#aesthetic headcanons

[make-me-imagine]

Headcanons: Aesthetics (Raymond Smith)

Headcanons: Aesthetics (Raymond Smith) - What smell(s) are they, what flower are they, what season do I associate with them, do I think they have a favorite aesthetics, songs, etc.'

Requested By: @will-grammer

A/N: Headcanons are below cut. Most of the songs chosen are based on vibes alone. This is also the first time I am attempting this format of headcanons, so it may change in the future. I may also add onto this in the future as I find things that remind me of him.

-

Smells:

Woody scents like walking through a forest after a gentle rain.

An expensive cologne you cant place the specific scent of, but it makes you feel warm and comfortable.

Cinnamon and Wood Smoke

Peppermint scented aftershave and beard oil.

Freshly ground coffee with a hint of cocoa.

The scent of thick parchment paper of an old book.

A smokey burning smell that could be either gunpowder or charcoal.

Flowers/Seasons/Etc:

Raymond is Autumn.

The browns, oranges, reds and gold colors of Autumn.

The leaves changing, falling, and decaying. The full cycle of life.

The crisp cold air that hangs like fog, with rays of sunlight shining through.

He is the evolution of Autumn to Winter than you never see, but feel in your bones.

Walking down a wet paved sidewalk as leaves float down from the trees overhead. Your feet crunching the leaves underfoot.

He is a Biden's Flower. A barbed and bristled plant with a colorful flower hiding it's dangerous parts.

Quotes/Lyrics/Songs:

'aut viam inveniam aut faciam' - I will either find a way, or I will make one.

"Knowledge will give you power. But Character will give you respect."

“If an idiot is in power, never lose the patience. Otherwise you'll be fallen to his level.”

'I Feel Free' by Cream

'I Heard It Through the Grape Vine' by Marvin Gaye

'Bad Moon Rising' by Creedence Clearwater Revival

"Well you think that you know what I am but you don't. 'Cause I say what you can't and I do what you won't." - Halestorm; 'Sick Individual'

"I was told a million times. Of all the troubles in my way. Mind you grow a little wiser. Little better every day." - Queen; 'Keep Yourself Alive'

Other/Misc

Tweed suits and hounds tooth plaid.

The sound of ice clinking in a glass.

A gold, brown, black and copper color palette.

He is the sound of rain hitting the umbrella overhead as you walk.

The distant city at night that somehow lulls you to sleep after a long day.

Dark Academia mixed with Mafia Aesthetic.

Books, a neatly folded coat, perfect handwriting always in the margins, an empty glass, and a gun.

xx

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry

Raymond Smith Taglist: @will-grammer, @venusthepirate

[4ever-feral]

Never wanted to be anyone’s controversially younger girlfriend more then I want to be his

[yandere-wishes]

Normal People: "Why did u start writing Yandere content?"

Most Yandere Authors: "I wanted to express my dark desire for a forbidden romance through a creative medium. Forgoing social norms to create a love that is most cruel yet utterly true. To appease the lethal love that lays dormant within my bones, rattling me with its yearning for freedom. To show the world a love that is hideous, dangerous, yet wholly profuse. The sort of love only found under a moonless sky. A romance that can kill and heal with the same hand. To fashion ballads of broken hearts and damaged minds trapped in a waltz of shimmering hearts."

Me: I want to get kidnapped so I won't have any responsibilities.

[elecalice]

COMFORT CHARACTERS POSTING

Aesthetics for each character

This goes towards Headcanon territory. And I based my headcanons with their vibes. Got it?

Prosecutor Ito (Mega Man Battle Network 6)

Academia. He fits for both Light AND Dark. Although, Green Academia is also there. His color palette are beige colors, he's a prosecutor and we encounter him in Green Town, which focuses in Law AND Nature. (Now that I think about it, Green Town is Green Academia material?)

