#servant and royals

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

he's thoughtful, he's kind, beautiful, elegant, charming, but one thing he is not. is smooth

[cosmicwhoreo]

sigh... we don't get enough if any Margalong... I suppose I'll have to do my thing and carry.

[noirscript]

in the lion's keep

WARNING/S: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Yandere. Noncon. Dubcon. Power Imbalance. Forced Pregnancy. Captivity. Manipulation. Psychological and Physical Control. Violence. Emotional Distress. Character/s: King Callixto x Servant!Reader Note/s: A commission for @violetvase. I hope you enjoy this one!

From this series: Silent Servitude [pt. 1] | The Lion's Shadow [pt. 3]

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Your mother has always been your biggest supporter.

She never once stifled your dreams, no matter how small or ambitious they were. When you insisted on selling flowers in the town square on behalf of the old florist to earn your own keep, she worried, but she did not stop you. Your parents feared for your safety, but your older siblings watched over you, making sure no harm would come your way.

It lasted for months—until children your age began disappearing, vanishing one after another without a trace.

Your siblings stopped letting you leave the house after that. The warm sun, the scent of fresh bread in the marketplace, the laughter of the townsfolk—it all became distant, mere memories behind locked doors. You were forced to watch the world from behind wooden shutters, longing for the life you had barely begun to taste.

Years passed before they finally deemed it safe enough for you to step outside again. And when you did, you threw yourself into rebuilding.

With what little savings you had, you opened a food stall in the marketplace, selling treats that made both children and adults smile. Your business thrived. Customers returned with praises, telling you how much they enjoyed your cooking. It gave you a sense of purpose, a taste of the independence you had long craved.

Then, one night, your stall was stolen

Not just stolen—destroyed. Burned to ashes near the town's tavern.

No one saw anything. No one heard anything. No one even smelled the smoke.

The loss devastated you, snuffing out the fragile hope you had so desperately clung to. When you fell deeper into despair, your mother was the one who lifted you back up. She taught you the skills she had learned from years of working in the palace—how to clean, how to serve, how to navigate the world of nobility without drawing attention to yourself. You listened. You learned. And when she deemed you ready, you followed in her footsteps.

You had thought you were stepping toward a new beginning.

Instead, you walked straight into a gilded cage.

A warm calloused hand rubs slow circles over your bare stomach. Your body is sore, ruined, yet the touch is deceptively gentle—reverent even.

Callixto.

The King.

The man who had stolen you, body and soul, and refused to let go.

His breath is hot against your neck as he presses his lips there, inhaling you like a man intoxicated. He traces his fingers up your stomach, over your ribs, cupping your breast with possessive ease. You squeeze your eyes shut, bile rising in your throat as last night's memories resurface—the way he held you down, the way he filled you over and over until you were too weak to fight him.

“You're perfect,” he murmurs, rolling his hips against your back. “You'll be a wonderful mother to our children. The mother of my heirs… My queen.”

No.

Your breath shudders as you push weakly at his arm, but you might as well be trying to move stone. Your body betrays you—limp exhausted, drained of all strength.

How long has it been?

Days? Weeks?

You can't tell. The chamber windows are tinted, making it impossible to see the sun or the moon. And Callixto… Callixto never leaves your side for long. He lingers, watching you, touching you, whispering sweet, poisonous words into your ear.

The chambermaid is no help, either.

She either glares at you with thinly veiled disdain or ignores you completely, doing only what is required of her. You don't know why she hates you, but it doesn't matter. She's your warden all the same.

There's no one here for you. No mother, no siblings. No bustling marketplace or warm, flickering hearth waiting for you at home.

There's only this prison.

And him.

“Your Majesty,” the chambermaid's voice cuts through the heavy silence. “Lord Soleil awaits you at the gates.”

Callixto tenses, as if irritated by the reminder that the outside world still exists beyond these walls. His fingers dig into your hip as he thrusts forward once more, a sharp, punishing movement that sends a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you.

He finishes deep inside you, groaning against your skin. For a moment, he stays there, reveling in the feeling. Then, with agonizing care, he pulls out—only to press his fingers back inside, pushing his seed deeper.

A shiver wracks your body.

“I suppose I've stolen enough time for myself,” he murmurs, brushing damp hair away from your face.

You force yourself not to flinch.

Callixto cups your chin, tilting your face towards his. His golden eyes burn with something twisted, something sickeningly sweet. Then, he kisses you. A deep, lingering kiss that suffocates you more than any chain ever could.

“Stay here and be good,” he orders, his lips still brushing yours. “Let the chambermaid take care of you until I return.”

As if you have a choice.

As if you ever had a choice.

And when the doors finally close behind him, your body sags into the mattress, silent tears slipping down your cheeks. 

Not just for yourself.

But for the family you may never see again.

For the freedom that may never return.

And for the life that is no longer your own.

The towering walls of the chateau couldn't keep the rumors from reaching you. They were the only thing that kept you sane while you waited for him to return.

You heard whispers about a grand ball the Prime Minister held a few nights ago. It should've been a night of celebration, but instead, it ended in scandal. His wife, a noble woman and the daughter of a count, was caught in bed with a mere footman—nothing more than a commoner.

Lord Soleil, the Prime Minister, himself had walked in on them. The punishment was swift.

The footman was cast out with nothing, and the Prime Minister cut all ties with his wife and her family, erasing them from his life as if they had never existed.

A cruel fate. 

And yet you wondered…

Was it any crueler than yours?

“Perhaps this is why Lord Soleil was so determined to keep His Majesty away from the chateau—away from me. Not just to protect the royal bloodline, but to stop him from making the same mistake his wife did.” You sighed, your breath barely disturbing the still air.

“I can't even blame him. If I were in his position, I wouldn't want a common-born woman anywhere near the throne either. And yet, here I am—trapped in these gilded walls, reduced to nothing more than a vessel, waiting for the day my body finally serves its purpose.”

You leaned against the cool stone wall near the tinted windows, listening to the little birds outside as they carried rumors flitting between the flower beds. Their chatter was a fleeting distraction, a fragile moment of stolen peace—until it was shattered by the sound of heavy boots echoing through the halls.

The doors flew open, and there he stood. The King. Furious.

He called out your name—sharp, urgent, unrelenting—his voice slicing through the chateau hollow corridors like a blade. You didn't move. You barely even breathed. Instead, you pressed yourself against the cold stone wall, your fingers curling into your dress as his footsteps thundered across the marble floors.

He ran upstairs, frantic, taking the steps two at a time. He hadn't even noticed you standing near the windows, so close yet unseen. But you knew it wouldn't last. He always found you in the end.

Outside, the world had fallen eerily silent. The chattering birds had already fled the vicinity, as if sensing the storm brewing within these walls—taking their half-spun whispers with them. The rumor of the king's impending nuptials to a high-ranking noble still lingered in the air, unspoken yet suffocating.

And soon, he would come back down. And this time, he would see you.

Your name tore from his lips again—a furious, desperate plea. Before you could react, his hands found you, his grip ironclad around your arms.

“Where have you been?” His voice was raw, unsteady. His fingers dug in. “Didn't you hear me calling for you?”

“Y-Your Majesty…”

He shook his head. “No—my name.”

