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@crossedblade
Intro post (will add to it as needed)
Basic character info: Aris - he/they/it
(Blog owner is genderfluid, any pronouns may apply. Low 30s.)
Blog will present suggestive and 18+ content. Minors will be blocked.
Very much open to be contacted by (ADULT) denizens of the knightblr/medievalblr community. Feel free to send asks, dms, add to posts etc. Establishing relationships is the fun part of rp!
knight that literally can't do anything unless i give him instructions. knight that can't think for himself since he's so used to following whatever order he's given. knight that looks at me all stupid and confused when i ask if he thinks he deserves to be inside of me.
Leda (2016) by Marc Burckhardt, acrylic and oil on paper, 37 x 24 in (94 x 61 cm)
dolce & gabbana fall 2006 ads by steven meisel
((The pain of having a set of kinks that makes Tumblr think you want to see posts about the hockey show or worse, posts tagged "patriarchy" and "male superiority". I feel my libido and my brain shrivel up and die every time.))
What do you smell and taste like?
Results:
Jalon smells like burning wood, but tastes like cherry blossoms.
"Oh, that sounds...interesting. I have never tried cherry blossoms; are they tasty?"
Results:
> Hound smells like vanilla, but tastes like tea.
This. Does not quite track, but I'll accept it.
smells like citrus (do love that!!)
tastes like musk (ew?? i do not want to be tasting like that!?)
Smells like cinnamon... But tastes like LETTUCE???
"Aris smells like coffee beans, but tastes like freshly baked cookies."
!!!
What if I kidnapped you
What if you woke up one morning in a strange bed with no memory of the night
What if you were terrified, you beg and plead for me to let you go, you promise not to tell anyone, you tell me you'll do anything to earn your freedom, I just look at you with pity in my eyes
What if I cooked you all your favourite foods, sat and watched and made sure you ate three times a day (plus snacks and desert)
What if I made sure you had your meds at a regular time every day
What if I turned off all the lights and WiFi at a set time each night forcing you into a good sleeping pattern
What if you were still terrified, , every day just waiting for me to use you or abuse or hit you just like everyone else who's ever had power over you
What if I was kind
What if you finally let me hold you, collapsed into my arms, let yourself cry
What if you felt truly safe and free for the first time in your life
What if you begged me to let you go anyway, not because I was doing it wrong or not doing enough, but because you felt you didn't deserve it, because you couldn't believe anyone could care about you this much, because you didn't want to be a burden
What if in reply I told you that you'd never gotten a choice how people treated you before, when they were abusive or neglectful, so why would you think you'd get a choice now
Okokokok
I see you all in the notes begging for beatings and torture and hard dominance
And yes, the next step is "what if we fucked violently"
But the kindness has to come first
The full version from my corpse
when the character is obsessive and desperate and guilty and scared and ashamed and traumatized and repressed
Why is everybody I'm seeing recently just entirely helpless in the face of the barest morsel of positive reinforcement?
Please learn to question the motives of those you have contact with. Protect yourself from those who would seek to use you.
Why is everybody I'm seeing recently just entirely helpless in the face of the barest morsel of positive reinforcement?
Please learn to question the motives of those you have contact with. Protect yourself from those who would seek to use you.
can I talk to you in the woods about something
kidnapping in the caring way, youre free from all those overwhelming responsibilities, feeding you, helping you drink, maybe keeping you a little high so you're relaxed, tending to the wounds you caused yourself when you still tried to fight.
im just taking care of you
Aris had lost count of the days since his imprisonment. They all blurred together into a mess of confinement, basic necessities made uncomfortable by his restraints, and whatever sick entertainment Orlando had in mind at any given moment. The only reason he had not shut down and decided to starve himself to death was the memory of Margaret's distressed letter.
So when Aris was taken outside, the brightness of the sun burning his eyes despite how early it was, he knew something was wrong. As the detachment of guards let him to the edge of the woods, he wondered briefly if he had finally reached the end of Orlando's patience and the duke was about to execute him. From the way he kept glancing at Aris with an amused air, it was going to hurt. A lot.
