i think stratt should have a wife. not for any particular reason other then having her wife divorce her during the events of the book
i just think it would be funny if in the middle of an arguement with her taskforce leaders shes like “i’m sorry, i overreacted. my wife is divorcing me”
just got to the phm deleted scenes—thinking about how grace describes dreams to rocky as “another life that you live where crazy stuff happens but it all makes sense.”
imagining the unintentional bullying situation that comes out of all three of you waking up together. mary’s still switching over to her day mode, adjusting the lighting on the ship. grace is stretching his arms, still flat out on his back. he says to rocky “did you see that?” because he swears up and down that you gave him the sweetest little grin between waking up and walking away on your white socks. you’re busy brushing your teeth in the other room, armando having handed you your brush and toothpaste, and grace is sure you did give him a smile. he just needs a second opinion.
and rocky just goes “grace say grace dream crazy other life when sleep. grace dreaming!” and he’s being completely genuine but it just sounds SO mean.
grace making these faces at rocky. at rocky btw. looking just like a besotted fond fuck and for what. it's almost like he's. it almost looks like. it's almost like for the first time in his avoidant loser life he's feeling what it's like to ACTUALLY LOVE SOMEB
WHY DID THEY CUT THIS SCENE IT IS SO CUTE, it has the "single ancestor panspermia" theory and BEAUTIFUL GREEN LIGHTING FROM ADRIAN and "when we think we make a sound so people know we're thinking" and grace looking at rocky like rocky personally hung the stars across the cosmos
one thing I wish they had been able to put in the movie is grace being an insomniac king. this guy literally stayed up for days and then passed out mid-thought while on his way to his bedroom. rocky assigns himself the role of grace's personal sleep reminder because grace will NOT go to sleep on a normal schedule.
im already working on the next medieval fantasy roles for the rygos characters, but my only issue is i haven't seen half of these movies. so... this one might be on a hold until i can watch.
in the meantime, im actually working on medieval fantasy driver oneshot and henry letham oneshot. im too obsessed with their concepts.
Love that Ryland Grace is the opposite of so many male protagonist "heroes" in media and yet he's still so incredibly brave, resilient, and strong. That flimsy little science teacher saves the day.
But he also,
Throws fits when things don't go his way. Not a "I'm a bad bitch" destroying everything-type fit, but tossing a trash can, breaking a screen-type fit.
Cries. A lot.
Pleads. He begs.
Doesn't answer the call to action.
Shows weakness. Being a coward and being fearful are two things he defines himself with.
Doesn't end up with the girl. In fact, that girl isn't even interested and he isn't, either.
Cherishes friendship over a romantic plot or something stereotypically brave like, "I'm going to save Rocky so I can save his world." No, he wants to save his friend, first and foremost.
Squeaks. He squeals. He screams, loudly and very high pitched. He whines. He complains. He physically struggles to open a jar. He's clumsy as hell. He makes some of the least graceful noises one can make.
Is not afraid to be the primitive species lowkey.
I love him and everything he stands for as a male protagonist. Men need to know that they can be just like Ryland Grace and still be just as much of a hero and a man.
haiii I rarely write…so prepare for some bullshit /ref
I cannot stop thinking about Lars with a goth partner (since i’m goth) and he’s completely obsessed with you. Some people thought it was a strange look but Lars thought you looked like an angel.
He tried not to make it obvious but you’d obviously catch him staring a lot, mostly in town or the very few times you went to the church. You didn’t mind of course since you thought he was just as attractive even if he seemed extremely shy.
You two start dating and he loves sitting next to you while you do your makeup before going out. He loves seeing the process and telling you how beautiful you look. He did have his moments where he didn’t want you to go out (still trying to get over his jealousy issues)
Lars absolutely LOVES showing you off since he adores you so much. He doesn’t know how he’s pulled you at all but he’s so grateful you chose him. He was worried about guys hitting on you when you went out but thankfully he was getting over his jealously issues that he’s been working on since Bianca.
also posted on ao3 | my masterlist
You are horrendously hungover after a night out with some of your old college friends. Ryland has lots of ideas to help alleviate it.
