#your humble servant at your service

[theglamour-theterror]

(oc) Working District Four escort since the 70th

[wileycap]

The Palace Servants in the first year of Zuko's reign:

"Your Majesty, a motion has respectfully been put forth for you to employ the services of a royal food taster. We humbly ask that you consider it."

... the fifth year of his reign:

"Lord Zuko, the Imperial Firebenders can handle the assassins. Please stay out of this."

... and the 30th year of his reign:

"GET OFF THE ROOF, YOU FUCKING GREMLIN! YOU'RE ALMOST FIFTY!"

[eddiesxangel]

Angel or Devil? | E.M x Reader

Anonymous asked: Could i request a fic where reader comes home pissed off and angry fucks eddie and hes hooked on it so he keeps trying to annoy her or asks her how work was ect to get her riled up so she they can fuck each others brains out, her dirty talk gets filthy when shes mad and eddie realizes he likes it mean

wc: 2.7k

cw: f!reader/mean!reader, Sub/switch Eddie, dirty talk, sex toys, slight choking, female masturbation, pussy eating, p in v, cream pie. Slightly proofread… so if you see a spelling error no you didn’t… (ง •̀_•́)ง

Eddie’s head snapped up when the sound of the front door slamming shook him out of focus. You must have had a bad day because you never slam things.

Timidly, Eddie put his guitar down and walked out of the bedroom into your living room to see you slam your purse on the floor; you don’t bother to unzip your boots; you rip them off your feet and whip off your drenched coat. That’s also when he sees the crazed look in your eyes behind your soaked hair sticking to your face. Today was not your day.

“Sunshine-“

“Don’t,” you point a finger up at him; you don’t want to hear a word from your boyfriend right now.

“But-“

“No. Shut up.” You make your way to the bedroom to wash your rain-soaked clothes.

Eddie followed you apprehensively. His gut told him to give you space, but his heart needed to ensure his sunshine was okay.

“Eddie.” You huffed. He had followed you.

He wasn’t listening to you. That’s all you wanted was something to listen to you. Nobody had taken the time to hear you out at work, and to make matters worse, the barista messed up your order, causing you to be late for your team meeting. Then, to top it off, you missed your bus. Thinking that a walk might help clear your head, you set off, only to be interrupted by the ominous crack of thunder in the sky. Instead of tears, you felt a surge of rage building inside you. All you desired was some sense of control in a day that seemed spiralling out of your grasp.

“Baby,” Eddie cooed again, stocking the back of your soaked hair.

You huffed in annoyance again. He wasn’t listening, so you decided to push him down in the bed.

“Woah, baby, I’m sorry-“

You cut him off as you climbed on top of him and shut him up with a kiss. Maybe now you could be in control.

With eyes wide, Eddie didn’t know what to do, but as you gripped at his clothes, signalling to get naked, he soon realized.

Eddie didn’t understand where this came from, but who was he to question? His lady needs to take out her frustration on him and who was he to deny her? He was just but a humble servant.

“You’re taking too long,” you groan, sitting up and taking off your soaked clothes.

“It’s okay, baby, I got you. Don’t worry, Teddy will make it better.”

“God, do you always talk this much? Shut up and eat my pussy”

Eddie was stunned. His eyes were wide, yet your words went straight to his cock. You never spoke to him this way before, but he liked it. He liked you a little mean.

“Yes, ma’am,” he salutes, and you give him the biggest eye roll Eddie couldn’t miss; he moaned as he connected his lips with your pussy.

With a hand gripped tightly in his hair, he was determined to make you cum asap. He had to service his girl; you demanded it. It was the sexiest thing Eddie had ever been witness to… not that you weren’t sexy every other time, but something had been unlocked in Eddie’s brain, and he didn’t want to give it up.

A feral groan leaves your throat, and Eddie can’t help but moan once again into your pussy, knowing it drives you crazy.

Your hips are grinding into his face. Usually, he would have you pinned down, but having you use him solely for your pleasure was getting Eddie off just as much.

Within minutes, you were falling apart on Eddie’s tongue and fingers. Your body shook beneath him, and you finally felt some relief.

“There you go, baby. That's it, let it go.”

With a deep sigh, you get up and walk to the bathroom without a word.

Eddie was stunned. You used him …and he liked it.

When you got out of the shower, it was like you were a different person, like the rage demon was fucked right out of you, and you had forgotten how angry you were and also how you had just left Eddie to take care of himself.

You came out, giving Eddie a big hug and a kiss like nothing out of the ordinary just happened. You told him about your day while he cooked you dinner and spent the evening snuggling on the couch.

It’s been two weeks since you stormed home that evening, and Eddie was doing everything in his power to get you to retake control, but you were not biting.

He got excited when you would make a move first, but then you fell into old habits, and he would be the one to take charge. So Eddie was doing everything in his power to piss you off.

He didn’t want to, but he needed to trigger that inner dominatrix that was hidden deep inside.

Lately, you couldn't figure out what had come over Eddie, but his behavior was really starting to bother you. He seemed to be constantly leaving the cupboard doors wide open, choosing to immerse himself in video games instead of addressing household chores. Despite promising to tidy up, he never followed through. His socks and underwear were strewn across our shared bedroom floor, and on top of everything, he seemed to be avoiding any meaningful conversation during dinner.

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?” You glare at him, as he doesn’t even signal that he heard you.

You've had enough of this immature behavior. You don’t understand why you're being ignored, but you've reached your limit.

“Eddie!” You slam your fork down on the table, and finally, he looks at you.

You quickly stand up, and the chair screeches against the parquet flooring. Eddie’s big brown eyes grow wider and darker as you approach his side of the table.

This was it, he thought; he’d cracked the code.

“What is your problem?” Your hands were on your hips. He thought you looked so cute when you tried being all authoritative.

“Dont know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.” Eddie shrugged nonchalantly.

“Excuse me?”

“You have something to say, baby? Come on, tell me.” His tone was condescending and taunting.

“Eddie, I’m serious.”

“So. Am. I.” He stands, getting closer with each word. He towers over you, but you don’t care; you’re too pissed off to be intimidated.

“What is your problem!” You scream.

“I don’t have a problem, sweet thing.” He shrugs, his voice cool as a cucumber.

This only pissed you off further. He was so good at pushing your buttons, and you were falling for it unknowingly.

Your face was scrunched up and he thought it was the cutest thing he couldn’t help but hide a smirk and you caught it.

“You want to try that again?” you ask. Your faces were centimetres apart, and he could smell the fire brooding within you.

Hook, line, and sinker.

God, you were infuriated with him, but you never wanted him more badly than right now. You act on instinct and flung yourself at him. Wrapping your arms around him and kissing him harshly, so much so your lips would be bruised by the time you’re done with him.

“There she is”

“Shut up.” Your hands are all over one another, and Eddie is reeling from your actions. Finally, his little minx had come out to play.

You forced your way over to the living room, not ever breaking the kiss until you pushed Eddie off of you and down onto sofa.

“Tell what you want; I’m yours to use.” he smiles, and you can see the mischief in his eyes.

“Is that what this was all about?” you scan his body, his hard cock prominent in his sweatpants. “You like it when I’m mean?” You’re annoyed still but also turned on. Your Eddie likes it when you’re in control.

A wave of excitement washes through you at the realization that all of this was actually to get your attention.

“You like when I dom you, Teddy? Is that it?” Your voice sickly sweet as you run your hands up his thighs until you reach the crease of his hips but don’t go any further, only teasing him more.

“Yes,” he nodded his head rapidly.

A rush of arousal floods your panties.

“Good boy.”

Eddie throws his head back and reaches to palm his cock, but you swat his hand away.

“No,” you stay stern. “This is my cock”

Eddie’s head snapped back up, and you could see in his eyes that he liked your words.

“Who’s cock does this belong to?” You ask as your hand slinks down into his pants, gripping at the base.

“Me.” He smirks. He wants you to be meaner.

“Okay,” you say, standing up and walking away.

“Okay?” Eddie is dumbfounded as you leave him alone on the couch. It takes a few seconds before he gets up to follow you into the bedroom, where he sees you’re pulling out your dildo.

“What are you doing?” He asks, disappointed that you left him.

“Since you don’t think I own your cock, I’m going to use the one I bought to get me off instead.” You shrug before stripping down fully and spreading your legs open to play with yourself in front of Eddie.

“Fuuuuuuuuck, baby.” Eddie came crawling, but you stopped him with an outreached foot to his forehead.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You asked with a raised brow.

“Oh-I uh-“

“oh, you uh,” mocked back, and Eddie didn’t think he could get any harder.

“You are going to sit back over there and watch only, like a good little boy. If you touch yourself, I stop.”

“Baby! What? No, that’s so mean,” He pouts.

“You wanted to mean, baby; you’re getting mean.”

Eddie bit his fist and sat back obediently; never in his wildest dreams did he think you would be so confident in this newfound role.

You spread open your legs and work your fingers through your slick folds, not breaking eye contact. You can’t help but smirk when you bring the dildo to your lips, putting on a show by sucking and drowning the head with your saliva, showing exactly what you would have done to Eddie if he had complied earlier.

You hear a throaty moan from Eddie as you watch his face scrunch and his fists tighten into balls as if he were in physical pain from watching you. The way you pop the toy off your lips and slowly drag it down to your weeping hole had Eddie’s cock twitched.

You finally break eye contact when you watch yourself insert the dilo into your wet pussy before you let your head fall back into the pillow.

“Oh yes!” your hips gyrate into your thursts as you put in a show for Eddie.

You exaggerate, for Eddie’s sake. Of course, it would never feel as good as him, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“You evil woman”

You snap your eyes back to Eddie and smirk.

“Fuck it feels so good!” “God it’s just so big” “yes yes yes!”

Moan after moan of pleasure leaves your lips as your free hand explores your breast, squeezing it and playing with your nipple before moving down to your clit.

It doesn’t take long for your orgasm to run through your body; having Eddie watch you, at your mercy, was enough to fuel the orgasm, let alone the thick, veiny pink dildo that was spreading you wide open, hitting you just right with each pump.

Your pussy clamps down onto the dildo that’s deep inside of you, cuming all over it as you shake with pleasure. You don’t even hear Eddie moan as he bites his fist, trying so hard to behave and listen to your orders.

Your cum floods out of you as you slowly pull it out with a pop.

“Come here and clean it up,” You demand, and Eddie dives head first to your pussy, but you quickly close your legs, and Eddie pouts those beautiful full pink lips at you.

“This first,” You smirk, handing him the dildo you just used that’s coated in your cum.

Eddie’s eyes go wide in shock, but he takes the toy and places it in his mouth. His eyes roll back at the taste of you, and he licks and deep-throats it.

The thrill of watching Eddie place the used dildo in his mouth as he sucks it off only makes your pussy flood once again. Your hands play with your nipples as you slowly open your legs for him.

The second Eddie sees your knees parting, he tosses the dildo to the floor, and before you can command anything, his lips attach to your pussy in an instant.

“That’s right, you’re just a little cum slut aren’t you?” you can’t believe the words are leaving your lips, and neither can Eddie, but he ruts his hips against the mattress as the filthy words fill the room.

“I see you, baby. Can’t even wait five minutes without needing to pay attention to your cock” You try not to stutter as Eddie works his tongue inside your tight hole, cleaning up the remnants of cum. You watch as Eddie pops his ass up and down as he tries to get himself off, but you can’t have that, not yet.

“Stop,” You command, and Eddie doesn’t know what action you’re referring to, so he stops everything completely.

He looks up at you with those big doe eyes, mouth agape and shiny with your cum, and you almost crack a smile, but you keep your composure.

You shuffle to your knees and instruct Eddie to lie down in place of where you just were and lean over him.

“Now, baby, I’m going to ask you again. Who’s cock is this?” You slowly drag a single digit, hardly touching the soft skin of his shaft, from the base to tip and back down again. His cock was more than ready, he was so thick and long. The tip was red, and was leaking out so much precum. If you didn’t know any better, you maybe would have thought he had come already.

“Yours” He doesn’t hesitate; he needs to cum; he needs to feel your pussy around him.

“Good boy,” you say, taking your finger away so you can hook a leg over his hip and straddle him.

“I think I’ve learned my lesson.” Eddie swallows.

“Oh, is that right?” your hand slowly makes its way up Eddie’s thick throat and lands at the base of his jaw. You squeeze it ever so gently at first but slowly tighten your grip as you sink down onto his cock.

Your small hand doesn’t do anything to hurt Eddie, but the feeling of it there had Eddie pushing his hips up into you roughly.

You let out a maon of pleaser as he hits your G-spot and doesn’t stop. Thrust after thrust, Eddie has your eyes rolling into the back of your head, and he will not stop until he has his way with you.

“Think you’re in control now, baby? Got you so cock drunk you can’t even speak.”

No longer did you care about being in control. Eddie was making you see stars.

“Don’t think your little toy had you feeling this good, huh?” he gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into your hips so hard you know there will be a bunch of tiny bruises in the morning.

“Ohhhhh, Teddy!,” You scream as your second orgasm rips through you without warming. Eddie’s hips jackhammer up into you as you ride out your orgasm, and Eddie chases his. He flips you over and pushes your legs up into your chest so he can watch himself disappear into your tight little cunt.

“Fucking made f’me.” his hips snap once, twice, three times more until he spills himself inside of you.

You feel Eddie’s weight collapse on you, his heavy body limp.

“Holy shit” You breathe in the revelation of what just happened. “Was that our best sex ever, or am I dreaming?” You whisper.

“I think you broke me, baby,” Eddie moans as he doesn’t want to leave your warm wet pussy.

“That confirms it, best sex ever.” You raise his hand so you can give him a high five before his limp arm falls back down on the bed.

You can’t help but giggle, and Eddie shoots out of you, complaining it’s too sensitive to squeeze his cock anymore.

“Teddy?”

“mhm?”

“Next time you want me to take charge, just ask. I’m not keeping a messy home because you wanna get freaky.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he salutes before he rolls your body into his so you can fall asleep in his arms.

Tagging some moots who might be interested 🫣: @xxbimbobunnyxx @bimbotrashcan @usergeta @loserboysandlithium

[oreolemur]

The Lady's Butler

"Is your tea hot enough, Mistress?", the handsome butler asked. Sebastian has been working for you for years, never taking his demon eyes off you. "Is there anything else you want, my lady?", he questioned. "Yes, Sebastian. You wouldn't mind making my nightly bath would you?", you asked, taking a sip of your tea. "It is my duty as your humble servant to make your bath as enjoyable as possible, Mistress", Sebastian bowed, showing his handsome and devilish smile in a seemingly innocent way. "How many rose petals would you like me to place? A light scented water or perhaps even oil?", he asked, leaning closer to you. Watching him get closer, you slightly blushed. "Y-yes...a touch of oil would be nice. And....", you paused. "A nice glass of wine would suit it perfectly". Sebastian's smile grew wider. "Of course, Mistress", he answered, bowing once again. "I shall prepare your bath with some oil and a glass of wine. Would you like anything else, my lady?", he asked. 

You shook your head, "No, Sebastian", you said. "You've done nothing but enough for me tonight", you stated. "You are very kind, Mistress", Sebastian smiled and then walked away with a swift motion. You soon heard running water coming from the bathroom, which was usually the indicator that Sebastian had begun preparing your bath. The butler soon returned with the wine and prepared the bath, adding the scented oil and the glass of wine to the tub, then he left the room, waiting for you to call him so that he could assist you with your bath. As you finished up dinner, you stood up, heading to the bathroom. "Sebastian?", you called him. "Yes, Mistress", Sebastian quickly answered, his demon eyes darting towards you with a lustful glint. He was leaning against the door frame, waiting for you to enter the bathroom. Sebastian's appearance was always perfect, from his hair to the uniform, which fitted his physique perfectly. He was ready to help you with whatever you desired, he was your humble servant, after all.

"Would you mind...undressing me? I'm much too tired to get this hellish dress off myself", you asked. Sebastian's eyes stared at you intently. "Yes, Mistress", he replied, walking towards you and then gently taking your dress off. "May I ask one favor though?", he then asked while untying the dress from the back. "What favor shall you ask, Sebastian?", you replied. "I was wondering...may I stay and watch?", he asked, his devilish eyes twinkling with desire, although he still managed to maintain his stoic composure, he couldn't contain himself completely. Unfazed by his question, you simply accepted it. "Yes you may. I might need you to bathe me", you smiled sweetly. Sebastian's face lit up into a wide smile. You knew that he was eager to help you with anything, as his loyalty to you knew no limits. He didn't just obey, he enjoyed satisfying any of your desires. "At your service, Mistress", he then bowed and followed you to the bath and waited for you to enter. Sebastian took your hand into his, helping you into the tub.

