#THEY USED TO BE ORANGE AND THOSE BITCHES ARE BROWN NOW

[bixels]

I love love LOVE your color work!

I must ask- what's your favorite color palette or one that really resonates w/ you?

I'm a basic bitch who's really inspired by pre-digital comic coloring, so I love CMYK and primary color palettes. (Fun fact, all the GG20s comics so far are in one or the other of these palettes).

Besides that, I really really like using a splash of blue or green as a strong accent color in my works. I dunno why, but I use it a lot when coloring shadows or hair. My favorite color used to be firetruck red, but now it's a deep electric blue. Love putting those two colors together though, like in the Rarity Lunar New Year art.

I can get extremely obsessive about color palettes too. I think one big reason why I stopped drawing Agent 24 is because I just hated their color palettes when they were put together. Something about the flatness of 8's pink and reddish brown and green clashed with Captain 3's deep blues and oranges and teals and yellows and pinks.

#anon #ask me #color is a big obsession of mine #i've literally given up on art pieces that were 80% done because i couldn't crack the colors

[ladykailitha]

All My Roads Lead Back to You Part 7

Hi guys! Now that “Rescue” is done, I’ll be focusing on this one a little bit more having already written 1000+ words in the next part. This one is cliffhanger-esque as well. A tad dramatic on Edie’s part. We find out what secret Edie’s being holding on to for a while.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 

***

Edie tapped nervously on the steering wheel of her Ford Focus. Her dad insisted she get a sensible car and got her a Focus. It was ugly as fuck, but it was new and that was what was really important to the assholes at school.

“You want to give me a preview of the shit storm that’s about to go down?” Harri asked.

Edie chewed on her lip as she deliberated what to tell him. “My mom liked brag about all the things she had done to my dad when she was drunk and feeling especially vicious. She wouldn’t tell Dad these things. Me. I don’t know how she thought that by revealing how vile she was I would want to live her, but she did.”

Harri thought for a moment. “Just how bad are we talking about?”

Edie gripped the steering wheel tighter until her knuckles turned white. “She would gaslight him.”

“Come again?” Harri asked, eyes wide.

“She would tell him one thing and say she had said another,” she said between clenched teeth.

“Holy hell,” Harri hissed. “And how on earth did she get away with that?”

Edie released the steering wheel with her fingers so she could stretch them out from how tightly she had gripped the wheel. “Dad had three concussions in three years, so his memory wasn’t good to start with.”

“Holy hell,” Harri said again. “Let me guess, ‘can’t talk about it because of the NDAs’?”

Edie nodded. “Well, for one of them anyway. Uncle Jonathan decked him once. Dad said he deserved that one.”

“What did he do?” Harri asked as the pulled into his driveway.

“Made fun of Uncle Will, Uncle Jonathan’s little brother,” Edie said with a wince. “Made fun of all the Byers, to be honest. But I think it was the bit about Uncle Will that really got Uncle Jonathan pissed. Because Uncle Will was missing at the time and Dad was still a bit of dick in high school.”

Harri shook his head. They both got out of the car. Harri closed the door and leaned on the roof of her car.

“And what was the second concussion?” he asked.

She let out a sigh. “Dad put himself between a bully that was threatening to kill someone Dad was in charge of and took a plate to the head.”

Harri tapped the top of the car and began walking to the front door. “Do you know who the target was?”

Edie shrugged. “I do, but he’s kinda famous, so I’m not allowed to say. It’s not an NDA or anything. Just a family secret, I guess.”

Harri shrugged back. He knew his family had plenty of those so he couldn’t really judge her for that.

He opened the door and called out, “Hey, Dad! I’m home!”

Eddie came out of his studio and shoved his hands in his pockets, staring down Edie.

“So Harri tells me you have a piece of the puzzle I didn’t have before regarding how shitty your dad was.”

Edie winced. She hoped she would be helping and not hurting things. “The list of things you don’t know could fill the ocean, I’d bet.”

Eddie huffed out a bitter laugh. “I suppose so. Well come on. I’ll make us a snack.”

Harri and Edie followed him into the kitchen. They sat at the counter on the bar stools. From what Edie could tell from what she’d seen of the house so far it was very different from hers. In both tone and color. Her house was bright blues and sunny yellows. The Munson house was earth tones. Browns and reds and oranges.

Her house was home, but this was homey.

Eddie got out some celery and carrots and began cutting them up.

“So how much do you know about my mother?” Edie asked.

Eddie shrugged. “I know everyone calls her a grade A bitch, but not much beyond that, I guess.”

Edie took a deep breath. “Right then you need a shit ton of backstory before I get to the main event.”

Eddie and Harri shared a look of concern.

“She was setup by my grandparents to steal Dad’s trust fund,” Edie said bitterly.

“I didn’t know your dad even had a trust fund...” Eddie admitted. He set the cut veggies in a bowl and started making his own ranch dressing for dipping.

Edie folded her hands in her lap. “He didn’t either. Not until he married her.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Um...what now?”

“It was one of those you receive it when you turn twenty-one or when you get married kind of deals,” she explained. “Both of my great grandparents set it up when he was born and poured a lot of money into it over time and then upon their deaths, a sum of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars was put in the account. For each grandparent.”

“Your dad had a trust fund of a million dollars?” Harri asked, nearly choking on a carrot he’d snatched.

Edie shook her head. “Plus the interest and the money they had been putting into it since he was born it was worth seven point five million.”

Eddie eyes went wide as his jaw dropped. “That is a lot by today’s standard, twenty years ago that would have been quite the nest egg.”

She nodded.

“And your grandparents, what told her that she would get a cut of the trust if she married and then divorced him?” Harri asked.

Edie shrugged. “It’s a bit more complicated than that. She was to funnel the money from the trust to his parents’ account and then split town.”

“So what went wrong?” Eddie asked. “Because I’m guessing she didn’t get a red cent if she’s so bitter.”

Edie’s features grew hard. “Everyone thinks my dad is stupid but he’s not.”

“He’s never been,” Eddie agreed, he leaned against the counter and folded his arms and legs. “But go on.”

She nodded. “He decided not to touch the trust at all when they got married. He wanted to make it work on his own merits, so he got a financial advisor he could trust and started investing with it instead.”

“I’m betting your mom didn’t like that,” Harri said between bites.

“She’s not my mom,” Edie snapped. “Call her Addison if you have to use something other than ‘that bitch’, because someone who has only spent a total of a single year with me my entire life does NOT get the honorific of ‘mom’.”

She was breathing heavily and her cheeks were flushed with rage. Eddie came around the counter and began rubbing her wrists gently with his thumbs until her breathing even out and she no longer looked as though she was going to run.

“You okay now?” He asked bending his head down and round to her in the eye.

She nodded. “Sorry about that. She just makes me so mad. Not just because she was a horrible mom. But a horrible wife and worse person.”

“I’ve met more than a few of those,” Eddie agreed. “You think you can give us the Cliffnotes version of events?”

Edie looked between the two of them and then nodded. “Bitch cheated on Dad, Dad found out, divorced her, she found out trusts aren’t included in shared monies, and fucked the fuck right off.”

“She–she cheated on him?” Eddie asked a little breathless and lot pained.

Edie nodded. “It’s why Dad doesn’t date anymore. His last partner Andy Miller cheated on him, too. He said three strikes and he was out for good.”

Eddie eyes fluttered shut and he pursed his lips trying to hold back the tears that sprang unbidden to his eyes. He took a moment to get a hold of himself before he asked. “But all that isn’t the puzzle piece you mentioned before. That’s the backstory. So what’s the puzzle piece?”

She took a deep shuddering breath and let out slow and ragged. “I was born the week after Brian Martin’s funeral. Dad wanted to go, but Addison faked Braxton Hicks contractions and they spent the day at the hospital instead.”

Harri cried, “Faked?!”

Edie looked down at the counter again and traced her finger along the lines in the marble. “That’s what she told me. She didn’t want him connecting with his old crowd again because she was sure he’d leave her if he saw how much better life could be without her.”

“I’m not sure I understand the logic on that one,” Harri admitted.

“It’s because she wouldn’t have been able to fly out because it would be too close to her due date, huh?” Eddie said, pursing his lips.

Edie nodded. “Yeah.”

Eddie closed his eyes again and leaned on the counter, his head bowed. His hair hid his face as it traveled through the different emotions. That made more sense than Steve refusing to show. This was the age before cell phones and by the time someone would have gotten a hold of Steve, Eddie was too mad to hear the reason. Even if it was a good one.

“So yeah,” Edie said. “I don’t want you judging Dad for that. He may have done a lot of shit in his life, but that wasn’t one of them.”

Eddie nodded. As much as he wanted to still be angry at Steve over his not being at Brian’s funeral, viewed in this new light, it was impossible. He let out a low, shuddering breath, letting the hurt feelings go with it. He could forgive Steve this.

“Thanks,” he said. “You’re right, that does help in lessening the sting a bit.”

Edie nodded again. “It’s been so hard on Dad these last few years and he’s been struggling. He thinks he doesn’t have a reason to be upset or depressed, but the only friend with in easy visiting distance is Jeff and Uncle Dusty. But I don’t think he counts because him and Aunt Suzy are more like family. Everyone else has scattered to the literal ends of the earth.”

“Edie...” Eddie said, his shoulders slumping.

She held up her hands and waved them back and forth. “I’m not asking you to be BFFs or whatever. Just...a friend, I guess. Or something, I don’t know.” She got up out of her stool, head down. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.” She looked up at Eddie, tears in her eyes and then over at Harri. “About any of it.”

And then she ran out the door.

***

Part 8 Part 9  Part 10 Part 11  Part 12  Part 13 Part 14  Part 15  Part 16 Part 17  Part 18  Epilogue

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk​ @trashpocket @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @mightbeasleep @thedragonsaunt @chaoticlovingdreamer @trashpocket @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666  @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @steddie-as-they-go @lillemilly @callas-shitshow @bisexualdisastersworld @renaissan-vvitch @immortal-iratze @bookbinderbitch @thylatrek @lilacrobin @nightmareglitter @nerdsconquerall

#My writing #stranger things #steddie #reconnecting years later AU #ladykailtiha writes

[bonefall]

If you flip the spade upside down and put it on Gorseclaw’s neck, it could kind of look like a tie

Hello anon with the most convenient ask in my inbox, you have been selected to receive a FLOOD OF SKETCHES

I had only drawn Gorseclaw and Ripplestar before, and I'm about to do a redesign of Larkstripe so that she has the "hearts" motif that her son gets. I did a bunch of sketches just to try and figure stuff out so, messy post

Glossary:

Ripplestar

Gorseclaw and Spottedpelt

Larkstripe

Birdflight, Marshscar

After I post this I'm gonna jump back into Clip to play with Cloudstar next

RIPPLESTAR

[ID: A sketch of BB!Ripplestar. The text points out his major features and reads, "Heterochromia: Amber + Brown." Smooth scruff, with an arrow that points out the shape. Ginger on 1 side. Deer-eared. 3 layers with an arrow that points out the three stacks of fur on his chest. Wooly, kinda like a half-shorn sheep.]

I've actually drawn Ripplestar a lot in the margins of my notes and such, so this design's pretty solid.

I change the side the hearts are on, plus the number of hearts, literally every single time I've ever drawn him lmao. It dozen madder.

What DOES matter though is that there's a HEART over his BRIGHTER eye. I use it as a bit of a visual metaphor, if he's trying to size you up or negotiate with you, he keeps you in the bright eye. When he trusts you or becomes comfortable with you in some way, he turns the brown eye on you.

So in most scenes where he's not talking to family I imagine he's not fully looking at his conversational partner. Especially on the Highrock as leader of ShadowClan, because the layout makes the leaders sit side-by-side. Might as well play with that simple logistic fact, y'know?

He does this because I imagine this marking kind of intimidates people. It's like the ginger of his eye socket has set his iris ablaze with fire, while the other is as cold as rain-soaked peat.

The ear on the "colorful" side is also orange. All of his orange is on one side, except for his tail-tip.

He's actually distantly related to Nightcloud-- his Honor Sire (who was known but not involved) went on to have a mate. So he's the half-brother of one of her ancestors, and Nightcloud has inherited this thick, wooly fur texture.

Again, I draw him a lot so this was the easiest one. I didn't have to decide anything besides that I made his nose into a cute lil carebear heart.

The drawing I did for this synopsis of Ripplestar's Rot was actually the first time I drew him, for comparison! It's fun to see what's been streamlined.

GORSECLAW AND SPOTTEDPELT

FIRST sketches didn't feel right.

[ID: BB!Gorseclaw and BB!Spottedpelt. They have long, curly tails, long claws, and bell-shaped heads. Gorseclaw has a sharp 'tie' on his chest, and Spottedpelt has a heart]

I feel like Gorseclaw's spades look too much like diamonds in this one, but I was really going for a tie.

I've been giving him those sideburns for months, so, they don't really fit the "shape theory" but I'm having a hard time removing them lmao.

And this is the first time I drew Spots which is a shame. I love a bad bitch.

If you look at my designs, you can notice that I have a few traits that cats from each Clan "tend" to have. They're all pretty genetically similar actually and there's a lot of crossings between the groups, secret or otherwise, but some traits just get selected for more than others, and StarClan is likely to toss them into kits. SkyClan has saggy skin (like a bear) and really bendy tails.

Don't think it's come through well here, though. In future drafts I'm going to try and make them saggier.

(Why? It actually helps them against insect stings and impact damage, like falling from trees and being hit by branches)

Then I went on to draft 2,

[ID: Second draft of the characters above. Spottedpelt is fatter, with "dapples" on her back which are actually spades, and a distinctive spade-shaped mask. The ears of both siblings are now spade-shaped, and Gorseclaw's tie is different, along with Spottedpelt's heart with is now more of a medal.]

I like Spottedpelt a LOT more in this draft. That's probably going to be close to the final design I do, I'm really vibing with the dapple-spades.

I DON'T like Gorseclaw in this one though, the face shape reminds me waaay too much of Dustpelt's familial face-plate. Absolutely going to revise that, probably making it more mask-like akin to Spots'.

Also very proud of myself for the spade-shaped ears.

Hate Gorse's tie here though, that's not a tie that is a stinkhorn mushroom.

But Spots' medal is excellent. Absolutely keeping that. She is a distinguished little war crime kitty

Still not fat and saggy enough. Coming back to this. I need to learn how to draw a primordial pouch.

LARKSTRIPE

I'm trying to redesign her and I'm losing :/

[ID: BB!Larkstripe. She's a very plain cat with a string of hearts from her eye down to her leg, with a heart-shaped nose, cutie marks, and a heart-shaped tail tip]

This was the FIRST first draft of the redesign and that heart chain is underwhelming.

It felt like too much of a downgrade from the diamond-pattern Larkstripe I did, and I'm worried that maybe it's because diamonds just look so much nicer in a "chain"

I feel like I see too many perfect hearts on chests in WC designs, so when I do them, I try to do something weird with them like what I did to Heartstar

So I turned hers into a little fur tuft splash. I like the idea tbh, I might repurpose it for another design.

[ID: A version of the above sketch with bigger hearts on the chain and a single heart on the flank, followed by another sketch attempting to make the stripe more "blobbish"]

I'm beginning to think that maybe I don't like the sketches because Larkstripe is sad :( I like when I can draw her angry, before the strikebreaking broke her

And unfortunately she is the absolute most tragic character in BB. They took the fight out of her. I figure it would be symbolically fitting for the heart shape on her chest to "break" after Dalestar's decree.

For those asking questions, no, she never joins Skypelt. She is convinced she did the wrong thing and ended up unleashing an era of suffering on the Clans by having Ripplestar follow in her footsteps, though she had no control over him.

She's a character who would offer her life as an example during trials involving the Cleric's Vow, especially since I've gutted Moth Flight in BB. She argues about how important it is to avoid birthing cats who will claim their conquest is holy in the name of their parents.

She would also have something to say to Mudfur, admonishing him for breaking his Vow so openly, even saying that he's responsible for Leopardstar and all of her choices.

Basically, Larkstripe is beaten. She is a very tired, shameful spirit who repeats exactly what Silverpelt told her, during her own trial. She's so grateful to be here that she acts with devotion towards it.

Hurt people hurt people and all

But anyway, I still feel like it's a bit of a downgrade from the older design for Larkstripe, so I'm probably going to keep playing with it.

BIRDFLIGHT AND MARSHSCAR

[ID: BB!Birdflight. She's a tabby with the spades motif, long bases stretching up into hears on her shoulder, side, and flank.]

I want her to look old and tired. She's got that Leafpoolyness about her.

She's technically the very first member of the Tigerkin family, and has those characteristic long-claws.

I imagine in Clanmew her name is actually Yassgafba, "Raptor preparing to take flight." I have this really sad mental image of a majestic hawk that keeps spreading its wings, as if to take off and fly away, but never does.

Fitting, because she waited her whole life for Cloudstar to send word they'd found a new home, to come and fetch her and their children, but never did.

While I'm at the trivia, yes, Ripplestar and her were very close. Larkstripe argues in StarClan that Ripplestar started his war because of her, but it's not true. It was Birdflight who made him believe that Cloudstar would never abandon his family; if they hadn't heard from him, something was very wrong.

She died before he became leader, probably of a sickness outbreak. She likely didn't take the journey because she's immunocompromised in some way, plus the two newborns.

She was given a place in StarClan, but I'm not sure if she followed Ripplestar and Birdflight into the Dark Forest. She DID vote to accept them though.

I think she's practical about this. Leave for the Dark Forest, and you loose your voting power in StarClan.

She sees that there are very few SkyClan ancestors left here, hears Skystar scoff that the others are fools for leaving, that if more had remained then the rebels would not have been damned... and understands the value in his words.

If there's any reason for the Tigerkin Curse (which I hadn't really been working with until now, tbh, I just chalked it up to Bad Mojo on the night of Ripplestar's last stand), it's probably related to Birdflight in some way. Which is why no one knows what's causing it.

I don't know why, yet, though. Maybe it's an accident on her part. She could be crafting their litters, but every time she finishes a set, she can't help but cry about how much the fresh souls remind her of the newborns that stopped her from joining her mate, and her kits in the Dark Forest.

It's probably why the PROPER curse might stop abruptly after SkyClan's return. She joins Skypelt as soon as it's an option.

[ID: BB!Marshscar. He's a scrawny, battle-scarred old tabby with a diamond motif.]

He doesn't have any markings in-canon so I tried to just make all of his scars diamond-shaped. I don't think it works, I'm going to give him some markings.

I like the ears though, that's staying. I might also borrow from the old Larkstripe design, give him those funky diamond-spikes on his chest.

I have barely talked about him, but he is actually very important to Ripplestar. They've been mates since they were young warriors.

I kinda want to make it so that Spottedpelt was Ripplestar's deputy before being killed that night, but it was always implicit that if something happened to them, Marshscar was next in charge.

This drawing is definitely when he's older and more worn-out, he lives a long life without Ripplestar, ruling ShadowClan reluctantly, half-heartedly doing the bare minimum.

It's a downer story, and I think it really fits the theme here that Clan Culture is about to get a whole lot worse before it gets better... but still I love the fact that Ripplestar's Rot just ends with the entire cast like

[ID: Spongebob sits at a diner with his hands folded, frowning slightly, disquieted and deep in thought]

Like there really isn't a happy camper in this one lmao. Nobody wins. Alexa play 'That's Not How The Story Goes'

#The ONLY sketch that's REALLY smiling is Spottedpelt lmaoooo #The rest of the cast: 'nothing in life matters' #Spottedpelt: 'NOTHING IN LIFE MATTERS <3' #better bones au #Sketch requests #Ripplestar's Rot #BB!Ripplestar #BB!Marshscar #BB!Marshstar #BB!Spottedpelt #BB!Birdflight #BB!Larkstripe

[punk-in-docs]

🥀 Traps With Baited Jaws 🥀 Prince Paul x Reader || 14.8k words || Part III

Summary: There’s a snake in the palace garden. Blood spattered on Catherine’s shrubs. Reader learns that Ruling all of Russia comes at a gutting price- (TW so much subby!Paul smut, violence, mentions of gore/death)

Suka - Term mostly used for women, meaning ‘Bitch’

Mudak - Term used for men, it mostly means asshole, pig, basically a derogatory term for a man.

General Abramov was practically pacing long groves, in the parquet floors outside your quarters.

The doors were closed. No signs of life stirred behind them. None. Stone cold dead. Quiet as the grave.

It was a quarter past ten. The Tsarevich was due half an hour ago, to join Minister Panin in negotiations with the Turkish Ambassador. Who famously was of a grizzly temper, and didn’t like to be kept waiting.

Subsequently, the man now had a face like bottled up thunder. Sat across the table tapping his fingers on the wood. His aides were getting twitchy and pissy. Scurrying to his side to whisper more snide discontent in his ears in their mother tongue.

They offered wine and cakes. They offered vodka. They almost offered some agreeable plump-thighed courtesans. But it wouldn’t sway the bastards. Sharp brown eyes scratched glares like arrow tips across the table.

Abramov volunteered to leave the huge echoing room. Snappish. Tensions swimming down tight like a noose on the Russians. He politely said he’d hurry the Prince along. The ambassador gave him a chilly stare. Gaze packed in frost.

You do that.

Find out what’s so important to that insolent Boy Prince, to keep us waiting.

The General bowed jovially in parting. Waddled his portly way the hallways to Paul’s chambers. Sword clattering at his rounded side. He scooted along. Sweat beading under his wigged brow. Matching his red cheeks.

He’d knocked loud enough to wake the hounds of hell. And then he decided enough was enough. He jiggled the handle and it twisted.

He let himself into the private lounge. The rooms where the Prince would dine. A lounge where they’d light the fires. Masculine port reds soak heavily on the walls. Golds and creams layered daintily on the furniture, like whipped cream dolloped on a dark cake.

