Serve Thy Self

A Collection of Portals to Times and Places

He hushed her again, gently, lovingly. Entirely unmoved by the blood as it dripped in a perfect narrow crimson river along the inside of her inner thighs. He heard her, asking for Ares and nodded yes automatically to her request but made no move to leave the bathroom to fetch his guard. Rather, he stood transfixed, watching, mesmerized by the stark contrast of the deep, near wine-red blood against her pale skin. He couldn't help himself. Entirely unable to look away or order his thoughts into something coherent. His heart pounding in his throat, a flash of memories, inexplicable and almost inhuman hungers filled him. It was the blood... The blood, it did something to him. Obsessed him, captured and contained his attention. It was insane the way it almost called to him. Like her skin. The woman he loved. Red and white.

And he acknowledged it, her pain, her whimpering, she looked to be in agony, doubled over and aching from the inside. Tears stinging her eyes, her concern for what she considered a gross mess against the pale tiles that he thought was.... Beautiful. Just beautiful. 

He couldn't stop himself, he came to her, driven like a man possessed and took her into his gentle embrace. He kissed her lips, warm, tender. 

"Shhh, shhh, shhh.... Don't cry bella mia, don't fret. It's okay, everything's okay, baby girl. Everything is perfect. More than perfect. Shhh.... There's nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed of. This is nothing gross or profane. This is natural, human, female, beautiful. You are beautiful. Even as you hurt. Even as you bleed.... " He broke off a moment, the backs of his fingers caressed her soft cheek and jaw adoringly. He smiled at her warmly, entranced by the intimacy of the moment. From the brass towel ring upon the wall, he pulled free a plush evergreen coloured hand towel and ran it under warm water in the black marble sink before gently, slowly coming to his knees before her and resting his lips against her thigh. He breathed her in, slowly, tenderly wiping at the steadying steam of blood as it caressed her left ankle. Serving her. It possessed him. His need to care for her, ease her suffering. So he wiped at her gently, freeing her skin from the blood as it came away upon the dark towel. And he whispered to her, "A woman's cycle is sacred. It marks the end and the beginning of life. The purest, the most profound. The temple of your body sacrifices life in blood. Dal sangue siamo nati. Dal sangue moriamo. Un violento atto di bellezza ...." (From blood we are born. From blood we die. A violent act of beauty....) Gently, further along, her calf and thigh, he followed the flow of her bleeding with the warm, moist towel.

"There is nothing that can come from your body that will ever disgust or revolt me, Lalienna. I want you exactly as you are. Whole. Pure. Mine. Entirely and without question. Every drop of you. Like wine. Through blood, sweat and tears I accept you. In agony and rapture, I accept you. I will leave your side because you have asked me to. I respect your compulsion for privacy and the hand of another woman to care for you. I will bring you Ares if you desire it, but know this..." He quieted, on his knees before her, looking up into her piercing eyes with his own that burned in the flames of passion for his lover and he said,

"I adore you. Love you. Need you completely. It consumes me, this love of you. You needn't suffer, amore mio, there are medications readily and legally available to settle your pain." He smirked, enjoying himself. Deeply enjoying himself as he wiped gently at her thighs. He'd seen many beautiful women menstruate before. He'd gone so far as to study their physical biology because their reproductive systems fascinated him. Like an art work. He couldn't look away. It was the blood.

It's scent: warm, metallic tang. Some of the women he'd whored with in his past had begged him for release, that in climax their discomfort lowered. And he'd complied all too willingly. Wanting to take them in his mouth, to taste them. Iron and pleasure as it mingled with the heat of their passion. The blood as it stained his skin. Against his groin and thighs, along the length of his shaft and at his fingers and hands. He wanted it. Took a deep, depraved, secret pleasure from loving her during the nights of her cycle. He'd often heard his guards boast and snicker amongst themselves as they chattered intimately sharing their opinions about loving a woman in this condition. He smirked to himself and declined to take part in the conversation though they prodded him. It was personal. Very private. But be beamed, deep inside when he learned that his private fetish was also spoken of with reverence and erotic tension between his men. They all seemed to approve, hunger darkly for their own women. Thinking it intimate and beautiful. They tried to pry it from him, get him to share his opinion but be never said a word in spite of their teasing. Perhaps he didn't have to. They could tell from the twinkle in his eyes that he too thought a woman menstruating was stunning. Humbling. He felt validated by their knowing smiles and wolfish smirks. He turned the conversation quickly back to business to focus them away from his desires. Though many of them knew in some detail, the depth and scope of his sexual profile.

