#the world is crazy and wild and i love it

[kiwriteswords]

Where the Wildflowers Grow [Aaron Hotchner x Florist!Reader]

Florist!Reader Masterlist|| Main Masterlist [I need to update this, sorry!]|| Ao3||Word Count: 2.6k|| AN:  My crazy week is over--I have missed my Hotch x Florist Universe!! We're so back, baby! Tags/Warnings:  confessions of love, first 'i love you', reader is a little pessimistic, angst (if you squint), canon-typical themes, Female!Reader, Florist!Reader, Non-BAU!Reader, pre-relationship, pre-established relationship, Sassy!Reader, Flirty!Reader, Aaron Hotchner loves to love, 'Just because'!Aaron Hotchner, Simp!Hotch Summary: As a florist, you've seen a lot of negative occasions for flowers. You've become quite cynical about love, quite honestly. Aaron Hotchner is seemingly changing that.

You were elbow-deep in hydrangeas when the bride canceled.

“Sorry,” she’d said on the phone, voice hollow and embarrassed. “The wedding’s off. He…well. It doesn’t matter.”

You could only read between the lines. A tale as old as time. Something you’d heard a thousand times once over. Maybe he had a wandering eye for her best friend. Or maybe there was a secret family, like the bride who cancelled years ago who’s deposit was on twelve dozen cala lillies.

It did matter.

It always mattered.

You offered the polite condolences you were supposed to. Told her you understood. You always did.

You hung up, leaned against the counter, and let your head fall into your hands. It was barely noon, and already you’d:

Arranged three casket sprays.

Witnessed your regular Tuesday customer order a third round of “I’m sorry I cheated” carnations--soooo tacky.

Had a grown man throw a tantrum over “too many filler greens.”

And now, lost an $800 order you’d already started prepping.

This was the part people didn’t see.

The underbelly of beauty.

You loved your work--

Truly.

But there were days when the petals felt heavy.

When it was hard not to see flowers as bandages.

Temporary distractions over bruised apologies and broken promises.

And as much as you wanted to believe in happy endings…

You did. You were also surrounded by happy endings, but somehow the weight of death and heartbreak seeped into each day. It was hard to wrap a bow around a congratulatory bouquet when the next order slip is one for, “I’m sorry you lost your job.” 

Some days made it harder than others.

The bell over the door jingled.

You didn’t even lift your head.

“We’re closed for emotional collapse,” you muttered, crumpling up the order slip and tossing it into the waste bin. 

There was a pause.

Then: 

“That bad, huh?”

Your eyes flicked up.

And there he was.

Hotch.

Still in his suit. Tie loosened, coat folded over one arm. A brown paper bag in one hand. And in the other?

A crumpled fistful of wildflowers.

Wrapped haphazardly in newspaper.

Dandelions. Queen Anne’s lace. A few purple blooms you didn’t even have a name for. 

All wrapped in the front page news. Black and white and read all over. 

He held them out, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Picked these on my lunch break.”

You stared.

Then blinked.

Brain sort of…malfunctioning. Trying to picture him, suit and tie and all business on the side of the road picking weeds. Beautiful weeds. Wildflowers of sorts. 

Then let out a laugh--a real, startled, exhausted laugh--as you wiped your hands on your apron and stepped forward.

“You brought me weeds?”

“They reminded me of you.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Resilient,” he clarified. “A little wild. Hard to overlook.” He gave you a smile one that made your belly warm and your pulse quicken, “Saw them on my drive after grabbing your favorite for lunch and had to stop.” 

Your chest ached.

God. This man.

This. Man. 

You took the bouquet from him gently, handling it like something sacred. There was dirt still clinging to some of the stems. One bloom was missing half its petals. They smelled like grass and heat and summer air.

The newspaper wrapped around it with good news for once. A headline that wrote, “Miracles do Happen,” written in bold font. 

Huh, the irony. You looked at the bouquet, a tiny red lady bug crawled from one of the leaves. 

It was the most beautiful thing anyone had brought you all week.

Maybe ever.

Day in and day out, you’d receive deliveries of traditional roses, carnations, and baby’s breath. Every now and then you’d buy Protea and watch as it sat on the shelf in your cooler, begging to be picked by a patron, but always ending up wilting and eventually in the garbage. 

It was the different--rare--flowers that went unappreciated. 

As if people didn’t know how to hold them--

To arrange them. 

“You trying to get out of the doghouse?” you teased, placing them in a glass jar by the register.

“Didn’t know I was in it.”

You looked at him, really looked--he was tired too. You saw it in the corners of his eyes. The tight set of his jaw. But he was here.

With you.

“Then what’s this?” you asked softly, gesturing to the flowers.

He shrugged, setting the lunch bag on the counter. “You popped into my head.”

“And?”

“And I didn’t want to wait until I had a reason.”

You said nothing.

Just stood there, your fingers loosely gripping the counter, as something cracked open in your chest.

No one had ever brought you flowers just because.

No apology. No ask. No occasion.

Just you.

Existing.

Being loved, even if he hadn’t said the words yet.

He pulled out the sandwiches--your favorite--and passed you one without asking

You sat together at the back table, half the shop still a mess, your hands still stained with chlorophyll. He didn’t comment on the smudge on your cheek. You didn’t ask about the cut on his knuckle.

You just...sat.

Shared food.

Soft glances.

Easy silences.

At one point, you glanced at the jar of wildflowers catching the afternoon light, and something warm and terrifying moved through your chest.

What if he was different?

What if this didn’t burn out after the shine wore off?