Sebastian made sure to give you enough space to settle comfortably in the tub before he took the glass of wine and poured the liquid into the water, letting the scented oil and the scent of wine take over the tub. Sebastian's eyes stared at you with desire; he wanted to keep staring from afar, but he had to keep up his servant attitude after all. As you watched him pour you glass, you offered him some. "Would you like a sip, Sebastian?", you asked, handing the glass to him. "You've worked so hard for me, at least relax a little". Sebastian's gaze shifted to the glass of wine for a moment, before he looked back at you with his devilish gaze. "I cannot refuse a drink from my Mistress", he responded, taking the glass with grace and taking a few sips. He was eager to do anything for you, but drinking from the same glass as you was one of those rare moments that he wouldn't miss.

Sebastian's eyes followed your every movement, observing every gesture and every curve that your body made as you relaxed in the bath. His breath shortened and his stare became less steady, his desire becoming more and more evident as he continued to drink from the glass. It was already clear to you that he desired you, but this was rare behavior for a simple servant. You knew deep down Sebastian loved you, but you tried not to let him know that you knew. "Can you hand me a washcloth, Sebastian?", you asked. "Yes, Mistress", Sebastian replied, quickly picking up the cloth and handing it to you. Although his desire for you was becoming evident, he made sure to control himself at all times. A simple servant was not supposed to make a move on the Lady of the house, but he was tempted to cross that line. 

"Thank you", you said, taking the cloth from him. As you lathered it up with soap, you couldn't help but notice Sebastian staring at you. "Is something wrong?", you ask, looking at him with lustful eyes. "You look like you've seen a ghost". Sebastian didn't expect you to be so direct, as he was trying to hide his lustful intentions towards you. His gaze followed every motion that you made, and he seemed to be captivated by what he saw in front of him. "I was simply amazed by your beauty and grace, Mistress", he then replied politely, albeit his tone and body language were giving away his true feelings. "Why thank you, Sebastian", you said, proceeding to wash yourself. You allowed the butler to watch you bathe. Sebastian's eyes never left your body. 

The butler's eyes could not help but follow your every movement, he had to control himself as a servant, but these feelings he had towards you were becoming harder to hide by the moment. "Could I ask you one thing, Mistress?", he then asked softly, still maintaining his composure, as your body enticed him even more when washing yourself. "Yes?", you said. "May I help you wash?", Sebastian asked, his gaze following your body from head to toe and back again, he couldn't help but imagine touching you. "I would make sure to be extremely gentle", he then added, his gaze still piercing through every inch of your body. Without giving him a direct answer, you handed the washcloth to him. Sebastian took the cloth from you and started to bathe you. 

Although he was just a servant, the fact that you allowed him to touch your body was a huge turn-on for him. His fingers were gentle and his motions were steady, making sure to caress every inch of your body, especially whenever he washed away a small drop of soap that he had let fall on your breasts. Sebastian was a gentleman after all, but the mere fact that he was allowed to touch you was already enough to drive him crazy. "You have such soft hands, Sebastian", you complimented him. "Thank you, Mistress", Sebastian answered in a low voice. His attention had shifted to your body once again, he couldn't help himself but appreciate your beauty. He then focused on your curves, letting his hands gently move through them as they cleaned away all the remaining soap that still covered your body. "I feel clean now, thank you", you said, removing his hand. 

Sebastian took his hand back and put it at his side, but his eyes were still on your body, trying to memorize every detail of your feminine curves. "May I ask you one thing, Mistress?" he then questioned. "Yes, Sebastian", you said. "May I...cuddle with you?", Sebastian confessed. It was not common for a butler to ask such a thing, but the fact that you allowed him to touch and bathe you had awakened his desires. He knew he would probably be punished if anyone found out, but he just couldn't stop picturing you and him in bed, embracing each other. "As lonely as I am, I wouldn't mind", you said. "After all, I am quite fond of you". Sebastian's devilish smile returned. The fact that you were not only allowing him to touch your body, but that you had also confessed to liking him was more than enough to drive him crazy. "Truly?", he asked, slowly approaching you. "Yes", you replied. 

Sebastian gently took your hand and helped you to get out of the tub. He then looked at you, your curves were still wet and shiny, the moonlight passing through the window illuminated your body. His desire for you was getting the better of him and his breath shortened...his demon eyes observed every inch of your body...he was dying for a kiss. As you dried yourself off, you ordered Sebastian to wait for you in your bedroom. Sebastian took a deep breath, but he didn't hesitate to obey for a second. Although his desire was still burning inside him he knew that he had to control himself. He patiently waited for you in your bedroom, eager to see how the night would unfold. 

You put on your red silky robe, making your way into your  bedroom. You stood by the door, admiring Sebastian's tall physique. "Undress for me, Sebastian", you ordered. Sebastian's eyes widened, his body trembled slightly from your order, he was not expecting you to be so direct. His devilish smile quickly returned and he then began to quickly remove his uniform, one piece at a time, until he was completely naked. His muscles were toned and his body was perfect, the demon butler had a body to envy. He then stood before you, the desire to touch your body almost uncontrollable. As Sebastian approached you, you grabbed hold of his hand, leading him to the bed. "Lay down", you said. 

Sebastian's heart was pounding as he was led to the bed. He had pictured himself laying next to you countless times, but now it was actually happening. "Yes, Mistress", he said, quickly laying down and waiting for your next order. You took off your robe, "You know, Sebastian...", you paused. "This would be my first time having sex", you said. Sebastian's eyes widened, the fact that you hadn't been with another man before was quite tempting and appealing to him. The very thought of being your first excited him in a way he couldn't describe. "Really?" he then asked, his eyes following your every move. "Yes, is that surprising?", you asked, getting on top of him. You hovered over Sebastian's face, your noses almost touching. "Not really, considering your beauty and poise", Sebastian then said, his breath shortening as he looked up at you. You were the definition of a desirable woman. His eyes then locked onto yours, his demon eyes penetrating through you as you got on top of him. His lips were parted, the desire to kiss your perfect lips almost consuming him. "Good", you said, leaning into him. You kissed Sebastian's soft lips.

Sebastian's breath hitched as your lips touched his, and the feeling seemed to last forever. The desire he had been hiding for so long finally found an outlet in your passionate kiss, and his desire finally boiled over as his hands gently caressed your back. "How I've awaited to taste those lips..." he then whispered, giving you another passionate kiss. Sebastian's smile returned as when he flipped you on your back. He saw the way that your face became red as he made eye contact with you, he was having the time of his life, it had been so long since he had felt this way. He then lowered his lips to your neck, his breath brushing against your neck as he kissed the skin, making your body shiver slightly. “S-Sebastian…” you moaned. The butler chuckled, “Are you enjoying yourself, Mistress?”, he asked. You nod your head, enjoying Sebastian’s touch.

The demon moved from your neck, down to your stomach, then to your thighs, leaving a trail of kisses as he went down further. He grabbed hold of your legs, gently caressing your thighs. “May I?”, he asked, looking up at you with a smile. You slowly opened your legs, allowing him to do as he pleased. The butler watched as your already soaked cunt leaked with lustful juices. “Thank you, Mistress”, he said, proceeding to touch you. You felt his cold fingers make contact with your sensitive clit, causing you to twitch. “Y-your hands are cold, Sebastian”, you said. He apologized for the temperature, warming his hands up with his breath. Once they were warm enough, he touched you again. His fingers gently pinched your bud, sticking out his tongue to start licking. He slowly licked your clit, drawing circles around it. The sensation he gave you felt like heaven. 

Sebastian sucked on your clit like a ring pop, making your lower half rise up. “Please, Mistress”, Sebastian said. “Please be still”. You ignored him as you continued to move. The butler had no other choice but to hold your waist down as he resumed back to pleasure you. “Sebastian…”, you whimpered. His strong hands held you still, making it hard for you to move even the slightest bit. He looked up at you, admiring how beautiful his Mistress looked. His licks turned to sucks and then back to licks again. The stimulation was too much for you to handle. “I’m close, Sebastian”, you moaned. “I’m so close”. Sebastian quickened his pace, but felt playful at the same time. He would start and then stop, creating  a pattern of pleasure. You groaned in annoyance as he edged you on. “Please let me cum”, you begged. “I order you to let me cum”. 

Little did you know that in bed, the role of servant and master didn’t matter to him. He wanted complete control of you, no matter how much you squealed and whined. Sebastian didn’t stop teasing you, instead he made it worse by sticking his fingers inside you. He wanted to feel just how tight his Mistress was. You moaned loudly as you felt him penetrate you with two of his digits. “Ah shit”, you whined. Without  a minute to go by, you immediately came all over Sebastian’s face. “Oh my”, you said. “I’m sorry”. The butler smiled at you, pleased that you enjoyed it. As he stood up, you noticed how hard he became. “Sebastian?”, you called out. “Yes, Mistress”, he replied. You sat up, scooting towards the end of the bed where your butler was standing. Your mouth watered at the sight of his huge cock. “M-may I?”, you asked out of embarrassment. You didn’t want to admit it, but the thought of sucking his dick turned you on even more. “If you’re ok with it, my lady”, he said, glaring down at you. 

You took his cock into your hands, stroking it slowly. “Is this ok?”, you asked. Knowing how inexperienced you were, Sebastian reassured you that it was ok. “Do what you like, Mistress”, he said. You took out your tongue, licking his shaft from the base all the way up to the tip. His cock oozed with precum as you gave the tip small licks. “You taste good”, you complimented him. “So did you, my lady”, he smiled back. After licking him some more, you finally decided to put him into your mouth. You tried to fit all of him in you, but you couldn’t. Once you got down halfway, you started to gag. “Are you ok, Mistress?”, the demon asked. You gave him a thumbs up. “This is my first time having dick in my mouth. I don’t want to mess this up”, you thought. You tightened your mouth around him, bobbing your head back and forth. You sucked him hard, making sure to put in as much effort as you can. 

Sebastian moaned, feeling your soft tongue slid against his cock. Your mouth was warm and wet, making the head feel amazing. Drool leaked out of your mouth as your sucking became sloppy. You made sure that your butler was well taken care of. After all, you do love and appreciate everything that he does for you. Looking up at him, his head was pointed towards the ceiling. It was clear that he was enjoying this a lot. The longer you sucked, the more tired your mouth grew. You took him out, proceeding to jerk him off. “My mouth got tired”, you said, looking up at him. Sebastian stopped you. “My lady…”, he paused. “You should never tire yourself trying to please me”. Sebastian cupped your face, leaning down into you. He kissed your wet lips, slipping his tongue inside. 

He gently guided you back onto the bed, making sure you were underneath him again. The butler kissed your lips, then your cheek, then he began to kiss and suck on your neck. He marked your flesh, making you his forever. He grabbed hold of his cock, positioning it on your wet folds. He rubbed it against your soaked cunt, trying to lube himself up. “Are you ready, Mistress?”, he asked, staring deeply into your eyes. You looked down at his cock, spreading your legs even further. “Yes, but please be gentle, Sebastian”, you said. He tilted his head to the side, giving you  a warm smile. “Anything for you, my lady”, he said. With that, he slowly thrusted into you. “Ow”, you winced. Sebastian stopped. “Shall I continue?”, he asked. “I can stop if it becomes too much”. You ordered him not to. Sebastian proceeded, putting all of his length in you. The two of you made sweet love to each other, embracing how close the both of you were. “I love you, Sebastian”, you said. “I love you too, Mistress”. He leaned into your ear, kissing it softly. You felt the sweat from his body drip onto you. Sebastian knew how to take care of you, making him the perfect butler. “You’re mine forever”, he whispered into your ear.

[gallierhouse]

Armand likes to play the martyr. Specifically the long-suffering martyr who does nothing but sacrifice, and sacrifice, and sacrifice (“picking lint off the sofa”). Playing the martyr is an intertwining of servitude and domination. He’s sacrificing for you, he’s serving you, he’s nothing but your humble servant, and it’s through that dynamic he asserts both domination and innocence. It’s easy to portray innocence when you’re playing the martyr. If everything he does is framed as service for someone else, even his cruelty and manipulation can be framed as acts of service within that pattern of behavior (“you asked me to [wipe your memories]”, “this prison of empathy,” etc.). Within this dynamic, any pushback against Armand also frames him at the victim (see: his big puppy eyes and tears whenever Louis so much as gives a harsh word, “it was love”). Everything he does is for you, can’t you see that? Can’t you see how it wounds him when you suggest that this isn’t for you? Can’t you see how ungrateful and selfish you sound when everything he does, he does for you? Simultaneously, since he’s always the one cleaning up, always the one serving, it gives him control. He controls the windows in the penthouse. He gets the books and the diaries off the shelf. Acts of service, all for Louis. Louis tells him jump, he asks how high. But it also means that Louis can only ever make requests of Armand. Even if he frames them as commands, the request/command being carried out is still contingent on Armand’s cooperation, and Louis doesn’t have a way to force Armand’s hand, because Armand’s so much older and more powerful.

It’s like this in Paris, too. His failure there was “his one act of cowardice” and his hands were tied, because “the coven gave him a choice.” Never mind the fact that he can easily subdue the coven, never mind the fact that he could’ve told Claudia and Madeleine to run, never mind a million other things. He frames his actions as the only time he’s lapsed in his devotion to Louis. Not a failure of power, but a failure of love. It’s a failure not because he didn’t save Claudia, but because he hurt Louis. And it’s such an egregious failure he has to spend eternity making it up to Louis (“have I even moved one step forward?”), once again positioning him as the long-suffering martyr who does nothing but love and sacrifice and serve. Cue puppy dog eyes.

He’s innocent, your honor.

[earenwen-leafwhisper]

The handmaid and the dragons

Pairing: Child Daemon Targaryen x servant mother nature fem reader, Baelon Targaryen x servant reader, Child Viserys x servant reader, Alyssa Targaryen x servant reader (All platonic)

Summary: Life at the castle can be most enjoyable as a servant when you can take care of two young dragon princes.

Author’s note: Viserys and Daemon are 4 years apart. Daemon was born in 81 and Viserys in 77

Reader are not describe, in my mind she is chubby/plus size, but she can be of all shapes.

English is not my native language, i'm sorry if mistakes were made. I will correct as soon as possible.

After a few months without writing fully, here is the first written of a multitude of ideas that I have in mind for some time. This One-shot could be continued in the form of headcannon or other One-chot, or multiple chapters.

---

The life of a servant was not easy, apart from early morning wakes and short nights due to requests from some residents and guests, not always very understandable and sometimes almost impossible to accomplish (as this noble woman, who wanted to enter one of the princes' chambers in order to try to seduce and marry the man she desired; it was as if that had ended with the dismissal of the said noble woman) did not allow you to have a good quality sleep.

But this life of servant, you would not have exchanged it for any other, because beyond the rebukes of some older servants and lords and lady, who could be haughty. You were in the service of the Targaryens, and although some nobles and peasants did not carry the members of this house in their hearts. You were not treated badly, on the contrary, you were considered better than servants of other smaller houses.

Since your early childhood you remembered having met people with Valeryan blood. Your parents had served under the late reign of Maegor and survived him because of their good labours. They then served Jaehaerys. You had followed their ways, as was customary for the people. You had become multi-tasker, allowing you to be better paid, and help your parents who were beginning to get old to serve the Targaryen house as well. You could go from kitchen to floor scrubbing, from washing clothes to helping princesses dress or hairdressing.

But more than that. More than this work. There were in that castle two small heads with silver hair, for which you had taken affection.

A few years ago, you had become a servant of Princess Alyssa when she was pregnant for the second time. You were one of many servants, but you always did your best to allow the princess to have everything she needed, in order to make it easier for her to wait for the birth of her second child. Being a hectic life, the rest offered and almost ordered by the masters, bored her to the utmost point, towards the end of her pregnancy, she could no longer ride on Meleys and was irritated for nothing, whether it be on the servants, her ladys in waittig. But when she calmed down, unlike other nobles, Alyssa apologized, knowing that she would not have reacted in this way if she was not pregnant.

But even in those moments, you loved the princess, not that you envied her, no, you loved her because she always behaved with respect.

---

When you seen the baby Daemon, you had taken a liking to him, how many times did you manage to give him gifts, however humble? You hadn’t counted, all you liked was to see Daemon play, or eat the cakes that you had prepared in the kitchens during your working hours. Just seeing him smile and recognize you made your heart warm. You didn’t forget the princess or Viserys when you made the cakes, but your favorite was always Daemon.

You always had a maternal nature, to care about others, but that nature is just manifesting more greatly towards Daemon. You never disrespected Alyssa, on the contrary, you worried about her, even though she was your age, you sometimes nursed her slightly, just out of concern for her health, like the day when she took baby Daemon to fly on Meleys’s back, you were worried.

