#he's so soft and for WHAT

[mochasucculent]

Was looking at refs and since Viktor has two different leg braces I was wondering, do we think he wears them simultaneously?? The refs don't perfectly line up perspective-wise so it's hard to tell but parts of the one he wears during the Hexcore scenes look like they could maybe line up with the brace that he wears over his clothes, but also some parts really don't and look like they'd be super uncomfy. Also HOW does he take these on and off. Experts weigh in

[abyssyby]

sylus finding himself idling— waiting for his order @ a restaurant, sitting in the back of a car otw to a location, held for ransom in an underground cage, u name it— bored out of his mind or with no phone signal so he just kinda sits there and scrolls through his photos app. once empty now just filled with organized folders of your candid & noncandid photos. he loves to sort as much as he loves to hoard, ok, it brings him peace.

simply named albums:

eating 📂 and its photos of you and food, taking a bite. holding out a fork, a spoon, a wrapper, chopsticks of food for him to try with an excited glint in your eye. him feeding you. you grimacing at the odd orders, deciphering if they're good or not. pointing excitedly at food trucks and menus ("let's try that! let's try this!"). your face in a >0< bc your overeager self inhaled something too hot. looking up at him with crumbs on your cheeks, brightcolored dye-stained lips. blurred photos of you trying to kiss him with icing on your lips, reaching out to make a mess of him too.

sleeping 📂 and its you wrapped around his bicep dozed off. you on his chest snoozin. your closed eyes peeking out of the duvet with the slowly coloring sky through the window behind you. you drifting away during a car ride, hand in his, lips slightly parted. cold morning cuddles. selfies of grumpy you in the middle of the night with him in the backdrop hogging the blanket (you sent them to him to see in the morning because you never remember being upset when you wake up). VIDEOS of your sleep talking— and his tiny chuckles and comments ("adorable" as your hiss about ratatouille, smoothing out the crease between your brows with his thumb "grumpy grumpy dove", massaging the joint under your ear as you tense your jaw "mm, might hurt in the morning"). most of the photos are taken from the front camera, often with his cut off fond smile and soft eyes in the corner.

shopping 📂 and its you at the store picking out fruits, sneaking sweets in the cart. your back in a gorgeous outfit as you stare at jewels and protocores in glass. trying out the strangest things to get a chuckle out of him ("whats this now?", "fampire teef"— got him!). at the festivals holding up two lanterns with a distressed look on your face (you cant choose). at the shops with two coats, a helpless look in your eyes (you cant choose). you at the check out with a shy smile as you hand the cashier his black card (he bought everything).

kittens (and more) 📂 and AAAA its a video of you at meow cafe slamming down a kitty card with a wayyy too competitive look on your face. you crouched on the side of the road feeding stray cats. you at a bird sanctuary with eyes half-closed, a bright smile on your face as the birds make a nest in your hair. you and a giant dog you cooed at in the park ("sy, sy! take our photo, please please. his name is kujo!"). you mid-scream as a rat runs by your feet. you with lions for some reason? (bonus, you on the couch with his large body atop yours, head on your belly as you watch TV and pet his ears that one time he got kitty cursed via ‘Luke sent from my iPhone’)

us 📂 and its you and him. your selfies where hes frowning at something out of frame and youre 😄✌️. when he has his arm around you as you walk, his eyes forward but you’ve decided to snap a bright-eyed photo. selfies you take from a low angle as youre bored out of your mind during an auction, he smiles fondly to appease you. selfies in the dim of movie night with him in his glasses and fluffy hair and you wrapped up in your giant blanket-poncho. selfie of you kissing his cheek while he sleeps. mirror selfies of u in facemasks & matchy headbands. your HANDS, with your RINGS, intertwined with his fingers. creating, presenting (craft, art, music, a reloaded weapon, a flower, a bug, a silly rubber band shape you were so proud to show him). playing with the hem of his jacket. nail photos you send him after an appointment?? saved. candid photos of you two bickering and then immediately after flirting airdropped by the twins (captioned "gross." via 'Keiran sent from my iPhone'). and countless photos of him kissing your hair as youre taking the picture— one for each season— dusted with snow, trees and flowers in full bloom behind you, sweaty and against the light in the summer heat, and you tucked in his coat as the orange leaves dance above you in the wind.

he scrolls, a stupid little smile on his face, until his food arrives. until his car comes to a stop. until you’re breaking down the metal bars of his prison, sweaty and breathless and worried and beautiful, to save him.

