#fandom-musings

[hibernatingflame]

i believe the word you’re looking for is leviathan! there was an another reblog by @anyacad0 under op that mentioned leviathans and dragons are basically the same thing. interestingly, the aeon of Permanence’s name Long is a transliteration of 龙 (lóng) which means dragon.

and yeah i’m actually itching to translate properly soon but midterms are kicking me at the moment so i may be a little slow :’>

This lord ravager, the sun devourer (I think), wants to destroy The Permanence and The Voracity? (The symbol beside The Voracity symbol is for The Permanence. It was leaked awhile back in the game’s files but it hasn’t been used in game yet.)

[hibernatingflame]

if the theory that Mydei is a fragment of the original “Phainon” is true, doesn’t that mean phaidei/myphai is essentially selfcest- (yeeted into a wall)

[musings-of-an-aesthete]

Favourite Hatchetfield trios. In every version of the story.

TGWDLM x NPMD | Paul, Emma and Ted | Richie, Ruth and Pete

[bones-for-time]

Lots has has already been said of Gideon’s last words to Harrow being a biblical quote from the book of Ruth, due to their frequent inclusion in wedding vows (“The land that shall receive thee dying, in the same will I die: and there will I be buried”). However, the broader story of Ruth also has interesting implications for what Gideon understands of her lyctoral sacrifice.

The biblical Ruth is a Moabite who marries into Naomi’s family while they’re all living in Moab. After all the dudes in the family die, Naomi begs Ruth to return to her own people and her own gods because that’s her best chance of someone providing for her. As a foreigner, Ruth will have difficulty surviving in Naomi’s hometown of Bethlehem, and Naomi cannot save her, “[e]ven if I thought there was still hope for me.” The verse preceding the that bit Gideon quotes is “But Ruth replied, ‘Don’t urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God.’” Ruth does return to Bethlehem, where her bloodline produces both King David and Jesus.

Gideon understands enough of Lyctorhood to know that her sacrificial death will not actually be the end. She knows that Harrow will go back to the Ninth to serve the girl in the Tomb, and whatever remains of Gideon’s captive consciousness must go with her. As Gideon falls on the spike she envisions herself as part of the Ninth and the Ninth’s gates opening for her - not just because she is saving the Ninth by dying for Harrow - but because she’s choosing, in some tortured suspension, to stay there. Harrow’s people will be her people, and Harrow’s goddess in the Tomb will be her god.

[pancakesonapan]

this guy used to drive me crazy when i watched the show

[gothixm00nz]

The things I would've done for (and to) this man had I been given a chance...

[madamemiz]

sad: falling out of a hyperfixation

tragic: watching your beloved friends and mutuals fall out of the hyperfixation while you're still in it

[marstonsboy]

i can’t think about jack marston without nearly crying over just how sorry i feel for him. like, i’m sorry you were only four years old when the admittedly unstable support system you had fell apart. i’m sorry you didn’t have a real, permanent home until you were twelve, and i’m sorry you only got four years before that too was ripped away from you. i’m sorry you felt that you had to prove yourself otherwise your father would leave again like he’s done multiple times before. i’m sorry you felt so inferior you were unable to believe that your parents loved you so much and would have done anything for you. i’m sorry you had to pick up a gun and shoot at people at sixteen and kill a man for the first time at nineteen. i’m sorry you watched uncle die then watched your mother lose herself to grief over your father’s corpse, riddled with bullets in front of your home. i’m sorry you had to bury your mother only three years later. i’m sorry you lost your family and yourself and willingly threw your life away so young in the name of revenge no one wanted you to seek. i’m sorry you ended up all alone and grew up to be exactly the man your family did everything to save you from becoming. i’m so sorry jack marston.

[melodyofmbaku]

Signed in Crayon, Sealed in Cash (Smoke Moore x Annie x Stack Moore)

Preview: "Ain’t nothing to stress about mama. We done did this before.” he said while zipping up the back of her dress. 

Warning ⚠️: They're a Trio Word Count: 1.6k A/N Something less heavy but hopefully no less enjoyable. I really appreciate your comments/reblogs, it's what keeps me writing. Can't wait to hear what ya'll think! 😘 My Masterlist ___

The Moore’s had a problem. She was about 3 ft. tall and 5 years old. And a perfect combination of their unit. 

They really didn’t know what they were expecting. With their personalities it was no surprise that Ari turned out the way that she did. 