What if this was what it looked like--

Love.

Before either of you were brave enough to say it out loud?

But it was the little things with dating Hotch that was different. The things that didn’t need to be said out loud. 

The date cancellation didn’t bother you.

Truly.

Hotch had called that morning, voice heavy with apology, telling you that a case had just come in--out of state, high priority. Jet was already being fueled. You barely had time to say, “Stay safe,” before the line went dead.

You got it. You really did.

You had weddings where the bride changed the color scheme three hours before setup. You had grieving families who wanted the casket spray to be perfect with no time left on the clock. You’d dropped everything more times than you could count.

So no, you weren’t upset.

You understood.

More than understood. This is what you signed up for and were completely okay with it. This is why…this is why you were falling for this man. His dedication. His drive. 

Still, it had been one of those days where everything felt just a little off. Customers were short. A shipment came in late. The flower fridge started humming too loud. Even your favorite floral shears kept disappearing on you.

You were wiping your hands on your apron when the tablet by the register dinged.

New online order.

You moved to check it without thinking, eyes skimming the screen.

Sunflowers.

Simple arrangement.

Delivery to: Your Shop (ATTN: You).

Paid in full.

Customer Note: I know you’ll probably have to arrange these yourself (unless you want someone else to), but I saw a vase of them in the hotel lobby and thought of you. Couldn’t bring myself to order them from another shop. Sorry again for tonight. Wish I was there. – Aaron

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then you let out the tiniest, stunned laugh.

Because of course he did.

Of course Aaron Hotchner submitted a paid order to your own flower shop, just to make you feel seen.

You stood there, rereading the note three times, feeling your throat tighten.

This man.

He wasn’t just a good partner. He wasn’t just thoughtful.

He was…real.

He meant things.

You’d seen men do far worse with far less remorse. You’d made arrangements for the same man three times in a month, once for his wife, once for his girlfriend, once for “a friend from work.” You knew exactly how little some men were willing to give.

But Hotch?

He paid you to send yourself flowers.

Just so you’d feel thought of.

You picked up your phone without even thinking.

He answered on the second ring. Ever the professional, Hotchner,” he said, his voice lower, quieter than usual. You could hear background chatter. Hotel hallway. Maybe the jet.

“You,” you said, not bothering to greet him. “You placed a paid order at my shop?”

“…Is that a problem?” He sounded slightly unsure of himself. It was quite amusing to picture a man as big and worldly as Hotch seem hesitant or questioning of himself. 

You let out a short laugh, one hand braced on your hip, warmth blooming in your chest despite yourself. You looked over to the bucket of fresh trimmed sunflowers beaming up at you. 

“No, it’s--no, it’s not a problem, it’s just--” You sighed. “Aaron, you could’ve just called. Or texted. You didn’t have to pay for anything.”

“I wanted to.” Simple. Like it was obvious. 

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I didn’t want you to think I forgot.” Again, here was the man who seemed and sounded nervous. As if he was grasping onto you. Afraid you might leave. 

“I never thought that.”

“I know,” he said, softer now. “But I thought…maybe if you saw them, it would feel like I was still showing up.”

You didn’t speak for a second.

You were afraid your voice might give you away.

So you cleared your throat and leaned back against the counter, eyes drifting to the still-unmade sunflower arrangement sitting in the back of the shop. Waiting.

You said, quietly, “They’re beautiful. Just the idea of them. Thank you.”

He exhaled, a sound that bordered on relief. “I hate missing time with you.”

“I know. But you don’t have to prove anything. I’m not keeping score.”

“You should be,” he said. Almost like a warning for what was to come. Something you knew already. “I’d lose.”

That made you laugh again, and God, you needed that. That warmth. That certainty. That ease.

There was a pause--

One of those quiet, meaningful ones that stretched like a bridge between people who were afraid to step too far.

You could hear the words sitting there.

Waiting.

But instead of saying them, you said, “I’ve got a brand new pair of jeans I can’t wait to wear out with you when you get back.”

Deflect. What you know best! 

Hotch chuckled, low and warm. “That might actually kill me.”

“Good,” you said. “I like having that power.”

“You always have.”

Another beat of silence.

You could hear it in his breath. You were sure he could hear it in yours.

That almost-love humming between you.

You smiled softly. “Come back to me soon.”

“I will.”

You didn’t say I love you.

He didn’t either.

But God, you could feel it.

And it was more than enough.

For now.

This almost-love was blooming so wildly in your chest now every waking moment you saw him. From the sun staining his cheek in the morning hours of your apartment to the sweet texts you would get back from him (despite his poor texting skills). 

You’d almost said it dozens of times.

When he brought you coffee just the way you liked it, scribbled with your name in his messy FBI handwriting.

When you caught him watching you in your shop like you were made of sunlight and not soil and flower petals.

When he fixed a broken hinge on your cooler door without being asked.

When he’d kissed you under a thunderstorm, one hand in your hair, the other on your cheek, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you.

You’d almost said it--

But didn’t.

And he almost had too.

You felt it when he lingered in your doorway a second too long.

 When his thumb traced your jaw like it was fragile.

When his voice caught on a soft “Be safe,” as you headed into another busy day.

When he looked at you like you were more permanent than his job, than the jet, than the danger that lived in his orbit.

You didn’t need the words to know.

But you wanted them.

You wanted him to have them.

To hear them.

To feel them, unfiltered and undiluted, before anything could take the chance away.

So when your phone rang that day--late afternoon, with the shop smelling of eucalyptus and lemon balm, a soft storm tapping against the windows--you didn’t expect it.

