#more from the forum playlist

[sanguinesorcery]

Ego Likeness -- Aviary

[sweeterthanficstion]

— between here and there || l.s.k

pairing: ghost!leon kennedy x ghosthunter!fem!reader

tags: set in 2001, graphic depictions of dead animals one is right under the cut, mentions of death, mentions of grief, mentions of violence, themes of obsession and love, implied/referenced childhood abuse inflicted by a parent, typical horror topics. (if i missed anything pls dm me and let me know!!)

summary: Even if it is full of love, all a ghost can do is haunt. Or: The year is 2001, and you've just found out about a haunted homestead on a prairie, sure to hold a million mysteries within its rotting walls. You've chased rumors of the supernatural before, but this place feels... different. Maybe this time, you'll find the evidence you need to prove the existence of the other side—and finally go viral. But quickly you come to learn that some doors, once opened, can't be shut.

word count: 6.6k

a/n: i wrote 80% of this fic on my phone, so i'm sorry if it reads badly 😔, i hope you enjoy regardless though! and things will make more sense in the coming parts, i promise <3 also; thank you claudia for beta-reading for me!! n also thank you @/uhlunaro for bone-chill, go read their work!! it's so good n inspired this fic.

playlist ⭑ AO3 || back to the party ⭑ next (coming soon) »

You were eight when you saw your first ghost. Your mother had found you with your face pressed up against the living room window, eyes wide as you stared out into your backyard, convinced there was a dog by the fence that was staring right back.

Your mother had ushered you back to bed, murmuring about how there was no dog out there, and you needed to sleep. But you saw him! You swear it! Floppy ears and a bone between his teeth.

You couldn’t sleep that night, tossing and turning and anxiously waiting for morning to come. By the time the sunlight had crept through your window, you scampered outside to prove it. You’d spent nearly an hour out in the early morning cold, digging, digging, digging with your bare hands, until eventually, you found it, something that wasn’t a dog—not anymore, anyway.

Wrapped in a plastic bag you found it, decayed skin clinging stubbornly to yellowed ribs poking through like splintered wood. Its jaw hung open, snapped and crooked, patches of fur still clinging to the skull, matted until it resembled something more like melted plastic. There was a sense of grief that came with finding its body, a suffocating presence that weighed down over your little lungs, tightened your oesophagus, made your stomach clench.

You gave the rotting dog carcass a proper burial. 

A grave by the oak tree, dirt pressed down gently over its brittle body as if the dog might still feel it, a ring of daisies set atop in remembrance. When you finally stood, wiping mud-stained hands on your pants, you could feel your mother’s eyes on you, her silence heavier than her words ever were.

After that, her patience thinned. She’d catch you whispering to empty rooms, her voice sharper each time, the snap of her voice was soon paired with the snap of a belt. The corners of your room were just corners, she’d say. The shadows were just that; shadows. 

You stopped talking about it, but the flashes of something stayed—the fleeting movements, the whispers, the shadows that lingered in the corners of your vision. The haunting weight of it all clung to you like a thick blanket, creeping in with every bump in the night, until curiosity bled into something deeper. 

Eventually, you gave up waiting and started searching, looking for answers between ghost-hunting forums and haunted houses. 

And now, years later, you’re chasing a truth you’re still yet to prove. 

You jolt from your thoughts the same time the van does over a potholed, eyes snapping to the stretch of dirt road before you. The homestead comes into view, your breath catches in your throat at the sight of it—looking every bit more eerie when bathed in hues of twilight than it did in the grainy two-bit photos on your laptop screen. 

Luis lets out a low whistle from the driver’s seat, before he clicks his tongue and puts the car into park. “Well, we’ve seen worse.”

Luis says it with an air of carelessness you struggle to stomach under the looming shadow of the homestead. He’s never believed in the paranormal the same way you do, always the wind, always a shadow to him, everything has an explanation. Never a ghost, never a spirit.

Yet, he sticks with you, out of what sense of loyalty you’re not entirely sure, but you’re grateful all the same. Maybe it’s the remnants of a childhood bond that keeps him tethered to your side, echoes of sleepovers and whispered secrets, of nights spent laughing over nothing, long before you were chasing shadows and seeking the dead.

It’s not that Luis doesn’t care—he does, more than he’ll ever admit. He just doesn’t see the world the way you do. And that’s okay. He doesn’t have to believe. You do.

He slides out of the car easily, no doubt eager to unpack the camera gear. You hear the back of the van slide open, before you finally make the decision to move, feeling as if your bones have stuck themselves together—rigor mortis.

The homestead looks like it’s rotting from the inside out. Once-grand pillars holding up the front porch that have long since bowed, wood that rots and splinters from years of neglect. The windows, fogged over with dust, are cracked and warped as if the house itself has been trying to keep the world out for far too long.

“What even happened here?” Luis asks, eyeing the decayed structure with a grimace as the both of you step onto the creaking front porch.

In truth, the research had been thin. The house didn’t show up on any official ghost-hunting registry, and there wasn’t much mention of it in local history. But there were enough stories, enough pieces of something to make you believe it was worth the three hour plane trip.

If no one else could get proof, then maybe you could. This could be your big break, could be your skyrocket to supernatural stardom—If that was even really a thing.

“A lot. Murders, disappearances, all the fun stuff.” You joke, flashing a wide grin over your shoulder, trying to ease the pit in your chest, and find amusement at the way Luis shivers at the mention of murders. His shoulders stiffen enough to make you bite back a laugh.

Luis fixes you with a hard stare. “You’re not right, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Plenty of times,” you reply, grin only widening. You reach up and give his cheek a playful pat, “You’re not special.”

He rolls his eyes and you’re well aware he doesn’t buy your teasing, but that’s half the fun. You slip past him to check out the entryway, Luis trailing behind with his camera over his shoulder.

Luis keeps his distance as you wedge the door open. A thick layer of dust comes loose with the movement, swirling with the fading light and wafting straight into your face. You cough violently, waving it away with a grimace.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Luis mutters, adjusting the lens of his camera.

“Nothing’s going to happen—” And as if infuriatingly on cue, the door slips from your gasp and slams shut with a bone-rattling thud.

The both of you jump despite yourselves—Luis lets out a yelp that he stifles with a cough, while you freeze, hand still hanging in the air where the door had once been.

The silence that follows is deafening. You stare at the door for a beat, pulse-quickening as if it might just spring open again on its own, while you feel the burn of Luis’ gaze in the back of your neck, waiting for you to explain it away with your usual bravado.

You lower your hand slowly, give him a sidelong glance. You take a step back from the door as if daring it to open or slam shut again. “Well. That’s one way to make an entrance.”

Luis glares at you. “Yeah, real funny. Can we leave now?”

Rolling your eyes, you reach for the handle and tug the front door open again, choosing to ignore Luis’ insistence. The homestead is as quiet as you imagined it’d be, even so you can’t shake the eeriness of the silence. You swear you can hear static in your head.

Luis hands you a flashlight, which you flick on before toeing the warped floorboards. The wood groans beneath you, but it holds, so you plant your foot fully inside, waiting for the house to react. One second. Two.

Nothing.

With a relieved sigh you step deeper into the homestead. The pale remains of sunlight filter through grimy windows, while dust swirls lazily in the beam of your flashlight as you sweep it across the room.

“Are you recording?” You whisper over your shoulder to Luis, who gives a quick nod, a thumbs-up flashing in your periphery.

The homestead opens up around you—parlour to the left, kitchen and dining room through the door on the right, and a staircase, old and worn, curling up toward the shadows in the back.

“We’ll set up in the parlour,” you murmur, moving toward it. Your hand brushes against the wall as you reach for the light switch, fingers hesitant. You flick it, expecting nothing. But then the chain bulb overhead sputters to life, casting a weak, flickering glow across the room.

“Huh,” you breathe. “Not bad.”

Nightfall comes sooner than you would’ve hoped, and you’re starting to understand why there’s so little about this homestead online. In the two long hours you and Lewis have been here, the silence has remained unbroken. The EMF reader has not spiked once and the camera has picked up nothing. No doors have slammed, nothing has creaked strangely, not even an unsettlingly cold gust of wind. 

Maybe this place is a waste of time, another dead end to add to your already growing list. You contemplate if packing the van up now is a good option. But yet, yet—you can’t shake the feeling that there is something waiting for you here, just beyond reach. A presence. A secret.

There’s still upstairs, a voice nags at the back of your head. Rooms yet to explore, yet to be turned inside out so you can find what’s hidden in the confines of this home’s brittle bones.

Luis follows behind as you carve a path up the stairs, flicking the stairwell light on and waiting for the flicker of the bulb to cease into a steady hum. It takes a moment too long, and your fingers twitch at the edge of your flashlight.

You never did shake your fear of the dark.

Upstairs, the floor is dappled in the pale glow of the moon. You sweep your flashlight through the shadows, the light catching on each warped surface, every peeling edge of wallpaper, casting lonesome shadows across the splintering floors. You watch the EMF reader calibrate and tick in your hand as you tread further down the hallway. The air up here feels heavier, like it’s holding its breath, waiting for you.

That’s when you see it.

Or him, rather. 

At first, you make out nothing but a vague shape standing at the end of the hallway, a shadow where there shouldn’t be one.

But as your eyes adjust, you make out the figure’s skin; a sickly pale, marred with crawling veins like rivers of ink. He has hair like dull flaxen straw, eyes that are such a piercing blue you make them out even in the dark. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as a chill crawls down your spine. You take a step back, stumbling into Luis, who nearly drops the camera.

The light overhead flickers dramatically before the bulb bursts with a sharp pop, plunging the hall into sudden darkness. Your EMF reader spikes violently in time with your heart slamming against your ribs, and in the panic, you scramble to bring up your flashlight—but as the beam sweeps over him, he vanishes, parts of his body disintegrating into the light, like bend the rules of physics themselves, like something wrong.

“Is that—?” it hits Luis the same time it hits you. Not a person. A ghost.

But there’s no haunting glow, no cloud of smoke. He doesn't float; in fact he doesn’t move at all. Instead, the air grows thick, an oppressive weight that threatens to shatter your ribs inwards and pierce into your lungs.

You hear him. The sickly sound of breathing, a rasping inhale followed by an exhale, like a death rattle. The noise crawls under your skin, itches against your bones.

Your own breath catches in your throat in favour of hearing his. The sound swells, crescendos, then tithers to nothing. Silence, like buzzing in your ears, is all that’s left behind. Slowly, you peel your  eyes open, the ghost is nowhere to be seen.

You come back to reality like ungluing yourself from a fly trap—slowly, sticky, the numbness in your body ceases.

“Did you.. Did you get that on tape?” You ask Luis between bated breath, eyes still glued to the wall where he had been.

Luis swallows hard, his breathing ragged. He fumbles with the camera, fingers trembling, flipping through settings with a frantic sort of urgency. His face drains of colour as he checks the screen. The camera blinks, sputters.

Panic surges as you rush downstairs, tripping over your feet. Luis yanks the camera from his shoulder, flipping it open to review the footage. His hands move fast, flipping through buttons…

Then, the camera shuts off with a mechanical click, the small screen fading to black.

"No, no, no," Luis mutters, voice tight with frustration. He pulls out the tape reel, and the acrid smell hits you first. He stares at it, brow furrowing. You step closer, peering over his shoulder. The reel is ruined—burnt and blackened beyond recognition, as if scorched by something unseen.

Neither of you says a word.

“Sorry, we’re full.”