“Princess Alyssa... are you sure you want to do this?...” The masters have advised against your health...”

Would you be afraid that Meleys would face evil against Daemon? Or would you not trust me?

“I have faith in you, princess... I know that you did the same thing with Prince Viserys.... It’s just that...”

“Fear not, Meleys will do nothing against Daemon, it’s only a little theft after all. It won’t hurt me.”

It is the close heart that you watched the princess go towards the dragonpit.

During the whole morning of labor, your mind was not focused on your spots. Every moment you could forget about Alyssa’s flight, something made you think of her or the children. Some servants with whom you shared your time of work, found your behavior strange, not understanding why you showed so much kindness and devotion to the royal family, that family which did not spank attention to the servants and people of the people, At least according to them.

All your stress went away when you saw Alyssa and baby Daemon return, it is with a sincere smile that you welcomed the princess, taking care of her and Daemon with the other servants.

Although you were a simple and humble servant, you had become close to Alyssa over the days, months and years, even when travelling for tournaments or festivities in other parts of Westeros. Alyssa ordered you to accompany her, the other servants did not see this in a good way, nor even the nobles who found it unnoble approach on the part of the princess. For they thought the nobles should stay among them, the others were nothing but nothing.

---

You saw the children grow, the first steps of Daemon towards Alyssa even gave you a small tear in your eye, so proud of Daemon’s progress. Not forgetting the progress of Viserys, He was 4 years old when you met him and now from his future 7 years, he loved playing with you, loving his wooden dragons by lending one only when it was sure to get it back later. He was a rather easy child, even more so because of his attraction for food, asking for cupcakes, the masters had more than once ordered you not to give any more to the young prince, but behind their backs, you gave one or two to please him.

You were not in direct contact with other members of the royal family, except Baelon, whom you saw radiating to the coast of Alyssa, as well as to her sons.

When the news of the new pregnancy of the princess. Everyone was happy, it took three years, but all hoped that the future event would be happy.

Oh... Alyssa...

---

You were awakened in the middle of the night, guards had come to fetch the princess’s servants. The corridors of the castle were dark to the limit of gloom, although they are illuminated by torches. To the right and left you could see servants, midwifes, guards and masters running through all the censes.

You felt a cold sweat through your back, a wind of panic engulfed you. Midwifes, was a sign that the princess was in full labor and about to give birth. But the presence of the masters, was bad omens, they came only when the birth was complicated to see serious. Alyssa was the only known person in the castle who was pregnant and about to give birth.

You passed in the corridor of the princess' apartments, horrible screams pierced ears, spanking you stop at the door, heart pounding, fear to sell, guards took you by the arms to force you to continue walking. You were assigned to the supervision of children while other servants were assigned to take over the orders of masters.

When you arrived, Daemon and Viserys were sleeping, unaware of who was going on in the castle. You sit on one of the chairs, watching the children, while trying to calm your breath, reassuring you as much as you could, praying to the gods, for the survival of Alyssa and the baby (whether you are a believer or not).

It was only in the morning, when you helped the children to prepare (make sure that Viserys does not wear his tunic upside down, tie their shoes), that Baelon entered. His hair was glued to his forehead by the sweat, his breath saccader. You turned your head to look at him before getting up from the ground on which you were kneeling, in order to bow down as required by protocol. But before you got up, Baelon raised his hand to stop you and walked towards the boys.

"My prince..." Your heart was beating, the anticipation of the news was great.

"The work was hard..." Baelon knelt before Viserys and Daemon, before taking them in his arms.

"Work?" Viserys looked at his father with questions.

"Your mother giving birth to a little brother..."

"Little brother?" Viserys’s eyes lit up, while Daemon seemed to be a bit soft.

"Yes, you will soon."

Baelon was happy and reassuring, he gave them each a kiss in the hair before raising his head towards you.

"Alyssa will need you, for now she needs to rest."

"Of course, my prince..."

"I know you’ll look after her."

You shook your head gently, your head was full of questions, all revolved around the princess and the newborn baby, the cries remained in your memory.

You only saw the princess when she was awakened after several hours of being unconscious. She was so full of life, she looked like a living dead, almost diaphanous. Her simple vision gave you a terrible desire to cry. Alyssa, seeing you, smiles softly, feverishly. You walked towards her before sitting down to lean out of her bed and gently take her hand, holding her company, explaining that Viserys and Daemon were happy to see her soon and have a little brother.

Alas, Alyssa’s health did not improve much, after almost a year the princess was very weak.

---

One morning, the nannies who took care of Daemon and Viserys had not been available, between one who was falling ill and the second who had to return to King’s Landing for family business, Baelon, whom you saw rarely, He ordered one of his servants to find you, so that you could look after the children. It was now days that the masters watched Alyssa, who slept more and more, ate less and less. Worrying everyone in the castle.

You decided to please the children, to make them stretch their legs in the company of guards, in the gardens of the castle.

The sun was shining, the light breeze of wind was refreshing, and you had placed yourself at the side of one of the fountains, watching the boys running in the garden gates gave you a smile, temporarily preventing you from thinking of Alyssa, and allowing you to live a little in carelessness. When Daemon fell to the ground after having tripped, he started to cry slightly before watching Viserys continue to run, he watched you with his eyes. You smile gently, before he gets up and walks towards you with tears in his eyes, he showed you his hands, covered with dirt and gravel.

“Y/nickname! Its hurt!”

“It’s all right, my little dragon, I’ll look.”

You gently took his hands, leaning gently to observe his hands, before taking a cloth, for the soaked in water to gently clean Daemon’s hands, he sniffed softly after moaning on contact with the cloth.

"That’s right, my little dragon, you are brave, like a proud warrior.” The tone of your voice was sweet and comforting to the young Daemon.

Daemon looked at you, then looked at his hands red with rubbing against his palms. When you laid a kiss on each of his palms, his eyes lit up, all forms of pain and sadness had withdrawn from his face. After all, soft drops on the little bobos are always miraculous remedies for children.

“Do you want to continue playing?”

Daemon shook his head, a big smile on his face, he went back to join Viserys, laughing as he pursued him.

You only came back at the time of dinner which could not be taken outside, the children in the company of members of the house Targaryen present at the castle, except Alyssa and Baelon, who was at his bedside. As for you, you were eating in haste in the room dedicated to the servants, talking with your friends, discussing the latest news while walking through the dark corridors.

The servants' dinners were often more courtly and of lesser quality than those of the nobles, but it was enough to give energy for all the day’s work.

“Apparently, Prince Baelon refuses to leave his wife’s bedside...” One of the king’s servants had just spoken.

Yes, her health is in perpetual decline, the masters fear that she will not pass on the next moons. One of the servants who had been looking after Alyssa had just answered her.

You listened to the exchange with attraction, trying to get information that had not yet been disclosed. But their discussions stopped when they noticed you. All knew of your closeness with the princess and children, taking care not to tell you about the royal family, lest you speak about it with the princess. You shrugged before looking at your friends and talking to them. It would have pleased the servants who did not like you, to show them that their behavior touched him. It was only when you were called to serve the young princes that you went out into the corridors, arriving near the dining room, Daemon ran in your direction, followed by Viserys. You took them in your arms before walking, a hand in the small hand of Viserys, while Daemon clung to your neck, while you carried it. The guards would follow you, ensuring the safety of the children.

Once in the children’s shared room, Viserys settled into a pillow that covered part of the floor in one of the corners of the room near one of the windows.

You settled down beside him, Daemon sitting on your legs in the direction of Viserys. It was a sweet evening, punctuated by the preparation of their bath, and some childish quarrels.

It was only when the guards opened the doors, and you looked in their direction. that you had a cold sweat.

The queen herself entered, she seemed paler then before, she almost wore a sick complexion. Your heart began to beat, your intuition told you that something serious had happened and how much you would have wished to have been wrong.

---

Tag list : @avalyaaa

[slutforalastor]

Confessional

Human Priest Alastor has a particularly committed parishioner with an unholy request. NOT APPROPRIATE FOR THOSE UNDER THE AGE OF 18. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Tags: SO MANY CHURCH REFERENCES, light voyeurism, temptation, bloodletting, church AU I guess if you wanna get technical, way too many big words for plotless smut

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

You kneel before a shadow, crossing yourself. You know the shadow's face, having spent countless Sundays smiling from your lips and weeping from between your legs during his service. You know that he can see you, perhaps even recognizes you. You're aware of the purpose of confessional, the supposed tenants guiding the practice, but you are not here to absolve yourself. You seek indulgence, not purification.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been eleven months since my last confession. These are my sins. I harbor impure thoughts, thoughts that I know have been given to me by the Lord. He is guiding us towards a union, perhaps to conceive, but for some holy purpose, regardless. There can be no other reason why you'd occupy my every waking thought, why my maiden's bed feels so cold and empty, as though incomplete without your body next to mine. Each and every night, I sin in that bed, allowing my own hand to guide me to an incomplete release. It never gives me any feeling of blessing, only of deeper desire to blaspheme. My soul is forever lost without your faithful shepherding, Father."

The shadow moves, clears its throat, no trace of emotion to be gleaned from his intonation.

"My dear child, you seem lost, confused. As a man I am flattered, perhaps even humbled, by this confession. But you must hold steady against these impure delusions, for God has placed me on a different path."

His rebuke only serves to hasten your desire. You feel yourself laden with honeyed need, leaking against the inside of your thighs through your underwear. You know he can see you kneeling, prostrating yourself before the judgment of your holy superior. Still on your knees, you lean back, hiking up the fabric of your skirt, pushing your hips up to present your ruined panties. "Holy Father, you are a servant of the Lord, are you not? Would you deny that one of your flock is in need? Would you leave them to temptation in solitude, with only their hands, the devil's playthings, for companionship?"

His voice betrays the first sign of will being tested. "This could just as easily be a test, a bit of trickery from the Devil himself."

"Who better to rid me of devilish desire than one who speaks on God's behalf? Who baptizes the young, unifies lovers, grants last rites to the condemned? Serve your Lord and banish this Devil from my loins, if you be pious, if you be merciful."

His voice is trembling now, thick with an intent you had hoped to provoke. You are intriguing him, winning him over. Summoning your courage, you draw your underwear down to your ankles, clumsily preening your sex the same way you have been whenever the heat between your legs burns like Hellfire. "See for yourself how the Lord makes me a conduit. Would you call this the will of the Devil? The need of a woman for a man?"

"I have taken an oath..." he stutters, choking on his own words.

"An oath to serve your parishioners... Would you bear witness to sin, knowing you can make it holy?" you bleat, the lamb on the altar, bound by ropes fastened to your soul. The Priest stands, and you can see his shadow making the mark of the cross, muttering a prayer to himself. Your self-defilement doesn't even slow, the low, wet sounds of hungry flesh accepting your phallic substitute the only sound in the confessional. In another moment, you hear the door opening, and your savior stands framed in the light of the jamb.

"Bless you, Father," you moan. He shuts the door, and in the dimness, you capture the full depth of his radiance. His brown hair drapes in front of his eyes, standing as a buffer between those nearly-black irises and the small circular frames that grace the bridge of his nose. A nervous sweat shimmers on his dark skin. His cassock is disheveled, his silver cross hung up on one of the higher buttons, collar greyed at the edges from sweat.

"We must make haste to rid you of this curse," he breathes, tugging at his collar. Thinking on its symbolism, he detaches it entirely, leaving it hanging on the doorknob. With rough strength, he brings you to the chair one could use to confess face-to-face, bringing your arousal level with him when he drops to his knees. He inhales, something within that bouquet seeming to pique his interest. "You reek of unholy desire."

"It has tormented me, Father."

"I can see now what you mean. It would be irresponsible to leave you in such a state. I shall grant you this mercy, my child. God will heal you through me."

With a slight tilt of his head, he partakes in your communion, his lips brushing over the outermost of your folds, murmuring a prayer against the electrified nerves. You can feel every syllable evoked against your body, sending ripples of heaven cascading through your system. You are certain that God's holy presence is being imparted from the teasing edges of his lips into your body. His tongue parts from between his pursed, muttering lips, lapping at the inside of your sex, searching for something buried deeper still. Your hands dare to caress his head, guiding him towards the spot he seeks. Charting into fresh territory, he stakes claim to it, his eager tongue seeking out places you've yet to even map yourself. Each press of it is a blessing, the burning ache in your flesh the doubtless throes of a demon being flayed from your soul.

"My dear, I'm beginning to wonder if I misjudged. Your taste is divine."

Your fingers dig into his thick locks, pressing him to persist even further, to reach past the purgatory of your desire. You feel his nose grinding against your most sensitive spot, something you have never had a name for, feeling every time he inhales and exhales, his mouth far too preoccupied with more concerning matters. You are fighting to keep your carnal affectations from becoming any louder than a whining wail you smother in the small of your throat, lest it be loosed completely unrestrained.

"You're doing well to keep your voice lowered," he praises you. "You are a true servant of your Lord."

"I-I am in his service," you affirm, your words snaring every time his tongue darts against your walls.

"Your dedication deserves to be rewarded," and he pushes himself as far as the limitations of flesh permit, lodging his lapping extremity so firmly within that you startle nearly upright, sharp nails that bite against the fabric of your clothes urging you back down. "He says 'be still and know that I am God.'"

You groan against the scripture being branded on your innards, a new sensation creeping across the tensed muscles of your legs. With a muffled moan, he is baptized in your release, and he offers a satisfied sound of approval. Your legs quake against the ceaseless undulating of his attentions, finally extricating himself when he's had his fill of you. He runs the long, thin thing that just concluded making a mess of your insides over his glistening grin, still slick from your consecration. Your focus drifts downward, to the crook that will shepherd you to salvation tenting the fabric of his soutane.

"Traces of habitation still remain, my child. We must take measures to save your spirit." He undoes the lower buttons of his robe, exposing himself to you, as he would have been in Eden. You can feel it against you, afire with purifying heat, sliding against your sopping entrance with anticipation. "Accept these rites."

"Bless me, Father," you whine, grinding yourself against him.

"Please, dear, call me Alastor." It's not permission; it's a demand. He waits, poised against you.

"Please give me your blessing, Alastor."

His lips curl into a grin, his canines so jagged and long that they're the first teeth you see. "God answers all prayers in good time." With a shove, he enters you, your teeth clenching, your breath shorting at the feeling of this union. He can't help but let a pleasured grunt leave his lips, and he catches your eyes as the last inch of him slips inside, brushing an errant strand of hair from your eyes. You feel cold, flushed at the overwhelming relief of finally being face-to-face with what you'd thought could only be in a fantasy. He gives a thrust, testing the waters, shaking your faith. You whimper against the force of it, still growing accustomed to the sensation of being taken. "Do you feel the sin drying up? The demonic need being purged?" Alastor wonders, driving himself into you with ever-increasing force, his restraint abandoned. "In its place will be holy admiration, a want to submit, as all of God's good creatures must possess."

"I will be a good creature," you promise.

"The best their ever was," Alastor croons, his jagged incisors hunting for the soft of your neck, carving runes against the submissive skin, seas of red pooling in the canyons. "Will your blood run black, as a demon's, or red, like the dust of the Earth? You have the allure of a succubus, but the taste of a virgin." His nails ribbon your collarbone, leaving oozing trails like spilled wine. He partakes of this communion with the same vigor as before, drinking it like an elixir. Your nervous hands grasp against his back, enfeebled fingers digging into the fabric of his clothing. Through all of this, his rutting has never slowed, increasing in desperation when he samples your blood. When he pulls away, you can see it trickling against his teeth, his tongue dragging over the surface to crudely clean them.

"I have dreamed of this, Alastor."

"Our lord works in mysterious ways," he assures you, clawed fingers still tracing thin rivulets across your skin. "I am nearly at my limit," he pants, burying himself against you. His thrusts finally slow, each push against you deliberate, purposeful. With his body laid against yours, his mouth is laid by your ear, and you can hear every facet of his breathing, every pant, moan, and inhale he makes broadcasting into your brain, the only sound you can hear. You are as close as he is, and you wrap yourself around him as he pumps into you one final time, his holy fire coating your insides, his assured breaths becoming high-pitched whines as he spasms against you, driving you to your own climax. It is nothing like what you've made yourself feel; it sends shockwaves through the taut fibers of your lower half, makes you cry out in uncontrollable lust, leaving your limbs clenched around Alastor as the last of his climax is left spilt within. You feel his chest heave with a deeply drawn breath, his sigh in your ear scattering chills across you. "Do you feel purified, dear?"

"I worry that I will have further need of your services, Alastor."