~3.1k words; smut; cock warming; breeding kink (whether or not it is serious or just dirty talk is up to you <3); fem!reader
a/n: ok. so i was brutally hungover today and said i wasn't going to write. but then i took a shower and felt like 50% of a human being again, so then i started writing this initially as a cute little thing. and then i was like. hm. i've been wanting to do a fic about cock warming, bc i tried it recently (probaby tmi but whatever). and now here we are. so enjoy this short and sweet (by my standards i guess) smut, and i swear i am actually going to work on requests tomorrow lol
Your mouth feels absolutely disgusting, and your head is pounding, and you’re pretty sure you’re still in your jeans from the night before. Are you—why are you on the couch? Also, could the sun possibly consider going away, just for a little bit?
There’s a blanket on top of you, at least, so that’s nice, and something smells fucking amazing, but when you try to lift your head, the motion is immediately clocked as a mistake. You try to think back to the night before, tally up how many drinks you had. There was the espresso martini, and then a shot, and then a few vodka sodas, and then another espresso martini, and that’s where your memory starts to fizzle out. You vaguely remember ordering a ride home, though coming inside is currently a blank, and then you must have sat on the couch to try and sober up a bit before getting in bed, which clearly did not end up happening.
You go to call out to Ryland, because he’s probably been awake for a while, judging by how much sunlight is coming through the window—still offensive that the sun is doing that to you, by the way—but a little wheeze comes out instead. Right. Someone had offered you a cigarette, somewhere after the second vodka soda, you’re pretty sure, and you had been drunk enough already that it had sounded like the best thing ever.
He must have heard the wheeze anyway, because then he pads into the living room. “It’s alive,” he smiles, in a fun little voice, and it feels fitting because you imagine this is probably what Frankenstein’s monster felt like upon being shocked into life. “How are you feeling?” You let out a groan. “Yeah, that sounds about right. I put a glass of water and some ibuprofen—which is better for hangovers, by the way, and definitely don’t take any Tylenol—on the table.”
Aw. You hadn’t noticed that yet, mostly because opening your eyes and moving them around to look at stuff kind of makes you want to die. “Thanks,” you croak out. He helps you sit up, then, and dear lord, your head feels like it is about to explode. You pop the ibuprofen pill in your mouth and take a very long chug of water. “What’s that smell?”
“Breakfast. I’m cooking it. Well, it’s more like a late brunch, at this point.”
Wow. “You, like, never cook.”
“I do. Sometimes.” You lift up an eyebrow as you take another gulp of water. “Okay, ouch, first of all, and second it’s just bacon and eggs, so, not that hard to screw up.”
The smoke alarm starts going off.
“Crap, okay, I’ve got this all under control—” Ryland rushes back into the kitchen. “Go take a shower—ouch, that’s hot, ow, why did I grab that—this should be done by the time you’re out.”
You slowly stand and attempt to ignore the headrush. Despite the smoke, the food smells so good, and your stomach growls. You’ll have to make it a quick shower, because you’re not sure how long you’ll even be able to stay upright while having nothing in your stomach.
The creature that stares back at you from the mirror looks ghastly. Your makeup is entirely smudged around your eyes, there’s a line of drool trailing from the side of your mouth, and it is possible that a bird snuck in during the night and tangled up your hair to make a nest. You try to take off the lingering makeup and brush your hair out as quickly as you can before hopping into the shower. In a perfect world, you would do your full routine, but the smell of the bacon is starting to make your mouth water.
Oops. You forgot to grab clothes before you went into the bathroom. Whatever, the bedroom’s right there, and it’s not anything Ryland hasn’t seen before, so you walk out stark naked. While you’re pulling some clothes on—you steal one of his shirts, and then a pair of sweatpants for good measure—he calls from the kitchen, “I saw that, by the way. Nothing gets past me.”
“You should probably focus on not setting something on fire.”
“Hey, some of the greatest scientific breakthroughs were the result of setting something on fire. Also, it’s done. So.”
You walk out into the kitchen, expecting him to still be in there, and your plate to be on the counter, but you find neither. He must have already brought it into the living room, and, wow, you would like to kiss this man senseless right about now.
The bacon is only a little bit burned, but it is still delicious, and you munch on it happily while sitting next to him on the couch. He throws on a random video, something about water volcanoes on one of Jupiter’s moons, and when you’re finished eating he takes your plate and empty glass into the kitchen and returns with more water.
You sigh contentedly. “You’re kind of the best, and I love you, like, so much.”
