#Alex Monk

[kalcium-yippee]

Ryan: you be a good boy- i mean boy- i mean boy- i mean boy- i mean- carrier pigeon☹️

Alex:

[alexthedragon190]

a pickle!

[reefsharkivist]

my dnd monk that i played for literally two sessions i miss them every day they’re so silly

[pliablehead]

Super self-indulgent little piece of writing I did laying out the guys from EE as a dungeons & dragons-style adventuring party, which I have just mailed to @heyjudelaw but figured I’d also share here if anyone cared hehehe

Central among them stands a dark-clad man who draws the eye almost instantly with his towering, statuesque height, and then keeps it, quite striking in appearance and countenance. His dark hair rakes back from a noble brow in an elegant widow’s peak, and with it, two smooth, sweeping devil’s horns, darker still–a tiefling, then, from some high elven stock but some of something else, deeper, infernal. The rake of his horns only serves to make him look even taller. He wears a long, crisp travellers’ coat, its shining buttons left undone along his front; it is perhaps black, perhaps only nearly black, effecting something more subtle and expensive than a stark blotch of pure pitch might in the dappled soft-focus light of the wood. Beneath it he sports no armor, merely a simple knit sweater with a high turtleneck, obscuring nearly all of his tanned skin. It is clear he does not need it: here in what should be at least three days’ rough travel from the edge of the wood, his clothes and slim boots show not a speck of dirt nor wear, and not a single strand of his smoothly coiffed hair falls out of place. Some sort of power beyond the material realm of the forest auras him–the only thing about him that is difficult to look at. Though his eyes are also dark, theirs is a warm, liquid darkness, speaking of more brightness and kindness than the rest of his striking presence might command.

At his side, another—perhaps maybe even tall as the tiefling man, but comporting himself such that he appears smaller, somehow stooped without stooping, his shoulders in an altogether different set. He is unmistakably elvish, though in a rare way of no clear high elf or wood elf bearing, his fine features and complexion betraying neither, his eyes clear but hooded and narrow, as though constantly peering into spaces deeper and further than the planes around him. The singular visage of an arcanist. This elven man is clad in soft cloaks of greys and tans, much more of a place in the wood than his tiefling companion seems to be; and belted around his waist and shoulders are a number of small, esoteric devices that he seems to touch and catalogue with a practiced, almost uncanny ease, finding one and implementing it immediately in almost the same deft, fluid motion. The casual movement of his dexterous hands belies the deep arcane complexity of the challenges they perform, mastered only after years or even decades of study—despite his unassuming appearance, his reputation has come to precede him. Surely this is the wizard Kaines.

Smallest among their number, but by no means slight, stands a man of a much more human bearing, though there lingers just enough in his bone structure and the cool piercing blue of his eyes to indicate some elven heritage within him as well, perhaps several generations back. Compared to his companions he seems almost nondescript by choice, with dark, close-cropped hair and a matching stubbled jaw flecked through with grey, and a posture of almost deliberate, calculated looseness, an alert mind and a keen gaze. He wears light and almost airy raiments, a diffuse shade of blue, as though of a white fabric dyed by hand to perfectly match his eyes, and their monotone palette seems—symbolic, representative of something, perhaps some order he has sworn himself to, or some other alliance beyond his traveling party. Despite the shaded cool of the forest, the shirtsleeves of this raiment are short, as though to give him the broadest and easiest range of motion. Mounted at his waist are a few small instruments of combat, blades and cudgels clearly designed for nimble swiftness rather than overpowering might, though his bared arms are corded with lithe muscle, that same loose but wary carriage.

