#im gonna go pass out now.

[littlecrittereli]

Wanted to doodle some comfort bros to balance out the angst of my recent posts lol

Hey pookies! Just wanted to say I really appreciate all the love and support I've been receiving lately for Decoded! I always love your comments/asks/fanart/memes, it genuinely has been bringing me so much joy and I'm so grateful for it <3

I know I said I had a lot of art to post (and then proceeded to post none of it LOL) I'm just a little overwhelmed rn with some life stuff so sorry for the wait! I also have a lot asks that I haven't gotten to and I apologize for that as well!

Trying my best to keep up, but I haven't had a lot of time recently. Art's gonna be a little delayed, but don't worry Chapter 8 is still gonna come out this Saturday as scheduled!

[ashiyn]

what the fuck was bdubs on during this stream

[fyllophobia]

[slavhew]

breaking badifies them. happy pride motng

au elaboration under cut

this is just copypasted from twt i forgot to post yetsterday

I imagine that the Dirkjake dynamic would be down on his luck partyboy and the estranged high school friend that coerced him into a drug dealing operation. For reasons he refuses to elaborate on. Jake doesn't really want to be cooking meth but he needs the cash and sees Dirk as the one stable thing in his life really. Dirk really needs a partner and an in to the business and is most of the brains behind the operation.

Dirk is also doing a fair bit of posturing to keep them both safe but Jake... hooo Jake. Dear whining Jake will become a loose cannon when it counts. The power balance would fluctuate alluringly.

To be honest I imagine their dynamic would be much closer to a hypothetical high school au turned drug-dealing and wouldn't be much like Walter and Jesse. Wanna think there would be a happy ending but realistically they'd sink into their worst traits & probably end up in a saw trap by the end of it. I wanna imagine most plot beats still happen... gf dies... "gale" dies... Codependent yaoi and corruption arc flourishes.

I imagine Dirk's wardrobe would start to resemble more and more of Bro's and some of his personality might too. But I also don't think he'd go as far or be as bad as Walter, since here there's a care and concern for Jake as more than a pawn and stand-in (aka the Walter special). Damage would still be done though. The love didn't save anyone etc etc.

Bro and Grandpa would have a dynamic MUCH closer to the s1/2 duo. Devil-may-care stoner and the guy who needs cash FAST and doesn't have time for this shit. I dont think Bro has the tender heart Jesse but he definitely develops some terrible loyalty complex regardless. Honestly have a LOT less idea how their story would go so I'm all ears

[fraternum-momentum]

Me and the boys on our way to harass PC

portraits only under the cut:

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed

{☆} characters furina, neuvillette {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, injury, light angst {☆} word count 2.3k

What was justice?

Focalors had asked herself that question many times during the long nights she spends awake pouring over the prophecy of a dead God, words replaying in her mind like a broken record until the sun rose like a blooming flower.

She was the God of Justice, an Archon, yet she herself lacked the answer to such a simple and yet so very complex question.

How does one define what is just and what is not? How does she know that what she believes to be just is right? Is it justice if one being alone may sway the scales of justice on a whim? What justice is there to be found in the cold, watery grave that awaits her nation?

She does not know.

Perhaps she may never know.

What she does know, at least, is that this is not justice.

It is a mockery of it.

She stands before the bloodied, broken body like the judge, her sword held so tightly in her hand her fingers feel stiff, a dull ache adding to the weight of what she's seen. For a long, horrible moment she almost thinks they are dead – something she would have reveled in, only a day prior – before she sees the subtle rise and fall of their chest. Breathing, but barely.

The rain felt heavier upon her shoulders at the realization – she was not sure if it was in relief or horror.

Her nails dig into her palm, mind stuck somewhere between that abject horror and confusion so palpable she swore she could hear the gears in her head turning.

For a long, silent moment as she stares upon the body beneath the heavy rain..she wonders if this is how it all ends instead. If the world itself will simply crumple in on itself and cease – without its heart, it will wither, after all – long before the waters ever swallow her nation whole.

Because, try as she might to rationalize it, for every drop of rain that hits her like pins and needles, soaking her down to the bone..the body of the imposter is completely dry. Even the water pooling along the stones dares not to leave so much as a splotch against their ragged, torn clothes.