The words feel like a death sentence this late at night. Luis sighs sharply, his breath fogging up the plexiglass screen between him and the motel keeper. “There’s got to be something, no? Just one room,” he mutters, pushing the crumpled fifty across the counter one more time, almost pleading.

The motel keeper eyes the money, before shaking her head. “I’m serious, hon,” she says, her voice flat, tired. “We’re booked solid. You can try the highway if you’re desperate.”

You’re really only half-listening to the exchange, shivering from the cold as you lean by the side of the van parked under the carport. 

The motel sign above flickers weakly, casting uneven shadows across the parking lot, the words The Black Dog barely legible in the failing neon glow. Cerberus snarls from the sign like a bad omen, one head flickering on and off as if it’s ready to give up entirely.

After the encounter at the homestead, neither Luis nor yourself could shake the feeling of dread that had settled like a thick fog, a weighted blanket that provided more unease than comfort. The decision to leave for the night had been easy, but now, standing outside in the frigid air, you’re starting to feel the sting of bad luck. There are only two motels in this entire town—one’s closed for maintenance, and this one, The Black Dog, is fully booked.

Luis pulls back from the counter with a groan, stuffing the money into his pocket as he joins you outside. “No luck,” he mutters, breath curling in the chilled air.

But you're distracted, focused on the yellowing photographs lining the walls behind the motel keeper’s desk, town history captured in fleeting moments behind dusty glass. Your eyes widen in realisation when you note the homestead is in one of them. A farmer’s family stands at the front of it; a husband, a wife, his daughter and two sons.

You quickly rush up to the window, leaning down closer to the little cutout in the plexiglass as you rest your elbows on the counter. “That photo,” You start, finger pressed to the plastic surface, “do you know who the people in it are?”

The motel keeper swivels in her squeaky office chair, her eyes widening with a sort of realisation. “Them? Well they’re the original settlers of this land,” She hums, turning back. “Their family were the first to come this far east, their father built that homestead with his bare hands.”

“What happened to them?” You ask, your curiosity piqued. Desperate for more, desperate for answers. Although, your ghost looks nothing like any of the men in the picture.

“Well they died,” The motel keeper says, something akin to god-fearing in her voice. “But whatever malevolent force has been haunting that place never did.”

You stare at her, wide-eyed and unblinking. Luis fills in for you where you can’t. 

“You’re not serious,” he says, but it comes out more like a question than a statement.

“Dead serious, hon. That place is no good. They say the prairie wind drove that family mad—” she states, sticking a thumb over her shoulder to point to the picture “—we’re just not so sure it was the wind that did it.”

You decidedly spend that night in the back of the van, parked right outside the homestead on that old gravel path. 

The wind whistles terribly and you begin to understand what they mean by prairie fever—you can’t fathom what it would’ve been like, out here, all alone with nothing but the wind and the wolves.

“Something’s wrong,” Luis murmurs just loud enough for you to hear. You turn your head, watching as he stares at the ceiling of the van.

There is a sudden unease that settles in your chest, watching him like this. Luis has never been rattled by the dark, never questioned the supernatural because he didn’t have a reason to. In many ways, he has been your anchor.

And what is a ship without its anchor?

You hum, mirroring his movements and righting your neck to stare up at the ceiling. “Luis, you say this every—”

“No, I mean it.” He cuts in, a certain urgency to his words. “We saw something, I saw it. He was–” His words die, fizzle into nothing on his tongue as if it’ll be a sin to refer to the shadow as anything more than just a shadow. “We can’t go back in there.”

You understand… yet you don’t.

“This is the closest we’ve ever been Luis, what do you mean we can’t?” Your words are oddly calm despite the desperation they clearly convey, “You know how much this means to me.”

Luis sighs, “I get it, I’m just not sure this is a good idea.” He hesitates. “I think… I think we’re way in over our heads this time.”

“I’ll be careful. I promise.”

Luis holds you to it.

A car crash—that’s what you see in your dream. Although, it feels more like a vision; a premonition or maybe a memory. 

You’re trapped behind your own eyes, sitting rigid in the passenger seat. There’s the sound of tyres screaming against the asphalt, a horrible blur of red and blue, glass and smoke. 

The car swerves hard, jerking your body with it, weightless, floating, falling. The ground falls away, and for a split second, there’s nothing. Just the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. 

You try to catch a glimpse of the driver, but your eyes are glued to the chaos that unfolds before you. You catch a glimpse of the side of his face, shadowed in the flickering lights. Just the curve of his jawline—sharp, familiar.

And then you slam into a tree.

The night is much less forgiving than day. In moonlight, your mind is left to fill in the gaps, pulls at the seams of reality, and paints over it with every fear you’ve ever had the cowardice to bury. A creak in the floor becomes footsteps. A sigh of wind becomes a distant cry. 

But daylight? Daylight spills over the horizon like a gentle promise. In daylight, things feel explainable. Safe. You do not falter and question the shape of shadows, each one is tethered to something, tangible and real, solid in your grasp.

Yet the homestead does not follow these rules.

The walls bleed with secrets you’ve yet to learn, each groan of the floorboards underneath your gentle footsteps sounds like another pair is following closely behind. Light spills through windows, but  it dies before it reaches the corners, and does not fill the room the way it should.

It’s that morning, one hour into your second investigation, that you smell it—something faint at first that quickly grows stronger, souring the air with each breath you suck in. It’s familiar but unwelcome, the unmistakable stench of decay. Luis notices it too, his nose wrinkling as he glances toward the far end of the hallway.

“Do you smell that?” he asks, his voice quiet.

You nod. 

The smell rots. It festers the further you walk down the hallway, intensifying until it clings to you like a second skin. It seeps through the floorboards, through every crack in splintering wood, and it leads you to a door. The one at the end of the hallway from the night before. The one you didn’t manage to open because he had been there.

Luis nudges you with his elbow. “Ladies first.”

“Very brave,” you mutter, pushing the door open.

Inside, the room is cold, the air heavy with dust. Yellowing and peeling wallpaper lines the walls, a dusty bed in the corner, a dresser by the opposite wall and a wardrobe by the adjacent one.

But what draws your attention are the walls—every inch covered in horrifying jagged scratches, as if something had clawed at the walls in a frenzy of desperation.

N-O-E-L.

The letters are scrawled over and over, the same pattern repeated a millennia of times. They twist and turn, written backwards and mirrored, as if whatever had left them behind had longed for a voice it had forgotten how to use.

“What the hell…” Luis murmurs, stepping closer with his polaroid camera, the shutter sounding as he snaps a few photos of the scratches. “What are we dealing with, the ghost of Christmas past?”

You swallow, admittedly now confused. “What does that even mean?” You muse, walking towards a wall and running your fingers over the splintering wood.

“His name, maybe?” Luis supplies, lifting his head from behind the camera.

Without thinking, you speak. “Is your name Noel?” 

Silence answers.

You decide to move around the room, keen to find answers where your ghost refuses to give them to you. Your fingertips grazing the walls as if you could pull the truth from the cracks in the old plaster.

“I know you did this,” you say, your voice firm but edged with a strange softness, like you’re coaxing something fragile from the dark. “Why won’t you tell me your name?”

The lights flicker. Luis begins to pray.

The stench grows, grows, grows, more potent with each step you take towards the bed. You fear you’ll find rot when you pull the covers back—a body, perhaps. But what you find confuses you more. You fall to your knees by the bed, crane your neck to peer beneath it, and your eyes catch the glint of silver.

Your hand stretches out, inching under the bed as your teeth catch your lip. When you pull the object free, you look up at Luis, who meets your gaze with the same confusion. In your hands you hold a hunting knife.

And as quickly as it had come, the stench subsides.

You turn the knife over in your hand as you push yourself off the dusty floor, a strange emblem is etched into the heel of the blade. 

“Well that’s not weird at all,” Luis mutters, taking the knife from your hand to inspect it himself. You bite the inside of your cheek, about to say something more, when a faint creak draws your attention. The wardrobe. The door swings open, as if nudged by an unseen hand. You meet Luis’ wary gaze, your heart thrumming with anticipation.

Drawn like a moth to a flame, you rise to your feet, walking closer, pulling the door open by its rusting brass handle. Inside hangs a tarnished mirror, and in it you catch your own reflection—dark circles ring your eyes, your reflection looks as drained as you’ve begun to feel.

Luis hums over your shoulder, a spark of realisation lighting his expression as he clicks his tongue. “Not Noel, look.”

You squint into the mirror, making out the jagged inscriptions in the wall that are now mirrored. “Leon?”

There’s a knock on the wall behind you, too loud to be mistaken for the walls of the house adjusting. 

“Is that a yes?” You breathe.

Two knocks.

Luis stares at you, his voice hushed, disbelieving. “Are you talking to a ghost?”

“Holy fuck, I’m talking to a ghost.”

Your ghost isn’t as terrifying with a name to its haunt. Leon, you’ve come to find, is gentle. You and Luis have spent the past three hours communicating with him; knock once for yes, twice for no. A language of patience.

You’ve been documenting it all in your notebooks—entry after entry of everything you’ve learnt. It's all you can do, considering the tapes you’ve tried to record burn out. You figure he doesn’t like the notion of being seen. Being known is different, though. You can feel that—he wants to be known.

He cannot leave.

He doesn’t remember how he got here.

He knows only his name.

You find he also likes to move things.

First, it was the photos. Luis had left the polaroids from the bedroom out on the dining room table to develop, safe with the windows drawn. You’d found them around the house later, one in your bag, another nestled between the equipment. Harmless. Cute, almost.

Then Leon started to move bigger objects. Your torch was found in the bedroom closet, Luis’ lighter in a kitchen cabinet, your hairpins scattered like breadcrumbs on the mantle of the fireplace. It’s a game to him, one that you find yourself eager to indulge. 

You slip into the kitchen, carrying a small wooden figure you’d picked up from the general store—nothing too special, a simple carving of a bluebird. Ghostly fingers might appreciate the weight of its worn edges, you think.

“Alright,” you say aloud, speaking to the empty room, “I – uh, got you something.”

You place the bluebird on the dining table, straightening the figure before taking a few gentle steps back. The temperature in the room drops suddenly, a chilly cold that you no longer mistake for the prairie wind, a denseness in the air that can only be explained by experience. 

Your EMF reader ticks up, and you itch to jot down the reading, yet the moment you turn your back, there’s the sound of wood scraping against wood. You spin back on your heel, only to see that the little bird has moved, facing the window with its beak pointed towards the fading sunlight.

“So you like the bird then?” You nearly laugh, low and under your breath.

There’s another scrape, this time longer. The bird moves again, right before your eyes, closer to the edge of the table.

Despite the absurdity of it all, you continue to talk. “Careful, you’ll knock it off.” You warn softly.

For a moment, nothing happens. Then the bird stops just short of tipping over the edge, as if Leon has taken your words into consideration. You watch as the bird drags back across the table to the centre. 

The lights flicker with your laughter, as if your ghost finds amusement in the cadence of your voice.

You begin to wonder how anyone could’ve thought this home was malevolent at all. The unease that had come with your first encounter has long since given way to something deeper—an ache, a yearning, a quiet desperation to understand. You don’t want to leave. You want to stay, to uncover every secret this house holds. 

How did he die? Was it peaceful, or something violent? What kind of life did he lead? Did he love? Did he lose?

You sit on the living room floor, your back pressed against the wall, clicking your pen twice as you jot down tonight’s meeting in your notebook. From the wall beside you, two soft knocks answer in return.

