#ivory drabbles

[playername-player-of-games]

A drabble about Ides? 👀 Fun fact that I'm sure you'll use wisely: if the final two had been Ides and Hermes, Ides would've killed Hermes with very little hesitation :3

“Really?” Hermes screams, “After everything? You’d turn on me just like that?!”

Ides’ axe splinters tick’s shield. Tock’s heels scrape across stone as Ides pushes tick back- there’s a fire in his eyes- a fire that used to be for them, for the Cardinal Alliance, a fire meant to burn down the bases of their enemies not- not this-

Hermes shifts, and with two extra arms, throws Ides off of tock.

“I thought you cared!” tick shrieks, four arms melding back into two, then thrusts tock’s shield into another axe swing that nearly knocks Ides over, “Whatever-“ tick swings their own axe “-happened to us against the world? The four of us?!"

Ides catches their axe with his shield, yanking them forward with their own grip on its throat. He swings, blade going right through tock as tick dissolves in to a puddle of water, their weapons clattering on the stones.

Hermes materializes behind Ides again a moments later, rolling under yet another swing and grabbing their shield.

"That's cheating," says Ides.

Hermes swings their shield and sends Ides crashing face-first into the stones.

"CHEATING?" Hermes sprouts a third arm, claiming both axes and kicking Ides' shield well out of his reach, "you're trying to KILL ME! Who gives a damn at this point!"

Ides rolls over, immediately met with a boot to his chest and an axe at his throat. Red eyes meet green.

"There's nobody left, Ides," Hermes mutters, nearly screaming when the crack in tick's voice makes Ides flinch, "it was us against the world."

Ides says nothing.

"We were supposed to get out of this together!" the axe presses tight against Ides throat- tock is drawing blood but tick doesn't care, not anymore, "I thought you- I thought you cared about us. About the Cardinal Alliance."

"I don't," Ides spits.

Hermes doesn't breathe.

"Then why?" tick asks, tears spilling down their cheeks like rain on a window, "why make alliances if we meant nothing to you?"

"You meant something to me," Ides says. He gently pushes tock's axe away from his throat- tick hasn't got the energy to fight him anymore- "all of you did, I swear it, but these games need a champion."

Hermes lets him stand, watches his approach, says nothing when he stands before tock.

"You'd really do it?" Hermes asks. "Are you really going to kill me? To win a game you didn't want to enter?"

Ides draws his sword. "I'm sorry, Hermes."

"Fuck you, Ides," tick snarls. "I hope the Void swallows you whole."

[aerie-writing]

“You’d live, wouldn’t you?” she asks, threading her fingers together with his, “you’d live if I asked you to?”

“I would.”

[0ctpus]

For proof I write..

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Ranfren x reader drabble!

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"Oh lord..." You sigh as your task with cleaning up the house as punishment for shaving off nyens hair. Luther stares you down as he read the newspaper. First the living room.

Your name is Sc_M. Spelled S C _ M, a name you got from Randal. As in a cleaning monster. You have very bad germophobia. You start scrubbing everything clean. Using your multiple stretching arms to clean up faster. One is wiping the table as the other one vacuumed the dirty floor. One cleans the dripping stains off of the ceiling. You move throughout the house. Cleaning the bathrooms. Luthers room cleaned and randals left untouched. The whole house was finished, but just as you think your done you hear a loud puking noise. "OH COME ON!"

You run to the sound and see Sebastian sadly throwing up everywhere from eating something Randal made. You slap Randal on the back of the head and clean up the throw up. Your arms cradling Sebastian while cleaning him up aswell.

You finally finish cleaning. Slapping yourself down on the couch onto nyon who stifles before finally calming down. Petting your head, where you drift off to sleep.

You wake up to see darkness and feel something... No someone, nuzzled up to you. You open the coffin and look down where Randal is asleep. You have no choice but to close it and go back to bed.

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Just something small. Apologies for not writing Im just tired.

[eulalized]

“would you watch ghibli films with me?”

a simple question, maybe a bit silly, but you’d like it if kazuha can answer it. you like that he answers your questions (or at least tries to), you know he has the patience. you think that with a scarred heart, kazuha couldn’t answer this burden of a question—yet he’s always proved that thought wrong.

“i would love to watch ghibli films with you.”

and you think now, time and time again: kazuha always knows what to say. you, aghast—or is it more of an awe?—are left with the replaying of memories for what you have done to deserve him: still, you see none. he is not just flowery words; he’s given you the reality you always wanted, because he knows that you are something more (and you deserve that much).

“you would?”

“always.” 

if it was not prominent before, i should hope it is now, kazuha thinks. he wants to stay, with you and all that you are. he wants you to know that, through and through, he would never grow tired of you or the things he’d do for you. he would sing the melodies of deities, he would recite the words endlessly in his mind and out, he would paint for you all gems of the world—and of course, it would start with you.

“and if we finish them all, we can watch them again and again, as long you like.”

you ask, “are you sure?”

(you aren’t sure of the question. is it more of the intention of are you sure? are you sure you love me this way, that you would forever? because maybe forever isn’t a long time, maybe kazuha couldn’t keep up with forever.)

“of course. i would watch anything with you,” he reassures—he always does.

kazuha says, “if you want to watch another movie, we can watch it. if you want to watch the stars instead, then we can gaze upon them.”

if his love was not yet prominent enough, what could he do? kazuha would love you better, he’d write it in the skies—he’d align all clouds to reflect the meaning of you. he’d chant of your soul and beauty, in poems and in songs, to adorn all thorns of withered petals so that you may know how much he loves you.

(he’ll keep up with you. he’ll do it for you.)

[sarcasticdolphin]

“Visitor” Ivory tower verse todolf. (Rudolf=Sophie, Tod=Kore). 

Smut isn’t the most graphic, but smut. And like Sophie’s not taking prisoners. 

I’m putting this on the drabble fic because I don’t want to up Ivory Tower’s rating.

@fitzrove reminded me that it is lesbian visibility week so this happened. 

Almost goes into the realm of crack at a few points, but .... idk. It’s getting to the point at night where I start second-guessing all my choices.

Also, it is pretty late as I finish this, so likely there are more grammar/English issues as compared to normal.

It started almost as a bit of a little joke, on their wedding night. That they were married now. They should sleep together. 

Kore’s bed was big enough for both of them, plenty of space left between them, as they watched each other through half-lidded eyes, fingertips just touching where their hands came together.