Many of them shared his lusts and dark fetishes. Thinking that the kiss of leather, iron shackles and black velvet rope to be exotic. Freeing. They enjoyed it. Flaunting their predatory dominance until they captured the flower of their desire.. and pinned her to a bed or wall. Coaxing her pleasures, demanding her submission. Dehumanizing her in her moment of need until the mindless, instinctive drive for orgasm consumed her entirely and she begged.. Begged with their hands around their throats whilst they bled themselves within her. And gained that secret look in their eyes that only a woman dominated could attain. Few of them admitted to the glories of being entirely submissive to her command. Or in fact his. For he had witnessed his men love other men. Fleeting, passionate adventures between missions in Venice and Florence. Something about the city made them...switch mentalities. Become romantic and gentle. They were perfectly impossible to control or command when this mood came upon them. They much rather settle scores over dinner and wine, with intimidating conversations and veiled multi-layered threats. And then disperse amongst the crowds. To villas and hotels, underground parties, private galas. They would not return for days at a time as they sought to take their lovers. Often refusing to answer their summons until at last, he scolded them hotly to be mindful of melting business with pleasure.

His men... his women.

Lalienna... God he adored her like this. Warm, pained and aching under his hands, he on his knees before her... bleeding as she was but... God... so beautiful. He could not... did not resist himself. Rather, he came forward on his knees and pressed his lips to her lower belly, feeling the tension of the muscle contract. She instinctively seemed to pull back, but he reached for her tenderly and took hold of her hips, rocking her forward ever so slightly. His kiss marking a warm, wet trail of glistening heat that ghosted over her flesh until at last... His lips met the flower of her maidenhood. And she gasped, discomforted or aroused he was not sure.

"Papi..." The tender name, came out a gasping, breathy groan... Was he exciting her? He was excited. He could feel it. His body hardening between his thighs... Lower... he sank his kiss a little lower, separating her petals against his tongue, finding the warmth of her pulsing nerves... her hand on his head, fingers in his curls... he purred moaning against her...wanting her...

"Papi...please...please stop. I can't... not like this... Please... I need Ares... Will you get her for me? Por favor?" Her eyes were pained and somewhat uncomfortable when her gaze met his. Oh, but he thought it beautiful. Alright, he nodded, with a smile, pulling away. Giving her room to breathe. Nipping at her thigh as he rose from his knees and licking at the blood that collected on his lips. His eyes slipping closed as he enjoyed the dark moment of euphoria that washed over him and made him... sigh. He was in love. The moment was so romantic. He embraced her warmly one more time, chiding himself being so cloying. He knew she'd had enough of his attention and needed her space amongst the hands of another woman. Folding the bloodied hand towel over his forearm and fixing her with a disarming wink, he nodded his assent.

"Alright amante. I've teased you long enough. I'll go get her immediately. Relax. Stay calm and treat yourself gently over the next few days. You'll need to eat, and sleep, and do nothing that does not please you. That includes cleaning. We have lots of pretty maids, you'll meet them all in time. Clever, gentle, kind-hearted girls, just like you that are all too happy to serve. And love. Let them take care of the linen and your clothes. They will wash them and all will be as new again. I lived under the same roof as Gianna for years, the needs of a woman in her cycle do not escape me, amore. Ares will tell you. I'll send her up with drugs. When you're ready, come join us downstairs in the morning room. We enjoy having breakfast together before we start our day. You would honour me, and my family if you would grace our table. We will wait for you. Ciao bella."