She remembers the meeting so very clearly, and she thinks she is a fool to not have noticed sooner – the Creator upon their gilded throne, finger pointed in accusation at the visage far too similar to their own. The imposter. She remembers the lilt of their voice as they called for their death as easily as one would speak of the weather – and to no one other then herself would she admit the spark of fear it had ignited within her. Because beneath the divine charade there was a sick enjoyment in the way they looked upon the imposter – like a bug beneath their shoe.

She understands, now.

She had thought that perhaps finally – finally – she could do right by her people, by her Creator, if she rid Teyvat of this..intrusion.

Now she sees herself as what it all really is – blind lambs following the herder.

Perhaps she would be considered a heretic under the eyes of the law – beneath the weight of justice, heavy as the heart that bears its sins. Perhaps this is a mistake, one she would come to regret.

But for now, she sheathes her blade with unsteady hands, the sound making her ears ring – for what she had almost done, what she had already done – as she stumbles like a newborn lamb towards the broken body of..

..What, exactly? Human? Divine? She is not so sure what to call them. Creator? No. The name is bitter upon her tongue, now, burning like liquid flame down her throat.

Where once she had spoken it in reverence and admiration, it felt hollow and empty, now.

Her vision wavers as she kneels down against the rain soaked stones, the rain upon her back growing heavier as she reaches a shaky hand forth – and for a moment, however brief, she feels the weight of expectation, of a title she fears she may never live up to, wash away with the waters that fall from the heavens.

The bruises and blood smeared across their skin are like strokes of a paintbrush, their body the canvas from which such horrid art is created. It makes her ill.

Doubt wavers her composure briefly – her position is already unsteady. She has never been seen as an equal to many of the other Archons. Her own people do not see her as their Archon, but an actor in a grand play that they shall simply toss aside and replace like a broken doll the moment she bores them.

What does she have left to lose?

She reaches out again, her hand settling onto their shoulder and turning them onto their back. She..isn't sure what to do, actually. She's never been particularly physically capable – she tended to avoid fights, even if she oft provoked them – and she was certainly no healer.

Yet what choice does she have but to march on anyway? She is in the heart of the city, it is far more dangerous here then anywhere else..she had little time to make her move.

Fontaine was, after all, a nation founded on the principle of justice. To know an injustice has been made against the most Divine..the entire nation was in a frenzy.

Her eyes dart around nervously, hands clasped tight on their shoulders and her lips drawn into a taut line – someone would notice her absence. One of the Archons would point out her absence in the coordination of the search.

Her options were just as limited as her time – she couldn't just take them out of the city. Security was tight, and as much as she fancied herself an escape artist – Neuvillette could hardly keep her in one place for too long – she doubted she could do the same with the limp body of the imposter in tow.

..The Palais Mermonia it was, then.

Her room had a secret entrance that few knew about, and even fewer would dare to traverse. She just..had to hide them there for a bit and hope Neuvillette wouldn't notice anything different.

Probably.

Still, there was the problem of actually..transporting the body. As grim as it sounded. Her only solace was the fact she didn't have to worry about them catching a cold, at least, and their breaths were still audible, if only barely. So she had to resort to some..unexpected methods.

Seeing the limp form of, well, the imposter – she'd really have to ask for something else to call them when they woke up – stuck in a bubble of hydro wasn't exactly on her bucket list.

Then again, neither was treason.

Well, first time for everything, right?

It wasn't breaking the law if no one else knew about it.

..Neuvillette didn't have to know about it, really. It was fine.

She could, of course, technically try to talk some sense into Neuvillette – he'd listen to her, right? She thought she was pretty close with him..but he was also the one person more obsessed with justice then she was. Such a stickler for the law..so maybe she's breaking a few, it's fine.

But he was also pretty devout, as much as he tried to keep his worship private – with Focalors around, nothing was really secret. Maybe she could get him to settle down long enough to prove it.

..How was she going to prove it?

An exaggerated groan escaped her lips as she led the bubbled imposter – she really wished she didn't have to resort to that, it would be a lot a more awkward to explain then dragging the body around – through the winding streets of Fontaine. She's just glad she's already memorized the entire city like the back of her hand..and a little dramatics went a long way. People listened when the Hydro Archon spoke, and she was suddenly very, very glad for that fact, even if they treated her more like a mascot then a God.

