#domestic servants

[cryoverkiltmilk]

#original post is borked somehow so I have to do this to save the info #reference posts #servants #staff #household staff #domestic servants #maids #butlers #chauffers #valets #chaperones #footmen

[arcticdementor]

How did such people afford domestic help 100 years ago? The Bankses employed four people: Mary Poppins, Ellen, Mrs Brill, and Robertson Ay. The Browns, 20 years later, could afford only Mrs Bird. Now a modern yuppie wife can't afford to stay at home. Has the minimum wage been set too high? Or are there not enough people willing to work for it as live-in help?

orthoxerox

#quote #reddit #the motte #see link for context #domestic servants #mary poppins #paddington bear

[cruger2984]

THE DESCRIPTION OF SAINT ZITA OF LUCCA The Patron of Homemakers and Domestic Servants Feast Day: April 27

The story and history of Saint Zita. Zita lived for forty-eight years in the service of Fatinelli, a citizen of Lucca.

During this time she rose each morning, while the household were asleep, to hear Mass, and then toiled incessantly till night came, doing the work of others as well as her own. Once Zita, absorbed in prayer, remained in church past the usual hour of her bread-making.

She hastened home, reproaching herself with neglect of duty, and found the bread made and ready for the oven. She never doubted that her mistress or one of her servants had kneaded it, and going to them, thanked them; but they were astonished. No human being had made the bread. A delicious perfume rose from it, for angels had made it during her prayer. For years her master and mistress treated her as a mere drudge, while her fellow-servants, resenting her diligence as a reproach to themselves, insulted and struck her.

Zita united these sufferings with those of Christ her Lord, never changing the sweet tone of her voice, nor forgetting her gentle and quiet ways.

At length Fatinelli, seeing the success which attended her undertakings, gave her charge of his children and of the household. She dreaded this dignity more than the worst humiliation, but scrupulously fulfilled her trust. By her holy economy her master's goods were multiplied, while the poor were fed at his door.

Gradually, her unfailing patience conquered the jealousy of her fellow-servants, and she became their advocate with their hot-tempered master, who dared not give way to his anger before Zita.

In the end her prayer and toil sanctified the whole house, and drew down upon it the benediction of Heaven. She died in 1272, and in the moment of her death a bright star appearing above her attic showed that she had gained eternal rest.

Source: Catholic-Saints.info

#random stuff #catholic #catholic saints #saint zita #zita of lucca #homemakers #domestic servants

[vamprisms]

guys am i the asshole my stupid bitch girlfriend made the wrong icing for my chocolate cake even though i TOLD her i prefer chocolate. And i very calmly and rationally told her that i am very disappointed in her and want a refund. And of course she got hysterical and walked out on me and ignored my texts. all over a silly cake. And she ruined by very special boy 34th birthday

#people on here: he clearly has autism maybe his abusive ableist girlfriend should try being a better domestic servant?

[whats-in-a-sentence]

Responsibility for public health was now understood to be a task for government, not just for working-class women who – until then – had been the only ones concerned with the cleanliness of slum houses, the only ones asking for clean water and working drains.

One such working-class woman was Kitty Wilkinson, an Irish migrant in Liverpool who had been a cotton mill worker and a domestic servant. She opened up her laundry business to her poor neighbours for a penny a week, allowing them to use her boiler and bleach to disinfect their clothes during the 1832 cholera epidemic. She became known as the 'saint of the slums' and campaigned for public bathhouses for the poor.

"Normal Women: 900 Years of Making History" - Philippa Gregory

#book quotes #normal women #philippa gregory #nonfiction #responsibility #public health #government jobs #working class #cleanliness #slums #clean water #drainage #kitty wilkinson #irish #migrant #liverpool #cotton mill #domestic servant #laundry business #boiler #bleach #disinfecting #30s #1830s #19th century #cholera #saint of the slums #public bathhouse

[musclesandpunishment]

Simple houseboy chores: shining shoes.