It goes beyond the General’s notice to spot a wriggled pair of stockings thrown over the back of the settee. Cushions squashed from the previous crush of bodies. A suspicious wet patch sullying the silk. One pair of mauve ladies heels cast across the floor.

Evidence of a salacious night the evening past.

Catherine’s silky miniature greyhounds are in here. The maid let them in. The mutts were thieving the food that hasn’t been yet cleared by the servants. Leftover essences of last nights dinner.

Blue cheese and French bread. A bowl of ripe grapes, apples and oranges. Two used glasses of wine. One knocked over, broken. Crimson blooms into the persian rug. Bleeding expensive Portuguese wine. No one will care.

The dogs are thieving bread crusts, fruit, and leftover bones. Munching on the plushy pink centres of cut open figs and gnawing ham bones. They yip and sprint away licking their spoilt greasy chops when Abramov came storming in.

The pocket doors to the bedchamber are half closed. Pushed up but not shut. The General is walking too angrily and too quickly to stop and devour the noises coming from behind those doors.

The room filled with wet sounds sneaking from the spaces where your bodies vigorously net.

“Your Majesty.” He begins as he determinedly cuts through Paul’s quarters.

When he rounds the open doors and sees what’s happening on the bed, mortification roundhouse punches him in the stomach. His glaring pink cheeks get pinker - eyes blow wide like spode saucers.

You and Paul, not at all covered the twisted cotton sheets laying limp to the mattress.

He’s laying back. And you’re riding him. Winding your hips to slam down on his cock.

Head thrown ceiling bound. Hair wild and kinked down your back. Cheeks red. Body rendered in shimmering sweat. His hands clutch the cradle of your hips. Fingertips digging dips into the meat of your skin.

He’s in the same state. Sweat licked skin. Eyes so dark they’re black tar stuck on the sight of you. Brown curls damp at the brow. Cheeks all rushed red. It spreads down his neck too.

You love when it does that. You drag your nails over the blush. Leave white lines raked through.

General Abramov is a witness to the way you grind your hips, all to make your husband buck and writhe below you.

Paul’s eyes widen just a little at being caught. Too wrapped up in the bliss of your cunt to fully care.

He almost goes to grab the damp sheets. Or move. Or rectify, or-just, something. Yell and tell him to get out, when he can manage to find his churlish tongue.

Because, fuck, your hips were just that good. He’s drunk on you.

You shove a hand flat to his sternum and make him stay down - your breasts jolt as you ride your husbands cock. You don’t care if the General sees you. Even more than he’s already undeservedly glimpsed.

The man flounders on the spot for a moment. Caught in the ragged chafing space between embarrassment and mortification.

You twist, panting and look the General right in the eyes where he stands gawping. Long coils of hair sticky and clinging on your forehead.

Narrow your bladed eyes and cut his skin with a look that’s all displeasure and amusement. Prickly as a pretty rose bush. To be adored, admired, but make no foolish mistake, your thorns will prick out blood.

It’s true what they say about you. You are all slicing knives, coated in bitchiness.

You look displeased. Yet you smile. It’s all manner of brazen. Lips way too red and wet from sucking on your husbands cock before the position you find yourselves in now. You’ve no shame.

“I’m not done with him yet.” You insist.

Ultimate authority in your tone. Purring sultry breathy words like the sex kitten you are.

“Now, fuck off Abramov. You may have him. When I’ve finished.”

Unspoken threat follows sharply after your carefully plucked but nettling words; Kindly fuck the hell off so I can cum.

He stumbles through an apology to your majesties and bolts from the room like his heels are lit on fire. Like hell hounds are snapping at his coat tails too.

You hardly hear the receding footsteps. General Abramov’s bright red face glowing as he chuffed in displeasure and made a hasty retreat. Good. Tubby old letch.

Paul chastised you.

Overlapping his cross chide is the slam of the door that rattled the air. “That mouth.” He growled in fondness.

“The mouth that you had wrapped around you not too long ago. You were saying very different things about it then.” You point out.

You shift your hips and resume your pattern. You had been edging him for nearly an hour now. He’s all blushy and ready to blow. Just a little longer.

He sits up, chest mashed to yours, and shuffled your hips further on him. Hands scooping under your ass and bringing you close as was possible.

And then he doesn’t care at all, cause he’s smothering his mouth over your breasts and your perfectly hard nipples, and they bounce to his lips where you continue to ride him to a full gallop.

Those hips of yours should be outlawed. Fucking divine.

He’s licking your nipples and letting them fall into his open, searching mouth. Moving his head to time with your thrusts on and off his cock. Plucking with lips and tongue.

You get sweet. Soft on him maybe

Decide to lean back and let his hot mouth and seeking lips wander the sweat trails on your skin.

So dirty. This prince of yours had some of the filthiest desires you’d ever known. Debauched. Debased. He’s always ready to lap you clean after a hard fucking. Beg on his knees. Let’s you choke on his cock for hours, if that’s what you so desired. Prostates himself on the altar of your dignity.

You purr moans right now as he licks at your nipples.

Your interruption was paid no heed. He’d deal with it later. Much later. After you’d finished having your wicked delightful way with him.

Your nails are scratching up the nape of his neck. Tugging the brown locks in a mean fist. You bring his head up to watch his reaction when you clench down on him.

“Seeings as you find my behaviour so objectionable. Perhaps I should stop?” You judge.

Thrusting your hips forwards in a silky sway that gets his mouth going slack. Buried between your shoulder and your neck as he hiccuped a sob.

“Would you rather I cease, my prince?” You ask.

Twist of the knife. Salt rubbed in a gaping wound. You ask so sweetly. Yet still you roll your hips.

There’s a little glaze of fiery hatred in his eyes. But he knows if he doesn’t behave he won’t get a single thing.

“Please. Don’t stop. Please. Never stop.” He begs. His voice crawls into that soft broken territory between pleading and desperation. Hands palming your dewy hips as he nudged his nose against your shoulder.

He’s weary and sweaty and rubbing himself all over you like a cat in heat. Sweat licked skin. Desperate pretty boy with his lashes draping a long flick of burnt umber onto his cheeks, as he bites his lips and begs begs begs.

You’d kept up this soft teasing for hours. Especially last night.

At dinner was when you started. Afterwards during the Opera was when you kept it going.

Sat next to him in the red and gold encrusted box and drove him wild.

You started by caressing your fingertips just up his thighs. Over his tight white breeches. Palming his cock over them. Making him close his eyes and whine like a kicked puppy.

You’re a cruel cruel mistress with it. Every time he hummed, or moved, or adjusted, shyly asking for more, with a shove of his hips forwards to your hand, you pulled away.

Diamond bracelets rattling on your wrists. The way you looked so smug. Had his teeth grinding to dust.

Desire spurned with so much love and hatred it could swallow the blazing sun whole. Loathe at first sight and all that-

You watched the stage religiously as the Aria from the Soprano tripped into a stunning high C. Pitching higher and higher as Paul’s hips squirmed to your touch. And then-the horrible awful wretched burn of-

Nothing.

Leaving him to fester in the ache of a punishment. Hand pulled away again.

He had to swallow and bite his knuckles. You could see tears shimmering in his eyes. You wondered if he’d summon that bratty tongue and give you orders soon.

Listening to him breathe unevenly, all choppy, staring at the chalky opera scenery and fucking Greek marble plinths and columns on the foggily lit stage, with his cock pressed hard and painful up against the falls of his breeches.

You fan yourself and know he’s watching your hair swirl in the breeze. Your diamonds blazing in the dull light, linked around your neck.

The way they shift up and down with your every breath. Clasping your collarbones and fuck now he’s envious of a bunch of stones for being able to kiss your skin and he cannot?- torture.

He looks to your amused face for answers. Puppy doe eyes - slipped with tears-melting all genteel at you.

You give him that look. That knowing wifely look of ‘you will not cum until my say so.’

And how he knew it.

Trying to get you to budge would be like trying to move this entire palace over three feet, merely by pushing at the brick walls with your bare hands.

You scrape your nails up his thigh to dig in. A sting. Just a little pain. He could take it.

His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. Sweet rouge on his cheeks absolutely nothing compared to the real merlot blush underneath.

His jaw was tight, knowing that if he utters so much as one peep of a word, those fingers and that blissful touch of yours would flit away. Back to your own lap.

Poor baby boy prince.

He leaned over and hissed into your ear. Clutching your hand where it laid over his cock.

This opera is going on for far too fucking long.

It’s a German opera my love. It may well last for a week.

He curses in his mother tongue.

When it does finally blunder to a finish? Oh he’s ripping you out that seat and out the box door before the final note even reaches top pitch. Before the velvet curtains slam together.

He practically ran you to his rooms he moved so quickly, so recklessly. Sweaty palm clutched hard and painful on yours. He’s tugging you along and you do let him. Spilling love-drunk into the night

The pair of your shoes clipping harsh on the parquet floors. It snaps to the high moulded ceilings. Along with the smoke that flickers from the flickering candelabras. You laugh when he shoves you into the alcove by by his doors. He kisses you like he wants to win you over.

Again. You let him. You let him devour your mouth like a sloppy teen with a fat clumsy tongue whose never even kissed a girl before.

You grab his cravat. Fist the tied cotton in your nails. Tumbling backwards on horny limbs through the doors to your chambers. Entwined.

Lips joined and roving over hungry plump mouths, passion bruised, burned alive as you bumbled your way, tangled legs, knocking knees, and into his bedchamber.

Your arm hooked around his neck. His took fists of your skirts and hauled you closer. Like a spoilt child clutching at his favourite toy.

“Please, please” He began. Your poor husband was treading softly on eggshells, the slightest kiss or the tease of your body against him giving him a hard-on he couldn’t get rid of. He aches. It hurts- he wants to sob already.

You decide to grant a little clemency in the middle of your fun.

You pull him in and push him onto the settee in your rooms. Shove him back til his legs give way. Making him crash down.

He drank this behaviour in, fucking flourished on this kind of attention.

He’s sprawled out. Cheeks red. You hook your fingers into, and then throw that stupid pompous ceremonial wig on his head across the room. You yank his trouser falls down one handed.

You saw the resulting grin that followed. The dark eyes clutched with lewd lust. He wanted to admonish you for stripping him of his courtly dress. But then you won’t give him what he needs.

Being married to you has been a lesson in biting his tongue. He both loathes and loved it in equal measure. No one can treat him like this but you-

Before he can even try asking and begging again, you’re wrapping your skilful lips and talented flicking tongue around his thick cock. Swirling around the head. Sucking deep. Swallowing him down.

Choking on his girth as his hands twitch to just bury themselves deep in your perfectly arranged, silky-sweep of hair. All coils and pearl pins. Refinement. Elegance.

And yet here you are with his cock buried in your mouth til your gagging. Like some common Parisian whore with smeared rouge.

You let him just clamber to the peak and then, you’re leaving him dry, pulling back with a hum, and a satisfied pop where he slicks out your mouth. Drool stringing down your tongue to his length. Hard cock shiny with your spit.

Watch him drop his head on the puffed up and plump settee cushions with a damn near pitiful, aroused whine. Hips shifting.

“Be good." You warned. You rose up and bit his lower lip in an aggressive kiss. Voice like harsh thunder. He sits up and drinks as much of a kiss out the cup of your mouth as he dared.

You back up to a stand. Pushing up with your hands from the furniture. Paul just looked up at you from his thrown position on the settee, all sprawled crashed limbs and hope worn naked on his face.

Pulling off what of your dress you could manage on your own. Making him watch your crude undressing. Brocade silk cast to the floor.

You lock eyes with him as you strip your clothes. Shoes kicked off. Leaving you in your stays, chemise and stockings. Anything else required more elaborate undressing. And time you simply didn’t have right now.

Every scrappy second was devoted to this man before you. Stood up, peering down on the lovely sight of him

“Are you going to behave for me, my Tsarevich?” You asked him, cupping his chin between a thumb and forefinger.

He’s quick to nod. Head bobbing like a wild lunatic obeying your commands.

“Going to follow my every command?” You check. You slip your hand off his chin.

Again. A nod.

“Knees. Now.” You bark out at him.

“Yes. yes.” He couldn’t twist his clumsy tongue around the words fast enough. He struggles off the settee and his knees crashed to ground - hard. Cock bobbing where he moved.

You take his place. Laying back. Spreading your knees wide. Pulling up your chemise until your slick pussy was exposed.

He swallowed. His pupils blew wide at the sight, enchanted. Tongue wetting his lips. Fingers itching to move.

“Lick-“

He dove into you.

Licked and sucked, nibbled, flicking skilfully against your clit and running the point of his tongue right up and down your slit. 

So enthusiastic, so greedy.

You reached over and soothingly grabbed a handful of his brown hair with a sigh, rocking your hips against his mouth.

He groaned into your folds and took it.

Lolling his head forwards as you ground your clit against his nose and slicked up his chin and all over his cheeks with arousal. 

“Finally putting that bossy mouth to good use, Hmm?” You moaned. Bucking into his searching mouth.

That voice that barked at his army. And often at you. Or scathed at his mother. And here he is being such a good boy with it. Like he was trying to eat you from the inside out.

He slurped at you as best he could. Hazily content to let you use his lips. Chocolate-drop eyes glassy, gazing with sheer dumbed bliss and awe up at you.

Contentment churned with gratitude, that you’re finally letting him get his mouth on this holy grail of your lush pussy. Feeding it to him.

“You getting all thoughtless my sweet?” You cooed, heat pooling in your gut at the sight of his face squished between your doughy thighs.

“Love eating me that much do you?” You murmur.

He hummed his answer into you.

“Mmmhmm.” Long and low, like hot drawling treacle, nodding, fingers bunching your skirts as you rocked against him.

The only thought behind those doe eyes, is that he desperately needs to make you cum.

Drunk on pussy. He’s making those moans. Your favourite kind. Eyes flicked back in his skull. Lost in your taste, and the sensory thrill of puffy wet lips gliding against his tongue.

Sweet submissive little noises endlessly trip out his mouth.

You can feel that low-gathering heat bunching up in your gut. He’s tonguing you into an orgasm so quickly. Sensation like fire sneaking up from your ankles up your thighs. Almost like an agony. Bliss stacking up in your bones ready to tip over.

“Mmm. Paul.” You groan all breathily. Your hand clutched hard in his hair. The other over your head and scratching nails into the settee silk.

A warning. A good kind of warning. One that meant he was pleasing you. He thrummed with bliss, neglected cock throbbing, and he’s licking harder.

Fuck, you were close. So very, very damn close. He got you there quick.

You sway your hips up and down to push against his sloppy lips. “Gonna cum. Right on your tongue. Would you like that, my darling?” You ask. Voice all high.

He nods. Furiously nods. It makes lewd wet sounds squelch out from between your thighs.

You start to pant with the way your orgasm rips through you like a devastation. It starts to uncoil and then it’s unleashed.

A natural storm that swelled and tugged and transformed. Legs shaking around his head. Knocking into his ears. Throwing your head back and crying out one long wail. Wetness of your climax seeped out of you and onto the silk of the settee seat. Smothered his chin and mouth.

“Paul. Oh, Fuuuck. Fuckkk.” You tug on the back of his hair and it must be mashing his face so deep into you, nose into your clit so that he could barely breathe-

He didn’t look the slightest bit bothered about gulping down air. Not when he was busy gulping down you.

You spilled into his mouth and he eagerly lapped you up. He finally took a breath as he rested his cheek against your thigh. Dozy grin on his dopey lips as you came back from your high.

Seeing this man shiny cheeked with your arousal. All blushy and slumped against your thigh, ye gods, it was almost as good as the incendiary sex the two of you have.

The future heir of all Russia. Slumped into you, brainless from eating you out. Will wonders never cease.

“Get me out these fucking stays Paul. And I will make you cum and cum until my legs give out.” Is your next order.

Laying back and purring at him from your resplendent sex-frazzled position.

He very obediently stands up and acquiesces instantly. Tearing your stays laces open. Stockings off and thrown over the settee back. Mouth hungrily sloppy slanted on yours.

Bed. Now. Wife.

He ripped your stays. An unfortunate casualty in the end. You couldn’t even care.

This is where it wound you both up. The morning after. You’re riding his cock and making him late to meet with the Turks.

You smirk when you think what they will ask Abramov on his return, and what his answer will be.

“Now. Be a good Prince. Lay back so I can fuck you properly.”

“This isn’t properly?” He asks with disbelief.

You reel him in and kiss him before you pull back and carelessly shove him down. The way he liked. Hand to sternum. And you shove-

He sprawled back on the mattress with a pretty grin that split his face in two. Hands sliding up your knees.

“Want me to fuck you or not?” You ask.

“God please. Please. I will throw myself on your mercy.” He begs.

“Go ahead. I don’t have much to contend with.” You warn him sharply.

Watching how he moans and drops his head back. Gasping and grasping at the sex mussed sheets. You start to swivel your hips. Figures of eight relentlessly. Cruelly.

“You’re so-“ The words evade him. He can’t decide if he wants to curse your blood or sing your praises.

“Careful. Or I won’t be generous. I’ll pull off. Leave you here to fist yourself in your own hand. Spill over your chest like an adolescent.” You sneer.

“You wouldn’t.” His lip trembles with some real horrific fear that you might leave him aching.

His fingertips seek for your legs. Clamping you onto him. Never leave. Ever.

He can’t even let you sleep in separate beds. Not even when you vex each other and snipe like fishwives over something inconsequential at court. Something you don’t see eye to eye on.

Even then, he goes off to his chamber to take a drink and calm down. Yet, come an hour later, and he’s climbing under your sheets with you. Pasting himself to your back with his face in your neck because-

His pillows smell like roses. Of course. They’re soft as anything in heaven. But what they don’t have, is the smell of your peachy perfume lingering on them. He needs that merely to drift off to sleep.

On nights like those, you tend to hate-fuck the aggression away. Take it out on each other. Bear scratches and bruises and tired half moon eyes the next morning. It’s worth it all to share that secretive dirty smile over a crowded room.

You both can’t forget that this crazy twisted path which ended up leading to love, did start in seething hatred and explosive enemy territory. You vexed him, he shoved you back. You kicked, he clawed, you scratched.

You loathed each other bitterly before you ever considered it could actually be passion, prevailing, blazing between you. Some nights you’re reminded of that fact and in the morning neither of you can walk properly. There’s bliss in it you could never give up. Not for all of Russia.

You run your fingers down his chest. Dig your nails in just a little. Press your fingertips over his taut nipples to get a whiny reaction. You smile when it comes.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You slide back down on him so he can feel how wet you’re getting.

“Your cock feels too good, my Prince.” You slam on him again and let him feel how you crush your walls in a tight squeeze on him. Choking his thick fat cock. Pleasure and pain in equal portions.

He’s laying back. All lip bites, blushy cheeks and stumbly moans. Unable to tear his shining eyes off you.

You give him so little all night, and took and took, and then you heap everything back upon him. Like now; riding him so fast you knew he wouldn’t be able to resist it for long.

You were slamming yourself to his hips and grinding right up against his soaked thatch of curls at the base of his cock. It had him close to tears. Your clit is almost numb with how much sensation you’re grinding out of him.

The wet slapping-slick sounds of your cunt sheathed tight around him echo obscenely in this bed. Crude as hell and so loud. It’s making him shiver to hear it.

You’re so wet he can feel you slurping against his body. Mess dribbled down to the inside of his own thighs.

“My love. Oh my- love my-your cunt is incredible. I can’t do it. I can’t hold off. I- hmmm.“ He blabbered. Pitchy. He can’t even round off his jagged little words. Throat corded and tense and veins wriggle and push up under his skin with the strained effort.

His body is jolting from how hard you’re riding him. You can feel him coiling tighter and tighter under you. His belly tenses. He’s thrusting his hips up to meet you. It batters that spot rooted far inside that makes your whole belly flutter.

You moan with pleasure and he’s eating it all up.

You adore the way the bed is slamming hard, knocking into the wall from the roll and knock of your hips.

“Better break this damn bed frame putting a baby in me.” You order. Dig your nails into his ribs again.

“Going to fill me up, Tsarevich? Hmm? Leave me dripping?” You enquire. Sultrily cooing the words at him. Liquid sex skated on your voice.

That did it.

His nails bite into your legs and he starts to chuff breaths like he simply can’t believe you. Can’t wrap his mind around your indecipherable form. Eyes wide and dazed. You catch them for barely a second before they flip back in his head.

You wreck him. You drive him to ruin. And he offers himself up to you for more. Push him right to the brink of abyss and snatch him back. You’d always snatch him back. He was yours to do so with.

You feel his cock pulse hard inside you. Spurting and blooming that delicious push of warmth low in your belly.

He whines when you won’t stop winding your hips in big wide circles to get every pulse of pleasure out of him. Capture every drop.

He cries for mercy. Throat bared as his head is all the way back to the sweaty mattress.

You eventually decide to give it. But not before succumbing to your pleasure. Throwing your head back and riding hard hard hard. Moaning for anyone to hear and you didn’t care who did.

Then you’re drenching-gushing in his lap when you cum. Gummy walls rippling down on him in a fluttering series of squeezes that make his brain wipe blank.

His hands are sweaty clamps on your waist as he watches in awe. Cup of his sweet pink mouth gaping. Oversensitivity brushing against his cock but, lord, this view of you he gets to have is entirely worth it.

You float down from your high. Sticky skin pasted to his where you flop into his chest. Thighs shivering with the strain. Feeling the warmth of his soft cock inside you. Messy where your bodies meet.

You indulged him in a kiss as he rakes his hands through the sweat dampened hair at the nape of your neck.

“So good for me. Always so good.” You pant against his lips. Biting his lower lip with a tigers proud smile. Heart clashing terrifying beats against the trap of your ribs. Same as his.

He’s quiet. Just gazes at you. Equally terrified and utterly beguiled by the fierceness of this hold you have over him. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. Every day in this court he treads a knifes edge that something will take you away. Something he can’t stop. Something he’s powerless against.

