making oral rehydration solution forever, with some powdered citrus if i can find the damn stuff without, you guessed it! sucralose or stevia.

anyway in case someone can benefit from multiple years of me scrolling down the ingredient list and screaming when i saw stevia or sucralose, here is the OG recipe for oral rehydration solution

in my experiments last year i found that a restaurant packet worth of salt and one or two packets of sugar in 16 to 20oz worth of water worked okay and didn't taste terrible.

[konjaku]

すだ椎[Sudajii] Castanopsis sieboldii subsp. sieboldii

Generally speaking, 椎[Shii] refers to this species. The origin of the word すだ is unclear. It is not uncommon for Shii to exceed twenty meters in height, with trunk diameters exceeding one meter. When it grows big, the base of the tree swells and deep grooves are formed in the trunk, giving it dignity. There is a certain sacred atmosphere to the appearance of the giant Shii trees that grow in the precincts of shrines and temples.

Its acorns are edible. The bark becomes the raw material for black dye called 椎鈍[Shiinibi], which is used to dye monks' robes, clerical dress and so on.

だから内供の眼には、紺の水干も白の帷子もはいらない。まして柑子色の帽子や、椎鈍の法衣なぞは、見慣れてゐるだけに、有れども無きが如くである。内供は人を見ずに、唯、鼻を見た。

[Dakara Naigu no me niwa, kon no suikan mo shiro no katabira mo hairanai. Mashite kōjiiro no bōshi ya, shiinibi no koromo (hōe) nazo wa, minarete iru dake ni, aredomo naki ga gotoku de aru. Naigu wa hito wo mizu ni, tada, hana wo mita.] Therefore, neither the kon(deep blue)-colored suikan nor the white katabira will catch Naigu's eyes. And even more so, the kōji(citrus)-colored hats and the black priest’s robes were so familiar to him that they seemed to be there or not. Naigu did not look at the figures, just at their noses. From Hana(The Nose) by Akutagawa Ryūnosuke Source: https://dl.ndl.go.jp/pid/1146302/1/10 (ja/fr) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suikan

[nrcnewspaperclub]

A tropical thumbprint is a recipe I came up with. I called it a Hawaiian thumbprint for my marketing chunk of the project, but it's like a traditional jam thumbprint cookie but it has tropical flavors and is encrusted with coconut and freeze dried pineapple!

anyways, recipes;

Almond Spice Version 3 2 cups flour 1 tsp baking soda 3 tsp cornstarch 4 tsp almond extract 1 tsp salt 2 Tbsp cinnamon 2 Tbsp nutmeg ⅔ cups chopped almonds 1 cup butter ¾ cups brown sugar ½ cups granulated sugar 1 tsp vanilla extract 1 egg Preheat oven to 350°F Cream butter, sugar, and extracts. Add egg and stir to combine. Sift dry ingredients into the bowl mix to combine. fold in ⅓ cups chopped almonds, Roll dough into log press ⅓ cup of almonds into sides of dough log and wrap in parchment paper. Slice into 32 slices. Bake for 8-11 min

Hawaiian Thumbprint Cookies Version 3

3 and ½ cups flour

¾ cups butter

1 tsp vanilla extract

11 teaspoons pineapple jam

16 macadamia nut kernels, cut in half

2 Cups freezed dried pineapple, powdered

1 egg

4 oz unsweetened coconut flakes

¼ tsp salt

¾ cups sugar

½ cup monk fruit sweetener, divided

Preheat oven to 350°F Cream together one egg, vanilla extract, butter, sugar, and 6 tablespoons of the monk fruit sweetener. Sift in dry ingredients. Combine. Fold in one and a half cups freeze dried pineapple powder. Place onto parchment paper and roll into a tube and wrap in parchment paper. Chill in the fridge for half an hour. While the dough rests, beat the egg in a small bowl. Mix together coconut flakes, chopped macadamia nuts, monk fruit sweetener and remaining pineapple powder in a small bowl. Place some of the coconut mixture into a small plate.Cut dough into 32 equal disks.Dip each disk into egg mixture, then dip into coconut mixture and place on a parchment paper lined baking sheet. Repeat until all discs have been dipped, refilling coconut mixture when depleted.Press your thumb or the back of a rounded teaspoon into the disks. Fill holes with 1/3 tsp of pineapple jam, then press a macadamia nut half on top of the jam, flat side down. Repeating for all cookies. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes

