Tea time

Feeling cute today might commit acts of Hubris-

[readdressmeasduchess]

Hello

She/Her | ENFJ | Yes, I am of age for any curious

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Currently not accepting requests

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[ #rea rambling - My general musings / Ask box interactions ]

[egophiliac]

Wait cause you just introduced a revolutionary idea with these giant overblots 🤑 (going straight to the AU folder)

I know it was a joke post, but taking it seriously for a millisecond, hypothetically speaking, how big would the phantoms be...? 👀

if I may offer a suggestion:

[egophiliac]

me: ha ha wouldn't it be funny if Swing's whole motivation was that he just had stupid holiday beef with this random nerdy goth?

Twst: hey, you know what would be even funnier...

(hats off once again, 'yes but the beef is 90% one-sided on Swing's part and oh BOY is he ever incapable of handling it' is actually the best possible way of doing that, thank you)

(also the best: unleash-beast Ruggie!!!) (he might only be a png but he is forever in my heart now 💛💛💛) (this boy has to walk around wearing Leona's old pants, if anyone deserves five minutes to just go absolutely feral it's him.)

[egophiliac]

I think Malleus is going to do really well at Styx :)

[fyageee]

Made a relationship dynamic headcanon chart because I love messing with them

[themeownie]

[zoltruke]

ツイステ🥢🍫ポッキー

[egophiliac]

Ego I know you're deep into the Diasomnia viney trenches but I NEED to steal your gaze for a moment and direct it towards the newest Savanaclaw manga chapter. You have to SEE baby Cheka. YOU HAVE TO. PLEASE. PLEASE BELIEVE ME. IT WILL CHANGE THE BABY BEASTMEN LORE YOU HAVE IN MIND (PROBABLY)

hey, I can take a break from obsessively thinking about Diasomnia for thirty seconds in order to -- ...oh. oh my goodness. what?! like, yes, Cheka is a precious little floofy kitten and I will take three, thank you. but also. the implications?!

[himasgod]

I scoured the blog for a framework of what I am about to ask but, I didn't find anything similar so this is going to feel silly.

Can I request a scenario of Silver, after a horse riding club show, where the reader is extremely downbad for this set? They cannot keep their mind off of pieces like his riding crop, leg harness, gloves, etc... the two have been dating for a little, but the reader has never actually seen him this way before. They are a certified fumbler, so even someone as oblivious as Silver notices something is off about them after his show. Gender neutral pov or female pov works, I don't mind either one. I would prefer smut, but if not, just regular is fine 🫣

SILVER X READER

Where you're crazy about with his Equestrian Club uniform

WARNINGS: This fanfic is based on Silver's Equestrian Club card, the descriptions of his uniform. It contains smut with oral sex, him giving it to afab!reader. Soft dom on Silver's part perhaps? I really loved this one, I hope you enjoy it <3

It was just a horse riding club show.

Just a simple friendly event out on the NRC grounds. He told you about it last week. Invited you. You even packed snacks. Brought your dumb little blanket. Thought oh this’ll be cute. A day to support your boyfriend, Silver, and watch him do his thing.

Maybe sneak a kiss when no one was looking. Something wholesome.

What you weren’t prepared for was whatever the hell that outfit was.

Like, yeah, obviously Silver was attractive. You’d been dating for a few weeks now, and even before that you’d been nursing a big dumb crush on him for forever. But this was criminal. Whoever handed him that equestrian uniform with the tall polished boots, fitted coat, white gloves, RIDING CROP—should be locked up immediately.

You’re not dramatic usually. But right now, you were spiraling.

Because he wore it too well. And worse: he was good at this. He looked natural. Elegant, even. Hair tied back loosely, posture regal on the horse, face serene and focused.

Meanwhile, you were sitting on your little picnic blanket gripping your juice box. The way he dismounted? That cocky little swing of his leg over the saddle, crop tucked neatly under one arm like a prop straight out of your delusions—girl, you were gasping. Internally. But it showed. You hadn’t said a word in ten minutes.

And Silver noticed.

He was walking toward you now. Still in the outfit. Still in the damn gloves. And sure, he was oblivious about a lot of things—but this? Even he could see something was off.

“...You okay?” he asked, tilting his head as he stood over you. His voice was soft like always, but his brows were slightly furrowed. “You’ve been staring off since the show ended.”

“I’m fine!” you said too quickly. “Totally normal! Just… admiring the sunset!”

It was 3:45 PM.

Silver glanced over his shoulder. Blinked once. “…It’s the middle of the afternoon.”

You wanted the earth to open up and swallow you whole.

“I meant the light! Y’know, how it hits your, uh… vest.” You waved vaguely in the direction of his chest and instantly regretted it.

Why was that part of the outfit fitted? Who tailored this?

“...Hm.” He crouched next to you on the blanket, legs folding with the kind of casual grace that should’ve been illegal in riding pants that tight. “Are you sure you’re alright? You’re flushed.”

YOU KNEW.

You pressed the juice box to your cheek. “Totally fine. Perfectly hydrated. Great weather. Nice horses. Good show. You were… great.”

Your voice cracked on that last word.

Silver tilted his head again, those pale blue eyes fixed on you. Like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. You had never been this awkward around him before.

“I didn’t do anything differently,” he said slowly, “but you seem... really nervous.”

“Me? Nervous? What even is nervousness? Haha. Sounds fake.”

“…You’re doing the thing where you start laughing at nothing and then don’t look me in the eye.”