(he takes a photo of that last image too, saving it to the general ‘beloved’)

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more sylus thoughts ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

[theoldkyokodied]

The Allegiance of the Ascended Vampire and the New God of Magic

[kittykatninja321]

Defending Damian’s worst antics purely on the basis of “if you’re an experienced vigilante/combatant and you get murked by a child that’s a skill issue on your part”

[dedfly]

Ok, this idea is so stupid in my head yet somehow matches the energy of the way you picture shadow milk...there are two cakehounds after his looks, and I just imagine him being so jealous if y/n put their focus on the cakehounds instead of him.

What's your thought?

I think he's enough of a brat to think he is entitled to your attention

But oh don't worry he would take maters in his own hands

[askfordoodles]

"Young man, you cut that tsundere bullshit, I know what you're doing, I wasn't born yesterday." - Secret Brat Tamer Volkarin

[sir-walton-goggins]

"Arthur Morgan would shoot you just for breathing around him"

Arthur in the game:

[made this compilation for myself as a bday gift but y'all can have it too]

[heeliopheelia]

BAEEE IM GONNA CRY WHY IS HE SO CUTE THE LITTLE TUFT OF HIS HAIR

https://twitter.com/enhypen_pyonko/status/1684699979833827329?s=46

🎀

No bcs 🫠🥺 That's all I have to say 🫠🥺

[snail-day]

TW: Yandere content, Captivity, Power imbalance, Toxic/Absuive Relationship Dynamics, Sukuna threatening to kill/eat you (what's new there)

---

Yandere!True Form Sukuna who keeps swearing he’s going to eat you every time you piss him off. You, his concubine, the little war prize, nothing more than a pretty piece of meat that's meant to warm his bed and submit when called. That’s what he tells himself, at least. That’s what he told you when he first claimed you.

And yet… lately, he’s been summoning you just for the baths.

No words or commands. Just the soft lap of water as he settles you between his four arms, two stretched lazily along the edge of the tub, and the other two wrapped firmly around you, caging you against his broad chest. Your head tucked beneath his chin as he sinks further into the warmth, like he’s trying to soak you into his skin.

Sukuna insists he doesn’t do attachments. Growls it into your neck whenever you breathe too easily around him. Warns you that the second you betray him, he won’t hesitate to rip your spine out through your throat.

Still, each night, he chains your ankle to the bedpost with a promise on his tongue: that this is only temporary. That your whiny little voice, your insolent mouth and soft mortal body, will all be dust the moment he tires of you.

And yet he never does.

Because somehow, you get under his skin in ways he can’t explain. Like when you bite him, actually bite him, when you’re mad. (You've drawn blood and broken flesh far too many times) Or when you glare up at him with your lip trembling and tears pricking at your lashes during one of your infamous tantrums. Or worse, when you smack his ass after a bath and he snarls that he’ll cut your hands off and you just giggle and say, “Please do. I’d be honored to never have to touch you again.”

The audacity.

The nerve.

The addicting, dangerous charm of it all.

Sukuna, who claims he doesn’t care, who scoffs at the idea of softness, finds himself dreaming of you anyway. Dreaming of your limp, exhausted body curled into his. Dreaming of the echo of your laughter in the hollows of his chest.

And when he wakes, he stares at the chain biting into your ankle and wonders, how long until you slip away anyway?

Maybe…the chain won’t be enough.

Maybe he’ll have to break you in other unsavory ways. Stitch himself into your bones. Leave no part of untouched. Because a monster like him doesn’t fall in love. But whatever this is? It’s getting far too close.

[fishcalcart]

Selkie!stone showing off his teeth >:)

[starcurtain]

Phainon, who has spent weeks working up the courage to even sling an arm around Mydei's shoulders after a good mission, agonizing over the possibility of rejection and risk of straining the entire dynamic of the Chrysos Heirs' team: "H-Hey, great job in today's battle!"

Mydei:

[ewwww-what]

You are not a coward. You have a goddamn medical condition, alright?