At the front of the party—stepping forward—

Not the first of them to stand out and command attention, but the one who does so now with the greatest strength and tenacity, good gods, impossible to look away. Like his companion in blue, he appears mostly of human heritage, but whatever other ancestry lies in his blood is not that of his half-elven cohorts, but some more fey or bestial nature, some kobold or gnoll of some deep underforest, gleaming feral about his wild blue eyes, the unsettling too-clean sharpness of his teeth. His brows and the shadow of his jaw are dark, but his head of hair is bleached to blond by some caustic process or by some other clime’s blazing sun, a strange clash, at home in his strange whole. His broad body is clad in textured, dark black underleathers, a wicked pitch-black breastplate and greaves, all underneath some sweeping sleeveless cloak or priory tabard—mist-grey and somber, at its surface, but seeming to ripple with a frisson of hellfire orange and magenta when the woodland breeze catches it, there one moment and vanished the next, preternatural and alarming as the rest of the man himself. Whatever vestments these are that he wears, nothing of the divine realms has lain touch to them. His power, compelling and captivating as has ever graced this wood, stems from something oppressive, ancient, and fathomlessly dark, till it nearly clouds the air around him. Against its weight he seems almost illumined by compare.

And so bidden, you approach the crossroad…

[miutonium]

I hate art school so much for making me going through ridiculous process of researching just to make art like what if I simply just want to draw the same fav character again and again for no reason other than to entertain the 2 brain cell in my head instead of having to justify why the color of his coat is white and why the cream eggshell shade of his coat signifies his purity and kindness like why do I need to put 10 references from 10 books I will never read when I can just link to the intro scene of the powerpuff girls movie where the character said "I wanted to make some kids so I can teach good and bad, right and wrong and in turn maybe they do good to this terrible town and now I can!" Like WHAT'S NOT CLICKING???!!???1?!?

[keefsteef]

🙄🙄🙄 Alexander you're so childish wtf how dorky and lame I want nothing to do with you don't ever look at me ever no more, will you marry me 💍💔

Also...was Mr. Roth off guard? 😩😩😩😩😩 THATS UNFAIR ‼️

[nastya-artist2004]

Art by Alex Galho from Facebook.

[zmeydeva-arch]

midnight rain... zoyacore

[lympha]

arctic monke

[boygeniusgirlidiot]

I've listened to the Arctic Monkeys so much and copied Alex's singing that I've sort of developed a lower singing voice that i didn't know I was capable of doing isn't that crazy

[naenaejen]

game 1 is ours!!!!!!! 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

[fazcinatingblog]

ok as crappy as it is, writing about chloe makes me feel better

[fwuffybun]

[mizzskelter]

Dungeons of Lewdity AU

Part 2 [Robin, Whitney, Kylar] >

Part 3 [Eden, Alex, Avery] >>

Sydney the Aasimar Cleric of Virgo:

The union of Sirris and their partner, a devout who unknowingly carried blessed blood, resulted in one of the temple’s most prized yet coveted secrets. As a child of celestials, Sydney can only seem to remember the walled grounds of the temple surrounding him all his life; a constant stream of monks and nuns fretting over him at the thought of outsiders taking what’s theirs. A holy sign. A miracle so he was called, forever bound to their goddess’s love.

Sydney the Fallen Aasimar:

The falling of his beautiful feathers didn’t turn him cruel. Instead he’s lustful, uninhibited, and everything staining his goddess’s vision. He opened his own eyes to the very things the temple warned him of his entire life, but he doesn’t—can’t look away anymore, wanting to see how far this life of debauchery and sin can go. The spear may burn him with every touch now, but he’s certain the unfamiliar shiver running through him from the pain only stokes the purifying fires in the relic even more.

Erin the Changeling Warlock/Fighter:

Erin has to pay 50 gold minimum per spell casted to her patron, Bailey, a cambion who is notorious even within his layer of the hells. The higher level the spell asked from this glorious bastard, the higher the price is raised. She may also replenish a spell slot of any level if she offers an extra 300 gold and pass a CHA check for seduction. In meta this is the equivalent of slipping your DM a note and an under the table handy.

Got bored of making covers for now so I wanted to take a break practicing my rusty character designing.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Inside Your Head

Alex Blake x autistic!fem!reader Warnings: suggestive content (but not smut), sexual themes/innuendo, autism times (good ones, tho), established relationship, explicit language (let me know if I missed anything!) Word count: 0.9k

Summary: Alex is helping you pack up your apartment so you can move in with her. The only problem is that you keep getting distracted. And she's got to find a way to make you focus.

You stood on tiptoes to reach the books on the top shelf, grasping for their spines. You hated to un-alphabetize them but, after all, they wouldn’t stay that way in the boxes.