He smiles and presses a kiss on the top of your head. You fold yourself into his side when he sits down again, and his arm reflexively winds around your shoulders. “Love you too. Feeling any better?”
“Some. The food helped a lot. My head still hurts a little, though.” You shift so you can nuzzle into his neck, which means that you’re basically half on top of him, and you have to put his glasses back on his face so they’re not in the way. “Sorry I got back so late,” you murmur against his skin. “And fell asleep on the couch.”
“It’s—you’re fine. Fun night? With your college friends, right?”
“Yeah. And, I mean, I’m kind of regretting about half of the drinks I had right now, but I had a good time.” You’re still pressing your forehead into him, because it actually feels really nice, dulling the throbbing in your head.
The arm around your shoulders tightens a little. “I feel like we’ve been over this before. You cannot be inside my skin. It’s not possible. And I like my skin. Very important organ. I can’t just open it up for you.”
You smile and keep nuzzling. “I’m not, even though that hurts my feelings. It’s making my head hurt less.”
He hums, and you can faintly feel it buzzing in his throat. “Probably the endorphins. Physical human touch releases a ton of it, it’s why it’s so important for skin-on-skin right after a baby is born.”
“I see.” You move, then, and clamber onto his lap so you can essentially smush your entire face into the crook of his neck. His hands slip under your shirt—well, his shirt, technically—and rub soothing paths on your back. You adjust your position a little, and then: “Oh. I haven’t even done anything.”
Ryland huffs at that. “That is completely and utterly not true. You’re on top of me, first of all, and you’re wearing my clothes, and you smell like your soap. So that’s, like, three things that you’ve done right there. I’m sure I could come up with more.” You roll your hips, slowly, still pressing your face into his skin, and he clears his throat. “We don’t—you should rest. It will go away. Probably. At some point.”
“But what if I would really, really like to. Just. Maybe not too vigorously.” His fingers flex against your back. “Also, I feel like you’ve told me at some point that orgasms are great for pain management.”
“This is very true,” he chokes out, because you’re still moving your hips into him. “More happy chemicals. Like, a lot.”
“So. Really. You would be helping me out.”
“Well, when you put it that way.” His hands move, then, from your back to your breasts, so his fingers can trace lazy circles on the buds of your nipples. You sigh happily and mouth at his neck, still rutting against him. “Hm. I have an idea.”
You grin. “Uh oh. That’s, what, two just this morning?”
“Very—funny—” The exhale he lets out is a little shaky, because you’ve started lightly grazing your teeth against his pulse point. “Are you going to ask me what the idea is?”
“I feel like normally you just share them, but, alright, I’ll bite. What’s the idea?”
“It’s about maximizing skin-on-skin contact.”
“Isn’t that kind of—already what sex does?” You’ve found a good spot with your hips, where the hard length of him lines up with you perfectly, and to be honest, you’re kind of thinking that you might be fine with just doing this.
“Well, yes, but this would be even more.” He matches the rhythm of his fingers with your movement, and you whimper into his neck. “I’ll take that as a yes? To the idea?” You nod, even though he hasn’t really told you what the actual idea really is. “Great. First step is that we take off all of our clothes.”
You lean back, then, and the dull throbbing returns to your head a little, but you ignore it and lift up your (his) shirt to pull it off. “This is already shaping up to be a fantastic idea. You’re two for two today, really great record.”
Ryland doesn’t say anything, not yet, because he’s looking down at your newly-bared skin. “Okay, slight addition to the plan, this is only a small detour before the actual idea,” and then he’s dipping his head to take one of your nipples into his mouth. You moan softly and wind your hands into his hair, rocking your hips again. He lets out a groan when you tug, just a little, and then he’s reluctantly pulling away from your chest. “Sorry, I have to—I’ve gotta stay on the rails, here, or else I will just do that all day.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t complain.”
“I don’t doubt that. But we still haven’t finished step one.”
He helps you out of your (his) sweatpants, and then your underwear—there is another short detour here—before he takes off his own clothes, and he is so excited about this idea of his that he accidentally kicks the coffee table because he’s rushing. This does not deter him, and he lies down on the couch and pulls you on top of him. “Is it time for step two?” You ask, sighing as he wraps his arms around you. The feeling of your bare chest completely pressed into his is absolutely wonderful.