Bloodshot, unfocused eyes bore into you. Something was wrong. His gaze sent a slow, creeping dread up your spine.

“Say it.”

“C-Callixto…”

A slow nod. Then, his arms crushed you against him. “You're mine,” he murmured against your hair, his breath searing against your skin. “Forever mine. And I will be forever yours.”

The walls seemed to shrink around you.

“Callixto… Your Majesty… I can't breathe—” you rasped, struggling against his suffocating embrace. 

He didn't let go.

“Please…”

A beat of silence. Then, at last, he loosened his grip—but only slightly.

“Apologies, my queen,” he murmured, lifting your trembling hand to his lips.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. You had to calm him. You had to survive this.

You recalled your mother's old ways—how she soothed your father's anger, how she tamed your brothers’ tempers. Slowly, carefully, you reached for his cheek, brushing your fingers against his skin.

“Tell me your worries…”

“The royal court has been trying to push this woman onto me for as long as I can remember—something about securing the heir to the throne’s bloodline. The nerve of those fools,” he muttered, absently running his fingers through your hair as you lay atop him.

“If I wanted to, I could trace your family's lineage—alter it if necessary— and keep them out of our way.”

Listening to his monologue as you drift in and out of consciousness feels more exhausting than it should. You know you should try to persuade him to accept the will of his people, to yield to their demands—but deep down, you wonder if it would be easier if someone else had his full attention instead. If only he'd let you go.

“Perhaps we should secure an heir to the throne first… then we can look into your lineage…” he whispered, thrusting into you once more. His seed spilled from you as his movements grew more intense with every passing second.

Since then, it had become his ritual to fill you to the brim, keeping you in place—stuffed, trembling, and utterly his— until he was satisfied. Only then would he leave to rule his kingdom, but never without ensuring you remained exactly as he left you, his claim unmistakable. He controlled everything—the meals you ate, the tonics you drank—all carefully chosen to prepare your body for the sole purpose of carrying his heir.

You were his, and soon, you would bear proof of it.

It didn't take long for the signs to show.

The nausea. The exhaustion. The unbearable weight in your lower belly that told you something had taken root inside you.

And yet, luck has not abandoned you entirely.

Your chambermaid—a woman whose disdain for you was only rivaled by her loyalty to the royal court—had noticed. She must have. But instead of betraying your condition, she pressed a cold cloth to your forehead and muttered, “A commoner’s flu. Nothing more.”

A lie. A calculated one.

The King believed her.

But belief was fragile in a mind like his. It splintered easily.

His golden eyes flicked between the chambermaid and the royal physician, narrowed and gleaming, hungry for an answer that neither of them dared to give.

“Her color is pale,” Callixto murmured, pacing your chambers. His fingers twitched—fidgeting, trembling, curling into claws before stretching straight again. “She barely eats, barely moves. And yet you say it is nothing?”

The physician bowed his head. “It is a seasonal illness, Your Majesty. A touch of fever, some exhaustion—nothing that cannot be cured with rest.”

Callixto laughed—a dry, humorless sound. His nails dug into his palms, leaving little crescent moons of pain.

“Rest,” he echoed. His voice was a whisper of rage, of something darker crawling beneath his skin. “You think I have not noticed? She wilts before my very eyes, and you tell me to wait?”

The chambermaid stepped forward then, expression schooled into reluctant sympathy. “Your Majesty, she is weak. He kind does not fare well in the colder months. It is not surprising.”

Callixto stilled. His breathing slowed, deliberate, controlled—but his eyes never left her face.

“Weak?” The word came soft, almost thoughtful. “Is that what you believed?”

The chambermaid hesitated.

Something in the air shifted.

A warning.

Callixto's lips twitched—not in a smile, no. In something sharper. Something that showed his teeth.

“Fine,” he murmured. “If she must rest, then she will do so under your watchful eye. I want no one else near her.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

But as the King turned away, the chambermaid gaze flicked down—her fingers twitching at the pouch hidden beneath her apron. The weight of the promised coin.

The chateau felt emptier than ever one evening. The halls echoed with the distant clatter of preparations from the palace—the banquet, the foreign dignitaries, the noble guests.

A distraction.

And when the chambermaid entered your chambers, her usual sneer was absent. Instead, she carried a bundle of clothing.

“You need to leave tonight.”

Your stomach twisted. “Why?”

“Because I tire of wiping your sweat.” She threw the bundle onto your bed. “Because I want you gone.”

You swallowed hard. “And that's all?”

The chambermaid exhaled sharply. Something in her posture—something tired and worn—hinted at an answer she would never give.

“The palace gates will be open for the banquet. No one will be watching the chateau. Take the back corridors, follow the outer gardens. You are not important enough to be noticed.”

“What do you gain from this?”

A smirk tugged at her lips. “What I was promised.”

You should've asked by whom. But you didn't.

The scream shattered the night.

“WHERE IS SHE?”

The chambermaid barely had time to compose herself before the doors to your chambers slammed open, cracking wood against stone.

Callixto stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling with each uneven breath. His pupils had swallowed the gold of his irises, leaving only thin rings of amber around black pits. His fingers curled at his sides, nails digging into his own skin, but he did not seem to notice the blood welling beneath them.

His gaze snapped to the bed. Empty.

Something inside him snapped with it.

“Where is she?” he repeated, stepping forward, his voice no longer a demand but a plea.

The chambermaid bowed, but her voice was steady. “Resting, Your Majesty. The fever worsened—”

“Liar.”

The word cut through the room like a blade. The chambermaid flinched.

Callixto's hands trembled. “She would not leave her bed unless someone forced her to,” he whispered. His tongue darted out, wetting his dry lips. “Unless someone… took her from me.”

He turned, suddenly—too suddenly—and grabbed the chambermaid’s wrist.

“You would not betray me, would you?”

The chambermaid swallowed.

“Of course not, Your Majesty.”

His grip tightened. Bones creaked.

“No, of course not,” he echoed, smiling now—serpentine, sharp. His head tilted. “Because if you had…” he leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. “I would tear this palace apart. Brick by brick. And when I found her—oh, when I found her—”

He released her.

“Find her,” he murmured. “Or I will find you instead.”

The chambermaid bowed, stepping backward toward the door. “As you command.”

But she didn't turn fast enough to see his lips curl into something… inhuman.

He turned back to the empty bed, trailing a hand over the sheets as if he could still feel you there. His fingers ghosted over where your head had once rested, then curled into the pillow, dragging it close. He inhaled—deeply, desperately—like a starving man before a feast.

His eyes fluttered shut.

“Oh, my love,” he whispered to no one. “You can run, but you cannot hide.”

The night air was crip—freezing against your cheeks, but blissfully free.

You ran. Through the outer gardens, past the dim lanterns, past the drunken guards too enamored with wine and revelry to notice a shadow slipping past them.

You ran until the scent of the palace faded into the trees. 

Home. You had to go home.

But when you reached the village outskirts, you stopped.

Guards. Stationed outside your family's home.

You shrank into the shadows, heart hammering against your ribs. From where you hid, you could see the single candle in the window—dim, unmoving.

Not flickering.

Not alive.

A silent warning: Do not return.

Tears burned your eyes, but you forced yourself to turn away.

Not toward another village. Not toward a stranger's mercy.

But deeper into the forest.