[vivaiavidapasta]

Hear me out- in a weird sense you made it clear shmilk is top. 🙌 absolute cinema.

Give him room yall, he’s topping

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

"ahh… that was a close call."

the wind nips at your skin. you're held in place, supported by a larger build — his arm looped around your body, steady, as the curse in front of you wails— fizzles and swirls into an orb on his open palm.

geto cradles it, for a moment. a perfect marble.

it’s pocketed, swiftly, as he helps you stand up.

"t-thank you."

a smile. when he lets go, you almost stumble. unsteady on your feet; embarrassed, because a second-grade shouldn't have spelled any trouble for you. you're familiar with techniques of concealment, but you still didn't see it coming, and the gash from its sharp talons would have been in your flesh by now if your classmate hadn't reacted — a splat of crimson on the cobblestone of the temple grounds.

"you should be more careful," he hums, and you wonder if he knows how much it stings. he must, because his next words are softer, a kind tilt of his head. "are you alright?"

"yeah," a shallow breath. "i'm fine."

a breeze curls around your spine, counts the vertebrae. cold. goosebumps blooming across skin. you shiver, pitifully shielding your midriff from the evening air sneaking in through the torn shreds of your uniform, sharp cuts through sturdy polyester. you'll have to ask for a new one, but that's a problem for later — right now, you just feel exposed.

geto parts his lips, a silent oh.

then he reaches for the golden button right above his heart. you watch him fidget with it, until he's slipped it through the gap, his own uniform unbuttoned — the soft muscles of his arms twitching idly as he lifts them enough to take it off. you've never thought of what he wears under it, if he wears anything at all. the button-up beneath shields you from those improper thoughts, a pure, uncreased white.

"here."

when you look up, he's got the jacket folded over his wrist.

offering it to you.

"… are you sure?" you ask, with mismatched blinks, meekly receiving the bundle of black cloth. geto nods, still smiling. "won't you get cold?"

"i'll be fine," he insists. "it's a little big, but it should keep you warm."

under the shade of the plum tree behind him, its branches flecked with burgundy, buds long past bursting into soft, foam-like blossoms — the brown of his eyes is barely visible. they're dark, abyssal, something like the surface of a frozen lake.

but still warm. somehow.

(you're long past agonizing over why it is you feel so safe around him.)

geto turns around, his broad shoulders on full display — the expanse of his back, the skin at the nape of his neck, loose strands of ink-black sticking out from his bun. he slips his hands into his pockets, and hums:

"you can change. i won't look."

your heartbeat sputters. it's not like you don't believe him — he's not like gojo or shoko, geto can be trusted with things like this — but it's still embarrassing. cautiously, you eye his uniform, held in place against your chest. standard, smooth fabric, a night sky expanse kind of black to hide bloodstains and grime. geto's is clean, though. geto doesn’t bleed at all.

(a boy blessed by god. favoured by the world.

that's what your parents would have called him.)

with a shake of your head, you discard the thought — the voice in your head saying he's not even from a clan and he's still better than you, isn’t that funny? just turning around, sheepishly, finding it hard to look at him. glancing left and right, just to be safe, but no one. gojo still isn't back. a stroke of luck; you'd rather not have him see you in such a shabby state.

you're glad it was geto.

once you've shrugged off your tattered uniform, you drape yourself in his own. sticking your arms through the gaps, fixing the collar, and buttoning it up. it’s warm, soft, you're practically drowning in it, waves of polyester like a blanket around your shoulders — and it smells like him. rich and sweet, a hint of something earthy. homemade herbs and wooden oil.

it makes heat bloom at the nape of your neck, a pinprick. the feeling of him surrounding you.

when you turn to look at him, his back is still facing you. (you wonder what he's thinking about.)

"i'm done."

geto was right, you think. it is big on you. the hem cuts off right above your knees, the sleeves dwarfing your hands and slipping down your wrists when you lift them up to rub the dust from your eyes. it makes you feel smaller than you really are. a little shy.

but it feels nice, too. nuzzling against the collar, absently, a soft smile blooms on your lips — tuft-like petals dancing just behind you, with the swaying of the evening air. you inhale it, taste the sweetness, burnt incense and clusters of soon-to-be fruit.

with gentle eyes, you lift your head, and there he stands. just watching you. watching your lips part.