“This was technically step two. Sorry. I narrated it in my head. Step three is…” He shifts you down a little, moving his hands to your thighs to help you spread your legs on either side of his hips. “Can you…?” One of his hands comes up to smooth your hair before hovering, palm up, by your face. You spit into his hand. “Little more.” As you gather more saliva and let it drip onto his palm, you wonder if he actually needs this much, or if he just likes watching you do it.
Apparently you’ve given him enough, because he moves his hand away, and then he must be spreading your saliva along his length, if the way his breath catches in his chest tells you anything. Finally, he squeezes your side, and you lift your hips so he can slowly, carefully, lovingly slide inside you.
You sigh as you settle, all the way down on the base of him, and, yeah, you’re pretty sure that the skin-on-skin contact has been maximized. Your head doesn’t hurt at all, really, although in all fairness this isn’t even on your radar at the moment, because you’re too busy savoring the way his cock feels inside of you, the press of your breasts against him, his fingers digging into your hips.
“Step three,” you mumble into his neck, “has been my favorite step so far. What’s next?”
Ryland shifts a little underneath you but otherwise doesn’t move. “That’s it. We have successfully executed the idea.”
“Oh. You could have just—I know what cock warming is, Ry.”
“It’s about the suspense.”
“Sure.” His hands draw up your back, then, and he squeezes his arms around you, drawing you in even closer. “And you’re positive that you’re going to be able to just sit there and not move.”
“One hundred percent.” You grin and clench around him, and his hips twitch. “Okay, well that’s just not fair.”
“Sorry, sorry.”
“…You can keep doing it, though. If you want.”
The two of you just lay like that, for a while, and he manages to stay still the whole time, even as you periodically tighten your cunt; at first, you were sort of worried that the appeal would start to wear off pretty quickly, but it hasn’t, not at all. In fact, you are fairly certain that this might be the wettest you have been in your entire life.
Then he does this—this thing, where he’s moving, but he’s also not, but somehow you can feel him moving inside of you. “What. How are you,” and you have take a second, because the sensation is kind of incredible, and scratch your earlier thought, now you are the wettest you’ve ever been. “How are you doing that.”
You can hear him smiling when he speaks. “I have pelvic floor muscles, too, you know. I think it’s the, um, the. Sorry, it’s a little difficult to—to recall detailed human anatomy, at the moment.” He falls silent, save for his heavy breathing and your quiet whimpers, and enough time passes that you think the train of thought has completely left him. “The ischiocavernosus muscle!” He blurts. “That’s it, that’s what I’m using at the moment.”
“Awesome. Tell your ischiocavernosus muscle that it’s doing a really great job. Also, I think I’m going to sit up now, because I would really like to be able to touch myself.”
“I think we can add that as a step, for sure, I’ll just—” He helps you sit up, then, and his fingers go to your chest, without you even needing to ask for it, while yours dip down to circle your clit.
It’s—there’s no resistance, your fingers simply glide smoothly over the bundle of nerves, and that combined with the sensation of the peaked buds of your nipples being rolled and circled by his fingers already has you swiftly approaching the edge. “Oh, oh, that’s—I’m already—you were right, this is an amazing idea, I would like to do this all the time, please.”
He smiles up at you, and you are struck in that moment by just how much you love him, how beautiful he looks like this, blue eyes wide and shining behind his glasses, the flush of his face spreading to his rising and falling chest. Neither of you are moving, still, except for your hands, but then he does the fucking thing again, the move-but-not-a-move, and apparently that just does it for you. Your thighs squeeze against his hips, and he steadies you while you tremble and cry out, still moving his fingers, right up until you finally collapse back down onto him.
“I think,” you whisper after a minute or so, still on top of him, still clenching around him every once in a while, “that was probably a new record. For how fast I’ve gotten there.”
“And the headache?”
“Nowhere to be found.”
He hums and presses a kiss into your temple. “You might want to take another shower.”
You raise yourself up, just a little, so you can look at him, confused. “We’re not done, though? You still haven’t—”
“Nah. This was for you. Pain management, remember?”
Yeah, that’s not happening. “Okay, but what if semen also has medicinal qualities. Like, if you come inside me, my headache definitely won’t come back.”
Ryland huffs through his nose, almost in disbelief, but you can feel him twitch inside of you. “It doesn’t, but—we can pretend that it does for the next five minutes?”
You lower yourself back down, laying your head on his shoulder and sliding your hands around his biceps as he grabs your hips. “Five minutes? That’s pretty confident of you.”