You didn’t expect his voice.

Didn’t expect how wrecked it sounded.

“Hey,” you said softly, automatically smiling as you wiped your hands on your apron. “Shouldn’t you be haalfway through an interrogation right now?”

There was a pause.

A too-long one.

Then his voice came through--

Tight, raw. 

Shaken.

“Something went wrong.”

You froze.

“What do you mean?”

“The case. It got…bad.”

Your stomach dropped.

You weren’t used to this.

Your job didn’t come with guns and unsubs and tactical gear. You dealt in blooms and beauty and people on the brink of celebration or grief.

Not danger.

But this? This was his world. And now, you could hear it in his voice.

Shaking.

“I’m okay,” he rushed out, as if he was saying it to himself as well. “I’m okay. I swear. But I--God, I needed to call you.”

You leaned hard into the counter, heart racing. “Aaron, what happened?”

“There was a house. A hostage situation. We thought we had the perimeter clear but--we didn’t. It was close. Too close.”

Your fingers curled around the edge of the table. You could feel your breath catch.

“They’re fine. We’re fine,” he continued, like he needed to say it aloud to believe it. “But I was pinned for a second and I couldn’t reach my comms and I thought--just for a second--”

He went quiet.

You closed your eyes, trying to breathe through the panic threading into your ribs. All of the mess around you--

The flowers, the orders, the stack of to-do’s seemingly melted away. 

“I thought about Jack,” he said quietly. “And I thought about the team.”

Another pause.

Then his voice dropped--

Lower, hoarser. 

Vulnerable in a way you’d never heard.

“And then I thought about you.”

Your throat tightened.

“About how I hadn’t told you yet.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him right.

“Told me what?”

He exhaled, a shaky sound on the other end of the line.

“That I love you.”

You didn’t breathe.

He kept going, like he had to get the words out now or lose them forever.

“I should’ve said it sooner. I should’ve said it a hundred times already. But today, when I thought--”

He cut off, jaw clenched audibly even through the phone.

“I love you,” he repeated, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Like he’d been preparing his whole life how to say it.  “I don’t want to wait for perfect moments or good timing or whatever stupid rule I thought I was following.”

You stood still in the middle of your shop, surrounded by flowers and petals and a hundred unsaid things--

And whispered, “I love you too.”

It came out broken. Bare. But so full of truth you could feel it in your bones.

The other end of the line went silent for a beat.

Then he exhaled--

Like he’d been holding his breath for weeks.

“You do?”

You let out a shaky laugh, brushing tears from your cheek.

“I think I’ve been loving you since the day you showed up with wildflowers wrapped in newspaper.”

Another pause.

Then, softly, “I think I started the first time I walked into your shop and forgot how to breathe.”

You smiled, teary, heart pounding like it finally had permission to.

“I wish I could see you right now.”

“I’ll be home tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll come to the shop.”

“You better,” you whispered.

Because suddenly, everything you wanted was on the other side of that door.

And this time, you weren’t going to let love stay unsaid.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @Sweethotchlogy @softtdaisy @stilestotherescue @midnghtprentiss @thebestqueenoftheworld @Bookaddictlatina  @superlegend216

[mangionebabymama]

It’s kind of crazy to think that just last year, on his 26th birthday, Luigi had sent this email to Gurwinder after speaking with him over video chat and even gifted him a six-month subscription, just because.

Back then, before any of this happened, before everything changed and flipped his world upside down—none of us even knew his name. The internet hadn’t yet realized he was a real person, walking the same Earth as the rest of us. He was just going about his life like any of us probably were at the time last year. It’s wild how much can change in just a year, and how it can happen to the people you’d least expect, in ways you never could’ve imagined.

I know that none of us can go back and change the past to make the present any better because if we could, I’m sure every single one of us would’ve done anything to turn back the clock and prevent this from being Luigi’s reality today. But someday soon, I truly hope this birthday will just be remembered as the one that wasn’t the best—and that many more are still ahead of him, ones filled with joy, celebration, and memories worth cherishing. Because he deserves that; he deserves nothing but the best.

I don’t know exactly how he might’ve celebrated last year, and while he can’t celebrate today in the ways we all wish he could, I just hope that if there’s one thing he knows as he begins 27, it’s that he is deeply admired, loved, and supported—perhaps even more than he ever imagined possible in all his years of life. And if he’s ever felt lonely before, I hope he knows that now that he’s surrounded by so many people who care about him and would do anything for him. And even that is an understatement.

[purplemoon7]

Kitchen Shenanigans

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — Kim Seokjin is hopelessly in love with his wife, and nights like this—messy, breathless, and full of stolen kisses—are proof he never plans to stop showing it.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Seokjin x black!reader (married AU)

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 1.3k

Warnings! FLUFF! pure fluff, established relationship, husband!Seokjin, playful flour fight, suggestive touching, sensual language, married domestic bliss

There are a lot of things you expected from marriage—laundry piles, late-night kisses, joint grocery shopping—but somehow, standing in your kitchen at 12:47 AM with flour in your bra was not on the list.

“Yah! You started it!” you squeal, ducking behind the island as Jin launches another handful of flour into the air.

He’s laughing so hard he’s bent over, hands on his knees, shoulders shaking. “You threw it first, baby! I’m just paying you back!”

You peek over the counter, grinning, hair a wild halo around your head. Your curls are dusted white at the tips, like someone went crazy with powdered sugar. You’re wearing one of his old shirts and panties, barefoot and flushed with heat and laughter.

