#everyones still on edge

[joltrify]

8th year of Heatblast!!!!!!!! //

This year's came out alright! I hope to push the perspective and posing for next year :]

These are starting to get a little long to compile in one post, so you can check out last year's rendition here, lol.

some pre-redraw pyronite scribbles (eyestrain warning for the last one):

[mollysunder]

The funny thing about Silco and Jinx is that they talk like belong in Piltover, they just don't have the accents for it. They both talk in speech patterns that are vaguely more anachronistic than the rest of Zaun's cast (and even some Piltovans) that's usually associated with eccentric rich families in media.

Silco goes into soliloquies worthy of the stage while Jinx easily whips out idioms that barely made it past the turn of the century. If you plopped these two in the upper class casts of an Agatha Christie novel they'd fit right in.

Jinx and Silco would be the cut-throat noveau riche dinner party guests that the readers immediately dismiss as the killers because they're too obviously murderous. No one at the dinner party actually likes them, because it turns out everyone including the host, the murder victim, and the murderer owes Silco money. The detective solved the mystery but can't save the party from Silco and Jinx.

[skitskatdacat63]

2009 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix - Sebastian Vettel(ft. Mark Webber & Jenson Button)

[tsunodaradio]

RACING IS SOOO BACK, BABY!!!

[djarinova]

In shades of grey in candlelight / I wanted to leave him, I needed a reason

Spencer Reid x gn!reader content - reader is in an unfulfilling long term relationship, thoughts of cheating, best friend!Reid, friends to lovers, slight angst from reader longing to be loved properly again, cheating is slightly romanticised, confessions, teeny amount of angst words - 3k (how did this even happen omg) reputation event masterlist

♡—How long should you hold on to something after it's proven time and time again to be the source of your pain? And why does missing your best friend hurt so much more than missing your boyfriend?

It had been almost 4 weeks since you'd last spoken to Spencer—a mix of his work, the weekend he spent visiting his mother and the looming sense of… something… that had been hanging over your head like a dark cloud had kept the two of you apart for longer than usual.

Spencer would have been able to identify the issue that had been plaguing you, he's always been good at that—even before he'd joined the BAU.

He had been able to figure out that you'd failed a maths test when you were 12 years old. He had been able to tell when your parents had had a fight when you were 15 years old. He had been able to correctly work out that you'd ordered yourself the wrong flavour of milkshake—over the phone, without seeing your face—when you were 18 years old. And as you got older, your problems getting more and more adult, he had been able to figure out through missed calls and unanswered texts that you'd had your heart broken again. And again. And again.

That's what he would have said was the cause of your behaviour over the past few weeks—you've changed your hair, thrown out a bunch of old clothes, rearranged and then rearranged again almost all the rooms in your flat and you've been out drinking with your friends twice already this week (not that this is a particularly bad thing, or even entirely unlike you, but you mentioned to Spencer once that going to a bar or pub for a drink was only really fun when you were with him, and it had lit a spark deep within him that he refused to acknowledge). But this time you know he'd have gotten it wrong. You haven't broken up with anyone, you're still very much coupled up and there's no sign of your boyfriend wanting to dump you at all.

That's the problem.

You roll your eyes, there's no point in feeling sorry for myself. I'm the only one that can fix it.

You scoff. The faint smell of your neighbours baking wafts over you, and you can hear him and his boyfriend giggling through your shared wall. A lump in your throat begins to form, and the familiar sting behind your eyes returns as you busy your hands with tidying away the washing up (that you had accidentally washed three times now.) The tears that fall feel like they're burning your skin as they run down your cheeks, as though the droplets are going to leave small scalding streaks from your eyes to your chin.