 A roguish smile... a kiss blown to the air... and he left taking the blood soiled towel with him. In moments he dressed himself semi respectably in casual clothes and linen house slippers. With a contented strut, he made his way rapidly down the hall, some six rooms away until he came to Ares' door and knocked, thrice. Sharply. That was their signal to announce he meant to enter her room urgently. He waited... and three knocks were returned from within. That was her reply to say she was ready to receive him. He entered on quiet footfalls, the room was dark still for the curtains were drawn and the blinds were down to shut out the morning light. From the bed, Ares moved, turned on her brass reading lamp and greeted him, smiling and stretching with feline grace. Ares, was not the tidiest of the guards. Her clothing lay about the sofa and occasion chair, half unpacked from her flight case. Her weapons haphazardly laying upon her reading table. Comics, books and her video games ordered into neat piles that only she understood. He thought it charming, the way she smiled at him, sitting up and rubbing at her eyes before her hands began to talk.

'What's up, boss?' Her fingers asked.

"Buongiorno, Ares. I need you to be quick, quiet and discreet, yes?"

'Sure.' She signed, raising her brow with a question. Instantly interested.

"Lalienna woke this morning to her period. She's suffering heavily and bleeding intensely. She's practically doubled over in pain. She's asked you attend her personally. She's in the ensuite bath in my bedroom. Perhaps you can give her some of the pain killers you take to get the edge off. We can send a maid to the chemist for more. Anything she asks for or needs, help her."

Ares face dropped in concern, her brows furrowing together sharply.

'Has she taken anything so far?'

"Sì, a vile of pills she had on her. Perhaps paracetamol or similar. They had an unusual colouring. She may need something stronger. Don't let her clean anything in her condition. Just help her as she needs it and when she can, bring her downstairs for breakfast. She'll be tired. The plane ride made her sick and she complained of being unwell last night."

Ares was already out of bed and making for the door on rapid footsteps. She made to push past him but thought better of it and stopped to sign a question,

'Did you guys fuck last night?'

Something in the warmth of his eyes cooled slightly. Her expression direct and probing. Her hands brooked no argument. Her body language stiff. He struggled, between being offended at her daring and affronted by her boldness.

'Did you?' She pushed him again, rapid gesture. Something like anger flooding her eyes. He found it disarming. Amusing.

"No." He said at last, watching her back as he followed her with his eyes down the hall.

'What's it to her?' He thought to himself. Nevermind. Towel in his hand, he left her room, shutting the door behind him and making his way down the corridor and onto the landing where he whistled as he took to the stairs. A passing maid greeted him with a bobbing curtsy

"Buongiorno Signor D'Antonio,"

"Good morning, Paola." He returned. The girl's cheeks flushed. Her lashes hiding her contentment at having been addressed by name.

"Would you take this to the laundry for me, please? Make sure it's washed in cold water and doesn't stain. And when you're done, attend my bedroom and see that the bed linen is changed and washed in cold water as well."

"Certo Signore." (Of course Sir.) Was the girls' only reply. For she had served the D'Antonio estate for some three years now and was well accustomed to not ask the master questions, but attend his requests instantly and be prepared to handle blood as hygienically and discreetly as possible. Usually whilst wearing thin, latex service gloves.  She took the towel from her master's hand and smiled tenderly before dashing away to attend her task.

In the distance, the bell towers rang out the morning hour. Santino counted their tolling as he made his way to the breakfast room. Hoping his dancer would recover and join him shortly. He wanted to eat with her. But for now, he wanted coffee.

 |||

 Across the seas, in London, sitting in her apartments in the palaces of The White Tower, sat Judeth Clayton. Her tea untouched. Her phone beside her. She'd not slept after hanging up with her Spanish flower the night before. The girl had comforted and fallen asleep, but she was haunted, partially dressed, her hair in a cascade down her back as she stared into the middle distance blankly. Almost daydreaming. She had done her best to mask the shock from her voice. Comforting her daughter in her hour of need. And churning in agitation as her Black Guards changed shifts silently to watch her. A pair. Always a pair. One male, one female. They spoke when spoken to and never once had their back turned to her. Now the new guards took the places the others had occupied moments before and stood at attention. To study her. She watched them...Her insides roiling. Lalienna had aborted an unwanted child. So soon. She had not listened all those months ago when she attended the Continental and told her to seek protection, birth control. Anything. How were they so careless? The girls were fully educated in health, wellbeing, sexual biology, reproduction. They knew... they knew what would happen if they laid with a man and took his seed into their bodies. That once or twice they may escape but repeatedly allowing themselves to be loved would surely, in their vitality and fertility leave them to become pregnant.