Through the twisting paths only you knew, past the moss-covered stones and the brook where you once dipped your toes in summer. Past the memories. Past the ghosts.

And there, hidden beneath the tangle of overgrown branches, the shack still stood.

You and your siblings built it once—when you were small, when the world was gentler. A childish hideaway, pieced together from stolen nails and planks too weathered to be missed. A place of whispered secrets and stolen sweets, of giggling beneath a roof that bare kept the rain out.

It was nothing.

But it was enough.

You pushed the warped door open and stepped inside, the scent of damp wood wrapping around you like an old embrace. The cold bit at your skin, but you knew how to survive here. You always had.

With shaking hands, you pressed your back against the wall and slid to the floor.

Outside, the trees whispered.

Somewhere beyond them, the King was hunting.

But you would not be an easy prey.

Not here. Not yet.

—

tbc.

noirscript © 2025

All rights reserved.

—

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[tapakah0]

Okay! I don't know where you got the idea from and my best guess is that your brain is connected to mine via bluetooth but.

Me and Hoddie have a royal au and your animation made me think of it again.

Nothing crazy special, but...ah...I should probably give a little context yeah...hmm.

Uh, okay. There's a kingdom. whose king and queen have died, leaving behind several possible heirs who are not their direct children. Right now, the king's first general is sitting on the throne, because the power of the army is, you know, a pretty powerful argument in a fight for the throne, right? This creepy regent is Cass. And Cass came to power thanks to Hoddie, who's basically the king's heir too, but she's pretty distant and her chances of the throne are quite slim. This has made her a professional rat and back stabber. The whole palace is busy weaving intrigue and destroying each other in a competition for power. Contests in cunning and sneakiness. A maximally intellectually uncomfortable environment in general.

Until Hoddie finds the true heiress. The king's blood daughter, to whom the throne should rightfully belong.

Problem? The problem is that the heiress needs to be two years older to be old enough to rule. And Hoddie and Cass' goal is to make sure she lives to that age in an environment where every other person wants to frame or kill her.

That heiress is you, Tap. But we couldn't think of what you'd look like in this au ahaha.

MHHMMM I SEE ONCE IN A WHILE BRAIN BLUETOOTH IS A GOOD THING you left me a window for my part and I grabbed this opportunity with sharp teeth Since there was no mention of my part, I have the audacity to add my own version. Did I understand correctly that my existence as an heiress was not known? It would be strange if the king was not looking for me, if I was the only heir (by blood), which means they were hoping for a new child, or already had plans for an indirect heir, or wanted to hide me. What other power is there, besides the king and the army, that holds the common people? Church. The king could have sent me to be trained as a priestess in order to gain support from them (either I was not considered worthy of receiving the throne in the future, which is why they preferred to hide me, or the king so badly needed their support that he was ready to sacrifice his only blood daughter) . Thus, from a young age, the beauty of a non-existent world somewhere beyond the heavens was drummed into my head and, in general, “God speaks all our actions.” I have an inconspicuous appearance, a position above a simple servant, but such priests are usually considered to be the daughters of high nobles, but not the king himself, which is why not everyone could know who I really was. Thus, they forgot about my existence ~ After the death of the king and all the heirs, the church quickly realized what to do next, and crushed me to itself, hiding me from the world until I reached the age of succession to the throne. (But children could take the throne under a regent. Could Hoodi become my regent as one of the older contenders for the throne?) So, back to the turmoil. Hoodie found me at church. Since childhood, my worldview could have changed greatly under the influence of the church, so, well, you will have to hammer a lot into my head, in addition to the throne’s education (You know... it's bit complicated to make a human sona not as a stupid little ball XDD... it literally can't get a shape at this point... maybe you will place a real bunny as the new king? It will be eating cabbage 24/7 and everyone will be happy)

[hausdellamorte]

veilguard having woke necromancy but still sending skeletons to work in the necropolis' corpse gulag - ghoulag if you will - is such a bizarre choice and also frankly quite hilarious because you can tell that they didn't want to commit to anything fucked up and unethical because why would they

oh no we don't *actually* resurrect dead people against their will. these are just wisps who have no prior memory of being a sentient being. skeletons are just empty vessels because the essence of that person left so it's not actually questionable for us to use people's remains. also people fill out consent forms to be resurrected and used in the ghoulag. also yes only good people can become a lich because the lichlords - that we somehow have now - do some serious soul sifting and ONLY the people with good intentions - like reading books for the rest of all eternity - are allowed to become a lich. no emmrich having a little skeleton servant isn't unethical because he wasn't a person before, he was a wisp - you know our new ex machina - and he really wanted to be a necromancers servant and learn and it was HIS choice all along.

because we at bioware are all about informed and consensual necromancy because why would we have something morally ambiguous going on? or even actually question the ethics of our companions? have challenging discussions about morals? what do you expect us to do? make things actually interesting?

[tickled-p1nk]

What the Heart Wants ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

CHAPTER 1 | RESPONSIBILITY AND REFUGE

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: ̗̀➛ a/n: yes sir this is a multi-chapter fic, did it start out that way? nope. did it end that way? yes. : ̗̀➛ cw: none really, royal!dan heng x fem!servant!reader, reader is awkward and shy, meet cute, emperor!dan heng, royal!au, reader comes from a poor family, 2nd person pov, fluffy fluff to come, Dan Heng lies, secret identity trope, sfw : ̗̀➛ tags: @kimura-uzuri, @blushho

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Dan Heng had only come to the throne a short while ago and already had to deal with a war he hadn't started. There wasn't a moment of peace, being constantly bombarded with decisions that affected nations, the future, and living up to his father's legacy. None of this should have been his responsibility, especially since he hasn't even come to terms with his past and living up to his potential as Imbibator Lunae of his nation. But there was one thing… a refuge from all the chaos and pressure. A life without the expectations of status and leadership, somewhere he was safe, he could love and be loved.

You.

It started when you were working around the palace as a servant. Your family was poor, and you were sold to work at the imperial palace so they could pay off their debts. This was common practice for those in need, and it did have its benefits, a few at least.

Working at the palace, you never thought you would ever actually meet the emperor, the young leader of your warring nation. Though you did hear things, he was quite handsome and very skilled with the spear which was an odd choice for someone of his status. The women in the palace giggled about him but of course, none of you would ever have a chance with someone of his status. Or so you thought.

You ran into each other while you were cleaning the long hall. You were alone and quietly humming a song your mother used to sing to you. You missed your family If you were to be honest, you didn't know people here, though they were kind enough. They looked at you with sympathetic eyes, or envious ones, depending on where they came from. 

Suddenly, behind you, you heard footsteps, slowly came a young man. You eyed him cautiously, he seemed sleepy with heavy bags under his eyes, stress lines across his face despite his youthful appearance. He was fairly handsome if he were to fix his appearance a bit, short black hair and a lean but muscular build, you could tell due to his thin linen garb. He seemed like he was of high status due to the quality of his clothes, but nothing else signified status. You determined he was probably one of the more favored servants, though there was something about him that seemed eerily familiar.

He noticed your suspicious glances and became confused, does she not recognize me? He felt half offended and half amused. Well this is interesting.

Most people would have bowed their heads to him by now, it was the law, after all to bow in the presence of their emperor. He never really cared for it but it was strange to see someone not adhering to it.