A new wave of bitterness envelopes you and a strangled yell escapes your lips before you have the chance to think. You hear your neighbour's pause, likely raising their eyebrows at each other as if to say what the hell is wrong with next door before quickly returning to being the lovey-dovey super cutesy couple that they are. And they are. Super cutesy. You've seen them around the building before, even one time accidentally ending up in the same café after a building wide fire alarm went off. They invited you to sit with them—your boyfriend was with his mates—as they didn't want you left on your own so late at night. It was nice, awkward, sure, but nice. Conversation was easy, they seemed to bounce off of eachother in ways that you and your boyfriend never have—at least not for many years now. Their laughter was contagious and yet as you said your goodbyes and slunk back to your lonely apartment you couldn't help the twinges of envy that plagued the back of your mind.

He doesn't look at me like that. He is never that enthusiastic about dating me. He would never gush about our first date like that. (And deep down you know he could say the same things about you.)

So, yeah. That wasn't very fun to sit with.

You somehow feel happy knowing that Spencer would incorrectly guess the reason for your ongoing sadness. For some reason the thought of being unknowable to him has you frenzied… A strangled noise escapes your throat—a laugh! Christ. It was a laugh, despite how bitter and angry it sounded.

Maybe frenzied isn't the right word… But god! You don't know! At least he would actually care. At least he would want to try and get to the bottom of your feelings, to try and understand why you've been jumpy and on edge and almost hyperactive in the way you've been non stop moving recently.

Tap tap tap.

The noise makes you jump out of your skin, heart thumping in your chest as your eyes dart to the clock. It blinks back at you.

20:37

You chastise yourself, it's probably next door coming to ask if you could keep your yells of frustration down while they're having a relaxing evening. Embarrassment floods over your face and you can feel the tears threaten to fall again at the thought of being confronted about your outburst. You can imagine the look of pity on their faces—although a hidden part of you hopes that they're coming to invite you over, to welcome you into their warm home, to smell their freshly baked bread and taste the chocolate chip cookies.

Your feet pad heavily against the wooden floor as you walk out of the kitchen towards the front door—tap tap tap. A further set of knocks has you almost tripping over your feet as you rush the final few paces. You swing the door open without a thought, not wanting the neighbours to have to knock again.

You spare no thought to the tear stains that have marked your face…

“I'm so sorry I didn't mean to be—Spencer? Wha–what are you doing here?” You splutter.

“I tried calling, but you didn't answer. Have you been crying?”

“I—well, yes I have but it's fine—I didn't expect to see you, you've been so busy lately.” You take a deep breath, for a brief second—and it was brief—you had been relieved to find that it was only Spencer behind the door, but it didn't take long for the embarrassment to claw its way back up your spine and sink its teeth into your flesh once more.

His eyes bore into you as if he's trying to look inside you. He scans your face, your movements, he watches your hands fidget nervously with the hem of your shirt—before you notice him noticing you and you flatten your palms against your sides in an awkward, unnatural manner.

“May I come in?” He asks, his voice is gentle and it's almost enough to make you fall to the floor in despair.

A hum is all you can manage in response. You quickly side step out of his way, locking the door behind him as he removes his jacket and scarf and hangs then neatly on the third hook from the left—the one that's always left bare, just for him.

You clear your throat. “What are you doing here, Spence?”

He pauses mid stride—he’s already halfway to the kitchen and if you had known he was coming over then there would a cup of coffee on the side waiting for him, in his favourite burgundy mug, the one with a chip on the lip—and tilts his head at you as if to say isn't it obvious.

“I'm here to see you.” He states, incredibly matter of factly, as if the mere question coming from your lips is completely ridiculous. Why else would he be here?

“I—” You start, but Spencer disappears around the corner before you are able to get any more words out. You huff, feeling slightly unnerved by his sudden arrival and subsequent behaviour since setting foot on your doorstep. There is nothing else in the world that can make you as happy as he can. Something which both terrifies you, and excites you a great deal.

You step foot into the kitchen and you are unsurprised to find Spencer already in the process of making himself a coffee. He pauses once more when he catches sight of you and he holds a second mug out towards you in question. You shake your head. You don't think you'd be able to stomach anything until you can get him to speak to you properly.

