I would love to hear your thoughts about Hotch and fire because I never really noticed it but when you point it out it does stand out as something he gets VERY affected by very quickly
its not the most obvious pattern, which is par for the course when it comes to anything relating to hotch’s past. but i think its sooo interesting that hotch seems to be on edge/more emotional when they deal with cases involving fire. in ashes and dust he seems particularly moved talking to the burn victim and insists on being the one to speak to her; in house on fire he averts his eyes from the burnt corpses and has a shorter temper; in devil’s night he’s antsy the whole case and makes brash decisions (like running into a burning building???)
its subtle changes, so subtle that im not entirely convinced im not just hallucinating it all, but it seems like there’s something there. especially during the final confrontation with the unsubs in each of those episodes: the steel-faced hotch is gone, and he seems incapable of hiding his fear. in devil’s night he has a hard time looking away from the unsub’s lighter; in house on fire he keeps glancing down at the spilled gasoline. if it was anyone else i wouldnt pay any mind, but hotch is known for staring down death (like with foyet). he’s.. uncharacteristically emotional
i feel like something must have happened. even gideon—who has better insight on hotch’s past than anyone—seems concerned when hotch volunteers to go to the burn ward or gets distracted looking at a child’s burnt shoe on the ground. the way hotch lingers on the picture of the mother with her son… something mustve happened in the past for him to take this so personally
im not sure what it is. again, we dont really know anything about hotch’s background (and what we do know is frequently contradicted a couple seasons later—like the way his father died) so its not like we have a lot to work with. simply because of his interaction with charlotte cutler, i think it might have something to do with his mom? we dont know anything about her outside other than her attending mary baldwin. there are just so many unknown variables and oddly intimate moments of connection he has with various abused-sons throughout the seasons
was he in a fire growing up? was his mother? maybe his mom was inside and he stood helpless on the outside, unable to save her? was it an arsonist? was it his father? or was it his mother herself—tired of her life and trying to tear it all down with her? was it all just a horrible accident? was it before or after his father’s death? was his mom dying the final push for hotch to stand up to his father?
there are just… so many questions. so many possibilities. but, whatever happened, hotch is definitely afraid of fire.
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bite + chest (Kakarot for Broly... comin' for the tiddy)
Send 🫦+ a location to bite my muse (send bite+ a location if you can’t see the emoji)
The beginnings of a snarl creased harshly along the visage of the larger Saiyan's features. Strong fingers burrowed into the thick forest of brimming golden hair, gripping tighter into the sturdy mass as the sensation of foreign fangs caught a portion of a pectoral between their summits. A tug threatened to force Kakarot off, clutching tighter onto the clump before another thought managed to worm its way through into Broly's scornful mind.
" Pathetic little slut.. " Came the harshness of his tone, refusing to let a single ounce of his malice go to waste, " I could tear your heart out a thousand times and you'll still be crawling back to me for the simple act of satisfying your misbegotten desires. "
" Go on then.." Instead of forcing Kakarot's mouth off him, Broly went ahead to press him harder against the brunt of his chest, " Satisfy yourself like the whoring dog you are. "
Harder, yet harder still.. the muscle of his torso bulked as he mashed the other's face into the rippling muscle. The signal of pain would be felt with the piercing of his flesh but it went disregarded as he intended to suffocate his enemy for as long as he damned well wanted until he found it fitting to let the other have a scrap of air. Whether or not Kakarot struggled or even fought him for the sake of survival was answered only in those stretched moments of deprivation. However, once the first ministration of renewed oxygen was taken or given, the Brute lowered his tone.
" These humans don't know how to satisfy a Saiyan, do they? They don't even know who their Savior is and yet here you are, hounding after me to fulfill your depraved wants despite decreeing yourself as this planet's protector. "
" Even a pet would get some recognition for obeying its master but you.. there's no mistake you're even less than that to these pitiful creatures you shed blood for. "
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19!!!!! PLEASE
HELLO BAB!! OF COURSE!! ANYTHING FOR YOU!!
The very first time and they’re seventeen in his fourth childhood bedroom—duck-egg wallpaper, ratty sheets, Harry Nilsson record turned down to a faint murmur and all but forgotten. There are the scratches he made in the doorframe, there’s the bed with the peeling paintwork, there’s the hands of the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen, twisting into his t-shirt: “can I...take this off?”
A floorboard creaking. “My dad’s downstairs,” Remus says, which isn’t an answer at all. He lays a hesitant touch of his palm to Sirius’ hip, the sharp poke of bone and a glimpse of bare skin above the waistband of his briefs.
He wants to say, we’ve never asked that question before. He wants to say, I’m not sure why you would want to do a thing like that. Sirius’ knuckles digging in to the soft stretch of his stomach, just barely. Remus imagines them leaving indentations there, as though his flesh is clay.
“But your door’s locked, no? Is he likely to knock?” Sirius looks down at him; fine dark hair falling against Remus’ skin, making him shiver. He has kissed him and kissed him again and now his mouth is all damp and red and ruined. Old-fashioned floral curtains. Nilsson’s cover of She’s Leaving Home drifting in, stepping outside, she is free.
“Or, I mean—” Sirius falters, “sorry, we don’t have to. Obviously. I thought—thought I’d ask, I know we haven’t done anything like that—”
“It’s alright.” Which it should be, really—it’s nothing Sirius hasn’t seen before. Remus and his body like a hit-and-run crime scene, his body that betrays him and complains about him and never seems to patch itself together quite right, his body that can’t be bothered with itself. It’s only ever been something to be dealt with, pacified, winced at, that scar won’t heal if you keep picking at it, those bandages ought to be changed.
