#boudoir ebony

[msatlantathickdream]

Happy FuckIT Friday!! Planning has begun for my next curvy boudoir spicy content shoot! IF you are an existing subscriber you're a VIP! thickdreamproductions@gmail.com-for more details on attending the shoot w/me,oxoxox's!

[sky-kiss]

Haarlep x F!Tav: Visitation

A/n: I promise, I am leaving the Boudoir now. We will go somewhere a little less red.

Ah, but wonder of wonders, the little mouse returns. It delights Haarlep. 

She comes to him like a virgin bride approaching her bedding, hesitant, and so, so sweet. Fire courses through her veins, yes, like a new flame basking lovers in its glow, kissed with cinnamon and heat. Her scent is fresh compared to Avernus' brimstone and ash.

She smiles, raising her hand to brush the fringe of her hair back, a flush of pink in her cheeks- so delicate, his mouse, so breakable. It's intoxicating.

"Bold, pet, so bold of you to return. Did you escape once? Yes. But twice?" Haarlep strokes the space beside him. "That may be too much to ask." 

An unspoken truth hangs in the air, tantalizing, a pretty threat: none could enter the House without the Master's permission. Yet here is the mouse, alone and hungering, while the whisper of her essence bound to him whimpers. Keep her, it says, and he nearly moans, oh, keep her, use her.  

"I was dreaming." She chews her lower lip. Such a pretty mouth, full lips, aching to take his cock. "Tell me I'm still dreaming?"

"Mmm, but I could tell you far sweeter lies, so why waste the effort?" He holds his left hand out for her, fingers crooked. The claws are razor sharp, ebony black, and glittering in the torchlight. "Come."  

She comes, eager to please. Haarlep sees the inexperience written across her soul, if not her body. A foolish little creature, lost, starved for pleasure and the world's validation. She crawls to him, shivering despite the House's warmth and the force of her desire.

"Good girl. Closer." 

She hesitates, knees fetched against his thighs. Such trepidation, such tiresome guilt. "Haarlep, yes?" 

"Yes, sweetling. Now come closer." 

"I've no desire to use you, Haarlep." Another wash of color across her cheeks, delightful, naive little thing. Heat licks across the space between them, her blood heating in response to his proximity. It cares as little for her moralizing as he does. "Please. I've not come here for that." 

"Of course," he coos, reaching out. His hands settle over the sharp rise of Tav's hips, tracing the bony ridges. "You would never dream of it. Only," he pulls her near, speaking into the hollow of her throat. "You were dreaming, weren't you?" He tastes sweat and cinnamon on her skin. "Tell Haarlep what about, sweetling. I shan't tell a soul." 

Ah, but he already knows. The reason and cause of Tav's arrival were the same, equally disappointing. Their Master. The little creature's mind is full of Raphael. Laughable fantasies: Raphael loving her, a partnership, belonging. It's a soul-deep longing, infatuation, and attraction drowning out her common sense. It's baffling. She pulls back to look at him, eyes wide and full of feeling. 

"Kissing you," she mumbles, gaze flicking to his lips. "I wanted to kiss you. Him." 

Gods help him, he laughs. "Oh, you do sell yourself cheap."

She aches with the force of her want. Aches down to her bones. It calls to him, to the primordial part of him Raphael could not change. Haarlap gathers her into his lap, reveling in the catch of her breath. Her arms come around him, one hand tangling in his hair, an intimate embrace, a lover's hold. 

Her fingers play through his hair, occasionally tugging, never pulling. The gentility is as expected (and welcome) as a nun in a brothel. Tav's touch feathers upward, brushing the double set of horns. It's a charming little eccentricity but not interesting. They are more interested in the wash of heat as he rocks into her. Raphael will lavish in the sensation. 

Corruption is, in many ways, as sweet as the act itself. 

