Sideblog for knightblr/medievalblr/etc. RP; very much under construction! Just about everything will be expanded later!
18+; minors DNI
Will gleefully block bootlickers, bigots, and anyone else who has rancid vibes ✨
If I ever reblog something that is AI or from a shitty/bigoted creator, PLEASE let me know!
Open to both SFW and NSFW rps, but I’m not comfortable engaging in NSFW with anyone under 21
Character
• Name: Lord Leander Khidell, third son of The Marquis of Cerulle
•Identity: Queer, transman (he/him)
•Origin: The March of Cerulle, Fae Realm
• Age: 24
Being the third son of a Marquis, Leander was often overlooked, or outright forgotten, both at court and at home. Naïve, a bit on the clumsy side, and simply not very impressive in most any respect, no one expected much from him. Suffice it to say, Leander took exception to that.
Setting out to make a name for himself, Leander became a duelist, intent on earning his own reputation and place in the world beyond his family name. The thing is, he’s just… not a very good duelist, frankly, and enthusiasm can only make up for so much. Frustrated, and feeling as though he’d merely confirmed the opinions of both the public and his family, Leander left for the mortal realm, thinking he might have better luck against opponents of a less fantastical nature. It is not going well for him in that pursuit.
Maybe he’ll become a knight! They fight well, and he could learn much from them! Does anyone need a squire??
OOC
Hi! My name’s Ari, and I’m a 31 y.o. queer transman (he/him). I’ve played DnD, but I’m brand new to this kind of rp. After spectating the events of the Bloodhaven Ball, I felt called to test the waters!
I don’t really know what I’m doing, so any advice or guidance is more than welcome! For now, I’m working on figuring out Leander and establishing this blog a bit— vibes, goals, hopes and fears, that kind of thing.
I follow from @breathemeinlikepixiesticks
Tags (may change)
#flickering blades- combat, dueling, weaponry
#Leander Learns- Leander experiencing the mortal realm
#meanderings- original in-character posts
#a brief interlude- OOC
#a hand offered- romance
#a hand taken- nsfw/nsft
#suggestive- not quite nsfw/nsft, tagged for folks who might want to filter it
#epistolary- RP/lore/story building
#journal of a lordling- Leander’s journal
Header is a royalty-free “enchanted forest” image.
Pfp is an approximation of Leander made with this picrew (I can’t find one that’ll get his hair rightttt)
I associate A Brief Interlude with you!! I think it was my fic of yours that I read 😊😊
An oldie but a goodie. So I wrote that for my (smut) sister @hopelessromanticspoonie I just thought about a slutty version of like a quiz show. Like if Tom were to play strip poker what would it be, Shakespeare quotes. And then it just kind of wrote itself.
Nicolò Patrol (Chapter 2: A Brief Interlude) [short fanfic]
[CW: Larry talks about overcoming homophobia. Joe makes a sexual joke using explicit language.]
--
After the details of the rescue plan had been hashed out, there was nothing to do but wait. Joe couldn’t bring himself to meet back up with Andy or Nile. He was still processing the fact that Booker had come back. Joe wasn’t one to hold a grudge, but this was something he couldn’t let go.
As Danny teleported elsewhere and everyone else made their way back into the manor, Joe noticed that Larry, the man with the bandages, also stayed back. He was happy to stand in silence, giving them both the opportunity to mull over their own thoughts. However, it quickly became clear that Larry was approaching him to start a conversation.
Larry walked up to Joe and awkwardly stood next to him, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“Larry, right?” Joe was pretty sure he remembered most of the group’s names, but the question provided a way to break the uncomfortable silence.
“Yeah.” A bit of tension eased from Larry’s shoulders. “And you’re Joe.”
“Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad ibn al-Kaysani, actually. But Joe’s fine.”
“Right,” Larry replied.
There were a few more awkward moments of silence. “I want to thank you for what you’re doing for Nicky. You’re taking a big risk.”
“I...from what Niles had said, it sounds like you two are...close. Plus, I can’t let the Bureau ruin anyone else’s life.” Larry paused and then switched the subject. “I was curious about that language you were speaking with Danny earlier?”
Joe was surprised by the changed conversation. “Polari. You’ve heard it before?”
“Sort of. I thought it was English slang?”
“It is and it isn’t. Queer men in England used it to remain safe and hidden in the 20th century. We all picked it up during the war.” Joe let the explanation hang in the air. It’d been awhile since he had been asked to engage in this sort of subtle decoding and double-meaning, but he recognized what it probably meant.
Larry unsuccessfully started to reply a few times before finally settling on, “So, you’re...gay?”
Joe smiled. Maybe this wasn’t as big a change in subject as he had thought. “Nicky would say what we call ourselves is almost irrelevant. He and I were destined to be together, simple as that. We’re kindred souls who bring each other overwhelming joy and love and passion.”
“And what would you say?”
“I’d agree. After a thousand years of constantly changing cultural mores, I highly doubt whether anyone is actually straight. Given enough time, everyone would eventually realize their soulmate, or soulmates, might be of any gender.”
Even through the bandages, Larry appeared shocked, though not at Joe’s theory. “You’ve been alive for a thousand years? You’ve had to deal with...for a thousand years of…”
Joe shook his head as he realized what Larry had assumed. “Not really. Not like you’d think. When Nicky and I first fell for each other, the fact that he had invaded my country was a bigger barrier than the fact that we are both men. In the Maghreb, we actually revered intimacy between men, even physical intimacy - although certain configurations for anal sex were controversial.”
Larry sputtered at the casual way that Joe brought up sex. Joe ignored it and continued on. “Really. Men could walk down the street arm-in-arm and display their affection in public. They formed close bonds with each other and wrote each other love letters. Poets immortalized the eroticism of their relationships. At least, that was true for my community. The Catholic invaders were far more preoccupied with chastity, particularly for priests like Nicolò.”