Smart, fearless, and most of all spoiled. 

That’s how the three found themselves in their bedroom discussing just how they got here.  

“You be telling her stuff Annie. Playing both sides against each other when it suits you.” Stack accused. He was looking at her through the mirror as he did up his shirt. 

Annie shrugged and admitted while lotioning her legs as she sat on the stool of her vanity.

“Just evening the playing field. It’s been ya’ll vs. me for so long. Lord saw it fit I get some backup. Ain’t a crime.” She huffed. 

“It’d be easier if your brother didn’t train her to be a master negotiator.” She looked at Smoke pointedly. 

The man sat on the bed and struggled to do up his cufflinks. He liked when Ari was able to make a good case. Prepositions and negotiations. He was setting her up for her future. 

Ari believed everything could be discussed. That made things particularly difficult when her parents wanted her to do simple things like eat her breakfast or take a bath. 

He shrugged. “That ain’t a bad thing. She’s our firstborn, she gon’ have responsibilities one day.” 

Still fiddling with the link he continued.

“It’s Stack’s “Whatever Ari wants Ari gets” mindset that’s the issue.” he said. 

“Oh I’m wrong?” The younger twin responded. 

“You want our baby to be out there — wanting? When she got not 1 but 2 able bodied daddies and a mama to boot? The hell she will.”

“Ari gets what Ari wants. And that’s law.” The man huffed before stalking over to do up his brother’s cufflinks. 

“Well that law is why we gotta put on this big ol’ party. Mind you— it’s for the dang dog.” Annie deadpanned. 

“You love that dog.” Stack replied over his shoulder... “It’s your dog!” 

“Not the point.” She replied singsongingly. 

But it was true — Ari had them getting all dressed up to throw a birthday party for their rottweiler — Peony — named after Annie's favourite flower.  She had had them invite the neighbors and everything. 

It was a sight to see Smoke standing uncomfortably at their neighbours door inviting them over for a party over the weekend. He thought about bailing but when he looked down at the small hand that held his on those doorsteps — how could he not do everything she wanted? 

At first the trio thought she'd forget about it. Let things die down, she was a kid. How hard would it be? But not their Ari, she was steady counting down the days. 

Smoke recalled knocking on her bedroom door earlier in the week to get her up and downstairs for breakfast. Annie had sent him up and little did he know he’d come down with a tot and a task.

He had barely got her into the kitchen before the girl started her campaign.

“It’s bout’ 4 days for Peony’s party, daddy. I’m gon’ need a new dress.” She said while scooting into her chair at the table.

Smoke grimaced. Earlier that week Annie had whispered sweet things into his ear and looked at him with them eyes and he found himself signing a cheque to add a plethora of new crystals to her collection — it was witchcraft if you asked him.  

Ari wasn’t big on things like that but she was big on looking pretty. If he’d have to blame anyone for that it’d be Stack - she def got that from him.

Annie—still tugging her robe belt into a hurried knot—arched a brow. Ten seconds earlier she’d been pinned between Stack and the corner cabinets, with hands greedily exploring her body and lips full of flour-dusted promises. The moment little footsteps hit the stairs, Stack sprang back, palms in the air like a boy caught in the pantry.

Now he leaned against the counter, trying for nonchalance.

“Thought Peony was happy just turnin’ six with extra gravy,” Annie said, smoothing her collar.

“Peony’s a lady, Mama. Mr. Whitlock’s taking a picture, and I gotta look fancy standing next to her.”

Stack stifled a grin and leaned on the counter. “Girl’s got priorities. Told Whitlock I’d give ’im fifty cents to set up the backdrop.”

Smoke crouched to put slippers on her feet, hiding the faint tremor in his wrist. “Pictures cost money. I best hear a counter-offer, Miss Moore.”

Ari pulled a folded paper from her dress pocket —crayoned swirls titled Daddy & Me. She slid it into his hands like a lawyer presenting evidence.

Stack gave a low whistle. Annie’s mouth twitched.

Smoke shot them a look.

He felt his chest thud a slow, traitorous beat. She knew how to pull on his heart strings. He smoothed the paper. “Fine draftsmanship,” he murmured. “But a good proposition needs terms.”

She lifted 3 little fingers.

“I’ll take my bath every night ’til the party— with no sassin’.”

“Well praise be.” Annie muttered. 

“I’ll eat all my breakfast, even when there ain’t peaches.” She looked at Stack pointedly. 