“Probably,” he groans, because now he’s moving, actually moving, and you practically mewl against his skin at the feeling. You squeeze around his cock, timing it with when he’s all the way inside of you, and a delightful little sound flies out of his mouth. “Scratch that, not probably, definitely, you are—have you been doing kegels, or something, hah, it’s honestly impressive.”
“Please,” you beg quietly into his throat. “Please come inside me, Ryland, I need it so bad, need you to—to—put a baby in me.”
He chokes at that and starts moving faster. His fingers are digging into your hips, bordering the line on being painful, but it’s not, and you are delirious at the effect that you have on him. “Oh, my gosh, you can’t—you cannot just say that to me, I’m—I’m so—”
“Yes, please, so good, you’re so good.” You’re basically chanting into his skin, now, saying whatever words occur to you in the moment without really thinking about it. “Love the way you feel, it’s so good, so fucking deep, need you to come inside me just like that.”
He does, then, with a broken whine, and you shudder against him at the sound, at the feeling of him, and neither of you move, still, even as he starts to soften and his breathing slowly evens out from its earlier heaving.
“Screw the shower,” you murmur. “I think I could fall asleep like this.”
“Same. I might have—I stayed up a little, last night. I wasn’t sure what time you’d be home.” His fingers are drawing slow lines up and down the length of your spine, until his hands settle, splayed on your back.
Your eyes slide shut as you nestle into him. “Sorry, again.”
“S’okay.” His words are already starting to slur a little. “Just sleep better when I’m with you.”
Both of you fall asleep, eventually, with the TV still playing the video at low volume, his cum slowly leaking out of you. When you wake up a few hours later, the headache is entirely gone, but he makes you come again with his mouth, just to be sure, he says, and he doesn’t even let you clean yourself up before he does it.
characters: ryland grace, driver, henry letham, holland march, noah calhoun, officer k, lars lindstrom
idea: the geese as medieval fantasy roles x nobility!reader
warnings/tags: MDNI (just to be safe, some taboo topics), gn!reader, medieval fantasy, some rygos have powers (henry is prophetic, k is frankenstein-ish), fluff, marriage talks (grace and lars), pining, inaccurate rep of medieval times, NOT proofread, mentions of death, little to no dialogue, no mentions of y/n, necrophilia (w/ k), some action fighting, mentions of blood, angst/comfort (if you really really squint)
a/n: this is really random, but i was struck with the idea literally as i was falling asleep. i used to be really into medieval fantasy stories and i wanted to just explore the idea of putting rygos characters in that kind of world.
ryland - the arrogant prodigy.
the smart man that could get any sponsor he wanted because his contributions to the world were genuinely life changing. he advanced studies in alchemy, sometimes partaking in astronomy.
you grew up with him. learning from the same teachers and mentors, but he clearly ended up being the better student.
he had no title himself, but his mind advanced him in society and let him live comfortably.
but the downside to being a smart man is that he has a smart mouth. and that smart mouth got him in trouble with the king himself.
the king embarrassed and humiliated by the smart man, shunned him from high society and grace was forced to live out in the common folk's city.
his sponsors pulled their support and grace had to figure out how to make a living. it proved difficult for a while because for his whole life, he was the genius in any court and he was allowed to be arrogant. no one dared to utter a disrespectful word to him until the king did.
he figured to put his smarts to better use by helping the common folks' children, setting up a makeshift school in the city at no charge. he found community after being shunned through the community he harbored and even though he doesn't get paid at all, he is taken care of by the people around him.
you were forbidden to see him for a while. the only way you were able to contact him was through letters, but those ended up being rare events.
when unfortunate events struck your family, the title was passed down onto you and your first order of business was to find grace.
you found him at his cramped home in a sketchy part of the city and when you offered to sponsor him, to come back to high society, he refused.
grace didn't want to come back, he found his purpose in the city and even if it meant more struggle, he was not coming back to the world that took from him and then turned their back to him.
both of you being stubborn, you came to an agreement with him. you leave him to his calling, but you sponsor him in whatever he wants to do. you left grace at his cramped home with a pouch of gold coins.
then you kept coming back. you helped grace teach the children in his school and with the gold you gave him, he bought books, clothes, and food for the kids and their families.