Remy (Street Fighter III: 3rd Strike)

Oh boy. He's swinging between Emo AND Goth. He works well on both ways. His color palette is composed of dark colors (his black Jacket and brown boots) and bright colors (his turquoise hair and red pants). That's why the dual aesthetic swinging, but he's swinging towards Emo, because of his hair and especially his more emo, angsty personality in-game. Although his attitude and personality also give me Grunge vibes, but just a bit.

Jacket (Hotline Miami)

Synthwave, come on. His game is part of the Synthwave aesthetic/movement. But... I need to imagine a Vaporwave Jacket. That could be a fun idea.

Gauchito (World Cup Mascot)

He's a Golden Hour boi. Golden sunshine, Blue sky. His colors are Sky blue, White and Yellow. (I mean, he's an Argentinian boi. Those are the colors of the flag) And he's a happy, brightful boy.

ME-Tan (OS-Tan)

Old Web and Y2K. I mean, she's Windows ME Gijinka. Now I want to imagine a Frutiger Aero variant of ME-Tan.

...So yeah.

[joytri]

A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.

Robert Frost

[ink-ghoul]

hermit fanon swap - an art game!

Reblog this to let your followers know they can send art requests to your ask box

if you are a writer you can also reblog this and make little snippets about hermits and their new traits

Vex!Grian and Avian!Mumbo as fun examples

Artless version behind the cut:

[forkswashington]

we were so robbed of a halloween party hosted at the cullen house in both the books and the movies. you just KNOW alice would've planned the FUCK out of a halloween party. edward in the most pretentious costume you've ever seen (some niche 18th century poet. bella and alice had to convince him to even dress up at all, so this was the compromise), alice in a gorgeous, historically accurate joan of arc costume which everyone spends the whole night complimenting and wondering where on earth she got it (carlisle's antiques collection. knowing him, it's probably the real thing), and jacob turns up 2 hours late in a shitty vampire cloak, white face paint, plastic fangs and the biggest shit eating grin you've ever seen. edward spends most of the night glarring at him from across the room while standing in the corner pretending to sip from his red solo cup. god, what a missed opportunity.

[moyazaika]

tbh jaded lawyer darling trying to save yan crime kingpin from getting his ass thrown into prison for life — yet again.

he’s lingering at the court’s steps, entertaining the news reporters with a dazzling smile, the entire world waiting with bated breath to see whether this is the day his billion dollar criminal empire comes crumbling down—

“the whole world knows you did it!”

“are you ashamed of yourself?”

“do you really think you’ll walk away a free man after today?”

that gets his attention.

“darling, don’t ‘ya worry about me,” he turns to the journalist, and tilts his head to the side, pulling out his lollipop from between those lips, curled in a sly grin. “i ain’t gotta worry ‘bout no fuckin’ laws when i got the world’s best damn lawyer on my side.”

a young man, then. thick glasses and braces on his teeth. far too thin and lanky, for all his balls of steel as he speaks up. “are you implying that your lawyer is an accessory to your crimes? a corrupt lawyer for a guilty man on his way to the gallows?”

he hears you approach before he can think to respond. the familiar, expensive echo of the dress shoes he’d bought you the first time you’d won a case, before you’re there where he thinks you belong; right by his side.

“alleged crimes,” you correct, and your kingpin turns to greet you with a million dollar smile. “now, my client will not be taking any more questions. kindly, fuck off.”

cameras flash instantly and countless more mics are shoved into his pretty face, still mesmerised by you, even when you grab him by the back of his collar (unironed, you notice with absolute dismay) and pull him inside, away from prying eyes.

“you’re being tried for sixteen drug and weapons counts,” you hiss, digging your newly manicured nails into his skin, as you pull the lollipop he’s sucking on right out of his mouth with a wet ‘pop’ and toss it to the side, seething. “when will you fucking get serious!”

he only dumbly stares back at you with a slack jaw, and stars in his eyes. his voice dips an octave lower, deep in his throat when he speaks. “oh, i could get very serious if you wanted to give me a kiss. or, y’know, maybe you could act as a replacement to that sweet lollipop of mine ‘ya just—oh, fuck!”

when you stride into the courtroom later, in your neat, pressed suit and slicked back hair, nobody dares ask why the infamous ‘alleged’ crime lord is following after you with a bruise blossoming on cheeks that flush a deep, deep scarlet.