He pulls away from you, his smile sadistic yet sincere. "The clergy lives to serve, after all."

[lunastrophe]

Hey! I'm writing a Minthara thingy about her past; since you're the drow expert of experts, do you have a timeline of her life or a theory of who her mother is maybe? Thank you!

Heh, I am really humbled by your words, I certainly do not consider myself the drow expert of experts 😳Thank you!

I am working on a detailed post about Minthara's past and her family, with (estimated) dates and other such details. I hope that I will find some time to finish it and publish sometime during the weekend. It is already half-baked, but... ugh, I really need more time for writing 😩

In the meantime, here are some fragments:

🕷️ Age - Minthara is over 200 years old, since she remembers Viconia DeVir disgracing her house and escaping the city ("I was young enough that it left an impression on me").

She was born in Menzoberranzan, probably at least a decade before 1292 DR, and she lived in House Baenre compound on Qu'ellarz'orl plateau.

Minthara recalls that she survived her first assassination attempt while she still suckled at her mother's breast. Her mother saved her life by covering her body with her own.

🕷️️Career - like other noble drow females from Menzoberranzan, Minthara most likely enrolled into Arach-Tinilith when she was 25 (she could be also older, since around 13th century DR, females started their education at the age of 40).

She finished her eduaction after 50 years, being between 75 and 90 years old, and most likely participated in the (in)famous drow graduation ceremony.

Minthara mentions that her mother tried to kill her when she came of age, making it a test of sorts. But aside from that, Minthara surely participated also in the Blooding - a drow coming-of-age ritual, usually completed during a surface raid (a young drow must kill an intelligent or dangerous surface creature, preferably an elf). It probably took place shortly after graduation.

🕷️️Oath - unlike the majority of noble females, Minthara was trained to be not a "pure" cleric, but a soldier in the service of Lolth. At some point, probably still at the early stage of her career, she took the oath of "bloody vengeance against any who defied Lolth".

She was fulfilling her oath, hunting heretics and apostates. She was also performing interrogations. At some point, she was entrusted with leadership - she was commanding drow warriors and probably also organizing and leading night raids to the surface.

🕷️️Relationships - Minthara mentions that being a noble (and Baenre), she lived in luxury.

Her first lover, most likely met during her years in the Academy, was a high priestess of House Vandree: "Beautiful, elegant, ruthless. I adored her, and had been sharing her bed for some time when the order came that she must die. I stayed with her while the poison did its work, and whispered words of comfort as she slipped away."

Minthara says that she had "a thousand suitors" and many lovers - they mostly wanted only her status or her body, though. The more they pursued her, the less she desired them, ultimately becoming tired of them all.

Unsurprisingly, she does not have high opinion on men in general - based on her experience with Menzoberranzan males: "half the men of Menzoberranzan are pleasure-servants. Weaklings, whose beauty is their only redeeming quality."

🕷️ Mother - Minthara's mother was a noble from House Baenre. We also know that she was visiting surface cities during her "grand tours of the surface world" and at some point, she visited also Baldur's Gate. She told Minthara about it.

She was certainly a female of high station, but considering the already existing drow lore, she was probably not one of the most famous daughters of Matron Yvonnel Baenre mentioned in the novels.

My guess: Minthara's mother could be some less known daughter of Yvonnel Baenre. Matron Yvonnel Baenre had fifteen daughters or so, and all of them were high priestesses (and alive around 1297 DR) - Minthara's mother could be one of them.

That would make Minthara a niece of Quenthel Baenre and other famous children of Matron Yvonnel Baenre (Gromph, Jarlaxle, Triel, Sos'Umptu etc.).

Hope you will find this information helpful 😊

[bardic-inspo]

Blood in the Mortar

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Vampire Bride Tav

Rating: Explicit (Smut!!)

Key Tags: Vampire/Blood Bride Lore, Service Dom Astarion, Sexy Use of Telepathic Bond, Evil Power Couple, Torturing a Captive, Choking, Biting/Blood, Masquerade, PIV, Cunnilingus

Summary:

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” Astarion whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.” It started on Naomi’s knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Astarion didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of his ascended blood.

Cross-posting from my AO3 account. This is my first BG3 smut fic. If you like it, I'd love to know! Click here if you'd prefer to read on AO3.

“To whom can a vampire bare its soul and admit its fears? From whom can it receive consolation for the past, comfort for the present, and hope for the future?...The vampire is drawn emotionally to a mortal and decides, because of the strength of this emotion, to make her his bride…The happiness of the vampire becomes tied up with the prospective bride, and its well-being depends on hers.”

-Van Richten’s Monster Hunter’s Compendium, Vol 1

Astarion twists the stem of his wine glass, idly tilting the contents within. His assorted guests warp in the bulb of it, swaying between rosy red and clear crystal.

A gravelly voice interrupts his game. “Quite the menagerie you’ve gathered here, Lord Ancunín.”

Astarion doesn’t bother to stifle his sigh. There’s no mistaking him as the lord of the house, even masked as he is. Astarion’s ensemble this evening is pitch dark velvet swirled in crimson thread and snaking silver. His mask glimmers in the same shade of scaled metal, set to complement the curve of his cheekbones, with only miniscule, twinkling rubies encrusting the edges. Nothing meant to outshine the searing color of his eyes. The mask might be silver, but it’s a red dragon Astarion embodies for this particular masquerade.

This party’s for more monstrous company, after all.

No expense was spared for the ‘menagerie’. A grand piano, polished to an opalescent white, plays under spectral hands at the heart of the ballroom alongside a string quartet. A starlit Baldur’s Gate glistens outside the windowed east wall, framed in gold drapery to match the shimmering flecks in the white marble floor. Lavish wine and better blood pour freely; his guests have only to lift their empty glasses to have them brimming again.

Even with all the ornate masks, in the shapes of creatures exotic or fierce, none of the fangs in the room are fake. All the titles are, save for his and his consort’s. Astarion’s lip curls with distaste.

This masquerade was meant for nobility of a supernatural stature. Vampires, warlocks, lycanthropes. Those who lead them. But what his doors received were lowly spawn. Servants sent in their masters’ stead to get just a glimpse of the one and only vampire ascendant, and then to scurry back and tell tale of him. Cowards.

There’s only one human here who’s just human.

Astarion offers him a well-practiced shrug of a laugh. “I do hope you don’t feel out of place among us more…colorful sorts. Lord…? Forgive me, what was it again?”

“Isn’t the point of a masquerade not to bother with such trivialities?” The stranger chuckles hastily. “In any case, I am not lord. Only a humble apprentice to the most renowned wizard Waterdeep has to offer.”

Ah, yes. The invitation was sent for the newly named archmage, filling the god-shaped hole Gale left behind in the wake of his own ascension. Astarion’s eyes flit over the lanky, unkempt apprentice who addresses him instead.

His hair hangs in honey blonde waves past his shoulders, like the mane of the beast he seeks to imitate. It’s a lion’s mask the apprentice wears. Perhaps a poor attempt at humor. The effort would’ve been better paid towards penance, and a sheep’s head would’ve suited him far better than the guise of a predator. Anything would’ve been more fitting than the baggy business he calls a shirt.

Astarion clicks his tongue. “That still doesn’t give me a thing to call you.”

“I am Enrik, if it pleases you.”

“No surname?” Astarion asks with an arched brow.

“None of consequence, my lord,” he replies with the uneasy edge Astarion’s entitled to.

“Well, Enrik, I hope you find our masquerade pleasing.”

“It has certainly been enlightening thus far.”

“And how’s that?” Astarion asks brusquely. He never did like wizards.

He doesn’t like the look on this one’s face, either. The lion that should be a sheep surveys the room with a pitying expression, like he’s watching some petty amusement. A zoo. Gods, or a circus. And what would that make him, Astarion the Ascended, if not a clown? Astarion’s fingers tighten on the stem of his glass, an imperceptible change to any eyes not keen enough to catch it.

“Why, it’s been only a year since your ascension,” Enrik says. “You’ve accomplished much in short order. It’s quite remarkable.”

Astarion’s nose twitches. Praise. From cattle. How quaint, and ill-fitting.

His expression abruptly eases. A refined, familiar scent carries to him from across the crowd. A note of lavender, twined with his favored bergamot.

“And you’ve already enthralled some truly magnificent specimens,” Enrik carries on, oblivious. “Take this fine creature, for example. What a pretty thing to have strung along on your leash.”

Astarion feels her before he sees her. She wipes a palm down the sheath of her skirt, smoothing out some infinitesimal wrinkle. The music smooths, too. With that one simple motion, it bends and blends into something deeper, fuller. All of the lesser spawn of Astarion’s making straighten their slouched shoulders.

He feels the tug of her in his head, and then the cool stroke of her hand to his back, the soothing feel of her fingers combing through his hair, and the gentle scrape of her nails against his scalp. It takes a concerted effort to suppress the pleased groan that bubbles in the back of his throat. All this from across the room, without so much as a glance, let alone a touch.

Hello, darling, he thinks, and she hears it just as if he’d spoken aloud. Aren’t you ravishing?

Her skirt is snow-white crepe that clings taut to her shapely hips before fanning out at her feet. It’s the same lovely shade of ivory as her hair, twisted in a braid like a crown around her head, with the rest falling sleek down her back. A black lace bodice sets just off her lilac shoulders, with gloves to match. Floral stitching vees down from her waistline. The same embellishments decorate the skirt’s edges.

His dark consort, his Naomi once-Tavriel-now-Ancunín, weaves leisurely through the partygoers. The thorny prickle of Astarion’s irritation inspires a little lift at the corner of her mouth.

I’ve been called so much worse, she thinks. It sounds suspiciously like a laugh. I think you called me ‘creature’ just yesterday. Should I not have taken it as a compliment?

Astarion’s scowls. He should be grateful to have your name in his mouth. To even set foot in our home. Let alone speak to me like that. Or at all.

But think of how much fun he’s started, she answers, chipper. You were so bored before.

She’s not wrong.

If they’re not the guests you wanted, Naomi continues, cool and calm, then they’re intruders, aren’t they? Whatever should we do with them?

A slow smile steals its way onto his lips. Just when I thought I couldn’t love you more. Miracles never cease.

“Do you know what they call her?” Astarion says aloud, to worse company. “Other than mine, of course.”

“She was the hero of Baldur’s Gate.”

Astarion waves a manicured hand irritably, as if swatting away a stray fly. “One of them, true, but isn’t there another name that comes to mind?”

The man swallows thickly. “The Siren of the Sword Coast.”

"And yet here you are," Astarion sneers, "ready to dash yourself upon the rocks like a little ship blown astray. I can hardly blame you."

His eyes soften, just past the shoulder of Enrik’s gaudy doublet. In the low flutter of candlelight, he spies the sheen of amethysts set among delicate feathers wrought from silver. He'd had the mask made for Naomi with the likeness of a swan in mind.

Still, as pretty as it is, his favorite gleam is those eyes. She still kept the kiss of violet in them, even in death. It mingles with the red in her irises, like a rich, dark wine.

"She is captivating, isn’t she?" Astarion sighs, a faint smile grazing his lips. "My beautiful bride."

“Forgive me my lord, I meant no offense,” Enrik says, eyes down with deference. “I’m merely an admirer of fine things. And a messenger for my fine master.”

“Do your duty, then,” Astarion says tersely, his smile evaporating.

“My master understands that power is the only currency that holds any weight for men of your making. He has much of it to share, if you're likewise inclined.”

Astarion laughs coldly. “And what does your master wish for me to share with him, exactly? I don’t bite just anyone, after all.”

A swallow bobs in Enrik’s throat. “He only means to make mutual use of your shared arsenal. Like you mean to make of his, my lord. He could work wonders with even just one scream. He could bottle it--”

Astarion clenches the wine glass in a chokehold. He could kill this wretched cretin here, now, bare-handed. Or have him drawn and quartered. Or--

No one knows their manners these days, Naomi sighs inside his head. But if you want to play along and see what this archmage would pay, I’ll--

Astarion’s jaw clenches. You won’t be screaming for him, little love.

It earns him an eyeroll. It wouldn’t be like that--

It won’t be at all. Astarions sends his answer with the weight of a stone.

He sips his wine, boring into Enrik with a hard stare. “Don’t you know swans make the most achingly beautiful music?”

Enrik’s eyes dart anxiously over Astarion’s burning ones. “Only just before they die, so the stories go.”

“Before someone does,” Astarion drawls, as the vintage seeps sweetly down his throat. “You see, my beloved, oh, she’s a monster, too. She so does love the taste of blood in her mouth, now that she’s supped of mine.”

Enrik edges back, shoulders hunched small like the prey he is. “I-I’m just a messenger my lord. Killing me after you’ve so graciously offered your hospitality would be the same as breaking a mirror. It would only cast ill luck on you and your house.”

A gloved hand wraps Enrik’s shoulder. He shirks from that delicate grip like it's scalding. At long last, he finds the decency to shut up.

Naomi’s fangs gleam like the bottle in her hand. “More wine?”

The white marble of the ballroom shimmers like freshly fallen snow. All the curtains are drawn back, cinched aside for good measure. Shadow and sunlight slice the floor in slanted strips. Gritty ash piles where the light lies, coils of rope strewn among the gray dust of guests gone for good.

Only one remains.

Sprawled motionless across the floor, Enrik lies nose-to-nose with the knife edge of day and darkness. It’s only a silhouette that keeps him from being swallowed by the glow. Only Astarion’s grace shades him.

The vampire ascendant cuts a sharp shadow before the arched windowpane. Brightness clings, soft as clouds, to his curls, his lean edges, and his jaw. His velvet coat crumples at his heels as if it were nothing more precious than the ash heaped around him. He’s blessedly bare from the waist-up, resplendent in the sunlight while he surveys his domain awash with it.

It calls to mind the man who took Naomi out into the woods all those months and nights ago. What he looked like when she woke and found his back arched, chin tilted skyward. What she’d do, and what little she wouldn’t, to see Astarion slip into bliss every day as easily as slipping out of a coat.

It’s Naomi’s grace that finally rouses their disheveled company. A rolling melody, played on piano, pours from her fingertips and crests with the morning birdsong drifting in. Enrik groans against the grain of it.

At once, the music cuts to quiet. Naomi’s hands hover over the keys, knuckles twitching in faint longing. Then, she turns on the bench and turns her attention towards her restless audience.

“Good morning,” she says brightly.

Enrik squints up at her. His brown eyes leak with the light, even though he’s sheltered from it. They dart across the room, skimming like stones over water, before they sear into Naomi.

“You.”

“Who else were you expecting? You’re in my home.”

Rope binds Enrik’s hands and heels. He tugs at the ties, or tries to. He hasn’t yet figured out it’s all for not.

Naomi stands, her heels clicking staccato to the tile. As she goes, she paints a palm over the piano keys, stroking each octave from root to rise. Music flows freely again all on its own, even when her hand falls away.

She comes to loom over her captive, lips pursed. “I hear you said some very rude things to my husband.”

Enrik folds against the floor, panting for breath.

“You should be so grateful for our hospitality,” she says. “Should have been. That’s all behind us now, isn’t it?”

Feral noise rips from his throat. Like a dog, he lunges, snapping for her ankles. She side-steps into the light, not bothering to flee any farther than an inch. He freezes, ogling the shiny toe of her shoe now parallel to his nose.

“You don’t fear the sun?” he gasps, quivering.

“I need not fear anything.”

Naomi lifts her head, meeting a scarlet stare brimming in equal measures affection and amusement. Sunlights melts over the bare of Astarion’s chest, spurring her tongue to wet her lips. He leans against the glass, head angled back, eyes slitted in satisfaction. A slow smile unfurls on his face.

“You should be grateful, too,” Naomi says with a sneer, “to lay here and not just a little to the left.”

“W-What do you mean? What did you do to me?!” Enrik’s eyes bulge. He squirms in a sudden panic, to no avail.

Naomi tilts her neck to the side and taps at the scar Astarion’s teeth marked her with. Her fingers fan down on her own throat, savoring the shape of that succulent memory. Of the last bite he gave her in life. Of his lips swirling comfort into her skin before sucking her down to the last drop. Of the look on his face, the awe he had, when she next woke.

The faintest leak of breath, soft as down, passes from Astarion’s mouth.

“You--you--! You turned me!” Her hostage sputters. Naomi frowns darkly.

“Oh not me,” Naomi snaps, incredulous. “I’m only a weak little spawn puppet, according to you. According to you, the only good thing I can do is scream. How could I manage to turn you without choking on my own leash?”

She gags for good measure. He doesn’t get the joke. He hasn’t caught on to the other joke yet. Which means she’s safe as can be, even this close. So long as she stands on the other edge of Astarion’s shadow.