he was a brilliant teacher, better than the ones you both learned from. he understood the children and never looked down on them (which was a stark contrast to the grace you remember in high society).
his humble life was good for him and you only made sure he was doing okay.
then the noble families started hearing about grace and started paying him to give their children private lessons. he would go to noble houses time to time and that reintroduced him back into the society.
he was a controversial man in both societies, but you remained steadfast, being his main supporter through anything he wants to do.
he wanted to set up a proper school in the city? you agreed. you would find planners, builders, and more teachers. you didn't care about the protests of noblefolk.
he wanted to have expensive specialized equipments again? you would have a room set up for alchemy, astronomy, medicine, whatever he wants.
he wanted rare books? you were already on it, sending people out to look for it in various kingdoms.
he never understood why you let him take advantage of your wealth, but then it started clicking in his head.
you were good friends with him, you never married, you always looked out for him, and you were risking your own reputation by sponsoring him.
he asked one point if you were interested in him and the only response you gave him was 'for a man so smart, you are incredibly thick headed.'
he was immediately scared. he knows he can't provide a life for you but you only reassured him further. you didn't care if you are risking your standing in society, you only cared about him and the good that he can do.
you believed in him and when he finally got that into his thick skull, he started courting you.
driver - the mysterious horseman.
there were whispers about a horseman of apocalypse riding through towns. a mysterious knight who wielded no insignia nor a weapon and rode a tall black stallion in the dead of night.
whenever a tragic accident befell, the horseman would be there, riding away from the scene faster than the wind.
it was only whispers you heard. no one actually knows if the horseman exist, but everyone was still wary. if anyone did caught a glimpse of him, it only meant misfortune.
it was a foggy night and you snuck out of the castle walls to take a night walk. you held an oil lamp up high to watch the ground ahead of you until it dimmed and went out. then you heard the galloping steps approaching you from behind in the forest.
it happened too quickly, but you were met with a large black stallion towering over you as it came to a halt. the stallion squealed, throwing its legs up, almost trampling you. you fell back onto the forest ground and the rider of the horse was thrown off with a heavy thud.
the rider matched the description of the mysterious horseman of apocalypse. a knight who wore dark steel and wielded no insignia nor a weapon.
the one thing you weren’t expecting was the blonde hair of the rider. his helmet was thrown off and strands of his hair stuck to his face from blood and sweat. he was bleeding from his side under the armor.
you aren’t stupid, but in this moment you let yourself be foolish. you let yourself get close to him and helped him up to the horse. you rode up the horse and lead it back to your castle to get him treated by your own physician.
the rider never understood why you helped him that day and he doesn’t know how to show his gratitude. he thought you were just stupid, but after you insisted he stayed and he got to know you more, he knows you aren’t.
you knew who he was, but you didn’t treat him as a criminal, only as a person who needed help. and he appreciated that deeply.
you treated him as a guest and even if he didn’t talk much, you both got along. you spent time with him as he recovered and when he did recover, you would invite him to the activities around the castle like reading and feasting, and sometimes you would leave the castle to spend time with the nearby town and watch the plays with him.
but after staying for a while, he left quietly with his horse.
you never saw him properly after that, but sometimes when you look out, you catch a glimpse of him over the walls in the fog. still and watching, then he would disappear.
you would only hear about him through whispers. but sometimes he does let you know about his presence directly by leaving a braided strand of black mane on the side door of the castle walls where he knows you sneak out of.
you save every small gift he leaves you, never forgetting the person behind the horseman of apocalypse.
henry letham - the tormented artist.
his work is sought after by the richest lords and ladies. though, the artist behind the work is a bit of an odd one. he’s a son of a nobleman, but he isn’t like every other nobleman’s sons who are mediocre looking, charming with their words, and ambitious. he’s quiet, tall and very attractive, yet he just lurks in the shadows or better yet, he doesn’t show up to social events at all.
he only shows up to gatherings because of his family and to sell his works, but other than that, he’s a total recluse.
you caught him though in the moonlit garden, painting. but this painting didn’t look like most of his famous works. it’s raw, fluid, and emotional, compared to his usual rigid and constrained works.
he seemed to know you were there before you could even say anything, he looked at you once and turned back to painting, never uttering a word to you.
and you only take that as permission to linger, but never too long, to make sure he doesn’t get uncomfortable.