They woke almost nose to nose, the two clouded leopards curled up between them, purring softly. The kisses that morning had been lazy, gentle things, interspersed with moments of calm, as they nuzzled each other. 

Sophie had never slept in her own bed again. At first, she had rationalized it that she slept better, in Kore’s presence. And it was true, but there was more to it than that. The daemons were happier. And Sophie could never get enough of Kore’s kisses, from the gentle little ones in stolen moments to long and languid ones when they were alone in their little world at the top of the tower.

The daemons too seemed to appreciate it, always together, grooming or napping or settling into the two women’s laps. 

Dressing each other came as naturally as breathing, and Sophie was eternally grateful for it. She had never really learned to do her own corsets, but Kore’s skilled fingers put her in stays with ease. Stays that fit, that didn’t hurt. That couldn’t hurt, and that couldn’t lace so tight in that way her mother preferred. And the other woman was so patient as Sophie’s own fingers gradually become more skilled with Kore’s stays, lacing them just so.

Her friend preferred leggings and tunics most of the time, but Sophie never did shed the dresses she had worn all her life, though they became more practical as time passed. And it did pass. Tributes came to the tower. The days grew longer and shorter and longer again. The stars danced above them. But Sophie would be lying if she said that she had been paying attention. Time seemed as if some foreign concept, as she and Kore lay in each other’s arms one night.

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There is a letter, eventually. Sophie reads it once, twice. Then tosses it into the fire, watching the flames eat at the spidery scrawl. 

More letters come. After the third Sophie doesn’t even open them. Her father sent her to what he believed was her death. There is nothing he or her mother could say that would make her relent. If they would send her to her death then she is dead to them. And they to her.

A small rational part of her mutters that she should find it entirely disconcerting, the dark look in Kore’s eyes, the triumph behind them as the paper crumbles to ash, as she tugs Sophie back to the bedroom, already pulling at their stays. 

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So when a servant appears one morning - Kore calls them her angels, the pale blonde servants - and speaks of a carriage far away at the tower’s base, Sophie wants to turn the woman who was once her mother away, leave her alone on the vast plains. Not alone, for Queens are never alone, but enough.

But then Kore is murmuring in her ear, painting a picture with her honeyed words, intoxicating. Impossible to resist.

The garb had been a tribute from far to the south. Two matching sets. One white, the other black. The material was so light it floated on the air itself, sliding like the barest breath of silk over skin as it did so. Kore had danced for her once, spun in the same fabric. Sophie had thought she was flying. 

But there is more - the fabric needs layers to even begin to be decent, but this - it has layers, but only a dozen. Revealing, but only of form, of shape. Her skin was Kore’s to see. No one else’s. And Kore’s was hers.

They trade a few more kisses as the clasps are secured, and then Kore reveals the crowning jewel of it all. The necklaces are more collars than proper necklaces - silver and with a pretty chain that hung, laying between their breasts. There are more silver pieces that go with them - for their wrists, their fingers. Sophie wouldn’t know, entirely distracted as she was by the feeling of the cold silver through the thin layers of the dress, by the way the matching pendant hung on Kore’s bosom.

They trade one last kiss before pausing, and looking in the mirror. And what a sight they make - dark and light, perfectly matched. Blonde Kore, pale and ethereal, skin stark against the inky black of her garb, the silver cutting through the darkness. And herself. just as pale, dark hair - her mother’s hair - falling over the white material, silver subtle, minor little highlights. 

“Beautiful.” Kore might have wanted to say more, but Sophie cut her off with a kiss. Their tongues danced for some time, until Sophie pulled back to nuzzle her friend.

“Shall we?” Kore’s arms wrapped around her own as they paced out to the room her friend had appointed. It should be disturbing, that Kore had a matching room already ready for this little bit of subterfuge, but all Sophie could feel was gratitude for her friend, who had divined her intentions so well.

The two clouded leopards are waiting, sitting on one of the platforms. Seeing their humans off to battle.

And as the door shuts behind the angel who will bring Sophie’s mother, and they are kissing again, slowly but oh so gently, the insistence, the possessiveness, the fire building little by little. Mine, each kiss proclaims. Claiming.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Kore’s hand goes to Sophie’s locks, tilting her head back, baring her neck, and the kisses turn to little nips of the skin. Sophie for her part pushes Kore back, though Kore flips them before they hit the bed, so it is Sophie who looks up at her friend’s eyes, so dark and full of terrible promise.

And it is as they are kissing once more, Sophie sprawled beneath Kore, that the scream - though perhaps it is more a startled noise than a proper scream - comes. 

“Sophie!” Her mother’s tone is startled. Just startled, for now. There is no reproach yet, just surprise.

“Sophie.” Her mother speaks again a moment later, as Sophie and Kore slowly break their kiss, resting forehead to forehead for a long moment before turning to Sophie’s mother.

“Sophie, I’ve come to take you home.”

“Oh?” Sophie turns back to Kore. She can’t even bear to look at the woman in the doorway. 

“Sophie-” Her mother starts in shock when Kore grasps Sophie’s necklace and pulls her closer, demanding a vicious kiss. Sophie’s mother gives a shocked noise. Appalled. A noise Sophie is all too familiar with despite how distant her mother always had been.

“Sophie-” the fear and compassion in her mother’s tone are gone, the reproach now all too evident. 

“Does it surprise you so-” Kore’s very tone is an insult. Sophie could kiss the other woman. And does, cutting her off for a long moment. “That Lord Tod likes us so well-practiced?”

And Sophie would kiss her friend for that, for those words which silence her mother. But she doesn’t. There is a way to drive the knife yet deeper. She wraps her hand around Kore’s necklace, pulling the other closer.

“He’s so skilled-” You’re so skilled. “The way he mounts us, one after the other-” Elisabeth is starting to take steps back even as Sophie kisses Kore once more.

The kiss is long, and when they finally break the queen is gone.

And so they flop on the bed, Kore calling for the daemons to be let in. The needy little things will want their scratches. But once that is done, she is over Sophie once again, and the kiss has more intent. Fingers find clasps, and the silky fabric slides to the bed. Some of it is later kicked to the floor, not that either of them is really paying attention.

It’s not the first time Sophie’s friend has had her, fingers and tongue wringing pleasure from her body, but she does it with a wicked triumph. And Sophie wants more. More of Kore’s hands, more of this victory that is theirs, hers and Kore’s.

Eventually, Kore does let her reverse their positions, and Sophie sets out to find out just how well her friend can sing. It’s dawn before they sleep, intertwined. Sated. Victorious. 