[greatbigfeeling]

For Her/

I see community in the cobwebs of forums

Interlinking cityscapes of idealised sisterhood

Dollhouses with skirting boards made of ebony

All painted over in landlord white

This dollhouse at risk of foreclosure

Unless an authentic word is spun

Will be bashed down to compost seeds of malice

From ballroom to boudoir

And the necessary rally is begun

End the turmoil leaving our sisters bruised

And build back a home for the destitute

No longer let the brutalised be battered

Insist for the marginalised

In a dollhouse

Left shattered

Protect our Trans Sisters. I am scared for England.

[dulluhan-iralun]

At what point was Cassandra Dimitrescu set apart from the rest of the Swarm?

Specifically, when did Miranda see Cassandra as her Hand; Cassandra Dimitrescu is her Mother's Shadow, so when was it an established vision for the Crow?

—————

The girls were a century old when Miranda enfolded them into the duties of the Coven. They were well-versed in its functions by then, and the priestess of the Black God was not one to suffer idle devotion.

Alcina remembered the day the call came in her boudoir; the pack of cigarettes and the poor maid that had been drained in its wake.

��Your huntress. Cassandra. She will inherit your title as Hand.”

Alcina’s grip tightened over the receiver. “With respect, Mother Miranda,” she murmured. “Cassandra is too young —“

“To be wasted as a mantelpiece display in your gallery. She is old enough and strong enough to begin her assignments.” Miranda’s voice was quiet; the warning was as clear as the strike of steel on a frigid morning. “Prove to me that she is worthy, Alcina, or I might make better use of her.”

Hand of the Burnt God. A lofty title, one that Alcina had once relished; for the Hand was closest to the Heart, was it not? The Hand was the one that struck, and too many nights she spent with bodies in her wake and wounds that festered and ached in any form she took.

Cassandra stared up at her with the wide-eyed wonder of a child blessed with a treasure, how eager to please and to provide. To prove oneself worthy. “Truly, Mother? I — I’ll be the Hand?”

Alcina smiled, if only to prevent herself from weeping. She swept a tender hand along the silken hair of her middle child, dark like her own. Ebony spill against the pale winter. “Truly,” she replied. “Mother Miranda sees your potential.”

It was a blade twisting in her chest on the day she escorted Cassandra before Miranda. To watch the eager look of excitement on her child’s face pale into confusion, horror, realization…and then smooth into cold determination. Gone was the sparkle of sweetness, the twinkling hope.

The Wolf had come.

————

Heavy is the Head that wears the crown, but heavier still the Hand that wields the sword. Mother Miranda's expectations for perfection were ones that none of the Coven were exempt from, though perhaps none were held to such a standard as her own brood. Each falter was a flaw, each error was sin. She was only grateful that such things were a rarity among her daughters; Bela held standards that rivaled the priestess, and Daniela's sweetness was potent enough to soften even the Crow's pecking beak. Cassandra...

Defiance seemed to be a natural state of being for her middle daughter. Wild-willed and headstrong; there seemed to be little pleasure greater than aggravating Mother Miranda. Despite this, Alcina was pleased (and petrified) when Miranda named Cassandra as Hand. Training the Wolf was a thrill she hadn't felt in some time -- a venture in testing her own resilience, her own stamina and strength and wit. They battled with the singular goal of victory in mind, and no matter how bloody and broken they left one another, they ended their days with a smile.

————

Cassandra’s first mission was a resounding success. Alcina expected nothing less from the Wolf; the battlefield is where she thrived, and the smile that she returned home with was as bright as a thousand suns.

Mother Miranda had simply nodded, smiled in the way that she did, as if she had known all along.

The second assignment nearly saw Alcina tearing into the Crow. A ridiculous task, set against ridiculous odds that left Cassandra all but crawling back by the bed of her nails. The state of her physical form was nothing compared to the state of her mind; lost in vicious self-loathing and failure even as her sisters fussed and hovered and Alcina coaxed blood-soaked towels between her chapped and cracked lips to heal.

The Dragon’s rage was a tempest the day she marched into Miranda’s temple. “You sent her to her death!” she roared. “You knew this would happen and yet you still forbade me to assist.”

“She needed to be humbled,” Miranda sniffed. “A Hand abides by the Head.”

Alcina reeled back incredulously. “She’s had one mission! What more does she need to be humbled for?”