A stack of books on the floor by his bed—Shelley, Burroughs. A hairline crack in the plaster of his ceiling. Remus has never thought of his body as something to be loved, to be wanted, and yet here’s Sirius, off-his-fucking-trolley Sirius, asking to make an altar of it anyway.
“You can take it off,” he tells him. “Go for it.”
“Yeah?” Sirius rakes his hair back, grins, split-skin and a small chip in one of his front teeth from playfighting with James when they were twelve: Remus adores it. “Alright, then. I love you. You know I love you?”
“Yeah.” And he does know it; knows it as Sirius’ lips are on his, and as he sits up against the headboard to let him tug his shirt up past his head. They’re laughing into each other’s mouths when his arms get stuck, noses smashing into each other. And all of it really just means I love you, over and over again.
Sirius tosses their shirts down somewhere. He turns back, and Remus’ breath rattles about in his throat like a blue-bottle for a moment—he watches for something, some twitch or twist of Sirius’ face that says disgust, that says horror. Thinks of all the white scar tissue scraped across his chest, or the awkward jut of his elbows, his ribs. Teeth marks torn into his side.
“You’re so lovely,” says Sirius, anyway. “Is this still okay? Can I touch you?”
(And, after this: Sirius will kiss bruise after gnawing bruise into Remus’ neck and down, down past his collarbones. Once it’s over, they’ll get dressed again, and Remus will stand in front of the bathroom mirror and try to hide every last one with a glamour, because his dad is downstairs. He’ll ask Sirius, did I miss any, are they all gone, you definitely can’t see them?
Sirius, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, wearing that daft, lazy little smile that makes Remus’ lungs roll around inside him like marbles. You missed the one beneath your ear, Moony, just there.)
Remus nods, draws his arms over Sirius’ bare shoulders. “Yeah,” he says. “Anywhere you like.”
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Byler royal AU where they're both princes from neighbouring kingdoms and the Byers come to visit for diplomatic negotiations.
They're on their way to idk the drawing room or smth when they hear a fight tm between Mike and his parents who plan to marry him off for diplomatic relations. He storms out but stops to formally greet the Byers before he leaves without another word. Joyce gives Will a look when he follows him with his eyes and gestures for him to follow (she 1) wants Will to make more friends his age and 2) noticed his (and Mike's) lingering looks when they arrived the day before)
Will finds him in the palace gardens and they talk for hours
Now, this can go in two different directions:
1) they seem to connect immediately and basically fall in love over the course of the next few days. The Party after they all meet plans a fake arrangement between Mike and El to trick Mike's parents, this involves a number of ridiculous situations in which they almost get caught but somehow manage to convince Karen and Ted that everything is going according to plan. At the wedding, they realize that it's not Mike and El who are getting married but Mike and Will
OR 2) their conversation drifts off into heavy flirting. They're staring at each other, everything around them disappearing, their lines get bolder and there's a meaningful shoulder touch before someone clears their throat very loudly. Turns out they were in the middle of a dnd campaign and decided to mess with Dustin and Lucas but it kind of... got out of hand
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Day 2 of Worldbuilding: Stroke!
Ok, so, the actual amount of time each section is gonna take me will vary, cause lore *and* character design take time! We're probably gonna be closer to me getting one done every other day, and I havent decided if I'll do both parts together or lore on the 1st day and design on the second,
Either way, for our Day 2: Stroke!
I went looking into the books for an art God, couldnt find one. Not one I felt fit what I wanted at least, But that's what Homebrew is for! And the great part, imo is that deciding how I wanted this god to function and everything helped me work out how Gods within my world/campaign (?) would function!
I shall save everyone from my long ramblings no by putting everything under the Break.
Ok, Ok, Hi! If you're reading this, nice! Welcome to the insanity that is my brain!
I made a chart!!! I had so much fun with it! I probably overthought all of it! I made it whilst on stream (which I regularly plug on my twt (It's most of my tweets TvT I'm bad at social media, ok))! But I decided on a few key bases for how Gods work whilst I was doing it!
A few Gods at the start made people,
After that, most of the Gods were made from peoples belief in them!
For the most part, the Gods talk incredibly sparesly to everyone
The Gods *can* talk *more regularly* with some people, but those are likely to be either players with whom it is required, or devotees within the world,
Now! Onto things specifically about my fancy shmancy new Homebrew God!
They like to talk *slightly* more regularly to followers than a lot of other Gods,
They cover the creation and craft of things for personal joy, or entertainment and such. So, things like making a painting, an outfit, even a weapon, for a *Job* wouldn't count. All of those listed above (and anything else considered a craft) for *fun* or side projects or stuff like that *would* count!
This distinction, personally, inherently means there is a similar God of Crafts, but specifically ones done as a Job and such!
Gods can choose if they'll take after their followers at all, and I rolled a dice, and came out with Halflings making up most of this Gods followers, so I made an attempt (I am *incredibly* hesitant to say I succeded) to allude to Halflings with their design!
Ok, Ok, If someone's still here I'm impressed. Anyway! Introducing my fun little Art God:
Varerio: God of Personal Crafts!
I tried to make the fabrics and fun physics stuff make it look like they're floating TvT i also decided to use my sketch pencil for the scritches, cause I loved the texture, and uhh yeah!
That's all for today!
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