There is a difference between an architectural haunting and a hereditary one. There’s a certain comfort in knowing a haunting is bound to a place, that its roots lie deep within the dirt that make up the home’s foundation. That it cannot follow you home.

But when a haunting becomes hereditary—when it latches onto you, burrows under your skin, sinks its claws into your soul, twisting, festering—when it’s tethered to you, that's when the fear takes hold. You cannot outrun a hereditary haunting.

Last night, you dreamt again. The homestead, its walls bleeding dark and thick, like wounds seeping into your memory. The flashes came in fragments: the house, the woods, a clearing bathed in moonlight. A glint of a knife to match the gleam of his eyes. And then, the sensation of cold mud pressed against your skin as you lay in the dirt, helpless, hopeless, dead.

You wake in the middle of the night and wonder when this haunting stopped feeling architectural.

Luis finds you on the third day in the parlour, your fingers curled around the edge of an old, weather-beaten box. It drags across the warped floorboards with a groan, sending up a small cloud of dust. 

He pauses in the doorway. “What are you doing?” His voice cuts through the otherwise quiet home. 

“Cleaning up.” You keep your eyes on the box, focused as you rifle through its contents.

Luis steps further into the room, his boots crunching on the debris-strewn floor, nearly tripping over the marbles you had laid out earlier for Leon to move. “Cleaning up?” His brow furrows. “Jesus, I thought we were here to investigate.”

“We are,” you mutter, your hands brushing off the dust clinging to your clothes as you turn to face him. “I’m just helping out.”

“Helping out?” Luis stops mid-step, his confusion sharpening. “Helping the ghost?”

Your hands still. The air shifts, colder than before, almost as if something is standing beside you. You glance over your shoulder, but it’s just Luis, a mix of disbelief and frustration in his gaze.

“Yes, Luis,” You sound annoyed now. Tension thick in the air.

His laugh is short and bitter. “This is crazy,” he mutters, his voice rising slightly. “You’re growing too - too attached, we need to leave.”

“No.” You straighten up, the words more defensive than you intend. “He needs help. Look at the state of this place!” You gesture to the peeling wallpaper, the broken furniture scattered, the oppressive sense of neglect.

“He?” Luis tries to be your voice of reason, tethering you back to reality, to the here and now because currently you seem like you’re in a different plane of existence entirely. 

“Yes, he.” You drag the box into a corner, your back to him, and run your hand across its lid. The texture feels wrong—too damp, too cold, as if the cardboard itself is rotting from the inside. “He’s trapped here,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Luis. “I don’t know how long, but... it’s been years. He doesn’t even have anyone to mourn him.”

Luis exhales sharply, his breath fogging the air. When did it get so cold? “You don’t know that,” he snaps, his voice louder, louder, louder. “You don’t even know who ‘he’ is!”

The words hit you like a slap. Something shifts, as if the chain binding his anchor to your ship has snapped and broken all at once.

“I’m not—” You stop, swallowing the words. “I’m not crazy, Luis.”

You can see the flicker of regret in his eyes, the way his expression softens, but it doesn’t erase the sting of his words. He hesitates, lowering his voice as if it could take back the hurt.

“I didn’t say that,” he murmurs, “But you’re not thinking straight. You haven’t been since that night. The ghost—or whatever it is—has you hooked. And you don’t even see it–”

Each word feels like a knife twisting deeper. The betrayal coils inside you, bitter and raw. You trusted him to believe in you, to see you, even when no one else did. You open your mouth to argue, but your ghost has better timing.

A sudden, violent knocking echoes through the house, an urgency to each rap. This time, it’s not coming from within the walls, and oddly, that unsettles you more than if it were. The sound pounds from the front door, growing louder, louder, louder with each second that passes. When both you and Luis rush to the foyer, you stare blankly as the door handle rattles on its own.

You don’t think when you walk forward, as if compelled by an unseen force, your hand wrapping around the crystal handle before twisting it and tugging it open. There, crumpled on the porch, lies a bird.

It’s ruined. Feather slicked by a sheen of its own blood, some still fluttering in the wind, others matted to exposed bone. The body is split open, like something had torn it apart with its bare hands, its innards spilt on the rotting boards. Thin ropes of intestine, wet and glistening, loop over themselves. 

The head, nearly severed, hangs at a grotesque angle, twisted so far back it looks as though it were straining to see something beyond its reach, connected by just a thin sinew of flesh. One of its glassy black eyes remains open, dull and lifeless, its beak parted in a scream that never came.

The bird has blue feathers. A bluebird, you realise.

Leon doesn’t speak much the rest of the day—if you can qualify the knocks and the flickers of light as speech at all. When you ask him about the bluebird, there's only silence. When you press him on whether he caused it, a vase shatters like fallen stars at your feet.

Perhaps he’s not all gentle. Neither are you, though, so you give him grace. You pick up the shards of glass one by one, wrap them up in a handkerchief, and discard them in the garden. 

It’s only when you return inside that you realise you’re bleeding. A thin line of red trails from the split in your thumb, the sting arrives after, delayed but insistent. You watch it drip, swirling with the water as you rinse it away, the crimson draining down the sink.

You’ve grown used to seeing Leon in your periphery. His shadow is a presence that has grown comforting. Unknown to know, unfamiliar to familiar. You find yourself looking forward to the night even more now, eager for a glimpse of him. But tonight, he doesn’t visit.

You think you might’ve upset him. Between the dead bird and the silence, maybe he didn’t like all the arguing, how loud the house had gotten today. You don’t blame him. 

“Luis wants to leave tomorrow,” You hum softly into the darkness. You don’t need to see Leon to know he’ll be listening. “I have to go with him.”

Silence.

“I’ll miss you,” You try again, your voice holding a sense of urgency. Please, please, please.

Again, silence.

You ignore the tears that prick at your eyes, upset that your ghost is ignoring you. You fall asleep with a headache and a heartache to match. But when you dream that night, it’s much more alarming than any of the ones before.

You wake in the darkness, your body stiff in your dream like you’ve lost your flesh and have been made up of bones. Rigor mortis once more. For a second you think this might be some sort of horrible sleep paralysis,but before the panic can set in, your eyes focus on the cracks of light in your vision, seeping through the darkness of your mind.

You’re not sure what part of your brain comes to the conclusion, but you realise you’re stuck under something, in something maybe. A coffin? Something wooden. You can smell the musk of the cottonwood.

When you wake from the dream, your headache is pounding twice as hard, you sit up, groaning as you press a hand to your head. When your eyes open, your breath catches in your throat. 

Leon.

He's there. Right there.

Closer than he’s ever dared to get, standing beside your bed, watching, waiting, like he always is. Yet, he looks more solid, more here than you’d ever seen of him before. You could make out the shape of his nose, the curve of his eyes, the length of his lashes.

Your heart beats wildly in your chest, bated breath caught in the cavern of your throat as you try to comprehend what you’re seeing. 

“Leon,” you whisper his name, your voice shaky, barely more than a breath.

He doesn’t move, but his eyes soften, just slightly, a weight behind his gaze that you can’t quite place. You watch his chest rise and fall with breath that should not be there, lungs that have no reason to expand, a heart that doesn’t beat. And yet, yet, he is here, in front of you, as vivid as anyone else would be.

You lift your hand, your fingers trembling as they hover just above his cheek. You know he isn’t real, not in the way you are, but in this moment, he feels real enough. The heat of your skin, the cool air between you—it all blurs together until the only thing you are sure of is him.

Slowly, carefully, your fingertips brush his skin.

It is faint—barely a touch at all, like reaching through fog—but it is there. For a second, maybe less, his skin feels solid beneath your fingers, cold but tangible. The breath catches in your throat as your hand lingers, the boundary between life and death blurring, blurring, blurring. His eyes flutter closed. 

But then, just as quickly, the sensation is gone. Your fingers slip through air, the chill of the room returning, and he is nothing more than a ghost again.

No, no, no your mind screams. A desperation in the way you reach for him again only to feel nothing. A hand over his chest is merely a hand in mid-air. You cannot feel the beat of his undead heart.

Yet, the weight of his gaze remains, heavy with something you cannot name. You want more. You want him to stay. You want to stay.

Leon’s lips part, the faintest hint of a breath escaping, and you swear you can almost hear him say something. Almost. His hand twitches, as if he is also trying to reach for you, but can’t quite cross the divide.

It is unbearable, the way you see him see you. 

You don’t tell Luis of what happened last night, refuse to unravel the complexities of the ache in your being that cannot be satiated anymore. 

It’s not pain exactly—at least not the kind Luis would understand. It’s deeper than that, a longing you can’t explain. You’re stuck here, you realise, tethered not by chains but by something far less visible, yet much harder to sever. 

Luis frowns when you tell him to go without you, that you’ll follow in a day or two. He doesn’t believe you, not entirely. There is scepticism in the way he argues, but you don’t have much fight left anymore. Maybe there isn’t in him, either.

You’d promised yourself this was temporary—a few nights, maybe a week—just long enough to get the evidence you needed. But those days had unravelled into something else. You couldn’t say when you’d first realised you weren’t going to leave. Maybe it was when the lights began to flicker in time with your heartbeat, or when the chill of the air began to feel like a ghost of a touch on your skin.

There was no evidence to gather anymore. No story left to tell but this one.

And perhaps, you think, that’s always been the truth of you—this love of yours, spilling over the edges of your heart until it found something, someone, to hold onto. Living or dead, it didn’t seem to matter. Love for you has never needed a pulse, just a presence.

You walk through the homestead, the familiar creak of the floorboards beneath your feet, and find that the air no longer feels heavy. There’s no longer that crushing weight on your chest, no musk of decay hanging like a warning. You breathe, and for the first time, the house feels still.

"Leon?" you call, your voice fragile, unsure.

The lights flicker in response, faint and distant.

Maybe, you think, this house has always been your grave.

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

[eastend-if]

👥DEMO 👥 PLAYLIST 👥 PINTEREST 👥 COG FORUM

You keep having the same dreams over and over. It happened, years ago, before you left. You thought you had left Eastend behind for good.

It seems you can never truly escape your past. The Priest had warned you.

There's a girl you've never seen in your dreams. Yet, she seems so familiar - as a forgotten teddy bear you left in the attic of your home. She feels right, she looks wrong, she's wrong. Because she's not you, she says. And the two of you stand on the road...a bright light blinds you but the smell of iron reaches you. You do not need your eyes to deduce the ending of the nightmares.

Metaphorical dreams have never been your forte...except this is real. On the day you arrive, she's still alive. And smiling...laughing...walking with her friends. She looks like a normal girl of your age.

You black out - from the shock you think. The familiar iron smell being all too close, it makes you nauseous. At least, the earthen scent that lingers on your clothes counters it a little.

Why are you in the woods again?

....Why is there blood on your hands?

Welcome home, whispers the wind.

• Customize the vessel whether be it in looks, personality or identity.

• You are free to romance four of the cast. Maybe more, there are many eyes on you.

• Your choices will shape you as they shape the town. They will have consequences on the people around you and those who aren't anymore. Be careful you never know what effect the ripples may have.

• Explore your past to shape your future.

• Fight your nightmares should you be so inclined - or welcome them, there might be surprises in the deep dark part of your mind?

• Choose whether or not you'll doom your childhood town - although, that might not be left to you. Leaving is an option too, after all, you've already left once.

• Survive - or don't. You didn't think you were the only one who could save them, did you?

Eastend is rated 18+ for sexual themes, substance use, explicit language, explicit violence, death and more.