A thought suddenly occurs to you, and it may be the first time you ever fully allow yourself to truly think it. Because although it's not unusual for Spencer to visit you in the evening, sometimes even coming over as late as 1 or 2 in the morning—he gets back from cases at the most unpredictable times—do people think you're seeing each other? The two of you have been friends for years, it's not weird for a friend to come over at all hours of the day… right?

“Spence, are you alright?” You pause, eyeing his very full cup of caffeine. “Haven't you just got back from a case? I can make up the sofa bed if you want to get some sleep.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks. Why do I feel so weird about asking him to stay over? We're friends. It's what friends do.

“I have something I need to talk to you about.” He ignores your questions, but you can't bring yourself to be annoyed at him. Not when his knuckles are white from how hard he grips the cup and his eyes flit from your hands to your eyes to your mouth and back to your hands.

Wait—your mouth?!

“I have something I need to talk to you about.” He repeats. He closes the gap between the two of you with only a couple of steps. His steaming coffee is still clutched in his hands, but his fingertips seem restless, as if he knows where he wants them to be, but he just can't���or won't—move them there.

“Okay.” You whisper.

Your mouth feels dry—maybe turning down Spencer’s offer for a coffee was a mistake… He's barely an arms length away from you now, if you were to reach your hand out towards him it would brush up against the navy cardigan he has on. It looks so soft and you can't help but wonder how it would feel around your shoulders. Would it be baggy? Would it fit perfectly? And would Spencer want to come back from a case to find you curled up on the sofa while wearing it?

Your neighbour’s laughter ripples through the air like thunder. It's gone before you have time to register the noise fully, but it's enough to snap you out of your trance and you tear your eyes away from Spencer's torso. It was as though he was waiting for you to make eye contact with him again, because he immediately puts his cup down on the side—more clumsily than usual, you'd be surprised if there wasn't an extra chip on the lip now—and takes the smallest of steps towards you. You are almost toe to toe now.

“I–uh–meant to ask you earlier… about your boyfriend.” He hesitates. “Presumably he's not around…”

There's two ways you could take his question.

Part of you wants to lie, to say that no, he's not around, you dumped him months ago—when your friends first told you that you should—and that you weren't expecting any company tonight. It would be just you and Spencer, no interruptions. Besides, Spencer knows that your boyfriend doesn't live with you, it's been the topic of many a heated discussion, but… could you just pretend you misunderstood? Could you say that no, he's not around, he's probably out with his friends somewhere. Could you admit that he hasn't texted you back in almost 4 days? Could you say he's not around, in fact, he hasn't been around you for 12 days?

But Spencer doesn't give you any time to think through what to say. You gasp when his hand touches your arm and he laces his fingers through yours without so much as a word, as if it was the most natural thing for him to do. As if he had done it a thousand times. The certainty with which he touched you has your heart pounding. What is he thinking? All you can do is blink up at him. His eyes are swimming with questions, but the only one he voices is, “Is this okay?”

Your head moves before you can think and he breathes a deep sigh of relief. You haven't felt as calm as this in months, and yet somehow it feels like you're suffocating. His touch is warm and the dusting of pink on his cheeks has you feeling a rush of anxiety—but the good kind, the kind of anxiety you get when your crush looks at you, the kind that comes hand in hand with a first kiss… And yet you know you need to pull away. Before something more happens.

You force yourself to pull your hand out of Spencer's and the emptiness returns immediately. You stumble away, bumping into the counter as you do so, and you utter a small yelp when your hip hits the corner. Tears sting your eyes and before you know it Spencer has his arms around you. Somehow knowing what you need before you are even able to think it. You choke out a broken apology—for what, you don't even know—and all Spencer can think to do is squeeze you against his chest, whispering soft comforts into your ear.

You stay like that for a while—long enough that the pain at your hip is now only a dull ache. Your throat is dry from all the heavy breathing and you feel a slight throbbing pain in your head, but you do, somehow, feel a little better.