“Can I help you with something?” You spoke, interrupting the staring contest.

“Oh no, sorry. Can I… help you…perhaps? Is there anything you require assistance with?” He wasn't used to making conversation where he was treated like an actual human being and not the answer to everyone's problems.

“Oh…hm…,” This handsome man was talking to you and asking if you needed anything, as someone who is starved for nurturing and love this was basically a marriage proposal, “could you help me reach the top of that shelf it's a bit too high for me to clean and I can't find a ladder.”

You expected him to go get a ladder or a stool if he knew where, not take the duster from your hand and do it himself.

“Oh! Uh….thank you.” You were a bit flustered, not only did you feel bad for having him dust the high shelves but when he was handing it back to you he was very close and very tall. You hoped he didn't notice how red your ears were getting at the moment “I didn't mean to make you do all that, my sincerest apologies.”

“Nonsense, I could reach it, and you needed help.” Dan Heng stated in a matter-of-fact tone, his teal eyes staring directly into your soul.

“What is your name, by the way? I didn’t seem to catch it,” you asked, despite the lump in your throat and the need to run away from this mysterious, handsome man.

He stared at you, stunned, I don’t want her to treat me differently, he paused before saying, “Dannie, and you?”

“Just Dannie?” you asked. It was strange to introduce yourself with what seemed like a first name.

“Yes.” He felt terrible for lying to an innocent person for no reason other than his selfish desires, but he wanted to indulge himself, just this once

“Hm, okay, Dannie, nice to meet you.”

You gave him your name, and you both stared at each other a bit, awkward silence taking over. You weren’t sure what to do or say after this point, not having much normal human interaction for the past year would do that.

Dan Heng, or “Dannie,” was the first to break the silence: “May I join you for the rest of your shift?”

You were surprised and perhaps slightly embarrassed but agreed nonetheless. It’s only to get to know the people I rule, of course, of course, yes, there was no other motivation whatsoever.

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: ̗̀➛ a/n pt 2: hello once more dear readers, and my darling dearest @all-skedaddle-and-no-bop

banner credit goes to: @kat_allioth on pinterest but idk who the actual artist is

stay tuned for the upcoming chapters!

masterlist next

[ilkao3]

Walk with me:

The last thing Arthur hears is Merlin wailing, he’s fully prepared to finally meet his mother, slightly dreading ending up with his father instead, really hopes whatever afterlife he’s in lets him watch over his living family, the regular stuff a dying dude thinks about.

When he nexts opens his eyes, it’s to Will handing Lancelot coin and his mother tutting at them.

“Boys, need I remind you that we’re dead and you can’t actually do anything with your groat?” It’s deadpan, but her eyes show her mirth. She’s beautiful, entirely different from that blasted ghoul pretending to be her.

“It’s the principle, Your Majesty.” And then Arthur was scowling.

“Did you bet on my death?!” Will shrugs.

“No, we bet on you being an arse even in your final breath. Guess I was wrong.”

Arthur doesn’t know who ruled this realm but he wanted to punch them. He wanted to punch the stuffy old tutor who told him the afterlife would be full of peace even more.

[flawlessflesh]

I've been fixated on medieval beds for a while - massive, beautifully carved beds passed down through generations. The king's bed, only reachable through a series of increasingly private rooms - if you saw that bed, you were favored. And outside of sexual relationships, nobility in the past would share beds with others for warmth, company, or as a show of friendship/political closeness.

Delgal and Thistle shared a bed since childhood, but that habit was disrupted on the nightmare day when King Freinag died AND Delgal got married. Their living arrangements changed - Delgal moved into his father's rooms and Thistle was given his own room as a 'gift' to the new court sorcerer, but after a few weeks of unsettled sleeping apart, they went back to how things had always been.

The queen secretly believed that Delgal might have grown to love her if they hadn't gotten married on the day his father died. But they did get married on that day, and Delgal was never any more than Polite to her. She spent most nights in her own bed, her own rooms, instead of his. Separation was her normal, but it was a shock for Thistle. The rare times that Delgal invited his wife (or the various affair partners he had over the years) into his bed, he'd tell Thistle beforehand to sleep in his own room. Thistle understood that a husband has a duty to his wife and that Delgal had needs besides, so he tried not to feel hurt for being 'kicked out'. He usually failed and would stay up reading - Thistle had trouble sleeping alone, and he'd get nightmares most nights he tried.

It's a twisted mess! Thistle's emotional well-being was tied up in a single person once King Freinag died. He tried and failed to connect with people outside of Delgal. I have this conception of Thistle wanting to be the most important and only person in Delgal's life. In the past, he had enough self-awareness to know this wasn't reasonable, but he still felt it and didn't know how to live with it other than pushing it down. His controlling rage as the dungeon lord feels like all of this bursting out.

[biohazrat]

adamcore

[upat4amwiththemoon]

As free as an avis | 7

Summary: A princess and a commoner falling in love was a scandal on itself, but them both being women just adds fuel to the fire.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Warnings: this story will deal with homophobia and sexism, this story is mostly historically inaccurate

Word count: 2359

a/n: lets pretend that it hasn’t been ages since I wrote the last chapter (this series is still my baby)

Tags: @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @themagnificentmx @raven-reyes-wife @spongebobtentacles @friskyfisher @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore @sayah13 @wandsmxmff @emsmultiverse @natashamaximoff69 @scarsw1fe

masterlists | guidelines

All parts: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

Ever since Y/N and Wanda said they loved each other, they have gotten braver and braver to show that love to one another, though it still happens behind closed doors, the people of the castle have started noticing their attachment to each other. At this point, it seems like a pair of two overly attached friends. It is inappropriate in many of the castle servant’s eyes, after all, a princess and the lady’s maid should not be so close, but none of them speak of it, as they know the Princess’s stubborn nature.

As the servants don’t speak of their relationship, they have also given up on stopping the Princess from leaving the castle without permission.

Which is exactly what she is doing right now, with Wanda.

“Would you say this is a good area?” Y/N lowers her hood as she glances at Wanda, who is studying their surroundings.

They are a bit away from the bustling city, near nature. The area is wide and open, full of unused fields and a couple of abandoned wooden sheds.

“I know it’s a walk away from the city, but I would make sure carriages would drive here, and there is a future possibility of building a shop near by.”

“Y/N.” Wanda turns to look at Y/N with a gentle smile. “It’s amazing. The walk isn’t too long, building so many homes will create a lot of jobs, this…” she gestures at the nature, “this is a beautiful place.”

Y/N nods and lets out a relieved sigh. She smiles as she takes hold of Wanda’s hand squeezing it softly. Her approval means everything to her. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” Wanda giggles, glancing around before planting a kiss on her cheek.

The two of them are alone—besides the carriage driver waiting where he can’t see them—but they know to be careful wherever they may be, there’s always a chance of someone watching them.

“When will you start building?”

Y/N looks around with a proud smile. “Once I find trustworthy builders, so my involvement won’t go back to my parents.”

“You know all the townspeople would field loyalty to you in a heartbeat, no one has love for the King and Queen like they do to you.”

“You know every single townsperson?”