And somewhere far below, on the dusty plains, the queen who had traveled so far weeps.

[rosesradio]

daily writing update

this valgrace one shot: 1,707

[moonxsuncelestials]

Twisted Wondeland Au Drabble

Making sure no one else is around, Ivory looked over then at Eclipse who gave a nod. Stephen and Li were studying in the library for a test, Poe deciding that he would help given his vast knowledge of their subjects, which gave the twins some time to just be together. Don't get them wrong, both love their brothers dearly but the twins wanted to spend time together.

They hadn't been able to since they came to Night Raven College.

"Let's go on and set up, Ives. Leona shouldn't be in this part of the area and I highly doubt that Rook is going to neglect time with Vil."

Nodding, Ivory set to tuning their violin whilst Eclipse tuned his mandolin. Once set, the duo smiled at each other glad that they took their mother's advice in learning music from their aunt and cousin. Another language, a way for Ivory to get their emotions across ever since their vocal cords were paralyzed from their signature spell back in their teens. "Ready?" He asked.

Nodding, Ivory soon brought up their violin and started to play. Eclipse joined in not too long and before long, Ivory was dancing to their melody. They were so caught up in their song that both siblings didn't realize that they had an audience, in the form of none other than Lilia, Ortho, Epel, Riddle, Deuce, and Ace. Even Leona came to see who was making the racket.

Lilia couldn't help but think to himself of how graceful Ivory was, dancing to the melody of sorrow, conveying their emotions-almost fae-like. It was an amazing event to witness when he realized that these two weren't human at all. Neither fae-these two held draconic features now that he thought about it.

But there was also something dangerous, something far deadlier than what he's witnessed in his lifespan. Just what are these two?

Ortho however was excited watching the two dance to the music they were creating. In fact, he was recording to show Idia later-just to show him what he's missing out on! The twins are just amazing, he even commented on quietly next to Riddle who was observing how quick the two seemed to catch onto the other's emotions. It shouldn't really surprise him, Jade and Floyd were similar and yet, not. No, Ivory and Eclipse were on a whole other level of how intinmate this seemed to be; at least in his eyes. With how Ivory twirled, Eclipse doing tighter turns and the nimbleness of his fingers-just how long did these two practice to become this good?

Leona however had grown tired of the two making so much noise but seeing how Eclipse had caught sight of the group, even he could tell that the other was not going to let him ruin it. And rather than put up a fight, he conceded. Eclipse had proven himself time and time again in the fights over in the dorm that he is not someone the rest of Savanaclaw should underestimate. And Leona held a suspicion that Eclipse was holding back in those fights, something Ruggie had confirmed while trying to figure out just what Eclipse is.

[astralnymphh]

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. ♡

summary: ellie simply cannot dance the odette variation perfectly without you spotting her. she calls you in, and swans begin to sing.

content: ballerina!ellie, smut, mdni, dom!reader, white swan and black swan dynamic, fingering(e!rec), slight choking, slight degradation, semi-public sex, presence of risk, drabble length, had to get something of this au out before i went psycho. think of this as series teaser, almost. barely, somewhat proofread. wc: 1.7k

Ellie works against her body, and time works against her.

“Dammit—I can't get it right.”

It is February: the unfurling of the year, and she is Odette this season. The white swan had incarnated, plucking only the most graceful, most sedulous ballerina from the flock. She begins to believe herself after all the blood, sweat, and tears produced in anticipation, and training. Nothing is graceful about this loathing season, though, and save for the culmination of when she was cast her sorrowful-swan, ivory feathers, this is a tribulation that eats her down to the sore ligaments of herself. Perfection is eroding.

She tries and she fumbles. “Fuck!”

Usually, this is no issue. Ellie is inherently so given to pirouettes; the group instructor is unapologetic about that praise. But their momentum overwhelms their beauty—her instructor also claims. She must find a balance, within, and without thinking too hard.

So she ends up calling you in to think for her.

The black swan.

Tutoring, of a sort. “You have the wings of a vulture,” you broach, pacing forth and from the space behind. You only brace the front when you spot an incorrection. “Loosen up.”

She is nervous to have her heartbeat in your ears. You have this touch nobody else can give, and yet it is for a reason she wishes not; correction, not love. However, she just might love it regardless. Touchings of the arms that mean nothing to you, and many things to her. You tap her shoulder, and the muscles noticeably stiffen. With a gulp, the chafing organ inside her is a solitary song she hopes you cannot sense the thrumming of.

Tired hands fall to her thighs in a slap. You watch her lips form a question in the mirror. “Can't you just show me?” She is adamant with it. Adamant with everything, if you recall each sentence you overheard from her private sessions. Somethings of malediction, most a pained curse.

Those bruises and bumps reflect that.

“Your grace should come from within, Swan Queen.” Although an aphorism most would groan at and nullify, it is almost vital to every professional dancer. Even you nourish yourself with the saying, and you are at the top. “Just as Pavlovich would say, right?” Ellie has technique. In fact, she has a grasp on it so violent—so obsessive, not a single other picture-perfect girl in that room on the day of Swan Lake casting could bear it.

Except you.

She puffs her cheeks into apples, “Fuck,” and mumbles under her breath. This day would leave a sprain.

Nuturing her inelegance. You think of it like this, and you treat it as such. When your palms introduce two gentle pressures upon her ribcage from behind, she fears you can hear it. Her heart; its rage. She overthinks the gesture and places her hands over yours on accident.

You hear air snag in her throat. Feel her fill.

“Feel my hands?” You motion with your thumbs, rubbing them back and forth under hers.

Ellie drops her head, and a strand of auburn slips. “Yeah.” Her voice is a feather. It writhes into the abditory of her chest.

She hates catching your eyes in the mirror. Especially right now.

Because she so graciously has her hands on yours, you turn your palms and basket the tense, fidgeting things in them. Raising them heavenward as a halo. “You have to let go up here. Don't overthink it.” Your fingers downpour all around her, until they return to her palpating ribcage. “Focus on your core.”

Fuck, what has she done? She invited you in here with the strict notion that you could implement her perfection. Nothing more, nothing less. Pavlovich would replace you as her tutor if the sun shone with the littlest deviation; you don't have to be here. But you are here, and she is borderline bleeding from her precious lips trying to distract herself from the warmth crawling out below. The visceral image of her leotard stained with a wet patch.

She feels like a loser.