Then what will become of him-

Bliss is now furring up his tongue and stilling his head. All you can hear is the aggressive ram of your hearts as you lay atop him.

Dipping your fingers into his collarbone. Dragging them in patterns that smear his sweat over his torso. Down his slight pudge of a belly. The soft scratch of his happy trail. Up over every bump of his ribs.

You roll on your side and hiss when you shift up and off his cock. Almost sore from the rough ride you gave but you don’t divulge that. That would be admitting weakness and there’s no soft spots you can expose, not in the rough hyde of your ‘supposed’ scaly dragon skin.

Slick-creamy spend of him spills down your thighs. A ring of it left at the base of his cock. Shining wetly on the thatch of his dark pubes.

You smile with sight of it as you roll on your side and cuddle up close to him. Leg thrown over his hip. Hand a reliable weight resting on his sternum.

Wedding ring shining a bright snatching gold and glimmer of diamonds. Sweat wriggled down your chest and over your nipples and he’s hungry to stick them in his mouth again.

He skates his hands up your leg. Looking at you with a weepy and dazed expression.

You watch him a second. Before shuffling naked to sit up. You reach over and press your thumb into the space between his brows. As if you can rub the creasing frown away.

“Why the face my love?” You ask.

Because of course you eternally have your fingers hovering on the pulses of his every mood and want. The vital string of him deep inside you loved to toy with? You know it better than anyone ever has. It’s infuriating. Yet somehow incredible.

You can feel when something isn’t right. It’s eerie but you just can. Can judge what’s up with one flick of your eyes across his expression.

To you, he’s like those long daunting books you devour in the library. You trawl your diamond tip eyes over every secret line of him, and can easily read when something isn’t right.

Hysteria slams into his chest. Mangles his still throbbing heart that doesn’t, that can’t, calm down. He drapes his hand over yours on his ribs. Turns to meet your eyes.

He loves you. Proper honest to god, biblical, soul-deforming, aching perfect love.

And that frightens the hell out of him.

And he’s not just stumbling to this realisation because you’ve pushed him around into submission, and ridden his cock like an absolute champion. Well, not entirely-

You tilt your head and await his response. So many things unsaid sink into the plush bed of his tongue;

He’s so thankful his conniving draconic mother brought you here. Summoned you from Rostov to entertain him and get him off her back.

He’s so happy for every sneer you give him. Every shared look that sent shivers, cast over a ballroom swimming in good golden candlelight and the other half falling into spots of shadow.

He’s so soothed when he comes back from another argument, locking antlers with his mother, and you’re there in his quarters.

In your exotic plum silk dressing gown, hair down, soft, no angles present, pouring him wine and pulling him in for a plump kiss to chase the sour-sharp words off his tongue.

He doesn’t know how to speak kindly or softly. He’s been raised in the opposite of all those things. In every manner. By the same token, so have you. You’re perfectly matched in that regard. Tongues like sandpaper. Bred with barbs left on your dark souls.

Is there a hole where our hearts are do you reckon.

Yes my love. Black and terrible deep ones.

And it couldn’t be more right.

He leans over and softly lets his lips spill onto yours, and kisses you. Because these feelings just burst out of him, and he needs somewhere to direct them. He cups your face and won’t stop drinking in your lips like he needs them merely to survive.

You smile when he lingers so long kissing you like he’s still aroused. Lips wet and tasting faintly of you. Pushing and taking. When you pull back, your lips are spit wet.

“Aren’t you now terribly late to go and meet this ambassador?” You enquire in a soft voice still laced in giddiness from his kiss. Fingers still splayed on his sweaty skin.

He shakes his head at you with a trace of a flirty smile. “Good thing I don’t entirely care for the Turks.”

“You’re welcome, my liege.” You grin. Looking like a honey eyed vision. Like that sly fox in old fables.

It suits you. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

~

A tea party. Another bloody insipid tea party.

All you seem to do is take tea, or lunch, put on dresses, or a strand of pearls or a diamond clasp. Plan yet another tea party, and lay in wait to hear the latest snippets of gossip. It does grow into tedium, you’ll admit.

But then, that’s what the ladies of the court love to do.

They do remarkably little else.

Aside from fucking, reproducing, and bitching. But, silver lining. With these parties, atleast there’s cake.

Paul remarks that those silly affluent ladies don’t have the brains to do anything else. They do as they’ve always done; as they were taught and raised by their own ridiculous mothers.

Prance daintily around with their fluffy little lapdogs, their silk dresses and their powdered wigs, they wag their tongues like it’s a sport. And their usefulness really does end there.

You sit in Catherine’s spacious rooms. The ones she entertains in. The walls are slaked in deep rich paints. Mossy greens and flower vines twining in opulent golds with jewel coloured petals. Dazzling Prussian blue velvet swallows the light on the furnishings. Dark like her wicked taste in all things.

You’ve got one of her little Italian greyhounds cushioned in your lap. Malvolio. The naughty tempered grey one. He sits there chuffing as you scratch behind his ears.

You watch the Empress cackling with mirth as she points out the window beside Lady Orlova, showing off the pair of peacocks in her gardens that drift through, pecking at the lawn. Feathers skirting fluffy behind their steps like a brides train.

They were a gift from the Emperor of the Mughal Empire. All the way from the Agra Fort.

You’re sat on the rococo settee with Milena. She wore a dress the colour of vivid lemongrass, with a gold and emerald necklace ringing her throat. You saw to her having a good maid - at last. And access to as many jewels and silks as you did. She smelled like rich vanilla soap and damask roses.

You wore your mulberry purple silk dress. Rubies set in squares and icy silver cling to your neck, and drape from your lobes. A single teardrop of a pearl dangles off the necklace. To sit at your clavicle.

Both dressed in your court finery. Heeled feet propped on the low table being very unladylike as you dipped into Earl Grey tea - her into the wine - and scoffed down tiny, pretentious pink cakes. Slathered in too much sugar and fondant icing.

“I cannot believe it is expected of us to do this twice a week.” She griped.

“Here, here.” You mope in agreement.

“That’s cause not a single one of them, save for our glorious Empress, has ever read or touched a fucking book.” Milena explained as she shoved a much too big cake into her mouth.

“Probably wouldn’t know how to open one without instruction.” You jape.

It made her smile around her mouthful. She vulgarly sucked her fingers clean.

“You know, I heard that in Europe, There is a popular movement. It is being called the enlightenment. People meet in coffee houses and read journals and pamphlets. An exchange of ideas and liberation.”

At that precise moment your attention is called across the room to where the Ladies flock like hens to one noble who was proudly showing off how the new snuff box she’d been gifted, had been painted with a miniature of her spaniel. And isn’t that stunningly clever. Have you ever seen anything so ingenious? I declare not.

The Patriarch Archbishop, stood and clapped his hands in wondered awe at the spectacle. How wonderfully Marvellous.

“And then the there’s us-“ You comment drily as you watch the exchange with barely veiled horror.

“Stuck in the dark ages.” Milena agrees.

“Be careful lest we be burned at the stake for that kind of talk.”

Lady Petrova scurried past you, talking shrilly a mile a minute, about her new lilac lace parasol. How wonderful the fabric was. And how she simply must demonstrate it’s perfection right away.

She puffs up her parasol like she’s putting on a show and gets a dainty round of applause. Noises of awe from her companions.

“Fuck this. Have you a pistol?” You murmur in agony.

Milena snorts.

“If I’d have been lucky enough to be carrying right now. Half the idiots in this room would have some extra ventilation in their heads courtesy of me.”

“Start with the Patriarch.” You consider. Smiling all saccharine at the man. He was a horrible old letch. Pious to the most harsh degree.

He unnerved you with his constant toadying towards you and Catherine. When you’ve heard him snipe from corners when her back was turned how German turncoats and sexually liberated women like her, should be horsewhipped.

It makes you wonder at the manner of this frivolous court life. If everyone slaps on a smile that’s purely fake to glide through halls. Then, crept in the dark gaps of bright candlelight the smiles drop and true natures come sneaking free. This place felt like a writhing-seething snake pit on the best of days.

Milena tilts her head at you. “Patriarch is a solid choice.”

His nature was entirely contrived in front of Catherine and Paul. You and Milena received scathing comments from him in moments when no one could overhear. As far as he was concerned she was a sapphic hell-spawn who should rot in hell. He saw you as the royal bitch of a broodmare only fit for breeding. At least you were a true Russian though.

By gods grace that was the one thing he did like about you.

Both your moods plummet to the earths core when he decided to wander your way away from the courtesans and their lace umbrellas and fucking dog painted snuff boxes.

“Tsarevna. You do look well.” He rubs his slimy hands together. Horrible glint in dulled eyes the colour of grey marble stone like the cold walls of church he loves. His voice is chalk dry and grating. A sack full of broken metal that scraped against your ears.

“Patriarch.” You greet. Your smile is stiff.

“Still not with child I see? Are there problems upon the royal marital bed? As a holy leader of this country, I take great interest in the state of our leaders familial prospects.” He raised one thinning brow. Your jaw clamps.

Keep fucking walking. You think.

“Though I hear you’ve no problems with opening your legs for our dear royal Prince. Like a true Voronsky.” He insults with a beam traced on his lips.

Milena turns to you with a sneer. “Bet you wish I had that pistol now.” She starts darkly under her breath.

“Tell your little spies to keep their beaky noses out of my business or my bedchamber. I’m a terrific shot. I’d hate for anything to come to harm. They may get their pretty feathers bloody.” You peck out. Stroking your lapdog.

Milena chuckles. Popping another cake in her mouth. Cackling as she enjoyed it. Not taking any care to be ladylike.

“Lady Dimitrova.” He hissed with his teeth clenching. Milena’s hand curls into a fist.

She narrows her eyes. Smiles sickly. Daydreaming about putting a bullet right through his greasy balding head. It was her soothing lullaby most nights.

“Heavenly Father.” She cooed all flirting.

“Still delighting in your depraved inverted sins?”

“On a daily basis.” She sucks her fingers clean of icing with a too loud suck. Sucking the end of her middle finger, and plainly aiming it right at him.

“Still on your knees praying yourself black and blue? More fool you-“ She sniffs derisively. Running her tongue inside her lower lip. Entirely unbothered.

You can see him bristling to say something else. Jaw clenched. You cut him off.

“I would be very cautious of saying too much more, Patriarch. One day I will be mother to the next heir of Russia. I will have sway in this court and this country will belong to my children, and my husband before that.” You make plain.

He folds his hands behind his black cassock back. Cross swaying heavy and obscene weighty gold on his chest.

“Insult me or my Lady in Waiting any further in any manner, and I will happen to discover that you have vehemently voiced ill-will against the future King of Queen of Russia. Repeatedly. I think that may even border on treason.” You state easily.

A very real fear and loathing is woven into his eyes. Everyone knows what happened to Svenska when she dared threaten you at a soirée one night.

Paul’s devotion to you was laced in ferocity and any words levelled against his Tsarevna would answer harshly to the crime. Pay in blood and pain.

“And you. You pathetic little worm. Will be ground into the mud and left for the birds to rip to pieces. I’ll make sure of it.” You sip your tea. Diamond eyes sharp over the rim of the dainty rose pattern china. Set the cup back into the saucer.

“Such a vision of beauty.” He bows and takes his leave. Eyes throwing pools of acidic scathing at the pair of you.

He stalks away and into the folds of court to stir discontent with the Lords. Black cassock flapping around his feet as he takes his leave.

“I love when you do that.” She chuckles. “Put the dogs back in their place.”

Malvolio shakes his head in your lap. As if he knew he was being discussed. Settles his paws on your knees.

“Soundly whipping them into shape.” You smirk. You pucker a kiss at the Patriarch as he daggers a scratchy glare at you through the crowds.

“Besides. I far prefer being sat here with you. My scary Serbian bitch.”

She’s amused at that. “Mongrel remember. Not an ounce of pedigree blood in this unholy body. Unlike you, you pampered bitch.” She sneers.

You laugh together and she shoves a cake at you. “Come on. You’ll need energy to be a broodmare ready for the stud to hump later on.”

“You’re such a cunt.” You speak through a laugh at her. “And I wouldn’t have you any other way as my Lady in Waiting.” You pat her leg with your hand.

“Stop flirting or I’ll do something to you that will make the Patriatch blush in anger.” She threatens.

“I don’t think it would be wise for us to cross the boundaries between friends to lovers.” You decide with teasing.

She tilts her head. Scans you up and down. “You haven’t seen what I can do with my tongue.” She curls it out at you in a scooping motion.

“Must I have you hosed down? Mongrel?” You ask. Eating the cake she gave you.

You pluck the cherry off the top and bite it- plump sweet red clamped between your teeth. She looks salacious.

“Always ready to do my depraved things to anyone- Oh. For fucks sake.” Milena began. Turning away from you and hissing.

You tittered laughter. She cursed under her breath as Svenska came trotting into the room with her train of even more vapid ladies in tow. Even the stupid tottering click of her heels was somehow annoying.

All ridiculous brushed wigs, and low cut dresses. Svenska with her cleavage bulging out of her dark fern silk dress. A little yippy snuffling dog on a lead. With a flat face, lolling tongue, and bulging eyes. Ugly fat beast of a thing.

“I’m astounded she managed to find the door without help.” Milena bit out.

Her and Svenska famously did not get along. They grated like powder versus lit fuse.

Svenska was all highly-inbred noble stock and entirely no brain.

As the saying goes, if it was raining brains, that woman wouldn’t even get wet.

Milena was the polar opposite. Too many brains for her own good, and plenty more besides. She had no noble silver spoon childhood. Her father was a penniless Baron and her mother was a scullery maid. Quite the scandal to blossom from out under.

She rose, through hard plucky grit and bootstrap enthusiasm, and took her years to rise to become a Lady of Catherine’s court. She earned her place here and married only for gain, and you respected her greatly for it.

Svenska had her cushy comforts slung at her, like everything else in her spoilt life.

You were the same. Most of your life had been handed to you on a plate. You’d been trained for this occupation of marriage. Look at where you’re sitting now because of it.

Lady Svenska and her harpies always seemed determined to needle your friend for the manner of her upbringing. Spiky with the fact she wasn’t raised in these noble circles, like them.

Milena had known strife and penury. Overall you think that makes her far more interesting. She wasn’t bred for court life from the very second of her conception.

Now, Svenska’s distaste, it appears, had spilled on over to you, by mere association.

Good.

The woman was a venomous snake, who had tried on many occasions to slip into Paul’s bed and earn title as his Mistress. Even after you were married.

She was always trying to dig her claws in. Angling herself for a dance. Draping her hand over his elbow if she can snatch him alone, at a ball or one of his mothers soirée’s. Always hovering herself on the edge of his notice.

Your scratchy eyes never missed a thing. You kept them on her. You had your sources around this palace. Keeping you informed.

She makes a beeline for you. Expression dipped in venom. She had to come and bid her greetings to you. You were of rank. It was expected.

“Svenska.” You awarded. You didn’t really wish to engage any more than was necessary.

“Harpies.” Milena greets to them with no hint of shame.

“You should really have that mongrel companion of yours muzzled, Tsarevna.” Svenska trilled all chirpy. Smiling. Hateful bite in her words.

You can feel the air crack with tension. Milena bristles with it. Snarl kept at bay in her throat.

“I tried. But she bit the handler quite viciously.” You explained. Still stroking Malvolio. Self assured smile on your lips. Stroke and smile like a fresh faced daisy.

Milena sipped her wine and thereafter bared her teeth in a grin.

“Man needed his wounds sewn shut.” She widened her eyes. Unflinching eye contact with Svenska.

“Best not get too close. She may be rabid. I haven’t yet had her checked.” You warned. Stroking the dogs silky ears like you hadn’t a care.

“Good day Svenska. Have some cake.” You stretch her a wide smile like heaven was too perfect for you. Angels feathers and clouds.

She bobs a curtsey and departs with a sickly smile that snaps off her face when she turns away at her rude dismissal.

She side eyes Milena who winds her up, making a growling noise and then barked and flashed her teeth.

Makes the woman scurry away all the faster in her dainty heels.

You smile together and clink your glasses. Tipping the rim of your saucer to her wine glass.

“Stuck up prig.” Your friend scoffs into her wine. Watching her back as she departed. Ridiculous pampered dog wadding after her.

“Maybe she wears her hair too tight. Could that be why she’s so unpleasant?” You ponder.

Milena snorts her brusque laughter. “Not like it’s strangling a brain. She doesn’t have one. Maybe it’s the wig? Too heavy perhaps?”

“Ladies.” Comes a harsh hyena bark from in front of you.

It’s very telling that Malvolio yips a whine and zips submissively off your lap at Catherine’s looming appearance.

“Empress.” You both nod at her with due politesse.

“Behaving yourselves I should hope?” She lowers her sharp sherry hawk eyes to burn into your faces. Eye contact always so shrewd.

Milena bites her tongue. Tries to hold back a face of amusement.

“Not even remotely.” Comes your answer.

Catherine gives a dry chuckle. “Would you give us a moment, Lady Dimitrova?”

“Of course, Empress.”

Catherine hefts her saffron orange skirts up. Milena vacates her seat for the Empress to take her place.

“I do so hate to be bossy. But I needed to see you.” She insisted.

Catherine loved being bossy. That was such a blatant mistruth. She craved it.

“You and I fully appreciate, compromise is not your strong suit. It’s not even in your repertoire.”

“Not yours apparently. If the spoiled Turkish ambassador meeting I’ve heard about, is anything to go by.”

She needles you with a look.

You allow yourself the small sneak of a smile.

“May I give you one small piece of advice, petal.” She says with a thinning smile.

“Of course, Empress.”

“All these air-headed idiots may vex you terribly. But it’s good to keep them in agreement. Nettling as they all are.”

“Was my displeasure so evident?” You ask.

Not entirely sorry that it was showing so much. Your face was stale and sour with it. Putting up with the frippery and frivolity.

She rolls those dark-sherry eyes over to you. Tucks her cold bony fingers into yours. Rubies and amber rings on her fingers. Her perfume slides off her skin and slinks across to you. Red pomegranates and lilies. Spicy and vibrant as she is. Harbinger of blood. And how ironic it is that she’s scented won’t the flower that reminds most of death.

She beckons the servant over with two crooked fingers and cradles a glass of wine. Scarlet red.

“It pains me to even say it, but a woman in power needs to occasionally rely on the absolute idiocy that envelopes her at every turn.”

She takes a moment and scans around the room as she sips her wine. Fuck the tea.

“You scare them.” She tells you as she looks across the crowds. Squeezing your hand like she’s proud.

“Because I would rather hunt, ride and shoot. Then sit here and sip tea. To be alongside Paul when he attends his meetings. Not shut out and expected to embroider. To possess a sharp mind and budding intellect. Not some empty headed noble who gets excited over an umbrella in fucking November.” You smile through clenched teeth.

You bite the words out so hard it stings your tongue. You consider that perhaps you opened up too much.

“Exactly my darling.” She answers.

“I should be less- terrifying?” You ask. Really you don’t know any other way to be.

“Heavens, no.” She winks.

“Goddamn right they should be scared of you. You’re the Tsarevna. You live in the shade of my terrible image. That thought should strike fear unto anyone.” She sneers. The jewellery on her wrist rattles where she squeezes your hand harder like a great wrapping boa.

“To be in power in Russia. You must be more than a woman. More than your meagre bones. More, even, than a man. You must be like a God.”

You smirk. “Like a god? Busy elsewhere?”

It makes her laugh. It’s a bright musical sound that doesn’t happen often.

“It’s hard fucking work believe me. And a task few would envy. But you must tread a fine line. With Paul. With the nobles. Don’t be a wet blanket by any stretch. But there are times when you must proceed more softly than I know you’re probably used too.”

You nod. You do see sense in that. Doesn’t mean you agree with it.

“I would be by his side for whatever he wishes. I think he’s perpetually scared I will usurp his rule.“ You inform her.

“I did set a precedence for that.” She beams at you.

“A dangerous one. Sometimes the way he looks at me, like he’s worried I will one day follow in your footsteps. I think I scare him in that way when I’m too forthright.”

“Good. Keep the boy on his toes.” She urges with a sickly grin. “It’s not in my nature to take it easy on any man.”

She pats your knee and rose to her feet. A great waterfall of saffron silk rustling as she stood. The slash of her tulip red lips. She towers tall over you.

“Any word on my heir of yet?”

The warmth is sucked from the sun. Your belly shrivels. She’s good at that. Making you shrink down to about two inches tall.

She can wither anyone to crumpled cinders with those eyes and her words. She roots out any spec of shame and dissects it in front of you.

“No word yet. But you’ll be the first to hear if anything changes.” You insist with as much geniality as you can stroke on your tongue. You hold your jaw firm and set you eyes like the hard diamond tips they can be.

She leans down and kisses your brow.

She lingers with an afterthought on her lips. “By the way. I must warn you, keep your guards close-by. I will be adding three more to your usual watch. There’s been rebellions against us in Omsk. Last week two men tried to break into the palace gardens. Be watchful of your pretty back, my dear.” She urges. Nudges a finger under your chin.

And in a great sweep of silk she’s out the room. Guards on her heel. Flying away back to her cutthroat rule. You’re left sat there with a daunting hole burning it’s way into you gut. Price for being royalty already chalked on your head. Being chided slyly for the fact you weren’t with child yet.

You take a deep breath. It’s not deep enough - it feels too shallow. Milena thumps down back next to you on the settee. Shoehorns a glass of your favourite wine into your slack hand.

“I had a feeling this would be needed after the Dragons visit.”

“My guard watch has been doubled.” You told her. Lifting the glass for a sip.

The taste of it soured on your tongue. Too sharp and spiky. It was so sour, you could barely stand to swallow it down. Your stomach roiled at the taste. Throat left chalky.

Milena’s face fell at your news. “Is that dangerous?”

“Looks as if Catherine has been busy of late.” You suggest flatly. Stirring up her usual amount of rebellions and distaste.