-

the judge announces the jury's verdict, and you don’t even look up from the documents you’re perusing when he’s found ‘not guilty’ in a court of law, yet again—

“jesus fuckin’ christ, i knew you were gonna save me!” your kingpin jumps up from where he’s sitting besides you, pressing his face into your shoulder as he breathes you in with an elated, shuddering breath. “can’t even imagine which ditch i’d be rottin’ in without ‘ya, sweet pea.”

“excuse me, sir.” you pry his hands off you with a detached air of reservation you reserve for when the two of you are in public, but the way your knuckles are white when you gather the countless files and papers of yours scattered on your desk tell him everything he needs to know about how pissed you are. “hands off.”

he knows he’s in for it when the two of you get home, and yet, he looks forward to the sight.

it’s always more… exciting than it should be; when you’ve got him shoved right up against a well, going off about how ‘irresponsible’ and ‘immature’ he is, nails leaving his skin bleeding from how deep you sink them into his body, too caught up in your own irritation to notice or, honestly, care.

and maybe, he thinks, as he follows you out, tonight he’ll go pay a visit to someone after you’re done with him.

a man’s got needs, y’know?

he’s high off the rush of his latest win when he walks up the porch steps hours later. it's really only the latest achievement in a long line he attributes solely to you and your efforts.

he’ll make sure to repay you one day, with all you’ve done for him. he’ll take such good care of you; let you do whatever you wanted to him, as a token of his appreciation for how hard you've worked to keep him on the streets he rules and out of the prisons he knows he belongs in.

in fact, his efforts start right here and right now; on the steps of a nice, suburban house, that belongs to the journalist with thick glasses and braces and a wiry frame. the white picket fence and 'keep off the grass' sign do little to deter the man outside. then again, the poor bastard could have had gates of iron, and he still would have found a way to creep inside.

he never knew being a journalist paid so well. shit, maybe he should’ve gone down this path instead of, y’know, running a criminal empire. this bastard's got balls of steel, for what he had the nerve to say about you. but it’s okay! hey! he’s here to take care of it for you!

you don’t ever need to find out what he’s done in your name. ♡

he’s very adamant about this, choosing to see the job to completion all alone, slinking away from your critical, watchful gaze—only once he’s made sure you’re knocked out by watching you sleep, crouched by your bedside, for a few hours—to make sure the problem’s all taken care of.

the kingpin rings the doorbell, and patiently waits for the door to open with his scarred hands held behind his back. there’s a glock in his left back pocket, and a silencer in the right. a swiss army knife curled in his fingers, because he’s always been creative.

yeah, can you believe that? his teachers used to tell him he would make a great artist one day. and he is, he likes to think. only that his canvases are a little less traditional, and not in the banksy way. you know how it is! life imitates art... or some hippie shit like that.

there's no rules in art for what you can paint with, right? or what surfaces you can carve up into pretty shapes...

and so, when the lock clicks open, and the handle turns, it’s exactly like he said; a man’s got needs!

so sue him! really, so what if his needs mean his heavy hands are clamping over the journalist’s mouth, twisted into a silent scream—

so what if he knocks the smaller man back, a fist flying to his face, those wide eyes and all, slack jaw stupidly hanging open in disbelief—

so what if he shoves him inside and kicks the door behind them shut?

your kingpin knows what comes with the life he chose, and sullying his name is one thing—but nobody gets to drag your name through the dirt and live.

he makes sure of that, personally.

-

“where did you go last night?” you ask, not taking your eyes off the weekly newspaper in your hands. there, on the front page, a greyscale photo of you and your headache of a client, descending the court’s steps after the verdict. “and why didn’t you ask for my permission before you left?”

the headline, in big, bold letters, splashed above the picture; INTERNATIONAL OUTRAGE AS INFAMOUS DRUG LORD EVADES LAW YET AGAIN. SHADY LAWYER TO BLAME?