Miranda’s pale eyes slid towards her, lip curling with distaste. “Cassandra has always been…too big for her britches, as they say. She needed to remember whose commands she bent to.”

(reply answered by raffinit)

[inevitablemoment]

Samlan September Day 8 - POV Outsider

Word Count: 598

Warnings: Unlikable POV, abuser's POV, internalized misogyny, microaggressions, mentions of 22x03

Fandom: Law & Order

Pairings: Nolan Price x Samantha Maroun

Fulfilling my dream of telling Andrea Rankin off with Protective!Samlan fluff.

Enjoy!

————————

Andrea sipped her champagne as she looked around expectantly for a certain someone. Of course, since he had apparently decided to fashion himself as a "man of the people," maybe he wouldn't be showing up tonight.

When they had been dating, Nolan seemed to enjoy these functions. At least, when she asked, he remembered to always say yes. And he remembered the rules; smile, only speak when spoken to, and don't pig out.

Andrea succeeded when she finally spotted Nolan with his little slip of a secretary on his arm. Of course, he was smiling, as she would have trained him to, but...

This was different. His eyes were a lot brighter than when he had smiled at her. Each movement of his was genuine and in-the-moment, unlike how he just seemed to rehearse every conversation for each possible outcome before he had it with her.

The secretary girl whispered something in his ear, and he let out a laugh. Andrea never liked watching comedies with him, and not just because his taste in movies were so banal-- how could a boy who had a law degree enjoy watching Bill Murray and Harold Ramis getting high on MDMA and singing doo-wop tunes as a jody call? His laugh often got on her nerves, especially if she was trying to work.

She sauntered up to Nolan, letting her shimmery black dress due most of the work for her. The secretary was wearing an off-the-shoulder, burgundy number that complimented her curves and showed off a bit more cleavage than Andrea's dress. Well, Andrea could certainly see how someone as young as her was promoted to work alongside the Executive ADA. Her ebony hair was curled into forties starlet-style ringlets that made her look like she had just rolled out of Clark Gable's boudoir. But her face was fixed in a glare, something protective that reminded her of a fierce guard dog.

Oh, wait? Was she going to get fired from the firm for thinking that?

"Nolan..." she put on her most sultry voice, even though she hated it. "It's been while..."

Nolan seemed to recoil from her. "Yeah, it... it has, Andrea. Now, if you'd excuse us--"

"But you just got here," Andrea tried to block their way. "Really, Nolan... are you still angry with me about trying to save a sick man from death?"

The secretary scoffed. "You're making it sound like you trying to pay for the man's chemo when he shot up any person who looked remotely Asian on the subway!"

Nolan placed a hand on the secretary's shoulder, rubbing his thumb into the skin of her collarbone as Andrea spotted something gold on a certain finger. "Sam, it's okay-- don't want you stressing out."

"See? Nolan-- whom I've known since college-- says it's okay," Andrea pointed out.

"No, Andrea, I mean that it's okay, Sam doesn't have to come to my rescue," Nolan corrected. "I can tell you what I think of you myself."

Andrea furrowed her brow in confusion before deciding to change the subject. "I-- I didn't that you've gotten married."

Nolan looked back at the secretary with that unfamiliar smile, keeping his eyes on her as he said. "Yes, we are. One year, as of last week."

The secretary smiled back at him. It made Andrea's blood begin to boil. She only grew angrier when she finally noticed the roundness in the other woman's belly. The secretary turned back, the fire reigniting in her eyes.

"Now... if you'd excuse us," she emphasized every word as she helped Nolan-- her husband-- make his escape.

[artisticallydriven2050]

[jaseminedenisephotography]

Her Name is Cherry, we just met..  But Already She Knows me Better Than You. 

The gorgeous @lovelylavenderchild from our last boudoir session together. It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful. 

[bbdoll]

Billie’s Boudoir cc free wardrobe

I’ll just be over here doing what I do best. Stylesheets based on the characters personality. 👜 Billie’s a mixture of my favourite style icons. e.g: Eva Pigford, Twiggy, Ebony Obsidian and moi, lol.