He’s ridiculous. Tall and broad and handsome, even with flour smudged on his cheek, his dark hair messy from running his hands through it. His eyes crinkle when he smiles at you—that genuine, boyish smile that made you fall for him in the first place.

“You’re evil,” you accuse, trying to swipe flour off your arms. It just smears worse. “Look what you did to me!”

Jin saunters around the counter, wiggling his eyebrows. “I dunno, baby. I think you look pretty cute like this.”

He reaches for you, but you stick your tongue out at him, peeking just in time to catch his eye. He grins wickedly at you, and you know exactly what that look means.

You squeal again, turning to run, but he’s faster—always faster. His arms wrap around your waist from behind, catching you mid-sprint. You yelp, kicking your feet as he spins you around effortlessly. The kitchen spins, and then he’s setting you down.

He dips his head, grinning like a devil. “Got you,” he murmurs against your ear, voice low and smug.

You’re laughing too hard to fight him off, hands clumsily gripping his forearms. He’s all warm muscle and strength, and you’re no match for him. He walks you backward until your hips bump the counter, trapping you between the cold marble and his warm, solid chest.

The world tilts. The air shifts.

It gets quiet.

His hands stay at your waist, but his grip softens, thumbs stroking little circles into your sides. Your breathing slows, chests brushing with every inhale. Your curls tickle his chin, and you can feel his heart thudding against your back.

You glance up at him, tilting your head. There’s flour in your hair, and your eyes are sparkling, and Seokjin thinks he’s seeing heaven in human form.

He leans forward, and you think he’s about to kiss you, but he stops a breath away. His breath ghosts over your lip, dark eyes soft and fond as he watches you, flour streaked across your face.

You lick your lips. His eyes dip to them, and he swallows hard.

“Hi,” you whisper, a little breathless.

His grin softens into something sweeter. "Hi."

Then, without another word, he lifts you onto the counter like you weigh nothing at all.

You gasp, hands gripping the edge for balance, but he steps between your knees before you can protest. His hands slide up your thighs, warm and sure, and he leans in again to kiss the tip of your nose.

“You drive me crazy,” he says, voice low and fond, and you can’t help but smile. His hands are warm and gentle on your thighs, and your knees brush his sides.

“You like it,” you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Yeah,” he says, nuzzling your throat. “I really, really do.”

He presses a soft kiss to your jaw, and then another one, and another. You tilt your head back, letting him work, eyes fluttering shut as his lips brush your skin. His touch is so gentle you almost shiver.

“Jin,” you murmur, and his name is enough.

Before you can say anything else, he’s kissing you.

It starts slow—soft, teasing, mouths brushing like the idea of a kiss. But then you tug him closer by the collar of his shirt, and he groans into your mouth, deepening it. His hands grip your thighs, squeezing like he can’t get enough of you.

He tastes like chocolate. He smells like flour and vanilla and the faint, woodsy cologne you gave him for Christmas last year. You run your fingers through his hair and tug him closer, kissing him slow and sweet.

His hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheekbone, and you nudge your knees wider, letting him sink closer to you. The counter is cold at your thighs, but Seokjin is warm and solid against you.

You feel him smiling into the kiss, and you smile too, brushing your nose against his. He kisses the corner of your mouth, and then you’re kissing again, slow and sweet. You hum against him, tangling your fingers in his hair, feeling the way he presses into you. His tongue brushes against yours, hot and lazy, like he’s savoring you.

When he shifts his hips forward, you feel it—hard and hot against your inner thigh. You gasp against his mouth, but he just hums, nipping your bottom lip gently. He does it again, this time with more pressure, and a moan slips out of you before you can stop it.

He groans in response, hips jerking against yours. You feel him hard and heavy between your thighs, and you whine into his mouth, shifting closer.

“Bedroom?” he asks, pulling back enough to look at you.

“Fuck yes,” you say immediately, and Jin’s eyes darken.

He kisses you again—hard and fast and filthy, just how you like it. Your arms wrap around his neck, and you cling to him, kissing him back just as desperately. He groans, low and desperate, and lifts you off the counter with one smooth motion. You squeal, arms looping around his neck as he bounces you once, twice—carrying you like it's the easiest thing in the world.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he says, grinning against your temple.

You giggle, dizzy and in love and a little breathless, resting your forehead against his.

“You’re covered in flour,” you tease, laughing as you rub the smudge on his cheek with your thumb.

“You’re worse,” he counters, nipping at your jaw.

You’re still laughing when he kicks the bedroom door open with his foot, depositing you onto the bed with a playful growl. The mattress bounces under you, and you yelp, sprawled out and grinning up at him.

He pulls his shirt off, tossing it somewhere behind him, revealing warm golden skin and the toned muscles you can never stop staring at.

“You’re staring,” he teases, crawling onto the bed toward you.

“Can you blame me?” you shoot back, smirking.

He grabs your ankle, dragging you closer with a wicked glint in his eye. “mine,” he growls playfully, kissing your knee, your thigh, nipping lightly at the soft skin.

Your breath catches, your hands finding his hair again as he moves higher, lips grazing the hem of your panties.

“Jin,” you whimper, hips lifting instinctively.

He looks up at you from under his lashes, eyes dark and heavy with want.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough.

And he does. He always has.

Marriage isn't perfect. There were laundry piles, and grocery lists, and nights where you argued about stupid things like who left the milk out. But there were also nights like this—where love fills every crack in the walls, every heartbeat, every breath.