Beverly Arevalo [F,23], your childhood friend. At least, one of you perceived it that way. She has always been difficult to read and understand, you were one of the few who could years back. Maybe you can rekindle your friendship - maybe it will grow into more. The only thing you know for certain is that there are many unknowns surrounding Beverly.

Aina Valen [F,26] is that stereotypical preppy girl, at least what you know of her. You were never quite close when you still lived in town, but things have changed and so have both of you. Surprisingly enough, she works at the library now, having taken over her brother. You're not aware of what happened between them, only that she seems overly bored whenever you pass by the vitrine. At least she insists on telling you you are the 'spice' of her days, whatever that may mean.

Benjamin Li [M,26] his preferred nickname, Benji has always shown kindness to you and this didn't change with your unexpected return. He somehow always has a nice word for you or others in his vicinity, it's refreshing quite frankly. There are always critters following him around but they say animals are good judges of characters so that's a good sign, right?

Hezekiah Lyncroft [M, 24] was always a pain in your ass, even younger. Always arguing with you over anything and nothing, he was the reason for many headaches. Back then, there were rumours about his home life, ones you remember well. At least, he seems to be in a better place nowadays, even though he's still a pain to be around. But not all pains are bad.

+ familiar faces and strangers you've yet to meet

Demo stands currently at 5.8k words. It is meant as short introduction to the setting and story. Hope you enjoy despite the length :)

[hypodermicfroggy]

= PROJECT MOON LORE GUIDE =

(I've posted a guide like this on Steam, but I figure it couldn't hurt to put an updated version on Tumblr, too. Also, a warning: This post is going to be very, *very* long.)

Hello, current Project Moon fandom and future/want-to-be fans!

Do you enjoy Limbus Company but don't know how to get into the other games and media to appreciate the greater lore of the series? Do you not actually have the money, time, or patience to endure a brutally punishing (and sometimes even janky) roguelike management sim, deckbuilder, or gacha game because we live in a capitalistic hellworld like the one this very series criticizes? Struggle with getting access to supplementary materials due to controversies and language barriers?

(Pictured: PM Twitter and the Limbus Steam Forums, on any given day. Seriously, what is wrong with some of you people.)

And especially important: hate how Reddit and Steam are full of dudebro coomers who are openly hostile to F2P, non-day one players who might grapple with all the previous issues on top of being more invested in story than waifus?

Then read on under the cut!

= o = o = o = o = o = o =

This guide contains a comprehensive list of resources for you to be able to enjoy the Project Moon series to its fullest, including links to wikis, playlists, and more. Even if you can't play the games, I personally think those who can actually appreciate the series shouldn't be gatekept from the truly fantastic story and world that the games hold. Except Canto 6, we don't talk about Canto 6.

AND AN IMPORTANT REMINDER: THERE WILL BE SOME SPOILERS FOR CERTAIN PARTS OF THE SERIES, AND PLEASE ACKNOWLEDGE THE CONTENT WARNINGS BEFORE YOU GET INTO ANYTHING HERE! This is a very dark series that tackles and shows very heavy topics and content!

For those who can't read the text on the image, some of the common trigger warnings for this series includes:

Animal Cruelty

Drug Use

References to Alcohol and Tobacco

Injury and Dismemberment

Homicide and Suicide

Violence and Torture

Cannibalism

Kidnapping, Abduction, and Captivity

Psychosis

Diseases, Seizure, and Dyspnoea (aka shortness of breath)

Familial Homicide and Domestic Violence

Reference to Clowns (Coulrophobia)

Themes of Occultism and Spiritualism

Audiovisual Depictions of Gore

Uses of Sharp and Pointed Objects

Hospital and Medical References

References to Gaslighting and Bullying

Body Modification and/or Deformation

Flashing Lights (Photosensitivity)

Disorientation Induced by a Shaking Camera

Strong Language and Demeaning Words

Reference to Traffic Accidents

Uses of Guns and Instruments of Violence

Discriminatory Violence

Religious Torture and Violence

Enforced Ideology and/or Actions

War and Mass Conflict

Anyway, if all that didn't scare you off, on to the guide!

= o = o = o = o = o = o =

=WIKIS:

When in doubt, there's always the wikis for being references and useful sources, from gameplay to story elements!

>>Cogitopedia - A WIP wiki run by members of the community, working on adding in-depth content for all of the games and supplementary materials.

>>LobCorp Wiki - Has data on every abnormality, including inaccessible ones and cut ones (such as Price of Silence).

>>Library of Ruina Wiki - Has the lore from key pages, and also has cut content like the CGs from the original planned ending.

>>Limbus Wiki.gg - Has ID Uptie stories and info about Mirror Dungeon encounters. (DO NOT USE THE LIMBUS FANDOM WIKI, IT HAS BEEN ABANDONED/VANDALIZED.)

>>Library of Project Moon - A WIP fan blog whose purpose is to consolidate translations of the literary source novels and related works for Limbus Company and the PM games as a whole.

= o = o = o = o = o = o =

=LOBOTOMY CORPORATION:

Summary: Lobotomy Corporation is the first game in the series. It is a roguelike management sim where you play as "Manager X", tasked with handling employees and various monsters known as Abnormalities in order to generate daily quotas of a power source substance known as Enkephalin and a mysterious "Seed of Light" project. You are aided by an alleged team of AIs known as the Sephirot, and your very own personal assistant AI, Angela. It's often been likened to "anime SCP Foundation."

This is the game where everything begins, and without it, we wouldn't have the plot of Limbus (or anything else for that matter). This is where the Golden Boughs come from, this is where Abnormalities come from, this is even where Distortions come from - but we're getting ahead of ourselves on that front.

>>This playlist will allow you to watch all the cutscenes from the game, in order, for the canon ending.

>>This video also has the cutscenes, albeit not in order, HOWEVER, it does have the alternate, non-canon endings A and B (which are timestamped in the link for convenience).

>>WordsmithVids (also on YouTube) also has what is generally considered to be the most popular summary of the game.

(NOTE: Some people disagree with WordsmithVids and his interpretations of some of the characters as well as his content being "meme-y," so I advise you to watch at your own discretion and draw your own conclusions. That being said, if people have better recommendations, please send them to me instead of just complaining and bitching without offering solutions like that one guy on Steam did, thank you.)

= o = o = o = o = o = o =

=WONDERLAB:

Summary: Wonderlab was a webcomic by the artist MIMI/Whitezombies, originally posted on the Project Moon Postype account. It follows the adventures of several employees - often called "nuggets" in fan parlance - Catt, Taii, and Rose, in a Lobotomy Corporation branch facility as they go about their day to day activities.

This webcomic was taken down after the Summer 2023 Incel Controversy, when incels stormed the Project Moon office in Korea and made enough credible threats that the former Limbus CG artist known as Vellmori was fired, and it is currently part of a second conflict over copyright. However, primarily for archival and personal reference purposes, the comic has been saved and rehosted in several forms.

>>Internet Archive version. This has just the comic in an on-site readable format.

>>A backup archive on Google Drive. This features the individual pages, a downloadable .zip of the archive, and a readable Google Docs version.

For those who may have ethical concerns about downloading a webcomic that was pulled due to controversy (understandable), once again, >>WordsmithVids has a summary.

(NOTE: This is NOT the place to discuss either the Summer 2023 incel controversy *or* the current (Summer 2024) copyright conflict. There are far better places to do that with people who are far better informed on the topic than I am. This post is solely for providing references and archives of lore material to help guide people into this series. DO NOT attempt to bring up the controversies here, I will not be acknowledging them outside of mentioning why certain supplementary materials may have been pulled and have had to be mirrored. I am just an archivist, not a lawyer or discourser.)

= o = o = o = o = o = o =

=LIBRARY OF RUINA:

Summary: Library of Ruina takes place some months after the events of Lobotomy Corporation. A "Grade 9 Fixer" known as Roland finds his way into the mysterious, tower-like Library that has sprung up in place of the former main facility of L Corp, where he encounters Angela and the other Sephirot (all now Librarians). He begins assisting her in finding "the perfect book", which involves enticing people to come to the library through the sending out of curious invitations.

Now, unfortunately, there is not a playlist that splits up the cutscenes or puts them in order for Ruina.

>>These two videos have them all in compilation.

HOWEVER. A wonderful and dear friend of mine (@citroncynique <3) has allowed the guide they sent me to be reproduced/copied.

>>As such, there is a guide on how to watch the cutscenes in the order that makes the most sense, utilizing the timestamps of the previous two videos. It is not a perfect system, but it works at least.

>>WordsmithVids also has at least two summary vids out.

However, due to financial issues at last update, he has not been able to continue his summary of Ruina. I am including them regardless. >>As well as his Patreon in case people want to support him in hopes of making it easier for him to work on the vids again.

>>There is also an almost FOUR HOUR LONG video essay that delves into Angela's character specifically after the events of LobCorp and Ruina. It is not required viewing like the rest of the materials here, however, I think it still deserves a mention just for the amount of effort and care that went into it.

= o = o = o = o = o = o =

=DISTORTION DETECTIVE:

Summary: Taking place at roughly the same time as Library of Ruina, two Fixers known as Ezra and Moses and an N Corp. Taboo Hunter known as Vespa investigate the Distortion Phenomenon that is rapidly starting to spread across the City after the events of the previous games.

Originally released as a webnovel on Project Moon's Postype, Distortion Detective has 42 chapters and is technically incomplete/on hiatus. Project Moon, surprised at how popular the webnovel was, decided they wanted to potentially make an entire game based on the story. As of this writing, that has not happened (yet) but at least one character from the novel has appeared in Limbus Company, so there is still hope yet.

>>The DD series in its original form on Postype. This version was posted chapter-by-chapter, on Project Moon's Postype account and is (as of this writing, at least) still readable there.

>>A backup archive on Google Drive. This has the entire webnovel in a single document format (both Docs and downloadable PDF) featuring NishikujiC's official chapter illustrations up to Ch. 26, and includes the now-cut comic adaption of Ch. 19 by the artist Monggeu/koug99.

= o = o = o = o = o = o =

=LEVIATHAN:

(Lord, this one. Like it wasn't a big enough pain in the ass already.)

Summary: After the events of Library of Ruina, and operating as a direct prequel to Limbus Company, Leviathan follows the Color Fixer Vergilius (aka the Red Gaze) as he grapples with his own personal traumas and comes into conflict with the Ring Syndicate, before being recruited as a guide for the LCB.

Leviathan originally started as a webcomic by Monggeu/koug99. Health issues with the artist resulted in the comic being discontinued and turned into a webnovel, whose translation was never completed and had to later be finished by fans. The comic portion has since been taken down as of the Summer 2024 copyright conflict and controversy, much like Wonderlab was. Once again, however, this has been mirrored for archival and reference purposes.

>>Original source of Leviathan on Postype. Due to the copyright conflict and the translation hiatus, the only chapters available are Ch. 12-15. The link is still included for posterity reasons and just in case the copyright conflict results in the chapters being restored.

>>A backup archive on Google Drive. This link includes the comic chapters, as well as the SnakeskinFS English fan translations for the last five chapters that were never completed, all in PDF form.

= o = o = o = o = o = o =

=LIMBUS COMPANY:

Summary: After all the events of the previous games, a mysterious up and coming business known as Limbus Company has taken it upon themselves to send a group composed of 12 "Sinners" and their mysterious clock-headed Manager Dante to delve into the now-abandoned L Corp facilities in search of mysterious artifacts known as Golden Boughs.