Astarion turns. His silhouette twists with his movement. Enrik shrieks like a swine.

“Oh, that wasn’t good at all. You can do better.” Naomi presses out a strained sigh, crouching down to fist a hand in his hair and yank his head upright.

Enrik bares his teeth as if they aren’t dull and flat. “Filthy bitch!”

The insult doesn’t so much as chip Naomi’s serene composure, but it puts a twang in her head, along the invisible string that links her and Astarion. His anger lashes in her mind like a restless tail.

“What a vile little ingrate,” Astarion snarls.

She lets her hostage’s head roll from her palm, cheek smacking the tile. Enrik writhes against his restraints. Naomi clicks her tongue in reproach. I’ve barely even touched you yet.

Green magic threads between her gloved fingers, glittering. She snaps them and says, “Scream.”

And he does. Loud enough to drown out the crescendo coursing from the grand piano. Inside of Enrik’s skull, the song isn’t nearly so sweet. His back jerks up and away from the floor, head bent back, eyes torn wide in terror.

His cries pitch with the slink of Astarion’s shadow stretching nearer. Sunlight clings close behind his heels. Naomi’s fingers flex and the spell recedes.

Her magic leaves Enrik sniveling, inching like a worm away from the slice of light between Astarion’s legs. Astarion huffs softly. With a wave of his hand, a ghostly one apparates behind him and snags the curtains closed.

Astarion’s scent sweeps with his sleeve -- the sweetness of brandy, mingled with the woodsy smell of rosemary. His knuckles gently brush the side of Naomi’s cheek. Instinctively, she leans towards the touch.

“Precious thing,” Astarion chides with a pout. “You’re being far too sweet to him. Here I thought you only had room in your heart for me.”

Naomi inclines her head, eyes narrowing by a hair. “My sire would see me be crueler?”

Astarion’s thumb grazes her lips. At once, she parts for him, teasing the pad of it with her tongue while he toys with the tip of a fang. He presses in, watching his skin bend to near-breaking, as if to test her sharpness. Before any blood’s drawn, he draws his hand down to cradle her chin. His voice is smooth as satin, though his stare is a hardened one.

“Your sire would see you spoken to with the respect you’re owed. And he needs you to kneel, dear one.”

The words are a weight to her shoulder, easing her down. But the heft is a comfort, not a compulsion. He could compel her, if he wanted to.

He hasn’t yet.

One day, she thinks, he will. And he’ll feel the weight of whatever chains he’d wrap her in through the bond that binds them tighter than the tadpole did. He won’t do it without good reason. Naomi doesn’t need a reason to kneel for her lover. That he wishes it is enough.

When her knees meet the ground, she feels the shape of Astarion’s smile pressed against their bond like it’s pressed, wet and wanting, against her mouth. She feels the dainty tug of his teeth coax her lips apart. Tastes the coppery tang of her own blood and the velvet undercurrent of his within her veins. The heat of him, still such a novel thing in his ascended body, bleeds from his skin to hers, fanning the newfound ache between her thighs.

In her mind, and his, his lips pour down her bare shoulders. His fingers fist in the fine fabric of her dress, ripping it to ruin. He leaves none of her untouched. To anyone else’s eye, they’re not even touching.

Naomi’s eyelids flutter. She downs a hard swallow. Good girl, he says, just for her.

To their captive audience, he spares no such kindness. Astarion raises his foot above Enrik’s ankles, letting it dangle for a moment. It drops like a hammer to an anvil. Enrik bucks with a fresh scream and a sickening crack.

“I’d never give a miserable little wretch like you the gift of immortality,” Astarion spits. “You wouldn’t know how to appreciate it.”

Confusion flits between the pain and panic in Enrik’s eyes.

“That’s right,” Astarion seethes. “You’re not a vampire. You aren’t worth my consort’s teeth. Or mine.”

Crunch. Another ankle shatters. Another shriek claws the air. Astarion strolls, leisurely, to Enrik's hands next. He grounds his heel into the pop of fingers breaking beneath his boots. Their hostage heaves a broken sob.

“Sh, sh, sh, oh, it’s all right,” Astarion croons. “I happen to have just the knife for you.”

Astarion crosses back to his coat piled near the window and draws a dagger from its folds. Rhapsody. Cazador’s blade. Naomi hasn’t seen it since they claimed the Crimson Palace for themselves.

Brightness glints off the twined edge, a match for the harsh and singular focus gleaming in Astarion’s gaze.

So that’s what Astarion was smiling about, as he basked by the window. What had him so peacefully quiet and content. Murder was on his mind, even then.

Not the only thing on my mind, little love. She feels the slant of his smirk in her head, as if it ghosted past the hinge of her jaw. There’s no trace of it on Astarion’s stony exterior.

He plucks the crystal wine glass from the sill while he’s there, rotating the stem as he saunters back over. Blood flecks the fine leather of Astarion’s shoes. He plants them on either side of Enrik’s torso. He seizes Enrik’s collar, yanking harshly until he’s kneeling, too.

“Fuck you,” Enrik spits. “Fuck you both! My master will--”

“Darling,” Astarion trills, grip unwavering, “Would you..?”

Magic swirls sticky across Naomi’s tongue. “Ad Lapidē.”

Violet runes blaze to life beneath their captive’s knees, capturing him in perfect stillness. His mouth hangs agape with unspent vitriol. Astarion’s hands recoil, twisting the dagger in one, and the glass in the other.

“Your master,” Astarion sneers with a dark laugh. “Too much of a coward to show his face, so he sends you. His sacrificial lamb, sent to speak to me about sharing my dearest treasure, like he isn’t the scum beneath her shoes. He had to know I wouldn’t hear of it. But he didn’t care enough about you to even taint your blood. That’s right. My lesser spawn sampled you just like they would any cattle. But my beautiful bride hasn’t had one bite, not yet. Not until I was sure you were sweet enough for her palate.”

Astarion strokes Rhapsody down the man’s outstretched neck. The barest streak of blood leaks from the scrape. Astarion’s eyes skate over the ash piles around the room, wistful.

“All it took was a sleeping potion,” he muses. “Just a few drops. Now all of the spawnlings sent by all of my lessers are dust. You’ll wish to join them, before this is done. And you will. When I decide we’re done.”

Naomi’s eyes fasten to the blood beading down Enrik’s pallid throat. Astarion digs in ever-so-gently with Rhapsody’s tip, just enough to start a stream running. He presses the cup beneath it. Slowly, the crystal fills red to the brim. Her mouth waters.

Astarion looks up abruptly, eyes wide and soft as his malice dissolves to fondness. “Darling, you do look famished. Open up for me, dear.”

Naomi’s chin lifts, lips parted. Astarion tilts the glass to meet her with the utmost care.

“I won’t have your grime and sweat on her lips,” Astarion hisses in Enrik’s ear. “Only your blood. You don’t deserve that…” He sucks a sharp breath in. Naomi watches with rapt attention as it stutters through his chest. “...pretty little mouth.”

Blood, rich and smooth as cream, slips across her tongue. Her eyes slip shut with it. With each swallow, syrupy warmth spreads slowly through her chest, down her legs, through arms, to her every inch. Too soon, it’s taken from her. Naomi’s eyes flutter open. She’s taken all of it, already.

“More, my love?” Astarion hums happily. “You only have to ask.”

“More,” she says at once, lips still wet.

Astarion carves. The insolent apprentice bleeds without a sound. Again and again, the cup fills. He tips it to her lips, and Naomi drinks until her eyelids grow heavy.

Her body thrums like it remembers the pulse that used to play through her veins. She’s warmer than a dead woman should be. Even the air itself feels like the kiss of steam tingling against her skin.

It’s then that Naomi feels Astarion’s lips in her head again, sucking little marks down her throat that match the rosy flush heating her cheeks. She pants out of habit, out of instinct, and not of need. Out of want for him to watch what he does to her. As if he doesn’t already know.

One twist of Astarion’s wrist turns the little leak of blood from Enrik’s throat into a fountain. Naomi’s spell dissipates in violet sparks. His body slumps over, lifeless. Blood runs from him in little rivers, rushing to fill the grout lines between the tiles.

Astarion cradles one last glassful in a delicate grip. His face clears of any clouded rage as he gives the glass an experimental swirl. Wordlessly, he tilts the cup to her mouth once more.

Naomi gasps. Wetness paints her chin. It streams down her neck, drips down her sternum and between her breasts, still bound in lace. Astarion drips with it, down to his knees in fluid motion. Somewhere behind him, the wine glass shatters. In her periphery, she sees the shards glitter like frost.

“Oops,” he says, low and shameless.

Barely any blood made it to Naomi’s mouth this time, but she doesn’t mind one bit. Astarion crawls to her, catlike. She’s only spared a moment to admire the lithe muscle flexing through his naked chest before he leans into the hollow of her throat. Silver curls brush soft beneath her chin. And then, she feels the tip of that devilish tongue take a tentative lick of the mess he’s made.

And gods, what a mess she must be. Blood smears from her neck to her navel, near-black on her blue-gray skin. Dark like Astarion’s eyes, with pupils blown wide and hungry. A flare of heat twists low in Naomi’s stomach. Her thighs shift, wet with it.

Thread rips in her ears. Rhapsody drags delicately down her side, scratching faint like a quill. The lace of her gown splits without resistance. There's none to be had against that mouth of his, just as busy as his nimble hands.

Astarion laps, dainty, down the path of her swallow. His coy smile curves with a petal-soft laugh against her collar bone. Naomi laughs, too, breathless as his tongue chases lazily after the spill. Breathless as the day he took the last breath she needed.

Ever since, Astarion’s given her everything she could want, without leaving her wanting for more than a moment. Now, her knees will never grow numb, no matter how long they bend against the marble. The chill of it can’t phase her, either. Even if it could, Astarion’s drawn the curtains wide. When she kneels for him, it’s only ever on sun-soaked stone.

Astarion treasures her. Cherishes her. Lavishes her with love and pleasure and wealth and power. Preserves her like prized silver, polished with such devotion so she’ll never know the tarnish of time. She’s his spawn. His wife.

But above all else, she’s his pride. The very thing that rules him. The only thing that still does.

Naomi wants to be in ruins with him. To be the last pillars of a broken world already so far beyond repair before they were dragged through it. Aeterna amantes. Until the fall of everything.

Until then, this, the low groan he gives her while her fingers stroke red through the plush white of his hair, the heady hum in her blood, the bloom of someone else’s waking color in her cheeks, the way Astarion looks at her like there’s nothing else at all, the way he tears into a dress he paid a fortune for, the hand he knots through her braids to wreck them -- this is everything.

Astarion tosses Rhapsody over his shoulder to join the broken wine glass, just like any other worthless trinket. His deft hands curl into the tears in her bodice and tug. At once, it gives way to his grip. She would, too, were it not so binding. Naomi grounds out a gasp. Her skirt pools at her knees, leaving her bare but for the warmth of Astarion’s roaming hands and the daylight pouring over them both.

“Do you know why I wanted you down here, pet?” He asks softly.

Astarion’s eyes latch to hers while his teeth toy at the curve of her breast. His tongue slicks over to soothe where his fangs grazed her, and then it melts against a pert nipple, taking it in with a lewd suck.

Naomi paws for a coherent thought, but all she finds is a pleading hum. He nips her again, just enough to see her tit tremble from the pull when he draws away. He leaves her nipple glistening and the underside of her breast peppered in pink before moving on to the other.

“To torture me, clearly,” Naomi pants. Her hands still tangle in his hair. Amusement glimmers in his gaze as he plants a chaste kiss to the inside of one of her wrists and sets them both back at her sides.

“Oh no, my sweet. I would never,” he says, chin resting flat against her navel. He looks up at her with wide, doey eyes, full of faux innocence.

He slinks lower, laying a line with his tongue that ends in a kiss just above where her skirts still shield her. He shifts them aside, ripping where he needs, until it’s only one little piece of black lace covering her cunt. Astarion growls against it, nosing at its edges, his back bowed, stomach brushing the floor. His teeth find the waistband and tear that, too.

Hot breath fans across the other mess he made. Naomi wavers on her knees. From that minute motion alone, she can hear how he’s soaked her.

But Astarion doesn’t disprove her theory; he leans back abruptly, straightening up to his knees again. An arm loops slack around her waist as he circles around to her bare back. Naomi’s lips twitch. If this is the game he wants, it’s too soon to beg. The thought inspires another needy flex through her cunt. His other hand slides to cup the heat of it, and Naomi whines. Reflexively, her back arches. Astarion pulls her still.

He catches the side of her jaw, angling her back into a biting kiss. It’s over before she wants it to be, his lips red and glistening with what he stole from her. Without him, her mouth burns from the cut.

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” he whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.”

For a brief moment, he draws away entirely, leaving her with nothing but a lonely chill. And then, his back comes flush to the floor beneath her. His body splays behind her. The heat of his mouth crests against the heat of her cunt, his face fitted between her thighs, his lips hovering so close, but not close enough. His breath alone snags the one halfway through her throat.

“Oh,” her realization comes out quivering.

The tip of his nose nudges, just barely, against her clit, spurring her hips to roll. But all she gets from that mouth is mischief and a quiet snicker. He shifts his cheek, laving a long stroke of his tongue to the tender crux of her inner thigh before sealing it over with a tight suck. When he bites down, he draws out her blood with a rough moan.

Astarion pulls back, his smirk glazed in her, his eyes aflame. “Oh, darling, I’ve barely even touched you yet. And you’re so very wet for me.”

“Touch me, then,” she hisses between her teeth, raking her hands through his perfect curls and fisting them there.

His eyes spear into hers, hard like the way he clenches her ass and pulls her hips down. Even as it sets her on fire, his mouth gives her mercy. Astarion’s tongue melts hot across her cunt, swiping slow and dexterous. Not for the first time, Naomi thinks she might like to die like this.

It’s not so different from how she died. It started on her knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Even then, Astarion already knew the shape of her body like he knew his own hands. Every curve, every intimate bend, how to make her speak in noise instead of words. The hidden language behind every whimper she makes, every shiver.

So he knows exactly what he’s doing while his tongue teases gentle circles around her clit. He knows, by the time his timid little laps blend into a needy suck, that she’s so, so sensitive. Astarion’s hungry groan seeps into her slickness. She feels him like a current and clenches again, just as hungry.

Every feeling he gives her gives him an echo back just as strong. Every thought in her head is in his head, too. He eats her cunt and feels fed by her pleasure curling in the tips of his toes. He didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of blood back.

But Astarion knew her body before she was his bride. Now, he knows her mind. A part of him lives there, as she does in his. As he drags his pale, elegant fingers between her folds, he drags her head through a dozen depravities. Filling her with nothing but thoughts of how he’ll fill her properly.

He could have her against the arched windows lining the east wall, body pressed so pretty to the glass so he can see the imprint of it even after she peels away. She could feel the heat brimming off the sun outside, washing over their empire. He could taste her sunbathed shoulder while he fucks her senseless. His little love, dipped in honey. So what if someone else sees. Later, he’ll see to them not seeing anything ever again.

He could take her here, on the ballroom floor. Pull her down just as she surfaces from the pleasure he’s paid her, and roll her beneath him to bury her in it all over again. Make love on the marble streaked with the blood of their enemies, where hundreds of dignitaries have danced and dined on countless evenings before. But none of them were ever blessed with such a fine feast as he. The stone would be hard and unyielding against her back, and he would be just the same, driving into her, relentless. At least it’s far prettier than the dirt they used to fuck in.

Or--

A new picture snaps from Naomi’s mind to his, with the dip of his tongue to her entrance, a staggering spike of pleasure, and an unbidden whimper.

The piano. Pearly white with jet black keys, so pristine, so gorgeous with blood spilt red down the sides. Naomi poured over the side, ivory hair tinged with crimson, cascading over her bare, bent back. Astarion’s fingers buried in her hips, planting the promise of bruises, his body bucking wildly into her as he finally--

Naomi’s moan hits the high pitch of the ceiling. She grinds, needy, against the pair of fingers he crooks inside of her. His thumb spreads her slickness back and presses to the pucker of her ass.

So eager for me to fill you up. His voice in her head is a caress. Her hips roll with the sound. His thumb dips inside her ass with the motion, and Naomi gasps as she eases into that delicious stretch.

But darling, I haven’t fed all night, Astarion pouts, mouth moving with agonizing slowness as his eyes flutter shut beneath long black lashes. Naomi’s eyelids grow heavy, too, as she’s lost to that lovely, slick click of his lips. A meal like you is meant to be savored.