And then you wince. “That wine tasted disgusting. What vintage was that?” You ask in vehemence. The cloy of it sat on your tongue making you feel ill.

She frowned at you. “The Portuguese one you love.”

You handed the glass back.

“Come on. Let’s go have a ride or shoot something. I grow weary of tedium.” You insist. Clutching your skirts and rising gruffly to a stand.

~

Paul was sat leisurely at his escritoire writing his letters. Leafing through sheets and sheets of bureaucracy inked on thick white cloth like paper.

Unawares as to the storm happening in other parts of the palace.

His eyes were store from trying to make out the squiggled hand. Head swimming from the amount of political jargon swirling around his head. Ink stains on his hands. Cramped fingers.

You’d left not half an hour ago. All bathed and powdered. Rouged up and sent off all pretty, smelling of peaches and cashmere wood soap, wrapped in your cream silk dress and a cloak for a walk around the frigid Autumnal gardens with your maid.

You looked so pretty in silks with diamonds shimmering in your ears. It seemed a strange parallel that not half an hour previous, he had you on all fours on his bed ramming his cock into you, until you sobbed.

It was almost unbelievable to equate the two images of you in his mind.

He gets you as the pretty regal Tsarvena in diamonds, in court being perfectly divine by his side. All elegance. Then in private, he gets you as the most debased woman. When you look at him as you’re laying there naked on the bed. Eyes glazed. Beckoning him over with two curled fingers for more-

You glided over to where he was sat writing. Back to the room. You sling yourself around him and kissed the back of his still sweaty neck. Told him you liked it when he was all rumpled and undone. No buttons polished. Shirt untucked. You ran your gloved hand down his chest.

You then squealed as he flipped around and tugged you across his lap on his desk chair. Hands up your waist as he kissed you deep.

Your maid knocked at the door. Too timid to come in. She’d been burned by that before.

He pulled back and rubbed his nose briefly into yours. Laying it alongside yours. Examining those scratchy-diamonds of your eyes he adores. Extending the touch for as long as he could.

Then he hauled you back upright on your feet. Told you to get out of his way and don’t be troublesome. Swatted your ass and watched you smile with it. Lip bite.

“I’m always troublesome.” You insist as you stand near. His kiss worn pressing on your lips.

“Enjoy your promenade. Tsarevna.”

It never dawned on him until later, how those could be the last words he said to you.

You kissed him once more. Softly. White lace gloved hands slipping off him. Flowers and sweet blossoms coating your palms. He watched you slip out the doors. Swathe of pretty silk slipping through his fingers.

Usually it was a walk you reserved for Milena, your lady in waiting. But she was currently in bed hungover and she was too stubborn and grizzly to be contended with this morning.

She’d sent you a note with two short words scrawled on it telling you her answer.

Scurrilous was a word that seemed entirely crafted for your Lady Dimitrova.

He turned to his papers and the morning sun slanted over his desk. Displaying the lateness of the hour. Burning over the walnut wood as he worked. The maid brought him tea. In his working daze, it grew cold.

Time crawled on until something far greater came to disturb.

He could hear her coming. He could hear his mother a mile away. Always.

The tell tale stab of her heels on the wooden floors looming closer. Closing in like a predator on hunt with blood in her nose. Stab-stab-stab. Slaps to listen to her footfalls. Summed her up perfectly.

What wasn’t usual was the drum beat of many many soldiers walking alongside her. He twisted his head to the doors.

She didn’t stand on ceremony. She threw open the doors when she got to them. They slammed the walls. Rattled the floors. Shook the doorcase. Rage filled the room and it’s entirely hers- powerful and terrifying like the way lightning takes up the sky.

The air she feeds into this once calm space feels damned.

He stood from his desk at such an ungodly, not to mention, noisy intrusion.

Catherine’s hawk eyes are scanning his rooms. They narrow to rusty blades at him. Some way relived.

“You’re safe.” She says it like it’s a minor convenience.

“Where is the Tsarevna?” She orders to know.

The guards flanking her file into the room and fill it up. Hands poised over their guns ready to aim and fire. Faces stoic.

Paul feels his gut plummet to his toes. “Walking in the gardens. She left half an hour ago.”

Catherine’s lips purse.

“You are not to leave these rooms. Do you hear me?” She seethes.

Before turning around, and walking her terrifying rage somewhere else. Flicking her sherry coloured eyes all poison-filled, in another direction.

Two of the guards flank the doors. The others trail after her like violent shadows.

“Mother!” He snaps after her. Demanding to know what was so twisted about all that. About why he suddenly felt sheer clammy panic. Shimmering it’s nasty way along under his skin like a vile serpent. It’s gripping onto his bones and he can’t shake it loose.

“What is happening? Explain.” He snapped. His voice clapped harsh off the walls. His throat strained around his shout. Eyes ablaze.

Catherine didn’t even try and temper him. She turned and caught his eyes. Doesn’t mince her words.

“She’s in danger.”

Ice fills his blood. His heart hurts where it beats. Trembling in fear. So much fear fills his face, he looks like a shiny eyed boy again. His lower lip trembles.

“No-“ He says. His voice is a quiet bleeding wound. Born on skipped choppy breath. Not you.

“Paul. Stay. Here.” She threatens. Voice falls as hard as knife blows. She leaves blood weeping behind.

She’s just pulled out his guts out and splayed them twisted at his feet. Stomped on his heart the way one would a weed.

Paul has never wanted to disobey her more.

~

Your Autumnal walks did fill you with such joy.

It was yours and Milena’s time to bitch or laugh away from the always poised ears of the stifling court. Where apparently every corner and nook and cranny had both eyes and ears.

You don’t see why you need a chaperone still. You were married. And your usual guards had swapped shift when you departed the house. The new men coming into duty were General Abramov finest - so he said.

You found them passed out in the company of a naked plump whore with a ratty wig. Empty bottles strewn around the pit of their room. Clearly they didn’t care overmuch about your safety when there was vodka and fucking to be had.

You rolled your eyes. You weren’t waiting on another set of grunting shaved monkeys to ready themselves.

So fuck it. You made the executive decision.

You and Darya strode out into the dark heart of the gardens, alone.

Your maid was much sweeter than your friend. More timid wet bunny than a rabid long-toothed mongrel. She pranced gingerly along beside you, tiptoeing like a nervous baby roe deer.

She didn’t talk much and mostly hung off your words for fear of displeasing you. You never snapped at her. You weren’t that heartless. She worked thoroughly hard. She was a diamond in the coal mine of ladies maids. She was good with hair too. Worth her precious weight in gold.

“Lovely day.” You comment. Hiking up your skirts to step over a squelching patch of mud.

“Indeed it is Tsarevna.” She copies your lead.

“You don’t need to call me by my title every time, Darya. It doesn’t exactly trip off the tongue.”

“Yes, Tsarevna.”

You roll your eyes. Really, she won’t be won over.

“I hope the chef makes apple cakes tomorrow. That, or something with yellow pears. They are my favourite fruit this time of year.”

“Mine too, Tsarevna.”

“With cinnamon and brown sugar?” You add. Determined to coax more out the girl.

“Yes. Tsarevna.”

You sag your shoulders down. She wins. Milena would have told you three salacious sex stories by now. And two shreds of reliable gossip.

You stroll along and you introspectively marvel at the slowly deadening trees. You didn’t actually mind the companionable silence.

Autumn here did remind you of home. In Rostov. Your father and his love of roasting nuts over the fire embers at night. Buttery chestnuts and smoky air lacing together.

The prick of frost on your cold cheeks. The loping mist that accompanies a frigid bitch of a blue dawn morning. The way you and your sisters used to collect apples in the orchard. Rusty rosy flesh. Gather them in your apron pockets. The way you had to warm your toes by the fire before bed some nights.

You were more at home bedecked in furs, and being in horse drawn sleighs over milky frozen lakes. White as a swan feather snow.

You liked this type of cold that was creeping in. You put that down to your entirely slavic blood. Sustained on frostiness.

You like it how it is now. An array of golden toffee leaves being tidied into corners by the gardeners. Scuttling papery things being blown everywhere. Tumbling and sticking across the wet grass. You idly wondered in the back of your head why the guards weren’t at their posts.

That thought didn’t sink into the proper full dawning place it should have.

You skimmed your eyes along the clipped hedges. The way the frost knifed at the copper beach groves was stunning. Spiderwebs it’s clawing ice across each and every one of the leaves. The air is ungovernably sharp with cold. Blue silk drape of a sky with a searing mustard sun.

Breath leaves your mouth as a silver wisp. Each drag inhale burns the walls of your throat. You watch birds dip and swoop in the sky above. Through the frost thinned branches.

You walk with your eyes turned skyward for a second. And when they come glancing back down to earth- your steps come grinding to a halt.

You fist Darya’s cloak. Getting her to come to a sharp halt. You tuck her behind you. Your hand a grating pain on her wrist where you held so tight.

There’s blood spattered on the frosty copper leaves.

You’re just coming to the clearing in the groves. There’s a fountain with a Greek statue decorating the space ahead. You know it well. Deep in the heart of this garden. The water in the mossy stone pit, is thick and glossy still with ice.

The guards lay dead, heaped beside the fountain. Slumped dark shapes of what used to be men. Throats laid open from ear to ear. Crimson ribbon cuts draped over their throats.

Darya splits the air with a scream, muffled through her hands clamped to her mouth, tears shaking from her terrified eyes. You catch on what tore that scream from out her mouth.

One of them isn’t dead yet. But the man who just ripped a knife across his throat from behind, unleashed a vivid spill of red. Like he was a boar on a hunt and not a royal guard.

Wide glassy eyes, choking splutters. That dreadful expression as his own blood fills his throat. Choking.

The men holding the knives are not of nobility. There’s two of them. They wore dirty coats and mud smeared faces. Shaggy stubbled beards, and hands and eyes that have never known finery or riches. They’re smiling as they kill.

Catherine was very well hated after all.

Darya’s screams draw too much attention. You try and silence her lest she ends up the same manner as the guard. But then her eyes flick back and she drops into your side. Dropped like a dead weight. Fainted. Perhaps that was a mercy.

Their eyes swim to you.

Without care you’re kneeling in the mud and checking she’s alright. Calling her name but she just lays there limp. You yank hair out her face. There’s mud on your hands. You don’t mean too, but it smeared across her cheeks.

Breath fell silver from your lips as you rasped her name. You refused to let panic crawl up your throat and thicken your voice.

Suddenly there’s a grubby hand fisted in the back of your neck. Cold steel - bloodied - resting at your throat. You will down your bile.

“Up. Suka.” Comes a sniggering voice from behind you. Laughter.

Charming.

You try to breathe as you rise to your feet. They pull you up fast. Shoving you backwards against the grove. Leaves and frost scratch the back of your neck.

“Pity that small one fainted. We could’ve had one each.” One says, tone pure filth. Rakes his eyes over your heaving tits. Not even fully addressing you.

They’re animals at best. Beasts that dared to crawl upright from the mud. Dirt ringed around their fingernails, blood spatters on their brown coats. Shirts yellowed with sweat. Hands red.

The way they’re both looking at you is like you’re a plate of bleeding lamb chops before a wolf.

One is lanky and still brushed with youth. Short shorn hair. He licks his lips as he looks at you. Eyes so deep they’re black.

The other one is shorter, older. Hair blonder and shaggy. Down to his shoulders. Eyes paler but no less spurned, entirely wrapped up in blood lust- pure hatred.

“I’m Russian you Mudak.” You spit out at them cursing at you thinking you won’t understand your native tongue.

The young one grabs your cloak in a fist. Clenched the fabric. Rips it off to see more you. Silk ribbons slither free and they cast your fine cloak into the mud. Get a better look at your dress and bodice.

“Look at that- fuckin beautiful.”

You blaze with a furious blush as he drags the knife tip under your diamonds pushing up so the gems grew tight around your neck. Choking a little. Choking you on your riches like the pampered bitch you are.

“The diamonds or the tits?”

“Both.” He guffawed back like a hyena.

You bristle. Caused the younger one to prick the slimy knife deeper into your throat. It burned. Grazed skin.

“Behave girlie.”

You can’t keep to silence. You can’t. Your pride is unleashing it’s jagged monsters. You’re snapping your fangs without thought.

“Fuck you.”

The knife pushes in more. You felt the scrape of it pushing at your rage slicked heartbeat.

“Keep your fucking tongue still unless you want it cut out.” The older one slithers a smile at you.

You spit at him. It lands right on his chest. Streaking down his coat.

“You’re going to regret that Suka.”

“Doubt it.” You snap.

Then he gets closer and his filthy hand grabs your chin. Hard. Squeezes your bones.

“Shame that. To leave a pretty girl without a tongue. It’s all you must be good for, Suka.”

You glare. Eyes threaded with steel. Your backbone rigid.

“If you’re going to keep calling me Suka, you better put start putting royal before it, scum.”

The young one fists his hand in the back of your hair and forces you to arch your neck. It burns. His foul breath washes over your face. His lips are chapped. His teeth are twisted black and yellow.

“Who might you be then?” He wonders aloud.

“Too smartly dressed for a maid.” The older one proposes.

“Maybe she’s a Whore. Opens her legs and keeps her cunt wide open for the nobles or the Prince.”

“What whore would have a maid?” The young one asks.

A beat of silence. You swallow

“The Tsarevich’s wife would.” The older one grins. It’s deadly.

Bile fills your neck like acid.

“We’ll go and find your pretty prince when we’re done here with you.” The young one taps your cheek with his fingertip.

“Slit his stupid throat. Leave you gutted open here. Two little presents for that Empress cunt.” The young one keeps his hand in your

Then he chuckles and it’s sick. Looking down your body. “Maybe you’re already carrying the Empresses’ heir huh? That princes babe in your belly.”

He makes a face that you could only describe as coldly flippant.

“Shame.”

You barely register anything else save for the way he swings his arm back and goes to bury the blade in his hand deep in your belly. The older one watches on.

You brace for the hot mean slice. Your hand vices for his wrist. But no pain comes. It didn’t penetrate your skin.

You flick your eyes down and see the blade hasn’t even pricked beyond the whalebone of your stays. Stuck on the thick close fabric of it. It only ripped the silk and left blood that wasn’t yours.

You act so fast you can’t believe it. Your hands are shaking. Time slows to honey.

You twist his wrist hard enough to potentially break it. He screams. Too slow.

You grab the knife and tore it onto his lanky throat. Ripped it across his neck and push him away. You hear his grunts of pain that churn into wet sloppy chokes.

You’re a sight. Red spattered across your cream silk and those fat diamonds. Droplets across your face and cheeks. Dripping off your hair darkly. It’s like there’s red rose petals on your dainty lace gloves.

You sneered at the expression on his face. Eyes glassy wide and blown with disbelief. Shock. Blood sheeting down his grubby clothes as his hands scrabbled for his neck.

The older one comes for you in rage. Which makes him clumsy. He pushes you into the mud and used all his weight to try and choke you with his bare hands. Where he felled you, the knife scattered out your hand.

Greasy blonde hair falling in front of his rage flushed face. Muddy clothes and the horrid weight of rutting man like a stocky boar above you. Spittle wet on his lips.

He’s cursing your name. You’re grunting and trying everything in your gritty scrappy power to overcome.

He gets his meaty hands around your neck. You scrabble your fingernails at his dirty coat. He slaps you to keep you subdued. Cheek stinging. Mind reeling into base animal instinct.

You twist and reach for it. The knife you dropped. Your fingertips barely reach the handle. A desperate stretch. An empty slip to the frosty muddy grass.

Your world starts trickling into punchy static swirled stars. Blood pounds white and black over your eyes. Pulsing with the craving for air.

Not for long.

Where he pushed you and climbed on top of you, your skirts were up around your knees. And with every painful pulse of your brain. You reach for the slither of a dagger you keep in your garter.

You get your slippy fingers around it. They drift off. Blood smeared over your thighs and your breath is starting to wane. Trickling out dry past your lips. Paul’s face flashes in your mind. Last thing you can think of. Those brown eyes and the corner of his pink smile caught in candlelight.

You could sob with the agony of it. You really could. Your lip trembles.

But then something else roundhouse whirls into your chest like a furious storm that can’t handle your bones. Rage. Love.

Tears squeeze out your eyes that feel ready to burst as you gape up at his furious face. Digging his nails and thumbs into the meat of your neck. The burn of blood rose furious in your throat.

You slam your knife down into the soft of his back. Three times. You stab and stab down down hard until pure terror seizes over his face. Until he’s weak enough that you can knee him off you and grab the back of his neck. Fist his dirty collar in your hands and grit your teeth.

“Rot in hell.” You curse at him before you slam the sticky steel knife into his throat too.

Gurgles and frothy pink blood. More red blooming down into your dress. Sour metal in your nose. Too many warm pennies. It’s gummy on your hands. Sticky.

You hate the smell of blood even on a hunt. It cloys on your furs and matted and made you feel sick. You never hated it more than now.

You kick him off you and scramble to your feet. The weight of him off you. You’re upright and legs trembling like they won’t hold you.

Skin too small. Your veins wriggle like flames. Your steps shivered. Body bowing pathetically. Every muscle sore and still pulled taut with adrenaline.

There isn’t enough air and all you can taste is blood. You spit it out your mouth but it doesn’t leave. Bile tries to force its way out but you just breathe. For now. Just try and locate the thin air.

You brace a crimson hand on your stomach. Stained lace. Mud and blood smeared on your dress. You cannot hear the sweet call of birds or the wind rattling it’s whisper through the trees. All you can focus on is the fierce drum of your heart. Lungs swelling in the trap of your ribs.

You stand and stare down the centre of the copper birch groves. Trees lining the way in your vision. Back to that terrible palace. You just stare because everything is still ringing in your ears.

Guards are furiously running in their swathes towards you. So many of them. Rifles aimed. General Abramov in the centre enfold of stocky columns of uniforms that were his men. Barking his orders that you cannot hear. It’s all swirling mute to you.

Paul is there. Surrounded by a cluster of soldiers. In his untucked white shirt, undone jacket. Hair a smushed mess. Pistol locked in his hand.

Your face is oddly stoic.

He stalks towards you- terrified eyes scanning the bodies slumped around you. Your maid. The guards. The blood. The knife still dripping in your hand.

You’re covered in it. He doesn’t know if he’s out his wits with fear, or wanting to get on his knees and pray his thanks to the heavens, til his lips hurt.

Wrap his hands around your hips and kiss your belly. Chide you and love you in the same breath cause you scared him to death.

You barely see him when he comes up to you. Calls your name. Cups your face. Doesn’t care for the mess all over you. He needs the snap of your diamond eyes meeting in his.

He drops his pistol cause his hands are around you. All over you. A scuff of material catches rough on his palm. Grazed jagged silk.

He looks down and sees the knife sized hole that had been stabbed into your stomach. His breath lays in his throat and it’s too thick to reach.

Even in your hard prickly angles, your glassy steel countenance, and they’ve cut through your brambles and laid their hands on you. Hurt you.

You finally say his name. “Paul.” It’s not even above a raspy whisper.

Tears shine in his eyes and you don’t know anything else than how to clutch him and hold onto his hand over your belly. You chuck down your bleeding dagger. Will the blood ever come away.

You wait until he reels you into his chest and cups the back of your neck to cry. Fear finally gets to you. Hands cold and scrabbling for his hair. His warmth. The smell of his shaving soap. Safety.

For now, it’s enough.

~

Night fell swift. Catherine was furious. Seething spitting nails at everyone who crossed her path. Livid at being disobeyed.

She chucked wine glasses. She threw priceless vases at the walls. Shrilled til her throat hurt. Shards of broken things less spiked than her displeasure. The countess could barely calm her down.

She cast her eyes over you as Paul walked you back from the gardens. Soldiers flanking you entirely and the General on your heels.

You stepped inside and she was ready to draw some blood of her own. And then she saw you. Red spattered face and dress. That metal scent living on your skin and you were dying to scrub it away. You wanted that harsh scratch from a hard wooden brush. Bristles on your skin until it barbed to pain.

You meet her eyes. You don’t back down.

She almost had the balls to look impressed. Intimidated even-

“Go get her cleaned up.” She orders gently to the maids.

The first time you’d ever heard anything gentle come out her mouth. Crossed with respect. She nods at you. You feel blessed in some ways.

And here you were. No longer trembling. In the piping hot bath in Paul’s quarters. Water slicked over your skin. The bath water still ran pink even now. Even after they sluiced it off you with cold jugfuls before you got in the tub.

Your throat is stinging. Eyes bloated and sore from salty tears. You weren’t angry. Or sad. It went much deeper than that. Roots clinging. You’re not entirely certain why you spilled tears. Maybe it was that one thing you swore you’d never show;

Fear.

It’s fully matte dark and the room is only licked by flames. The orange of the fire and the spin of the gold from the candle holders. You turn and turn a wedge of soap in your palm until your fingertips were pruned. Your hair sticks down your back. Wet silk that sticks into the water.

Blood still in your mouth no matter how much you swilled with tea or water. The wine still tasted bad. It will be a while before you can stomach swallowing claret.

The maid knocked on the door. A harsh rap that disturbed your silence. It seemed almost too much. Overwhelming. You flinched.

That wasn’t you.

You were at peace with the crack of the flames and logs shifting in the half. The swish of the water around your naked limbs. The smell of your tuberose and cashmere wood soap. That was all you wanted for now.

“A little longer, Tatiana.” You call out. Not unkindly. Dazed maybe. You didn’t have the energy spare to be a sniping viper tonight.

The door opens anyway. You don’t bother to cover yourself. The waterline only just hid your nipples.

When you look up. Paul is stood sideways in the door. “I took the liberty of dismissing your maid.” He tells you.

“Did she say how Darya was.” You ask.

“Awake but she was very shaken. The doctor attended her. Gave her a draft.”

“Poor kid.” You sympathise. Scrubbed the soap bar down your arm.

You feel Paul bristle at that. You just know. When you look over at him the sides of his mouth are taut. Pulled firm with anger.