That is until your emotionally fried brain catches up with itself. And then you cringe, hard. Embarrassment floods your veins and you feel your cheeks heat up by an alarming degree—like someone, somehow, is holding the sun directly against your skin. You are acutely aware of how closely Spencer is watching you, but you can't bring yourself to meet his eyes, unsure of whether there's a look of hurt, confusion or pity on his face—unsure of whether it matters—and all you can do is stare through your blurry eyes at what you think is your feet, but what could just as easily be a pair of furry, blue alien slippers.

You scold yourself. You fell apart all because he... held your hand? God. What a mess he must think you are. And—oh! How he probably thinks you are the worst person in the world for even entertaining the possibility of his feelings for you when you aren't even single. If he even thinks that what you did was entertaining the possibility. Or maybe you completely misread the situation and he was only trying to comfort you as a friend... But what if he thinks you have no interest in him? What if he thinks he's ruined your friendship and your relationship? What if you're reading into things far too much and he doesn't like you like that and he thinks you're a bad person for even thinking about kissing him–not that he would know that, he can't read your mind–and you've certainly never thought about kissing him before and especially not right now–he doesn't know how much you long for him to sweep your off your feet—

"I like you Spencer."

You blink. Slowly you bring your head up and meet his gaze. He takes a shallow breath, as if he had been holding it for quite some time.

Christ.

You only meant to think the words, and yet somehow they slipped past your tongue out into the space between the two of you. An accidental confession of something you hadn't even consciously thought until 0.2 seconds ago.

Well I can't take it back now.

He holds your gaze. His vision blurs ever so slightly and he blinks back his unshed tears before they get the chance to overwhelm him. He clears his throat before speaking, but even then his voice is low, quiet, as if trying not to spook an animal.

"You... do?"

You nod, and he takes another obvious sigh of relief, deeper this time.

"I do. I like you a lot actually."

It's as though hearing you voice your feelings for him has broken down the very last wall between the two of you. Your mind flits briefly to thoughts about your boyfriend, before shutting them down so violently that you almost feel sick. You taste metal in your mouth and you realise with a start that you'd bitten down so hard on your lip that you'd drawn blood. You reach for the closest available source to wash the bitter taste away—Spencer's coffee. And he watches as you take a sip, your eyes are closed but somehow he can sense that they are closer to shedding tears than his are. He reaches an arm towards you and gently begins to rub soothing circles on your waist. The touch sends an electric pulse throughout your entire body and you almost drop the mug in shock. It's like all at once you realise just how stupid you were for allowing yourself to be so miserable for all this time. Why have you been putting up with a boyfriend who barely touches you when one touch from Spencer has your insides burning? Why have you been putting up with a boyfriend who doesn't care about your feelings unless they are positively affecting him, when the first thing Spencer asked you tonight was if you had been crying?

For right now all you care about is the way Spencer's eyes glisten when they look at you, how warm his hands are when they touch your face and how the quiet laughter from your neighbours no longer makes you feel as lonely as it did before.

You felt like such a fool. But it seemed like realising this fact was enough to set you free. It seemed like the acknowledgement was enough. You didn't give any thought now to the things you would have to do this coming week—the breaking up, the collection of your things from his place (although at this point there is only a toothbrush and a single pair of joggers that haven't moved from their place on the back of his sofa since you washed them and left them there). Hell, even the possibility of having Spencer there with you hadn't crossed your mind.

[bisclavret]

i just think it's sooo interesting how every time someone needed to be the butt of a joke that subtly othered them within a group of masculine men or to get sensually pinned down and/or tied up or otherwise emasculated by a villain (almost always morgana which is also very telling) it was always closeted gay metaphor the titular merlin™️ or known arthurian bisexual g(a)waine. they really don't do homophobia like that anymore these days. which is probably for the best but when you add everything up it sure does paint an interesting picture of transgressive masculinity (and femininity in morgana's case)

[ruvviks]