He fucks her holes leisurely, with the air of someone who knows he’ll be back for more before long. It brings to mind those long, lithe fingers, folded between the pages of a book to mark his place. All it takes is an effortless flex of them to keep her coaxed open like this. Her body draws taut as he leans her over the precipice of her own pleasure.

If you need more, my dear, by all means. Take it.

He growls into their bond like he’s the one devoured. Like he can plead ignorance to how he’s taking her apart with his hands, his mouth. Naomi catches a whine between her teeth. Astarion’s free hand cups her ass, urging her into the thrust her body bends towards. She parts a hand from his hair to brace flat to the floor beside his face, the other knotting anew in his silver curls.

Desperately, she rides against the flat of his tongue, against that long, refined nose, fucking herself back into the curve of his fingers. Every pull of them pulls her under, deeper into her own ecstasy. Her body grips him back like she means to drown him, too. The tip of his tongue flicks her clit in relentless rhythm, starting off a shudder she can’t stop.

“Don’t stop,” she begs within and without, the jerk of her hips growing frantic.

His mouth is mercy. When she comes for him, she’s wreathed in heat, slick with sweat, every nerve in her body alight with the most blissful burn. A strangled cry breaks in her chest. It buries the song now trembling from the piano. Naomi shivers out a sigh, and the keys shiver with her.

Astarion wraps his arms tight to her thighs, anchoring her through the aftershocks. When she stills again, her body throbs with a heady rush of blood, pleasure, want. Every part of her is limp with it, save the pulsing, rigid press in her mind and in his trousers. She’s putty in his hands even as his fingers leave her. Naomi twitches back towards the touch he takes away, body aching with his absence.

Naomi’s knuckles unfurl, stroking soft through the tangles she wrought. What a sight he is, his hair in utter disarray, his mouth a mess of blood and lust and her. An ease settles into his graceful features, not so different from that quiet contentment he wore while leaning into the light by the window. His eyes simmer with it, lips drawn in a soft smile.

Without warning, his grip tightens. Naomi stifles a huff of surprise as she’s taken down, marble kissing smooth to her spine. A pale hand cradles her head, cushioning her fall. In a blink, he’s hovering over her bare body and dipping down to catch her in a fever of a kiss. It’s a needy, sweltering latch of lips, tangy with her own sweetness as much as his.

“Here?” She purrs to the seal of his mouth.

She lets him feel the way the word alone makes her body tense. Waiting. Wanting. Their bond curls with it, crooked and beckoning in his head. The way his fingers bent a few moments before, buried in the heat of her.

A long breath passes out through his nose, his eyes sliding half shut. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. But his cheek turns by just the barest hair, and Naomi’s attention follows after his.

Music flutters, breathy, off the black and white keys. The piano stays a pretty picture of perfection, among the deaths little and large they’ve littered throughout the ballroom.

His teeth trace the angled edge of her ear. Naomi keens with the sting of it as she’s swept from the floor.

“There.”

She’s caught in his kiss again as he carries her. One swipe of his tongue to where he bit her lip before has her quivering. Has her a world away from the one still around them. Vaguely, she’s aware he’s somehow rid her of her gloves and shoes. She hears a dull, wooden clatter, and then a resounding thud. The piano plays on, but it's muted.

Astarion doesn’t bend her over the way she mused. Instead, he seats her on the polished wood of the piano’s closed lid. His hands leave her back to push her knees apart, scoop beneath them, and pull her spread legs to the strain trapped in his trousers.

Naomi grins, her fangs snagging his lower lip as he tries to part from her. Astarion’s answering groan is rough like a scrape of sandpaper. It leaves her mouth raw, tingling, alive with a pulse that plays to the tune of his pleasure. She wants more of that noise. More of the happy purr it pours into her head from his. One drink of that sloppy, slap happy look on his face sates her more than blood ever could.

You’ve given me everything, he told her, once. But now, all she can think is more. Take more. Take everything.

Astarion grinds his hard length against her in answer. The sweet friction makes sweeter music in their mouths as Naomi moans with the motion, too. Still, there’s far too much fabric for her liking.

Astarion’s fingers make fast work of it. He unlaces his pants only enough to free his cock, parts from her only enough to push her back and clamber up after her. Then, he’s on her again like a second skin. Her cunt throbs with the press of his cock, the tip of it wet and seeping against her thigh. She tries to fit a hand between them, to wrap her palm around his girth and feel with her hands, not just her head, how badly he has to have her. Astarion doesn’t leave her space for it.

It’s not his hands that put her flat on her back, against the body of the piano. It’s the sudden swell of his adoration ballooning from his brain to hers. The weight of his affection pins her there beneath him, utterly paralyzed, as the music flows on under both of them. He’s brimming with it, and it washes over her in a wave, a cup overflowing.

His curls hang down in his eyes, wild with the look of a man starved. “You’re going to scream for me, little love,” he says with the slightest slur. The thought smears from him to her, burning in the back of her mind like a pull of liquor. He brushes her snarled hair back until it tumbles over the piano’s edge, white over white. “I’m going to make you. And I want to see that beautiful face when I do.”

“Please,” she starts to say.

But barely any of it makes it past her lips. Astarion never leaves her wanting for more than a moment.

“O-Oh,” she stammers instead, as her soaked cunt splays to his cock sliding home. Astarion pushes out a moan as he pushes into her. He hooks her legs with his arms, folding them up and back.

“That’s my girl,” he pants, forehead heavy against her own. His thumb circles her cheek, a feather-light counterweight to the thickness he seats inside her. He watches her intently, fixated. Hypnotized. “My good, good girl.”

Kisses and praise tumble from between his teeth, down her cheek, to her throat. Naomi’s head rolls back while she relishes the wet, smacking mantra that’s the mess of them. He’s not tender with his tempo. He doesn’t have to be. You could ruin me. I’d let you ruin me, she thinks again.

And how beautiful he is, in ruins with her. No more composure. No more restraint. Sweat streaks his brow as it bends beneath his focus. All there is is the blend of them, the slow rock of the piano underneath them, and the scattered, stranded pieces of a melody left in their wake.

It could break. The thought cracks through her, through them, with the wooden whine of the piano legs taking the shift of their weight. Astarion crushes her worry beneath the thrust of his hips, any notion of it lost to the head of his cock pressing just where it needs to make her see stars.

Naomi bites down on her own lip, grounding herself in fleeting pain and the tang of blood. He’s not even touching her clit; he doesn’t have to. He floods her with how it felt when he did, when his tongue rolled against the swell of it, just the tip of it teasing that sensitive little bud. How she felt to him, so silky and slick in his mouth. How amazing it feels to finally fuck her, to take what’s his and have her take him so, so tightly.

He could ruin her. Snap her like the creaking legs of this instrument, not long for this world. It would be almost as effortless as the way she spreads for him. But instead, Astarion fills her. Every shift prods the crown of his cock against the sweetest spot inside her cunt.

Naomi’s fingers claw into Astarion’s back as he bucks wildly. Tears sear in her eyes. The tell-tale pressure in her pelvis builds near-blinding.

“Scream for me, darling,” he growls against her neck, out loud this time.

Her cunt throbs with his command. But she doesn’t heed it. Astarion lets out a low, steaming hiss.

“I said scream, dear,” Astarion says, his velvet voice edged in warning. The sparks of his indignation spit flinty in her head alongside a flicker of excitement at her defiance.

He wants to feel the rush of her own power with the spasm of her cunt as she comes undone. He wants her magic to spill into him as he spills his seed inside of her. Wants to taste it with the rest of her. If Naomi was nothing to him, she’d still be the siren; it’s not a power Astarion gifted to her. It was hers without him. It is her. And she’s his.

“I might break the glass,” she whispers, wary of anything louder.

“Oh, my love,” Astarion says tenderly, a husk in his throat as his hand wraps loose around her neck. “You can break everything.”

Astarion kills her hesitation. She’s never felt more whole. She feels holy, feeling her own perfect squeeze around his cock, feeling herself fucked in his body and her own. Feeling what she does to the man who already has everything, but will never have enough of her.

When Naomi screams Astarion's name, it’s everything else in the room that shatters.

Glass crashes from the windows. They burst one after another in quick-fire succession. Astarion buckles against her body with the sudden, decisive snap beneath them. His hips jerk, rutting erratically. Warmth spurts into her with every shudder down his spine, every pulse of his cock.

He cuts her cry with his teeth buried in the crook of her neck. Naomi clings to him as her cunt convulses. It’s the bite that takes her apart, knowing he tastes his own name in her throat and thinks--

Mine, mine, mine.

Naomi’s head drops limp. Astarion’s grip on her neck gives way to soft circles stroked against her cheek again. Mine, she thinks, as his ruby eyes watch her keenly, awash in the soft glow only she knows.

Even after Astarion stills, the room spins dizzy from her upside-down view. She blinks it all back into place, but some pieces won’t fit together again so easily. They’re far closer to the floor than when he slipped inside of her. The piano legs splay at odd, splintered angles. The floor glitters with glass like crystalline teeth, ready to bite the heels of any who dare tread their hall.

Astarion slides out, and she shivers with the fade of his warmth. He sits up, his gaze sweeping the shattered windows, his smirk smug and wet with her. “Perhaps all of the Gate heard you. The gardener did for certain.”

Naomi sits up, too, leaning forward and letting his shoulder take her weight. Her forehead comes to rest against his collarbone. She finds an easy smile while relishing the way his heart still hammers his chest. She did that, in multiple senses. Absently, he tucks the hair sticking to her cheeks back behind her ears.

“I guess I’ll have to kill her,” he adds, chipper. “I suppose, for now, we can spare all the others.”

“She’s already dead enough, dear,” Naomi sighs.

A tiny, discordant note of sadness plucks in her chest, among the pleasant haze settling over her. Astarion stiffens against it, as if she reached out and pinched him. She doubts he’d be so eager to slay one of his spawn for the same crime of hearing her come for him.

The gardener is hers, of a sort. Not a vampire -- Naomi can’t make those. Before Naomi sang her awake again, the gardener was just a sad stack of bones collecting dust in a closet. Now, she rattles along to Naomi’s tune, keeping the flowers trimmed to her liking.

“I suppose you’re right,” Astarion murmurs. His expression softens with fondness, the sort that’s rare to surface unless they’re alone, but never fails to make her chest light and fluttery. “Are you tired now, pet?”

“We stayed up all night,” Naomi laughs faintly.

“Hm,” he nods with a pitying frown. “Let me see to you, my treasure. Don’t you move.” His lips curve, coy, as his eyes flicker back to the wrecked windows. “I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”

He saunters back to where his coat lays, now tattered. He returns to settle it around her shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.

“You’re such a staunch defender of my honor,” Naomi says dryly, even as the leftovers of their lovemaking start to seep down her thigh.

“Ha,” Astarion shakes with a rolling laugh. “I rather think I’m the thief of it. You were quite the heist. It wouldn’t do to have some debaucherous upstart happen by and think they can make off with what’s mine.”

“I wouldn’t let them live through it.”

“Aw,” he clicks his tongue, “you’re such a romantic.”

Astarion leaves her with her legs strewn over the broken piano, relacing his trousers as he goes. Glass crunches beneath his heels. He stops to ring the bell near the door. A few seconds later, it creaks open a hair. She catches his curt commands to the servant she can’t see on the other side.

“...yes, here, in the ballroom. My consort and I wish to take in the view, and see none of you.”

His lesser spawn are quick to make good on their orders. The door swings open once more a short time later, and in floats a claw-foot tub without another soul to be seen. Magic clings, cloudy, beneath the porcelain belly of it. A pleasant, floral scent curls with the steam from the water within. The tub drifts to the heart of the ballroom and settles with a soft thud before the yawning window panes.

Astarion returns to her as her toes touch the ground again. He frowns tightly, eyes narrowing.

“There’s debris scattered everywhere, my sweet,” he says, saccharine even in reproach. “I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”

Naomi sniffs a laugh, picking her path carefully. “If I can’t handle a little sharpness here and there, it’s a wonder how I’ve managed to handle you.”

“Oh, it’s simple,” Astarion says, catching her wrist with an effortless flourish. “We were made for each other. By each other, really.”

And Astarion’s made up his stubborn mind that she’s not to take another step, it seems. With a soft huff, he sweeps her off her feet all over again, strides to the tub with her legs dangling over his arm, and delicately deposits her there.

Water laps at the tub’s edges, splashing as she situates herself. She shrugs from Astarion’s coat, shucking it away to join all the other debris they don’t have use for. Heat tingles across her skin, like little, loving nips of Astarion’s teeth. Naomi eases back into the burn of it as the sting settles sweetly.

Astarion rids himself of his shoes and trousers. He dips a foot into the tub, bidding her to make way for him with a gentle nudge. The water ripples as he settles in behind her. With a satisfied sigh, she sinks back against his chest and deeper into the furling warmth.

The ballroom overlooks the well-kept gardens behind the estate. The hedges are high enough, only a spyglass might have hope of spotting them both bare. Under Cazador’s reign, the garden was little more than a sprawl of weeds and webbed ivy. Now, fountains babble between the blooms of pink and blue and violet. If she strains, she can catch the weave of music in the trickling flow, like tinkling wind chimes.

A soft breeze tickles her ears, sending gritty glass and ash scattering over their floor. Astarion clenches a soft sponge in his grip, wrings it out, and starts to scrub her skin in slow, deliberate strokes. Naomi’s head tilts back beneath his tender care, every rub taking the tension from shoulders.

She turns after a time, and he starts to wash blood from her front, while she wets her hands and works the redness from the white of his hair. Her fingers linger along the slants of his ears, rubbing delicately, until she catches that satisfied hum in his throat that leaves her lifted, floating on the buoy of his happiness.

The water never cools or clouds; magic still swirls in the steam, even long after they’re free of blood and grime. Astarion rakes hand through her hair, his fingernails digging pleasantly against her scalp.

“You are divine as ever,” he rumbles. “Rest now, pet.”

And she does, slipping soundly into a trance, soaked in sunlight and lavender oil with her lover wrapped around her. Only Astarion sends her to the sort of rest that reaches her soul. His presence is sanctuary.

It’s his disquiet that wakes her suddenly. He still strokes her hair just as gently, but he levels a hard-cut stare out over the garden, his lips set with the same stoniness.

“No one will ever take you from me,” he murmurs, as if to himself.

“As if they ever could,” Naomi whispers back, reaching up to graze the edge of his jaw.

Heavens help the fool who tries. Any who dare to hatch such plots, to harbor such ill will in their Crimson Palace, will find themselves laid to rest with all the others. Their enemies’ gravestones are just bricks in their empire, every one of them laid with blood in the mortar.

Astarion dips his head down, the hint of a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose it might be fun to see them try. In the meantime, my love, I’m of a mind to keep you spread for me for the next tenday.”

Naomi laughs. The sound echoes around the otherwise vacant room.

Astarion’s grin only grows, the tips of his fangs sharpening his smile. “Did I say something funny, dear?”

His lips crush down against hers in a kiss consuming.

[kuronanox]

Serving royalty - Byakuya Kuchiki

(Your Name) had always been a servant, service girl and peasant all her life, her family was born from nothing and was doomed to serve the royals houses. That's all she knew, her dreams to become a shinigami were squashed, merely because she was weak and sheltered from the protection of the royals she served. She didn't hate her life, she just wish there was excitement in it.

"I wanna leave this place someday." (Your Name) tells another servant as they tended to the garden outside the Kuchiki manor. Fall had entered so the flowers were scattered all over the floor. With a broom she swept it into the grass.

"You don't like it here?"

"No, it's just... there's more to life than this. Who knows maybe if I make enough money I can leave and just go somewhere quiet and peaceful."

There was a silence between two of them as the other servant just simply said she loved being here because everything was provided for them.

(Your Name) kept her thoughts to herself, of course the other servants didn't think like her, she was a bit adventurous, the other girls didn't want to leave.

"Well it's just a dream. It's not like Kuchiki sama would let me." (Your Name) half hearty laughs walking away for her own space.

Kuchiki Byakuya, all the girls fawned over him. She thought he was good looking, apparently he was a widow. Although she never met the lady Hisana rumors said she was beautiful but always sick.

Byakuya always seemed cold to her, he would acknowledge their work with a few words but that was it.

"You have to serve dinner tonight!" One of the girls yelled to (Your Name) as they giggled and ran away.

She rolled her eyes, they hated this job mostly because it was rather awkward when dinner came.

Byakuya sister and him would sit and eat while being served. She liked Rukia, she was nice and humbled.

"Fine, but you guys have to prepare the food tonight!"

"Deal!" The other girls agreed.

Her mother always told her to wear appropriate clothes when serving the royal family, (Your Name) owned a few nice kimono but not nearly as fancy. Taking a deep breathe she took the trays of food from the other girls and softly called out from the other side of the door.