“HA. No. I’m literally making eye contact right now—”

You absolutely were not. You were looking at the gloves. And the crop. That was now in his lap.

God. It was over. You were a gooner. You buried your face in your hands.

“Okay,” you mumbled into your palms. “I need you to not judge me, but I have a confession.”

Silver leaned forward slightly. “I’d never judge you.”

You peeked through your fingers, defeated. “...You in that outfit is doing things to my chemistry.”

He stared at you. The wind ruffled his bangs.

You waited for him to say something. Anything.

“…Things like…?”

“You know what I mean, Silver—” You groaned, flopping backwards dramatically onto the blanket.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since you showed up in those stupid boots and your dumb gloves and your IDIOTICALLY PERFECT—I don’t know! Everything! You’re all serious and focused and, and it’s… It’s not fair.”

Silence.

You refused to open your eyes. Absolutely not. You were about to dissolve into grass. You were part of the blanket now. Goodbye.

“…Oh,” Silver said after a moment. His tone had shifted Warm. “So that’s why you were staring at my hands.”

You made a sound. A pitiful oh no kind of whimper.

Then: gloved fingers gently brushing yours. You peeked up again.

He was smiling. Just slightly. Not teasing, exactly—just soft. Curious.

“I didn’t realize the uniform would affect you that much. I’m glad it did.”

Your heart absolutely stopped.

“I was starting to think I’d done something wrong. You’re usually so confident around me. It was strange seeing you so flustered.”

“I was confident. Before you came over here looking like a fantasy out of my dreams.”

Silver tilted his head again, but this time, his gaze sharpened a little. Just a fraction. Something shifted behind those soft white lashes.

“…Do you want me to keep it on a little longer?” he asked quietly.

You choked.

“SILVER—”

He leaned in.

“Or,” he murmured, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, “maybe you’d like to see what else it can do to you.”

You sat there blinking like a fish.

Silver stood up calmly. Dusting off his gloves. Offering you a hand. “Walk me back to the stables?”

You nodded. Slowly. Like you were possessed. He helped you up.

“By the way,” he added as you walked beside him, “I don’t mind if you stare more.”

You tripped over your own feet.

He caught you.

You don’t remember the walk to the stables. You’re pretty sure you blacked out somewhere between him offering you his hand and the moment he led you into the quiet space.

It was warm in here. Dust motes floating. Straw scattered. The scent of horses and leather and Silver and oh god you really were about to do this in a stable weren’t you.

He closed the stable door behind you. Turned back. Still in that goddamn uniform. Boots creaking. Crop tucked behind him. Still wearing those white gloves.

“You’re quiet again. Are you nervous?”

You laughed, shaky. “A little.”

“Do you want to stop?”

“No.” Immediate. Almost desperate. “I want you. Just… I think I’m malfunctioning.”

He smiled, slow and soft. And that’s when he stepped close. Gloved fingers brushed under your chin. Tipping your head up like he knew exactly how fragile you were feeling.

“You said the outfit was making it worse,” he murmured, thumb ghosting over your lower lip.

“Should I take it off?”

You grabbed his vest like a lifeline. “Don’t you dare.”

Silver blinked. Then smirked. It was slight. Barely there. But it was a crack in the calm. Like a ripple in still water.

“Okay. Then I’ll keep it on.”

And then he kissed you.

You’d kissed before. sweet little things. Sleepy ones. Occasional heat when he had you pinned to the Ramshackle wall with a just "one more". But this? This was different.

You gasped into his mouth as he backed you up against one of the wooden stall doors. His hands were everywhere—one cradling your jaw, the other on your waist, gloved fingers slipping under your shirt. And the leather—soft, worn—was making your brain go static.

You whimpered.

Silver pulled back just enough to breathe against your lips. “That sound…”

“... you heard it? fuck." you whispered, mortified.

“Of course. You're not exactly quiet, Yuu. I like it.”

You let your forehead thunk lightly against his chest, groaning. “You’re so unfair.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he said, gloved fingers teasing the hem of your waistband. “Just rode a horse.”

“Exactly.”

You kissed him again to shut him up, this time with less hesitation. Pulled him closer by the belt loops on his pristine white breeches. You should not have looked down. That much confidence in one outfit was illegal.

Silver groaned into your mouth when your hips brushed.

“Oh?” you whispered, dizzy with how hot your face felt. “Do you like my outfit too?”

His breath hitched. You felt his grip tighten on your waist.

“I like your reactions,” he muttered, “a lot.”

He backed you up fully into the stall, crowding into your space until your back hit the wooden wall and your legs were pressed together tightly. The leather crop had been set down somewhere near the tack hooks. Your eyes flicked toward it once.

Silver noticed.

“...You keep looking at that.”

You refused to answer.

He leaned in close. One gloved hand sliding down your arm torturous. He kissed under your ear, then down your neck, tongue flicking against the skin.

“You want me to use it?” he whispered.

You squeaked.

“Not like… that—!”

His breath ghosted over your collarbone. “Then how?”

You buried your face in his shoulder. “I don’t know!! Just… hold it or something. Be mean. Something.”

Silver chuckled.

“Alright,” he said, stepping back, chest rising with a slow inhale. “I’ll try.”

You barely had time to process before he grabbed the crop and walked back to you with it lazily dangling from his fingertips.

He brought it up—not to hit you, not even to touch you, but to trail the edge of it lightly under your chin. Tipping your head up again.

“Look at me,” he said, voice lower now. “Don’t look away this time.”