Rome blankly stared up at the cold night sky, his eyes trailing over the stars drawing constellations in his mind. He wondered, wherever she was, if Judah could see them too– if they could lock eyes across light years of distance and despite the time that had passed since he had last seen his sister, if they could still recognize the other by smile alone. 'Oh, Jude,' he sighed, lip trembling as he failed to conjure a mental image of her visage altogether, head barren of even the faintest memory of their shared past. 'Oh, Jude– We've messed up, haven't we?'

taglist (opt in/out)

@nistarot, @deadrlngers, @euryalex, @ordinarymaine, @mojaves;

@shellibisshe, @dickytwister, @mnwlk, @rindemption, @ncytiri;

@calenhads, @noirapocalypto, @florbelles, @radioactiveshitstorm, @strafethesesinners;

@fashionablyfyrdraaca, @radioactive-synth, @katsigian, @estevnys, @devilbrakers;

@aezyrraesh, @carlosoliveiraa, @adelaidedrubman, @fromgotham, @wardenevka;

@samuraifics

[justsomeimbicel]

I wish people wouldn't limit themselves to the Httyd movie trilogy. Yes, the movies are great (read: first movie is great, the others debatable) but there is also "Riders of Berk" and "Race to the Edge", two amazing series with extra world building and some of the greatest villains in the franchise. There are TEN comic books with amazing art and even more world building.

But, Most importantly of all, there is the book series it was based on! Yes, it's very different but that's means you get to read an entirely different but great story while seeing where the film makers took inspiration and also be blessed with Cressida Cowell's story telling which is the entire reason why we have the franchise!

If you like something, don't limit yourself to the main thing only!

[themeraldee]

omg the idea of him not having (or at least thinking he doesn't have) a soulmate because of how he was born 👌👌👌👌👌👌👌👌it reminds me of a soulmates au fic i wrote for a vastly different fandom where those who were born without soulmate markings were known as "the soulless". yknow. just for the extra angst.

AHHHHHHHH YES I love that so much. Nothing like adding another brand to his already scorched soul. I think that would be a really good angsty selfcest fic or just a pure Homelander whump.

Now that I'm thinking about it more I'd love to see how Vought deals with that.

Because depending on the kind of soulmate AU it could be I see them abusing his still 'soulless' status by running game shows like 'Could you be Homelander's soulmate?' and whatnot. And how sad would it be to be presented with hoards of people wishing to be his soulmate and having them all rejected by fate. While knowing the people signing up to see if they could be his soulmate or not are not even there for him as much as they are for the fame and prestige that comes with being on TV.

Or would they just manufacture a soulmate for him because they don't want him to be seen as abnormal (beyond the obvious) Like they wouldn't want to highlight that he didn't have normal upbringing or ever even really had the chance to find love the normal way.

[antimony-medusa]

Enough fighting about which team suffered the most in pugatory. Twitter is saying that SBI is canon in QSMP and that means Tommyinnit is canon to the island. We must band together against twitter.

[myokk]

I just remembered my old deviant art login info from when I was like 13/14 JAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJ

I was posting every day like it was my JOB for 0 likes on every drawing 😇😇😇🙏🙏 just goes to show that when you love it you keep doing it anyways.

Here are some of the highlights (this is only a FRACTION of my old HP fanart but there was also so much manga, atla etc etc etc 😭😭)

I remember I used to get soooooo mad at my mom whenever she would look at my art and be like “wow that’s good but I think you should add backgrounds, learn anatomy, practice drawing hands etc” (she was right I always hid the hands in pockets or behind the body LMAO)

[sergeantcowboy]

Haven't been able to continue any of my digital drawing projects because I've been stuck at my parents place and my pc is not here but here's some random sketches I've been doing. I love you Jorji Costava <3

The last one is my interpetation of the inspector as a child because I happened to re-play that one day where that one entrant says she worked with your dad and claims you were a little brat and it got me thinking. I like to think he was some scrawny nerd that was a lot more sensitive than some of the other boys but because being sensitive as a boy isn't allowed in the mid 1900s especially in some small village he kinda put on a rougher exterior and picked fights with kids half his size as an attempt to prove something.