"Come." Byakuya says in a tired voice, the room was so silent (Your Name) seriously couldn't understand how Rukia could eat dinner like that most nights.

She gently opened the door and made sure to look anywhere but their eyes. With a tall posture and soft footsteps she placed Byakuya first and then went over to Rukias.

"No need to be so polite with me." Rukia smiles to (Your Name) as she silently blushes and shakes her head.

"I'm sorry Kuchiki San but that would be rude of me and against the rules." Rukia could only give her a friendly smile after and excused her.

"Kuchiki sama, I will be over to the next room if anything is needed." (Your Name) gesture to Byakuya as he nodded his head in approval.

Their dinner went smoothly and she only had to return twice to bring hot water for their tea, as far as she can tell the only conversation were held was that of the gotei 13 and about Rukia leaving to the human world for her friend Ichigo.

Byakuya was an observant man, he noticed that (Your Name) was the only servant to serve them of recent as the other girls would leave the job to her alone. She was quiet but he felt like there was a facade she let on, her hair flowing from her face as she bowed to them or when she slightly bent over to refill the tea pot.

He knew she had been living here for a few years and that her family had long passed away. Either way he acknowledged her hard work when all the other servants didn't want to do it or they were rather lazy. Byakuya saw the pattern of kimono that she wore, she had a selection of three and would alternate them when serving the family.

It made him realize the difference of their social status, when he could afford hundreds, she only owned three nice ones.

"You may be dismissed for the night." He tells (Your Name) as she came in for the last time to refill their tea.

(Your Name) seemed confused because they hadn't finished dinner and the room wasn't cleared. As she was about to open her mouth to protest that her job wasn't finished he silence her "You may retire for the rest of the night."

She took a look around not knowing how to go with the situation and she saw Rukia give her a smile "don't worry, we've notice your hard work, please take the rest of the night off."

A blush came to her face as she bowed deeply to Byakuya and to Rukia before leaving.

"Ehhh! You finished dinner already?" Some of the girls asked as she joined them in the common dining room.

"Yes Kuchiki sama insist I take the rest of the night off."

"What?! He's never told us that!" Some of them exclaimed a bit surprised as (Your Name) shrugged with a smug smile. "Haha, my hardwork has paid off!"

The rest of the night became peaceful as she sat outside to look at the sky, she could recall only being in Byakuya private corders a few times. He was sick, apparently really sick and had came down with a terrible fever. The medicine that was given to him was not working. Some of his advisors had spoke to Byakuya about a lady who use to work at the manor and how her medicine worked magic but she long passed leaving a daughter behind and that's how (Your Name) was brought to his corders

"You are requested to treat Kuchiki Sama fever." One of the advisor told her one night as she was already fast asleep but a concern grew on her as she quickly changed and followed to his room.

Byakuya was laying on the futon covered in sweat, his mouth slightly open and brows furrowed in pain.

"I need these herbs quickly." She told them as they went off to fetch the other servants to get them for her.

"Kuchiki sama is burning really bad, can we prepare him an ice bath?"

There was movement made from the captain as he covered his face from the light of the candle and he groaned "no ice bath." He weakly demanded as (Your Name) politely but sternly said that it would help a good amount until the herbs came in.

"Kuchiki sama, leaving lots of cold towels on your body would be ridiculous. Please listen to me."

Byakuya advisors made the choice for him as he grumbled out in pain not fully understanding the situation.

While that was happening she made the effort of crushing the herbs and brewing it into a tea.

"This will help Kuchiki sama."

After she placed him down gently and dried his body covered in water. And (Your Name) clearly tried not looking at the towel covering his special parts.

"drink this, it will make you feel better."

During that night she was told to stay there and tend to him all night. She wanted sleep, but was afraid of getting in trouble if she refused to stay.

Byakuya felt like he was floating but after falling asleep he awoke the next morning feeling tremendously better. The towel on his forehead fell onto his lap as he looked around the room.

(Your Name) was curled a few feet away from him in a ball next to the water bowel and herbal tea.

A sense of guilt came over him as he saw she was painting a picture of something but the lines gradually became messy as if she was trying to fight sleep.

That was when he first noticed her.

"I thought I ordered you to rest." His chilling voice says from behind her as she quickly sat up to face Byakuya who had no emotion on his face. At least she couldn't read his thoughts.

She couldn't read if he was angry at her but she bowed her head down and apologized.

"I'm sorry Kuchiki sama, the outside air isn't as suffocating. It's nice for some fresh air once in a while." (Your Name) explains giving them a bit of space between them as Byakuya says nothing and motions for her to sit back down next to him.

She hesitated before looking at him in the face and then away, he was waiting for her to make a move. Clearing her throat she sat down next to him and relaxed a bit.

Many questions were going through her head as Byakuya was silent watching the cherry blossoms fall.

"You've been working really hard, thank you." He tells her after a while as she looks down in embarrassment. (Your Name) didn't think he ever noticed her.

"Thank you, I try my best."

"Although, your painting needs some work." Byakuya slightly teased at her with a half smirk as she gasped and tried hard not to look at him in the face. She wanted to look so bad but didn't want to come off rude.

"It's okay to acknowledge me." Byakuya then tells her as she looked back to him as he stared down to (Your Name). He was right, the moonlight shining down made her look even more pretty.

"I feel like this is the most I've ever heard you speak before." She laughs a little hiding her mouth as his eyes widen from shock. "I'm no artist, I merely was trying to past time when you were ill."

He smirks again, Byakuya knew she wasn't at all reserved.

"Allow me to teach you." He then offered as a way to get to know her better without actually selling himself out. There was a silence for a while before she spoke.

"I would love to, but I don't think it would be appropriate." Her words struck with a bit of sadness as the Captain looks at her, she seemed deep in thought.

"As your provider you must." He orders her as she smiles a little and nods in agreement.

A few months had passed "Wow I'm getting so much better look Kuchiki sama!" (Your Name) excitingly says rushing to Byakuya with her painting. There was a big smile plastered on her face as he looks up from his spot.

It was a tiger stalking it's prey and he couldn't help but think about something different with that reference.

"What's wrong? Does it look bad?" She asks with confusion not understanding how close she was next to him. There was a certain innocence in her that Byakuya found pure and wanted to protect.

"It's nice. Just let me help you define some of the lines." He offered as he took her hand in his and swiftly corrected the messy lines.

She was blushing finding it hard to breathe, if all the other servants saw they probably would have fainted. (Your Name) could feel the heat on her back and his warmth that made her feel comfortable.

There was silence as she observed the strokes he was making.

"Better?" Byakuya asks her as she nodded and hid her face from him.

"What did you draw Kuchiki sama?" She then asks trying to calm herself as he shows his painting of a traditional lady holding a flower on her finger tip.

"It's very beautiful." (Your Name) says staring at the painting immerse by the detail of it.

"Very." Byakuya agrees staring at her face before sitting back up.

Although most of the time it was silent when they painted, she eventually started to talk more and act more casual, even Byakuya was surprised how much she was willing to share with him. He was thankful, he didn't want her to be closed off such as he was.

A part of him wanted to move forward and settle down again but he didn't know what (Your Name) was feeling.

"It's getting late, I don't want the girls to talk." She then says cleaning up the ink and papers.

"I see, allow me to walk you back."

"It's okay Kuchiki sama, I'm sure you need your rest. I have to be up early to start deep cleaning the mansion. The family is coming for a special dinner so I have to prepare."

Byakuya knits his brows, he knew that making her stay longer would cause a rumor to go around but he didn't care, he wanted to spend more time with her. Although he didn't want to reveal how he felt about her just yet.

"Alright, I assume you will be serving dinner?"

"Yes!" She says with a tired smile as he followed to her direction.

"Very well, you've been working hard. Allow me to gift this to you." Byakuya walks into one of the closets where the box was wrapped very nicely as he picked it up gently and places it in her hands. "Take care of it, it's one of kind made for you."

She was flushed and bowed deeply but before she could Byakuya stopped her and touched her hair, acknowledging how soft it was.

"Good night (Your Name)." He says before taking his leave.

(Your Name) rushed back to her room to see what was in the box, her excitement got the best of her as she had to calm herself and stop smiling so much.

She softly unwrap the ribbon and opened the box to see the Kimono stitched and made perfectly. The fabric felt delicate and soft but heavy and enduring.

A bit embarrassed of her only three selection, this was crafted by an expert. Holding the kimono up she smelled it and wrapped it around her.

Byakuya could only hope she liked the gift, as he headed to bed before tomorrows family dinner.

The day started early before the sun rise, (Your Name) and the other servants were busy cleaning and preparing food for tonight. The atmosphere was chaotic at the most but it was rather fun for her. She couldn't wait to show Byakuya how it looked but that would have to wait.

"You've been smiling a lot (Your Name)." One of the servants says with a smirk as she was lost in thought and apologize before going back to wrapping the dumplings. "Still thinking about leaving?"

"Leaving. Right I wanted to but now..."

"The days have been treating me well." She says back not wanting to share that she was spending private time with their "master" most days.

"Oh I see. Be careful."

(Your Name) seemed confused by that statement but before she could say anything she was called to finish the rest of the room decoration.

The day pasted by fast as she got ready in her own room. She wanted to know what the other girl meant by being careful, (Your Name) couldn't tell if it was a warning or the girl was genuinely looking out for her.

It is a big mansion and there are eyes everywhere, she was sure some of the servants knew but didn't say anything.

Dinner was starting and it was rowdy in the room luckily for (Your Name) she had a few other girls help serve dinner.

When the door open, it was filled with the royal family and people of higher status she couldn't help but feel let down. They were usually polite but sometimes they had some rude ones.

Byakuya took a moment to acknowledge her presence in the room as she gave a small smile and looked back down. Of course it did not go unnoticed by Rukia and the servants.

(Your Name) knew the other girls wanted to be near Byakuya so she stayed back and went immediately to put down Rukias tray.

"You look beautiful." She tells Rukia as the shorter shinigami blushes and thanks her.

It did not go unnoticed by Byakuya of the space (Your Name) was making through the night but he knew the words that were going around. The servants gossip to much. He knew she didn't want to create anymore rumors.

"Kuchiki Taicho have you thought about remarrying? I have a daughter still in her prime that is a suited match and can bring great aspects if we join family's." One of the royals says as Byakuya sips on his tea.

(Your Name) heard the conversation a few feet away as she gather the rest of the tray to put down. She was waiting for Byakuyas answer, she didn't know why she was acting this way. She never liked him before but spending some time and seeing his subtle acts of kindness changed her mind about Byakuya completely.

"I have, but that is a conversation I will not get into. I wish to find my own wife." Byakuya states clearly as Rukia ears perked up also from her brother. She didn't know he was thinking about remarrying. She couldn't help but feel a bit sad but also happy, he was finally finding happiness. Of course Rukia knew she would always be his little sister no matter what.

(Your Name) sighed in relief, but at the same time sad. Once he married she won't be able to paint along side him no more, it would definitely be inappropriate.

Some of the servants gave her a look which confused (Your Name) as they left the room quietly.

"Why are you all staring at me?" (Your Name) asks a bit fed up with the looks she had been getting all day.

"We saw you leave Kuchiki Sama private corders last night. Tell us! Is he good in bed?!" They exclaimed as (Your Name) almost choked on her spit.

"What?! You guys have the wrong idea! Kuchiki sama just offered to help me with my painting skills, there's nothing going on. I'm just glad you guys aren't mad at me." She says in relief as they giggle at her.

"No, we all know but didn't know how to ask!"

(Your Name) groaned and walked away from the nagging girls about their time together.

"Nii sama, it was a good dinner." Rukia says to her brother as he nodded his head walking slightly ahead of her. "Will you retire tonight?" She continue to asks as he answers back. "In a few hours, I wish to have more tea." He tells her as Rukia smiles and takes her leave back to the 13th division.

(Your Name) was busy cleaning the rest of the room as she sighed, the day drained her. She was glad no one hated her though especially the other servants, they were all basically sisters. A sense of sadness came over her as it fell silent in the room leaving her deep in thoughts.

She accepted she would never be anything more than a servant for the rest of her life. It was the cruel reality having to be born from nothing. Although she loved her parents deeply she didn't regret anything from her childhood to womanhood.

There was a letter on her bed as she got ready for bed. Byakuya was waiting for her.

It was late when he felt her presence outside his room. She was nervous, they always met up outside or in his study room.

"Kuchiki sama." She softly calls out as he opens the door to let her in.

Her night outfit was rather thin as he gave her his cloak. "It's cold." He tells her as she thanked him and took a seat next to him.

"Shall I pour the tea?"

Byakuya nodded as she covered her chest with one hand to not expose the loose covering.

"I wanted to speak to you about something."

Her ears perked up as she let him continue.

"You want to leave the manor?" Byakuya asks as she swallowed the hot tea and stay silent for a while, she didn't know how to answer him.

"For a while I did, I wasn't very happy but things change. I don't really know, I know there is more to life than this. I also want to explore and start a family one day.....Are you upset about that?"

Byakuya turns to her and reaches out to her cheek to hold it. The candle light shown in her face and her tired lids made her look dreamy as she fell into his touch. Usually she would shy away but maybe it's the lack of sleep that was making her act so bold or because she knew deep down he was into her.

His thump touches her lip as she opened her eyes, he was staring at her for approval as she nodded her head and moved closer into him as he kissed her lips.

It was light as he paused to look at her once more and caved back to her lips for more. There was a buried passion that he thought was long lost coming back as his hand ran through her hair and her arms were around his neck.

She was intoxicating as his tongue met hers with the same power for dominance.

There was heavy panting when they pulled apart, she didn't expect him to kiss her.

"Would that be enough to convince you to stay, stay by my side." He confessed as (Your Name) touched her lips, he was addicting, his voice, his face, his touch.

"Maybe." She smirks as he slightly smiled back to her. "But I am not royal."

Byakuya had his share of thoughts and hardship already in his last marriage to not care anymore.

"Does not matter to me." He tells her gently taking her hand with his holding it up to kiss it.

She was worried but his words alone is enough for her.

"Kuchiki sama-"

"Byakuya sama is fine." He insisted as she held onto his hand tighter.

"Byakuya sama, not trying to ruin the mood but I am quite tired." She laughs as he kissed her hand once more and helped her up. He guided her down to his bed as she seemed completely shocked.

"Stay with me tonight." He asks as she accepted his invitation.

They shared the bed as she comfortably fell into the covers of smelling his scent. She could stay here forever now.

"Good night Byakuya sama." She says as he wrapped his strong arms around her drifting to sleep as well.

Within the following months (Your Name) and Byakuya relationship had bloomed. "Rukia sama, are you going to the festival?" (Your Name) asks as they were sitting outside enjoying the sun.

"Yes! I will see you there?"

"I was suppose to go with your brother but he said he might be busy..." she says a little sadly as Rukia looked concern for her.

"Want to come with me?"

Her eyes widen as she smiled and agreed.

The night came as she wore the kimono Byakuya had gifted her, to bad he wouldn't be able to see her in it. She frowned but stopped, going with Rukia would be enough.

"You look amazing! Did my brother get this for you?" Rukia asks as she met her outside the manor.

"Yes! To bad he can't see me wear it but there is always next time!" (Your Name) says with excitement as they walked side by side talking about all the good food they were going to eat there.

From the entrance of the festival Byakuya could see his dearly beloved with his sister as they chatted and giggled with each other. It soften his heart as a smile placed on him.

From a distance (Your Name) saw a familiar figure standing, as she looked up and her smile grew even more as she ran towards Byakuya.

"Byakuya sama, I'm glad you came." She hugged him as his eyes widen, she was beautiful in the kimono and everyday since the first day they met.

"Of course my love." He says as he pushed some hair away from her face.

"Let's go!" She happily says extending her hand out to Rukia and then Byakuya who followed.

She was glad, she was starting to create a family filled with love and joy.

[jenni2bameerah]

Some people confuse my extreme submission and want for downward mobility as a sign of self-loathing. It is anything but.

I can go to such places as I have a submissive soul that wants to show extreme devotion by incredible transformation and deep service to others.

To be reduced to a domestic servant and bringing my loved ones higher status, power, entitlement, joy, and freedom to explore their deepest desires is a humble and profound place to be. It IS my happy place.

I consent to it and want my betters to have a life of luxury. And to give them that I will be willing to do almost anything. But to be a maid is perhaps my most favorite role ever. There is beauty in such hard work and devotion.

I hope my journey sparkles yours whether you are the submissive or the dominant. Where does this doodle take you? Let me know what you think and what places in you it touches.