She does anything but let go. “Like this?” It is so achingly obvious, the sleek of her juices making it uncomfortable to lift her leg.

“No,” you huff in a heavy increment, drawing away. Ellie's impliable arms were all over the place—and not in the graceful, poised manner of a swan. The poise she despairingly needs. “You can't be this nervous on stage. Someone psych you out or something?”

She descends from pointe. This girl is a rose-red silhouette of confusion, and crackling. “Um, not really.” But she is fucking easy to read.

All she needed was your hands again.

Handling her waist, her hips. “Did you lock the door?” Eating her mouth which gushes with the same, quiet concerns. You close it with yours.

“Mhm.” Ellie is feeding on your hums: fitting her lips in the cleft of yours, opening and closing, nodding and accepting, eager to pick from your fruit again. Docile creature in caging limbs. She is sat softly in your lap, doing all this like she cannot get enough of you, regardless if you are endless.

Her skin is peeking quietly from her neckline. Shining, shifting over her collarbones.

Post-practice glow.

She tries to relieve the throes of wanting immediately. This is not the same Ellie you tutored minutes ago; someone else crawled inside of her, made a corruptive influence. “Fuckin' soaked down there,” she hints with pacing breath, flexing her pelvis up. “Gonna buy me new ones?” She mentions about her tights. Those tights that always make her toned legs look woodland-born; spry as deer, long boughs laden with white bloomage.

You chuckle. “Oh, cause it's my fault?” But your hands push for that hot gap beneath, peel her leotard aside, and she goes white-eyed. Nudging to find the same kisses.

Opening her mouth opens her heart to you.

Then, her legs.

Full-walled mirrors reflect before her. Ellie goes insane watching the muscles of your fingers work her in numbing circles over the wet patch of her tights, and sometimes, insane from the stare you give while doing it. The friction is like molasses, but it is all she needs. God, she is pulsing on you. Whining on you. Does she come to rehearsals horny?

It certainly coheres.

Warming up next to each other on the barre, beholding one another during auditions, her cascading stares when you stretch, creeping softly up your legs. Wearing sheer skirts so wispy, so mini: you get it. Those sculpting shorts she wears—you're not even going to lie—prove the pleasure is visual. It creates a vertigo of pounding, indecent thoughts.

You folded them so delicately down her lovely hips. Now they lay stranded somewhere in the room, but fuck—does your skin raise thinking about her ass flexing in them before. Picture-perfect, palmful of an ass.

Has she touched herself to you?

She still avoids your eyes when you pick up your speed. “Fuckin' slut, aren't you?” Watching what was being done to her was all the more invigorating, hoping she would ruin her panties enough and swallow up your motions. Take you in closer.

She tells you she does like it. Well, whimpers, at least, and humps your river-paced fingers.

Then, she plucks at the band of her tights with her thumb, stretching it over the knuckle. You see where your finger pins it down.

Shadows brush against the frosted door. Soothing yourselves too comfortably into primal abandon and taking every tight piece of clothing off would maturate a scandal. Risks are high; you lead her wrist back.

Dopey giggles form her smile. “Why not?”

You affirm. “You know why.”

But no secretion of articulation was coming from her lips, only confirming sounds and thigh contractions when you grope and grab her thumping crotch. It was as though she was pent-up. Panting often out of her mouth, and glancing into the hoods of her eyes with a short leaning motion—you think she is. Pent-up, religiously for you. Little ligaments in her shiver with every little tug, barely moving anything under the layers, but she loves it.

She spent deadlight mornings dreaming that her bed beheld hers and your legs interlocked, cunts rubbing each other into humiliating moans and reeking of sex days afterward in the studio. It aches that she cannot see her bare pussy, and you, inside her. She thinks she might be fucking glistening under there. How exciting: what would it feel like if you ripped the fabric and stuffed her, displayed and degraded her? Your glare already does, Odile.

She needs to take you home. She needs the veiling between you and her so eroded, it rewrites the all-encompassing, eternal-age ballet right there on the grand stage. Makes the audience mull in their sleep. “Put your hands around my neck,” she beckons, inviting more hands on her.

“Yeah?”

She gulps. “Uh-huh.”

They fill the pale emptiness. After that, she finds herself trying to fuck herself more desperately on your fingers: she rides the length of them, using what is softened of her panties to slide up her folds. The pressure indescribable. She almost forgets that you are her competition; rivals shouldn't make her come this hard.

But, it's you. You lull the filthiness out of her.

When your fingers dig in the right spot, she pierces through her lower lip. “Yes, baby—fuck!” She jolts with a whimper. The sides of your fingers are scratched by the synthetic material of her thighs, her legs impulsing, eyes pinching, and her neck stringing up in your grasp. It is a chasm full of splutters. “That's it—right there, right there. Fuck, don't stop, please don't fuckin' stop.”

You palm her through it, fingers pouring out through the heart of her thighs in the mirror. And something else. Something that sticks her to her shame: orgasm-sopping panties she may replace, and replace twice. There is subtle moisture on your fingertips.

No way she goes home and sleeps soundlessly without flicking her pussy for you. In devotion of what you could not. She feens to be properly played with.

Ellie lies breathless in your lap, her skin sweating into yours. The scene is a silent basking until she breaks it:

“Should we continue this tomorrow?”

[munefille]

Omg, I love your angel oc! Could you perhaps write a drabble about him and an s/o who bakes and makes sweets, that also has an equally sweet personality? Thanks a bunch!

thank!!

He wouldn't really understand your hobby. He gets the basic concept of cooking, but the more complex process of gathering different ingredients, prepping them, and then coagulating them until they've forfeited most of their original properties is lost on him. He would rather just eat your neighbor, but if you really insisted he'd try something you make.

𝐎𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

yandere!angel(?)oc x gn.reader

cw: animal death

Heat was drifting throughout your home. A modest fire crackled pleasantly, the ceaseless sound carrying with it the scent of warm sugar and vanilla. One look at the pastries told you they were goldening nicely in the flames, crisp dough rising until it was bloated from the hot air inside of it. Only a few minutes; then they would be ready.

Clicking on glass stole your attention from the dishes in your hands. The window, left uncovered to the vast woodland bordering it, was the source of the interruption. Without turning your head to look, a smile drew across your face. You knew who your visitor was.

Shuffling out of your humble kitchen and towards the window, you spied flashes of white feathers and an inhumanly tall form bending down to peer inside. Your heart beat increased, not out of fear, but excitement to present your gift for the creature- the angel.