The girl was obsessed with peaches. She’d have em’ on the side of every breakfast if she could. On days she couldn't, she rarely cleared her plate.

Stack scoffed. He had a tendency to fuss when she didn’t eat enough, it looked like she knew exactly what it’d do to him. 

“Mama gets a dress too, ’cause she works hardest.” Her third and final term. 

Annie grinned. ““That’s my girl.”

Peony’s tail thumped beneath the table as if seconding the motion.

The man looked from Ari’s earnest face to Annie’s surprised smile, then back. He blew out a breath. How could he say no to his girls?

“Reckon that’s a respectable bargain,” he said, tapping the paper once. “But keep every promise, else that dress stays at the shop. Your mama will take you on Friday.”

Ari grinned wide before rewarding him with a smooch on his cheek. “Yes, sir!” She grabbed her piece of toast and scurried back up to her bedroom. No doubt to scheme and celebrate some more.

Stack muttered, “Dog’s birthday gonna bankrupt us,” but the pride in his voice gave him away.

Peony barked once—deal sealed and Mr. Whitlock’s fifty cents practically spent.

The girl had won. Again.

Smoke glanced at Annie— lips kiss bruised, robe belt in a crooked knot—and at Stack, who tried to look serious while hiding a proud grin. For half a second Smoke thought we’re raising a tiny Stack in ribbons and lace. The idea was terrifying.

Smoke shook his head before he tucked the drawing into his pocket, half-amused, half-resigned. Four days, he’d thought. Girl’s gonna hold us to every word.

Four dawns later, the house hummed with party nerves as they continued to get dressed.

Back in the master bedroom Smoke buttoned a starched collar, Stack tugged suspenders into place, and Annie—in a half-fastened dress—did up the clasp of her bracelet while side-eyeing the men.

Stack continued on.  “Never seen a dog rack up so many charges.”

Annie scoffed. “Dog didn’t do it—your daughter did.” She smoothed her bodice, thinking how Ari had spent the last three evenings taking her baths without sass and gulping every crumb of breakfast down without peaches.

“I’ll fry up the catfish around 6. That time everyone would had come round’ — Sun would be lower. ” she said to herself, almost a reminder. 

Stack looked up from his brothers cufflinks before crossing over to his wife. He took her hand and pulled her up from her vanity to assess her, brushing some lint off her dress.

He wasn't ignorant to the fact that Annie wanted the party to be perfect for her baby, regardless of the occasion.

“Ain’t nothing to stress about mama. We done did this before.” he said while zipping up the back of her dress. 

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “You a good mother. She loves you so much. We talk bout’ spoiling her, but we’d have it no other way. Just a couple hours now.”

She took a breath, and looked up at her man before responding, softer. “After the party, she’ll be asleep in five minutes.”

Smoke confirmed from across the room. “Whole house will.”

Stack stopped them. “Nah, then it’s grown-folk time.” Smiling wickedly. 

Smoke’s mouth curved— “Let’s get through the day before we talk grown-folk plans.”

Stack snagged the tin of pomade, Smoke pocketed the bow for Ari's hair, and Annie gathered her skirt. Together—three parents in harmony—they headed down to the yard, ready to celebrate the most elaborate Rottweiler birthday rural Mississippi had ever seen.

It wasn’t long before the party was in full swing. The backyard bloomed with bustle: neighbors laughing over lemonade jars, kids darting after bubbles, and Mr. Whitlock adjusting his big box camera beside the barn wall.

Peony—ribbon tied, coat brushed—sat on a low crate like a queen in waiting. Ari, face bright with excitement, raced over the grass toward her parents.

“Picture time!” she squealed, tugging Annie’s hand first, then Smoke’s sleeve, then Stack’s trouser leg for good measure.

Annie knelt, smoothing Ari’s dress. “Where you want us, Sugar?”

Ari pointed—one finger left, one right—no words needed. Smoke took his place to Peony’s left; Stack claimed the right. Annie settled between the dog and her daughter, fitting just so.

Whitlock ducked under the dark cloth, shouted, “Hold still… three… two—”

Click.

For a second, everything held: Ari’s proud grin, Peony’s patient pant, Annie’s soft exhale, the boys steady hands resting atop Annie’s back.

The moment printed itself on more than just film.

The party rolled on—getting funner as the night progressed, children chasing chickens, Peony gnawing a birthday bone bigger than her head. The trio moved through it together—not flawless, but whole—while Mr. Whitlock’s camera cooled in the shade, holding proof that love, once negotiated, can still develop clear.