#male model #gym #abs & pecs #workout #muscle #biceps #chest #gay art #menswear #shoes #houseboy #domestic discipline #domestic servitude #servant

[5eraphim]

may i please have something with spy and his s/o who has stockholm syndrome and has been broken down enough that they feel the need to always be touching him? treating him as a king! constantly kissing any spot on him, wanting to leave marks on spy so people know hes claimed, nonstop praising him and stroking his ego, maybe s/o wants to scent mark him ♡ thank you!!

I love you so much right now. I am sending a psychic beam of pure love and kisses directly into your skull. This is just,,, exactly the kind of request I've been waiting for (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄ I'm not 100% sure if you wanted a oneshot or headcanons, but for purely selfish reasons, I'm answering with a oneshot <3 hope you enjoy!

Summary: Cuddling with Spy at night, and feeling a perfect kind of bliss from the knowledge you two are exactly where you're meant to be.

Character: Spy 🐍 (Team Fortress 2)

Rating: M (MINORS DNI)

Content Warnings: yandere, mind break, Stockholm Syndrome, servant/master dynamics, denial/edging, sexual massage, possessive behavior

Word Count: 2.8k

TIP JAR

MASTER LIST

(Song Inspo: Chapel, Nicole Dollanganger)

"I was reading my destiny inside your eyes without knowing it." Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

LAST EDITED- 4/18/2023

Earlier that day, you welcomed your beloved home. Unfortunately, much later than usual, apparently preoccupied with some kind of inescapable work issue. By the time he returned home, the full moon had illuminated the inky-black sky, and a pleasant evening chill settled motionless all around, ending the sun's humid, suffocating summer heat for the day. Crickets chirped in the long grass surrounding the small cabin you and your lover shared, surrounded by the forest and far away from any prying eyes. When you heard the screen door creak open, Spy entered, quietly locking the door behind him, stepping out of his dress shoes and neatly tucking them beside it. Greeting him with a kiss and helping him to slip out of his work clothes, you welcomed him home. Taking note to be extra soft and loving, seeing how thoroughly exhausted he appeared.

Sharing a cup of tea together was a long-standing ritual between the two of you. It was your job to brew and serve the tea while Spy waited patiently. You remembered how pleased Spy looked the first time you managed to prepare the tea exactly to suit his tastes. And how proud you felt, knowing you were likely one of the only people he trusted enough to accept food from. Spy liked to sip his drink while unwinding from his long day, while you would sit and keep him company. Sometimes with chatter, other times quiet and content enough to enjoy a little time together.

Tonight Spy requested you to draw him a bath during the late-night chat, a task you accepted most graciously. He was always so generous to share the tub with you, so long as you would help wash. Or, as he liked to say, "Earn your spot beside him."

While you didn't remember much of life before you met Spy, you did recall the first time he offered to share the bath with you. Long past when he first brought you here to live, and by that point, your resilience began to break down, and it was harder and harder to ignore how badly you wanted to give in and accept his affections. You weren't trying to escape or harm him anymore, no longer because of threat or punishment, but rather an unexplainable yearning for Spy. It wasn't love, not yet, but a means to quell the discontentment you couldn't shake apart from Spy; he completed you.

Your body settled between his long legs, your back to his chest. This was the first time you saw him naked, and it felt bizarrely enticing when he told you how he wanted to see you the same way. The water felt so warm, and you could've melted right there as he used his bare hands to glide soap and suds over your wet skin, covering your body with bubbles and warm water. And for the first time, you didn't shy away from his touch when his fingertips skimmed your thighs and lingered so lightly at your chest, his fingers growing bolder. You allowed your head to lull back and lean against Spy's body, your eyes fluttering shut. Moaning breathily under his touch. Spy hummed as he continued to work, caressing every inch of your body, comforted by the feeling of your body completely relaxed against his. For the first time, you allowed yourself to let your guard down. And by God, did it feel good.