The window creaks open as you unlock it, letting the cool evening breeze whistle through your hair and drag the sugary scent out with it.

"Hello!" you chirped, a giddy tone resonating in your greeting. The being looked down at you with a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You turned towards the kitchen again, "One moment!" you called, hurrying to fetch the baked sweets before the fire chars them. They came out steaming, sweet light whiffs that had been permeating your home hit you at full force once they came out.

It was a simple treat, sugary cookies that you had perfected. No one had ever said they disliked them.

There you were at the window again, hot tray in hand. The angel waited patiently beyond your walls for your return. Long ivory hair draped over his eyes and cascaded down his shoulders like a waterfall, so pale it seemed to reflect light even in the presence of the falling sun. He seemed to only ever visit you at night, when the light fades into nothing but the soft glow of the moon.

You presented the cookies to him, placing the tray on your window sill.

"An offering?" He quietly asked, smooth voice tinged with the hint of an accent you couldn't quite place. Though you nodded at his inquiry, he made no effort to take one.

You picked one up off the tray, taking a nibble of it in what you hoped to be a reassuring way. "They're sweet, see? I made them myself."

You practically shoved one towards him, wide doe eyes encompassing the look of a kicked puppy. "I wanted to find a small way to thank you," you mumbled genuinely. It was true- ever since you met him, life had started looking up for you. It was little things, you were rarely ever harassed anymore and people you disliked never came upon you again. You had no doubt it was the work of your guardian angel.

He stared at you through the wisps of white hair covering his eyes for a few moments longer. Then, slowly, he reached to pick one up, two long fingers pinching the treat between them.

You caught a glance of spired, bladelike teeth before he swallowed. You never questioned why an angel would have such a trait.

"How was it?" you inquired, beaming for a reaction.

His face, as far as you could tell, was blank. However, the magnificent pair of bone white wings behind him shuddered ever so slightly.

"Different."

You would take that.

The next morning, you awoke to the thick, metallic scent of rot. You searched for the origin of the putrid fumes, worried that you had left something out, when you had found it. A present was left for you on your doorstep; the corpse of a freshly deceased fawn, its head snapped to look in your direction. The wide eyed stare frozen onto its face held an unspoken warning.

An offering, for an offering.

[vaaaaaiolet]

Alarm clocks are a little pointless in the Kennedy household, no thanks to your husband's perplexing sleep schedule. What's the rhyme to his reason? Or rather, who?

gn / m, just domestic fluff w/ older married leon of your choice (di leon is personally so husband), pretend i'm funny, animals?? for some reason LMFAO, leon hates sleep

word count: 474 // read on ao3

a/n: tiny drabble for @l1terallylaroxy w/ love <3 yes i was listening to snooze by sza what gave it away. the entire fic? oh okay.

find all my drabbles in my collection: sketches for my sweetheart the drunk!

The dip your mattress developed overnight makes for a better alarm clock than the one sitting on your nightstand. You still check to not hurt its tiny mechanical feelings.

5:30 AM. Leon’s come home.

A roll of your shoulder puts you face to face with your sleeping hill of a husband. You can’t help stifling a laugh at the haphazard way he’d fallen into bed, practically breathing in his pillow as he snoozes away with his stomach pressed to the sheets and an arm slung heavy over your waist. Leon is a staunch back sleeper – you catch earfuls about sleeping on your stomach from him all the time, but here he is, Mr. You-Need-to-Reduce-Pressure-on-Your-Spine, in all his morning glory. He’s lucky he happens to be married to the pinnacle of benevolence.

You simply file away the blackmail for later.

A groan eventually sounds from the mess of blankets Leon’s entangled himself in, something akin to, “Gmmff...mmff, bah.”

Definitely talking in his sleep. You’re half-asleep yourself. Anacondas wrap you closer – no, Leon wraps you closer when he finally blinks awake.

“What’d you say?” you chuckle.

“...said g’morning, baby,” your husband yawns.

Dawn blushes the ivory sheets pink, blooms roses in your cheeks when he presses a kiss to your shoulder mumbling something sweet: “G’back to sleep. Don’t wanna wake you up.”

And then he does something crazy. Leon starts rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and sitting up like he’s getting ready for the day, fully at five in the morning like he didn’t just crash into bed after a graveyard shift at the DSO.

It’s insanity. “You’re waking up already?” you squawk, sitting up with a full eight hours in contrast to his abysmal five. “The sun’s barely up, Leon, you just got home.”

“The alarm’s going to ring in a second anyway. Early bird gets the worm, right?”

Worms be damned, you grouch. You cling to his back, tucking your chin into the side of his neck while he ruffles your hair.

“C’mon, ya koala. I gotta shave,” Leon gripes, too sugary to have any effect.

You pout. “So eager to leave me already?”

“Baby. You’re breaking my heart.” He clutches his chest with a theatrical gasp. “What a thing to say!”

He huffs long and loud, and the anacondas return to snake over your back this time as you try and keep from laughing at the stupidity of it all. You’re in the air before you know it; carried piggyback style to the bathroom as Leon lifts the one burden in his life that isn’t really one in the slightest. You can kick your legs all you want, but he’s not letting go.

Every waking second with you is a blessing he’s not willing to give up. So why would Leon want to hit snooze and miss the moment?

click for my full drabble collection, and find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

[playername-player-of-games]

Hii

I am asking you very niceys for a c!Hermes drabble /np (I love the way you write about tick /gen)

"Uhm...Hermes?"

"Hm?"

"Your uh- your shapeshifting," the faerie asks, wringing its lower set of hands together, "does it- can you only shift into those four beings?"

"No?" Hermes answers. "I can shift into anything I want, basically."

The faerie nods, red eyes unblinking as ever, "could you uhm. Could you try shifting into - into someone? For me?"

Hermes shares a glance with Ides, then with Wicker, who shrugs.

"I suppose I could," Hermes looks back to the faerie, who immediately perks up, its little ears flicking, "what exactly are you looking for?"

"Uhm I'm- I didn't think you'd say yes," it gives a nervous little laugh, gesturing to its antenna with its upper set of hands, "he's like- he's like me but- but bigger, uhm. Can you- can you be an endermite? And a bee, but also...also shaped like me?"

"I can try," Hermes answers, giving it a smile that tick hopes is reassuring. Tock gestures for the faerie to turn all the way around - it does. Tick begins to shift.

Four arms, a set of antenna, a set of broken wings. Within moments they hold up two sets of black and white hands - the pixie looks as if its about to be sick.