Where you loved each other so much, it was dizzying.

And God, you wouldn't trade it for the world.

You pull him up to you, mouths crashing together again, hands roaming, bodies desperate to be closer, closer, closer. He grinds into you, hard and aching, and you moan into his mouth, tugging him down so your bodies press perfectly together.

“Tell me you love me,” he pants against your lips, voice shaking.

“I love you,” you whisper without hesitation, cradling his face in your hands.

His eyes soften—sweet, vulnerable Jin. Your Jin. He kisses you again, pouring every ounce of love he has into it, into you.

And somewhere between the giggles, the flour, and the kisses, you realize—

Midnight baking disasters might just be your new favorite thing.

— Moon ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚.

[classicanalyzer]

Andor Season 2 Arc 2 Thoughts

"Upon my life and honor...For the peace and bounty of all things...My Full allegiance...A galaxy of worlds...A galaxy assembled...An Empire!" Oathkeeper

Andor Season 2's episode "Ever Been to Ghorman?", "I Have Friends Everywhere" and "What a Festive Evening" continue the hype train of Season 2. We get to explore the world of Ghorman further, which has not been explored other than a massacre on the world acting as the catalyst for the formation of the Rebel Alliance.

Cassian and Bix's relationship is sweet yet sad to see. Cassian wants to protect Bix, but he sometimes overprotects Bix and makes decisions where he'll do anything to protect her.

Bix's road to recovery is tough to see. It's clear the last three years' worth of trauma still affects her despite the healing she's able to undergo. It gets so bad to the point she takes drugs to try to sleep at night.

Everything about Saw Gerrera in this arc gives me chills. I can't tell if he did actually shoot an Imperial spy or is just paranoid, or both. You really can't tell at this point.

The Partisan base being on D'Qar is really fitting. It fits with how the Resistance was seen as an extremist organization by the New Republic, just like the Partisans.

Saw Gerrera inhaling the Rhydonium really showcases Saw's descent into madness by showing how the various gases he inhaled throughout his life are starting to affect him. At this point, the Geonosis poison is the last straw on Saw's health. The heavy implication that the labor camp story took place before the CW Onderon Arc is really horrifying. It's even more incredible that Saw in the CW Onderon Arc looks sane despite all of that, tho it would explain why he's so eager to take the fight to the Separatists.

Wilmon's journey to becoming a Partisan really showcases how he's been holding back all this anger. Luthen probably told him that holding back anger to focus on the bigger picture is necessary, but based on what we see, Wilmon's desire for revenge to hit the Empire back fits more with the Partisans than with Luthen's rebel group.

"Remember this. Remember this moment! This perfect night. You think I'm crazy? Yes, I am. Revolution is not for the sane. Look at us. Unloved. Hunted. Cannon fodder. We'll all be dead before the Republic is back and yet... here we are. Where are you, boy? You're here! You're not with Luthen. You're here! You're right here, and you're ready to fight! We're the rhydo, kid. We're the fuel. We're the thing that explodes when there's too much friction in the air. Let it in, boy! That's freedom calling! Let it in. Let it run! Let it run wild!" Saw Gerrera

The Oathkeeper swearing in the new Imperial Senators is incredibly chilling. At this point, the Imperial Senate feels more like a cult than an actual institution designed to help the people of the galaxy. You can see how Mothma is getting really sick and angry of the Imperial Senate's inability to help people and the Senators' own fears of doing anything that might offend the Emperor and the Empire. Mothma's and Krennic's debate is just great and a sign of the upcoming Mothma's speech against the Emperor.

Bail Organa recast was expected, and I do like that they recast rather than do a deepfake. I really hope we get to see Bail interact with Luthen.

I really love Kleya and how she's been given more focus in this season.

We can also see how Luthen's operations do not fit well with the growing rebel movement, as he and Kleya are getting overwhelmed with the amount of information on rebel activity.

I will say Syril actually makes for a good spy. Who would've known? I wonder if by the next arc, he'll grow more comfortable with the Ghorman Rebels or will still be a fanatically loyal Imperial. Either way, the Ghorman Massacre will change him if he survives the event.

The ISB operations feel so disturbing as they treat all the increasing arrests like it's an average office day. We also see how the ISB is clearly failing at doing that, as the number of arrests is too high for them.

Ghorman is such a vibrant planet, and we get to learn so much of its culture after getting a tease in the first episode. Similar to Ferrix, we spend a lot of time understanding the social dynamics, culture, businesses, and politics of the world.

I really love how the EU version of the Ghorman Massacre is still Canon. It also gives more reason for the Ghorman protests, as they know firsthand, before their shipping lanes were cut, about Imperial injustice towards them.

The Ghorman language and Ghorman Front parallels with France and the French Resistance.

While I understand Cassian's point about the Ghorman rebels not being experienced, and we know the Imperials want the rebels to act, I do agree with Carro Rylanz and the Ghorman Rebels that to do nothing is still playing into the Imperial hands. At this point, I support the rebels that even if the situation is a trap of sorts, we might as well do something and prepare for further Imperial responses.

Vel and Cinta finally got back together...and Cinta died in a freak accident from one of the trigger happy Ghorman rebels. I feel this is a bury the gays trope moment. Vel does have a great speech, both as an eulogy for Cinta and a scathing "you suck" speech to the triggy happy rebel who brought a weapon when he wasn’t supposed to.

Bix getting her revenge on Gorst is pure catharsis and karma. Cassian and Bix truly make a great spy couple.