“just takin’ out the trash, lovely. don’t you worry ‘yer pretty little mind about it.” as he says that, he abandons his own breakfast, suddenly snatching the paper out of your hands and ripping it up, but not before noting the name of the article’s author, tucking it away for later.

shreds of the weekly paper you hadn't even gotten to read yet fall to the floor, fluttering this way and that. you close your eyes and smile. “haha. funny. well, my ‘pretty little mind’ is telling me to throw the coffee in my hands all over you.”

“tryna mark me up?” he purrs, “if you really wanna wake me up, can i suggest somethin’ else ‘ya could throw at me? or on me, really. but—”

“i’m going to kill you in your sleep, one of these days.” you deadpan, turning back to your food. he’s like a little kid, and you’re not about to indulge him by giving him the attention he so desperately wants from you.

“'yer serious??" he grins, hands flying to his face in elation, a curious blush colouring his skin a deep pink. “you mean you actually wanna step into my bedroom— at night— of 'yer own damn will?“

you take another sip of your coffee, fingers trembling around the cup. don’t throw it at him it’s what he wants don’t throw it at him it’s what he wants don’t throw it at him it’s what—

“damn... guess i should start sleeping naked, then.”

extra; what if darling was a prosecutor instead?

[daydreamvalley]

Nanami owning a “husband of the year” mug is all that’s been eating away at my brain.

part 1 of the fic

[yandere-wishes]

⚙︎ Just same quick Yandere Transformers One thoughts

Imagine Sentinal Prime taking you as his darling. It's so easy for him to make you disappear, to erase you from a semi-functional world. He snaps his fingers and you're kneeling before him, optics wide in fear, servos bound behind you. All Cybertron runs through his digits, and you little girl should be utterly honored to have caught his optic.

He colors you in the richest of paints, upgrades you with the newest enhancements in all of Cybertron.

Reconstructed as the perfect doll, sitting pretty in his lap as his golden wings gently caress your back. Maybe if you're particularly feisty, rebellious, and tenacious he'll even remove your T-cog. Making you watch as he crushes your metallic organ in his fist.

"Don't forget your place, my dear. Don't make me remind you again"

Sentinal always has you propped up pretty on his lap. Trailing his fingers over your arms and thighs. Half-heartedly tracing stars and swirls as he's forced to listen to Cybertron's newest developments and his latest orders. The senate's conversations are unfiltered, they peel away the senator's golden facades leaving only the monstrous truth. Sentinel especially is the wickedest of all. Diabolic traitor playing king-prophet. You fight the urge to sink your teeth into him, biting and ridding until only scrap remains...

But the truth is too brittle. You have no power, no strength compared to him. And you're too terrified of Sentinal's punishments to step out of line.

Sometimes when the conversations get too grotesque to drown out, your desperate optics weave to an open window, peering helplessly at a world that's forgotten you. It's usually Senital's cold lips that melt away the melancholy trance. Reawaking you into your nightmare...

── .✦⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚ ✦ . ──

Imagine D-16 finding you as he's defeating Sentinal. You look so bruised and battered, so broken. Maybe he knew you once, a transformer who was always sweet and kind to the miners. Maybe it's the look of utter despair and hopelessness in your optics that catches his attention. Almost like a mirror of his pain. His servos itch to wrap around your neck, to crush wires and circuits, to eliminate anything that Sentinal has ever held dear.

But he can't...

His broken spark screams in pity. You're just another helpless bot trapped in Sentinel's web of deceit. He saves you for himself, a shivered war prize he's convinced he can fix. He makes plans to seek out Solus Prime's T-cog to lay within your chest. He wonders if Megatronus would approve.

But it doesn't end that way now, does it?

Destiny is too cruel for such fragile hopes.