She was seething. Silently. At Santino D'Antonio. Bastard. Vile, fucking bastard. So soon. He'd not even proposed marriage and already he had her with child. Unwanted. Her suffering now would be tremendous. What on earth would the ancient and decrepit Mama Frita had said and done to the girl to have helped her through the abortion? She prayed vehemently that the girl would not suffer.

 Of course, these things happened before. The girls would escape the tower under cover of darkness, the Elite Guard themselves would take to loving their consorts and decline pregnancy. It was rare. But abortion for an unwanted child was done. It was just. Right. These women were not fit to be mothers. To breed more pain and suffering upon this world and be manipulated and forced into surrendering them to the syndicate in an endless cycle of violence and bloodshed. Herself included. She was so young then. So crushed and submitting to birthing an heir to betroth to Athena's daughter. She yielded a son, after Gregory's death. Her boy... Philip. Had she have known what torments would await him in his young life... she might have drowned him after all.. She shook her head. Pushing away from the pain. Her guards stirred and her attention was captured. She smirked at them.

"Don't you get bored? Watching a woman think?" She asked the nameless pair. Pawns. Athena's black dogs. They regarded her coolly and said nothing.

"There must be a thousand more fulfilling things to do in your wretched lives than follow me like flies to rotting meat. How much is he paying you, hm? How much... does Karth pay you to watch me wherever I go, whatever I do?"

Again, the pair would not answer. They merely stood firm in their pressed black uniforms. Weapons under their coats. Handcuffs and batons and tasers and other implements of bringing about her submission if she retaliated. It was not worth the fight. She remembered what this was for. To protect her son. From finding his mother being a morphine addict. God, the urge for a hit took her now, more than ever. Her mouth was dry and her eyes felt as though they were grated with sand for every time she blinked.

In time she rose from her chair and was followed to the bathhouse where she showered, dried and changed her clothes. She brushed out and re-pinned her hair. Applied her makeup, painted her lips. Tired, vacant eyes stared back at her from the mirror. She thought of her daughter.

Then turned and announced to her guard that she would attend her routine. She would meet Philip for morning prayers in the chapel before breaking her fast in the mess hall with the other women and then attending Doctor Tanis for her injection. Then she would attend the Queen in council. Seek her next mission. Much like the last she expected. Stupid, aggressive acts of border skirmishes with the French and Irish gangs that lived on borrowed time and cold patience. Athena would tolerate little resistance if any to her conditions.

There was work to be done. And she hated every moment of it. But now... this instance... she hated Santino D'Antonio more than anyone else that lived on God's earth.

Tears formed in her jade eyes, lip quivering slightly. She held back a sob, taking a breath.

“You…you never wanted me?” It felt as though her heart was breaking. Literally. The strings of her cardiac muscles were snapping, leaving her in the worst pain she’s ever felt… and she’s felt a lot of shit. She’s been through the worst, through hell. But this…this was worse. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her lungs wouldn’t produce the oxygen needed to stay alive. God, make it stop. Stop it! She couldn’t handle it. She clutched her heart, squeezing the fabric of her shirt in her fists. Her eyes broke. They relayed how she felt. So so so so ruined. So torn. So…worthless. Thrown away.

————

@f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat // here is your angst. Do with it what you will. ;) have fun, my angel of sadness.

The Continental London

“For every shadow Her Grace did cast,

We saluted Her in the streets and in our homes.

Right from the beginning, we scattered flowers

Said our prayers, wrote our tomes.

There were Thirteen in her Court

She gathered thousands to spare.

And in the face of revolution

She was always there.

We are London

So she said

Her Grace is proud and true

We are London

And on this hour

We are here for you.”

Sir Jeremy: A proper gentleman, esquire’s esquire, a dozen titles or more. Managed by the Queen but not the one in Buckingham Palace. Owns the finest Hotel in the city, if not in England. Countless thousands stay in his rooms. He cares for them all. But they don’t know the truth. What’s hidden beneath the stairs, behind the doors, in the bowels of the Underground where he is King. And he says to the world, “My dear people - We are London.”