Larry was having trouble comprehending everything that Joe was saying. He’d had no idea the struggle he’d faced for being gay had been different in the past. There was one thing he could think to ask. “Nicky’s a priest?!”
Joe winked. “He was a priest.” The joke didn’t elicit the laugh Joe had been going for, but it broke some of the tension Larry was clearly experiencing. Joe considered elaborating, but he doubted Larry wanted to hear about Pope Gregory VII and the formalization of the celibacy rule.
Joe wished Nicky were there. He could imagine Nicky knowing exactly what to say - something that invited Larry to open up about whatever was bothering him.
There was a long pause and when Larry didn’t say anything, Joe decided he’d just have to have the conversation his way and be candid. “Larry, something tells me you didn’t come to me for a history lesson.”
Larry fidgeted with his hands. “I suppose I wanted to commiserate. And ask you how you dealt with all the bullshit without becoming selfish pricks. Unless, of course, you are selfish pricks.”
Joe thought about it for a minute. “Well, we certainly experienced the bullshit. We had to adapt. And I can’t speak for myself, but Nicky is one of the kindest, most generous people I know. So I think we avoided becoming too prickish. We were lucky that we found each other before the serious crackdown against people like us started. We’ve always had each other.” Saying it out loud brought tears to Joe’s eyes. They always had each other, except for right now. Joe felt Nicky’s absence deeply, but he also knew he couldn’t get too wrapped up in his emotions the night before the mission to save him. He decided to change the subject. “How about you?”
“I am gay. And it took me a long time to really accept that. Before all this,” he said, indicating his bandages, I got married and had kids. And I started fucking up their lives even before my accident.”
Joe quickly did the math in his head. “This was in the 1950’s?”
“Yeah,” Larry said. “But even after the world changed, I didn’t. It was always 1961 in my head. I couldn't escape.”
“And now?”
Larry touched his chest. “The negative spirit and I are working on not being a prick.”
“You are not alone.” Joe wrapped his arm around Larry’s shoulder as they stood in silence.
This time, it was Larry who broke it. “It’s getting dark. I should go inside.”
Joe nodded. “I’ll join you.”
With that, the two men returned to the manor to wait until morning, when they would enact their plan to rescue Nicky.
[Chapter 2 of “Nicolò Patrol”; Part 3 of “If Found” series]
Hello, everyone! I hope your holidays have been amazing so far! There are now over 10k of you lovely people; I can't believe how quickly this blog has grown. Thank you, sincerely, to every one of you. I appreciate every like and reblog. I feel like I say that in every "Interlude" post, but it's true. Due to both medical issues that I've touched on in the past and some recent personal issues, I'll be taking a brief hiatus for some much needed self-care. I shouldn't be gone long, but I need some time away from the internet, at least for a bit. No worries, though! Self-care at this moment just means some time to myself to watch some feel-good, old-school anime and play some games (*ahem* Overwatch *ahem*) I've been neglecting between work and dealing with my emotional bullshit. I also need some time away from all of... Well, this, to be able to reflect and think over things rationally. I know that I'm not making any progress in this whole endeavor, and I need to figure out if the topics and themes I write about in this blog are helping or hindering me. Yes, I miss him, and a part of me always will. But I'm looking 30 in the face, and I need to decide what's best for me. Whether that means letting go entirely and moving on or finding some kind of peace and contentment being alone, I'm not sure yet. But I don't think I'll find the answers on here right now. I'll be back, probably within the week. But I'm not sure the direction this blog will take when I am. I've been contemplating either making this a private, password-protected blog and linking it to him with an apology, deleting it entirely, or shifting the focus on to other, related topics that aren't so personally connected to me or him. Or continuing as I have. If any of you have any ideas or opinions about this, don't hesitate to send me an ask. While I won't be actively posting or checking my dash, I'll still be reading my askbox. I hope all of you have a great weekend and an amazing New Year's Eve! I'll see you all next year! -withinliminalspaces
series masterpost: The Beast with the Beautiful Face
Branches crowded overhead, blocking out the sky. The sounds of the castle faded, stifled by the forest.
Obi stopped at a break in the tree line, bracing himself against the trunk of a towering ash tree.
He took a hissing breath, disgusted with himself. It was weak of him to give in to the pull he had always felt towards her. Weak and selfish.
Her voice sounded in his memory. Obi? I don’t understand...
Obi spun and slammed his knife into the ash’s bark, letting the impact jolt his arm. He leaned into the trunk, shutting his eyes. Beads of perspiration rolled down his forehead.
Everything in him strained to return to her, but the memory of her unhappiness stood like a wall between them. “You can’t go back,” he whispered. “You can’t.”
A cry broke the stillness.
Obi looked up to see the Yuris Island birds streaking across the sky. The blue and green feathers painted a swathe of brightness before the oncoming night.
As the sliver of sun sank behind the horizon, a cluster of torches flared to life. Like a ribbon unfurling, the funeral parade raised row after row of flaming beacons. The procession had begun.
Obi stood still, watching the flickering lines wind towards the burial grounds. He had come here for this moment, but…she would be there, in the center of it all. He didn’t want to see her again. He couldn’t risk meeting her again.
Obi curled his fingers around the identification tag tucked into his belt - the last piece of his old life.
He yanked it loose and held it at arm’s length, watching it dangle and sparkle. He could let it go here, in the woods, and no one would be the wiser. He could find another way to pay his final respects.
His fist clenched; his fingers refused to open. Obi’s shoulders slumped.
The master deserved better than this. If he was quick, she would never know he was there.