⛧°。 ⋆༺★༻⋆。 °⛧

Alternatively, Maybe Orian is the one to find you, sacred confused, and utterly alone. He's so eager to lend a helping hand. Wanting so badly to wrap you in his arms, to give you warmth and hope. He plucks you away from Sentinal's tarnished castle. Pulling you away into a life that tastest of saccharine daydreams and sugar-laced optimism.

And Orian -or rather Optimus- is perfect, sweet and loving, and hopeful...

But he's also tasted loss and duplicity. Bitter truths leading to his jaded obsession. He's so careful with you always having a servo on your hip, always listening to every conversation. He can't have this fragile world hurt you again. He needs to protect you from everything at every cost.

Sometimes when your body is curled next to him recharging peacefully. He'll reminisce about the other Primes, wonder if they've ever felt such a love that bites so sharply at the spark. He wonders if he can really make Cybertron the perfect world for you...

[ak319]

Yan Socialite brother x reader

(Warnings: Strictly platonic , not incest)

Ezra Alvarez , your younger brother, has always been your number one supporter. From a young age, he was taught that tradition dictated the older sibling would inherit the business and the farms—essentially, everything. This meant all the power would eventually be in your hands. But Ezra wasn’t a moneygrubber seeking favor, he genuinely admired your intelligence, strength, and the way you cared for the family, especially him. From the moment he gained consciousness, he aimed to be your best friend and sole confidant. He longed to be the person you turned to for counsel, and slowly but surely, things were unfolding just as he wanted.

Let's start from the beginning. Ezra and you were quite different in many ways, largely due to the contrasting upbringings you had. For example, while you cherished solitude and indulged in expensive hobbies like horseback riding, archery, and swordsmanship within the privacy of your estate, not to mention almost always busy learning and handling the business with your father. On the other hand, Ezra thrived in social settings. As a fashion designer, it was his job to attend lavish parties and stay connected with the latest trends. However, his socializing had a deeper purpose, to monitor the people in high circles and gauge their intentions toward his family, especially you.

Ezra was always vigilant, keeping tabs on potential rivals and meticulously recording this information. He made sure you were aware of everything you needed to know, and thanks to his discreet tactics, you were advancing. The way he giggled looking up at you when you patted his head in praise was endearing, if he were a puppy, his tail would surely have been wagging.

Ezra would do anything for his older sister because you're the best sister in the world! Despite being used to receiving expensive trinkets, he always gets teary-eyed when you gift him something special. Given your usually stoic and aloof demeanor, he can't help but cry tears of joy when you show him affection and smile at him. He ceaselessly rambles on about his latest projects and clothing line while you sit there, reading a book and nodding along, often clueless about what he’s saying. Yet, he still cherishes these moments because it’s only HIS sister who takes time out of her busy schedule for HIM. How could he not be grateful? That would be a crime. No other sister would ever do this for their brother! Anyway, back to designing some jockey apparels for you. You really need new ones.

As much as he dislikes your boisterous hobbies, he uses them as an excuse to spend time with you. He eagerly asks you to teach him, no matter how dirty his nails or clothes get, or how much he might risk getting sunburned. Every bit of it is worth it when someone like you is his mentor.

Your parents reprimended you for spoiling your baby brother but you always shrugged it off saying "How can I not spoil my only baby brother?." That's right sister, I am and will be always your only brother. He always makes sure to pass a victorious smirk to his parents who could only sigh in defeat at both of you.

Whenever it rains, he remembers how you love the rain while he hates it because it's all muddy but on the other hand memories of him as a kid getting scared of the thunder and you holding him in your bed in your protective embrace always warms his heart. Maybe this is where the habit of cuddling you has developed. Even now when something in his life goes wrong or he is having a tantrum , only your the one who can calm him or otherwise he is crying screaming and complaining for days and yes this is a true incident , the whole estate was close to becoming deaf if you hadn't come back from your academy bringing some new jewels and his favourite pastries for him.