"thank you, geto-kun."

the words fizzle out in the space between you.

the boy before you offers no response.

he stands there, strangely silent, like a marble statue — eyes wide, for a moment, looking you over, up and down, you can see his gaze stray — before finding its way back to your own. his adam's apple bobs.

(is that a flush to his ears?)

"ah," he clears his throat, regaining his ability to speak, a raised fist covering the parting of his lips. "— it's no trouble at all. as long as you're comfortable…”

"i am," you quip. "it smells good."

a moment passes. geto angles his head to the left, away from you, breathing in through his nose.

"i'm… glad."

in the shadows of the trees, the wide temple gate, his neck simmers cherry-pink.

(your cheeks bloom with heat.)

for a moment, neither of you speak. the air feels thick with something, a pleasant awkwardness, the tips of your fingers still buzzing with warmth. finally, he speaks; seemingly composed, a mask slipping back into its rightful place. eyes crescented, half-moons.

"we should head back, then." he turns towards the stairway, leading back to the village, meeting your gaze with a seamless smile. "are you hungry?"

you follow him, pliantly, as he begins his descent. the view from the top of the mountain is breathtaking, clusters of trees parting to expose riverbeds on the ground below, tiny wooden houses, fields of golden wheat; the silhouette of a cityscape at the edge of the horizon. a sparrow takes flight overhead, singing softly. the breeze ruffles your hair, smooths geto's bangs out of the way, gives you a good look at his pupil, the deep sea of cedar surrounding it — flecks of amber, like the first spark of a match catching aflame. when you don't answer, it catches your stare.

"um… a little bit," you sputter. averting your gaze.

geto smiles. you can hear it in his voice, honey-slicked and sweet. "let's stop by a restaurant, then. the one by the station didn't look so bad."

"… sure."

the stairway's steps give out a crunch, when your feet make contact, soiled by dirt and gravel, patches of grass breaking through the slate. you're careful not to lose your balance, with nothing for you to hold on to — nothing but the ripped uniform in your arms, his sleeves, the added length nothing but a distraction.

you exhale, softly, fidgeting with the hem.

"… it's a little embarrassing to be seen like this, though…"

a humoured breath. geto turns to look at you. ”you have nothing to be embarrassed about," he reassures you. steady, comforting. you almost believe him; his gaze mulling you over, softening, something breezy to the smile on his lips when they part. "really."

… it only makes you feel more exposed.

once you finally reach the end of the trail, a head of white hair is waiting for you — black frames catching the light of the sun, just before it disappears behind molten clouds. gojo, watching the sky.

as soon as your feet meet solid ground, he snaps his gaze towards you.

… and then he whines.

"suguruuu…"

you linger behind, as your classmate strolls closer. a furrow in his brow, hair tousled like whipped cream, thrown about by the breeze. he’s pouting.

”what's the deal with this place?” he asks, making a disgruntled noise. ”the gashapons were all —"

he goes silent.

even through the glasses, you can tell he’s looking at you. feel his gaze, as it falls on your frame; sliding down to your uniform, and then back up, to meet your eyes. he glances at geto, the white of his shirt.

for a moment, his expression is blissfully blank.

then he grins.

"… oh?"

heat sparks at the tips of your fingers, the sides of your neck, all the way to the shells of your ears — gojo looks delighted, looking back and forth between you and geto like a toddler deciding between two bags of candy. it makes you feel small, but geto only rolls his eyes, bumps his shoulder against yours; a gentle, silent don't mind him.

when he walks past his friend, he mutters, just under his breath.

"shut up."

[heyimkana]

A compilation of Sung Jinwoo being a soft, gentle, protective, warmhearted gentleman 😌

(Eng Dub because Aleks' gentle voice is unmatched)

[fcb-mv33]

The rookies being so comfortable around Max makes me wanna die a little cause he never had that when he came onto the grid as a literal teenager!!! Never had anyone to go to!!! Never had anyone to defend him!! They threw him to the media to be bullied and villainized!!!!! But he’s doing it for those rookies😭😭😭😭so they don’t have to suffer through what he did😭😭😭😭😭😭