And partially because she, maybe, just a little..stole a few documents detailing the layout and a little personal exploration of her own – but what Neuvillette didn't know couldn't hurt him!

After what felt like hours, though was really no more then half an hour at best, she'd managed to drag herself – soaked to the bone with rain – and the conveniently bubbled imposter up through the secret entrance and into her room.

The perceived safety, as flimsy as it was, was..comforting. Until she heard the rustle of fabric, the clearing of a throat and the pop of a bubble as she, in her surprise, popped it – and then the thud of the imposter hitting the floor.

She felt a bit of regret about that part, at least, wincing.

"Lady Furina." His voice was as sharp and cool as she remembered it always being – like fresh spring water, she'd heard it described. Soothing. It did not feeling very soothing right about now.

She turned sharply on her heel, a forced smile tugging at her lips on reflex, every muscle in her body tensed – she probably looked like a wet cat right about now, soaked with rain, but that was the last thing on her mind.

"Do you mind explaining what, exactly, you did?" Not what you're doing, she notes – what she did. He was mad. Oh, she was really in for a scolding now. She twiddled her thumbs, laughing weakly, though it quickly dies out at the awkward, tense silence.

"Well, you see – it's rather complicated! I can– I can explain." Her attempts to diffuse are met with a raised brow and the sharp tap of his cane. Every single thought is plagued with the urge to run, but the unsteady breathes of the 'imposter' keep her rooted in place. "Well?"

She was sweating bullets, her nails digging into her palm as she scrambled for any excuse that could warrant her not getting hauled off and scolded thoroughly at best – she was coming up empty. How was she supposed to prove that the 'imposter' was very much not what the 'Creator' said they were? Their unconscious body was doing no one any favors, certainly.

"The Creator is lying," She blurts out, immediately regretting her impulsiveness when she feels the sudden weight of his stare – the piercing hues of his eyes that remind her just who is the strongest between them. It is not her, she knows. It never has been. "You can see for yourself! Don't you trust me, Neuvillette–?"

Her voice is cut off by the sharp click of his cane as he strides across the room in only a few steps, his height making her feel like a child about to scolded. She hated it, but she grit her teeth through the exchange. She reminded herself that this was for the sake of the 'imposter' and any affront to her ego was..tolerable.

To her credit, too, she didn't immediately lash out when she saw him poke at their body with his cane, turning them onto their back – she wanted too, though. She considered it, but the thought was quickly shot down when his stare turned back upon her, and she felt frozen in place again, her tongue a heavy weight in her mouth.

Yet she couldn't shake the sudden tenseness to his shoulders, his brows furrowed and a distant look to his eyes. It was..haunting, in a way.

She knows it well, she realizes. The realization and acceptance, the crumbling of every solid foundation you've ever known – leaving you to flounder in the waves, alone and afraid.

The gentleness in which he picks up the limp body surprises her though, his cane set aside. The rain howls like a horrid storm outside, but she cannot focus on anything but the furrow of their brows, the soft noise that escapes their lips.

"I trust that you know that this must stay between us," His voice is soft, like the gentle lap of waves against the shore, as he sets their body down against the bed, his hand lingering against their cheek with something almost like reverence – and if her eyes do not deceive her, affection. "Lady Furina."

She does not hesitate to agree.

"Well– well of course!" She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning at the feeling of her wet clothes clinging to her skin, a heavy weight that feels like it's dragging her down. "Just what do you take me for?"

He doesn't deign to respond.

It only makes her fume more.

Not that he seems to notice, unbuttoning his heavy outerwear and tossing it on the bed, rolling up his sleeves and focusing on the injured– er..yeah, she really needed a new name for them. Calling them imposter felt wrong.

"So long as you understand, then we will have no problems." She huffs again, pouting and puffing up her cheeks, sitting down on the other end of the bed with only an occasional glance towards him as he worked at peeling away the ragged clothes and examining the injuries marring their skin.

She suddenly felt out of place.

..What was she supposed to be doing?