You whined. Your knees buckled.

He pressed forward. Mouth on yours again. Teeth grazing your lower lip. You clung to his vest, nails scraping down leather and cloth. Your legs parted almost on instinct and he stepped between them.

One gloved hand slipped under your skirt.

You gasped—then bit your lip hard. “Silver—”

“You’re so warm already,” he murmured, fingers teasing you through your panties, featherlight. “Is this really just from watching me ride?”

“I hate you.”

“You’re lying,” he said gently, sliding the crop under your thigh to lift your leg around his waist. “You want this too badly to hate me.”

You whined again as his fingers finally slipped beneath the fabric. His mouth was on your neck now, licking and kissing and nipping. The gloves made it worse. They shouldn’t feel so good, so controlled—like he knew exactly how to touch you with them.

“Silver, I’m gonna—”

“Not yet,” he said, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye.

Then he lowered himself to his knees.

You lost it.

He’s on his knees in front of you.

Still in uniform. Still in gloves.

You’re pressed back against the wooden stall wall, skirt hitched up, one leg thrown over his shoulder. You had no idea Silver had this in him. All that sleepy andquiet energy masking a man who knew exactly how to make you fall apart.

“You look beautiful like this,” he murmured, voice smooth. “So flushed.”

“Silver—” You gasped as his gloved hand slowly slid along the inside of your thigh, spreading you open more, steadying you as he leaned in.

And then—

His mouth.

You let out a little moan as his tongue slid over you. He worked you open like he had all day to take his time—he wasn’t rushing anything. He was tasting you like he wanted to memorize every reaction, every twitch and whimper.

You clutched the wooden beam behind you with one hand, the other tangled in his silver hair, trying not to pull, failing miserably.

He groaned against you.

“Please—” you whimpered.

Silver looked up at you from between your thighs, eyes heavy-lidded with focus.

“Tell me what you need,”

“Silver I can’t—”

“Yes you can.” He kissed your inner thigh, then moved back in, faster this time, tongue circling your clit while his fingers slid inside you. Two at once. Smooth. The gloves made every movement feel intensely focused—just the right kind of friction, slick and warm and—

You cried out, hips jerking as he curved his fingers just right.

“Silver-!”

He hummed. Hummed. Like he liked hearing that. His free hand gripped your thigh to keep you still.

You were unraveling. You were panting, trying to beg, trying to warn him—

“I—I'm gonna—please—”

“Let go,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

And that was it.

You came hard, trembling, moaning his name into the dusty air, your fingers curled tight in his hair. You swore you saw stars. You might’ve blacked out for a second.

When you finally started breathing again, you realized he’d already stood up—hands on either side of your waist, holding you steady.

He looked wrecked. Hair messy from your hands. Lips flushed. Glove on one hand damp from you. And still—he smiled.

Soft and genuine.

“How are you feeling?”

You looked at him.

Opened your mouth. “You’re not allowed to take that uniform off ever again.”

Silver chuckled, low and sweet. “So you really do like it.”

“I might have a uniform kink now. I’m not sure. I need to lie down.”

He laughed again and leaned in to kiss your forehead. Then your nose. Then your lips. Slower this time. Softer.

“I’ll get you some water,” he murmured. “And maybe a blanket. You’re shaking. We can go back to my room after you've recovered a bit. Riddle and Sebek must be wondering where I am; there was a celebration after the race.”

You smiled as you let him gently kiss your cheeks and nose, placing loving kisses on your face while you scratched the back of your neck.

"Yes, going to your room would be nice… but I'm afraid Lilia will see us. Your father is too clever and will surely suspect something."

"don't worry about Father. I’ll take care of you,” he promised, laughing a little. “Always.”

[himasgod]

Can you do 2nd year's where u stop giving them attention? 🩷

SECOND YEARS X READER

Where you suddenly stop giving them attention

FIRST YEARS HERE

How would the second years react if you suddenly stopped pampering them due to lack of sleep because of your studies?

Floyd was addicted to your attention.

Just like that. No sugarcoating.

He loved it when you looked for him, when you hugged him in public, when you called him “my baby” Because only you could do that without making him mad. Only you could calm his tide of emotions with a smile.

"Shriiimpy~ you're super cuddly today, I looove it."

He was happy. So happy he didn’t even try to hide it. He became calmer when you were around, more cheerful, less chaotic.

But when you stop showing up, when the “Floyd, come here” turns into “sorry, I have to go,” Floyd starts acting weird.

At first, he insists.

"Shrimpy! Are you ignoring me? Are you playing hide-and-seek without telling me? So boring!"

But when he realizes it’s not a game, that your eyes look dull, that you don’t even notice you’re pushing him away, something inside him churns. His smile fades. He stops going after you. He just watches you from afar.

And inside, he feels like a forgotten child.

Until one day, he gets fed up.

He corners you against your locker with his arms on either side of your head, his face more serious than ever.

"What’s wrong with you? You don’t love me anymore? You got bored? Did I piss you off?"

You don’t know what to say. You’re so tired you don’t even have the strength to lie. You just lower your head, murmuring a soft “sorry, I’m exhausted.”

And Floyd… goes still.

"You’re sad? You’re tired and didn’t tell me?"

He looks at you in silence for a second. Then wraps his arms around you tightly, hiding his face in your neck.

"I don’t care if you don’t hug me or look for me… but don’t disappear on me like that. Don’t leave me without you, Shrimpy."