__

A/N Thought I'd give ya'll some sugar after what I put you though in Touch of a Woman 🤭 For those curious about how we got here... you'd enjoy Late, but Loved.

I am still working on the fic with Annie soft-domming Smoke. This has been one of the most challenging works I've written. I've got to get the dynamic just right. But it will come!

Always eager to hear your thoughts and encouragement it keeps me writing. Can't wait to hear what ya'll think 🥰

____

My other works can be found in My Masterlist. Thanks for reading!

___

All Fic Taglist - Interested in my future works? Let me know if you'd like me to add you to my tag list. @chaneajoyyy @pyraomen @browngirldominion @sarcastic-sunshines @rolemodelshit @bbymuthaaa @boonoonoonus @joysofmyworld @twistedsistas-stuff @blackctrl

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[blood-starved-beast]

love how the only naked tiddy jiggle fanservice we get in Dunmeshi is when Falin is a large quadrupedal chimera monster. Ryoko Kui is not beating the Monsterfucker allegations and will continue to not beat the Monsterfucker allegations.

[quinloki]

I’m curious

Explain in the tags no matter what you vote for if you want to ^_^

[hibernatingflame]

Theory: Trailblazer is a Hercules reference

a bit of a ramble post but bear with me. 3.4 leaks briefly mentioned

based on my Flame Reaver is Prometheus theory

context: assuming FR is Prometheus and Phainon is a mix of Prometheus and Phaenon references

in the Greek legend, Hercules is the hero that frees Prometheus from punishment for stealing fire form the gods. so if FR/Phainon/their original entity's punishment is repeating the cycles in Amphoreus, would TB be the Hercules that breaks the cycle and frees FR/Phainon/their og entity from their punishment (fate)?

reasoning:

TB does not appear to have a "real" hero arc yet compared to the other demigod heirs

despite being an outside, TB's high involvement with the coreflames seem to be setting them up for some form of hero arc. having them play a role in breaking the Amphoreus cycles and freeing Phainon does seem like a suitable hero arc for them.

(plus Hercules is a convenient protagonist figure to reference in terms of writing)

if the path of destruction really has something to do with Amphoreus, TB's landing in Amphoreus also appears to parallel Akivili's visit to Nanook's home star system before Nanook ascended.

the demigod of worldbearing is said to be the one to usher in the era nova, but creating a new world has implications of destroying the previous world. given Phainon's imminent crashout + his eventual inheriting the worldbearing coreflame, world destruction to end the cycles does seem like something he'd be capable of doing.

if Phainon is truly connected to the path of destruction and/or Nanook, the path of trailblaze encountering path of destruction parallels certainly check out.

EXTRAS:

recently i have been talking myself out of the “Cyrene is March/Mem” theory. gut feeling: Cyrene increasingly feels like she was a catalyst planted beside Phainon to push him into whatever the higher powers (Nanook? someone else?) wanted him to do. i do think Mem and March are connected, but not necessarily to Cyrene. haven't thought too deep into these though.

[tofixtheshadows]

I really dislike the takes I keep seeing from The Hunger Games fandom to the tune of "Systemic oppression, violence, poverty, and trauma shouldn't make you bitter or angry, and that's why Peeta is a good person and Gale isn't <3" and I really don't like what it says about our culture as a whole when it sees anger as a response to oppression as a character flaw.

[musings-of-an-aesthete]

Kaz Brekker and Jesper Fahey

SHADOW AND BONE | 01x01 A Searing Burst of Light

[loonyloopylupin96]

Was Remus' boggart always the moon, or did it only become that when he no longer had to fear losing everyone he loved?

[wisteriasymphony]

Wouldn't it be fucked up to visit a wax museum and look your younger self in the eyes.

Wouldn't it be fucked up to know that the 'you' people find worth preserving is a 'you' you can never go back to, maybe never were to begin with. That the 'you' that the people find worth preserving is one so fundamentally without personhood, without agency.

Wouldn't it be fucked up if the way people immortalized you was as an accessory to your mother, 'your' wax seamlessly pushed against her wax as the wax mother holds 'you' so fondly, yet so distantly, 'you' looking at her but not her to you. Your name isn't even on the placard at her feet, just hers. Wouldn't it be fucked up if this is the first time you had seen your mother in four years, and here she is, reminding you that you'll never escape her?