It all felt so long ago, though living in isolation made keeping up with time impossible. But you remember how nice it was to let yourself give in and begin to accept Spy's charms and sensuality. For a while, you tried to remain resilient and faithful to yourself, to only embrace him when sharing a bath, but once Spy caused this fracture in your defenses, he knew it was only a matter of time before you folded. No much longer did you bother lying to yourself. Pretending you didn't love the feeling of hot water washing over you, Spy's touch getting bolder when he could tell you were no longer trying to push him away. He told you how proud he was to see you at ease like this, how he knew you'd be much more comfortable after you'd removed your layers of clothing and gave him a chance. How now it made sense why you were always so high-strung and wound up under all those clothes, you were far better off living this. His voice and hands were hypnotic, pulling you deeper and deeper into this new peaceful state of mind. You didn't even protest when he pulled you into his bed that night.

Tonight went quite similar. By now, you were far more used to taking Spy's orders and were responsible for stripping down yourself and helping undress him, folding the clothes neatly on the countertop before you were allowed to enter the bath. He referred you to lay between his legs, being so kind to help wash you before himself, knowing this was your favorite spot. The motions are familiar but in a comforting way. The feeling of a trusted routine to help unwind at the end of such a taxing day.

Neither of you dressed after the bath, deciding to dry off and hop into bed. All the lights were off, but you could still see around the bedroom clearly enough with the moon's light shining into the bedroom. You tried to fall asleep, but feeling restless, you couldn't quite find sleep. Instead, your mind wandered to the sensation of your beloved Spy curled beside you in bed. Spy always looked so beautiful when he was asleep, his face relaxed, breathing so gentle, he looked like a living marble Adonis. Nothing less than perfection in your eyes. He slept on his back while you were curled up on your side facing him, head resting on his chest.

You nuzzled your head into his chest, snuggling a little closer. The feeling of Spy's hand gently stroking your head gave you a small jolt of surprise, as you thought Spy was already asleep. "You're awake?"

His eyes were still shut when he answered. "You've been fidgeting beside me all night. No one could sleep through that." You bit your lip nervously, feeling a light stab of guilt for this. "I'm so sorry about that. I didn't even realize."

Spy leaned down to kiss your head, " You're alright, but I wonder, were you trying to get my attention? Is there something you want from me now that it's so late at night?"

You flushed a little, "No, it was an accident! I'm just- I mean, I'm sorry I woke you up."

Spy cracked the eye oven looking down on you. "How about a back rub to make up for it, then? You've always been so good at those." You couldn't help but feel bubbly inside from his praise, and with a quiet "yes sir," you climbed up over him. Spy rolling onto his stomach now, arms under the pillow he rested his head on while you straddled his lower back.

As gently as you could, you ran your hands over the skin on his back, initiating the skin-to-skin contact delicately, still unable to shake your initial guilt for waking him up in the first place. His body felt so soft and clean after the bath. His back accumulated tremendous scar tissue over the years, and your heart ached to think about Spy away on his own where you couldn't protect him. The pain was all the worse as you knew, deep down, this was how it had to be. You wished you had some kind of magic touch to heal the scars for good or to take on the wounds yourself. Unfortunately, the best you could do now was run your soothing touch over the blemished area. Though you'd never admit this to him, you always thought Spy's scar tissue was sexy, making his already charming physique even more alluring.

Using steady, well-practiced hands, you began to apply more pressure to the massage, knowing where he usually held tension and where to target to have him moaning and sighing in relief. Starting high, around his shoulder blades, before moving your hands up and down his body, leaving no area untended. Your fingers work hard to draw out his tension and ease his pain. In the low light, you could see Spy relaxing into your touch a little more, and you felt an erotic jolt of excitement as you heard him beginning to let off gentle, breathy moans as you worked.