Rolling her eyes, Wanda links their arms together as they start making their way back to the carriage. “Obviously not.” A small grin adorns her face. “But people talk, and my brother is such a gossip.”

“And you aren’t?” Y/N laughs, pulling Wanda closer. “I’ve heard you speaking with Yelena, you leave no detail behind.”

“That is totally different.” She raises her brows, but can’t hide the small smile growing on her face. “Yelena is brutal with her words, I’m slightly afraid she’ll yell at me if I do not tell her everything I know.”

The skin around Y/N’s eyes wrinkle as she laughs. “She’s merely fun scary.”

“What does that even mean?”

Y/N shrugs, “she’s more fun than scary. She wouldn’t hurt you.”

“But she could hurt me.”

“Oh, without a doubt.”

Wanda lets out a quiet huff, gently pushing Y/N’s side as they untangle their arms, having come near enough of the carriage to see it.

The driver opens the carriage door, bowing his head as Y/N climbs in with Wanda right behind her. The door closes and the carriage starts moving soon after.

The woman sit opposite of each other, smiling and talking silently so the driver wouldn’t accidentally overhear them. Their feet bump against one another’s, giggles fill the carriage every once in a while.

“There’s a quiet corner in the garden where no one else goes to, we could go there after we get back?” One of Y/N’s feet move under the hem of Wanda’s dress, gently tapping against her ankle.

Wanda smiles, “I still need to do my duties, you know, cleaning up and such?”

She rolls her eyes and sighs. Of course she had her own duties to attend to as well, but she’d much rather bail on them and spend all her time with Wanda. “After those duties then?”

“Yes, after we both are done with our duties.”

The Princess’ duties are a bore, at least in her eyes. Besides reading books about being a good wife and baby making, it involves meeting potential suitors. Men, who are supposed to be the next King if they marry. Men, who will take over ruling, because the woman cannot be the one making the decisions, even if she is the rightful heir—to her parents’ dismay.

Y/N sits around a table, one parent on each side and Lord Scott Lang opposite of her, a man over twice her age, which seemed to surprise Scott himself. A nice man over all, but not one she would like to marry.

Most of the discussion has gone through Y/N’s ears, though it doesn’t necessarily affect anything, as her parents will are the one doing the ‘interviewing’ and choosing, it’s only her future after all.

“Darling,” the Queen pinches Y/N’s thigh under the table, causing her to bring her attention back to the conversation, “do you have anything to say to Lord Lang?”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Lord Lang.” Y/N gives him a polite smile, clearly wanting to get out of the room and back into Wanda’s warm embrace.

Scott nods with a smile, slightly put off by the Princess. “The pleasure was all mine.”

One of the servant guide him out of the room. The Queen lets out a sigh, rubbing the spot between her brows. “She will not be marrying, Lord Lang, he was too…aloof. Maybe we will have her meet Lord Barnes next.”

“I agree.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, leaning back on her chair as her parents talk about her inevitable marriage over her.

“And having a daughter out of wedlock,” the King scoffs, “unacceptable for a king to be.”

“At least he seems to genuinely love her.” Y/N mumbles, mostly speaking to herself, but not really caring anymore if her parents hear her.

Her mother’s cold glare turns to her. “What was that?”

“I said,” she turns to look at her, “that he seems to genuinely care about her, at least judging by the way he spoke so highly of her.”

“What is your problem?”

“I thought I’ve made my problems very clear.” Y/N states, narrowing her eyes. She might as well start a fight. She lifts a finger, “number one is you two,” she lifts another, “number two is becoming queen. Number three-“

“Oh, you need to grow up.” The Queen interrupts, her voice raising in pitch. “You have known what your job in this castle is ever since you were born. You have had all these years to deal with the fact you will be the new queen, but you still haven’t. You know why? Because you’re childish and refuse to make best of your situation. This is a problem you have created and if you don’t get over it, we will be forced to do something drastic.”

Y/N stares at her mother, a frown on her face. She never liked losing arguments. “Whatever.”

The King lets out a sigh and stands up, causing the Queen to follow along. “Listen to your mother, Y/N. It’s time to start acting like the future queen.” The two walk out of the room, leaving Y/N to sit alone, wallowing in her feelings.

“Are you sure no one will see us here?” Wanda looks around the garden as she gets dragged through it by Y/N. She is holding a picnic basket and a blanket in her free hand.

“I’m sure, Wanda.” She slows down her pace as they arrive to a more hidden corner of the garden.

The spot is shaded by an old oak tree and surrounded by tall flower bushes, giving it a private feel. The wind rustles the oak leaves, some falling down as a stronger gush pushes them. Though it’s already evening, the bees and butterflies still fly around the flowers, at times stopping on top of them, and birds communicate to each other, their words coming out as a delightful song.

Y/N and Wanda set the blanket under the oak tree’s branches, small slivers of the lowering sun hitting their face as they sit down. “Well?” The Princess turns to look at Wanda with a smile.

“It’s lovely, very peaceful.” Wanda sets the basket in front of them. It’s filled with different berries and pastries.

“It’s the perfect place for us.”

They set the snacks and drinks onto the blanket in front of them, enjoying them while they speak of everything and nothing in particular.

“You seemed upset.” Wanda mumbles, glancing at Y/N as she bites into a strawberry. “Earlier today, I mean. Before we came here.”

Y/N lets out a sigh, “it’s nothing, just my parents being themselves again.”

“Another suitor?”

She hums and nods, picking up a cupcake. “They’re really starting to push the idea of marriage on me, I think they’re getting desperate.”

“I’m sorry.” Wanda mumbles. She feels bad for not knowing how to comfort Y/N better in these situations.

“It’s fine.” Y/N smiles gently, gently bumping her shoulder against Wanda’s. “I don’t want to think about marriages when I’m with you.”

Wanda bumps her shoulder back, grabbing a handful of blueberries as she drops the subject.

Soon the sun fully sets down, the evening darkness slowly starting to engulf the garden. Wanda and Y/N move the blanket away from the oak tree, so they could lay on it and watch the stars.

“Which one do you want to go to?” Y/N asks softly after a moment of silence.

“What do you mean?”

“When we met, you said you’d like to travel to a stars.” She states, her gaze on the sky. It’s not fully dark yet, but the brightest stars are already visible. “Which one would you like to go to?”

Wanda hums. “I don’t know the names of the stars.”

“We have some astronomy books in the library, I’ll get them for you.” Y/N mumbles, turning her head to the side to look at Wanda.

Her side profile is ethereal. Y/N doesn’t know if she’s ever seen something so effortlessly beautiful. A small smile adorns her face, she swears she can see the twinkle of the stars in Wanda’s eyes, she’s sure Wanda’s eyes are the stars.

“Really?” Wanda turning her head to look at her makes her come out of her thoughts.

“Yeah,” she whispers, “I’d do anything for you.” Y/N raises up to lean on her elbows, the upper half of her body over Wanda’s. They stare at each other for a moment, before she slowly lowers her face closer, pressing their lips together in a soft and slow kiss.

One of Wanda’s hands moves around Y/N’s waist, rubbing the dress covered skin gently.

They pull away, though their faces are still close enough to feel the other’s warm breath on their faces. Y/N feels like her heart is beating out of her chest. “Do you want to run away with me?” The question comes out so quietly Wanda almost doesn’t understand it.