Catherine does the same. When the lips purse, that’s when you know- run.

“My concern is elsewhere at present.” His voice is stiff. Tamped with stomping brat and anger.

“Do not think to lay the blame at my feet. I went for a fucking walk.” You hold firm. Eyes gazing into his. Too tired to be slinging vitriol back and forth.

But you won’t dare let him forget you have sharp snarling teeth. They may be tucked away. But just because a panther sheathes it’s claws doesn’t mean it’s lost use of them entirely.

“I don’t lay blame at you. I’m just trying to wrestle with the idea that I could have lost you today.” He snaps out louder than he intended. Voice reed thin.

Stood at the end of your bath in his big baggy shirt and breeches. Barefoot and stripped down to nearly nothing. Rubbing his forehead and trying not to let fear bleed into his voice. He failed.

He looks so young. So stricken with fear as you sat there. Watching candles flicker jerky flame across his satin cream cheeks and those wide brown eyes.

You say nothing. “You want to be angry with me.”

“I’m not angry. I’m livid.” He hissed out.

I’m terrified. Is what you hear.

“Those men meant harm. They killed four guards.” He tries to strike fear. You’ve had enough of it today.

“I’m sat right here proving their plans otherwise.” You insist.

“Because you got lucky.” He snips.

“Not really. I’m always armed.” You insist.

He softly uses your first name. He never does that.

“Try and take what I’m saying seriously.” He pleads.

You look at him for a silent beat. He’s lumping all this on you and you’re just trying to sit here and manage to breathe.

“They said they wanted to hurt you.” Another swish of water. Swill of soap over your palms. Chalky and white woody petals.

“They told me. They were going to gut me and leave me in the gardens like a stuck boar. They were going to come and slit your throat. Leave your mother our corpses to find. A present.”

His face falls into distress. He’s spurning with so much anger and sadness it’s starting to rule his expression. His eyes twirl with it.

“So before you sit there and rightfully rip pieces out of me, Paul. I ask you this: What choice did that leave me.” You say it so softly. But your meaning is backed by steel.

He soaks in your words. Drinks them in.

He can’t cross the room fast enough.

In four quick strides he’s on you. Uncaring for the soap suds still on your skin or how your hair is dripping. His face is in your neck. His arms wrapped around you and yanking you to the edge of the tub. You’re dripping spots onto his white cotton sleeves.

His fingers rake through your hair. Wet beading on his fingers. He tilts your face up and just traces his thumb over the stinging welt that animal left.

“I don’t want to be without you.” He whispered softly.

That’s what it comes down too. When everything else is stripped away.

“I’m a bitch with sharp teeth and lots of knives. My Angel. I’m not going anywhere.”

You pat his cheek. Slide into an easy plump-lipped kiss. He pushes his mouth onto yours. Strokes his fingers gently down your naked wet back. Those melty chocolate drop eyes by candlelight you will never get enough of gazing at. Or into.

“Your fierceness today astonished me. I’ve never known you do anything so physically Russian.” Ghost of his smile returns.

You take a breath. Something swims on the tip of your tongue.

“I believe It wasn’t just myself I was being very Russian in defending.” You admit.

His face is thrown into all realms of bewilderment. “My love?”

You tilt your head at him. Smile like you’re the gatekeeper of sacred secrets.

You take his hand and slide it under the bath water to your belly. Fully soaking his sleeve. You press his palm onto your warm flesh.

There you fool.

“You-“ He gasped.

Fell on his knees. Mouth gaping. Doe eyes wide. You stunned him like a deer caught out in the open on a hunt.

“Congratulations. Tsarevich.“ You smile. “And may the Lord fucking help us.”

~

My taglist for the babes; @ceriseheaven @indouloureux @stiegasaw @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @starbxcks @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @poppy-metal @munsonswhore86 @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-tittie @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos @2clones-1kamino @edsforehead @chcolateeyelver @seven-glass-kids @forever-is-not-for-everyone @creme-bruhlee @bkish @wayward-rose

🥀- lmk if you want to be added or removed. drop a comment to join taglist. This is the most up to date tag list I will be using on all my JQ stories going forwards I don’t wanna miss anyone out ! 🥀

#Prince Paul #prince paul x reader #prince paul smut #prince paul fanfic #prince paul x you #prince paul imagine #smutty #so much smut #so much hatefucking #husband x wife #enemies who fuck #married enemies now #catherine the great 2019 #Joseph Quinn #punkwrites #gore #violence #blood #death #slaughter #assasination attempt #assassins #married smut #man and wife #tsarevich paul #Tsarevna

[yoongisleftearring]

I never actually mean it

× in which your coworker is insufferable but not more insufferable than a mean customer

-> pairing: barista!Hyunjin x barista!reader

-> genre: fluff, angst(?), enemies to ?

-> word Count: 0.7k

-> warnings: nothing, just mean customers

-> notes: not sure if this can even be called an imagine it's so short but this was a short story I made for my creative writing class that I wrote with hj in mind (I literally called his character Sam) so i hope you enjoy :)

Golden rays of light embraced the cafe; you had always loved how peaceful it was at this time before the red sign that hung on the door was flipped, welcoming those who walked past the quiet coffee shop. You hummed quietly to yourself as you emptied the beans into the hopper, the sound filling the cafe as well as the warm aroma of the coffee.

The bell on the door rang out, interrupting the flow of beans, causing you to jump and spill a few.

“No need to panic, I’m here now,” the man sang out, his long brown hair pulled back into a half ponytail, wisps falling out to frame his face. His smile was wide, dimples showing.

You scowled.

“You’re late.”

“By like five minutes,” he scoffed, walking past the annoyed barista to get to the small staffroom snuggled behind the bar. “Loosen up,” he muttered as he slipped past. You rolled your eyes. What a dick. 

This would be a long day.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The bar was small. Too small.

“Can you move? I need cream.” He asked but didn’t look for an answer before he pulled open the fridge door, which was inconveniently placed just below the coffee machine where you worked.

“Ever heard of manners?” Your eyes dropped down to his cream apron, which was slightly discoloured now thanks to the countless coffee stains. He managed to remember his name badge. ‘Hyunjin’ was written messily on the badge, and you wondered if customers could even make out what it said.

“No, what's that?” He smiled flippantly.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“About time you realised.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The bright golden rays started to dim, and streaks of orange and pink decorated the wooden tables of the cafe as they tried their best to penetrate the white polyester blinds covering the windows' top half. Artificial light filled the places that the sun couldn’t, but they were a warm white, dim enough not to drown out the natural rays.

“That looks like shit,” he voiced unnecessarily, staring down at the swirls of white that joined together to create something that looked more like a mushroom cloud than a heart. Or maybe something else. Your cheeks burned as you looked down at the coffee, which even you could admit looked a bit shit, if not slightly phallic.

“Oh god,” you groaned. Hyunjin let out a loud laugh. You felt your cheeks burn brighter. “Maybe if you weren’t constantly staring at me like a creep, I wouldn’t shake so much.”

“I think you just need to accept that you’re no good at latte art.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The sun's warm rays had cooled down, a white haze flooding in from the world outside, barely doing anything to light up the tables inside. The colour reminded you that it was almost time to go home. Tomorrow you would be back, but thank god Hyunjin had gotten the day off after grovelling to your boss the day before.

“What the fuck did you do?” A man spat, making your eyes widen, and Hyunjin glanced in your direction from where he stood, not even three feet away.

A lid sat on the floor behind the bar. He reached for the tissues that sat in a box before him, using them to wipe his sleeve.

“I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll get you a-”

“Don’t bother. You’ve done enough.”

“Is everything okay here, sir?”

“Are you the man in charge?”

He hesitates. “Yes.”

“Well, I suggest firing this fucking bitch because she’ll drive every one of your customers away!” He boomed, his face becoming dark red.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

He scoffs, spit flying from between his lips.

“Oh, I see what’s going on here.” His eyes were dark as he looked between the two baristas. “Good fucking luck with her,” he laughed spitefully before leaving the shop, the bell signalling his exit. Once you heard that chime, you turned and walked swiftly to the staffroom.

“I’m sorry, just a moment.” The waiting customer smiled politely, seemingly unbothered with the delay.

Hyunjin pushed the door open only to be met with the sight of you crouched over, sobbing.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“You know I never actually mean it, right?” Your eyes are red when you look up at him. “You’re the best damn latte artist in this mall, okay?”

#stray kids imagines #kpop #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you #stray kids hyunjin #skz x reader #skz x y/n #skz x you #hyunjin #hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin x you #hyunjin x reader #skz drabbles #skz imagines #skz #stray kids #fluff #barista!hyunjin #hyunjin fluff #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin angst

[gods-favorite-autistic]

Rtc neurodivergency headcanons:

Ocean isn’t professionally diagnosed because her parents think that smoking weed will somehow cure her autism

Noel was diagnosed when he was five and I feel like his mom started out as one of those mommy bloggers who was like “autism has stolen my son 😭”

She got better don’t worry

Penny is very attached to her doll and loves it to death but if she accidentally touches the fabric on the dolls dress when she’s having a bad sensory day she will yeet that bitch across the room as fast as humanly possible

We stan Mischa our favorite undiagnosed adhd bisexual Ukrainian king

Constance is the one who diagnosed Ocean because like A. She’s been friends with this girl for her entire life and B. She is also autistic

Ricky has a stim that is literally just him signing the word for cat

Ocean and Mischa are the perfect pair during group projects because Ocean has the unlimited energy that she gets out by writing as fast as humanly possible and Mischa just has these bursts of productivity that he uses for the more creative parts of the project

Ocean has a verbal stim that she got from Penny where she just kinda makes a small little “hmm” sound

Noel has a stim where he just kinda…blows on his fingers. Like Ocean will be in the middle of talking and he’ll just kinda…bring his hand in front of his mouth and blow on it

Constance’s mortal enemy is this specific blanket that is brown and has those little fuzzy cotton balls that are like sensory hell

Mischa messes with his phone case as a stim

Penny and Ricky are the least experienced people at masking

“People already think we’re weird, why try to hide it now?”

Ocean almost never stops masking

Like it is so hard to get her relaxed

One time she was having a meltdown in class and the only person who noticed was Noel because she was gripping her dress so tightly that he knuckles looked like pieces of paper

As much as they argue, Noel and Ocean are really good at calming each other down when they’re having a meltdown

They’ll notice the other is in the middle of one during class and then figure out a way to somehow get them both out of class and into a secluded location

Mischa has a very specific set of headphones and a very specific hoodie for whenever his executive dysfunction is at its worst or he’s just having a really bad sensory day

Whenever Ricky’s having a bad day whenever he gets home he makes it his personal goal to pet every single cat in the house because A. It is an impossible task and B. The cats’ fur always sends him to sensory heaven

This either comes out one of three ways:

He gets so caught up in trying to pet all the cats and the difficulty that this task brings that he forgets about his bad day

He gets so distracted in the fluffiness of the kitties that he forgets about his day

He accomplishes the task and is so proud and happy with himself that he forgets why he felt bad in the first place

Ocean came over one day and he could tell she was really wound up so he gave the challenge to her instead

She was later seen running after a very chunky orange kitty throughout the hallways while Ricky rolled behind with the biggest grin on his face

His parents took a picture of that moment that he now has on the wall of his room

Noel has a basket full of stim toys in his room

Sometimes when they have a sleepover at his house there’s like a solid few minutes of just fidget toy noises

They all steal hoodies from Mischa and then proceed to steal Mischa’s hoodies from each other

Constance has a lot of information on a lot of things because she has a new special interest about every month or so

She makes comfort cupcakes when she knows the others are in that place where everything is just too much

One year for her birthday present Constance bought Ocean noise cancelling headphones

Ocean almost sobbed

#tw cursing #cw cursing #feel free to add on if you’d like! #also if the hand blowing thing seems specific that’s because it is. I’m projecting onto these characters and no one can stop me #also the verbal stim thing is something I do as well #ride the cyclone #ride the cyclone musical #maddy says dumb stuff and no one listens #rtc #mischa bachinski #mischa rtc #ocean o'connell rosenberg #noel rtc #ocean rtc #noel gruber #constance rtc #penny rtc #ricky rtc #jane doe rtc #jane doe #penny lamb #ricky potts #constance blackwood #neurodivergence #autism headcanon #adhd headcanon #autism #adhd

[madammidnightsblog]

Jin Guangshan x Dom! Fem Reader

I don't like this man at all but he is pretty and slutty so he has his rights to be fucked like a whore so here is a small thingy I made because why not???? It may be crappy but yeah

Warning: pegging, degrading, cheating amd talks of leaving said relationship, and big dildo 🙏

"Look at you," your hips moving slower, slamming against his rose tinted ass to shove the pale orange dildo deeper into his ass, "The elegant and marvelous Secr Leader Jin Guangshan under a mere peasant like me, getting fucked in the ass like a common whore." You spat as your right hand wrapped around his long light brown ponytail, tugging harshly on the silky strands until his head was facing the ceiling.

His lusted crazed brain was filled with sex and the desire to cum as his gummy walls hugged the toy tightly, wanting to push it further into him and split him open. Honey-like wails left his lips along with drool as the tip of the false cock hit the spongy spot in his ass, making him see stars and he couldn't help but to squirt out a pearly white liquid onto the silk yellow sheets.  You grimace at his orgam and yanked his head back further which made him let out a pained cry, his eyes squeezed shut from the uncomfortable pain in his neck and he let out a whimper once he realized you stopped moving. Guangshan wanted to order you to move, to fuck him into the mattress but he knew better. He knew if he even formed a single word, you would stop and leave him to tend to his needs like you have before.

"You are just a common whore it seems. Can't even follow a single order just like a disobedient whore and it pains me to even spend my time fucking you. It truly disappoints me." You sneered in disgust while pushing his head away, letting go of his now ruined ponytail and pulled out.

He was quick to turn around on his knees and looked up at you in panic, "W-What no! I'll do better. I-I promise my love so please don't go." He cried.

You glared at him which made him stiffen, well everything but his cock stiffen. The poor dick of his was twitching and throbbing in pain despite cumming once. He was in desperate need to cum again and the angry glare of yours was going to make him cum untouched because damn you looked so good angry to him. Cocking an eyebrow of yours, you placed a hand on your hip in annoyance, "Really? Are you able to listen? Because that mess on the sheets says otherwise."

"No, I-I can! I promise! J-Just let me try again a-and I will do better!" He pouted.

He laid onto his back, his messy long hair framing his face and pillow under him all prettily and to make it better, he spread his long and slim legs to reach past his neglected cock and spread his ass for you to see his gaping hole, "Please, Madam. Fuck my little bitch hole, I promise I'll listen. I just need you to fill my ass and turn me into your own personal whore." His voice was low and seductive, using his only true skill he has to get you.

You watched how his hole was clenching around nothing and it made you swallow your saliva. He was a shit father to his children, a horrible husband for sleeping around with any whores and a minor sect leader like you, and a coward of a sect leader but it was true, he was only good for fucking and turing into a good whore. Your plan has always been to have him running back to you and being nothing put a pet that sits at your feet, waiting to be fucked onto every flat surface in your sleeping couters.

"Fine," he purrs in delight, "But only if you agree to step down as Sect Leader and come be my personal whore." You smirked as you watched how his eyes basically formed hearts.

"Yes, yes! I will do it for you Madam! " he sang as you climbed onto the mattress and got between his legs.

"Good. Now, be a good whore and keep those legs open. I don't need to remind you that good whores listen to their Madams." You growled as you rubbed the dildo against his fluttering hole.

His legs came up to his hickey covered chest, hands holding the back of his thighs as he purred, "Madam, you look so beautiful."

A smirk formed on your face as you shoved the toy deep into his ass, your thighs slamming against his ass in a harsh slap. His lips curled into a wide and lustful smile, begging for you to fuck him hard through whiny moans while you yanked him further against you until the fake dick was balls deep into his hole,making him see stars. He was truly a whore for you and you were more than happy to see him in a slobbering and disgraceful state under you, knowing in the end he will choose you over anything and it made you drill into his ass and having him clinging onto you while sobbing about how he can feel you in his stomach, rearranging his guts at this point with how long and big the dildo was.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" He screamed as you thrusted harder and made him squirt hard, his pretty dick throbbing as he released hard between your bodies.

#the untamed #sub character #dom reader #jin guangshan

[bitchdafuqyousay]

Hans Fauste

An awful, metallic scent filled the hot air. Made worse by the heavy humidity that hung over their island so stubbornly, hanging around as stubborn as the beady eyed, cold, cruel people who’d made their homes here.

The closer he got the smell of cigarettes began to make itself known. The smoke from the little white and orange sticks twining and dancing with smoke from a gun. Or two. Depending on if the bastard he was marching to meet felt like drawing both this evening. Cigarette smoke, gun smoke, the salty air gently wafting up from the beach- and blood. Lots of it.

Blood, piss, tears, and vomit. 

“This place fucking reeks.” It always did.

Bronco stopped firmly before entering the pathetic excuse of an open air courtyard the complex boasted. Used to boast. It doesn’t anymore. Being a meet up for all the lowlifes on this side of the island culled any and all bragging rights. Not like there were any tenants here to brag anyways. Even the homeless avoided this place. The people who hung around here or crept over occasionally didn’t live in any of the buildings.

Roanapur’s “finest” used this place. He wasn’t one of them. And he’d never claim to be, the way others might. Don’t pretend to be something you’re not. That was a sure fire way to get a bullet to the front of your face and find your final resting place in a back alley dumpster. But he did know some, and he’d “work” with them on behalf of other people, if they paid him good enough. His eyes scanned the yard, glancing briefly over the two bodies across the way from him, heaped together. They’d either been dragged there or killed there. Bronco couldn’t tell; he didn’t really care either as he wrinkled his nose at the sight.

One of the poor bastards had pissed himself pre-mortem. Shame. That’s embarrassing, and unfortunate- but quite understandable.

And even more unfortunate than that was that they had to meet and see the man who’d put them in that heap. The one he was looking for right now. Absolute monstrous brute. He could smell the fucker’s cigarettes, but couldnt see him.

“Fauste!” 

He waited a second before inhaling deeply to yell again, “Hans-” and was treated to a face full of smoke. Cue disgusting, dramatic hacking to the backing tune of a dark, low chuckle.

“You dick-” he coughed again “-that went in my fucking mouth you fu-” 

“Loud.”

He cut himself off at the single word from the other man. It wasn’t a threat, just an observation, but better safe than sorry. And one would end up real sorry if they didn’t stop while they were ahead out here. 

“Whatever. I don’t need to ask you if you’ve done your due diligence. I can see it. Smell it, too.”

The other man smelled like blood, and that alongside the state of his knuckles screamed that shooting wasn’t all he did to those men. Fauste chuckled meanly and flicked his cigarette butt to the ground, stamping the cherry with the heel of his boot. The sides and toes of his boots also spoke of how much else he did.

“Somebody will ride by to pick those up, then hand ‘em off to Dr. Smiles to break up-” he gestured at the corpses, “Lord knows I don’t deal with that stuff and while you and yours are real good at leaving bodies you don’t do shit to pick em’ up.” 

He turned away from the courtyard to leave the damn thing’s entrance, and his nose brushed Hans Fauste’s chest. He wasn’t sure when the man had gotten behind him, last he’d looked the pale blonde was to his left. His new directional orientation aside, when’d he get so close- why’d he get so close?

“Fauste- '' he put a hand up on the man’s abdomen and shoved a bit. No give. “Fuck are you doing?” He pushed again, same result. The big bitch didn’t budge, just stared down at him with an odd look that made him sweat. His mouth twitched as Fauste’s brown eyes narrowed to slits so sharp he thought the gaze alone might slit his throat. 

“Bronco.”

The sweat turned cold, his name falling out from that man’s mouth made his stomach tighten. He wanted to get out of here. Get into his car and call the person he was third partying for and tell them to run the Maroon Company their goddamn check. Cut this interaction short as he could, he always tried to cut these things short as possible. He hated these types; people who’d been steeped in blood since they were kids and didn’t know anything else but it. Learned how to hold a knife when other kids were learning how to hold a pen. Brats from war sunk places- official and gang- who don’t know shit but kill or be killed. Sympathetic figures, honestly. But he hated them. They were barely people, they didn’t flinch at causing or receiving pain of some kind or another, devoid of empathy and had a real lack of concern for the sanctity of human life. 

Loyal though, if you could train them right. 

Hans was trained, followed around his boss like a big dog. A real big, real mean, violent, aggressive, and reactive dog. He was good to his team, though. Alex and Sam hadn’t a thing to worry about from him. Especially Alex, it seemed like he was a bit sweet on her. Hans would sink his teeth into anyone who had a pulse and said yes, hell, he’d even tried to fit his teeth into Bronco once or twice, but everyone knew he held a special place in whatever was left of his heart for the lady. And he was decent enough to Bronco cause they met every now and then. He’d mediated between people who wanted Hans and the company the blonde was with to do something for them. He’d done this several times so he was a familiar face.

Even nasty dogs are less likely to bite if they recognize you.

But that flies out the window if you cross one the dog’s lines; step on a paw or the tail. And Bronco was straining to remember if he’d done just that. 

Hans tilted his head to the left, then leaned forwards some. It looked odd, him stooping like that while his head was at an angle. And damn did it highlight the height difference between the two men. He was a big guy, and Bronco knew he was intentionally playing on that by leaning forwards to meet his eyes. 

You’re small. So much smaller than me- look how far I’ve gotta bend. Ya see? How much I’ve lowered to meet you in the middle? 

It was an intimidation tactic, and sure, he’d been on the receiving end before, but it was different right now cause it was just the two of them. Prior to this, Hans’ boss was usually here, someone who’d tug his leash and tell him to sit. But now. Now it’s just Bronco, Hans Fauste, and two dead guys at the other side of the courtyard in the center of an abandoned apartment complex. A place where undertakers lurked in the basement and unlucky bastards got their shit rocked in the rooms where people used to sleep. A breeze pushed the smell of blood from the bodies into the small space between the men. 