Your eyes drift shut when you feel his hand against your outer thigh. The light touch against your upper leg was innocent enough, but you were aroused all the same, moaning through clenched teeth, tensing up. You were caught off-guard and felt goosebumps prickling across your arms and legs. But you didn't take this as your cue to stop. Instead, you began to massage him deeper, moving with more force but remaining as slow and sensual as possible. Thumbs digging into the tissue of his lower back, fingers rubbing little circles, occasionally using your palms and knuckles to grind even harder.

You didn't even realize how far your mind had drifted when you felt his fingernails brushing against your thigh. Then, when you felt his hand stroke higher than expected, you flinched inward, hissing sharply. It wasn't until after you discovered when you curled your hands into tight fists in shock did you realize you accidentally scratched your nails against his skin. Leaving a few puffy scratches over his shoulder blades where your hands were. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry- it was an accident!"

It was impossible to stop your hands from shaking as you pulled them into your chest in shame upon a braising Spy's precious skin. It wasn't much of an abrasion, just a few red stretch marks along his back, the longest of which was about the length of a pinky finger, with a few tiny beads of blood. Still, you felt awful for what you'd done all the same. You were about to climb down and fetch the first aid kit from the bathroom when before you could move, you heard Spy's voice. "Did you draw blood?" He didn't sound mad, rather neutral, actually, but you were wracked with guilt all the same.

"I did; I'm so sorry! Let me get you patched up."

"No, I want you to lick it up."

His words stopped you dead in your tracks. "Is he being serious?" you wondered, and for a moment, you felt frozen in place, unable to decide if he seriously wanted you to do what you were told or if he was being sarcastic. Though this didn't last long, he tilted his head back a little. From his position lying on his stomach on the bed, he could only move so much, but in the low lighting in the room, you could swear you could just barely catch the light of the moon in his eyes.

"Go on, do as you're told, and clean up your mess."

You were genuinely comforted to see he wasn't upset with you, though it didn't entirely absolve you of the guilt of your actions. If this was what he wanted, it was your job to deliver. You planted both hands on the bed as you scooted down to lay above him on your elbows. Now your head was just over the tiny wound, and even up close, you could see the scratch wasn't anything worse than a cat's scratch, and if you were honest, there was a chilling excitement you felt. Something about being ordered to kiss the wound felt so intimate. Your eyes closed as you leaned down closer, your tongue rolling out just enough to swipe up the tiny beads of blood before returning to your mouth. You felt the taste of copper follow the blood into your mouth, lingering for just a second as you swallowed the warm substance. Feeling bolder, you lightly kissed the sensitive area you'd left a scar, but it wasn't enough. You wanted more, to caress his flesh with your lips, kissing your love tenderly to show your reverence. Spy shifted a little under you, rolling from his stomach to his side as you moved to accommodate him.

He hummed softly to himself constantly as you kissed your way from his shoulder blades to the side of his neck. You could feel his pulse below your mouth, all too aware of how he clearly enjoyed feeling your lips against the thin, sensitive flesh. He used a gentle but firm hand to cup the side of your face, guiding your lips to meet his as you sighed into the kiss.

It wasn't long before his tongue was in your mouth, and you were back on top, the two of you moving as one as he rolled to his back, you taking this as an invitation to go back to straddling his torso. The kiss felt so passionate and sensual, and you could not stop yourself from lightly grinding your lower body against his, desperate for any friction between your legs. You moaned into the kiss when you felt his fingertips feeling up the sides of your body. You wanted desperately to move his hands from the sides of your hips to between, but you also didn't want the pleasant shivers his touch brought about to stop. It was impossible to hold yourself back. Spy deepened the kiss, lips sliding against your own as you returned the affection. His touch, gentler than yours, had you feeling so hot, bothered, and almost painfully wet. Your hands worked through his hair, winding it around your fingers, pulling slightly as he teased your body, but just as you were about to start rolling your hips, Spy pulled away, removing his fingers from your body. Spy looked up at your confused expression with a coy grin.

"It's getting late. Why do we settle down for the night?"

"Can't we go a little longer?"

"Maybe tomorrow night."