"Black turns purple," it says. "and white turns yellow," it points to its eyes, right first, then left, "eyes are - are yellow and red."

Tock nods, making adjustments. Black fur ripples over into purple scales, white turns fuzzy yellow. Tick blinks, changing their eyes. Their clothes shift as well, taking on the pixie's loose shirt and breeches, split black and white. A tail, thin as a whip with fluff at the end, curls around tock's ankle.

The faerie stares, unblinking.

"His wings are a little more put together," it whispers, no longer staring at Hermes but instead at...something else, something far away, "sky blue on the left and lavender on...on the right."

Then it goes quiet, hovering and unblinking.

Hermes shifts back into tickself, wings disintegrating into nothing and four arms melding back into two. Within moments they're Hermes again, purple jacket and green eyes. Tock waves a hand in front of the faerie's face.

"Apollo?"

It flinches, red eyes snapping up to meet green, "I'm not Apollo anymore."

"Sorry."

"No it's-" the faerie hovers back, closer to Wicker, "I should- I should be sorry. Uhm. Thank you for- for shifting, for me. That was. Thank you."

"Anytime," Hermes smiles. "Glad to be of service."

[aerie-writing]

(alternate ending to this bad boy! this bit would have happened right after: “I thought you cared!” tick shrieks, four arms melding back into two, then thrusts tock’s shield into another axe swing that nearly knocks Ides over, “Whatever-“ tick swings their own axe “-happened to us against the world? The four of us?!")

“I DO!" Ides shouts. "I do care."

"Then why?!" Hermes screams back, as tears spill down their face, "why are you trying to kill me?!"

"This game needs a champion."

"That is a shitty reason and you know it."

"But it's the truth," Ides answers, "the game needs a champion and you're easy to kill."

Hermes growls.

"Or at least you would be," Ides continues, "if you'd stop cheating."

Tick snarls, "fuck you, Ides."

[catfern]

feed.

in support of palestine ∙ the reality of tlou ∙ resources

pairing: vampire!ellie williams x reader

music: angel - massive attack

word count: 630

summary: freshly turned, ellie has a hunger insatiable. you would bleed for her, but that's not all she wants.

warnings: pussy eating turned feeding, mentions and descriptions of blood, cannibalism (kinda), alludes to character death.

cat says ⎯ a quick little drabble to celebrate the start of autumn (fall, if you're a weirdo). also letting u guys know i'm alive barely! keep an eye on me, something fun coming soon!

sweet.

something sickly artificial, absent life beneath her tongue. a languid pulse, tired obligation.

pulling back, a gnawing feeling sits on ellie’s skin as she contemplates; the delicacy of a moment, so violently ruined by the willingness of her own temptation. the fever of something passed, as she watches the arc of your breathing on stained sheets.

you had agreed, so blindly loving, to the baring of her teeth. what a poorly hidden creature you had opened your arms to. come here, take my warmth, i shall feed you.

so very selfish, to long for more, to take. her tongue, taught to pull at the slick between your legs, thrumming a mean word, a trail down the pillow of your thigh. a soft whine dripped from the swell of your lips at the first feeling of her canines, press, press. a strained cry, the wound of an animal. ellie wonders if perhaps, you would curl away. an itch inside her told her not to let you.

glaring red, a sign to stop. a syrupy taste that bellowed the taunt of an addiction, something so, so easy to fall into. she watched the ichor pinken, mixed with the cotton shine painting the inside of your thighs.

“fuck…” a low, inserted rumble from the cavity of her chest. a call, answered. made for her own greed, your body now merely a vessel for this — awakened craving. she longs to feel the rip beneath this wicked invasion of ivory, the tears of your flesh, bitter on her tongue. if she pulled harshly enough, she thinks, she could even hear your body scream apart beneath her. 

wants and needs cloud the dimly shining lust in her, a newfound hunger choking that light. 

bleed.

shaky breaths crown on your ribcage, wordless mumbles dying in your throat. ellie would, maybe, laugh, something teasing, if not so consumed. a soft rhythm beneath her fingertips, buzzing in her skin, your own bastion of moribund life. she can feel you, feel your response to this … violation. and you want this? in some perversion of ellie’s own mind, you do. you want to feel the bite, teeth sinking into the hand with which you fed her.

you seize so unnaturally, beneath your lover’s teeth. pulled on strings, following a wicked path of pain, a stained rut of your hips, a whine amidst the blood.

ellie watches, impatiently, her own breath heavy and rotten through her nose. strings of red, falling across the plains of your stomach, the crooks of your neck, discovering as if not already a part of you, exotic on your own body. her mark is left here, deep in sconces of your flesh, pulling you on marionette wires with every scattered indulgence.

her tongue is a burning heat, tracing brutish, possessive trails in the fading delirium. her fingers press harsh fingerprints, inked in apple-ish reminiscence, across the curve of your breast, and your breath hitches.

“i can’t—“ she’s too close, too, too close. her breath melting against your skin. you can see her, blurred and wild, face flushed against the stretch of your legs. the eyes of a dog, wide and unforgiving and helpless, buried in the fading warmth of your body. you watch as one would something untamed, cornered. 

“you’re too good to me.”

ringing truth in your ears, a pained reminder as you lie, so eager to please, no matter the tax, in this hazy room of mortal lust and tenderhearted violence. 

ellie sits, she waits, for what she does not know. metal in the crooks of her teeth, a maple taste deep in her throat. to love is to consume, to swallow whole, to nourish. love shared is love lost, life lost.

ellie waits, shedding animal in dying skin, to rot in your memory.

⎯ kofi

[spikesbunny]

♥︎ BLEED ME DRY ♥︎

+ warnings: sub!fem reader, workplace relationship, bloodsucking, biting, biting kink, dry humping, thigh riding, porn without plot, wlw relationship, overstimulation implied, slight mention of corruption kink at the end (nothing too detailed)

+ ft: vampire! boss! arlecchino x fem reader

nsfw under cut, minors +men dni!!!