Speaking of the academy, Ezra had to swallow the urge to throw another tantrum or cling to your feet when the time came for you to leave for further studies. He knew you had to do this for your own sake and the future of your family business. So, instead, he became like a second mother to you, sending letters to make sure you weren’t skipping classes—even though he knew you weren’t that kind of a person. He frequently asked about your meals and sports activities, but the part he hated most was even thinking about you having a potential lover. God, he couldn’t help but crumple up the third letter when he wrote about it, but he had to know. The thought of being secondary in your life, in everything, terrified him. What if you brought home a gold digger?! That’s how he saw anyone who came close to you. They didn’t care about your personality or charm, they were after that KA-CHING! And him being one of your top prized assets, he wasn’t about to let that happen.

His heart however calmed down when you replied with a simple 'No' about the question. Yay! Whenever you came back from academy , he was even more excited than your parents, who always found his enthusiasm adorable. How he ran back and forth scolding the servants for not cleaning your room properly , not having your favourite dish up to notch like DO YOUR FUCKING JOBS PROPERLY! He wouldn't stop yapping when you sat for tea after dinner but no matter how much you were exhausted from your journey , you still listened to him.

As cunning, witty, and sophisticated he was, Ezra made mistakes too, and in his mind, the worst mistake was failing at a task you assigned him. He would cower under your anger, fully aware that he had messed up. He was still learning the ins and outs of the tedious household budget—something he would have to manage for you one day—but it was boring, okay? Numbers just weren’t his thing. Even if you scolded him, he always waited for your apology, which you offered in your own way—like taking him out to his favorite café or silently sharing a cup of tea in his room. Moments later, he’d be hugging you, petulantly whining about you getting angry at him. He hated how you chuckled at his childish attitude, but deep down, he loved it too.

Life was going well until, one day he received a letter that you were unable to attend father's funeral due to work back in the academy. He knew it was a lie , you WOULD NEVER abandon your family like this , even your mother was skeptical. But since there was no sign of you coming back, he handled his grieving mother and the arrangements himself as much as he was dying inside due to your absence. Where were you? They needed you. You were their head now. He was worried sick.

After the guests left , it was only his uncles and aunts who sat in the living room while he came down after putting his mother to sleep.

"Ezra, dear boy. You must be tired, but there is something we need to discuss with you." The words made his blood boil, and he fought the urge to slap the indifferent looks off his father’s brothers and sisters. He knew exactly why they were still here—they were nothing but vile, disgusting pieces of filth, circling like vultures after the family’s money. He had always seen the malicious intent in their eyes when they interacted with you, and it broke his heart how you treated them as family while they plotted to push you out of the way. But he kept up the façade of a nice, obedient nephew, knowing that it would be handy for a moment like this. Where were they when he was struggling to handle everything? They only arrived at the last minute for their sibling's funeral. His poor father had died surrounded by snakes. But he swore he would never let the same happen to you. He would never betray you, his blood, like these filthy excuses for humans.

He wanted to throw up as they offered their insincere condolences, but he remained firm. They inquired about your absence, talking shit about your cold behavior for not being there, and this was his cue to play his cards right. Slipping into his favorite role as the bimbo younger brother, he wept, agreeing with their criticisms, and even cursed you, despite how much it made his heart ache. Eventually, they began to open up, believing in the hate and jealousy he pretended to harbor for you. While they didn’t reveal your whereabouts, they made it clear they deemed you as an unworthy heiress. He fake-laughed through his tears, gaining their trust the best that he could. They even had the audacity to suggest dividing the property among themselves, without even considering his mother as the rightful owner of anything. Oh, they were going to be obliterated.

He then promised to hand them the papers during a party he was going to arrange that too in a ferry. Acting on the information you once gave him, he contacted some gunmen for emergencies, making the necessary arrangements. Oh what a sight it was to see the ferry filled with the corpses of his treacherous relatives. One of the assassin came and informed that they had you abducted and thrown into a mental asylum on your way back to the estate for the funeral. His mouth hung agape at the revelation, his whole body seething with fury, and without wasting a moment, he set out to bring you back. But not before ordering the ferry to be blown up in the middle of the sea. He cackled maniacally from the dock as he watched the explosion, then leaped onto the back of one of the hitmen like a kid, gleeful at the destruction of those who had wronged you.