Your head dropped in disappointment. "Please, just a minute longer, I- God Spy, I'm so wet, I need you so bad it hurts!"

Your pain only amused the man as he chuckled softly, his hand smoothing back your hair, "If you love me, you'll do as you're told." It hurt, but he was right, as usual, and with a half-hearted "yes sir," you peeled away from him, moving to lay on your side facing him. While Spy didn't move from his back, waiting for you to cuddle up closer, no doubt feeling your body trembling with the effort it took to remain still.

"You're being good for me, right? You aren't touching yourself, are you?"

Shaking your head, no, Spy pulled you a little closer to him. Kissing the top of your head while you lay against his lithe body. "Very good. Your hands are only to serve me, not yourself."

This man was a sadist, wrapping himself tightly around you while speaking in that low-breathy murmur that gave you chills, feeling his warm breath fanning your overheated body and skin. It drove you mad in the best way imaginable.

You could swear you felt sweat begin to bead along your back with the effort it took to obey his command. Feeling his warm skin against yours, the softness of the blankets, his natural aroma overwhelming your mind, not to mention the already uncomfortable burning felt between your legs, you wanted so badly to climb back over him and relieve the awful tension, but you wouldn't dare. Spy's approval and praise meant the world to you, and disobeying him to satisfy your carnal desires would be unthinkable. Spy's breathing began to deepen and slow, and you felt his arm around your shoulders starting to slacken as he drifted off to sleep. And you took great comfort in knowing you were about to settle down for the night, sleeping in the embrace of your reason for living.

Perhaps your beloved Spy was no longer a person to you, and your love for him transformed him into something beyond human. Now he was the light of your life, the only one who made you feel alive. As you felt his arms wrapped around your body, his warm body curled up behind you, his body heat warming you and the bed's blankets, the heat making you want to nestle up even closer, to feel every inch of your beloved's perfect body wrapped around yours, as protective of you as you were to him. And with God as your witness, you swore, you would protect him until the day you died.

#im pretty sure spy got dead last in the poll i posted asking who should get the next oneshot but i wanted to write this so bad- #i am nothing if not selfish to my core <3 #anonymous #request #x reader #yandere #self ship #servant/master #domestic #mind break #yandere x reader #yandere king #tf2 drabble #tf2 x reader #tf2 smut #yandere drabble #yandere sumt #yandere imagine #tf2 spy x reader #yandere tf2 #yandere team fortress 2 #king x servant

[cepheusgalaxy]

Cepheus (me) on whumpblr

In my tumblr intro I say I'm into whump, so here is some of what you're getting into

If you don't like whump, please block the tags "whump", and "whump prompts" on my blog

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Not always tho

What kind of whump I'm into

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Team whump

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Team whump

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There's nothing wrong with them they are just not my personal taste :)

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These are some of my favorite content creators in the whump community: mostly because their taste/writing aligns with my personal likes

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☃️

No transphobia, sexism, racism nor ableism, as well as any harmful behavior is allowed in the whump community and no prejudice towards people will be tolerated; take care of yourself and be mindful to others🔅

(No transphobia, sexism, racism nor ableism, as well as any harmful behavior is allowed in the whump community and no prejudice towards people will be tolerated; take care of yourself and be mindful to others 🔆)

#whump #whumpblr #whump community #whump fan #intro post #if you don't know the box boy universe (bbu) is a common setting in pet whump works #it consists basically in a very fucked up society with institutionalized slavery where some humans are treated like pets #and this slavery is often regulated by an organization called WRU #every whumpblr may have a slightly different take on this setting but that's what it basically is #also the pets (also called 'box boys' or 'boxies' - that's where the name cames from) are often divided into categories #romantics: 'intimate' servants #domestics: house servants #guard dogs: bodyguards #platonics: something like a boxie who's duty is to make company to you #many of the bbu whump pieces also take place in an 'WRU facility' where the whumpees are trained #so be aware #bbu #box boy universe #if you don't know #there is also a thing called 'nsfwhump' #you may want to block that #or maybe not #you may like it too 🤷🏾‍♂️ #long post #fairly