As if noticing her sudden quietness, Neuvillette sighed, his back turned to her though his attention very much falling upon her. She really hated the feeling like she was being dissected whenever he looked at her. It was unnerving. She doesn't know how anyone else handles it..

"If you are so eager to do something, Lady Furina, then please have something brought up for when our..guest awakens. They will need to recover their strength."

Finally! Something she can do. She perks up, her heels clicking on the floorboards as she darts out like a bullet, unable to stay still for so much as a moment.

Neuvillette, for his part..

Feels an odd sense of serenity as he stares upon the troubled features of the..guest. A peace that lessens the burdens upon his shoulders, the weight of a nation upon his back.

He cannot hear the rain, anymore.

..It must have stopped.

[namchyoon]

namjoon performing his new untitled song at 'd-day' the final (230806) transcript cr. renkiger_, transl. @taee (insp.)

[welcometogrouchland]

(ID in alt) hi sorry for back to back marvel fanart I swear I still have dc stuff lmao. However I did recently read X-Men: first class and got a bit carried away doodling this after Lmao

[superstarcadet]

Here it is! The seventh and final day (and once again belated) of my comic for @byler-week!

I am deeply going to miss working on this series, but am beyond happy for it to be done and posted! From the bottom of my heart, I thank you all for sticking around and I--once again--thank the Byler Week team for putting this challenge together. It was an event that I will never forget. I hope you all enjoyed reading my take on the prompts just as much as I did making them! 💚💛💙

Day Seven Prompts were: Empty, Arrive, D&D, Blue/Yellow Color Scheme

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six

[astro-nautic]

This random octo-agent oc idea just invaded my head fully formed and now my brain isn't letting me sleep until I sketch him

His name is Christopher or Chrissy Crow and he's a sociable geologist who likes all things shiney:]

[posts-from-pluto]

humans are weird -rollercoasters

*if you're seeing this and do not have a rank of at least 2 stop the recording now or there will be consequences* *This is audio excerpt 00-2 from the ongoing intergalactic relations project*

Quinn(A): Hey, Edith?

Edith(H): What?

Quinn: I was looking at that thing you called the internet right?

Edith: Okay???

Quinn: Well I saw these videos of what looks like people getting in line to be tortured and I know that doesn't make any sense so I thought I'd ask you about it before jumping to any conclusions. I even saw one of the humans asking their parental figure to go again afterwards and I cannot understand it.

Edith: uhhh, let me see what video you're talking about.

*rollercoaster video*

Edith: Okay soooo that's just a attraction at a theme park. People go on rides like that because It's supposed to be fun.

Quinn: ...but the humans on it are screaming and don't look like they're happy????

Edith: Oh yeah they look scared because they are, that's a key part of enjoying the ride.

Quinn: WHAT?!? YOU MEAN TO TEEELLLL ME THAT AFTER ALL THIS TIME OF ME JUMPING TO REASONABLE CONCLUSIONS BASED ON THE INFORMATION I WAS GIVEN AND BEING TOLD I WAS ABSURD AND BEING RIDICULED FOR MY "INSANE JUMPS IN LOGIC"-

I WAS RIGHT THIS TIME!!!

YOUR SPECIES ENJOYS THE TORTUOUS CONTRAPTION???

Edith: Well, not all of us. I'm personally not a fan of them, I've heard too many stories of them breaking down mid-ride and causing accidents to get on them.

Quinn:...THEY'RE NOT EVEN GURANTEED TO BE SAFE!?! DEAR LORDS HOW HAVE YOU PEOPLE LIVED THIS LONG-

*end of excerpt*

*post recording*

Upon furthur investigation, rollarcoasters induce the release of a hormone called addrenaline in the human riders. Despite this hormone having once been crucial to the species early survival it is no longer as commonly produced in their natural lives as it once was. One scientist has theorized that rollarcoasters and other "thrill-seeking" behaviour might be the species way of fulfilling some sort of instinct but more research is needed to confirm or deny this theory.

*end of post recording*

[castle-of-ruin]

Reacher Comes to Visit 2

A/N: Alrighty folks. Here it is. Part 2. A smutty one. I'm so beyond nervous. This is my first ever smut piece. I hope that all of you enjoy this.