Finally we come to the end of the shrubbery maze. Limbus Company is the latest chapter in the currently unfolding story of Project Moon and the City, a gacha game being used to fund other projects under the company umbrella.

Many people, once again, have ethical concerns about patronizing a gacha game. I for one agree with them, even as one of those patrons.

>>This playlist features all of the cutscenes for each part of the game story released so far (up to Intervallo 6.5-2/Murder on the WARP Express as of this writing).

>>There is also this site, which operates as a pure datamined text archive of all the story content.

>>And this site, which has all the in-game Observation logs as told by the Sinners, about the Abnormalities and enemies encountered in-game.

= o = o = o = o = o = o =

=BONUS/SUPPLEMENTARY:

This section, liable to be updated at any given time, is for links to materials or fan-creations that don't necessarily fit with the strictly canonical story materials found in the games and webnovels themselves but which otherwise provide useful resources or analysis. Note that the vast majority of material here is supplementary and not required, but recommended.

(Except the literary sources. You will read those, and that is a threat. I can't take another Wings-forsaken illiterate opinion on Canto 6, I'm going to start Distorting and biting people if YOU PEOPLE DON'T READ THE DAMN SOURCE NOVELS.)

YouTubers and Video Essayists:

Frey Chaqma - Frey has done lots of work for the PM community, such as spearheading the Absolute Pride Resonance charity event for Pride Month 2024 as well as discussing the lore of the games and the City as a whole.

Tsunul - Another YouTuber who discusses lore but who also often delves into more interpersonal matters relating to the fandom and controversies that can affect the game community as a whole.

Esgoo - Although Esgoo does not necessarily get into lore so much, they are often tauted as one of the biggest names in the fandom for, if nothing else, their meta-analysis and basic gameplay/strategy material, as well as their community involvement.

hydrojoy's essay on Benjamin - in addition to Angela, hydrojoy also did an in-depth analysis on Benjamin, aka B, aka Hokma, from Lobotomy Corporation and Library of Ruina and their impact on the story.

MetiNotTheBadGuy's PM Character Essays - Meti has done several excellent character breakdown videos on some of PM's most notable villains/characters, including Roland, Kromer, and Dongrang.

= o = o = o = o = o = o =

=ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

Citroncynique. For being a truly amazing artist, putting in the effort of making a watch guide for Ruina's cutscenes, and getting me into this series and ruining my life forever by jingling a bugman with PTSD in front of me (<3).

MIMI/Whitezombies, Monggeu/koug99, NishikujiC, and Vellmori. Although several of these artists have left PM and the community on bad terms, I still think their efforts should be appreciated and supported, now more than ever.

SnakeskinFS. For finishing Leviathan's English translation.

Folex, Bek, WordsmithVids, hydrojoy, and the Lobotomy Corporation Archive. For posting their cutscene and summary/analysis videos.

NeedsMoreDoge. The Steam user who provided the original guide and backup on how to read Leviathan that I myself utilized.

The less than pleasant members of the community who spurred me into making this guide in the first place, out of pure spite.

And of course, readers like you and those members of the community who make me so happy to be here and be a part of this fandom. Genuinely, thank you all, I have never felt as welcomed as I do in the Project Moon circles I run in.

In addition to the references included here, I recommend you get involved in your PM community as well! Join communities and Discords, support content creators on social sites, help contribute where it's needed and in whatever way you can! The best way to counteract the worst elements of any fandom is to be a guiding and helpful element in your own right.

Thank you all for reading, and I hope this guide helps you out!

[strawberryqueen00]

You know what? We should follow Hbomb’s example at the end of the video. If you follow a queer creator better than James Somerton(not hard) link them down below! I’m bad at making lists but I’ll try and update this post with new edits as I follow more creators!

Also btw you don’t have to just put creators that are queer here! If they’ve talked about queer issues positively a bunch before feel free to link it too! Allies are important and also some people might not be out in their channel but want to talk about queer issues while not being opened on their public channel.

Edit:

Wanted to thank all the people for responding to this! I’m still in finals heavy week so I won’t be able to update but will eventually! I wanted to shoutout Hbomb’s producer Kat Los also doing something similar with this Google forum! So also send stuff there!

And this playlist(BY KAT) has a bunch of stuff from the vid and here!

[piosplayhouse]

I know the shen yuan being a PIDW fanartist headcanon is already niche enough but since I've been listening to so much brony eurobeat I'm thinking... Fan musician Shen Yuan.. thinking well he might as well use the violin + piano skills from the lessons his parents made him take when he was a kid, plus all of the shitty character playlists with death metal and shit on the PIDW forums are so inaccurate to the story, clearly Binghe would have a much more elegant and refined sound to his character, and of course the lyrics to his character song would be similarly poetic and so romantic and

Yeah he ends up making the most crushingly beautiful romance ballad as a Binghe character song to post on the PIDW forums. And who's to say if it also ends up in his and binghe's wedding later down the line. There's no proof of that

[softpascalito]

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter II

! This Fic contains major spoilers for Gladiator II ! Proceed with caution !

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 6.5k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), More tags to be added (!)

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist

notes: ! last major spoiler warning for gladiator II below the cut !

thank you all so much for the love on the first chapter. we delve a little bit into their backstory now (gladiator II is set around 211 AD). feel free to let me know if you are interested in reading how these two get to where we picked up before <3 i also have a little acacius playlist that fits the vibe of this fic very well. feel free to check it out here!

vestal (vigins) - priestesses of vesta, virgin goddess of Rome's sacred flame (details will be explained later in the story) dulcissima - sweetest (fond nickname) domus - a roman house palla - a traditional mantle for women paludamentum - a cloak worn by high ranking military officials

Chapter II

209 AD

The domus sits just on the edge of Palatine Hill, on the side opening towards the Forum Romanum and Via Nova. You have passed below it more times than you can count, though you have rarely walked the small street that weaves up the hill and leads to the edge of the property.

Many of the neighboring houses are too harsh for your taste, with columns twice as wide as your body and barely a shrub of greenery in front of them. A supposed sign of strength, no doubt. But when passing the house with the large garden, you like to take as much time as you dare, occasionally catching a whiff of the lavender that grows all around it.

It reminds you of the shadowy figure you often saw walking those same gardens after dark, many years past. A bereaved woman, shrouded in dark cloth, keeping her head down as she tended to the plants with dainty fingers, decorated with a thick gold ring that framed a green stone. You remember lingering too long on your way past the iron fence once, fascinated by the way her dress flowed in the wind. She had called out to you, beckoning you towards her.

Lucilla was not a terrifying woman but you knew that every misstep could cost you, especially in your position as a vestal. She had knelt down in front of your trembling form, brushed your hair out of your face and looked at you with an expression you did not understand. But she had whispered words that you did. Asked you not to collect the water after dark, to stay with the older vestals. Then she had offered you a small bundle of lavender.

You stuffed it under the linen of your bed later that night, breathing in a scent that felt like a world where a woman could freely roam her garden and the city beyond, who did not have to be afraid.

The guard at the gate gives a small bow of courtesy when you reach him and moves to the side, allowing you to tread the stone path that leads up to the house. “The General is inside. Please, knock.”

A gentle “Thank you” escapes your lips as you reach to lift your stola just enough to not step on it. The torches lining the way are extinguished, not needed during the day. A short glance down the hill allows you to spot your own home, right beside the rounded building that is the Temple of Vesta.

When you reach the wooden door, you raise your hand and will yourself to knock with enough force to make it heard.

You can hear someone calling out from inside and a few seconds later, a man with broad shoulders opens the door. His gaze flies over you briefly–taking in your white tunic and the palla wrapped around your shoulders. The thin veil attached to your headdress and all the linen of your clothes tucked neatly into place are usually enough indication for whoever is stood in front of you to understand your status.

“General Acacius?” You ask softly, your eyes taking in his brown eyes and the curve of his nose, one that looks like it belongs on a statue rather than a living man.

“Vero, that is me. Please, come inside.” He gives a small bow, gesturing past himself and you nod at the invitation, gracefully stepping into the house and finding yourself in an atrium that renders you speechless. The columns that line its sides are slightly worn, flowers stretching along them towards the upper floor. Stone basins and pots holding a variety of plants stand at almost every corner of the open space, making it feel more like a garden than the stuck-up room you would have expected in a Generals home.

Acacius’s hand hovers behind you, guiding you past the fountain that holds a few orange fish and to the opposite end of the open room, though he never actually touches you. “Please. Have a seat.”

“Thank you,” you repeat your earlier words, lowering yourself onto the chair he indicated.

“Would you like some wine? Perhaps some grapes too?” He waves to one of the servants, who promptly places two glasses on the table, though Acacius takes the carafe and dismisses him with a small nod as he begins to pour you some of the dark red liquid. You make to reach for your glass to hold it steady but he shakes his head quickly. “Allow me. Please.”

You nod at that, leaning back and waiting politely while he pours himself a drink as well. It allows you a moment to take in his form up close, the white tunic and his red paludamentum wrapped around his body. A cloak fastened with a gold brooch, one that–similar to your headwear–makes him a respected man no matter where he goes. You wonder if he feels the same about it, that some days it's more like a heavy curse weighing one down. Then again, he is a General of Rome. You are a priestess of Vesta. Your paths may cross today but you are certain they look very different from one another.

He sits down across from you, a small sigh leaving his lips as he toasts in your direction and takes a sip of his wine. Then, he leans to the side and produces two rolls of parchment. “I had to make some adjustments to my will. It was kept by one of the other priestesses, but I believe she has finished her service with the Vestals since I last saw her.”

You give him a small smile as you take the parchment from him, nodding. “Yes, she left the year before last. But of course I will be just as happy to keep the will for you.”

His eyes fly over your face briefly and he gestures to the rolls on your lap. “I crossed out the old version. I married, you see.”

You stare at him for a moment before nodding a little too quickly. “Of course. Yes, I–The lady of this house I presume–” You break off, realizing your mistake. If he indeed married Lucilla, he is now the head of this house. “What I meant–” you add hastily. “–is that it is your house now. And the house is beautiful, I mean–” It’s the second time you stop in the middle of the sentence. But this time, it is because you have dared to look back over at the General. And he is not even trying to conceal his amusement.

You bow your head in another silent apology and he tuts softly. “You are quite right, you know. As far as I am concerned, she is the woman of this house.” A smile plays around his lips. “And I would not have it any other way.”

It’s clearly not his atrium that surprises you. He is not what you would expect a General to be. Especially not one that is about to entrust you with his will. “I give my word that I will see it is stored safely,” you reassure him, carefully taking another small sip of the wine.

Acacius nods. “I appreciate that. You have my thanks.” He pauses briefly, his gaze darting around the atrium for a split second before landing back on you. “You seem uneasy. Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No. No, of course not, General.” It is not a lie, per se. But you are all too aware that it sounds like one.

“Is it your first time taking a will?”

You do not know how he does it. He seems to have read you so easily–or he is just very well connected to know such a thing. “Yes. It is, but I promise–”

“I trust you,” he states almost casually while reaching for the grapes and offering you some as well. You politely decline.

“Forgive me but … you met me mere moments ago. How can you know I am trustworthy?” Your eyes catch his and this time you hold his gaze, not missing the small glint in them.

“All of Rome trusts the Vestals. If not you, who would we put our faith into?”

“The gods. You should put your faith in the gods,” you say quietly.

“I prefer to put my faith in people,” Acacius responds, though his voice is slightly lowered as well. “The gods do not fight our wars.”