+ notes: small lil drabble bc i cannot get vamp arlecchino outta my head, god she was made for us women

not proof read, kinda messy and all over the place (js like me for her)

reposting from @/roronoaism, all content is mine!!

your boss was thirsty, again. you were the only one who knew her secret, one that couldn't get out. she made sure of it.

simply put, arlecchino was a vampire. a gorgeous one, for what its worth. being the only one who knew did come with benefits.

that's how you got here. sitting in her lap, the office door shut tightly. arlecchino suckled at your neck, drinking your blood at a slow pace. you were dizzy, between the loss of blood and how she was making you hump her thigh, your soaked panties rubbing against her slacks for a bit of friction.

you couldn't count how many times you had cum from this alone, your skin was sensitive and burning from her sharp ivory fangs. you were marked with her fangs, bites traveling from your collar bone to your arms, down your chest and torso and some planted on your thighs. A bunch of them were old and healing, a few were a couple days old, but a good handful were from just today.

your cunt clenched around nothing, your voice muffled by your boss' hand wrapped around your mouth to prevent the other employees from hearing. she promised you overtime, and you always recieved it.

you just would have to go home and fuck yourself, along with clean up the wounds. if you could drive clearly, your brain was wayyy to foggy right now, and she didn't seem like stopping anytime soon.

you couldn't complain. you wanted her to break you.

©2024 spikesbunny - please do not repost or translate my works on other media sites ♡

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Blood Sport

Feyd Rautha x Y/N - drabble part 6 - 1.8K WC NSFW 18+

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6 (you are here!)

Masterlist

Warnings: marriage, SMUT, biting, blood drinking, penetration, oral (female receiving), Feyd being whipped as fuck for you, L bombs, rough sex, fluffy ending

----------------------------------------

You smoothed over the layers of your dress. The black and red layered fabric made you look gorgeous, ethereal almost. All the sparkles and shimmers on the dress caught the light off the black sun just right. You still felt nervous but after talking with Feyd last night your heart was more at ease. You felt as if you could truly accept Geidi Prime as your home, and rule it one day. Maybe make it more like Succo, make it better. You looked to the door as it slid open, a maid walking inside with a small jar full of blood. 

“Who’s?” you asked as you lifted her off the ground with your magic, dragging her closer to you faster than she could move. 

Her shaking hands gave you the jar of inky blood, “T-the Na-Baron’s mistress…” she said quickly.

You held the jar, it was still slightly warm. You smiled softly, “That’ll be all.” you said, setting the maid down as you dismissed her. As soon as the door slid shut you flicked the lid off the jar, savoring the flavor of him as you gulped it down. You never got tired of his taste. You licked over your lips as you finished the jar, leaning your head back. The irony taste melted on your tongue, your eyes fluttering shut at the warmth. You saw flashes of Feyd’s body, like perfect ivory. There was nothing white on Succo but you were in love with the color, especially on him. You saw his hands running over himself, his rippling muscles before you heard a faint whisper fall from his mouth, 

“Y/N” 

It was the most seductive tone you’d ever heard from him. Wanting and whimpering and absolutely dripping with lust. Right before you saw his hand run over his abs and dip down further the visions stopped.

Tease.

“Princess. It’s time.” said a guard who you hadn’t noticed, so deeply lost in your visions. 

You followed the man, looking at yourself one more time in the mirror. You tilted your head up, adjusting your black diamond crown. The one that had been in your family since the full Sanguines were in power on Succo. The Cruor were fearless, as were you. And yet, this was quite possibly the first time you felt real fear. A comfortable fear. As if you were leaping into the unknown and hoped Feyd was there to catch you in the end. Before you could stew on your new found fear, the doors to the Great Hall opened. You saw hundreds of Harkonnens, they filled the hall and all watched as you walked down the lengthy aisle towards Feyd. He looked sharp in his all black ensemble. The Baron and Reverend Mother stood to the right of him and the officiant. Feyd’s eyes never left yours. You walked with your head held high, exuding confidence as you represented your house. 

The ceremony itself was a blur. You played around in Feyd’s mind. Blood was such a powerful conduit. The magic you wielded was a mere fraction of what your ancient ancestors had. You had yet to show Feyd the full extent of your powers, soon enough you would tell him. He thought the Bene Gesserit were strong, you would show him true strength. Your magic weaved itself through the blood in his mind, you manipulated it, echoing your voice. 

“Pledge yourself to me… my Na-Baron… my Feyd Rautha.” 

You saw Feyd’s eyes twitch slightly, flicking to yours and searching them. Your lips tilted up, finding his reaction to your power funny. You decided to take it a step further, playing out visions in his mind. Visions of your hands roaming your body. Your skin, soft and delicate. Your eyes rolling back in pleasure. You watched his eyes widen before fluttering shut for a moment. He cleared his throat, presumably trying to regain some composure. You stifled a laugh, deciding to have mercy on him for now. You listened to the strange Harkonnen words as you anticipated how the rest of the day would go. Well, the night that is. You weren’t afraid of sex like most would be in your situation, you were curious though. 

Lost in your own thoughts you felt Feyd’s hand on your cheek. You snapped back to reality as his lips met yours. You kissed him back but cut the kiss short. You didn’t want the Baron or Reverend Mother to assume you and Feyd held anything for each other. You listened to the roar of the crowd around you, celebrating their new Na-Baroness. It was truly done now. 

You are a Harkonnen.

---------------------------------------------

You entered your new chambers first. This one was massive compared to your already spacious chamber. The ceilings were high, everything was black. There were no windows in this room - or any of the rooms in this hall of the castle. You knew Feyd wanted to keep the black sun's harsh light away from you. The thought of him being so considerate made your heart swell slightly. You set your star disc down in the center of the room before activating it. The projection adjusted to the size of your new chambers. You would never tire of this gift, feeling this close to home when you couldn’t be further away. You sat on the couch, gazing up at the projection until you heard the slide of the door. 

Feyd entered with four guards, “Should we hold her down for you, Na-Baron?” one asked.

Your muscles tensed but your face remained still, all that let onto your shift in mood was the black veins around your eyes. They became ever so prominent when you felt strongly. 

“I can manage her on my own.” Feyd said, holding his hand up to dismiss the guards. 

They left quietly and soon there was no noise besides your breath along with Feyd’s. You relaxed slightly.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Feyd’s voice broke the silence, “and I want you to know I do.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him, not totally understanding. 

He walked closer to you before kneeling at your feet, “I pledge myself to you. Completely. I am yours if you wish it.” 

The veins around your eyes faded, you felt shock inside. You searched his mind, nothing in his blood indicated deception, he was being genuine. You tiled his chin up, “And I yours.” you said before pulling him to your lips in a bruising kiss. It was needy and rushed, trying to convey the loyalty and love you felt. 

Love?