Pairing: Jack Reacher x f!reader

Warnings: p in v sex, unprotected sex (let's be realistic here it's fiction. I didn't do the right thing. Wrap it up!), lotsss of consent, oral (f!receiving).

Please please let me know if I missed any warnings!

I do not condone the copying of my work. Do NOT repost my work.

Reblogs, likes, and comments are all welcome. Again, I hope you enjoy.

Some visual inspiration for those who care.

The next morning, you awoke to an empty bed and empty house. You would expect nothing less. They had a job to finish, and you knew they were not sticking around long. Getting out of bed, you pull on some clothes and make your way to the kitchen. Much to your surprise, the place is spotless. A smile pulls at your lips. They might be a rough and tough bunch, but at their roots, they were good people. You laugh to yourself quietly as you imagine the four of them scrambling around your house and cleaning. Surely, Neagley was the one who orchestrated the whole thing. It was a heartwarming gesture, considering you may never see them again.

After fixing yourself a quick breakfast, you take the seat at the table and eat your food in peace. Reacher flashes in your mind more than once as you finish up your breakfast and put your plate in the sink. You didn’t know if you would ever see Reacher again, but every part of you wanted to. Something told you that he would be back, but you didn’t want to get your hopes up. Especially when you didn’t know if he was going to make it out of whatever mess he was in, alive. You shake your head, letting out a scoff. Knowing Reacher, he would be just fine. He was a great fighter and unbelievably strong. That much you had witnessed when he saved you.

The rest of the day went by rather quickly, and once again, you found yourself getting ready for bed. It was well after nine o’clock when you heard that familiar knock on your front door once more. A gasp escapes your lips as you pull open the door and reveal Reacher on the other side. He gives you a small smile and shrugs his shoulders.

“I know, I look like shit.” He states with a smirk.

You took in the blood along the collar of his shirt and the even bigger bruise under his left eye.

“You’re right. You do. Come on.” You yank him in by the sleeve of his jacket. He comes in without any restraint, allowing you to guide him to the bathroom.

“Take that off,” you instruct.

The jacket slides off his shoulders as he shrugs out of it. You could have sworn you heard him wince but didn’t bring it up. Your eyes widen at the gash on his side, peeking through the holes on his shirt and the small cut on his neck. Whatever happened, he got beat to hell and back.

“Shit, I’m surprised you’re still standing, big guy.” You dab at the cut above his eye.

His hands grip your hips tightly, pulling you close to him.

“I can’t help you if you’re holding onto me, Reach.” You tell him as you stand between his legs.

Reacher pushes you back slightly and looks up at you. He didn’t need to speak to tell you he didn’t care about his wounds. That wasn’t why he was there. No, it was his want to hold you true to that promise you made him last night. Your hands rest easy on his shoulders as the two of you stare each other down in your small bathroom. Slowly, you allow yourself to place your hands on his cheeks, and he closes his eyes for a brief moment. He needs this just as badly as you do.

“Can I?” You ask, eyes drifting to his lips for a moment.

“Yes,”

Leaning in, you kiss him, this time with more fervor than before. His grip on your hips tightens, as if that's possible, and he stands towering above you. You can feel the countertop pressing into your lower back as he leans into you. Slowly, but surely, he backs you into your bedroom, not breaking the kiss for a moment.

Finding the hem of his shirt with shaky fingers, you tug at it softly, signaling to him what you want, asking for permission. Before you can verbally ask him, his shirt is flying into the other corner of the room. You laugh quietly and squeal when his hands find your ass and he lifts you in the air. Wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, you kiss him again. Getting lost in the way his stubble scratches against your cheeks or the way his skin was so warm, you could feel the warmth through your blue jeans.

Reacher places you on the bed hovering above you briefly before attacking your lips once more.

“Let’s take this off, yeah?” He asks, fingers easing beneath your shirt.

You nod, giving him the okay. He pulls the shirt over your head and throws it across the room, and it lands with a loud thud. Reacher removes himself from you long enough to unbutton his pants and pull them off before he’s right back between your legs. You bite your lip as his black boxers hide no part of him.