What he didn't expect was to see Thorn waiting patiently while one of the guards removed the shackles from his bloodied wrists and ankles. Oh. He wasn't going to die, then. He will only wish he did.
The guard finally pushed him forward in the direction of the tree line. Orlando, always one to twist the knife, deigned to lean into his ear and whisper:
"Don't let him catch you."
It was hopeless, he realized. He was injured, had two recent brushes with death, his every joint and muscle sore from having his movements restricted for so long. It was a game Aris was meant to lose.
He still ran until the soles of his feet started to bleed.
@knights-hand
Thorn didn't look quite like himself. His blackened plate had been swapped for lighter leather armor, and no blade hung at his hip. Duke Orlando's instructions had been strict: no permanent damage, and no significant bleeding. Still plenty to work with.
He held himself still for a few seconds after Aris bolted, despite every bone in his body telling him to Go. Catching him before he even made it past the treeline wouldn't be any fun. Instead he nodded to the duke, walked calmly to where Aris had started, and took a controlled breath.
Finally, he let himself go, and shot after like an arrow. His feet thundered against the forest floor with no attempt to quiet them. The fluttering shape of his target was barely visible through the trees, but his eyes stayed fixed on it with a focus he'd rarely felt before. He revelled in his own body, the speed, the power, the primal urge to hunt that he had missed in favor of duty.
The intoxicating feeling only grew as the shape before him grew closer.
What a joke of a headstart, Aris thought. There wasn't a moment he could not hear the drum of Thorn's steps barreling towards him.
Another sharp branch snapped under his bare feet, causing him to lose precious ground. The strange fae-work stitches on his side held, but every step made them sting. His lungs were already burning, the recent blood loss brutally reducing his stamina. At this rate, he was going to collapse before Thorn even reached him. Flight was impossible. So be it. Aris would stand and fight, then.
He reduced his pace just enough to be able to watch his surroundings. There. He stumbled forward, taking hold of a decent-sized rock on the ground. Hopefully, Thorn would think he had stumbled (gods knew how he hadn't already). There were seconds left until he caught up. Pushing himself up again, Aris turned to face his pursuer with a strike to the head.
Thorn gets a split second to register the weapon in his prey's hand before white hot pain fills his vision. By some miracle he manages to keep his trajectory, and when their bodies meet moments later he feels the collision rather than sees it. He tumbles a few feet across the forest floor until a tree abruptly stops his path, knock the breath from his lungs.
For what feels like an eternity he lies there, catching his breath and blinking away the pain pulsing from his forehead. In reality it can't have been more than a second. As soon as he's able he looks up, and sees Aris scrambling to his feet not far from him. He shoots up, lunging at him with all his might.
It's not with little satisfaction that Aris feels the rock connect, although the hit was not nearly as direct as he could wish. That small victory was quickly soured by Thorn's momentum making him crash against Aris at full speed, knocking him to the ground, along with what little air was left on his lungs.
There was no time to waste. A floor fight was a death sentence to a weakened opponent, which he wasn't stupid enough to deny that he very much was. Thorn was already practically launching himself at him. He managed to get back on his feet in time, but not out of reach. An attempted dodge to the side made it so the captain didn't hit him with full force, but his back knocked painfully against a nearby tree, the thin linen of the undershirt he wore providing no protection at all. He still kept his grip on the makeshift weapon like a lifeline.
Aris may have avoided the grasp of his first lunge, but he didn't go nearly far enough. Thorn turns quickly, feet digging deep into the soft earth, and runs at him again. He's far too close to get away at this point, and Thorn quickly grabs each of his wrists and tries to wrestle them to his sides. The rock hovers dangerously close to his already bleeding head, but he can't again enough momentum to get a good strike in.
Finally he manages to pin his arms down, and for a moment they simply stare at each other panting. The blood dripping down Thorn's face has made its way to his mouth, staining his teeth red. He smiles.
"Fucking Bastard." He pants, his voice half way between angry and thrilled.
"And here I was going to go easy on you."