The next arc is the Ghorman Massacre and Mothma's speech against the Emperor...we're getting closer to Rebels S3-S4 and Rogue One.

There's one thing left to say: all roads lead to Scarif and Yavin IV.

"Are you crying? Are you? Look at me. Look at me! There's no place to hide. Look at me. I'm not going to say 'remember this,' because I don't have to. This is on you now. This is like skin. You're taking her with you wherever you go for the rest of your useless life. Don't you look away from me. She was a warrior. She was everything that you have daydreamed about. She was a blooded, fearless warrior whose loss will be mourned in ways that you will never understand. She was a miracle. And you...To die like this because of you...Some whining, simpering, foolish child. Don't you dare cry. You'll make up for this forever." Vel Sartha

[sebastianxthomas]

He knew he did more then he could, he did make better money as the head chef. A lot more then most did at the restaurant. But it was new york after all so it was far from him making a lot of money. "I did but still it sucks to know it hit a lot of the staff pretty hard" he hoped they all were doing well today.

He nodded, he knew so many people came into his life for a short period of time and left, and he never would see them again. Some he would and some who knew. He knew his parents were a short time in his life, and would never be again, but he was thankful for his adoptive parents; he really loved them.

"It's very wild that it's all happened... that we found each other again." he smiled at her, having to grab her hand again,n he liked it, he felt like it all did really matter that it happened. "Right? like a world apart and still can stay connected..." it was crazy but it happened with them. @simranxrathore

Simran’s expression softened as she listened, her hand just sitting there, idle, listening to the way he spoke. There was something in Sebastian’s voice—quiet, edged with regret—that tugged at something deep in her chest. “You did what you could,” she said gently, not out of pity but with a kind of quiet conviction. “And that’s more than most people ever bother to do. You saw them. You cared. That stays with people longer than you realize.”

Her gaze dropped for a moment, fingertips brushing the rim of the utensils in front of them. “I think about that a lot too... people who come and go, the ones who shift something in you just by being there at the right—or wrong—time. Even if it’s brief, it leaves an imprint. Sometimes it changes your whole path.”

She glanced back up at him, a small smile playing on her lips, something half-curious and half-wistful. “And yet here you are. After all these years. Another country, another chapter, and somehow... our paths crossed again.” Her voice dipped softer, not quite a question but tinged with wonder. “Maybe some connections don’t fade, even if you try to walk away from them.” | @sebastianxthomas

[comas-are-for-sleeping]

i love things that happen because of a specific thing

[epicfirestormer]

What I love about Hellboy and Abe Sapien's dynamic in the comics is that, if you came into this blind, you'd expect Abe to be the voice of reason or the straight man to Hellboy's impulsive and hotheaded personality. But no, Abe is more often than not the crazy one. Hellboy would deal with fighting evil monsters and bad guys by just sighing and getting it over with, while Abe is going rabid over tearing the creature apart when he does get into a fight. Hellboy acts like it's a 9-to-5 job and will reasonably talk things out with a guy that had nearly killed him before, Abe acts like a madman in a slaughter house and his first instinct is to shoot first kill second and ask third. They're both insane, but on completely different levels.

[hplonesomeart]

Guys call me crazy but I think the crazy robots would get along swimmingly. The tragic fact that these two don’t have more art interacting is an offense in my rule book and I have come to remedy that. They say you must manifest what you want to see in the world and this is me doing that jskjsksp. I will take initiative! Enjoy a smidgen of Mr. Puzzles and Mettaton art then. Although I think the only reason they initially decided to co-host collaborate together here was the prospect of getting more stars/ratings- because that’s show business babyyyy leverage off of famous people for viewssss/j

Also here is version without the speech/dialogue bubbles! Just two gay bots being fabulous and gossiping or something (platonically. Or you could lean into this being a ship I don’t really care lol). Maybe they’ll exchange some advice about the logistics of incorporating musical numbers in the boardcasts without losing too much revenue on the budget idk. Because if you think about it Mettaton did a musical number in a dress with Frisk and then Mr. Puzzles had his whole Creative Control moment. And both where marvelous performances by the way absolutely slay ✨

My “toxic trait” is supporting the theatrical livelihoods of fictional computers who have committed atrocities, and they both will probably never make an apology video for the attempted murders and trauma inflicting. Wow so girlboss of them :))

[queenlucythevaliant]

We see him come and know him ours

Russia: "Carol of the Russian Children," traditional // Kenya: The Nativity, Elima Njau // France: "Bring a Torch, Jeanette Isabella," Nicolas Saboly // Haiti: Madonna and Child, Ismael Saincilus // Australia: "The Three Drovers," William James // China: Tryptic by Lu Hongnian // Canadian/Algonquian: "Huron Carol," Jean de Brébeuf

[seyaryminamoto]

Scenes of a Peaceful World: Sokkla Saturdays 2024

Day Eight - Intuition

Rated: T

On FF.net//On AO3

"Do you ever get the feeling that mom and dad haven't told us everything?"

"Everything? What do you mean, Shun?"

"Well, it's just… I don't know. They have a lot of big friends, and they're all important people. Isn't it weird? Most my friends in school… their parents aren't like that. Ah, and all their parents know our parents, but our parents don't know theirs. Does that make sense?"

"I mean, our parents are famous. That's obvious, right?"

"But why?"

Hotaru bit her lip. She had no answers for that particular question… none that made sense, anyway. Shun pouted, sitting beside her by the fire, as Yuuna worked on some mysterious sculpture with a pile of ice, by Hotaru's other side.