If I wanted to hurt you, I could. I would. What could you even do about it? I’m armed, and even if I weren’t, I’m so much bigger than you. You can’t fight me off.

“Up it.”

“Pardon?”

Hans reached out and placed a heavy hand on Bronco’s shoulder, putting the other in front of his face and rubbed his pointer, middle finger and thumb together. Money. Then he pointed at the entryway ceiling above them. 

Ah, up it. The price, the cost has risen. Their employers were gonna have to lay out a bigger amount than had been agreed on prior. Bronco, to his credit, didn’t give a shit. Sure fucking thing you big bastard, fuck em’! Make em’ pay a million US dollars for it for all he cared. But they were paying him too. They were shilling him a handful to act as a representative. So he had to represent.

“But a price was already agreed on-”

Hans shrugged dismissively, that big pale hand not leaving his shoulder even as he straightened his posture. 

“I can’t just tell them to write a bigger check without telling them why, I’m gonna have to call Bast and ask her if she’s got you asking for more or if you want a tip for your good work.”

Hans rolled his eyes like some damn teenager before meeting the older man's gaze again, “I’m just doing what I’ve been told.”

His voice was a low, gritty whisper. He didn’t talk much, whether that was a choice or a result of the jagged, pale pink tear across the front of his neck he didn’t know, but regardless he half wished it’d affect him more and make the shithead totally mute. He didn’t like it when Hans spoke, nothing good happened. Plus, he didn’t like his voice. Sounded… wrong… in some way.

“Wow, I’m one lucky bastard, getting to hear a whole sentence from you. What a treat, you’ve used me to meet your word quota for the month.” 

Bronco huffed, turning his face away from Hans and planting his hands on his hips, then looking down at his shoes. They were all dusty now. Hans’ hand squeezed a bit before leaving his shoulder. Bast had evidently approved this, he trusted that Hans was in fact doing what he was told. 

“Ugh. Right. Well, I’ll call our beloved customers and tell ‘em terms have changed and that they gotta get in touch with Maroon Company now. Fuckin’ hell. Now I’ve gotta mediate a meeting. Phone or face?”

Hans screwed up his nose and snorted. 

Yeah, pointless asking him. He wouldn’t know, didn’t care either. That was between the clients and Bast. He just did what he was told. 

Sit, stay, bark, bite. 

Another long sigh left the shorter man’s lips, and he ignored the way Hans’ eyes focused on his mouth for a brief second before they drifted over his head. Probably to admire his handy work in the courtyard. The pale man snorted again, turning away and pulling out another cigarette. Horrible habit, chain smoking. It was rare to see the guy without one of the little cancer sticks hanging out his mouth. But, in turning away, he moved, and Bronco could scoot past him and start pacing towards his car. The man snorted when he went by.

Run, rabbit, run. So, so eager to get away. Rabbit running from the hound.

“I’ll see you around, Fauste. Try not to get fatally shot between now and then.”

#sometimes she writes #oc writing #Hans Fauste #my ocs #these guys started out as black lagoon ocs- hence it being set in roanapur but eventually they took a life of their own #rip bronco always dealing with freaks #Bronco #my writing

[showtoonzfan]

so how do feel about the Niftty design but also know that all the main characters are done what's your overall thought on all changes that for me weren't needed plus the added red (normally i wouldn't mind all the red if it was different shades for each character but so far there all wearing charllie's red hue)

My mind has been on SO many other things recently, that I literally forgot about the nifty “redesign”, even though I said I would review it lol. So since the question is here, I’ll talk about it!

Once again her design didn’t change at all, mainly her clothes and a few color switches, but not anything major. I was disappointed of course to see that she looks nothing like a bug or has bug features like viv had stated, since they had the chance to add something that would give that vibe but once again the character doesn’t really look like or resemble what the creator had in mind for them. How hard would it have been to add an antenna? Or make her mouth look different? I know I sound like a broken record with this one as well but Nifty was another one of those characters who I didn’t think looked very…demonic either. She honestly just looks like a noseless child with sharp teeth (just like the rest of the cast) and one eye. If Viv was going for this 1950’s cyclops bug demon, this wasn’t really what I pictured, but that’s just me bitching about her design in general though. As for the changes, once again this picture proves how nobody on this team knows how to use colors. The background is mainly pink, red, and a hinge of yellow, and guess what? So is her design. Her brown scarf and arms are black now, which only makes the design look more boring and standard, since red and black are also colors that viv blends too much within the other characters. The brown before at least made her stand out a tad, but again, now it’s kinda basic. It seems like whenever Viv TRIED TO change the overused colors on these characters, she would always pick white or black. You DO realize there are other colors in this world than white, red, black, pink, and yellow right viv? The only thing I’m glad that they did was change the yellow skin, not just because of Nifty being Japanese, but mainly because I was so sick of seeing pink and yellow. Then again, her design does have some yellow in it still, it’s mainly the reddish pink I’m bothered by, and it doesn’t help that her whole dress is all that one color now, aside from the white apron. I also actually LIKED her orangish eye, because orange believe it or not, is a color I thought would look GOOD on Nifty, but now it’s just pink. I will say that if you compare the two designs, she definitely isn’t as brightly colored as she was before thank god, but she’s still red. At this point I 100% feel like the visual elements of Hazbin are going to look EXACTLY the way the pilot did, where the characters just MELT into the backgrounds because Viv….a person who went to ART school, decided that it was a good idea to make your background color palette’s the same color as your character’s color palettes. So yeah I’m not happy to see Nifty is mostly reddish pink now. AGAIN, this wouldn’t be a problem if Nifty was the only pink colored character in the show, but she’s not. You’ve got Alastor, Charlie, Husk, AND Vaggie now thanks to Viv’s ungodly obsession with the color red, and before people go “it’s to match the color of the hotel!”- yeah I’ll call bullshit lol, we all know why the characters have hues of red on them, and that’s because viv can’t pick a damn different color.

Oh, and of course there’s this other character who’s name is Keekee, and they’re apparently the hotel key, that has this cat form. This character did appear in one old speedraw that Viv did, so I always wondered who that was. However, I don’t really care for this…character, I don’t think they’ll add much to the show other than being cute kitty service for fans, so I’m kinda ehh on that. Other than that, that’s all I have to say for the Nifty redesign. Again, I really think she would have stood out if she were the only brightly colored pink character. It would make sense since she’s supposed to be cheerful (and a rip off of pinky pie), but like I said, she isn’t the only brightly colored red character. Her outfit is also boring, sure she looks like a maid I guess but not really something I would say gives me a 50’s vibe. I’ve seen more creative redesigns, that’s all I’ll say.

#vivziepop critical #spindlehorse critical #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel #Hazbin hotel nifty #demon character design #character design critique #Hazbin hotel criticism #vivziepop #hazbin hotel redesign

[lost-locket-antiques]

I know I said that I was going to draw how my aliens kiss, but I kinda realized something… I made all of them way too complex.

I designed them like animals that’ll never wear clothing, rather than a canvas for said clothing. The one thing you’ll notice about us humans is that, completely naked, we are very boring, design wise.

Now, don’t get me wrong, anyone who draws people will tell you that the human body is a very complex thing to draw, there is a reason why hands are such a bitch. But if we are thinking color, and basic design, we are very simple. We’re a canvas, if you will.

The most color we get from our bodies, besides brown, is blue, green, or orange, and two of those come from our eyes! That being said, I need to have the same design idea for my aliens as well.

They need to be “boring” to look at without clothes. Simple color combos that can be easily complimented with pretty clothing.

So, uh… get ready for some redesigns.

Also, don’t worry, their basic shapes are going to remain the same, just trimming down the fat. The nezchelit are still going to be raptors, the rezmal are still gonna be snakes with hands, the pseudo-centaurs are still gonna look kinda like centaurs, and the jiralfs are still gonna look like giraffes. Trust me. I didn’t spends fucking months on those designs just to yeet them in the trash.

So I might be gone for a little bit before I reemerge  with some new puppies in the back.

#updates from the locket #salt and light #world building #worldbuilding #alien design #fantasy #sci fi

[extsev]

The Silly Story PT 1

(FOR MY FRIEND AND I, READ IF U WANT BUT JUST KNOW IT ISNT AN X READER) THIS IS AN AU OF SOUTH PARK BTW

This high schools a hell hole. Mila and I are considered "the weird kids," as you may call it. For some reason, we're not bullied as much as the others. We're kind of just, ignored?

There's these four kids. Eric (well we call him Cartman because its his last name,) Kyle, Stan, and Kenny.

Eric wears a red sweater with a blue scarf, and dark brown sweatpants. His outfits pretty simple! He doesn't really talk much, he's nice.

Kyle wears a trapper hat, with fluffy flaps to cover his ears. He has a black turtle neck, with an orange button-up jacket on top, black sweatpants, green gloves and a blue necklace that adorns on top of his outfit.

Stan wears a red button-up, with a half zipped brown jacket. He wears blue jeans. He used to wear a blue and red beanie, but eventually ditched in middle school.

Kenny's outfit is my favorite. (Along with Kyles, but shh...) He wears an orange parka, with light brown cargo pants. He used to like matching his pants and parka with the same color, but decided the brown looked better. Good on you for color theory! Instead of hiding his face with the hoodie like he used to do, he just wears a fabric mask to school.

During the years they've gone to this school they've just made it worse. They torture the kids here to the point some even went to the hospital. I don't know why the school doesn't do much about it. The most they get is a suspension, never kicked out of school.

Surprisingly, even though my bestie and I are "weird kids," we're not beaten up. We're just ignored. That's good, but it kinda sucks when no one knows who you are.

"Sev! Wake up girl, it's lunch time. I gotta go get my lunch. And, y'know, you don't have to since you get the free lunch shit.... Sev? Heellllooooo...? Girl, are you narrating your life in your head again?" I wake up from my trance, as Mila snapped in my face.

"Fuck- Sorry! And uhhh... Maybe..." I shooed her away as I got up in embarrassment.

She facepalmed, and dragged me into the hall. "Ughhhh... What have we talked about..? This ain't no Disney movie! Plus, it's really distracting you now. All you do is zone out and imagine scenarios!"

"But it's fun! Plus," I brush my pants off from the dust of my chair, "I don't have to deal with being ignored 25/8 if I imagine that stuff!"

"You'll still be alone eiithherrrr wayyyyyy!! Although, you do have me!" Mila flipped her hair smiling, as I walked away. "Noooo! Don't leave! I need to go to my locker!"

I chuckle and turn to her, "Just meet me in the lunch room, m'kay?" (haha.. mkay..? ... shhh)

IN THE CAFETERIA

I grab my lunch, and walk over to the spot her and I always sit in. Suddenly, I bump into a tall dude. Bruh. Move, the fu-

OH. Okay, never mind. It's Kyle. Oh shit. I knocked his stuff out of his hands too. I'm definitely screwed, this is how I become known. Literal dead meat.

"I'm so sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Let me get your stuff." I mutter, reaching for his bag.

He slapped my hand off his bag. "Don't even bother," he spoke, picking it up. "Who the hell even are you? I've never seen your stupid face around here."

"Oh! Uh, I'm Sev! I'm still really sorry.." I scratched my neck, I'm so stupid. He stayed silent for a moment, but looked to his friends.

"Sit with us."

HUH? BITCH WHAT? HELLO? "Well uh, I always sit with my friend Mila!-"

"Sit. Now. She can sit with us too." He told Cartman to push a seat out on the opposite end of the table, and he patted it.

"Well, if you insist..?" I sat down near Cartman, who clearly was always terrified. How is he still friends with those 3? Well, I mean he is stuck. I spot Mila, and wave at her to gain her attention. She stands in total shock, sweating at the sight of the boys. She runs over, clinging onto the sleeve of my blue hoodie.

"Why are you sitting with them..? They could completely bite your face off!" She whispers into my ear, as they glare at her.

"C'mon, sit down! It'll be fine!" I whisper back, and drag her onto a chair.

"So.. What do you guys do after school for fun?" Stan questions, poking at his food.

"Well, we like to go to 7-11! Or that good ramen place on park!" I spoke, as Mila looks at me with terror in her eyes.

"Sick. Which 7-11?"

I draw a line of the road with my fingers as I talk, "Y'know the one near the gas station? And the little park right there!"

"What do you get there?" Kenny finally talked, shocking Mila and I. I thought he doesn't talk?

"I love to get orange Monster! Or a coke-" I state, but Mila cuts me off (although I don't care because I was about to stop talking anyways.)

"I like pink lemonade!" Mila slowly lowers down because she talked. "Sorry.."

"Mila it's okay girlll!" I reassure her, patting her shoulder. Kenny leaned over, whispering in Stans ear. Stan nodded and whispered back, as Kyle added on. Cartman, Mila, and I sat there confused.

"Uh, do you wanna like.. Hang out with us after school? Kenny'll pay for you guys."

Mila and I look at each other giggling like idiots, and I exclaim, "Heck yes! We'd love that!"

[calicos-critters]

stillness, canvas, day, arms, and favorite for my bitch wife mellita

hiiiiiiii thank u for the question :0

stillness: How does your OC act while still? Are they fidgety? Do they have any common gestures or tics? Does their clothing affect how they hold themselves while at rest?

She's usually frowning when she's standing still, but will pick dirt out from under her nails if she's bored. Usually not very fidgety in general.

canvas: Does your OC have any scars, piercings, tattoos, or other markings? Do they display or cover them up at all?

Many, MANY scars, both from her blood magic and from post-Circle fights she's gotten in. She has a very notable burn scar across one shoulder and part of her breast which she is a bit self conscious about and prefers to hide, but the rest she usually keeps on display unless she thinks it would be a problem (eg. at Halamshiral). She doesn't have any tattoos but I imagine that eventually she would get one renouncing circle life in some manner.

day: What does your OC wear on a normal day? Why do they default to those clothes? Do they wear similar things, or do they change it up?

She defaults to short sleeved tunics and pants if she's not going into battle generally and keeps her color palette limited to oranges, reds and browns. She likes to wear similar things most of the time, partially because she'd gotten used to the Circle robes removing the choice and now purposefully chooses an outfit which wouldn't be acceptable there. Most of her clothing choice is practical though, based around ease of access to her own blood for magic and colors which are easier for blood to go unnoticed.

arms: Does your OC have any weapons? What weapons do they carry, and how do they wear them when they're not fighting?

Ohhh yes, Mellita keeps weapons on her. Usually she's carrying around a huge staff with a metal bladed end (similar to DA2 staves) and always has at least one or two smaller blades for purely practical reasons (blood magic). She likes keeping her staff strapped to her back using a leather holder which has snaps to keep it from going too far off her back; her blades vary location-wise depending on how many she's carrying at the time but she always has at least one on her belt.

favorite: Does your OC have a favorite article of clothing or accessory? What is it? What's the meaning behind it? Do they wear it all the time or do they wear it sparingly to keep it safe?

I don't think she has a lot of super sentimental accessories or clothes, unfortunately. She probably has more of them after reuniting with her brother, Matthias, and after the beginning of her romance with Lark. I imagine in my Nydha canon she'd keep a bracelet he'd created for her with tributes to Elgar'nan on it. She does probably still have the first piece of clothing she bought outside of the Circle and has kept it, though she only wears it for pajamas.

#oc: mellita trevelyan #ask game #calico speaks

[mxjones]

CORALINE JONES is based on CORALINE from CORALINE. They are a 27 year old GIFTED HUMAN, MOVIE THEATRE ATTENDANT, and uses THEY/THEM pronouns. They have the power of DIMENSION JUMPING.

HINTS OF INSPIRATION TAKEN FROM : 

riot maidstone from hello from the hallowoods. friday rescher from hello from the hallowoods. ned the piemaker from pushing daisies. georgia "george" lass from dead like me. heather davis from crazy ex-girlfriend. darlene alderson from mr. robot. wirt from over the garden wall. olivier song from hello from the hallowoods.

as well as:

⁠— the iridescence of dragonfly wings. ⁠— the colors royal blue & dandelion yellow. ⁠— crisp twilight hours when the evening dew soaks your jeans and the toes of your sneakers as you tread through the grass. ⁠— glow in the dark star stickers placed haphazardly across your bedroom ceiling; a little janky because of how the bed wobbles as you stand on it for the height boost. ⁠— fiery-orange tigerlilies. ⁠— the "don't worry, i've got this." light up sketchers meme. ⁠— chipped black nail polish and dye-stained fingers. ⁠— 90% shane madej & 10% ryan bergara.

GENERAL

name. coraline jones.  nicknames.  n/a.  date of birth. july first.        age. twenty seven.      gender. nonbinary. pronouns. they/them.      powers. dimension hopping.                  sexuality. demi/bisexual.     occupation. movie theatre attendant. song. spillways by ghost. emojis. ⭐✨💫💙💛

APPEARANCE

height. 5'9".       build. athletic, lean.        hair colour/style. medium/dark brown, although they have been known to dye it every so often. short. somewhere between a bob & a bixie cut. eye colour. brown.    piercings. multiple earlobe piercings; helix. tattoos. a smattering of stars up their right arm, a small dragonfly on the inside of their left wrist. most likely more to come.       notable markings. freckles across their cheeks, nose, and shoulders.  faceclaim. brigette lundy-paine.      

HEALTH

physical ailments. n/a.     allergies. easter lilies.       sleeping habits. usually 6-8 hrs; less if they need to stargaze to sleep. prone to naps on those days. eating habits. they eat the best they can but they're not really best at planning meals. snacks throughout the day; mostly fruit. dominant hand. left.       drugs / smoke / alcohol?. sometimes / no / sometimes; they know their limits and don't push it but it is fun to get a little buzz every now and then.

PERSONALITY

tropes. deadpan snarker, the dreamer, the astrophile. positive traits. creative, helpful, adventurous, brave. negative traits. standoffish, blunt, sarcastic, strange.  likes. stargazing, poetry, cats, black licorice, the occult/supernatural. dislikes. being talked down to, orange flavored candies, unnecessary small talk, being interrupted.  bad habits. speaking before thinking, coming off as rude/blunt/snarky/sarcastic without meaning to, daydreaming, resting bitch face, sneaking into parks/cemeteries after dark.  

TESTS

zodiac sign. cancer.     mbti. infj.        temperament. somewhere between melancholic and plegmatic.    moral alignment. chaotic neutral.        primary vice. sloth.        primary virtue. patience.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

;; people who build their houses in your heart. | friends!

coraline isn't very sociable most days but these people seem to've wormed their way into their life (and heart) without them realizing. it's fine, though - they wouldn't have it any other way.

;; it's pretty killer to sit and chat with you... | confidants / close friends!

the very few people (or maybe just one person?) that coraline trusts with late night texts/convos about real life worries and the like. someone they confide in (& perhaps who confides in them, as well.) this is who they message to come stargazing in the middle of the night because existing together side-by-side is so much better than existing alone sometimes.

;; hey there demons it's me, ya boy. | occult friends!

people who are also enjoyers of the supernatural/occult/horror stuff! perhaps people who also sometimes sneak into the cemetery at night hjsdhsk fun stuff, fun times !!

;; never knew i could feel like this. | crush or smth?

i'm a hopeless romantic idk what else to say on this one hsdjsk could be unrequited! must be someone they're already close with, as coraline is demi.

&& probably more tbh !! if u have an idea for a connection please just jump into my dms i will more likely than not be Stoked Abt It hsjdhsk i'm a Simple Man,,

#;; it is a happiness to dream. | coraline #;; books written by rabbits. | hcs & writings #finally dropping the intro post that i keep saying im gonna post ; u;

[sleidog]

Sleibhain + 🍎, 🥭, 🍌, 🍋, 🥑!

(-@astralarias)

🍎 [RED APPLE] Who does your OC value above all else? fairness and equity, slei used to be an outlaw/gang boss living around lion's arch and the amount of nobles doing absolutely nothing for the increasing amount of refugees is entirely why he stuck around to lighten some heavy pockets and put it where it mattered more, he's sort of robin-hood like in his morals. he's the type who'd lift a kid/cub up onto his shoulders if they were trying to watch crab toss but couldn't get a good view or something 🥭 [MANGO] What colours best represent them and why? Does this differ from their favourites? I always associate him with fibrant yellow/green/orange, but his favorite colour is actually blue, he loves the colour of the ocean and sky, because to him that means 'freedom'. he hates being confined or stuck in murky brown-grey cities when he could be living by the ocean or out under the open sky 🍌 [BANANA] Have parts of your OC been lost to time (in-universe)? What do they wish they could lose from themselves? in universe he's lost a lot of his perpetual indifference [he used to have a lot of resting bitch face which made him way more intimidating than he actually is] now he just has a softer slightly vacant/daydreamy expression rather than an almost cold looking focus like he used to have, that's a bit of a relic from when he was a gang boss and needed to have an air of 'don't fuck with me' to keep his boys in line. I think slei himself is happy with where he is more or less, he's very 'everything happens for a reason' so to say he wants to lose something from himself is difficult 🍋 [LEMON] What is their kryptonite/ultimate weakness? slei is very much The Commander in that if you hurt his friends he goes absolutely bonkers, he's usually very calm and serene but putting a friend in danger will draw out the side of the commander that we're familiar with as players, the takes no shit and gets things done no matter the cost [especially to themselves] commander. 🥑 [AVACADO] What will they never back down about, even if it makes them seem bad? probably his attitude towards theft out of basic need. fundamentally theft is bad, but someone taking food for their kid who'd otherwise starve, or taking a coat because they'd freeze? he's turning a blind eye and telling no one, or outright helping you get those things stealing luxuries for the sake of it when you can afford them/do not need them however? he isn't going to help if you're caught, but he's not ratting you out either

#slei #ocs #worldbuilding #thanks for the ask!