The button on your pants pops open easily in your fingers, and you shimmy out of them. Reacher helps you get them off your ankles and drops them. Warm fingertips trace up your thighs, over your hips, and along your sides before Reacher hooks around behind you and undoes your bra. You shiver, as cool air wraps around your newly exposed skin. The chill is soon replaced by Reacher’s warm mouth as he uses his tongue to play with your nipples. Soft pants fall from your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck once more.

“Fuck,” You moan out.

Reacher hums against your skin.

“This is not the time for you to tease me, Reacher.” You practically growl.

You feel him chuckle against you. Instead of listening to you, Reacher moves down your body, littering your skin in kisses. His fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties, and he looks up to you for a brief moment, asking quiet permission to take them off. You nod, and that's all he needs to practically rip them off you. Before you can adjust to the cool air his tongue finds your clit and you buck against him. Instinctively grinding your hips in unison with his tongue. Your moans grew louder as he worked at you longer, his large fingers toying inside of you. As you grow closer to release the warmth is ripped away when Reacher stands up once more. You almost protest, but stop when he rids himself of his boxers finally and comes back to you.

You watch as he runs his hand the length of his abdomen before settling on his cock. He strokes his cock in his fist a few times before running the head of his cock through your slick folds. A moan falls past your lips as he thrusts into you. Slow at first as he allows you to adjust to him, and he finds his rhythm. His hands hold your hips down as he thrusts into you, his pace picking up. Reacher drops his head into the crook of your neck and moans quietly. He bites down softly on the sensitive skin of your neck and you gasp.

Once again you wrap your arms around his neck as he fucks into you. He kisses you roughly as his thrusts meet yours. Moans fill the room as you feel yourself inching closer to your impending orgasm. A gasp falls past your lips when he lifts your leg, changing the angle in which he thrusts into you.

“Fuck,” You groan as he slows his pace with the new position.

Every delicious drag of his cock had shudders rippling through you. Cursing again, you pant out his name and close your eyes, the euphoria building in the pit of your stomach almost too much to bear.

“Look at me,” He instructs, gripping your chin softly.

Opening your eyes, you look at him, taking in the way his breathing labored, the way his pupils were blown out of proportion, and his green eyes were much darker than normal. He kisses you again, this time softer than before, but still just as bruising. Heat pooled in the pit of your abdomen as Reacher’s pace increased again. You were aware of each slow drag of his hips and counter thrust as he held you close as he neared his own release.

The coil in your stomach snaps, and you come, clenching around him as your orgasm wracks through your body. Not far behind you, Reacher finds his own release and collapses beside you. Spent you curl yourself up beside him and snuggle into his side, wanting to stay this way for as long as you could.

After laying there quietly with one another for some time, you prop yourself up on your elbow and take him in once more. His breaths were even once more, and his eyes drooped with exhaustion. Surely, he was exhausted after the day he had.

He surprises you by turning to face you. “I won’t wait two years to come back next time.” He murmurs, barely loud enough for you to hear.

“I’d like that.” You tell him, placing your hand on his shoulder and leaning in to kiss him again.

He pulls you close and holds you tightly, and as you drift off the sleep, he presses a kiss to the side of your head. Today was the day things would change, and for the better.

No pressure tagging some of the mutuals: @xxidontwikeitxx @cryingwriter @supernaturaldawning @gemstone-roses @a-reader-and-a-writer @quaritchscupquake

[cannibalovers]

that whole "do you fantasize about killing me" convo.

will replying yes SO quickly in a much quieter tone than his more angry, assertive tone before. HIS MOUTH TREMBLING BEFORE WHISPERING "WITH MY HANDS", CLEARLY THINKING ABOUT IT. BRO WAS ABOUT TO BUST

[crystalpallette]

frye inspires this sort of manic "i can do whatever i want" kinda will in people and god. I sure did do whatever I wanted here

[left-handed-spaghetti]

HELLO I LOVE YOUR TODD IN A BINDER ART!!! it made me so incredibly happy i cant even explain it AUGHHHHH

i was wondering perhaps if you could draw neil in a binder? no pressure ofc !!! :) 🫶🫶

AAAAAA THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!! 🙏🧡🧡🧡

I’m shaking right now I just speed ran this 🏃🏃

[bacchuschucklefuck]

caps from comic Im doing