Her eyes widen and she sits up properly, bringing Y/N up with her. “What?”

“I…I want to run away with you. Go someplace where no one knows me, where we don’t have to be careful or hide.” The heartbeat is almost deafening in her ears.

“Do you mean that?”

“Of course I do.”

A silence falls. Wanda stares at Y/N with slightly furrowed brows, her hands shaking at the prospect of running away with her, leaving her family and friends behind. They would understand, but could she really do it.

“I’m sorry.” Y/N clears her throat, her gaze falling after the silence continues. “It was a stupid idea. Our whole lives are here and w-“

“Yes.”

“What?”

Wanda sets her hands on Y/N’s cheeks, pulling their faces closer together. A smile grows on her face, one of those that hurt her cheeks but she can’t stop. “I’ll run away with you.”

Letting out a laugh, whether of shock or relief Y/N doesn’t know, she sets her hands on top of Wanda’s. “You’re perfect.”

The laughter is contagious. Giddiness and a sense of freedom fill their bodies as Wanda drops back down on her back, pulling Y/N down with her. Her other hand goes to the back of the Princess’ neck, bringing their lips together, their teeth almost clashing together.

They stay like that for a moment, hands wondering and occasional giggles interrupting their kisses. When they finally pull apart, they’re panting, huge smiles on their faces.

“When are we leaving?” Wanda whispers, moving a strand of Y/N’s hair behind her ear.

“Soon. We just need to get ready, say our goodbyes, and make sure my parents won’t do anything.” She lets out a shaky breath, the weight of their decision settling in her chest. “But it’ll be good, I’m certain Natasha and Yelena will help us.”

“My family too.” Wanda smiles, her thumb rubbing Y/N’s cheek. She can sense the nerves in her. “I can’t think of anything better than spending my whole life with you.”

Y/N’s leans her head against Wanda’s shoulder as they lay on the blanket. “Me neither.”

Another silence falls over them, a comforting one. They stay close to each other, Wanda looking at the sky and Y/N listening to the beat of her heart.

A small rustle breaks the atmosphere.

They practically fly away from each other, both of their eyes moving to the direction of the sound. There’s just a flower bush there, no insects, no other movement. Just in case, they stay quiet for a moment, waiting for any kind of disturbance.

“Probably just a bird.” Y/N whispers, fearful of raising her voice.

“Yeah…”

Nonetheless, they gather up the blanket and basket, making their way back to the castle.

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

sometimes love is helping ur friend relax a little after a big political event (by reminding him of how bad he used to be at his dance lessons) <3

(idk if ive posted this yet but if i have pls tell me sjdfhshdfs im going thru and gonna b sharing a few things idk if ive posted before so pls be nice me my brain is a pea)

[rotting-ink]

No thoughts. Just Royal!MC × Servant!MC. They are either a mythical twin-flame one soul two bodies typa lovers or Brutus by The Buttress personified. No in between. Or maybe there is but it's the size of half an atom

So! One of the things I'm looking forward to scribbing about is that the Servant MC and the Royal MC used to be around each other more, esp when they were children. It's why Sasha will get attached so quickly. Their sibling is missing and they will take notice of the Servant MC for the first time. They're connected to when the Royal MC was happy and safe last (in Sasha's mind, remember they haven't seen the Royal MC in years).

They spent lots of time together, especially since Royal MC was sick when they were younger too and none of the nobility wanted to send their kids to be with a sick child, so the Servant MC was sent up to keep them company since they were a child then too.

But yes, I smile so big and happy at this ask. Love it.

[noirscript]

the lion's shadow

PAIRING: King Callixto x Servant Reader

Warning/s: Surprisingly, none?

Read the series: [ ONE ] | [ TWO ] | [ THREE ] | [ FOUR ]

Note: I might publish this series and other future releases in advance somewhere. Also, if I were to write a book, will you support me? Just wondering before releasing something.

TIP JAR | COMMISSION

For the first time in a long while, your days were quiet. Peaceful.

The shack, though small and weathered by time, had become a sanctuary. The morning sun spilled through the cracks in the wooden walls, dust motes dancing in the golden light as you stirred awake to the soft chirping of birds. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine, a stark contrast to the stifling perfume and candle smoke that clung to the walls of the palace you had once called home.

Here, you woke to silence, not the murmurs of servants or the distant chime of the court’s bells. Here, you chose how to spend your days.

You had found a rhythm in your solitude. Each morning, you would step outside, feet sinking into the damp soil, hands brushing against the wildflowers growing in the clearing. The wind carried the scent of honeysuckle, mixing with the distant smokiness of burning wood from a village far beyond the trees. You would gather what you could—berries, roots, herbs that you recognized from your mother’s teachings—and return home with your hands full, your child growing steadily beneath your ribs.

At midday, you would sit outside, weaving. A half-finished sweater lay in your lap, the wool coarse against your fingers, but you took comfort in the act of creating something. A gift for the child who had no name yet, who stirred within you when the sun was at its highest, reminding you that you were never truly alone.

Evenings were the most beautiful. When the sun dipped behind the trees, the world turned golden, the leaves burning in hues of amber and rust. Fireflies blinked to life, flickering like tiny stars caught between branches. The air smelled of earth after rain, of moss and damp bark, and in the distance, the distant hoot of an owl signaled the coming of night.

It was a quiet life. A small life. But it was yours.

For the first time in so long, you felt… safe.

No whispered court gossip, no watchful eyes lingering on your every move. No suffocating presence lurking just beyond your reach.

You dared to believe you had finally escaped him.

But peace, as you would soon learn, was a fleeting thing.

It came first as a sound.

A knock.

Loud. Desperate.

Your heart seized.

Another knock—no, pounding now. Fists striking against the wooden door, heavy enough to rattle the walls.

Your breath hitched. Hands trembling, you set the half-knitted sweater aside, gaze darting toward the door.

The knocking didn’t stop.

You swallowed down your panic, muscles coiling with the instinct to hide.

Then—

“Help me, please!”

A voice. A woman’s voice, raw and desperate.

“Help!”

Your body moved before your mind could catch up. In two quick strides, you were at the door, hand hovering over the latch.

A plea like that—you knew it too well. The breathless panic, the urgency, the weight of something unseen pressing against the voice.

You had once been on the other side of that door.

With a final glance around, you unbolted it and pulled it open.

The woman before you was disheveled, dressed in tattered cloth, her hair clinging to her damp forehead. She stumbled forward, barely catching herself. Wild eyes met yours, and something in them—a deep, unshakable fear—sent a chill skittering down your spine.

She had been running.

And something—someone—was coming after her.

"Hurry," she gasped.

Without thinking, you pulled her inside.

Your peace was over.

She sat hunched in one of the old wooden chairs your father had carved, hands curled around a steaming noggin of water. It wasn’t much, but it was the only comfort you could offer.

She clutched it as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded.

The flickering candlelight revealed the thin sheen of sweat on her forehead, the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Her fingers, dirtied and trembling, were curled tightly around the mug, the heat of it seeping into her skin. The moment she had stumbled inside, she had sunk into the chair as if her body had finally given out.

You watched her cautiously, standing by the small counter, one hand still resting against your stomach—a protective reflex.

The silence between you stretched, thick with unspoken questions.