[themaleservant]

Morning routine uniform inspection

#butler #butlers #servant #domestic servant #servitude

[loki-zen]

Every day a butler must iron his master's newspaper, fluff all the clouds in the sky, and then glue all the shed fur back on the manor's housecats.

this guy doesn’t know what a butler is

#not because of the nonsense but because the nature of the tasks suggests #they are thinking of a valet to begin with and then moving on to just rando domestic servants #for future reference a butler is a manager #for when you have so many servants you need a servant to manage them all

[arcticdementor]

Frankly, I don't see the Western hangup around the employment of domestic help in the Third World. Labor is cheap, and at least over here it's a reasonably fair transaction between consenting parties and not quasi-indentured servitude like parts of the Middle East. The hallmark of being middle class is being able to afford some degree of domestic help, and of course the majority of people wealthy enough to make it in the US usually had enough money back home to afford to hire them full time. Feeling guilty about engaging in positive sum interactions with people who would otherwise be primarily working as subsistence farmers is stupid, but make what you will of it.

self_made_human

#quote #reddit #the motte #see link for context #india #domestic servants

[pochapal]

re-entered my sims era in a bad way this last week lmao

#:) #made this sims 3 family where the husband ended up neglecting his marriage to build a sexy lady robot #and keeps installing domestic servant personality modules into her thereby forcing her to cook and clean and garden and do laundry #and he is OBSESSED with this robot. meanwhile the wife is depressed because she's almost hit old age and she still doesn't have a child #and like. no matter what she tries he does not Care about anything but his beautiful maid robot with her metal miniskirt #meanwhile the robot is compliantly following her orders without issue #but she has an intense desire to build herself an 'artist' personality module get rich and move out #like i am obsessed with this maid robot who is so desperately trying to break free of her circumstances like. go off queen! #i hope she learns how to paint fucks up this failmarriage then lives in her own place with a million dollars it's what she deserves

[sassmill]

Also on the subject of bio musicals… jelly’s last jam is honestly the gold standard for me because it acknowledges the impact of his work as a musician while deconstructing the harm he caused as a man. It’s not just “this was his life and music” it uses his life as a framing narrative that facilitates questions of loyalty/betrayal/identity/entitlement/worth. It doesn’t glorify his legacy it examines and engages with it in a way that holds up really well. And maybe I’m just obsessing over it because I recently did a two day training on dialogic interpretation but like. The Chimney Man as a character asks the audience the kind of critical questions that we ask our interpreters at the museum as we actively work on how to better examine our own famous/problematic guy. The kind of role that that character fulfills could so easily have been developed as just a narrator but George C Wolfe made a conscious decision to make it the role of an active interlocutor. Which also ties into the history of minstrelsy and vaudeville. Which is directly tied to the history not only of the period in which the show is set but also the history of black music and dance and theatre in America. It’s so layered and intentional and it’s one of those things where I’m like why did we never talk about THIS in any of my theatre history or critical theatre courses in undergrad. We talked about so many examples of theatre as social commentary or theatre as history or theatre as education and this example was right there and a part of RECENT and ACCESSIBLE theatrical history. But it never once came up.

#probably because the entire theatre faculty is white and now that I think about it #I don’t think any of them would be comfortable with the amount of being uncomfortable that’s necessary to talk about racism in America #let alone colorism within the black community #as a bunch of upper middle aged white people with black and brown students #and this is one of those fucking things that makes me consider grad school again so that I can become a professor who isn’t a pussy #but the thought of grad school makes me physically ill #so I just do my museum theatre job and rework scripts to acknowledge the agency of the domestic servants that worked for this man #what do you do with a ba in theatre #this apparently #museum musings #jelly’s last jam

[butlerjay]

I gonna be a maid tomorrow. So excited!

#domestic servitude #servant