For some reason the word felt right. Once you knew he was yours you finally admitted it to yourself. Feyd pushed you back to lean against the back of the couch. You let out a small whine, “Why’d you stop?” you asked with a hint of irritation in your voice. 

Feyd smiled as he slid his hands up your thighs underneath your dress. He felt your body tense when he moved them to the inner part of your thighs, slowly pushing them apart. “Trust me?” he said, stopping his movements.

You nodded. Feyd buried his face between your thighs, ripping your underwear off in one go. He was like a man starved, devouring you. Your chest heaved with the new sensation. His mouth was nothing compared to your fingers. 

“You are divine.” he mumbled out, you saw his face covered in your slick and it made something primal in you lurch your hips. He took this as a sign to speed up his movements, attacking your clit with small circles before he slipped a finger inside you. You moaned out at the contact. Something akin to fire built in your stomach until it consumed your veins, your thighs clenching his head in place as you rode his face to get the most from your high.

Your breathing was labored but all you could think of was more. You pushed him back with your foot, shoving your dress off at the shoulders. He helped drag it off completely before he sat in awe of your body. Every curve, dimple, scar, stretch mark - all of it. He wanted to know all of you. You leaned forward, hooking one of your nails through the loop in his pants. Standing you dragged him to the bedroom before shoving him back. He watched you with pure love, or was it lust? You couldn’t find it in yourself to care at this moment. You dragged your fingernail through his shirt like a knife through butter. Feyd shoved his pants off. He was marvelous. Beautiful in every way. Every mark on his alabaster body entranced you. You longed to see him covered in blood. 

You climbed on top of him, pulling his neck to your mouth. You kissed and licked over the expanse of him. Lips kissing up to his. You nipped his lip drawing a drop of blood.

“You like to bite?” he asked playfully, wiping his blood over your lips. 

You licked over you lips, closing your eyes to savor him. “Sanguines were rather animalistic and primal beings. It's what made them so powerful. It comes out occasionally in me, especially since I was cursed with the need for blood. Something in me hungers for more.” you said kissing his chest and sucking harsh marks into his beautiful skin. 

“There is beauty in ferocity,” he replied. 

Your eyes met his, “Bite me. Drink me. Love me.” he said in a breathy whisper, almost begging you. 

Your hand grasped his cock, gently leading it to your dripping cunt. He slid in easily but it was still an adjustment. You shuddered at the feeling. Feyd’s arms held you close, he brushed your sweaty hair to the side. “Are you alright?” he asked softly, refraining with all his might from pounding into you. 

You nodded, slowly starting to roll your hips. You found a pace quickly that hit the most wonderful spot inside you. You were lost in ecstasy as you sank your fangs into his shoulder, sucking in his sweet crimson. The visions you saw were of you and how consumed he was with you. You felt it - love. He loved you, it was more than lust. You moaned out, speeding up your hips. Feyd couldn’t stand it, he started meeting your hips with his. You nipped at him randomly. Seeing his blood drip over his white skin made the fire in your boil over. “Harder… faster…” you moaned.

Feyd bit into your shoulder, drawing blood himself as he slammed into you at a ridiculous pace. You cried out as you came, shaking violently. Feyd held you close, licking and kissing over the bite he left behind. You looked at his chest, blood smeared and dribbled over him. “Perfect…” you said breathlessly as you licked over some of the blood. 

Feyd laid you down gently. “I will never tire of this…” he said with a chuckle.

You smiled, starting to drift off to sleep as the exhaustion set in. 

“I love you so, my darling wife.” Feyd whispered as he kissed over your stomach before pulling a blanket over you.

------------------------------

Naboo's Note:

Hello! Finally back on my Feyd Rautha kick. This might be the end of this series mostly because I'm not sure where to go with the story but if inspiration strikes I will surely post more. I hope ya'll like it - I know it was a long time coming for these two idiots to fuck. Anyways - hope to post other stuff soon! XOXOXOXOXOX!!!!!!!

[moonxsuncelestials]

They can hear the snickers from their dormmates, from those who worship Vil's every word, as they walk the corridors of Pomfiore. Poe understandably growls and hisses at the words, despite his master's neutral stance. Ivory had learned how to ignore them, not let their words sting.

Yes, they are odd, and these humans have no idea what the princess from The Isle is. The princess knew it, there is no denying that they have odd mannerisms and quirks, but is it so weird to always see them with a book or three in their arms? Vil wasn't wrong in how a queen should be dedicated, and diligent in their appearance and minds. Beauty will fade for mortals, it's a tale as old as time and the mind will go, but that doesn't mean one should slack off.

Well, for the princess they also just love to read. They love to study various subjects; alchemy is a huge favorite because of the formulas that remind them so much of home cooking. And it reminded them of their mother's greenhouse.

One of their dormmates sneered yet Ivory continued to hold their head high, just as Vil would have. As much as the other angered them, Vil did have a lot of good points, and it was wise to put some of what he said into practice. One day Ivory may have to take over the business from their parents, Eclipse already stated that he's happy being the muscle and has a pretty good side hustle of being a DJ during his downtime. He does have that talent and he has mentioned he's not so savvy with business, but I think I overheard Azul saying that he's wrong.

"You're mind is whirling, Master Ivory." Poe whispered only for another dormmate to call Ivory an unpleasant name. Had Ivory not petted him in the right spot, that idiot would have been seriously harmed. "Ignore these Peasants, Poe. They are not worth the aggravation, just like how the servants at Uncle's palace are beneath us. They learned and so will these, humans." Poe purred with a wicked grin, though would agree that as much as neither were going to enjoy this, these foolish peasants have their uses. As the future queen of The Isle, they knew they had to start gaining popularity among the ranks of Pomfiore; enough to cause a bit of a stir and prove to Vil that they are no potato.

Oh no. They are a wild and deadly demonic rose, and Vil will see that he must take them seriously.

"I have not spent my life reading books, My hours studying To be some desperate queen's toy Wanna lock me away? Well, by all means, have fun with that But I will be the author of this tale. So to hell with your approval, you're all idiots for thinking That I'm just another dainty flower. Well I have news for you, this flower is a demon~

(Certain as the sun) Underestimate me all this time (Rising in the east) Don't you get it? This will be my grand design! (Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme) I'm planning all my moves, Watch me as I rise from your so-called lies~"

Poe smirked and snickered quietly as he listened to Ivory's little song. Yes, their princess will one day be queen of the land, and then? All of Twisted Wonderland, Sage Island; everyone will see that it is the silent ones that one shouldn't underestimate.