When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse. "How far along are you?"

You blinked at the suddenness of the question, then hesitated, glancing down at the curve of your belly. "I… don’t know."

Her lips parted slightly, as if she meant to say more, but she simply nodded. "Ah. My apologies."

A beat of silence. Then she took a sip from the mug, the warmth chasing away some of the tremor in her hands.

You weren’t sure why, but you found yourself speaking. "I’m not a lady."

Her gaze snapped to yours.

You gestured toward the tattered drape over her shoulders. "The quality of that fabric alone could feed an entire village. If anyone here is a lady, it’s you."

Something flickered across her face, a shadow of something old and weary, but she didn’t deny it.

"You could stay," you offered quietly, watching her reaction carefully. "This shack—it’s safe. If you need somewhere to hide, you’re welcome to it."

Her eyes widened, caught between gratitude and suspicion. "And you?"

You shrugged, already gathering what little you owned into a cloth bundle. "I need to get further away. If you found this place, it’s only a matter of time before someone else does too."

Her head bowed, shame and guilt evident in the way her hands tightened around the mug. "I’m sorry…"

"Don’t be," you said simply.

She hesitated, then set the mug down and looked up at you. "Please… take care of yourself. And if—if we ever meet again, I hope I can return the favor."

A wry smile tugged at your lips. "I hope so too."

And with that, you turned toward the door, pulling your hood low over your face.

You didn’t look back.

The journey was grueling.

For days, you moved through the forest, guided only by fading memories of old maps and the sun's slow arc across the sky. The dense canopy above swallowed most of the daylight, leaving you to navigate through shadows. Your feet ached, blistered and raw, and the weight of exhaustion pressed heavy on your shoulders.

But you kept moving.

Every rustling leaf, every snap of a branch in the distance set your nerves alight. The paranoia never faded, not even when the trees thinned and the scent of burning wood and fresh bread filled the air.

And then, at long last, you saw it.

A village.

Small, tucked away beyond the treeline, its lantern-lit streets brimming with life.

The sight made your knees weak.

You pulled your hood lower, adjusting the strap of your bundle, and stepped forward.

The village was a sanctuary—a place untouched by the cruelty of men who sat upon thrones and dictated the fates of those beneath them. Here, the air was thick with the scent of freshly baked bread, the laughter of children filled the streets, and the golden hues of sunset painted the rooftops with warmth. It was the kind of place where people looked after one another, where neighbors shared meals without expectation, and where secrets were hidden beneath smiles rather than steel.

It was the kind of place you could imagine raising your child.

Life had been kind since you arrived, a stark contrast to the gilded prison you had once called home. You had your own little room tucked away above the restaurant owned by Mia and Taren, two retired adventurers who had seen enough of the world to know when to walk away from its chaos. The couple had taken you in without question, providing a roof over your head in exchange for helping around their small yet bustling establishment.

And for the first time in a long while, you felt safe.

Mornings were spent preparing the restaurant for the day ahead—wiping down tables, slicing fresh loaves of bread, and brewing pots of strong tea that carried the scent of herbs and spices through the air. The afternoons were busier, filled with the chatter of travelers passing through, adventurers boasting of their latest feats, and villagers exchanging gossip over steaming bowls of stew.

Evenings were the best. By then, the restaurant would settle into a comfortable hum of low conversations, the lanterns casting a soft glow that made the space feel even more like home. Mia would lean over the counter, eyes twinkling as she spun stories from her days as an adventurer, while Taren would shake his head and grumble about how she exaggerated every detail.

It was an ordinary, simple life. And it was yours.

You had begun to hope that maybe—just maybe—you had escaped the past for good.

“Did you hear?” Mia leaned in conspiratorially as she set a steaming bowl of soup in front of you. “The king has returned from his campaign.”

Taren scoffed, taking a long sip from his mug before setting it down with a dull thud. “Hmph. More like another bloodbath disguised as a campaign. Every time he rides out, he leaves behind a trail of bodies, and when he returns, the nobles praise him as if he’s the second coming of the gods.”

You blinked, gripping your spoon a little tighter. “The king?”

Mia nodded. “King Aurelian.” Her voice dropped lower, almost hesitant, as if speaking his name too loudly might summon him. “They say he’s taken a new interest in something—or someone.”

You swallowed, trying to ignore the unease curling in your stomach. “What do you mean?”

Taren exchanged a glance with Mia before exhaling sharply. “Rumors. That’s all. But the capital has been restless ever since he returned. People whisper about a woman, someone he dragged back from the outskirts—”

Mia elbowed him. “Enough. We don’t want to be accused of treason, do we?” She turned to you with a reassuring smile, but there was something tight about it. “Don’t worry about it, dear. It has nothing to do with us.”

You forced yourself to nod, even as the conversation left a lingering chill on your skin.

Nothing to do with us.

And yet, an unease settled deep in your bones.

Two months passed in peaceful monotony.

Your belly grew heavier with each passing day, and though your movements had slowed, you were grateful for the stability the village provided. The people here were kind—offering remedies for your aching feet, slipping extra portions of food onto your plate, and treating you as one of their own despite your foreign accent and unfamiliar past.

The world outside these borders felt like a distant nightmare, something that belonged to another life entirely.

Until the night he arrived.

The moment the doors swung open, you barely registered the gust of cold air that followed. It was the silence that struck first—the sudden, crushing weight of it. The air in the tavern shifted, thick with unspoken tension, a hush so absolute that even the crackling fire seemed subdued.

And then, the man stepped inside.

You didn’t recognize him, not in the way you had once memorized names and faces back in the palace. But you recognized something else. The kind of presence that did not belong in a quiet village like this. The way everyone around you reacted—Mia shrinking behind the counter, Taren stiffening as his fingers curled tightly around his mug, the way the remaining patrons averted their eyes, some even lowering to their knees as if bound by an unspoken law.

Your breath caught in your throat, something primal and urgent seizing your gut. Your fingers clenched against your lap as you forced yourself to breathe, to stay still—because a reaction would only draw more attention. But it was useless.

His gaze swept the room, deliberate and slow, and then—

He saw you.

The moment his eyes met yours, something inside you recoiled, the hairs along your arms rising. You didn’t know this man. Had never met him. And yet—

Your stomach twisted.

The way he looked at you, the way his lips curved into something almost lazy, almost amused—it was the look of a man who had found something valuable. Something he wasn’t supposed to have, and yet here it was, sitting right in front of him like an offering from fate itself.

You felt sick.

He doesn’t know who you are, you told yourself. He can’t. You had left that life behind, abandoned it in the dirt along with everything else. You were just another villager now, another nameless woman hidden away in a place the court had no reason to look.

And yet, instinct screamed at you that it didn’t matter.

Because he didn’t need to know your name.

He only needed to know that you didn’t belong here.

That someone, somewhere, would pay handsomely to have you dragged back.

Nausea clawed its way up your throat.

“I never thought I’d find her here,” he murmured, his voice smooth, almost indulgent, as if he were savoring the moment.

Your stomach clenched.

His gaze drifted, lower now, to the curve of your belly. Something flickered in his expression—surprise, intrigue, and something deeper, unreadable. Then, a slow, dark amusement settled into his eyes.

“And a bonus.”

The floor seemed to tilt beneath you.