His raw, bruised wrists burn under Thorn's unyielding grasp. Still, Aris struggles for every inch until his arms are pinned down, at which point the deathgrip refuses to budge. The pressure eventually forces his makeshift weapon away. He is still trying to catch his breath, sucking air harshly through his mouth. The fucker is smiling. Gods, how he wish he could knock his teeth until the bastard choked on his own blood.
Oh, but he's also chastising. He was going to go easy on him. Aris has to scoff. So he was supposed to lie on his back and cry in hopes that the oh-so-merciful Captain would torture him a little more nicely? What a wonderful arrangement.
"Know what you are, Thorn?" He hisses through gritted teeth. "A fucking vulture."
Gathering what second wind he could, Aris suddenly kicks at Thorn's knee. To hell with easy. If Thorn wants his blood, he'll have to work for it.
Well, he won't be taking anything lying down at least, that's for sure. Thorn grunts at the sudden pain in his knee, but as his balance sways he leans into the fall, bringing Aris with him. Normally he'd roll beneath or try to catch his weight when falling with another, but he has no such concerns for this target.
Instead he holds on tight and leans his shoulder towards him. It meets his collarbone with a satisfying crack as they hit the ground hard. Aris howls in pain, and Thorn just stared down at him, letting the blood drips down his nose onto Aris's face. Once his eyes can focus once again, he grins.
"Considering yourself a corpse already?"
Suddenly he pushes himself up, letting go of his wrists. He gives him no time to get up though, before he slams a foot down hard on his shin. It twists unnaturally with a similar, louder crack.
Finally comes the fun part
Aris doesn't get to register Thorn's intention before his shoulder connects with the ground and his collarbone snaps like a dry branch. Blinding pain travels down his now useless arm and tears out a scream, leaving him disoriented. There is blood dripping down his face, and it takes him a moment to realize it's Thorn's and not his. Aris may not be a corpse yet, but that may be his loss.
He doesn't have much time to contemplate mortality before the weight of Thorn's body is lifted from him. He tries to scramble up, jostling his injured shoulder, but he only gets to push himself up one elbow before his mind explodes into pain once more. At least this time he manages to strangle the sudden cry (why does it matter if he makes a sound? He doesnt know, but bites down his tongue all the same).
Looking down, he sees the unnatural angle his leg is now bent and feels his stomach churn. Had he eaten, he would be throwing up right now. He feels his body grow clammy with cold sweat.
It's over. He knows it's over. Thorn had ripped from him the option to flee or fight back. For once in his life he had decided not to endure silently and at every turn this choice had been ground into dust. Years of resentment filled his mouth like bile, like poison, like acid.
"I am not dead." He forces out through the blood of his bitten tongue. "I am not a thing."
He laughs, taking his time to enjoy the slower pace of their encounter.
"Well you're certainly no man. Look at you, crawling and broken for my entertainment, for a master who cares nothing for you."
He squats down to get a better look at his face.
"Tell me, worm. Why didn't you flee in bloodhaven? If you had time to take not one but TWO lovers, one of political import no less, then surely you would gave been able to get away?" His tone is mocking, but there's an under current of genuine curiosity to it.
If the broken bones had not been enough to make his face turn pale, the casual reference to Theodore and Margaret would have done it. But it also set his blood boiling again.
"You have no idea what you are talking about." Again he pushes himself up to his elbow, then to a single trembling hand. The opposite arm hangs limp, the shoulder sloped forward awkwardly. It hurts like hell, but he gets to look Thorn in the eye. "You just smelled blood and came running. You have no idea what I tolerated in the name of duty. I gave everything. I nearly bled out in Bloodhaven for it."
A clot of blood catches on his throat, eliciting a coughing fit made worse by his broken collarbone. He breathes noisily through his teeth. As he speaks, his tone shifts from rage to almost unhinged hilarity.
"But because I looked somebody's way without permission--" A stray cough. "I get a small cage and a sadistic bastard hunting me for sport."
By the end he is laughing as much as his injuries allow him. Laughing at the pain, at his shitty life, at the insane master fate gave him, at the other insane fuck that is probably already calculating how to make him seek deeper into misery. Why shouldn't he laugh? What else could he do?