And that day, Floyd doesn’t let go of you for a second. He carries you like a blanket and takes you to his room, lets you sleep against his chest like a plushie and sings you a song softly, no teasing, no sarcasm.

"Sleep. I’ll take care of you. Even if you don’t spoil me, I’ll spoil you now."

Jamil wasn't used to being the center of anyone's attention.

His whole life revolved around obeying, caring, and repressing. Emotions were dangerous. Affection… even more so.

So when you started doting on him—for real, without expecting anything in return—he refused to believe it.

Every touch of yours made him tense; every sweet word forced him to look away.

But he got used to it. Or rather, he allowed himself to depend on it a little. On you. On your silent attentions. On how you noticed when he was overwhelmed and simply held his hand without saying anything. On how you reminded him that he was valuable beyond his usefulness.

And then, one day, all of that stopped.

Without an explanation. Without a fight. Without an "I'm tired." Just… absence. Averted glances. "Sorry, I don't have time right now." Entire days without messages. And he, silent, swallowing his doubts.

"Did I dream it? Was it always a lie? Have they had enough of someone like me?"

He doesn't tell you. Jamil would never admit it. But he starts acting drier, more evasive. He avoids you so you don't notice how much it hurts. Until he sees you asleep with your head on your notes, your back hunched, and your breathing heavy with stress.

And in that instant, the anger collapses. All the accumulated venom turns to worry.

He approaches silently. He covers you with his jacket. He sighs deeply, as if crushed by the weight of something he can no longer contain.

"…You're not the only one who's tired of pretending everything is okay."

He wakes you gently, almost fearfully. When you open your eyes, you see something different in his: not anger, not reproach… but contained sadness.

"If you're exhausted, tell me. Don't leave me alone imagining that I no longer mean anything. Because you don't know how much it hurts when the only place where I felt free… disappears too."

That day, Jamil accompanies you to your room. He forces you to eat, to drink water, to sleep well. He doesn't ask you for anything in return.

But as he strokes your hair with trembling fingers, he whispers softly:

"This time, it's my turn to take care of you. But don't go away. Not again."

Kalim adores you. There's no other word. For him, your love is like the sun after a sandstorm, like a laugh in the midst of silence.

He's always been generous, always giving love without asking for it. But when you started pampering him, it was as if for the first time he received without needing to give. Your spontaneous kisses, your texts reminding him to drink water, your way of saying "I miss you" even though you'd only seen him two hours ago…

"It makes me so happy to know you're thinking of me!" he would always tell you, hugging you tightly.

So when that disappears, Kalim doesn't know what to do.

At first, he tries to cheer himself up. "I'm sure they're busy. Everything will be okay."

But as the days pass, uncertainty eats away at his smile.

He starts looking for you more insistently. Laughing louder. Proposing plans.

"Let's go carpet flying! We haven't been out in a long time!"

But you just tell him, “I'm sorry, Kalim, I can't today.”

And that day, when you walk away without looking him in the eye, something in his expression changes. His smile freezes.

He follows you with his eyes until you disappear into the hallways. Then he sits alone, in a corner of the garden, hands clasped together.

“Maybe… I did something wrong. Maybe I was too intense. Maybe… they don't love me like they used to.”

When he finally finds you asleep in the common room, exhausted and murmuring words in your sleep, his heart breaks.

“Oh… that's it. You're tired. You're so tired, and all I thought about was myself.”

He approaches carefully, tucks your hair behind your ear, and in a low voice, with that pure tenderness that characterizes him, he speaks to you even though he knows you're not listening:

“You don't need to be strong for me all the time. It's okay if you can't pamper me. I love you the same. I'll be here the same. Always."

That night, Kalim tucks you into the softest blanket he can find, leaves a cup of tea on the nightstand, and a note written in his big, cheerful handwriting:

“Don't miss me. Don't pressure yourself. Just rest. I'll be here when you wake up. I love you always, even when you can't show it.”

And yes. He keeps his promise. When you open your eyes, he's there, smiling brightly, holding your hand.

“Did you sleep well? It's my turn to take care of you today, okay?”

Riddle was so nervous at the beginning of the relationship that every gesture of affection from you left him silent, blushing, confused. But over time, he began to crave your attention as if it were afternoon tea: part of his routine, a sacred ritual.

You organizing his schedule, reminding him to rest, kissing his forehead when his headache ached—it was your way of caring for him, and he accepted it like a blessing.

But when that disappears, Riddle panics.

He doesn't show it right away, of course. He denies what he feels.

"Theyre probably busy. I shouldn't bother them. I shouldn't show weakness…"

Until anxiety consumes him. Until he accidentally explodes.

"You didn't reply to the text I sent you three days ago! Did I do something wrong?! Why are you ignoring me?!"

And when you turn around, your eyes tired, unable to even stand completely, Riddle feels his heart sink.

"Oh… you're… you're exhausted…"

He sees you trembling. He sees the dark circles under your eyes. He sees you like a castle about to collapse.

Then he takes a step back, swallowing. He lowers his gaze. He approaches calmly and takes your hand, his tone infinitely softer.

"Forgive me. I didn't know how to see it. You don't need to explain anything to me. Just… come with me."

He takes you to his room. He changes his schedule. He suspends his studies. He makes tea. And when he sees you asleep, tangled in his blanket, he closes his eyes with guilt and tenderness.

"You taught me to be loved… now it's my turn to learn to care for you as you deserve."