"Dad's from the Southern Water Tribe," Shun said, glancing about himself, at the ornate, beautiful igloos, the strong ice walls, and of course, the beautiful fireplace they sat by. "This is where he was born. So why did he ever marry… w-well, someone from Fire Nation royalty?"

"Because they fell in love," Hotaru responded, simply.

"But how? Why? Are you sure it makes sense that they just…?"

"Why don't you ask them yourself?" Hotaru asked, with a wicked smile. Shun tensed up, cheeks heating up at once.

"B-because…! They're going to get all mushy and make fun of me for asking about that kind of thing," he grumbled. Hotaru chuckled. "See? You're making fun of me already!"

"You know, there's nothing wrong with admitting you're curious about romance," Hotaru said. Shun pouted, cheeks redder still. "If that's what you want to know…"

"That's not it! I've heard more than just… well, weird stories that make no sense about their relationship!" Shun exclaimed. "It's also about… how the war ended. Have you learned about that in school, Hotaru? B-because…!"

She had learned some things about it, certainly, but… not that much. Not at length. Hotaru frowned, eyeing her brother warily. He knelt by her now, careless to sink his knees in the snow.

"I don't know much about it. And everything I hear… doesn't sound real," Shun said, softly.

"I know," Hotaru sighed. "The Fire Nation lost and surrendered… Fire Lord Ozai was defeated. Our grandfather…"

"Mom doesn't talk about him much," Shun mumbled. "Everyone else says he was, uh, well…"

"A son of a bitch," Yuuna interjected: both her siblings winced.

"D-don't just blurt that out like that, Yuuna!" Hotaru said.

"We're not supposed to curse…" Shun swallowed hard.

"Nobody's listening. Doesn't matter," Yunna continued: the ice sculpture she worked on only continued to grow in size… though its shape still made no sense to her siblings.

"Either way…" Shun sighed, shaking his head. "I just don't think any of the stories we hear make much sense, you know? They're so… ridiculous?"

"But we have seen some of it ourselves," Hotaru pointed out. "Mom told us about the Spicy Ramen Challenge…"

"That's the only believable one."

"And the Spirit Library?"

"W-well, that's…! Very cool. I suppose. B-but do you seriously think our parents singlehandedly convinced a scary spirit owl that humanity wasn't that far gone and deserved a second chance?" Shun said, eyeing Hotaru skeptically. "We're talking about our parents here, you know? Just this morning they had an argument about the right way to pronounce 'leisure'… for twenty minutes!"

"They can take nonsense really far, that is true," Hotaru conceded. "But… they're really respected at their jobs, you know? People look up to them."

"That's what I don't understand. That's why… well, I want to know, but at the same time, I don't know if I do," Shun sighed, glancing towards the mountains. "Whenever we come here to visit grandfather… they always go on their own for a while and leave us here. Why… why do you think they do that? Are they keeping some big secret from us until they decide we're ready to hear it?"

"Thing is, Shun…" Hotaru sighed, folding her arms over her chest. "I have the feeling we've been hearing the truth since ages ago. You know… those bedtime stories they always tell us?"

"Oh, Princess Jing and her champion, Wentai?" Shun asked. Hotaru bit her lip. "What about that?"

"Don't you think it's weird how most people haven't heard of them? No one in school told us about those two great heroes of old…"

"U-uh, I guess not, but… I kind of figured mom and dad made them up?"

"They didn't!" Yuuna exclaimed, frowning. "Princess Jing and Wentai are a real legend!"

"That's what I think too," Hotaru said, with an awkward smile. "But… I just think their actual names aren't Jing and Wentai. And maybe they are hiding a thing or two anyway besides that, maybe they don't tell us the full story anyhow, but I think…"

"Heh? Heh?!" Shun's eyes widened, glancing between his sisters. "Y-you're not saying… Princess Jing is mom, and Wentai is dad? T-that's…! That's impossible!"

"You know, the more you believe it's impossible, the harder it will be for you to accept those secrets you're so worried about," Hotaru pointed out: Shun, however, was entirely beyond being reasoned with now.

"Wentai is so cool! He's like… the coolest non-bender ever! He fights and kicks so much, u-uh…"

"Ass!"

"Thank you, Yuuna, but… I mean, there's no way our goofball dad could be him! And Jing, w-well, she's nice, and she's the best firebender of her age, but I'm sure mom's cooler than her!"

"Well, I think they're both awesome," Hotaru smiled. Shun shuddered, shaking his head.

"There's just no way. There's just no way…!"

Hakoda smirked, witnessing the children's discussion from a safe distance – he supposed he'd have to report on Yuuna's curses to her parents, but he doubted it would make a difference, considering how the child tended to disregard any scolding that lacked logical, solid reasoning she could accept.

"So much intuition… and yet, always stopping just short of an uncomfortable truth. Sokka's son, that's for sure," he chuckled, dropping his head against the frame of his igloo's front door.

Should the kids sneak off now, following the tracks their parents left behind, they would be certain to find them in a whole different light right now. In the ruins of an old building, long demolished, by the bay where a dangerous battle had been won by the Southern Water Tribe…

"Still don't think this is the right way to go about this tradition of ours, love. We didn't have swords back then, remember?" Sokka smirked. Azula scoffed, raising her white blade in his direction.

"Humor your wife. What's the point of coming all this way without a rematch?" she smirked. Sokka laughed.

"I really shouldn't have put that thought in your head, all those years ago," he concluded. Azula chuckled, as he unsheathed his sword as well. "But it always feels right… coming back to where it all began with you."