[mbb-project-entity]

Chapter 71

At 25 Lindsay was a successful, albeit stuck up wedding coordinator. She focused only on rich clients and ignored any client she didn’t think could pay her overpriced fees, with barely 3 years in the business she thought everything else at a wedding was useless compared to her and only her service was worth the price. She expected a hefty referral fee and for all referred vendors to drastically cut their rates, or she’d black list them.

Tall, dark haired, blue eyed with pale alabaster skin, and only a few lbs to lose to be at her ‘perfect weight’, she felt superior to most people

Rude to hired help and to ‘lowly’ wedding vendors, she was especially unkind to Filipino women. She considered them cheap and tacky and beneath her. She often joked with her Orange County friends that the ‘first three words Panoy women learn in English were: “What’s my discount”.

She would joke with other coordinators that if it wasn’t for ‘rich bald white men’, Who would marry those little tramps?’ This coming appointment was to change everything though, as Lindsay set up a meeting with a very prominent, well to do Dr. and his fiancée, unknown to Lindsay. She had no idea the fiancée was a powerful Kulam in her village, nor that the Kulam was quite familiar with Lindsay’s attitude. Nor how powerful the Kulam’s magic was.

Filipino Anna was petite with large brown eyes and very dark skin, as was her maid of honor. Dr. Layton was a frail, balding podiatrist, much older then Anna.

The three of them arrived at Lindsay’s office 20 minutes late, the girls a few years older than Lindsey, wearing loose fitting Capri pants and well used flip-flops. Anna disappeared into the bathroom for several minutes, while Dr. Layton sat wearing a suit and appeared timid and catering to Anna. Anna returned from Lindsey’s bathroom and spoke in Tagalong to her bridesmaid Yvonne, then in English to Lindsay and to her fiancée.

Lindsay was not amused, in fact, she was indignant. “If you are going to talk about me or discuss the wedding I’d like you to speak in English in my office, this is America” said Lindsay.

Lindsay then noticed the Dr. was asleep, his head dropped to his chest, when Anna pulled out a small doll from her purse, and a spool of black string.

Anna began speaking very rapidly in Tagalong as she stared at Lindsay while wrapping the string on parts of the doll. Lindsay noticed when the doll was turned around That it was made to look just like her. She was shocked, more so when she could not break her gaze.

As Anna continued, Lindsay stood up, indignant. “Look, I don’t understand your dialect or your gibberish, and frankly I have had enough. I am ready to end this appointment if you can’t respect my 3 years of high end service to….” Lindsay saw a wax crayon rubbed on the mouth of the doll and suddenly she could no longer speak. She touched her lips, they felt sealed shut. Anna touched the doll and Lindsey’s face went into a fake smile.

Anna bent the legs of the doll and Lindsey felt herself kneel in front of Anna. Anna bent the arms of the doll out like a sleep-walker and Lindsey felt herself posed the same way, bowing to Anna, her face locked in that stupid smile as she did.

Anna began to laugh. “Now you see who is in charge, stuck up White bitch. I have all the power. Anna pulled some hair she took from Lindsay’s brush in the bathroom and pinned it to the head of the doll, in full view of Lindsey. She then breathed slow, hot breath onto the dolls face, and spit on it. Lindsey suddenly felt cloudy headed and dizzy. Anna’s voice began to echo when she spoke.

She saw Anna take a very short small pin and poke the forehead of the doll several times, very deeply. Now when Anna spoke in Tagalong very slowly and mysteriously to the dolls head, Lindsey felt a dull headache and confusion, it was like someone was scrambling her brain, as Anna’s words echoed in her head.

Anna tied the doll’s hands behind her back with the string and Lindsey felt her arms move and her fingers clasp each other behind her back. Anna bent the doll from kneeling to on it’s back with the feet flat on the ground and it’s knees together with legs bent. Lindsey assumed the same position and waited, motionless, speechless.

Anna began laughing with a high pitched laugh as she kicked off her flip flops, and revealed her perfect, tiny, tan and slightly soiled feet. She got up and sat down on helpless Lindsey, using Lindsey’s lap as a seat, with Lindsey’s bent legs as a chair back, and Lindsey’s face as a footrest. Lindsey was powerless as she acted as a human chair for the strong willed Filipino woman.

Lindsey normally would have been indignant, enraged and trounced the much tinier woman, who now used her as furniture. But Lindsey felt disoriented and helpless as the tiny dark feet, which were moist and had the scent of cornflakes, rested on her pale face.

“You smell the scent of your betters, your Dios, now. “That means goddess, you cloudy headed bitch. I am your goddess now, and all Filipino women are your Dios now.” Laughed Anna.

“You are useful only as I see fit, and you will now be the exclusive, obedient, submissive slave for any Filipino woman who wants your services, from NOW ON. You will begin by kissing my soles, then licking them clean, memorizing their exotic scent and flavor, craving the dominance of your betters. Do it!” Anna commanded.

As if in a nightmarish dream, unable to think clearly, Lindsey’s tongue poked out of it’s captive mouth and began to lick the salty bottoms of the much smaller woman’s feet. Each lick became easier and less labored, as Lindsey swallowed everything the tiny feet gave her. Her eyes studied each wrinkle, her mouth explored each curve, her nose filled itself with the scent as Lindsey inhaled deeply, as if each sniff was not enough.

Anna pushed a finger and thumb into the doll’s head and Lindsey became still and glassy eyed, feeling the pressure on her own temples, as if Anna was pushing programming buttons. Using her big toe Anna pressed on Lindsey’s chin opening her mouth. Lindsey was motionless as Anna and her maid of honor Yvonne leaned over her and began allowing spittle to cascade slowly from their tiny mouths into Lindsey’s wide open mouth, filling it, with Dios saliva.

“Swallow and crave the spittle of your betters you konya! No longer are you stuck up-you spoiled white woman. Now you belong to all Filipino women as an eager servant, humble, vacant, obedient, craving the flavors of your betters. You are eager to serve us, obey us, worship us. You have never been so devoted, so hungry before.

I am going to humiliate you but your pussy will react to humiliation as it would to a vibrator,” laughed Anna. Lindsey tried to protest, but her voice was meek.

“No, no, I won’t.” she whimpered. Anna pressed both feet onto her face again. “Yes, you will, you must. You will tell me now what kinky things Men have asked you to do in the past that you hated.” Insisted Anna.

Lindsey whimpered: “I don’t like anal or guys who spend too much time on my feet, or want to have sex when I am sweaty from the gym, how could they like b.o?”

“Ha!” Laughed Anna. She breathed slowly into the dolls face then touched the doll to Lindsey’s forehead, as if she was downloading the thoughts from doll to Lyndsey.

“Now you are incredibly turned on by exactly those things, but with your Dios. Filipino feet are your kinky turn on, your obsession, your weak spot. Any Filipino woman can get whatever she wants from you merely by tempting you with her feet. Sweaty Filipino women from the gym make your mouth water and your pussy ache, you desire to lick their sweat like manna. When you work for a Filipino client, the only client’s you desire now, you wear a vibrating butt plug all day at the event.” Anna commanded as she laughed maniacally.

Anna removed her wet feet from Lindsey’s face, wiping them off on Lindsey’s hair and neck. Humiliated but wet and aching for release, Lindsey couldn’t move, until Anna repositioned the doll on all fours, which repositioned Lindsey, as if by remote control.

Amazingly Anna’s fiancée slept through all of this, as Yvonne pulled down her jeans and revealed a pert little deeply tanned ass, and a recently bleached anus.

“Crawl to Yvonne and apologize for your attitude to your Dio’s ass!” demanded Anna. Lindsey’s body awkwardly moved toward its target until Lindsey’s face, tears streaming was almost against Yvonne’s ass. “I am….sorry…for…my attitude, Dios.” Whimpered Lindsey. “Now, kiss it, kiss her ass like you love it, slow and deliberate. Lick those cheeks like you would lick ice cream, moan like a white whore.” Commanded Anna as Lindsey helplessly obeyed. “Stick your tongue out, like a dart, with Yvonne’s asshole as bull’s-eye, and make a bull’s-eye, over and over, until you hear Yvonne come, then bury your face deep in her ass and don’t move until I say so! Yelled Anna.

Moving her head back and forth like a wind up toy, Lindsey probed Yvonne’s beautiful ass under Anna’s commands. Yvonne shrieked as she came, and Lindsey buried her face in the young dark woman’s ass, holding perfectly still. She finally fainted from being smothered by the perfect ass of Yvonne and fell over onto her side, unconscious.

Lindsey awoke minutes later, arms behind her back, legs out flat, ankles tied together with string, with Anna sitting on her face now, minus panties, just her neatly trimmed beautiful Filipino pussy in her face. Before she could speak, Anna inched forward, covering Lindsey’s mouth but leaving her nose free to breathe the erotic musky scent.

“You have really changed your ways Konya! You look at Filipino women’s pussy like heaven now and you drink our piss like champagne. In fact you crave it, you want it all the time, I could fill your tummy with it and you could work all day nobody knowing you are so low you walk around turned on by being the human piss pot for your Dios. Just knowing this is your proper place makes your pussy ache, only able to share your protests with the voice in your head. If people wonder how you keep your teeth so white, or how you lost all this weight you’re gonna lose, it’s your secret.” Anna said.

Make sure your lips make a perfect seal, you don’t want to spill a drop on your pretty clothes when I let my bladder go…. Now!” said Anna as she released. The sweet, warm, mildly acrid stream filled Lindsey as she swallowed. She was as humiliated as she was satisfied. She craved more. More from her Diyos, her beautiful Diyos.

As Anna stood up on shaky legs, she was replaced by Yvonne who took a turn, leaving Lindsey with a little pot belly full and a craving for more humiliation.

Anna took a handmade ‘friendship’ bracelet and tied it around Lindsey’s ankle, then made sure the knot was secure. “You will NEVER take this off, but instead leave it on, so other Diyos know of your status, and to remind you that I have total control over you now, and knowing that turns you on more than anything. You will be reinventing your business and client base on my directions, and you will no longer need male attention as you are daydreaming and masturbating daily about how you may serve and humiliate yourself to please your Diyos from now on. Even our accents get you hot and bothered now.

When Yvonne stood up, and pulled up her pants, Lindsey was ordered to stand, touch up her face in the bathroom and return with a contract, and to feel her pussy ache with desire and subservience any time she heard a Filipino woman say the word “discount.” Lindsey sat very properly, she was almost motionless, as she waited for Anna to speak.

Anna tapped her fiancée on the shoulder and he awoke, unaware how long he was out.

“Honey, you fell asleep, but Lindsey has been kind enough to offer us a substantial discount, (Lindsey whimpered quietly at the word) and told me frankly she has been overlooking a very important client base, who she will be putting much more focus on now.” (Anna turned to Lindsey) “Won’t you?” Lindsey gulped, her pussy ached with a need for submission. “Yes ma’am, I am extremely service oriented, it will be an honor to serve you” parroted Lindsey, speaking as if someone was pulling strings on a puppet.

Dr. Layton Smiled, he looked at the agreement, and turned to Anna. “My, this IS a substantial reduction!” he beamed. “Yes, it is quite a discount” said Anna as Lindsey once again not so subtly squirmed, hearing Anna’s voice say the word that turned her on so much.

Anna stood and so did Yvonne. Lindsey stood when given an approving nod that she may stand from Anna. “I wrote down the webpage for our engagement for you to study until we meet again to go over more details.” Said Anna. “There’s several pictures and a list of what I expect you will deliver for our Wedding.” She continued. “Yes ma’am, I will look at that site immediately and text you if I have questions on how to better serve you. “Very good, I will text you whenever I have a suggestion or idea.’ Said Anna. Just hearing the command of Anna’s voice made Lindsey’s pussy quiver.

After Anna’s group left, Lindsey hurried to take a bubble bath and brought her laptop, and a chardonnay. She had a nice little shelf across the tub for both to sit safely.

Anna was uninterested in her chardonnay, as little could compete now with the tastes she just experienced. Lindsey turned to the website, where she saw the beautiful face of Anna and her 8 bridesmaids. She found herself zooming in on all the photos of the young Filipino women and focusing on their feet in flip flops or open toed shoes. Her hand found it’s way to her crotch and she began touching herself. All those bridesmaids, all those Filipinos. She kept fantasizing they could all take turns ordering her around as Anna had done, and that each one would require their perfect little feet pampered, worshipped, perhaps even honor her with a golden shower as Anna did. She further imagined what their pussies looked like, and as she brought herself to orgasm after orgasm. She actually wondered if she could fill her worthless stomach with the nectar they all had to offer her, those Diyos. If nectar from Diyos were her main diet, she could get as slim as her betters demanded. She came again imagining being the most submissive and humiliated she could be with them, and how honored she’d be.

She came again and again imagining it, letting her bask in it, illustrating her submission and her proper place to them. She knew she had to redesign her website to exclusively attract young dominant Filipino brides, and if she was lucky many might be like Anna, eager to order her around and take control of her as she had. The thought of a continuing clientele of dominant Filipino women ordering her around gave Lindsey yet another orgasm, as she saw herself submissively servicing Diyos after Diyos.

Almost high with lust for the small dark beauties, Lindsey looked up nail salons, tanning salons, and shoe stores where she might be able to meet enough Dios on a regular basis to offer herself as a personal assistant, a helper, a maid, a massage therapist, anything where she could submit to, obey and in her own way worship them. She considered taking a night course in massage so she could moonlight doing outcall massages for her Diyos clientele. To be allowed to massage them, touch them subserviently attend to their feet…omg she thought. She was exhausted and light headed before she finally got dried off and went to bed, her little head filled with dreams of how she’d be able serve her betters.

WEBSITE REDSIGNED

Within a week after several phone calls and repeated ‘consults’ with Anna, Lindsey’s new website really re-branded her service: “More than just wedding coordination, a consultant that knows her place, eager to humbly serve her specific clientele. Be treated like the Diyos you are, “Serve the Goddess” provides coordination with a difference. Lindsey offers a full body exfoliation, and moisturizing treatment, foot massage & exfoliation, pedicure and nail polish with each consult, as well as the week before each wedding. Up to 5 bridesmaids free with each Bridal booking, my passion is to serve you. You are in command at your event, I am here to humbly serve your every wish.” With over 50% of the new site written in Tagalong in the 1st rewrite, and 100% the second, Lindsey’s regular Orange County clients vanished and her market became quite specific. After immersing herself in ‘superior language’ courses, Lindsey was able to understand and speak the beautiful language of her betters, following orders and eagerly taking commands whenever possible. Each consultation got Lindsey so hot and bothered she really, really loved her work. Clients referred her because they loved a white woman giving free massages, free foot rubs, free pedicures to gain clients, and even when they didn’t book, Lindsey got so hot being that submissive to the beautiful Filipino women she didn’t care.

Lindsey under Anna’s influence redesigned her office space as well, selling off or giving Anna for her new home, any items Anna asked for, while adding some massage tables, remodeling her bathroom (even though it reduced her bedroom size by more than 1/2). This allowed more than one bridesmaid to shower, or use her massage jet spa and tanning beds (at no charge). Lindsey also offered spray tans or hand applied moisturizer or self-tanner for a pittance when her brides or brides maids demanded it. Some were unaware how much Lindsey was enjoying giving the hands on service, but many used that advantage to end consultations with happy endings. Her website also not so subtly mentioned an eagerness to work same sex female weddings, and she was really able to ‘service’ those clients. On many occasions she was able to humbly and submissively ‘service both brides’. This only expanded the market of dominant Filipino women eager to order around a submissive white woman who was eager to serve them hand and foot, and who did whatever they told her.

Lindsey took courses in cooking so she could provide lumpias as appetizers, and she stocked her fridge with regular coke and Filipino delicacies, ignoring her own appetite and cuisine, only eating and drinking as Anna instructed.

Her circle of former snooty consultants forgot all about her, but her new adopted Diyos, were all getting great deals, and Lindsey was very excited at each new consult, and super excited at each wedding, where she truly felt the ‘good vibrations’ and really got to very humbly serve her betters. She was perpetually in a great mood, at the edge of orgasm obediently serving her new clientele, and on her mostly liquid diet her teeth were bright white and her weight was down considerably.

Her little black book was tossed in the trash under Anna’s suggestion, and Lindsey couldn’t remember what an undressed man even looked like, nor did she care. Looking UP from on her back below a perfect Filipino goddess using her as a chair, or hearing Tagalong muffled by beautiful brown thighs around her head was all she cared about now. Their array of scents and flavors was all she cared about now. Her need to obey and serve her Diyos clients filled her waking and dreaming hours. She wasn’t concerned anymore that she made less money, especially giving a ‘handling fee’ to Anna each month, she lived well within her means, and supplemented her income working her non event hours as an obedient, submissive maid to any number of Filipino brides and bridesmaids willing to pay her minimally, so her service continued after the weddings.

She was thrilled simply to be of continued subservience to her former clients, and the clients loved the individual attention and the expert massages and foot treatments she gave so eagerly. Nobody minded passing her around, as she was so agreeable and obedient, truly convinced now she was a servant to her betters as she eagerly ‘served the goddess.’

Months later

The formerly snooty Wedding Planner was now the proud owner of ‘Serve the Goddess, a website written entirely in Tagalong catering to Filipino brides and bridesmaids as well as same sex weddings between Filipino women. The pale skinned, tall, blue eyed brunette was especially subservient when dealing with her clients, and she included so many extras for free in her packages. She had remodeled her house to have a large greeting room with massage tables, a large multi shower bathroom with Jacuzzi tub, and a very small and sparse bedroom for herself, since it was merely for sleeping now.

Lindsey’s wardrobe was comprised now of a few outfits for working at events, Several maid uniforms, and a few bathing suits.

She always wore her ‘friendship ankle bracelet’ given to her by the woman she referred to now as ‘mentor ’ her silent partner Anna (who got a commission on every event and free services for the asking) and Lindsey’s once high maintenance long hair was now cut to a pixie cut.

She had a tagalong tramp stamp now that read: masunurin alipin para diyosa, roughly translated meaning: ‘Obedient slave for Goddesses’ in an elaborate font. The tattoo artist was quite turned on applying it.

When the events were finished Lindsey obediently cleaned up after her current clients, then she changed into her maid uniform: High heel pumps, garters, apron, and hat, to arrive at the home of her previously most recent clients to wait on them once they returned from their honeymoon. She had been filling her nights after events and during a few nights of the week. She did the maid work primarily for tips but rarely asked for them or brought them up.

It worked especially well since Lindsey showed zero interest in the husbands, and never made the wives jealous as she subserviently waited on them hand and foot. The wives enjoyed this added seemingly free service, having their feet lavishly pampered, followed by massages on the portable table Lindsey usually brought. Lindsey would even polish the cute little toes of her betters, then blow on them to dry the polish, looking up at her superiors for approval. Having such a devoted, subservient, obedient white woman, as practically free help put was a wonderful perk for the exclusively Filipino clients of “serve the goddess”. The clients were all instructed by Anna to treat Lindsey as merely a maid once she assumed that role, stressing that it helped her performance, as she switched roles from wedding coordinator to maid. They were even told to refer to her merely as ‘maid’ when she worked in that capacity.

Tonight she arrived at the home of Mrs. Quilentang, a Filipino woman in her late 30’s with hair lightens to a very nice chestnut color. The traffic made Lindsey 20 minutes late. Mrs. Q opened the door peeved. “You are late maid, I don’t appreciate tardy servants.” She said with a heavy accent that made Lindsey quiver with excitement. Once the Wedding coordinator role ended and the Maid role began, Lindsey’s clients behavior changed accordingly, all thanks to their correspondence with Anna.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Q. it won’t happen again, the traffic was ridiculous tonight.” Whimpered Lindsey, as she curtseyed repeatedly. “Don’t let it happen again, maid. Fortunately I saved up all your tasks from the past couple weeks, so you may make amends.” Snarled Mrs. Q.

“But won’t that take all night?” asked Lindsey sheepishly. “I have a twin size bed you may sleep in, since my 18 yr old daughter is sleeping at friend’s house tonight. She’s rather sloppy though, so you will have to move her sweaty lacrosse socks and clothes, then wash them in the morning.” Said Mrs. Q. in response.

Lindsey would have touched herself if she could have gotten away with it, but she maintained and waited for her to-do list.

Mrs. Q began: “I left a lot of dirty dishes, you will need to scrub them by hand, and load the dishwasher, and of course put them away when it’s done. Meanwhile I have all my laundry that needs doing, and the floors downstairs need to be scrubbed by hand as well. All the shoes I have worn to work need to be shined, and all the rugs need to be vacuumed. Do all the loudest things first, as I need to rest.

You may massage and lotion my feet, whether I am awake or not, as they have been quite dry lately. Normally I would have you use the pedi-egg but I prefer to sleep tonight, so you may have to apply lotion for a longer period. Do you understand maid?” She reiterated. Once Lindsey assumed that role her clients tended to never let her forget she was their lowly maid, which thanks to the work done by Anna only served to keep Lindsey in a constant state of arousal. “Yes Ma’am she answered” meekly.

Lindsay knew her night would be long. Those who used her as a maid, the service she automatically offered every client who had hired her as a planner, tended to make the most of it. Lindsey began her long evening, as Mrs. Q watched TV, then finally went to bed, in a cold upstairs room.

Mr. Q was out of town as well, so for the next two hours, deep into the night, Lindsey diligently massaged the very expensive and erotically scented Q-tica lotion into the very dry feet of Mrs. Q as she slept, snoring softly. In the moonlight they glistened. Lindsey kneeled at the end of the bed in the dark, leaning in very close to Mrs. Q’s feet, enjoying her task. As her hands began to get tired, she slowly stopped. Causing Mrs. Q to wake. “My feet are cold, warm them maid.” She said groggily, as she rested one foot firmly on Lindsey’s face, scrunching her toes repeatedly.

Lindsey knew on some level anyone else might be humiliated but she felt herself have an orgasm, very quietly. “Be still maid, and finish the other foot.” Mrs Q. mumbled while half asleep.