You stand up so abruptly that you almost drop the scrolls. “I should go.”

He seems perplexed for a moment but quickly catches himself and nods, standing up before leading you back the same way you came. You allow yourself a quick sideward glance at his face and are met with a professionally neutral expression. At the door, you turn towards him, giving a last, small bow. “My General.” His title falls off your lips like the silk they sell at the market, flowing effortlessly. His brown eyes lingering on you as you address him–even if normal custom–as yours, make your stomach clench slightly.

Acacius lets his hand hover beside you again, never quite touching you. Yet you almost seem to be able to feel his touch. “I did not mean offense.” His voice is much softer than it was when he greeted you.

“Of course.” You force yourself to smile and step away, shaking your head at the brief moment of confusion you allowed yourself. He is a General, you are a Vestal. He has sworn his vows and you have sworn yours. And both include promises that are enough to keep you at a few feets distance for several lifetimes. “Please, call for me if you ever need to make adjustments to the will. And–” You force yourself to smile a little wider. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

You turn around before he can speak again, suddenly wanting to put some distance between yourself and the house you so longed to see from inside–until you did.

***

211 AD

“You have to go, dulcissima.”

Acacius' voice is quiet, the back of his head resting against the stone pillar as he watches you drag the chaise lounge across the atrium, muttering under your breath when you have to maneuver it around the small fountain in the middle of the space.

“Please.”

You shake your head just as you reach him, gesturing for him to sit down. His begging breaks your heart–it always has. But the thought of leaving him here with open wounds is worse.

“Let me see your arm.” He doesn't move, forcing you to become a bit more stern. “Acacius. Let me see the arm. I am not leaving until you do.”

A curse slips out under his breath but he does as told, sitting down and allowing you to inspect his wound. The rustle of the chain on his ankle breaks the quiet as he moves and you pointedly ignore it as you crouch down in front of him.

You let your hand hover above his skin for a moment, taking a small breath. It is still difficult to break the rules you have been taught for so long sometimes. You tell yourself that this is not even a sin, that you are merely caring for a wounded Gladiator. It tricks your brain enough to lower your hand onto his skin. You do not believe it tricks Vesta.

“He should not have fought you,” you mumble quietly, thinking back to how Lucius was swinging away the moment he entered the arena.

“He did not understand. And it is how the Colosseum works, you know this.” Acacius mutters back, tensing slightly when you run your finger over the cut the sword left on his arm. It doesn't seem too deep but you know Acacius must be in much more pain than he lets on.

“I hate that place,” you whisper, surprising yourself with the force of your words. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes and you stiffen when you feel a calloused hand tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before brushing over your cheek.

“Oh, sweet,” he mutters, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. “I am fine. I made it out, see? I promised I would.”

“They were going to shoot you,” you choke out, trying and failing to hold back the tears now slipping down your cheeks. You feel his lips touch the crown of your head briefly.

“But they didn't. Now, please, I will take care of this. But you have to leave.”

You wipe your tears with the back of your hand and shake your head again, blinking a few times to clear your vision and shift your attention back to his wound. “How would you take care of this? They have sentenced you to death. The Emperors have called for it, in front of the whole empire.”

“I can talk to them. I have things to offer, even now. They do not know how to lead an army. But they need someone who does. And–”

“You would sell your soul to stay alive,” you whisper as you reach for a piece of cloth and begin to wipe down the crusted blood.

Acacius sighs. “No. But I would sell my soul to stay with you.”

! when commenting or reblogging, please make sure to hide spoilers from others !

[murdrdocs]

FORMIDABLE COOL. ethan landry

about. blinded by your attraction and romanticization of college, you don't realize that ethan landry isn't who he says he is until it's too late

includes. DARK CONTENT 18+ fem! reader, mean!ethan, ghostface!ethan, p n v, manipulation (!!),, choking/breath play

wc: 1.4k+

→ kinktober masterlist

Out of everyone else in the friend group, it’s easiest for Ethan to get close to you. 

Unsuspecting you, wide eyes and hopeful glances at anyone who looks your way, the desperation to live out your ‘college fantasy’ leaking from every single pore in your body. The stench of your sheer desire pulls him in, it urges Ethan to switch from that shy and dorky facade he’s put up around Chad and his friends to a more confident flair, the ego he uses while he’s behind screens on forums online. 

It’s frighteningly easy to get you to give in. All he has to do is smile and look at you twice, and suddenly you’re spreading your legs for him in a movie theater, some new film you originally seemed thrilled to see entering the third act without either of you knowing any of the key plot points. 

It’s after the first time that you cum on his fingers that you’re infected. His own personal love fool. 

Truthfully, after you meet him for the first time, taking part in an insufferable ice breaker in a group of five other people, your name has inched its way up the Bailey dead pool, sitting pretty right below the other five of the friend group Ethan is steadily infiltrating. 

You have the urge to eat, breathe and sleep Ethan Landry, your awe filled eyes glazing over any possible red flags in his behavior. You’re too busy forcing yourself into his lap and curling your hands into his hair to realize that he’s been blowing you off more often recently. You’re too busy bouncing yourself on his cock to notice the bruises he has along his back and shoulders, inflicted from someone other than you. You’re too busy grinding your face up into his mouth to take in his constant lies, times, dates, and actions that don’t line up well enough. 

It takes you impossibly long to even start to notice his act, to start to take in the inconsistencies of his character depending on who you’re around. It’s Mindy who brings it to your attention first, coming to you as a caring friend, voice softer and rash opinions heavily watered down as she approaches you like she would a wounded animal. And when you flip out on her, denial heavy on your tongue which seems drier than usual, she only smiles at you sadly and watches as you run back to Ethan, another lie inevitably fed into your welcoming ears. 

It all comes to a head on your floor. 

Worn down hardwood creaks with each shuffle. The material is rough against your bare legs. The playlist you had going has ended, leaving nothing but the soft breaths from you and Ethan to fill the silence of the bedroom. 

Your questions are spoken into the air, answered by Ethan like he’s your savior. Like he can control you. And he can. 

He has. 

His hand around your neck, his cock entering your walls over and over, the pace steady and slow, each thrust harder than the last, sending you up the wood, the rough scratch of it against your back. The words he has spoken to you – his confession – reverberate through your body, bouncing around your mind all the way down to your lungs which scream for the need of constant airflow. 

Sensing your state, his hand loosens just enough to allow air in, the rough palm still circling around your neck as he refuses to let you go completely. You fear he’ll never let you go. But even more, you fear that you don’t want him to.

You don’t realize it, but hot tears are sliding down your cheeks at this point. It’s not until he points them out that you start feeling the emotions connected to them, shame and embarrassment and guilt planting itself in your brain, manifesting throughout your body. 

“Why’re you crying, sweetheart?” His voice wobbles just enough to show you that he’s affected, too, but definitely not in the same way. He has a smile on his face, borderline villainous, opposite from the sweet and charming smile you’re used to seeing from him. Sweat beads above his eyebrow, a testament to the chase he’d led you on, followed by the slow fucking he’s been giving you for God knows how long. 

Your eyes pinch shut, a pitiful attempt to dry your tears up without the use of your hands, rendered useless and bound between your bodies. It doesn't work well, and you flinch when you feel a drop of Ethan’s sweat land on your cheek, mixing with your self-created fluid. 

You’d assumed the question was rhetorical, a taunt to remind you of your inferior status in this fucked up relationship. It’s not until he hums questioningly that you realize you’re expected to respond. 

Your eyes pinch together tighter and you shake your head, only making Ethan chuckle. 

“No? You don’t know why you’re crying?” Nothing from you. You refuse to give him more, especially when you’re already letting him abuse your cunt. Because that’s what you’re doing. 

You let him lay you back. You let him peel your legs open. You lifted your hips and moaned approvingly when he slid your panties off and inserted two fingers into your entrance. 

“Open your eyes. Look at me.” The authoritative tone is more attractive than it should’ve been, and it has you instantly doing as told, eyes opening to look into those same dark brown ones you used to love so much. 

“Why’re you crying, baby?” he asks you again. “You knew it – this – was all an act, didn’t you?” 

And when you think back, you think you did know. You deluded yourself enough to think that this was sincere, genuine, your college dream. The thought heats up your neck, it stirs something unpleasant in your chest, it has you letting out a desperate cry that quickly slips into a pleading moan. 

His hand squeezes at the sides of your throat, thumb sticking under your jaw to lift your head. “Answer me.” 

Your nod suffices as an answer, especially when more tears slide down your already blotchy cheeks. His grin grows, spreading to either side of his face, reminiscent of a cheshire cat. 

Satisfied with what you’ve given him, he plants a kiss at the center of your forehead, and you curse yourself for melting into it. It’s the last act of physical kindness he gives it, because he’s instantly gripping your hips, hiking your legs up around his waist, and fucking you with no mercy. 

You cum with the sound of Ethan’s balls slapping against your skin, mixed in an almost beautiful harmony with your quiet sobs and the unabashed squelching of your cunt around his cock, a cacophonous edge to the sounds that perfectly represents your relationship with Ethan himself.

[jscwrites]

Please Follow this Backup Blog for Vendetta-IF

Hey guys, it's jsc, the author of Vendetta. I'm making this blog to backup all of the stuff I've posted over on the vendetta-if blog because I can't access my main account. Until I can access my account again, this will be the blog I'll use to interact with all of you and post updates. And in the worst case scenario, this will become the main blog.

So, please, follow this blog as I will be posting updates and answering asks like usual here. Also, for those who want to share their fanarts and other fanworks, please tag this blog too so I can see it. I'll also start reblogging some posts and asks from the Vendetta blog here in hopes of preserving them as much as I can. So, be prepared for a little blast from the past as we walk down the nostalgia road, I suppose.

I'm really sad because just earlier today, I checked my followers count and saw that we were 30 followers away from reaching 4K Followers in the main Vendetta blog, and I was thinking about what to do to celebrate it. Plus, there are also so many awesome fanarts and asks that I don't want to just be gone, which is why I'm making this blog to reblog all of them.

For those who are new and wondering what my story is all about, please check out the intro post I've reblogged. I might need to make another intro post in the future if I never get access back to my account, but for now, I hope it'll suffice.

IMPORTANT LINKS

[ORIGINAL INTRO POST]

[VENDETTA BLOG ARCHIVE]

[DEMO | Latest Chapter: 6 Part 1 | 272.8K words total] 

[FORUM] 

[PATREON] | [KO-FI]

[DISCORD]

CHARACTER RELATED MASTERPOSTS:

[CHARACTERS LIST]

[ARTBREEDER PORTRAITS] [ROs] [Other Pt. 1] [Viktor] [Other Pt. 2]

[CHARACTER PLAYLIST]

ADDITIONAL LINKS

[PUBLIC SIDE STORIES LIST]

[AO3 WRITTEN FANWORK] -> Currently 3 works

For those who are interested in what happened, I'll tell the details under the cut.

So, a few hours ago, I decided to open my iOS Tumblr app to check on notifications and stuff, as I usually do. But instead, I got hit with the Tumblr error messages over and over as it keeps trying to load in.

At first, I just thought it was my cellphone Internet connection, so I tried logging in on the desktop. At first, after I input all of my login credentials, the page loaded, but it brought me to the viewing page of my Vendetta blog as a non-user. I tried again, and this time, it said that my account got terminated. I never got any email from Tumblr about this, and it came as a shock because I just used my Tumblr earlier today to reblog some fanarts with no problem and I have never really used my account for other non-IF related stuff.