"You've given everything for duty, huh?" Thorn laughs and leans his foot hard against his crotch. "You couldn't even keep your dick in your pants." His face sours as Aris strained cackling continues unbothered.
He leans down, grabs his unbroken arm and pulls him up and over his shoulder. Finally, the laughter is silenced by a howl of pain. Much better.
He starts walking slowly, eyes scanning the forest floor, and talking casually. "You know, I'd have more respect for you if you were trying to get out. Hell, I might even help you. But no, you just wanna feel sorry for yourself." Thorn smirks. "Your master is too fucked in the head to get rid of you, and you're too useless to get out yourself. Good match eh?"
Finally he finds what he's looking for. He drops Aris's almost limp body off on a large rock, face down and ass pointed to him. "Well, maybe not entirely useless."
Always the all-knowing attitude with that guy. He couldn't help but laugh at that either. "You moronic brute, I didn't even--" Then Thorn grabs his arm, and he immediately knows more pain is on the way. But the thing he had learned about pain is that no matter how much you anticipated, you were never really ready for it. He can only bite off the inside of his cheek to strangle another cry. The arm break is less excruciating than the collarbone, but by now Thorn is jostling his battered body this way and that, and every new injury was compounded by the others. He spits out blood.
"Fuck your respect."
For a fleeting, almost optimistic moment, Aris thinks Thorn's goal is to ruin all his limbs and after his other leg is broken he will be left alone. That hope too is swiftly crushed as Thorn lays him prone. He tries to push down the rising panic in his stomach. This has happened before. It would seem like an eternity, but then it would be over. Except...
Except every other time he would shut down, let himself become a dead thing like he had just denied being. Could he withstand that while being present, fighting? Was that even a choice he got to make?
Thorn watches the man beneath him seize up and he looms over him from behind, leaning his body against his. Before he gets too close he grabs his hair and pulls his head back towards him. He wasn't about to let him get a headbutt in now.
"Got realy quiet there knight. Did you run out of fight that quickly?" He whispers to him, the smile clear in his voice. "Say, what would you prefer: should I go in dry? Or do you want to lick me wet?" He leans back but keeps his crotch pressed against his ass, grinding to let him feel his growing bulge.
At this proximity, Thorn can feel his erratic heartbeat, the way his lungs seize with shallow, quick breathing as he hyperventilates. Aris is yanked back to reality by the hairpull, exposing the ring of bruises around his neck and the desperate fluttering pulse of his jugular. The halves of his broken collarbone grind against each other, twisting into an even more unnatural position.
"G-go to hell." I'm already there, he thought.
It's mostly Thorn's own clothes that shield Aris from full contact with his erection. He was dragged there as he was, wearing only a long, tattered shirt that barely allowed him any modesty, so thin that it could be torn by bare hands. His face burns in shame. He would like to kick back at Thorn, but he can't reach him in this position.
It's hopeless, as he always knew it would be, so why is it such a crushing realization? Thorn would have his way with him, then he would be returned, trapped, tortured, used again and again, then he would die or be killed when he became too broken to amuse his master. And all through it he would have nothing but the memory of a few days when he was loved to sustain him. That too would fade, like the memory of his mother's face and of his home far away.
Maybe Thorn is right. What man could exist like this? He must be something else. A mindless thing, like Orlando told him. He only wishes he were a thing without a heart.
Thorn laughs at his toothless insult. "If hell is what you want I'm happy to take you there." He pulls Aris's shirt up and his own trousers down, finally grinding skin against skin. The heat of his body almost surprises him. It felt odd for such a decrepit thing to still hum with life.
The push inside isn't pleasurable, but the adrenaline from the hunt drowns out any pain he might have felt. It's been a long time since he's gone in completely without lubrication, and he's surprised at just how much force it takes. He's leaning leaning heavily against Aris when their tight hole finally caves and the head pops in. Aris squirms, but Thorn keeps pushing, until he's about halfway in. When he pulls back his cock is covered in blood.
He grunts as he forces himself in again. "Hell, who knew you were hiding such a tight hole here?" His pace picks up, slowly working himself deeper with each brutal thrust.