Lindsey started massaging that first foot again, this time putting all her fingers between the delicate toes, as the other foot continued rubbing Lindsey’s face. In her groggy state Mrs Q. moved her foot over Lindsey’s nose and lips, continually scrunching her toes, making Lindsey light headed and aroused. Finally after another hour or so, Lindsey lowered the adorable foot of her Diyos client, covered the dark skinned legs with the blanket and tip toed to the daughter’s room for some sleep.

Mrs. Q wasn’t kidding about her daughter being messy, it was like a hamper of sweaty lacrosse clothes with four walls and a tiny, tiny bed. At this point Lindsey was too tired to make the bed or even remove the daughter’s clothes. She took off her maid uniform and in just her panties and bra laid on top of the bed. She rolled over to her stomach and allowed the scents to wash over her as she felt another orgasm rock her body, then she collapsed into deep, dream-filled sleep for the next couple hours.

MORNING COMES QUICKLY

“Wake up maid! Chop Chop!” Barked Mrs. Q in the early morning. Lindsey awoke with a start, still on the bed with all the soiled laundry, one side of her face shiny from the Q-tica that was rubbed onto from Mrs. Q’s foot the night before. “Wipe your face, get dressed and prepare my breakfast before you clean this room! When you are done I decided I want to change my nail color before you leave.”

Lindsey grabbed the first thing available; the lacrosse socks, and wiped her face. When she saw what she used she felt her pussy spasm again.

She quickly got dressed, rinsed her mouth in the bathroom and went downstairs to make a traditional Filipino breakfast for Mrs Q. of pandesa (small bread rolls), kesong puti(white cheese), champorado (chocolate rice porridge), sinangag) garlic fried rice, and meat, (corned beef), and a side dish of fish daing na bangus (salted and dried milkfish.) Lindsey was well trained in the cuisine of her betters by Anna early on, and quick at preparing the superior food of her Diyos. Merely cooking foods she knew would please them aroused her, reinforcing her position.

Mrs. Q ate quite well as Lindsey watched with admiration, diligently cleaning each dish and wiping the corners of Mrs. Q’s mouth with a napkin as needed. Mrs. Q. could hear Lindsey’s tummy grumble as she ate her last bite, and using the fork she ate with, she scraped all her leftovers (not very many) into a messy pile in the center of the plate she used.

“Maid, you must be hungry, eat quickly then do that laundry, I want to change my toenail polish.” Said Mrs. Q.

Using Mrs. Q’s used fork, Lindsey eagerly ate the remaining leftovers enjoying not only the quality of her own cooking but secretly aroused by the humiliation of having to use her superior’s fork and plate. Lindsey washed up and finished the breakfast dishes, Then swiftly gathered the laundry in the daughter’s room as well as her sheets and washed everything as instructed. Mrs. Q was very specific how she wanted her laundry done, concerning temperature, what must be hand washed, and how each item must be dried or hung while still damp.

Mrs. Q sat in a chair with an ottoman and extended her lovely legs, letting her flip flops drop to the ground. Lindsey went to the cabinet that held the pedicure kit she was to use and brought it over. Mrs. Q’s nails were not chipped at all, and the polish was beautiful already Lindsey thought, a rich shade of silver on such long slender toes.

“I have decided I wish to have bright red toes now.” Uttered Mrs. Q. “Strip the old polish, pedi-egg my soles to perfect smoothness, then polish my toes red, Maid.” Said Mrs Q flatly, as she began to read a magazine.

“Yes ma’am, of course.” Said Lindsey, excited now she could use the pedi egg. First she used nail polish remover, which made her a little light headed, to gently remove the silver polish from each perfect toe of her Diyos. Then she began to use the pedi egg on each foot. As she emptied the delicate flakes of skin she flashed back to what Anna had deeply ingrained in her though her training to betterment. “Even if you smoothed the soles of 100 Filipino Women, and filled a dry tub with all the pedi-egg flakes, you were not worthy to lie in that tub to writhe in ecstasy thinking of your betters.” Said Anna.

As Lindsey imagined that scenario she couldn’t help but see it in her mind and see herself doing exactly that, screaming how she wasn’t worthy, writhing in orgasm.

Mrs. Q noticed the glazed look in Lindsey’s eyes. “What are you thinking about maid?” She asked, slightly perturbed. “Oh, I was wondering where the little toe separators were so I can let your toes dry without messing it up, ma’am.” Said Lindsey, her crotch now wet.

“You will place the fingers of one hand between my toes, then paint the nails, then blow them dry. Once dry, you will apply the clear coat for shine, blow that dry, then do the other side. I misplaced the foam separators, but you can buy new ones for me next time, if you have a problem with my method…Maid.” Said Mrs. Q indignantly.

Lindsey answered humbly. “No ma’am, not at all. Your method is fine, it allows my hand to keep your foot warm as well, you know best.” Said Lindsey.

Lindsey finished using the pedi egg on Mrs. Q’s adorable feet, not regretting at all that she had spent several hours the night before moisturizing them, but now she was smoothing away all that work.

She looked for a place to empty the pedi egg scrapings, but unlike the salon where she gladly worked for tips, massaging Filipino women’s feet, there was no receptacle.

“Mrs. Q., Ma’am, where may I dump the pedi egg?” She sheepishly asked. “Hmmpf,” said Mrs Q. “Doesn’t your maid uniform have pockets in the front of the apron? Fill them and empty it later. You should be honored to carry them on your person.” Laughed Mrs. Q. Lindsey did as instructed hoping Mrs. Q didn’t know how excited it made her indeed.

Once her apron’s pockets were filled with the pedi-egg dust of one of her former customers and now her part time boss, (even though it was simply a perk for having hired her in the first place) Lindsey carefully placed her pale fingers between the dark exquisite toes of her Diyos, and very carefully painted each nail the deep red she was told to use. She blew the polish dry, then applied the protective clear coat, and blew that dry, Then switched to the other foot.

With her toes glistening red, and her house professionally cleaned, and all the laundry done, folded, or hung, and the daughter’s bed made and room straightened, and a layer of sesame oil carefully massaged to both her legs: Mrs. Quilentang decided she had worked the maid sufficiently for that appointment. She would repeat the process in two weeks.

“My good friend 2 doors down is getting married soon, and she needs a wedding planner with your skill set. I told her your price, but I expect as a referral she will get a discount, and of course your added services as usual.” Mrs. Quilentang said.

Lindsey felt her crotch vibrate at the word ‘discount’ said with that charming accent, and was thrilled at the news. She thought to herself how easy it would be to show servitude to two clients living so close together.

“Thank you so much Mrs. Quilentang, my mentor Anna told me that repeat business would continue with my enthusiasm and eagerness to humbly serve my niche’ market. Please have your friend call me for an appointment so I may begin.” Said the ecstatic Lindsey.

“Very good maid, you may let yourself out” said Mrs. Q as she headed up the stairs for a nap. She looked down at her smooth, glistening feet, and said: “You did a good job on my feet maid, I will see you in two weeks.” She turned and sashayed up the stairs, as Lindsey watched her walk, admiring her now groomed feet and the way her legs shone with the sesame oil she had personally applied.

Since she no longer watched TV or dated, Lindsey had plenty of free time to spread among her previous Filipino clients now as their maid/massage therapist, after their weddings, as well as a part time job exfoliating diyo’s feet at a couple salons for a meager salary, usually just tips.

Anna informed the salon owners that Lindsey deeply enjoyed the work, it served as therapy, and that she would work for modest tips. A few of the Owners knew they could take certain liberties and did, so Lindsey’s life was one of pleasure through submission and the constant fulfillment of her very pronounced fetish for the adorable feet of Filipinos.

By this point Lindsey couldn’t remember her life having been any other way, and she was never happier as far as she remembered. The now slightly thinner, pixie haired, blue eyed brunette, clad with a tramp stamp announcing what she was into, became an inexpensive fixture to be used by the community, and she loved it.

ANNA CALLS

Fresh from her shower after working for Mrs. Quilentang, Lindsey walked past the huge, erasable appointment board that took up a wall on her now quite small bedroom, wearing only a towel. She looked at the 2 dozen, large round cardboard containers lined up along the wall under the appointment board lovingly. Each was wrapped in jute ribbon, and had a metal lid, labeled with calligraphy on the lid. Hanging on a coat hanger near the door to the small room was the maid apron, it’s pockets bulging.

Suddenly Lindsey’s phone rang. She looked at the read out before answering and saw the word ‘Anna’. Lindsey instinctively dropped to her knees and assumed a humble posture as she answered. “Hello my Dios, how may I serve?” said Lindsey, her eyes filled with awe.

Anna replied. “Look at the appointment board, how is it filling?” she asked. Lindsey replied as she studied the board. “I have weddings every weekend for the next 4 months, and day and evening maid service every other day, two weeks of each month.

My salon service is the alternating days between maid service in the mornings and at lunch, with my Sundays open for new appointments unless my maid service goes into overtime, Diyos.”

Anna replied. “We can do better, but once we fill each weekday with maid service and Salon service, you will need to either reduce the number of new clients, or not offer the maid service incentive to new clients. There are only 20 weekdays per month, and missing an appointment is NOT acceptable. Do you understand?”

Lindsey nodded her head meekly, like a devotee to her leader. “Yes Diyos, I am lucky you are so much better at math than me. I would be lost and useless without you as a mentor.”

Anna replied. “I will look at the numbers again, if you end up working less events then you would simply increase my commission to make up for it. I doubt any of the previous clients would wish to cease the maid service. Once they become used to it, they would miss it. So that would not be acceptable.”

Lindsey nodded again. “Of course Diyos, you know best. Arrange my schedule as you see fit. Serving you comes first.” Said Lindsey.

Anna replied. “That is all for now, continue as instructed, you will go to bed shortly after this conversation once you finish your routine.” Said Anna as she hung up.

Lindsey put down the phone, then walked over to the apron, and kneeled in front of the long row of cardboard cylindrical containers. She opened the one closest to her that said Mrs. Q. and carefully poured the pedi egg clippings into it, making the container closer to ¾ full. She replaced the lid and hung the apron.

Lindsey then applied a tagalong labeled ‘skin whitening lotion’ from head to toe before she approached her twin sized bed, nude. The tiny bed had an almost flat futon mattress on it.

She kneeled at the foot of the bed, facing the containers, and bowed to them several times. She spoke out loud, in a reverent voice.

“I almost have enough my many Diyos. Soon I can fill my custom mattress and buckwheat pillows with your trimmings. Then I only hope I am worthy to sleep on them, letting them fill my dreams with serving you all, my betters, as you should be served.

Subservience and obedience to you is my duty. “Masunurin alipin para Diyosa” chanted Lindsey, over and over as she bowed to the many containers of pedi egg trimmings, harvested from her many Diyos clientele.

Anna’s magic was indeed strong. Lindsey’s life was so different now, changed forever.

THREE MONTHS LATER-

An even whiter Lindsey, so pale now that her tramp stamp seemed to glow on her alabaster skin, wore a bikini and pumps with a maid hat, as she carried drinks on a tray in the back yard of Anna’s house during Anna’s anniversary party.

Elegantly dressed, deeply tanned Filipino women in cocktail attire simply snapped their fingers or quickly ordered drinks in Tagalong as Lindsey served them with an eager smile.

Anna, dressed impeccably, strolled over to Lindsey with an air of command, and took a drink. She spoke to Lindsey without looking at her, instead, examining her nails. Lindsey however, eyed her with nothing but awe and admiration with absolute humility. She viewed Anna as a fan would view a celebrity, so strong was the magic of this Kulam.

“So, is your short sleep… filled with pleasant dreams now, on your specially stuffed mattress and pillows? Do the dreams not effectively reinforce your station and gratitude?” Asked Anna condescendingly. She already knew the answer, because controlling Lindsey’s dreams for this long, meant she completely controlled Lindsey.

“Yes my Diyos, your mentorship is all-wise. The way you re-arranged my schedule so I could fit night-time service to Filipino Nurses was pure genius. Those nurses really enjoy their pedicures and massages, their little feet get so tired!

And, since NONE of the previous wedding clients wanted to drop their maid service, you thought of everything! Buying my house and the business and keeping me on as a tenant and your subordinate was pure genius, the wedding planning is very busy. Working for you is like my dreams come true.

Anna smirked: “Of course, I could not refuse the discounted price you gave me. And you working as my subordinate at a discounted fee only makes sense.”

Lindsey quivered, hearing Anna say ‘discount’ and being called her subordinate made her almost orgasm. She imagined herself naked bowing to Anna standing atop a pedestal. then she composed herself and continued:

I could never have thought of these ideas myself, without your mentorship to guide and instruct me I would be nothing. I am eternally grateful and eternally loyal to you, Anna my perfect Diyos.

I only hope I am worthy of my station. “Masunurin alipin para diyosa” said Lindsey to Anna in perfect dialect, twice, as she curtseyed twice. Just saying the words made Lindsey so horny. Then, across the room Lindsey saw Yvonne, Anna’s maid of honor, at the party, walking by herself. Anna nodded at Lindsey and pointed to her drink. Lindsey quickly headed that way giddily hoping Yvonne would remember her.

Lindsey also hoped Anna and Yvonne would reenact the ‘special’ training they gave her a year ago at their first appointment. She came at the thought. She was so happy now, She was where she belonged, doing what she knew she loved best.

SIX MONTHS LATER –Office of Serve the Goddess

Anna arrived at HER office, formerly Lindsay’s home & business, Now they both belonged to Anna, and Lindsey was merely a paying tenant and Anna’s obsequious subordinate.

Anna let herself in as Lindsay straightened her former desk in a wedding planning outfit. “Oh, hello Anna, I was just cleaning your office and about to prepare your lunch ma’am. Are we continuing wedding planning reviewing today? I think we are about done.” she said.

Anna was dressed in business attire, wearing a sensible suit and patent leather pumps. She sat in a chair in the meeting room and pointed for Lindsay to sit at the desk. Lindsay looked confused for a second and asked: “At YOUR desk?” Anna nodded her head, then said: “Just for today, I have to discuss some ideas I had.”

Lindsey sat excited to hear what her beautiful Diyos, her mentor, her ‘coach’ Anna had to say. Anna spoke very dispassionately, barely looking at Lindsay.

“It has been six months since you worked maid service carrying drinks at my anniversary. (she paused) And you received additional ‘training and attitude therapy from Yvonne and I.”

You DO realize you work more hours per day, is it 14 to 16?, doing lowly foot exfoliation, humble dagdagay massage and maid work than you do as a ‘planner’ said Anna.

Lindsey replied humbly: “ Yes Anna, at least 16 hours as instructed, if you want me to I work more, I don’t mind” she said. Then she waited for an answer.

Anna continued “ That’s not my point. You only work ONE event every other week as my wedding planner assistant and that’s pushing your potential. “Correct Anna, you are always correct, that is why YOU are my mentor and my boss and I am the subordinate.” answered Lindsay, smiling as she acknowledged Anna’s critique.

Anna removed the doll of Lindsay from her purse, and spit onto its face then blew warm breath onto it, watching Lindsay become quiet and entranced, motionless, expressionless.

Anna continued nonchalantly: “Then, doesn’t it make perfect sense that the lowly MAID, the subordinate, should drive the older, less expensive, car, such as my older, first generation Hyundai, from before my marriage? As the Owner I should drive your new BMW, a much more presentable car. My Hyundai is obviously paid for, so from your pay as my subordinate you can handle any costs the BMW incurs, because you feel naturally obligated to.

You not only adore this idea, but will be get a kinky thrill driving the car that I once drove, once sat in. In your mind it brings you closer to me by driving the car that was mine for so long. So here are my keys, you will bring me yours.” said Anna, as she snapped her fingers.

Lindsey stood up slowly and silently walked over with her BMW keys, then handed them to Anna. Lindsey took the Hyundai keys Anna gave her and placed them reverently in her purse. Anna snapped her fingers and motioned for her to return and sit again. Lindsey did.

“Since you obviously really enjoy Filipino female feet and the physical work of humble foot exfoliation, deep massage, & maid service more than anything else, you have decided you’d rather transition to being my maid full time, on call, effective immediately.

You will continue to serve your other clients as usual, but obviously I am your favorite. If a client drops out, I shall add no new clients to your schedule. You will simply have more time to dedicate to serving me, which pleases you immensely.

Your role now at serve the goddess as my subordinate will be reduced to primarily as a quiet servant at the events, silently following my orders, speaking only when spoken to, obeying me completely, always addressing me as Ma’am.

You absolutely love this idea. You realize that you have a deep, unrequited love for me, but since you know your place, you must bottle it up inside you, which only increases your loyalty and dedication.

These last six months you have diligently shared with me in notebook form and in a data base all your knowledge of wedding planning, and each piece of information you shared with me, you will now forget that you ever knew it, erase it from your mind. You will remove any wall décor, certificates and posters mentioning you from the walls. I will decide how you should redecorate.” said Anna. She poked the forehead of the doll repeatedly with a pin, and Lindsey’s expression grew more blank with each poke, and she smiled that insipid grin.

You now are frankly in awe and excited by my expertise, deeply turned on by your opportunity to work as my lowly subordinate, thrilled at the opportunity to work under my leadership. Anna breathed again in the face of the doll.

Your other obsession though, is your passion for subservient maid service to, and the beautiful feet of your betters. Every day, that is how you identify yourself.” Said Anna “Masunurin alipin para diyosa” is more than just your evening chant, it’s something you always hear in your mind, it has become your identity. Are we crystal clear, maid?”

Anna put the doll back in her purse and touched Lindsey firmly on her forehead after rubbing her finger under her lip. A bright smile came over Lindsey.

Then she realized what she was wearing and apologized profusely. “Oh my goodness, I apologize, Ma’am. Shall I change into my regular uniform?” asked Lindsey meekly.

Anna smiled wickedly. “Yes, throw away one of your coordinator outfits, a lowly subordinate should dress the part. Replace it with the extra maid uniform I brought you: maid. When it comes to actual events, you will wear a modified maid uniform, which I personally designed for you, since you are in no position to be mistaken for the planner.

Lindsay changed and returned, wearing her maid uniform. She curtseyed to Anna. Anna then looked over the pale, trim, blue-eyed white girl who stood there hoping for approval from her mentor, as she nervously waited for her opinion. Anna motioned for Lindsey to slowly rotate while she coolly judged her. Anna motioned for her to stop then kneel.

“This suits you much better, maid. You simply do not have the skill set or knowledge to run this company. Do you not agree?” Lindsey replied meekly: “Of course, even if I was able to learn anything, it would be at your feet ma’am, you are my mentor. I am in awe of how you come up with ideas, I idolize you, I really do.

I am living my life’s dream merely being allowed to be your subordinate, and now officially as your personal maid it is an unexpected honor.” Said Lindsey, happily.

“I imagine it is.” Said Anna confidently, relishing her extensive victory.

“My perspired feet itch in these hot leather pumps. Remove my shoes, coat my feet in coconut oil and worship them, while thanking me for this conversation we just had, demonstrate your gratitude.” Demanded Anna.

Lindsey complied, and carefully removed Anna’s pumps and looked at the perfect, small dark feet then placed her hands on the heels, so she could face the beautiful soles. She leaned in, and coated them with coconut oil which she then licked off lovingly, while thanking Anna for her wisdom, and guidance while sniffing, kissing, licking and sucking on the powerful Kulam’s feet, as waves of pleasure pulsed through her. She was in heaven.

Anna crossed her arms and laughed. Lindsey was now content to be her full time maid, and serve her betters from that lowly position, with unrequited worship of her mentor. The Kulam’s magic was indisputable. Anna would reap the profits of the business and Lindsey would be merely an obsequious lackey, loving it every minute.

Once she was done to Anna’s satisfaction, Anna ordered her to wash, then dry her feet, before giving Anna another tour of her office, as she had some ideas for re-purposing certain rooms.

BEDROOM REDSIGN

Lindsey’s once oversized personal bedroom had been reduced already in her renovations last year, giving the floor space to both the meeting room on one side and the bathroom on the other. Now it was merely the size of a nice walk in closet, with a 4x8 dry erase calendar on one wall, and the twin-sized bed, with some room on the other wall. A single rolling rack of clothes belonging to Lindsey and a dresser for stockings and underwear were the only other pieces of furniture, besides the extra containers of pedi-egg shavings.

Anna put her hands on her hips then she pointed. “Dresser-garage, Clothes rack, garage, this empty wall…will be 6 foot tall, wall length shelving for my shoes. I have quite a collection now and to please my husband, I told him I would move many of my well-worn pumps and flats, sneakers, flip-flops and sandals to my second house and office.

This room is perfect. Your bed will fit under the shelving.” Commanded Anna. “Part of your maid duties will be caring for my shoes, this way you will be close to them, since it is obvious to me you have a fetish.” Said Anna as Lindsey meekly looked down.

“Walking to the garage to change clothes should not be a problem for you. On the nights you stay at my first house as our maid, a similar room will be set up for you, either in the basement or the garage. Mrs. Quilentang informed me her daughter moved to college, so she is donating her old, funky twin mattress and pillows which you can stuff with dried pedi egg trimmings as I see you like to do.” She sniffed arrogantly; mocking the kinkiness she herself had programmed Lindsey with, much to her amusement.

Anyone else may have been humiliated having his or her kinky habit made fun of, but Lindsey knew Anna was right, she would relish having all those trimmings to sleep on at her bosses house, and that used mattress would be perfect. It would save her a drive to the office, and give her more time to work tirelessly in obedient service to her mentor. Lindsey grew moist thinking about it.

“Maid, you will be the dedicated guardian of my shoes at both locations, making sure everything is shiny and in order for when I need them.” Said Anna. Satisfied and now hungry, Anna spoke again. “You may now prepare my lunch maid. I am in the mood for Crispy Pata with rice. For my soup, I wish tinolang manok or nilagang baka. Then ice-cold buko juice to drink and ginataan for dessert. Chop-chop! Prepare a meal of the food of your betters!” Laughed Anna as Lindsey scurried to the kitchen to cook for her mentor.