Sir Sable: Clever man. They say he moves like a shark in blooded water. The fog still clings to him. They speak his name in Absinthe Bars and Gambling Houses over cards and coffee cups. He can tell you everything about anything in London. He has friends who would amaze you. He knows a bloke, that knows a bloke that sold that car for that coin that likely saved your sister’s life. You should make him your friend too, is everyone’s advice. There’s something sharp about his eyes.

And he says to the world, “My dear people - We are London.”

Looking For an Illustration Artist

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Design: Preferring artists inclined toward dark fantasy, vintage and/or horror with long sharp gothic style lines. Styles such as Brett Helquist, Iren Horrors, Paul Kidby, Gerald Brom <--- As inspirational sources, similarities not required.

Commission: Artists may be interested in using this opportunity to hone their skills and imagination by producing works as a creative exercise. Payment for work may be rendered in exchange for a short story to be produced of their choice, a range of arts and crafts including custom paper flowers, miniature charms, digital graphic design, custom icons, layouts, wallpapers ect. Otherwise funds can be exchanged via Ko-Fi or PayPal.

This advert is open to any and all artists regardless of your choice in medium. If you are interested and would like to know more, please contact me directly via the Ask link and provide a simple illustration with your introduction message. My Inbox is ALWAYS OPEN!  I look forward to working with you!

Please share/reblog this message far and wide so as many artists as possible might see it. Every share is greatly appreciated. Please be kind and be safe!

https://www.flickr.com/photos/battlefrontcaptures

And one day.... She'll take it all back.

JW. Blood of The Raven King

Please Help Iggy, My One-Eyed Cat!

 Hi Tumblr,

My name is Leah, and I am a university student living with her boyfriend and 3 animals. One of my cats, Iggy was taken to the vet on Feb 10, 2021 because he had been throwing up often that week. The worst possible situation had come true and the vet confirmed that Iggy had a blockage in his GI tract. On Feb 11, 2021 around 6PM Iggy had to go under emergency surgery to have the blockage removed. Brought him home on the 12th.

My fiance and I are both students and barely scrape by, especially due to Covid. We took out all our savings and used it to save Iggy. We do not regret it and would do it again, he is a member of our family. However, we are not sure how we are going to get by this because we are still making payments on the bill still…I do not contact with my family, they are not supportive of me and my choices in life…

I humbly ask that you can reblog or share this on this site. If you are able to do more, we ask for some assistance to help our family get by this month so we can try to get financially stable again. 

I do have bill amounts and pictures set up on GoFundMe as evidence and on this post. They are imagur links as GoFundMe limits picture sizes. Thank you very much for your time. 

I also made thank you cards for the donors, if you would like one please PM me here and I will send it to you. We really appreciate your time. Thank you.

https://gofund.me/a846679d

https://imgur.com/LqgLQ6D

https://imgur.com/hT21EEx

Saiyuki: Shambala Ch. 1 Out Now

Join Priest Genjo Sanzo and his companions, Son Goku, Sha Gojyo and Cho Hakkai in a brand new chapter as they travel ever westward on a holy mission to quell the demon up-rising that plagues Shangri-La.

To celebrate Saiyuki’s 20 Year Anniversary, Small Fortunes Independent Publishing proudly presents an all new Fan Novella set after the events of Saiyuki Reload. Join the boys on a powerful, original new story arc after 12 months on the road, that sees them crossing the Himalayas as they enter the magnificent land of Nepal en route to the far West.

‘There is something dark and foreboding hidden in the recesses of the valley. Its omnipresent insidious aura travels through the land twisting and infecting all in its path. When the Sanzo party find a dying woman on the road, they make a choice to save a life amidst the threat of suffering and violence.

Nothing could prepare them for what’s coming.

This one act of mercy could be their final.’

|| Saiyuki: Shambala is intended to be read by adults 18+ It contains: Strong Graphic Violence, Course Language, Strong Sexual References & Sex Scenes ||

Click Here To Read Chapter One Now!

tiny library ♥