And that night, Riddle Rosehearts doesn't sleep. He stays by your side, watching over your sleep, like someone tending a beautiful garden that has flourished even in the harshest spring.

Jade is a man of subtleties. Of long silences, gentle smiles, and eyes that observe more than they say. When you started pampering him, at first he thought you were just playing around… but over time, he understood that your attentions were sincere. You made small braids in his hair when he rested with you, brought him new herbal teas to try, told him how much his presence calmed you.

And he, silently, became addicted to it.

Not because he needed it—or so he wanted to believe—but because it made him feel human, and not just another servant of his brother's capricious emotions or a mere executor of orders.

So when that warmth disappears overnight, when you stop texting him, stopping by the lounge, touching his hand for no reason… Jade doesn't say anything. He doesn't pressure you. He just observes.

But behind that apparent serenity, a restlessness begins to grow in his chest.

Until one day, when he notices you in the greenhouse, half asleep, lying on a flowerpot, your face covered in dirt and your hands trembling, he approaches silently. He doesn't say "I missed you," he doesn't complain.

He just crouches down beside you and begins to wipe the mud off your fingers with a white handkerchief.

"I was wondering… if plants also stop blooming if their gardeners forget themselves."

And then, without warning, he looks into your eyes, very close.

"I don't need your touch to be with you. But I can't bear to see you like this… as if you'd vanished without realizing it."

He helps you to your feet. He leads you to his room. He makes lavender tea. And that night, he sits beside you, silent, gently touching your hand, as if afraid of breaking you.

"When you're ready, I will once again receive each of your caresses with gratitude… but for now, allow me to take care of you."

Azul is used to transactions. To giving in order to receive. To measuring affection in terms of utility and results. But you… you broke his logic from day one. You gave him attention and affection, without conditions. You hugged him when he frowned. You defended him when others saw him as just another merchant.

And Azul, for the first time, didn't know what to give in return. He felt awkward. Exposed. But happy.

"Are you sure you don't want anything? Not even a symbolic contract…?"

And yet, every time you looked at him with genuine love, his insecurities faded a little. Your affection transformed him.

So when you stop pursuing him, when your messages dry up and your visits to the Monstro Lounge cease, his first reaction is to panic.

"Did I say something wrong? Is she angry with me? Did she regret it?"

He starts replaying conversations, looking for signs. He locks himself in his office, checks his magic mirror to see you from afar (blame it on jealousy, blame it on anxiety), and what he sees isn't contempt… it's exhaustion.

He watches you drag yourself between classes. Fall asleep over your notes. Walk like a ghost.

And something in him snaps.

The next day, a note arrives, delicately folded.

"Come by the Lounge this afternoon. I've reserved the place just for us. It's not a formal date. I just want to see you."

When you arrive, Azul is waiting for you with a warm cup of your favorite beverage and a blanket draped over the shoulders of the most comfortable chair. He invites you to sit. He doesn't try to talk business, or magic, or anything. He just watches you, with unusual calm.

"I don't need your daily flattery to know you appreciate me. But if you're losing yourself, then I… I can't stay still."

His voice trembles a little. Azul isn't good at showing vulnerability. But he tries.

"You gave me more than I ever expected to receive. Let me give you back at least a part of it."

And that night, there are no contracts. No exchanges. Just Azul holding your hand as you sleep on his couch, a barely audible whisper in the air:

"Please… don't disappear again. You don't know how much I need you."

Ruggie never considered himself someone worthy of much luxury or attention. He comes from what's fair, what's scarce. He’s used to giving more than he receives. But when you came into his life and started spoiling him —with food, sweet words, casual affection— at first, he got defensive.

"What’s up with you? Are you bribing me or what?"

But then… he got used to it. And without realizing it, he became addicted to it. To the way you looked at him like he was special. To how you remembered the things he liked. To how you hugged him for no reason and called him “my boy”

So, when all of that stops suddenly, Ruggie doesn’t take it well. And he doesn’t express it with sadness, but with forced humor.

"Hey, did you replace me or what? 'Cause you don’t even throw a “hi” my way anymore. I feel like a forgotten veggie in the fridge."

He says it with a lopsided smile, like it’s a joke, but his hyena ears are drooping. His laugh sounds weak. He’s hurt, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

When he finally sees you collapse in the cafeteria, your head buried in your arms, not even touching the food given to you, something changes. He doesn’t joke anymore. He pulls you out of the place without asking, takes you behind the kitchen, puts a bun in your hand, and makes you eat.

"You know I don’t mind if you don’t pay attention to me… but this isn’t okay. You can’t keep going like this. I don’t want to see you falling apart from trying to carry everything alone."

And when you look at him, for the first time in days, with eyes glassy from guilt and exhaustion, he sighs.

"Dummy. You got me used to your affection and now you take it away. That’s not fair, is it?"

But he hugs you, without resentment, with the tenderness he keeps only for you. And that night, without you asking, he cooks your favorite dish and sits down to eat with you, talking nonsense until you laugh.

"Come on, boss. You spoil me, but now it’s my turn to take care of you, okay?"

Silver isn't a demanding person. His calm, almost ethereal nature makes him seem as if he's above common emotional needs. But since you've been with him, there's something that keeps him more awake, more grounded in the world. Your attentions, however small—a hand on his cheek, a loving whisper before he falls asleep, a smile when his eyes close—are what remind him that there's someone who chooses him every day, even when he's lost in his dreams.

That's why, when you start to distance yourself, he notices… even though he doesn't say anything.