"I almost understand your master's insistence on keeping you, if this is what you treat him to."
He is not listening anymore. First his world is consumed by the pain of forceful intrusion and tearing. His teeth grind together (Quiet, be quiet, don't make a sound) and his nails dig into the earth, his breathing is shallow and out of control.
Is he dying? It feels like he is dying. Ah, no. It's just that cold, devouring terror he knows so well. At any rate, his soul must be trying to escape, because he feels like he is watching the scene from outside his body. The pain is real, but directed at an outside object. But it's just a body, isn't it? It can't think. It's flat to the ground and also falling, rushing down at impossible speed, but the moment of impact never arrives. Over and over. Time goes by so fast that it stops moving. This is eternity. A rock, pain and the sensation just before hitting the ground. The body feels, doesn't think, the mind is gone, perhaps never having existed.
Aris's silence worries Thorn
"Hey, you still there?" He leans down and snaps his finger in front of them, to no avail. Truthfully he didn't want to kill him; bringing a corpse back to Orlando would cause all kinds of problems. Besides, he was curious how Aris would end up, left to his own devices.
He pulls out and grabs the limp body by its intact shoulder. The flip should be agonizing, but still no noise escapes it. It's eyes stare out into space, with no trace of the fear or panic that had been there. He lays his fingers against it's neck and stays very still.
He can hardly feel it through the pounding of his own chest, but there's a heartbeat there. Still alive. Good.
What's more, as he leans back again he notices the glistening wet slick covering the man's front. Thorn grins. "Well, would you look at that! Looks like your body knows how to act on it's desires at least."
As he reenters his body he's rubbing little circles on his throbbing cock, and enjoying the string of slick that drags between them each time he pulls back.
There is something else mixed with the pain and terror now. Ah, of course. It is worse. Betrayal. No refuge allowed in clarity. But clarity only meant something while choice was possible. In that repeating eternity, things might as well be muddy and indistinct. Filthy sludge. Muscles spasm on their own, clenching and trembling. What a disgusting sight, when compared to the ground. Or having one's eyes gouged out. Thorn's voice as if through water as the captain approaches completion.
Eyelashes flutter. But it's dead? No, it can't be, the soul merely escaped the body. But isn't that death? A little presence returns to the eyes. They stare directly, even disturbingly, yet remain as blank as before. Like old church paintings where the dead escaped hell to condemn the living. But there is no condemnation, nor any sound at all.
► reblog to let your mutuals know that... YOUR RP BLOG IS NOT TIME-SENSITIVE!
...That there is NO time limit or expiration date on asks, memes or threads.
...That your partners NEVER need to feel they have to apologise for not responding to a thread or ask yet.
...That you welcome replies to "OLD" threads and memes, even if they've been sitting quietly untouched for weeks or months.
...That there is NEVER any pressure or obligation for your partners to reply until they feel the drive and enthusiasm to do so.
...That YOU will happily respond to things at YOUR OWN leisure, and you would like your partners to feel comfortable doing the same.
Not everybody enjoys running their blog this way and that's a-okay. But removing the idea that RP interactions are something that can "expire" or that the asks in your inbox have an unspoken "due-date", takes the pressure off of both your partners and yourself and can help bust feelings of stress/anxiety from the hobby. Reblog to let your partners know that you're just jazzed to receive new writing from them, whenever it comes.
"I wish we met sooner" is such a gentle sentiment. I love you so much I not only want you in my future, but in my past too. I want to have known you when we were small stupid kids, have held hands together as we played outside. I want to have stressed out over exams together, nudging a mug of still steaming hot chocolate against your elbow to get you to focus. I want to have told you I love you before I did anyone else. I want to have held you in my arms when all those sad memories you describe to me were still fresh wounds. I want my past to have been full of you, and full of meaningful memories with you. I want my past lives to have been spent with you, whether as two lovers, or two housecats cuddling by the fireplace on a snowy day, or two flowers that just happened to bloom on the same day, next to each other. I want to have consumed your existence and intertwined it with my own since my birth, never to be separated from you for a moment. I want to have loved you throughout it all, for all time.