[arcanetwister]

English is not my native language and I spend two hours to understand that letter from captain K. P. Hob to Wrackingspelt. Brennan went monologuing for two minutes using phrases and words I didn't know and in fact after translating a bunch of it I spend extra time to google the meanings for words I didn't understand even in my native language. What a ride. Thank you mister Mulligan for tricking me into studying.

Also here is the captain's letter to Wrackingspelt for everyone who is interested:

My dearest Wrackingspelt, in the execution of one's duties in service to king and court, it becomes necessary at times to place in the confidence of ones most trusted and privileged compatriots, the secret misgivings of tender sentiment to which even the steadiest hearts may be compelled in the face of rank uncertainty and tribulation, defiant of all preparations in the narrow precognition of their host, to wit, the burden of execrable misery, far from waning with the passing hours, counters all adages  and aphorisms, whose musings are rendered mendacious on the passage of time and its remediation of want or injury. It instead waxes with all the venom and ferocity of an asp, such that your humble servant must fail in knowing rest or peace or hope. It is a dull and dreary ache. The most dispassionate tempest whose ruinous wake strands where it cannot destroy.

This pompous speech with complex turns of phrase broke my brain. And what’s even funnier is that in fact this letter was ultimately understood by a HORSE.

[theworldbrewery]

1d8 Places to Rest in the City

The upstairs of the Coronet, a seedy and rundown public house in the industrial district. The pub is under new management, and has been undergoing extensive renovations in the hope of cleaning up its image. Despite the owner’s best efforts, pickpockets and thugs loiter outside. And most nights, a smuggler by the name of Smiley Sam can be found in the barroom, ready to trade in secrets, coin, or illicit goods.

The roof of the Third Regional Bank, an imposing edifice with an atrial dome and a cluster of gold statues above its grand doors. From this height, you can see the sprawl of the whole city, its flickering lights and flares of magic. The night watchman might need paying off, and it’s none too comfortable in rain or snow. But the gargoyles have formed a sketch comedy group, so there’s built-in entertainment.

The Magnolia Pink, a fabulous hotel with genuine silver floors. The suites are worth the expense, from the liveried servants who attend the guests’ every need to the plush, indulgent beds and decadent room service options. But rumor has it that for every night you pass in the Magnolia Pink’s embrace, the less likely you are to come out again — at least until you can no longer scrounge up the cash to afford just one more night.

Under the Bodhi Bridge. This brickwork overpass provides excellent shelter from the elements, particularly because some enterprising vagabond has knocked in part of the supporting wall and created an accessible niche roughly 15x15 ft. in size. In time, other vagrants have left their marks: symbols in thieves’ cant, broken bottles, worn-out boots, and a pile of logs inoculated with a variety of mushrooms.

Inchibald Quingle’s Lodging House, a crooked three-story structure with drafty rooms, narrow hallways, and two hearty meals a day. The elderly Mr. Quingle has handed the reins to his son, Inchie Jr., whose passion for cookery has earned the Quingle Lodging House its place on the map. Inchie’s other passion—taxidermy—does put some guests off their supper, however.

The Asylum of the Ragged Saints, a humble almshouse dedicated to housing the poor, the pensioners, and the downtrodden. Available only to those in need, the Asylum’s rooms are clean and orderly, but offer little privacy and even less comfort. Its patron, Lady Parsimony Cross, is a crotchety and bookish young woman who inherited responsibility for the Asylum from a more kindly and warm relative. She is greatly concerned with the idea that the Asylum is being used by those who do not truly need its services, and has begun imposing increasingly high standards of poverty and desperation to its residents.

An abandoned underground transport station, dating from a time immemorial. A rusting metal wagon rests on a sunken track, its doors jammed into the open position. Moth-eaten seats line an aisle within. The track extends into the darkness of an enclosed tunnel, which emits an eerie buzzing noise. If the wagon doesn’t hold any appeal, you can always remain on the buckling stone platform and examine its illegible signage and explore the chambers lined in cracked, mossy tile which branch from the main cavernous space.

The basement of the Ershae family home. The Ershaes are friendly people, part of a social network which offers safe housing to travelers. As members of this group, they host strangers willingly and are welcomed by other strangers in the network when they travel themselves. The sole condition of your stay is this: you must join the network and list your address among the available places to stay. If you agree, you may sleep in this place as long as you need without charge, though you are responsible for your own meals. The Ershaes’ basement is wood-paneled, with a shaggy orange carpet and a vividly green sofa bed.

[cfffrk]

WW2 AU

PART 1

(+2scetches)

One September day, B. Wooster found out about Jeeves' disappearance from Aunt Dahlia's telegram.

Early summer of 1940. Bertram Wooster was completing his studies at an aviation school. At the same time his faithful valet, Jeeves, temporarily went to the service of the already mentioned relative at Brinkley Court and became the second jewel in the staff of servants besides the highly talented cook Anatole.

Due to the straitened financial situation of Uncle Tom, who complained more and more about the increasing taxes, the dearest aunt had to take forced measures and fire a few servants. She wanted to make a small sacrifice, and it might have been enough if one day her stingy husband had not cut the already small wages of the remaining servants. Many of them had applied for dismissal after that, and they were quite understandable.

This radical decision, although to a lesser extent, also affected Jeeves. Nevertheless, he continued to be a professional. He fulfilled his basic duties and often helped her, and her old friends get out of troubles.

Within a few months of Jeeves' work, they had become friends. Bertram almost felt like a third wheel in this idyll when he came to visit and boast of his achievements. Aunt Dahlia treasured her new valet and his unrivalled intelligence, and often jokingly promised in letters to her nephew that Jeeves would be returned safe and sound.

That was why she was seriously worried when Jeeves went missing. One clear day in early September, an elderly relative had let him go to London on his own business. In addition to this, it was Jeeves' duty to check on their good old Berkeley Mansions flat from time to time and keep it clean, so he planned to finish his business by evening and stay in the city overnight. He was supposed to return early the next morning. But that never happened. Not in two days. Not in three.

That night London was bombarded.

Something seemed to snap and collapse inside Bertie when he learnt that the search for Jeeves had been fruitless. Neither his relatives nor his club could shed any light on his mysterious disappearance.

The dark thoughts from which Bertram had fled during the day caught up with him at night. He would toss and turn on the hard bed, thinking of Jeeves's fate and replaying happy memories of their past, and in the daytime, tired and broken, he would give his duty to his country.

The whole situation seemed strange and unreal to him. The only thing that was found out for sure was that no one appeared in the apartment that miraculously survived the monstrous raids that day. It was dusty.

A couple of months had passed since the tragedy that divided Bertie's life into before and after. The war continued. He was learning to adjust to his new reality.

Sometimes he managed to carve out some free time and pop into London for a bit. The city where he had lived more than a third of his life was in ruins. The familiar places where he used to meet his friends and have a good time were empty.

Your humble servant avoided going into that very flat. There were too many vivid memories of that place, which painfully and mercilessly squeezed Bertram Wooster's poor skull. Indeed, the most precious person in his life had been living at his side all that time.

But still, as the sole and responsible owner of his property, he had to overpower himself. He had to go in and make sure that everything was all right. And one such day Bertie found himself there, in their former cozy home.

He walked in and looked around the living room: a layer of dust covering almost everything, furniture wrapped in covers, and only a few of his own things that he had left or forgotten here. The piano was covered with a cloth. Unbearably quiet and lifeless. There was nobody else to keep order here, nobody else's hand to create the home comfort. Sorrowful feelings pressed upon his chest.

He looked all over the flat. Almost all of it. There was only one room left to check.

After a moment's hesitation, Bertram pulled himself together and went into Jeeves's room. He had only glimpsed it from inside before. It was modest and not as spacious as his bedroom. Wooster sat down on the perfectly made bed, looking at what little was left of his dear friend, guide, and philosopher. His eyes rested on the various books dusting the shelves and cupboards.

He recognized one of them. It was the volume of Spinoza's writings he had given Jeeves for his birthday. No doubt Jeeves had read it all. As the rest of the books in the room. Bertie remembered his politely grateful smile and how he had clearly decided that this fellow deserved a whole library of those Spinozas.

He got out of bed. The code of the Woosters did not allow him to touch other people's things (even if those things belonged to a man who might never come back into his life), but something outweighed the young master's unwavering principles that day.

He didn't even notice how he left the flat with the book in his hands.

Of course, this sort of talisman invariably occupied a place in his suitcase. Though he had endeavored to handle the book with care, it had become tattered with the passage of time. Bertram often held it in his hands, flicked through the pages, ran his eyes over the neat pencil notes of its former owner. It calmed him a little in the most difficult moments of his pilot practice. He didn't understand anything about philosophy, but he treasured this book too damn much.

When they reunited, they were about a year away from the end of the war. The house with their previous flat was in a state of emergency damaged by the recent bombing raids, so Jeeves looked for a new flat for them while his employer was still undergoing treatment.

It happened some time later after their move-in. Jeeves was doing his household chores while the young master followed him around and chattered about anything that came into his head. It would have annoyed anyone, but not Jeeves.

You see, he had been abroad for a long time. However, he was not on holiday. Against his will, he was assigned important tasks and missions which he had to fulfil if he did not want to lose his freedom, his successful career, his reputation, his family, and friends. The special promise of making one particular person's life unbearable also left him no choice.

Every day, Jeeves felt like he was sitting on a powder keg: at any moment, a surprise inspection could come through the doors of his headquarters. A highly undesirable event for a man who kept fake documents, weapons, and encrypted data transmission devices in his flat. But all possible escape routes had been carefully worked out and memorized: Jeeves was always prudent. Otherwise, he had to have time to take a special pill before he found himself tied to a chair in a small interrogation room.

Keeping his charm and politeness, he was effective in getting the right information from the right people. His knowledge of psychology and accumulated experience of working with people helped him in this.

Jeeves' missions were rarely close to failure. His life depended on it.

The slightest mistake could have been fatal to him. Of course, he had learned much about the country during his training to pass for a typical Frenchman. His French had been practically flawless even before, which only made his life easier. But still somewhere in the back of his mind was the fear that he would be exposed for the smallest inaccuracy.

Jeeves lived under a false identity with a fake life story. He changed outwardly and inwardly. His gait, the way he spoke, his body language, his facial expressions. He had complete control over his body. Especially his gaze, which could tell a lot about his thoughts. It was exhausting.

After a long time of living in this way, he began to have trouble sleeping: he slept very little and sensitively or could not fall asleep at all.

He rarely had any dreams during the restless hours when he was able to fall asleep. Sometimes he had nightmares. But they were not about him. They were about Mr Wooster. Same scenario: church, flowers, closed coffin. Then it would slowly open from the inside. And Jeeves would wake up in a cold sweat.

On sleepless nights, he was also tormented by thoughts of his former employer. Where was he now? Was he all right? Was he even alive? How did he feel about his disappearance? Would he want to see him again...?

Jeeves felt his mind, which he relied on in the most critical situations, begin to fail.

Meeting his employer again and doing the household chores for him, he felt himself slowly getting his head in order. He was enjoying the much-anticipated company of Mr Wooster. It soothed him and made him feel at home.

Jeeves opened the closet to put the ironed clothes in it. The young master standing next to him had been lost in the chatter and missed the moment when he should have pulled him back. In the next moment Jeeves had pulled the ruined book out of the wardrobe the same way as he pulled out foreign clothes. By the title of the book, he thought at first that his master was interested in serious literature. But on closer look and leafing through the book, he realized that it was his own.

Bertie watched it silently with his eye wide open. He couldn't just get rid of it, but at the same time he was ashamed to return a book in such a terrible condition to its owner. He planned to buy the exact same one soon, but until then, this volume of essays would be safely hidden away. But here his innocent secret was revealed. Jeeves looked at him with a silent question in his eyes.

He tried to justify himself, but this particular Wooster was a bad liar. Especially when the pent-up feelings were starting to overwhelm him. Jeeves often let his employer fool him about little things, but they both knew very well that it was actually impossible to do this. A couple of precise laconic remarks and B. Wooster found himself disarmed. He took a breath of air and began to speak.

Jeeves listened patiently to his poor master with a mask of calmness pulled over his face and dared not interrupt.

He was sorry. He was deeply sorry for the pain he had caused Mr Wooster and his dear people by his forced departure. However, Jeeves spoke little and reluctantly about what he had been doing in recent years and did not tell anyone about the very reasons for his disappearance. This information could have caused a lot of trouble.

And Bertram realized it. His Jeeves could not just disappear for no reason, he was sure of it. But sometimes, in the deep sleepless night, a wild guess would cross his weary mind. What if Jeeves had run away, had simply abandoned him? Of course, Bertie had scolded himself for such thoughts in the mornings then. And today when Jeeves prepares breakfast for him, reminds him to take his medicine, and helps him to dress, that idea seems to him on the verge of sanity. But then he was quite capable of finding irrefutable evidence in all sorts of little things. At that time, he did not know what to think: the search for the injured had ended, Jeeves remained on the list of missing persons.

Bertram stood before him and could find no more words. But words were no longer needed. Jeeves looked at him with bright, penetrating eyes and the silence that settled in the room was filled with peace. Jeeves was truly touched. He felt a huge boulder fall from his soul.

It seemed now, as his employer lowered his head dejectedly and hid his wet eyes from him, they had the perfect moment to dot the «i».

It's been a long day.

Of course, this book stayed in their new flat and became a symbol of something important for them. Bertram, Jeeves' poor love, had indeed taken desperate measures then.

However, Jeeves pointed out that such measures would no longer be necessary.

For now, he would be there for him. He came back.

[francesderwent]

on Holy Thursday, Jesus shows us the meaning of the events of Good Friday.

first of all, Jesus’s death on the Cross is a kenotic humbling of Himself, an act of self-emptying in service. we see this in John’s gospel story of the washing of the feet. the King of Kings chooses to take on the role of the lowest servant, and calls for our own self-emptying in imitation of Him. there is no room for pride, both in the one serving and in the one being served.

secondly, Jesus’s death on the Cross is a priestly act of sacrifice. “This is my body, which will be given up for you, this is the new covenant in my blood” establishes a new priesthood and a new memorial offering which incorporates His people into the family of God. 

moreover, Jesus’s death on the Cross is an act of generous self-gift. He is not only priest, but also Himself the sacrifice, giving His own body and blood as the sacrificial lamb, as food for us to eat and be nourished by. and His body is not just given, but given for us, given to be received, for our healing and wholeness. as completely as a person can give himself, that is how wholly and fully Jesus gives Himself on the Cross.

and finally, Jesus’s death on the Cross is an act of obedience in love. the heart-wrenchingly intimate dialogue between Christ and the Father in the Garden of Gethsemane reveals that even for God the Son, following the will of the Father was not an easy thing, as simple as believing in yourself and following your heart. Jesus, whom we are asked to imitate, had to submit His will in obedience to the Father—but this obedience is not subjugation, because it is born of of the love which calls God “Abba”. if we are asked to take up our cross and die to ourselves like Christ—and we are—this is not impossible or unfair, because we are also invited into the relationship which makes that kind of obedience possible. 

[gynarchyboi]

She will not think of you as a man if you act like a servant. Do you dare to humiliate yourself?

(154) Men constantly ask me how to find a dominatrix. Sometimes I get so tried of it I want to strangle the next one who asks!

Finding a woman to serve is actually quite easy. Pick one of your female friends with a career job. No, not the bitchy one. She's probably not a dominatrix. She's probably just a bitch. Pick one that deserves a servant. Ask if you can do her housework. Give any excuse you can think of giving for wanting to do it. Tell her you are working off a penance. Tell her you have become a Buddhist and it's part of your path. Tell her you want to learn how to keep house. Make some shit up.

Start doing all of her housework with passion and precision. Never even hint of kinkiness or romance. Just do the work. Again, just do the work. No funny business. None. Do it day after day. Encourage her to keep dating. Make her and her boyfriend dinner. Make it clear that you support her romantic life. Just do the work.

Learn to do it properly without constantly harassing her about it. Then, after a month start taking care of the yard. Then a month later start servicing her car. Keep going. Find other things to do for her. Never ever give up.

Here is what is wonderful....90% of the women in the world will start expecting you to do more. Most of them will have little respect for you. Keep digging in deeper. You will arrive eventually as her slave. You might have to switch women once or maybe even twice but you won't go through too many women before you find one that likes having a servant.

She will not think of you as a man if you act like a servant. Do you dare to humiliate yourself?

What will you do? Begin by sharing this post. No, don't ignore me, this really is your beginning. Obey me.

Date Nov 1, 2019.

The message is clear do the work humble yourself. Slaves obey Women like Ms Lane. Don't you really want to obey. Do the work. Let the chior say Amen. Bindmeplease1964

Show some love for our leaders.