At first, he thinks maybe he's imagining it. That he shouldn't be selfish. That you have your own problems too. But the days go by, and your greetings become automatic, your hugs are absent, and you're no longer there to wake him with affection when he falls asleep in the garden. And Silver begins to dream uneasy things. Dreams where he searches for you and can't find you. Where his world is silent and empty.

One afternoon, as you watch him from afar, he pauses, approaches with a serious look—serious, not angry—and offers you his hand.

"Come. I want to show you something."

He takes you to a corner of the forest where the sun's rays filter through the trees and the sound of water gently flows. There he sits with you, and for a moment he says nothing. He just listens. He watches the dark circles under your eyes form. How your shoulders slump with exhaustion.

"You always take care of me. You're always there for me, even when I can't stay awake myself. So now I want you to rest."

He takes off his coat and places it around your shoulders. Then he sits beside you, lets you rest your head on his chest, and closes your eyes.

"I don't need you to pamper me all the time. Just for you to be well. That's all I want."

And when you finally allow yourself to let out the silent cry, he doesn't move. He doesn't speak again. He just holds you. Like you did so many times.

[akisteahouse]

COURTING YOU? SINCE WHEN?! Featuring Heartslabyul!

requested ask from here!!!

According to rule 657 of the Queen of Hearts, offering a jar of homemade jam to one’s beloved on a Wednesday is an invitation to a courtship, and must be reciprocated in the next seven days lest the love be one-sided.

Riddle Rosehearts! Whose cheeks flushed rosy red when you presented him a jar of strawberry jam at one of Heartslabyul’s Unbirthday parties, even more so when you told him you made it yourself just yesterday, with the help of Trey(who had been standing off to the corner up until now, smiling like he knew something you didn’t…huh, weird). Covering his mouth with a napkin to hide the way his lips twitched upwards uncontrollably, the smile he couldn’t even stifle, no matter how hard he bit on his bottom lip before awkwardly clearing his throat, holding the jam like it was something important, something precious, especially with the way he cradled the jar right next to his heart. “Ahem. I… accept. Thank you very much.” Why the rest of Heartslabyul started to cheer and holler was beyond you, all the more when you finally noticed the state Riddle was in, fair skin reddened from his neck to the very tips of his ears, blueish-grey eyes firmly locked onto a very interesting patch of grass on the ground, looking anywhere but you(was he mad? Was there some kind of unspoken rule about giving someone jam?). Seeing Riddle less and less over the next few days, with Cater giggling something about how the redhead had practically locked himself in the kitchen for you, lol, and any attempts of visiting him failing horribly with Trey snickering as he swatted you away, chortling underneath his breath about how you’d probably find out, eventually… find out what? Seeing him once after interrogating Adeuce for his schedule, only for his face to bloom rose red at just the very sight of you, scuttling away like a startled mouse, muttering something about how it wasn’t done yet, running back to the kitchens to check up on whatever he’d been working on for the past few days now. Knocking on your dorm door at the eleventh hour, literally - it was past curfew already. Stiffly standing in your doorway, out of breath, almost as if he’d made a dash all the way here, cheeks flushed from exertion, or something else? holding a jar of…jam? “The rules state that an invitation of courtship must be reciprocated within seven days. There is still an hour, twenty minutes and fifty-four seconds left for today.” Twiddling with the edge of his sleeves as he nibbled his bottom lip, holding out the jam as if it were a peace offering. “I am aware that it may not be the best, however, I didn't want you to think your confession was one-sided.” Confession? “I wish to court you. Properly, this time. If you are unhappy with how my jam turned out, I will happily redo it for you.” Tone softening as his cheeks went rosy, looking at you for the first time in what felt like forever. “I do hope you accept my courtship. I truly love you, a-and i promise to treat you as well as the Queen of Hearts treated her king. So…shall we start our relationship? Together, this time, of course.” :)))))

An old-fashioned romance tradition in the Queendom of Roses would be gifting one’s beloved a clock set to six PM, which was taken from the legend of the Mad Hatter, signifying that they were always on their mind.

Trey Clover! Whose honey coloured eyes widened for just a moment when you’d presented him a cake-themed clock you’d bought for him a while back - sure, maybe it was broken and semi-permanently set to six PM, but it had a strange charm about it, and it was gift for him anyway, so why not? Laughing awkwardly as he took the clock from your hands, eyes shining with undeniable fondness, lips curled upwards with a smile that rivaled the sweetness level of his homemade tarts, powdered sugar dusted on and all. “I didn’t peg you for the traditional type.” Chuckling as he inspected the clock, thumb brushing its edges as if it were a cherished object gifted by the Queen herself, offering you a look so ridiculously fond it would be strange if you didn’t notice, even stranger by the fact that you’d only given him a broken clock - weird, but oh well. Bringing over a bouquet of flowers(meticulously trimmed and carefully arranged, the blooms the exact hue of your favourite colour) and some baked goods(freshly made the very same day in the Heartslabyul kitchen, with Trey smiling all the while as he made them - not like you would know, of course) the next time he visited your dorm, offering you nothing but a smart grin and the warmest gaze you’d seen from someone in Night Raven in general, fingertips brushing against yours for just a split second as he handed over the goods(“Just thought I’d return the favour. Thanks for the clock.” <33333). Handwritten notes appearing under your desk more often than not now, asking how your day went or sharing little tidbits of the writer’s very own day that he found interesting, and was it really a surprise to find out that the mysterious writer was Trey, when he signed off each note with ‘yours truly’, when he wrote you hearts and kisses at the end of every note? Finally, finally cornering the man after weeks of having to deal with his romantic pursuits(not that you’d minded, but still) and only receiving that signature smirk, pearly white teeth staring back at you. “What?” Feigning innocence, grinning at you so mischievously that you were beginning to wonder where that good-natured persona of Trey’s had gone(not that him being cheeky was bad, necessarily, but you could certainly tell he was having fun making your cheeks burn) “Weren’t you the one that started courting me first, with that old-fashioned tradition? I only thought about returning that favour.” ;))

An old romance poem from the Shaftlands that was popularised online spoke of a young couple running away from a monstrous black crow, hand in hand even though before they’d just had a row.