Your pulse roared in your ears, and for a split second, you couldn’t move. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to run, but your limbs felt frozen, locked in place by the suffocating weight of knowing.

He wasn’t here for you. Not specifically.

But he would take you anyway.

And once he knew—once he realized—

Your stomach twisted violently.

You didn’t think. You moved.

The chair scraped against the floor as you shot to your feet, your heartbeat thundering. Taren inhaled sharply, but you barely heard him. Every instinct was screaming now, every muscle coiling with the need to flee—

Then, he stepped forward.

Unhurried. Certain.

His guards shifted in tandem, just enough to remind you that the door was no longer an option. And suddenly, you knew.

They weren’t going to let you leave.

Your breathing came fast, too fast, and for the first time in months, you felt truly trapped. Not by walls, not by distance, but by the simple, cruel reality that you were prey.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides.

You had made a mistake.

You had let yourself believe you were safe. That peace could be more than just a fleeting dream. That no one would ever come looking.

But safety has always been a lie.

And freedom?

It had never been yours to keep.

TBC.

noirscript © 2025

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @kthehoeforfictionalmen @yamekocatt

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[tianalaurence1]

Happy 70th birthday Vice Admiral Sir Timothy Laurence 🎂

[runasaster]

Some self indulgent self insert with Horror Sans

Lord Nuri was heading back to the main foyer of the castle when they accidentally bump into one of the kitchen aide servants, whom they've never met until now.

They might have to linger around the kitchen quarters if Mars(Horror) is there...

[tickled-p1nk]

What the Heart Wants ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

CHAPTER 2 | HOPE HELD IN YOUR HEART

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: ̗̀➛ a/n: CHAPTER TWOOOOOOOOOOO IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG MY BRAIN DECIDED I SHOULD DIE AND SCHOOL AGREED BUT IM BACK NOW MUAHAHAHA : ̗̀➛ cw: reader is feeling a lil delulu hopeless in this, humor that I thought was funny but most likely isn't, fluff fluff fluff, this one is a bit short but Imma release chapter 3 tmrw iA, royal! dan heng, servant reader, royal!au, dont actually go on a nighttime picnic with a random man kids : ̗̀➛ taglist: @kimura-uzuri, @blushho

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Days passed, most like the one before, monotony was both a blessing and a curse. You went about the palace corridors doing as you were told; if it kept you and your family fed it was worth it. Some moments, however, your mind went back to what felt like a century ago, but in reality was last week when you met the mysterious, handsome, and sweet “Dannie”. He joined you for your entire shift, how he was able to pull it off, you don't know, didn't he have anything to attend to? But that was a question buried by the butterflies in your stomach when you thought of how thoughtfully he accompanied you. He helped you reach the places you couldn't reach and lift the things that were too heavy; he asked you about your life and your family, your hopes, dreams, and aspirations. No one was ever so thoughtful or intrigued, it was especially interesting since you learned almost nothing about him. His questions came in such rapid succession you couldn't really make it a two-way conversation, and when you did manage to ask him something, he would mumble something and then ask, “And what about yourself?” All you knew was that he was from around here and lived within the palace walls. That last fact was frustrating because you never saw him anywhere whenever you were cleaning or walking around. When you did eventually ask some of the other servants about “Dannie,” they didn't have anything to say; they'd never heard anyone with that name work there before. Maybe it was a nickname? Hmph. Dang it, and he was so nice, handsome, ugghhhhhhhhh whyyyyyyy.

Your train of thought was rudely interrupted by the head maid.

“Why are you staring at the basket of laundry like it just killed your entire family?”

“Oh, I'm so sorry, I just zoned out for a second.” You were embarrassed that she caught you fawning over a guy you don't even know, and even more embarrassed with how red your ears were by now.

“Okay…hurry up then.” She walked away, graceful despite her elder age.

As you exited the room you were cleaning into the outside, carrying the murderous laundry in your hands, when someone caught your eye. You turned your head to see a procession in the courtyard near you, it was….the EMPEROR?

Wow, he was covered in elegant, opulent jewels, the finest silk that must have been imported from the western regions, and he was followed by high-ranking advisors. You couldn't help but stare at the young man, he had long black hair that was shorter near the front, glowing blue-teal horns sprouting from his head, but there was something about him.

You continued to gape shamelessly at the man until he seemed to notice your gaze, shifting his eyes and making eye contact with you. His eyes seemed to…widen?

You looked away immediately, flustered, and your skin was now the color of the tomatoes in the kitchen downstairs. Not realizing you let the basket go, you dropped the laundry onto your feet.

OWWWWWW

That brought you out of your delusions.

You exhaled, solemnly looking at the toe-killing basket.

You decided to put your romantic fantasies to rest, just continue on with life, and accept reality.

Well, that would be the case if Dannie didn't come back to interfere.

It was a few minutes after your shift ended, and you were starving, but you were so tired. There wasn't any dinner left either since you took too long finishing your chores. You couldn't venture into town since most places would've already closed down by the time you got there, not to mention you were a penniless pauper from sending all your earnings back to your family.

It's okay, one night won't hurt. It wasn't like you were a stranger to going to bed hungry; it just wasn't what you preferred.

Just as you made peace with your sad predicament, walking through cobble streets of the palace grounds so you could at least splash your face with some water before you collapsed, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Salutations.”

Dannie???

“I apologize for my recent absence. I have been rather preoccupied with, uh, stuff.” His face was youthful but with very evident stress built up underneath. His lips were curled into a small smile, like almost afraid of expressing joy.

You took the young man in, the one you had just made peace with, never seeing again. You couldn't deny that you felt a surge of happiness swell within you. Maybe life was finally going your way.

“Oh, it's okay, I've been…busy too.” You said almost silently, too nervous to let a single breath out of your body. Why are you so anxious? This is good. Why are you like this? 

“I was…wondering,” he seemed to be overrun with a certain nervousness now too, “would you…like to have dinner together?”

You let out a small surprised sound at his offer, DINNER? Was he CRAZY? Why would he want DINNER? Your mind zoomed through all of the worst options while your heart did backflips so violently you thought it might just come up out of your throat.

You stared at him, deep breaths, “S-Sure. How would we do this dinner? There's no food left in the servants’ dining hall.”

“I was thinking…a picnic?” He brought out a fancy little basket from behind him.

“A picnic, now??? But it's almost nighttime!” You weren't opposed to the idea, but you were wary of being outside, alone, with only a mysterious man to accompany you.

“Yes, if you don't want to, that is perfectly acceptable, but I know a nice little spot under a tree right outside the palace walls that I go to to think sometimes.”

Who is this guy?!

You thought for a moment, since it was just outside, there must be guards there, so you were safe, hm. “Okay, I'll come.”

Dannie’s small smile grew a little wider, and his eyes a little calmer, “Perfect.”

He reached for your hand but stopped himself midway. His cheeks and ears grew a deep shade of red, and he looked away immediately.

“Uh, follow me. I'll show you where it is.”

“Okay.”

With that singular word, you followed him into a future you weren't sure you were ready for.

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: ̗̀➛ a/n part dos: hellooooooo again im so sorry this took so longgggggg and hello the love of my life @all-skedaddle-and-no-bop

banner art credit goes to @ruri_R_rikka on twt/x

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