"Just how far have we come this time, Wentai?" Azula asked, teasingly.

"Let's figure that out, Princess Jing," Sokka smirked. Azula huffed, twirling her sword in a teasing flourish before diving forth.

Their duels were never truly dangerous, if simply because they knew each other all too well, so used to sparring together that they would always be effortlessly synched. They moved smoothly, almost as though they danced, as though they were fire and water swirling side by side, never snuffing each other out, never clashing fully, only brushing together so lightly, causing sizzling electricity to bloom between them in consequence.

Their outcomes were seldom predictable, but this time, it was Sokka who found himself disarmed, with a blade by his throat. He smiled, raising his hands in surrender.

"Now… don't you dare yield," Azula teased him, stepping closer to him, without setting aside her sword. Sokka chuckled, basking in the tenderness and danger alike. "That would be no fun."

"I can think of a better way to settle this, then," Sokka teased her: Azula smirked as his arms slid around her body.

Her sword clattered over his once she dropped it, fully enticed into his embrace, kissing him deeply as the pale sunlight of the South Pole bathed them. Sokka pressed their brows together, nose gently nudging hers.

"Still think this is the right way to finish any arguments," he said. Azula scoffed.

"You're still pronouncing 'leisure' wrong."

"Am not!"

"Oh, please…!"

He dove in again, as though to prove his earlier words correct: Azula laughed, hands cupping his face first, then slipping around his neck so she could hug him tightly. Their careless laughter echoed across the pristine landscape, the place where so much had begun for the two of them, and where their ever-growing love never failed to find renewal and strength, providing the best warmth in a frigid landscape… highlighting the beautiful balance between fire and ice that the two lovers had long discovered by each other's side.

[bongosinferno]

Interesting thing with the Bethesda fallouts (I've been playing a bit of Fallout 4 recently) is that they, at least in my opinion, misunderstand the fun parts of the first 2 games. I don't think think the setting is a very important part in those games, it's a part of it but it's just set-dressing for the gameplay and fun quest stories and how the players interact with them. I think there's some potential in say Fallout 4 for interesting quests or stories (I've done a couple of quests but a lot of my knowledge is from the Joseph Andersson video), but the solutions to any story just leads back into the shooting gameplay loop. This is, I think, antithetical to the format of the originals, which were based a lot more in having the format of a TTRPG. If your TTRPG sessions all boiled down to shooting people with basically no alternative solutions to quests I think your players would get bored. Since it's got shooter mechanics this kind of salvages it, it becomes it's very different own thing. But the wonderful gameplay loop of those first two games is lost, and I kind of miss it. Man, I need to replay Fallout 2.

[theprinceandthewitch]

Hmm... it's interesting how they made Luz wear a witch's cloak in Hunting Palisman - the episode where she introduces Flapjack to Hunter. This is also the episode where Hunter defies Belos by choosing Luz over him. He goes back to his palace empty-handed and he doesn't hand over Flapjack to Belos. Unbeknownst to Hunter, he is following Caleb's footsteps.

But then, in Hollow Mind, they made the choice to have Luz not wear her witches cloak - instead they made Luz wear a jacket with a giant "E" on it. They could have given Luz a completely different outfit like they did in Hunting Palisman. But they don't... they make her wear this specific jacket...

...They also make Hunter wear Caleb's symbol in Hollow Mind... an episode where Luz and Hunter are trapped in Philip's mind... where we can see paintings of the two most important characters in Philip's life - his brother and a witch from another world.

But I'm sure this is all unintentional.

You know, like this is:

oh, nbd, just a painting being paralleled with the scene happening right before our eyes

here's a more high def image of the painting

Oh, hmm, okay, this is a painting of Caleb standing next to a witch with short dark brown hair and who just so happens to be a witch from another world. Both of them are startled by Philip...

Hunter, the Grimwalker who looks the most like Caleb, is standing next to someone who ALSO just so happens to be a witch from another world with short dark brown hair... both are startled by Philip's monster form...

Hmm, must be unintentional I guess.

there's also this:

Mhm, okay, I see... I see, very interesting. Here we have Caleb being lead away from Philip by a witch from another world after the brother's have a fall out. This fall out marks the point of no return for them, as Philip later kills Caleb out of anger.

Hunter and Philip's relationship completely deteriorates because of Luz, which leads to Philip's decision to kill Hunter. She shows Hunter Belos' true nature and she offers Hunter sanctuary at The Owl House right after he finds out Belos has been lying to him his whole life... Luz saves Hunter's life and changes it forever.

Hmmm... very interesting

But I'm sure this is unintentional [I'm being sarcastic]

[forlorn-plushie]

One thing I'd love to see Magpie lean into for the FLTTRPG is the opportunity deck. They mostly do PbtA and should continue in that genre, but the idea of having a deck of custom one-shot moves local to each region goes hard.

I do have high hopes for it, FB seems likely to be involved deep in the development compared to the Avatar game so it'll probably be strong.

[skitskatdacat63]

This is my personal crossover event of the century

[infizero]

oblivion theory is the best deltarune theory bcuz every inconsistency with the legend and the knight and everything is just explained away by "this whole premise is fabricated so you'll keep playing the game forever" and it also makes actual perfect sense

[bluberimufim]

The coolest thing about opera is that most of them have existed for actual centuries and people have just run out of normal ways to stage them. You either do something boring and predictable or you go off the fucking rails.

We've all been in this enclosure so long we've started losing our minds but we don't want to leave. In fact we want to see how much crazier we can get.