Cater Diamond! Who had been in a bit of a heated scuffle with you over one thing or the other, before having to run for his life after Crowley heard the two of you very loudly bickering in the library, and had randomly to give chase - dashing down the narrow halls so quickly your heels started to hurt from all the sudden stops you had to make, lest you wished to run headfirst into one of the the library’s many hardwood shelves(a fate you’d long since learned to avoid, ever since Cater had shown you that one video where a Heartslabyul senior bumped his head into it and had to stay in the infirmary for a concussion. RIP). Trying to make yet another quick break as you yanked his hand from whatever direction he had been attempting to go, making a mad rush to the library’s exit - eh, wait, this felt awfully similar to something you’d seen online before…oh well, you’d think about it later :) Ending up in a courtyard, out of breath and panting hard from your unwanted exercise, which must have been especially tough for poor Cater, judging by the way his cheeks were flushed pink, his fingers trembling in your grip. “You -“ The ginger barely managed to choke out, clearly still short-winded from the run, eyes wide and lashes rapidly fluttering, almost as if something unbelievable had occurred, about to say something, right before Crowley appeared again, dragging the both of you off to detention ://// (your hands entwined the entire trip there, Cater’s slender fingers locking into yours so tightly one would think that the two of you were a couple on their honeymoon phase, but that definitely wasn’t the case… right??) Sitting in detention silently for a few moments before he took out his phone that miraculously hadn’t been confiscated, small fangs showing in that overly bright smile he’d decided to flash you with, a question in a grin - a photo? “I can’t believe you got to do the trend before me, normally Cay-Cay’s on top of these kinds of things, y’know ?” He’d beamed, his right hand’s fingers still thoroughly laced around yours, his thumb tracing circles around your knuckles, as he raised his other hand to snap a quick selfie. “Cheese!” Emerald green eyes twinkling like gems at the photo, the all too familiar motion of his thumb moving the photo to a folder simply labelled <3, his smile cheery, his eyes brightening the way a stained glass window shone when it met the first day of morning light - how pretty. But why on earth was he so happy all of a sudden? “We should make this official. Wanna do matching bio’s on Magicam? Oh, and maybe we could vlog our first date too…” First date? Huh? “Oh, don’t worry - the blog footage will be for Cay-Cay’s eyes only.” Beaming as he stood up and stretched, offering you his hand to help you sup, cheeks dimpling and tinted pink. “Now, how does the skate park sound for a date? Don’t worry - if you fall, Cay-Cay’s definitely gonna come to your rescue!” :))

An old legend that originated in Clock town said that if two people tried to fix a broken watch together and ultimately failed, they’d turn out to be soulmates.

Deuce Spade! Who had lit up when you’d asked him to help fix your broken watch, though it did seem a little finicky, to the point where you’d offered your assistance halfway through - with Deuce starting to doubt his own technical skills as your watch spat out yet another faulty piece at him, the two of you struggling to get your rogue clock back together without failing terribly in the process. Kicking the bucket altogether after your nth attempt to piece your clock back together(with Deuce looking like a kicked puppy in the process, his eyes downcast and shoulders slumped), just as he seemed to perk up, just a little bit, like he’d just remembered something important, before scurrying off, pink-faced… had he forgotten to paint the roses red or something? Ace complaining about having to deal with now semi-permanently flushed Deuce, who seemed to be scuttling around you recently, always muttering something about how he hadn’t remembered that story since he was a kid and that it was his first time not being able to fix a watch, and since it was with you, was it a sign?…so of course you couldn’t help but wonder if he was okay!(as his friend.Totally.) Clumsily offering you help with anything you could ever think of - homework(mostly resulting in the both of you hunched over your worksheets, unless you asked him to help you with physical training), grocery shopping(where he insisted on holding all your grocery bags, no matter how much stuff you bought) or even fixing any of your other items (which he was much more successful at mending, in comparison to your watch.) Eyes darting everywhere in your dorm but you after seeing that broken watch perched neatly on your bedside table, face blooming a shade of pink that reminded you terribly of the flamingos the two of you had fed that week(your giggles echoing in his mind as one playfully nipped at your pant leg, his lips curling upwards before he could realise it, hugging the bag of bird feed he was holding like a plush, getting an odd look from the flamingo he’d momentarily forgotten to feed, thanks to staring at you), mind clearly coming to a halt. “Hahaha, why’d you keep that?” “Because it’s special to me?” “Oh. Haha, yeah!..stupid idiot why didn’t I think of that.” Ear tips rosy when you’d asked if you could visit his hometown and possibly meet his mother over the winter break, stuttering out something that sounded like a very eager yes, smiling so wide his cheeks must’ve started hurting - huh, maybe he was just really excited. Carefully wrapping a scarf around your neck as the both of you walked into Clock Town - “It can get cold here if you don’t wear enough protection.” And it must’ve been, why else would his cheeks burn such a furious shade of red? -, Deuce fidgeting with the watch on his wrist, talking to you so nervously you couldn’t help but wonder if something was wrong. “I know I’m not exactly the best student, and that I fail and make mistakes that I can’t fix…but it’s just like that legend about the broken watch, right?” Wait, this sounded like… “So, I’d like to think that as long as we work hard, we can accomplish anything we set our minds to. Together.” :)))

In the Queendom of Roses, gifting one’s beloved a handmade daisy crown underneath the shade of a hundred-year-old tree is a well-known way to ask for one’s hand.