Orange You Glad Cookies Version 3 2 and ½ cups flour½ tsp saltThe juice of 1 and ½ navel oranges3 Tbsp of orange juiceThe zest of 1 and ½ navel orangesThe zest of ½ navel oranges3 Tbsp orange extract1 cup butter3 Tbsp powdered monk fruit sweetener1 and ¼ cups sugar ½ tsp baking powderOne eggPreheat oven to 350°f Beat one egg, extracts, butter sugar, and flour, add juice of 1 and ½ oranges and zest of 1 and ½ oranges. Sift in dry ingredients and combine. Split into 32 parts. Flatten each segment into a disk. Put on a parchment lined pan. Bake for for 9-11 min. While cookies are baking, mix monk fruit sweetener with a Tbsp each of orange juice and orange extract. Once cooled, glaze cookies and top with a pinch of orange zest.

they were all designed to be low sugar, but you can substitute monk fruit sweetener for powdered sugar if you wish

🍋, oranges are clearly the superior citrus, source; My last name is a kind of orange, and I'm clearly superior to you (🍋) :p

-🍊

frantically scribbling all of this down, these all sound delicious.

[thedaily-beer]

Northern Monk Faith in Futures Laura Slater Citra IPA (Picked up at a Waitrose in London). A 3 of 4. Nice citrus and tropical fruit in the nose and a hazier, thicker body than I was expecting. Quite a lot of orange citrus and some vegetal hop notes behind it, and a solid, clean finish with a touch of sweetness.

[angelhairpastawithherbs]

Miscellaneous Masterlist Part Two Ig

SUMMONED

Getting matchedup

The Bad Touch with Rollo

jkdkakdks

Matchup Practice

LAB SAFETY

Citrus again

Get Stabby

Help With Skincare

our son

she horkin on my borkin

every friend group

wjjsqkkdkwk iwoekekd

rollo again

did something

Rook with stubble

Just saw

mspaint trixic

Cunty Little Fellow

the connotations

really good flirting

the wow

meme

they have nothing

to go witchcraft

fuckin theater kids

Pink Coffin

Legendary

OH MY GOD

rook imagine drabble

another rook

monke return

THE CEDRIC MENTION

the cedric memes

the voice of a devil

Hell Brothers

uuuuuuuuhhhhhhn gaaaaaaay

fuhknee

Annie

The Nun Two

Getting Matchup again

Hopefully someone he really likes

The Park

Honeybee

Horse Girlies

Marketable Plushies

Jjk Rowling

Jennifer Lawrence

Like You

h o b b i e S

Two Wolves

BSD mANGA LINK

Jjk meme

rings

the marshmallow stuff with malleus

florida

penis pot pie

barbie hyperfixate

prettywomanbutwithvil

rook is not a gaslighter you're just weird

rook with beard

this is how it happened

ugh

him again

why do i like him no

ew like him

ricolla

angel

his support

him again

yes him again

not you too

a vibe

mmmmmm butch

a meme

goth butch

the lesbian monsters

in

a rollo date

malleus

accepting apologies

guide i like

about diamonds

what is this

Trook Meme

oh nein

flowers

moodboard

its jfk day

biblically accurate

tattoo au

i should stop

blinkies i love

anyways this

[tradeunlisted01]

Indulge in the Delicate Fragrance of Motia Attar

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The Fragrance of Jasmine

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A Floral Symphony

Motia Attar is characterized by its sweet, floral aroma, with a touch of green and citrus notes. The fragrance is both delicate and captivating, evoking feelings of joy, romance, and serenity. It is often described as a "feminine" scent, perfect for those who appreciate floral fragrances.

A Cultural Heritage

Motia Attar has a rich cultural heritage in India. It has been used for centuries in religious ceremonies, social gatherings, and personal adornment. The fragrance is often associated with love, beauty, and prosperity.

Benefits of Motia Attar

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Immerse yourself in the sweet, floral aroma of jasmine.

Experience the uplifting and calming effects of Motia Attar.

Discover the cultural significance of this timeless fragrance.

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Visit Aroma Monk today and embark on a fragrant journey through the heart of India.

[angelandgypsy]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: About Palo Santo And How To Use It….