So, I scrambled to ask my members in Discord whether my Vendetta blog is still up, and thankfully it still is. But, my main account is somehow gone. The problem is, my Vendetta blog is actually a sideblog to my main account, jsclarissa.

As you can see here, when I tried searching for my main account, it says "Ghost blog! This blog does not exist." despite me having used that account to respond to comments and send asks to other authors before.

I have sent a support ticket to Tumblr support and also tweeted them on Twitter. I really hope they can give me my account back as I'm pretty sure this is some kind of technical issues on their end. I'm just worried about how long it would take them to respond and of course, the worst case scenario that it actually got terminated, so, I'm making this account.

Even if I got my account back, I'll still reblog stuff from the main blog here and maybe I can finally have a more personal blog where I can talk about stuff that is not really related to Vendetta.

[stolen-wolfbread]

(Free) Brazilian Portuguese Beginner Resource Masterlist

I've seen a lot of posts for European Portuguese, but none for Brazilian, so here we are! All resources are available for free (or at least have free trials.)

The items highlighted in yellow are what I, personally, use and recommend.

The items with asterisks are closer to intermediate level.

I will continue to update with new resources as I discover them. If you have any suggestions, comment or reblog!

Text

Textbooks

101 Brazillian Portuguese Expressions

Brazilian Portuguese

Brazilian Portuguese Grammar

FSI Brazilian Portuguese Fast 1 | 2 (+audio)

ClicaBrazil*

Learn Brazilian Portuguese - Word Power 101

Complete Brazilian Portuguese

IE Languages

Modern Brazilian Portuguese Grammar

Português para principiantes

( +more in the Mega Folder from @salvadorbonaparte)

Handouts

List of Irregular Verbs

Top 100 Portuguese Phrases to Learn

Verbs in Brazilian Portuguese

Blogs

Uncle Brazil

Video

Channels

Brazilian Talk

Fernando - FWBP

Lennon Brito

Plain Portuguese

Portugués con Philipe Brazuca (For Spanish-speakers)

Speaking Brazilian Language School

Street Smart Brazil

Playlists

Brazilian Films with English Subtitles

Easy Brazilian Portuguese: Basic Phrases

Easy Brazilian Portuguese: Learning From the Streets

Portuguese From Brazil

Super Easy Brazilian Portuguese

Audio

Podcasts

Brazilian Portuguese Podcast

Brazilian Talk

Brazilianing

Carioca Connection

Fala Gringo*

Língua da Gente

LinguaBoost

Papo Vai

Read Books in Brazilian Portuguese With Me*

Speaking Brazilian Podcast

Tá Falado! (Compares Spanish and Portuguese languages)

Spotify Playlists

Brazilian Boogie

Brazilian Pop Mix

Brasilidades

RADAR Brasil

Raízes Brasileiras

Top 50 - Brazil

Top Songs - Brazil

Web Apps/ Mobile Apps

Flashcards

Anki | Speaking Brazilian | 55 Sounds

Linguno

Memrise | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Dictionaries

Forvo (Pronunciation dictionary)

Priberam (Cites differences between European and Brazilian)*

Word Reference

Courses

Duolingo | Old Duolingo for Web | Old Duolingo APKs For Android

Language Drops

Keyboards

Lexilogos

Type.it

Communities/Forums

HiNative

r/brazilianmusic

r/language_exchange

r/Portuguese | Discord Server

[malecdiscordserver]

Welcome to the Shadowhunters Reverse Bang 2024: Presented by the Malec Discord Server

We are so excited to bring back another year of artists taking the reins, and writers finding inspiration with their incredible works.

You might be asking yourself, what is a reverse bang? The Shadowhunters Reverse Bang is a collaborative fandom event that combines fandom talents! Artists create never-before-seen art that writers will find inspiration in and create an entirely new story based off of, and together, they create magic.

Who can participate? In order to participate in this reverse bang, you must be a part of the Malec Discord Server. You must be over 16 to participate and over 18 to create explicit works.

All other rules and FAQs can be found here or underneath the cut!

The schedule as it currently stands is below. This schedule is subject to change depending on the situation. You will be notified of any changes.

Artists Sign-ups Open - March 9 Artist Sign-ups Closed - April 6 Writer Sign-ups Open - April 7 Artist Check-in #1 - Due May 1 Writer Sign-ups Closed - May 16 Art Submissions Due - May 16 Art Claims Open - May 18 Art Claims Closed - May 20 Matches Revealed - May 25 Writer & Artist Check-in - Due July 1 Writer & Artist Check-in - Due August 1 Final Check-in (Fics & Art Due) - August 25 Posting Begins - August 31

Artist sign-ups will open on Saturday, March 9th. Join the Malec Discord Server for an immediate reminder, or keep an eye on @malecdiscordserver!

General Rules:

You must be part of the Malec Discord Server to participate in this event.

You must be over 16 to participate and over 18 to create explicit works.

All content must be brand new and never before posted to any forum. All content must be polished and finished. No unfinished works or WIPs that you plan on continuing later will be accepted. Works that are added chapters/continuations of previously published works are not permitted unless they can be viewed/read as a standalone.

All AI content is prohibited.

Artists are asked not to talk about their projects until after claims with anyone participating in this event to keep writer claims fair.

All content must focus on Shadowhunters universe characters.

All Shadowhunters characters/ships are accepted. OCs/borrowed characters will be accepted as minor characters.

AUs and crossovers are accepted as long as the Shadowhunters characters are the main focus.

Content of any rating and subject matter is accepted, but participants must make sure to include any relevant warnings and properly tag their work.

No blatantly hateful content of any kind.

Artists must communicate readily with their assigned writer and vice versa. This is a collaborative effort and writers must be open to the ideas the artists have. The same courtesy is asked of artists.

When you sign up for this event you are making a commitment to yourself, the Mods, and your future partner(s) to meet all posted deadlines and to communicate with the Mods and your partner(s) regularly. Please don’t sign up for the event unless you are confident that you can fully participate and be honest with yourself about what you can commit to.

Please respect the Mods and anyone working with you throughout this event. Certain complaints may disqualify you from this event.

The password to make sure you understand all rules is SHRB24. Remember this when you sign up.

Artist Specific Rules:

Artists must create at least one finished project and no more than two finished projects for this event.

Accepted forms of submitted art include:

Digital/physical art: 1 piece, 500px minimum

Photomanipulation: 1 piece with significant editing

Gifsets: 4 gifs (without watermarks)

Moodboards: 6 graphics

Video: 1 minute

Playlists: 10 songs and a graphic

Abstract art/line art, original songs, and poems will also be accepted as long as the prompt given to accompany it gives a clear picture for the writer.

Artists are expected to be respectful of the writer’s ideas. Artists are expected to be in contact with their writers about specific changes/ideas they might have along the way.

Artists will need somewhere to host their work so that it can be embedded on AO3.

Plagiarism will not be tolerated. If you are in need of stock images for your project please make sure that they are open source and that you provide the proper credits and sources. For gif creators using online gif makers, please remove watermarks before posting.

AI art is strictly prohibited.

Writer Specific Rules:

Writers must write a minimum of 4,000 words to participate in this event. There is no maximum limit but please keep in mind the time constraints of this event.

Writers are expected to be respectful of the artists’ ideas, likes, dislikes, and rating preferences. Writers are expected to be in contact with their artist about specific changes/ideas they might have along the way.

Writers must base their fics off of the art prompt they claim. For example, if the art features Clary as an art student, the fic should not be Malec-focused with Clary attending an art school in the background. The fic should be primarily about Clary being an art student.

Writers signing up for the event may not get their first pick when assigned art. Please be mindful of this! Ending your commitment because of this is not permitted and if you feel this will be an issue you should not sign up for the event.

Plagiarism and AI content will not be tolerated. All content must be the writer’s own original work.

Frequently Asked Questions

Why do I have to be a part of the Malec Discord Server to participate? All continuous communication for this event will be provided in a special category in the MDS. This includes all announcements, reminders, and ongoing requirements. If you want to join but don’t want access to the entire server, you can be given a Discord role based on your role in this event so the rest of the server is not accessible to you.

Sign-ups haven’t closed yet but I’m so excited about this challenge and really want to begin. Can I start working now? Artists are free to begin their piece(s) as soon as they read through the rules and requirements! Writers, unfortunately, will have to until they are matched with an artist, but we appreciate your enthusiasm for this event!

Can I sign up for more than one role? Absolutely. Many bang participants sign up for multiple roles as long as you believe you can complete all pieces before the assigned deadline(s).

What if someone doesn’t have a match? In the event that the art prompts outnumber writers, we will do several rounds of claiming so that every art prompt has a writer. If writers outnumber art prompts, we will open up the art prompts so that more than one writer is assigned to the same artist or ask artists if they are interested in completing more art. Every artist will be matched with at least one writer and vice versa.

What if I’m matched with an art prompt/partner I don’t want? The Mods (and most artists) would never want someone to create something that makes them uncomfortable, so if there is an art prompt that you don’t want to be matched with, don’t choose it during claims.

If you have any legitimate concerns about a partner (i.e. harassment or rude behavior), we ask that you please notify the Mods. Intervention by the Mods will not occur simply because of disliking story/design choices or the content they’re producing. Mods will not allow any rude or dismissive behavior by any participant. Please just be nice and work hard to help each other.

Can I repost old art or reuse/add to a WIP? No, All content must be brand new and never before posted to any forum. More on this in the rules.

What if I’m not around when claims occur? Claims will span three days and will not be on a first come first serve basis so as long as you are able to submit your interest in those three days, chances are you’ll be matched with one of your top three choices.

What if I’m not positive I can finish within the deadline? When you sign up for this event you are making a commitment to yourself, the Mods, and your future partner(s) to meet all posted deadlines and to communicate with the Mods and your partner(s) regularly. Please don’t sign up for the event unless you are confident that you can fully participate and be honest with yourself about what you can commit to.

What if something comes up after claims and I need to drop out? We understand that dropping out due to unforeseen circumstances can and will happen. We are/have always been very understanding when this happens and are willing to work with you. The quicker you let us know, the more options the Mods have.

How can I contact the Mods? Send us an ask on here or join the Discord server where we are more accessible.

[fantasy-mixtapes]

Fig Faeth Junior Year Playlist: Side A

It's no surprise that Fig Faeth's playlist is the one that I actually listen to the most. It's just a very good vibe and I love her. Took extra time to Song descriptions and thoughts down below. Spoilers for Episodes 1-10.

Genres included: Pop-punk, Punk, Alternative

1. hair out, Stand Atlantic

Am I fuckin' up my life? I'm just tryna make improvements Slowly givin' up the fight But I gotta cover up the bruise That I get from all the Expectations give me vertigo Wasting away to the pressure The pressure, The pressure, oh

This song is such an earworm, scratching a specific itch in my brain. Love the fact that both Kristen and Fig (the failing girlies) start with a Stand Atlantic song, and it works with the way that Fig is coming at this season. From the jump, she is one of the most visibly and audibly burnt out, specifically from the pressure of the "sophomore album" that was supposed to come out months ago. This song is definitely about the pressures of a songwriter as well as the pressures of life in general so it fits sooooo perfectly. Especially with the "I can already here people hating the song" outro *chefs kiss*

2. Who The Hell Am I?, NOBRO

God, I'm tired of being like this I can change, but in a minute Always looking for the back door, on the run Always at the party, never quite having fun Play with fire, and you're gonna get burned I'm on fire, and you know it hurts I was always on the outside looking in Maybe it's me 'cause I never wanna fit in

Fig's class struggles, her conversation with Mazey, I can't take it. I feel like we've all been there. I really love how the narrative with her has progressed, like last season was deconstructing her need to mold herself into other people (or into an idealized version of herself) now she's trying to figure out who she is at her core without all the disguises.