that became the nightly routine. you would catch him in the garden, painting, you would watch for a few moments until you continue your walk. until one night there was another chair next to him, and he took one look at you then to the chair. its only when you sat down next to him that he continued to paint.
then that became the nightly routine. you would sit next to him while he painted until he decided he was tired. you never left early. you enjoyed watching him paint, even if you two had barely any conversation, you enjoyed keeping him company.
then you started seeing him more often in the social events and when he catches the glimpse of you, he would bee line to you. you never minded his company. it made the events much more bearable.
and throughout this quiet relationship of yours with him, he always seemed to read your mind. if you were seeking for an escape from an event, he would gently lead you to a side door that takes you both out a quiet part of the castle. if you were thirsty, he somehow would have a drink for you. if noticed something out of place in his painting, he would brush it over or give you a questioning look. if you were cold while watching him, he would throw over the blanket on his lap onto you.
he is odd, but you never had a reasonable explanation for the mind reading, until you realized it’s not telepathy.
he stopped you before you got into your carriage and dragged you into his. you didn’t question it at all, maybe he just wanted your company. then on your way to the town, the carriage you originally went into snapped from the horses reigns and fell down a cliff, killing the inhabitants inside.
he had prophetic sight. he already knew what conversations or events were going to happen but he answered to them before it could happen. he risked the secrecy of his abilities by saving you from a horrible fate.
you didn’t understand why he would risk such a thing, but just by having the thought, you knew that he already knew that he could trust you. you didn’t have to prove it to him.
and as you stared at him from across in the small confines of his carriage, he gave you a soft smile.
holland march - the lousy king's guard.
for a king’s guard, he was pretty lousy. he made a fool of himself a lot that he had the honorary title of court’s jester. whoever decided to hire him into the king’s army was pretty foolish, but when one of the trusted counsel members was assassinated, he investigated it himself and found the murderer.
no one believed him at first until he showed the evidence and made the murderer confess. in that moment, everyone realized why he was a king’s guard. he was very serious about his job despite how stupid he can be. then he was promoted to commander (along with his good friend, healy) and was trusted into the counsel chambers. he never spoke in those, except just observe.
another event thrusted him into an investigating role when the prince was killed in his sleep during a week long feast at the king’s castle.
you met the foolish king’s guard during this event, asking questions about your whereabouts and your intentions at the event. after the first initial interrogation, he seemed to always have more questions. you started getting worried, thinking you were a suspect, until he asked to dance with you at a party.
you reluctantly accepted and as you danced with him throughout the night, you realized how much fun it is with the man. you laughed, drank, ate, danced some more, joked, and everything else with the man. then you saw the other side of him when the prince’s murderer came at him in a fit of rage during the party to attack him.
he was quick to protect you, he gently pushed you away from harm’s way then he dealt with the man. he disarmed the man and arrested him on the spot.
after that night, you didn’t see him for a while, until he showed up at your door with a stupid smile and freshly picked flowers from the garden.
noah calhoun - the traveling poet
he was apart of the traveling band of entertainers that came to the nearby city. people say he’s a talented writer and speaker. he rarely took the stage, but when he did, people would stop and listen.
you came into the city to enjoy the festivities and you were one of the people that was charmed by his words. you were seeking for the play on the main stage, but you stopped at the secondary stage behind the crowd to listen to him.
and when he finished, you made your way through the front of the crowd to compliment him, but he was already gone.
disappointed, you left and went to the main stage to watch the play. you forgotten all about it until a week later when you saw the familiar figure by the edge of the forest close to the caravans. he was chopping wood in regular plain clothes instead of the showy clothes that he had on stage.
you walked through the grass field to get to him. he stopped in what he was doing to watch you get close. you only spoke to him briefly, but you were determined to tell him that you liked his poems and his voice.
he looked incredibly flustered and after you decided you were done with talking with him, you turned back as he awkwardly bid you farewell.
the next time you saw him was when he was on the main stage to be the narrator of the play. you actually got front seats this time and you listened to him closely, and he watched you reactions throughout.
after the play was done, you were ready to turn away and disappear into the crowd until he came jumped down the stage and took your arm into his. he decided to accompany you the whole day and you swore it is the most fun you’ve ever had.
after that day, he somehow always found you during the festivities and you happily let him keep you company. even outside of the festivities, he would show up at your place in the city to take you around. he never showed you a bad time, he only taught you how to live a little and be carefree.