Once you were back and grieved a bit which only lasted for a few moments before you had to take care of covering up the bloodshed your baby brother did. But at the end you did it and currently Ezra was beside you on the arm of the chair while you worked on your late father's study table , now yours. "You are not mad at me, are you?" He asked softly, voice almost breaking at the end.

"You did what had to be done. I would have done the same to anyone who came after my family like this," you said, hearing him sniffle beside you. You gently caressed his arm, your gaze still fixed on the parchment. "Don’t cry, you know how much I hate seeing you cry, Ezzy." You felt him lay his head on your shoulder, his soft brunette locks brushing against your ear.

"Thank you… I couldn’t fucking stand them anymore, doing such… such a horrendous thing to you."

He suddenly burst into giggles, his feet dangling. "But it was fun! You know, before his death, Uncle Auden wore that hideous yellow sack coat. I saw it through the binoculars—God, he looked like a penguin getting on the ferr-!"

"Ezra." Your warning tone almost made him flinch. "What did I tell you about speaking ill of the dead?"

"I think they deserve a pass." His pout was defiant yet playful, and you couldn’t help but smile. His laughter was light, a contrast to the heaviness of this week.

He couldn't be more blissful than this. You looked as if you were made to sit in that chair, and he felt immensely proud to have cleared the path for you. He always would. As his heart pondered the future, a frown creased his brow. The thought of a day when you might stray, bringing a partner into the estate, unsettled him. Though that day seemed far off, he was already prepared to make their life hell. After all, the chances of you siding with a partner over him were slim. He has got his older sister wrapped around his manicured pinky.

➺Ezra x reader x hubby

[merymdm]

[2021] Some old ish drawings I did of the girls from winx Club, now that I'm posting them I really wanna draw them again with casual clothes and also in the enchantix form.

[empresskylo]

ok but something about ghost being completely covered, like head to toe in gear, except for his dick, bending you over a desk, unable to strip either of you simply because he’s too impatient, makes my brain tingle. like i just know ghost does not have the patience when he’s needy. it probably happens all the time where you’re both fully dressed (mask on and everything) except for both of your pants being shoved down jussst enough so he can fuck you 😩 imagine his gloved hands groping you all over your clothes while his cock thrusts in and out of you. you can’t even spread your legs wider for some reprieve because your pants are in the way. lord help me

[joytri]

they're eyes are full of hope, just like you

[allfearstofallto]

Maids, maids…and even more maids

Being the Maid at a Yandere's Estate

FT: Kamisato Ayato, Childe, Diluc, and Scaramouche

Master Kamisato Ayato is quite the funny man. That's what you'll tell the other maids in quick bits of gossip. He has a surprisingly good type of humor that just falls from his mouth and a very very soft laugh, but of course, you can barely gossip as long as you want to. A ringing of a bell signifies that the master has called for you again, something he's been doing regularly these past few months.

“You're the only one I can trust to clean my quarters,” he told you once before. His quarters being his office and his bedroom. Even though he says that, he never leaves the room while you're cleaning. Rather he's there, pretending to be doing other tasks as you dust his shelves and sweep the floors. You wonder if he thinks that you can't feel his eyes on you? The second you look down, he's looking right at you, practically burning a hole through you with his gaze. It wasn't noticeable at first, but it grew worse the more that he insisted that only you could clean for him personally.

Your daily cleaning for him ends with him patting you on the back, his arms lingering around your waist for a little too long.

“You did incredible, as usual,” he'll praise you, “But don't be shy to come and see me outside of work hours.”

Master Ajax, or Childe as he's referred to by others, is rarely home. You wonder if that humble manor he has in Snezhnaya is just for show. Of course, you seldom get to see it too.