Ace Trappola! Whose face went as red as the heart-shaped marking on his left eye when you’d presented him with a flower chain to wear on his head made from your mindlessly plucked daisies from the meadow’s soil, muttering something about how the both of you were too young and that this was so cringe…yet still refused to give you back the flower crown from its spot on his head, ear tips flushed such a fierce shade of crimson that one would think he was trying to mimic the Queen herself! Scowling when Deuce pointed out the flowers a while later in lunch, yanking you by the arm and putting you in between him and the other like some sort of barrier - “What? They gave it to me, don’t make it weird.” Which was hard to do, with how Deuce had started spluttering apologies and turned pink, while Ace simply grinned smugly(still red faced), jauntily putting an arm around your shoulder, pressing your side to his, your cheeks pressed together (ignore how warm he was, how you could feel him breathing out when he finally let you go). Swatting away any and all allegations of being an absolute sap when you’d caught him pressing that daisy chain you’d gifted him, glaring at you with that all bark and zero bite look you’d grown used to fond of after so long, before pointing an accusatory finger at you - “Shaddup! You started this first.” Started? Started what? Ace glowering at you like a petulant toddler when you truly seemed lost at whatever he was talking about, picking up the pressed chain of raises like a weapon, shoving it in your face. “This means you asked to marry me.” Completely brushing aside your dumbfounded look to put the flower crown on his head, he continued. “This means I accept. No take-backs. You're stuck with me now.” ;)

hey, if you liked this… check out Savannaclaw’s, Octavinelle’s, Scarabia's, Pomefiore’s, Ignihyde’s or Diasomnia’s versions?

alternatively; check out the Heartslabyul masterlist?

[northern-punk-lad]

Hear me out

Remove Israel from Eurovision and add the Vatican

[embroideredlove]

never been happier to watch Austria win something

[anhniedraw]

Really quick doodles on ibis, just want to draw the heartslabyul sillies

[egophiliac]

HIIIII! I was just wondering if you had a Yuusona or Yuu style oc? I absolutely love your twst content and art style, and I'm a bit curious what your version of Yuu would be.

sorta! I have my faceless weirdo who fills that role most of the time:

the most connection to canon they have is probably the dialogue options that let you always introduce yourself as Grim's servant. (sidenote: thank you Twst devs for always making that an option. why would you ever choose anything else.) their main personality trait is being as stupid as is necessary for the sake of the punchline. for some reason everyone is extremely into this. for some reason especially Malleus is extremely into this.

in-game (and in the like...one single non-shitposty comic I've ever drawn them in) I do play 'em as slightly less of a dumbass, but, y'know. only slightly. really the thing that's most important to me is that regardless of shitpost level, my Yuu is always, forever, eternally incapable of being fazed by literally anything. their first memory is waking up in a coffin. they have an interdimensional link to a giant talking rodent that only they can see. they met a mysterious horned gentleman walking around in the dead of night and immediately nicknamed him Horn Boy. they went on a mine-crawling adventure where they got chased by a giant inky monster and came out of it with two new best friends. their self-preservation instinct is somewhere in the negative numbers by this point.

[egophiliac]

HIIIII! I was just wondering if you had a Yuusona or Yuu style oc? I absolutely love your twst content and art style, and I'm a bit curious what your version of Yuu would be.

sorta! I have my faceless weirdo who fills that role most of the time:

the most connection to canon they have is probably the dialogue options that let you always introduce yourself as Grim's servant. (sidenote: thank you Twst devs for always making that an option. why would you ever choose anything else.) their main personality trait is being as stupid as is necessary for the sake of the punchline. for some reason everyone is extremely into this. for some reason especially Malleus is extremely into this.

in-game (and in the like...one single non-shitposty comic I've ever drawn them in) I do play 'em as slightly less of a dumbass, but, y'know. only slightly. really the the thing that's most important to me is that regardless of shitpost level, my Yuu is always, forever, eternally incapable of being fazed by literally anything. their first memory is waking up in a coffin. they have an interdimensional link to a giant talking rodent that only they can see. they met a mysterious horned gentleman walking around in the dead of night and immediately nicknamed him Horn Boy. they went on a mine-crawling adventure where they got chased by a giant inky monster and came out of it with two new best friends. their self-preservation instinct is somewhere in the negative numbers by this point.

[egophiliac]

About ob mal's alt, I feel like we'll get the prince outfit with the broken horn. Every ob guy got a new look during book 7 so even tho their dressup would be different (except Azul he just takes off some accessories lol) I think it'd kinda fit? What do you think

I want it to be this, just because I want Malleus' little Meleanor-cosplay to be attainable in some way. 🙏 I need to see everybody in Briar Valley royal outfits immediately. hometown event WHEN

(and of course, this is all besides how much I need the world's littlest punk rocker on my home screen)