You jumped as Alex’s hands slipped inside your shirt and around your waist from behind. She buried her head in your neck, placing a kiss on your collarbone. You exhaled deeply, melting into her touch, placing your hands over hers.

“Need some help?” she asked.

You huffed, frustrated by your height. “...Yes.”

She reached over you to grab a few books, and for neither the first nor the last time that day, you admired her strong arms, fully on display thanks to the tank top she’d worn to help you pack. What you really wanted was to turn her around and push her up against the bookshelves, but you’d already gotten “distracted” once today. And Alex had said, in no uncertain terms, that there would be no more “distractions” until you’d finished packing up at least one room.

Alex ran her hands over the cover of a book, noting the torn dust cover, the pages grimy from years of fingers leafing through them.

“This must have been a favorite,” she observed, handing it to you.

You smiled, holding the book to your nose to smell the musty, familiar pages. “Yeah. For a long time when I was a kid.”

You sunk to the ground, leaning against the bookshelf and thumbing through the pages. Pages that had gotten you through so many things, that had ignited your love of words and stories.

“What’s it about?” Alex prompted, lowering herself to the floor next to you and leaning her head on your shoulder.

You traced your fingers over the cover. “The usual. Unlikely hero, dastardly villain, an order of pacifist monks.”

Alex furrowed her eyebrows. “I don’t think that I’d classify an order of pacifist monks as ‘the usual.’”

You smiled. “I loved the monks. They’d have these huge feasts and invite all the villagers. The food always sounded so beautiful, like something lords and ladies would have eaten. I can’t tell you how badly I wanted to try strawberry cordial and candied chestnuts.”

“I’m pretty sure that can be arranged,” Alex hummed, tracing her finger across your knuckles. “Why did you like the monks so much? Or was it just the food?”

You sighed thoughtfully. “Well, I was very religious, you know that. I liked the order and the ritual of it. And I think I liked the monks because their whole lives revolved around order and ritual. Also, they had days where everyone just had to be quiet. How cool would that be!?”

Alex kissed you on the cheek. “That’s very autistic of you, darling.”

You blushed, and she kissed you again. “In a good way.”

You gently set the book in one of the boxes, but Alex snatched it out and held it to her chest.

“Mind if I borrow this?” she asked, standing to her feet and offering you her hand.

You took it and stood with her, smiling. “You, Dr. Alex Blake, want to read my children’s novel about monks?”

“I want to read anything that helps me get inside this beautiful head,” she said, grasping the sides of your face and kissing your forehead.

She looked so pretty and her hands were so soft against your skin, you just couldn’t help yourself. You gently grabbed her chin and pulled her in for a kiss. A real kiss, none of this flighty nonsense you’d been playing at all afternoon while you and Alex packed up your office. A kiss that had her fingertips digging into your skin, her tongue seeking entrance between your lips.

You pulled away for a brief moment, just to make sure that you weren’t going further than she wanted to, but the way her body lurched toward yours, the huff of breath she let out–that told you all you needed to know.

You smirked. “I thought we weren’t getting distracted, Alex,” you teased, your lips mere centimeters from hers.

You gasped as she pushed you back into the bookshelf, and one of the empty shelves pressed sharply into your back.

“It’s hardly my fault that you’re so distracting.” You felt her hands slip beneath your waistband and took that as all the encouragement you needed to start unbuttoning her silky, collared tank top.

“Ah!” she tutted, stilling your hands with her own. “One button, one book.”

“What?! No!”

“Yes, sweet girl.” Alex pulled away from you as quickly as you’d come together, and you missed the solidity of her against you. “You seem to need a little motivation, so I’m giving it to you. One book, one button. When the buttons are done, you’ll do one item, one article of clothing. And after that…” She gestured to the reading armchair that sat in the corner of your office. “I’m going to sit in that chair, completely naked, and read your little monks book until you’ve packed all this up. Understood?”

You pouted, looking at the disarray around you and knowing how unbearably aroused you’d be with Alex just sitting there. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Better get a move on, darling,” she whispered seductively in your ear. “I won’t wait forever.”

And with that, you began throwing books into boxes at random. You could worry about alphabetizing later. You had more important things to put in order this afternoon. Namely, your girlfriend.