Whispers amongst your fellow coworkers told you that before you were hired, Childe didn't bring anyone with him on his trips. It made you question why you needed to pack your bags every time he was taking a trip to another city, as he insisted that you would come with him and be his personal maid for the duration of it.

He never treated you poorly and never took you anywhere dangerous. You were usually the one just holding down the fort and tidying at whatever inn he decided to stay at. But even you acknowledged the fact that you felt like you were a little too close to your employer. He'd take you out with him, you'd try to trail behind, but he'd make you walk closely at his side. And never once did he correct people when they assumed you were his wife. Actually, if you looked at his face after someone made the mistake, you'd see a smirk forming.

“What's wrong with being married to me?” He would joke, although his smile wasn't reaching his eyes, “I think I'm a pretty good catch. Don't you?”

Master Diluc doesn't leave his office often. The other maids talk in hushed whispers about how they worry that he may be working too much. Seeing him roaming the halls is like seeing a ghost. This also means that he partakes in most of his meals at that desk as well.

He invites you to sit with him one day, saying that he doesn't enjoy eating his meals alone and seeing as he is your boss, you agree. One day turns into nearly every day of your work week, and when asking your coworkers about it, they seem surprised.

“Master Diluc barely speaks to me when I deliver his meals,” one girl says and the other's agree shortly after.

It seems strange to you as you also slowly eat your food across from him. You'd taken to eating your meal as well, even though it wasn't you designated meal time. He assured you that you were still being paid for the moments you sat with him. When you question why you're the only maid that he shares his meals with, a slight grimace crosses his face.

“Does it matter?” He asks you, almost a little too harshly for the gentle Diluc you know, “I'm paying you to spend time with me. Only you.”

Lord Scaramouche who only needs a couple maids. He's rarely home anyways and when he is he doesn't leave his room often, doesn't take to meals, and doesn't call for anything more than a cup of tea. Although even you're surprised when less and less maids show up for their shifts, until it's only you that resides within the walls.

It's rather lonesome when you realize that your only company is now the quiet lord Scaramouche, who barely meets your eyes most days, and when he does speak, he says some form of insult. It's only when you're out for a grocery run that you run into a previous maid of the manor, chatting happily with the first person who'll talk to you.

When asked why they all decided to quit, she tilts her head in complete confusion, “We didn't quit. We were fired, all of us.”

It's a short sentence that confuses you even more. And your walk back to the manor is filled with thoughts. Bringing lord Scaramouche his meal that night, you decided to ask why you were the only help left in his lonesome abode. Assuring him that you're not complaining and that the job isn't too difficult.

“Must you always ask stupid questions?” He spits the words out, “Your presence doesn't bother me like the others so you get to stay. Don't take it for granted.”

[deadghosy]

𐙚⋆.˚

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲!𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲!𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨 smoking those big ass cigars, hand on your waist. Kissing him to only taste the nicotine in his mouth

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲!𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨 and you playing tennis behind the big house he owns from his family inheritance.

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲!𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨 who owns a lot of cars in his front yard. Take one darlin', it’s yours as well.

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲!𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨 who would always smile and cheer you on when you doll yourself up. You look absolutely stunning.

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲!𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨 who loves to drive his newest car with you beside him. He loves showing off to you.

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲!𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨 who gave you a teddy bear in a suit, his cologne stuck to the stuffed animal. You even named it "Teddy."

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲!𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨 having his hand on your knee during dinner time.

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲!𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨 who randomly wakes you up with breakfast in bed.

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲!𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨 who definitely smokes while playing cards with his mates.

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲!𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨 who plays “put your head on my shoulder” to slow dance with you

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲!𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨 who would have no problem showing you off.

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲!𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨 who has polaroid photos of you in the shared room you two sleep in.

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲!𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨 who does not play about his cars. They’re expensive as hell, he probably would bash a golf club to the bastard that fucks up his car.

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲!𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨 who doesn’t spend too much. He knows his limits

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲!𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨 who does give off Lana Del Rey vibes.

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲!𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨 who could buy you any car you want. Any watch you want. He doesn’t mind matching with his principessa