[clumsypuppy]

Was nobody gonna warn me that I would fall a little bit in love with every character in Stardew

[lisondraws]

The Handwriting of God.

My illustration for the @edgeofhopezine , what an honor to be part of such a beautiful 10 year anniversary tribute to this great movie!!!!!!!!!!! And I even got to draw my favorite character!

[filialdisciple]

dumb rotmhs fanfic idea where chung myung doesn't reincarnate and instead turns into a lost ghost on mount hua.

that is, until his spirit stumbles into yu iseol chasing after their lost plum blossoms technique that he begins to slowly regain his memories.

Got inspired by @dew-in-the-morning's tweet here!! You can also read the original fic thread :DD

»—————————–✄

yu iseol doesn't know who the one-armed stranger was. she had opted to ignore him when she first noticed his presence in the far distance upon arrival at the clearing. but he'd been observing her for almost two hours now, and it seemed as if he had no intentions to leave at all.

"come out." she tells the one-armed man, but frustratingly receives no response at all.

she makes a move towards him but he disappears within a blink.

a part of yu iseol becomes unsettled, but she decides to brush it off as nothing more than a one-off encounter.

she's quickly proven wrong.

the following night, she once again finds him in the same spot, facing her direction. it continues that way the next night until the next week. the man is consistently there and always leaves whenever yu iseol outwardly acknowledges his presence.

after almost two weeks of this occurring, yu iseol decides to stare just as intently at the man as he did at her sword.

she doesn't often feel conscious about how others perceived her, but something about the way the man's eyes visibly narrows when she swings or stabs her sword makes her every move feel like they were being scrutinized and dissected.

and that her results were unsatisfactory if the random clucks and tsks she hears off to the side whenever she overextends her swings were any indication.

the man's robes were clearly from mount hua. but she quickly realizes that what she initially thought were shadows on his garbs were actually dark blood stains.

then a sense of uneasiness washes over her when she notices that she could see the edges of a tree through him.

it seems that her nightly companion was some sort of supernatural entity.

she doesn't feel any true fear though because no amount of malice or resentment was ever turned her direction since she began seeing the man.

"who are you?" yu iseol finally asks.

but, as expected, the man disappears and she's left alone in the clearing.

%%%

"are there ghosts on mount hua?" yu iseol asks the sect leader much to his bemusement.

"perhaps." he replies to her after a beat passes. "what brought this on?"

yu iseol silently huffs at the admittedly lackluster reply, but responds politely, "i just saw something."

before she could turn away, the sect leader hums pensively and gently adds,

"maybe what you saw was the ghost of an ancestor watching over you."

clearly, it was intended to be an acknowledgement of her nightly sword training and visible efforts towards attaining mount hua's swordsmanship.

yu iseol, however, took the message quite differently.

that night, yu iseol lets out a breath and lowers her sword as she once again catches sight of the semi-translucent man observing her from behind a tree.

her attention zooms in on the bloodied embroidery of a plum blossom on his chest and the sword sheath strapped to his waist.

she steels herself as her eyes locks onto sharp, pink ones. she was certain that whoever this man had been, he was a strong swordsman with the way he held himself even in death.

and if the way he attentively observed her sword training was a potential indication....

"excuse me," yu iseol begins, fists clenched, "do you know how to make plum blossoms bloom?"

there was a long pause between them. for a moment, yu iseol worried that she was mistaken and that the spirit of this ancestor would disappear as he usually did.

but then the one-armed man steps forward for the first time into the clearing and replies by unsheathing his sword.

it glints against the moonlight despite its translucency and yu iseol knows that she couldn't miss the next moments no matter what.

the ghost of her ancestor holds it aloft in the air for a brief moment. And then he swings his sword into an arc.

in yu iseol's chest, the uncertain flicker of hope ignites into an unstoppable wildfire.

[ubtendo]

Around 8 months later and I dusted her off for a redraw, only to put her into a neat box again and forget about her

@bunpiry thought you might be interested to see her again :)

Also here's a Charlance and Branwen interaction