until the festival was coming to an end. you had to return back to your land and he had to travel to the next city.
you were ready to accept that was it and the next time you see him would possibly be a year later, but a pigeon carrier flew into your window with a small paper. inside was written with a short poem of love and you knew immediately who it was by.
you would return the pigeon with your own letter as a declaration of love. and since then, every day, a pigeon would come in with a new poem by him.
officer k - mysterious loyal guard.
he was sent to your lands as a gift by another kingdom for providing trade routes. he was quiet, tall, and you never saw him out of armor. but he was always there wherever you went.
even if you commanded him to relax, he never left your side. he was your self appointed personal guard.
you didn't mind the company, but you didn't want to subject him to a life he didn't want.
on the rare occasions that an ambush attack happens while you're traveling to another lords' land, he is quickly putting his life on the line for you. he's swift and efficient, almost inhuman.
it wasn't until during one of those travels, that during the night, you finally saw him out the armor. he was bathing himself in the lake, unaware of you watching him. you were supposed to be asleep in your carriage, but you were restless.
you saw the deep scars all over his body. injuries that looked like it shouldn't have been recoverable from.
when you got closer, that's when he turned to look at you.
his eyes were very human, but he seemed distant even when he was directly into you. it was almost the look of a dead man.
and that's what he was. a dead man brought back to life with the sole purpose of being a dog to whatever nobility.
you got into the water with him and reached out your hands to his face. you wanted to see him closer, to understand him underneath the armor. and when your hands touched his skin, it was almost uncannily cold. he softened when your fingers brushed his jaw and he melted into your touch.
for a moment there was a glint of life in his eyes, a longing gaze for something.
and whatever it was, you wanted to know. even if this breaks many rules, you wanted to get closer to him and know who he is.
lars lindstrom - the hidden prince in the tower.
you grew up with lars in your youth. your family worked closely with his, and during your visits, you would play with the young boy, until his mother passed on. you didn't see him and his family after that.
you almost had completely forgotten about that boy until years later, his father passed on and his brother was temporarily head of the family, (he was disowned by his family and therefor can't take the title properly).
gus asked for you to visit and it wasn't until you got to their lands, you realized you were being set up with lars.
lars was next in throne and the only person they could think of was you.
though, no one has seen the prince since his mother passed. he was recluse in the tower where his mother died from her illness. gus didn't know anyone else who could get to him, to be a support to him as he took on the title of king.
gus and karin had no ill intentions, they just wanted to help lars. so you reluctantly agreed to help as well, but no promises of marriage unless it was what he wanted.
they set you both up a dinner for the both of you to meet at and when you went, you almost didn't recognize lars.
he was bigger than you remember. he was no longer the small kid, he had a larger frame, but he seemed small still due to his shy disposition.
he was always shy and you understood that. he remembered you, but you kept your distance, never coming off too forward or asked too much questions.
you both only reminisced on your childhood and only kept it light. you never mentioned the deaths, the overbearing weight of the crown, or even talked about marriage.
you were friends in that moment. and throughout your stay, you found great comfort in each other, but it was a difficult task to initially get there.
at first, you would go to the tower to see him, but he would refuse to see you and you would back off.
you would encounter him around the castle and he'd awkwardly speed off.
then you started bringing the meals yourself to him in the tower, making small conversations and you would go away yourself, never lingering too long.
you spent most of your times in the garden and one time you found a wounded rabbit in the rose bushes.
you aided the rabbit and let it recover in your rooms. when you handed lars his dinner that night, he asked about it.
you were almost surprised but then you realized the tower has a good view of the garden from every angle. you convinced him to come out of his tower and to your room to show him the rabbit.
he seemed to forget about his fears all together when you were both sat around the rabbit. he was eating his dinner and shared his food with the rabbit. the loud crunching of the rabbit's chewing both made you laugh giddily.
since then, lars would visit you to see the rabbit, or you would visit him with the rabbit. sometimes it wasn't even about the rabbit. he started coming out his tower more often just to take walks around with you in the garden or to sit in furthest pew with you in the church.
he seemed to open up more to you. asking questions that aren't light and bringing up topics that are heavier. for you to listen to his thoughts, but also for him to hear your take on it.
and after spending time together for a while. lars asked if you would rule his kingdom with him, his subtle (not so subtle) way of asking if you would marry him. you happily accepted.