3. 7 Years Bad Luck, Glasseater

Something strange seems to be plaguing me Everything I touch falls apart I've lost it all, losing all my luck Suffering 7 years bad luck

I don't particularly love this song, a little too unintentionally underproduced, but it deserves a spot on this playlist. I feel like I would be Fig in the curse situation. It took me a literal year to deal with debilitating stomach problems, and I, too, waited until my friends noticed to actually do something about it. Either way, can't wait to learn more about the weird Galier Pride curse, love the representation for my stomach problem girlies

4. Where the Heart Is, Sweet Pill

Get this My mind's been in a million places but my body hasn't moved an inch And I feel like I'm missing out again Ignoring my plans Wondering how they went Feeling bad about it If I could just take a chance I wouldn't feel so bad To see past myself I wouldn't feel so bad

This is Fig's final decision to try Paladin after doing so well with Warlock. She knows the priorities in her gut don't match with what anyone else says, but she's discovering her loyalty. She's figuring out her actual drive... following her heart <3

5. Impostor Syndrome, Sidney Gish

Unfortunately, I am My own dog, my own fur companion My own old lady on a forum Who types in glittery decorum Unfortunately, I take Myself out walking every day and I had my legs to the feet and I give my head to the leash

Making Fantasy High playlists is like making a ven diagram of which dog-themed songs are Tracker-coded and which are Fig-coded. This one, to me at least, is Fig-coded. (yes, I do have a tracker playlist, and yes, every song in it is dog/wolf specific, BUT THEY'RE GOOD OK). We love our Oath/Pact of the German Shepard.

6. You Owe Me Nothing In Return, Alanis Morissette

I'll give you countless amounts of outright Acceptance if you want it I will give you encouragement to chose The path you want if you need it You can speak of anger and doubts Your fears and freak outs And I'll hold it

So I know that we're gearing up for Fig's Warlock/Paladin agreement post "mooner yulenear," but this is my interpretation of what it's going to look like. She cares about her friends, and she would do anything for them! And though I know this song came out in 2002, Alanis Morissette is a 90's icon and perfect for the grungy riot grrrl vibe I see for her

[dailyadventureprompts]

We've known for a long while that people find different things about d&d to be fun and what archetypes they fall into, but I'd posit that within the framework of everything that is "Dungeons and Dragons" there exists several wildly different games/forms of fun that all from a part of the d&d ecosystem.

This was brought up during a discussion with my partner when we were talking about the build for her bard. She LOVES playing d&d, it's one of the highlights of her week, but her brain just doesn't give her the happy chemicals when it comes time to do anything related to character building: levelling up, managing her inventory and spell list, charting out what her abilities do, all these things are a chore she puts up with so she can play at the table with our friends. Compare that to me, who loves building characters so much that I have an ever growing stable of concepts I'm never going to get to play, some of which are so developed I not only have them planned out from low to high level but have gone so far as to make playlists about them.

My brain clearly does give me the happy chemicals when dealing with character stuff, to the point where one of my favourite things as a Dm is trawling through my vast archive of 3rd party content to help a player realize a mechanical/flavor concept that might otherwise be hard to nail. Further contrast that with the older generation of tabletop characters who invest almost nothing into characters and throw that into meat-grinder dungeons, or the folks who spend years debating build optimization on forums but seldom ever rolling dice at the table. We're all playing very different FORMS of d&d.

This variance applies to nearly every aspect of the game: dungeons, combat, roleplay, story, but because we don't have strong terms for as many of these variables as we should we end up with mismatches, especially when narrowmidned folks start talking about how the way they play d&d is the RIGHT or ONLY way to play it.

There's a lot of communities that are guilty of this ( anyone who's ever complained about the Critical role effect for instance) but strangely enough one of the biggest ones is WotC, who's trying to make OneDnD for a VERY specific group of people

They play online

They play official modules almost exclusively

They don't use much 3rd party material, if any

They are willing to accept limited character customization for sake of ease.

Not only does no one I play with fit inside that group of people, it's a profile that more accurately fits MMO players, a group of people that broke off from d&d's target audience somewhere around the 90s. You have to wonder how much of the shitshow OD&D has amounted to is all just a reaction to world of warcraft biting into Wotc's bottomline

[interdimensionaldrey-blog]

That one is in Danger, So This one has awoken...

So i figured I'd cash in some of my street cred as #TLOUBestie of @justagalwhowrites and post my playlist here. Making playlists is a bit of an artistic hobby of mine, I used to DJ for an internet radio station in the more wild west era of internet forums before social media. I really enjoy putting together music that vibes with itself and that transitions well.

Anyways, this being my art blog it seems like the prime place to lay out my thoughts.

So! This concept had been in my mind for some time, but when Kit told me she was writing the hospital scene of #Lavender, as her muse, I decided to put this together for the occasion.

All the songs in the playlist can really serve to fit anywhere in the violent protector narrative, its designed to make a continuous loop, but here Im going to try and paint but a single, generic way of experiencing the playlist, if one is in need of some inspiration.

The playlist

1: I.Dogma

■The track: OKAY BEAR WITH ME. Pretend youve never heard of the famous video game DOOM or its excellent 2016 remake. This track still has some powerful ambience and chilling voice work. For the sake of our story well take this completely out of context and adopt DOOM SLAYER for our subject.

●The Concept: So there is a being. Its violence and deeds are legendary, enough so that the history of its actions are recorded and passed down amongst others with whispers of fear. The terror people with knowledge of this being have is matched only by their reverence for what it accomplished. The Doomslayer.

2: The End is the Beginning is the End

■The Track: okay so... ugh. I hate this version of the song.

This song was originally written about Batman for the ill fates early 2000s Shumaker version of the film with primetime-medical-drama-star George Clooney... it was pretty bad. Uma Thurman was the key preformance in that film

I digress, ive had the original in my music catalouge for some time and I love it. It has a heavy, frantic, snare heavy rock beat layered with twisting guitar chorsa, and haunting vocals singing about some legendary weirdo trying to change a world it hates.

BUT THAT VERSION ISNT AVAILABLE ON SPOTIFY. 😤😤

The version on spotify sounds like their grandma bought them a distortion pedal for the first time. Im guessing its licensing issues but still, not my fav.

●The Concept: Here we have the being as remembered by legend. The stories people tell, the traumas others remember. The Doom Slayer is larger than life, an inspiration to some and a warning to others. To believe his existence by the tales of those who know of him one might almost think the doom slayer a lively one, capable of anything.

3. The Beginning is the End is the Beginning

■The Track: The yang to the ying of these songs here we have the same or similar lyrics... but drawn out into a sluggish, desperate, cynical tone. There is an air of dread in the sounds and low frequencies of this piece. The vocals are almost sinister in nature as if making fun of the subject of the song.

●The Concept: Here we have the reality of the legend. The stories arent false persay, maybe a bit embellished. But the reality is the Doom Slayer lives a life of silent suffering, having entered a state torpor for whatever reason. There is currently balance and they dont think, simply idle in their sludge of an existence. Perhaps the giant sleeps beneath mountains or the dragon in a volcano, maybe a legendary killer lives a quiet life of smuggling and emotionlessly burning the bodies of euthanized children... days only seperated by drug induced nights of dreamless sleep.

Whatever the circumstance its beloved is not with it and not within reach. The quiet acceptance fills its life with a void, but this void balances the fire asleep within.

4: Counting Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums

■The Track: An acid bath of sounds and beats that build on top of each other with a chaotic and violent sound. Dread and fear become present in the ominous marching sound of the melody as a sweet voice begins singing sinister reasaurances of ownership and protection. Its clear the voice is passionate about its care of the subject, but its motives are questionable. This isnt a song about the healthy kind of protection, its the kind of protection that doesnt ask the protectee if they want to be protected.

●The Concept: The balance is broken.

Perhaps it was a flood of memories. Perhaps a rumor of the beloveds location. Perhaps another who is like the beloved, but is not, is thrust into the arms of the doom slayer. Maybe even there is a distant cry for help... real or imagined.

Whatever the reason, there is an awakening. A growing pulse, the fanning flames, the start of an avalanche.

5. Betrayal/Forgiveness

■The Track: Apocalyptica is a electric string quartet that does a lot of covers of death metal songs, with a focus on melody and showing off the actual complexity of the music. This track, is hard to describe. It makes me imagine two Bucks fighting with their antlers, ant colonies going to war, lions hunting... there is fury and power. In the controlled chaos order emerges in a raspy melody laid amongst the sounds of ripping and tearing.

●The Concept: In the time spent in Torpor confines have grown around the being. Perhaps its the mountains of stone and vines, layers of obsidian hardnened atop. Maybe our doom slayer is in a city or a facility, imprisoned or exiled. Wherever they are they are not free to pursue their beloved, and so there is a purging.

Tragically in this stage it may not be the ones who deserve it who feel the wrath of the doom slayer simply being in the way at the wrong time. Nevertheless the way is opened and perhaps there is mourning, but in the end there is nothing that can contain this one when its beloved is in danger.

6: One Way Or Another

■The Track: The original is such a catchy, poppy, almost sarcastic hit that its easy to not concider what the songs about. But slow it down? Drop the key to a minor and give it that thriller movie trailer sound? The songs meaning becomes much creepier.

●The Concept: Awoken and no longer restrained there is a calm in the storm. The being takes a moment to reaffirm its intents and desires. Its one purpose renewed fills its being and it prepares internally, fully dedicating its entire existence to the one thing that still makes it burn.

7: Chokka

■The Track: More Apocalyptica, borrowing on the same kind of tense sounds theyre so good at making with an electric cello.

The song has a sense foreboding about it layered with a high pitched piano riff. It manages to say so much without a single word and its beautiful for what it does.

●The Concept: The hunt begins. The doomslayer sets out after whatever awokened it, following a lead, returning to a location, listening to the cries. Whoever you are, wherever you are... it is coming for you. You have taken the beloved, you have harmed the beloved... you are a threat to the beloved. It will find the information, it will believe you when you scream out what it wants to hear. Closer and closer it nears with the first targets if its ire in sight.

8. Die MF Die

■The Track: Ugh. I wish I had better things to say about this track. It was so fucking popular in the military, every fucking daddy issue, toxic masculinity, overcompensating, gun toting, proud boy, soldier cuck wanted to play this song as they rolles out the gate to live out their murdee fantasies.

That aside, the song does a decent job capturing the almost... joyful... demeanor of a predator who has caught its quarry.

●The Concept: The first real conflict. Whatever our being has been hunting it has found a quarry. This is the time for violence and the being is intimately familiar with the process.

9. Dirt Room

■The Track: Blue October who hurt you? This song feels so personal to me. When I listen to it I almost feel bad, like im witnessing something intimate such as seeing somebody else in a hard therapy session.

This songs overall story is a revenge fantasy about burying somebody alive. Id complement the metaphors in this song but, ahhhh Im fairly certain everything said is quite literal.

●The Concept: Theres more to our being than unkempt violence. Information is valuable and will be the way to the beloved. Here we find the insane mind of the doom slayer open and his hate laid bare like a set of tools working at the next barrier lying between them and their goal. May god have mercy on those in its path who survive the fight to be questioned by the being.

10: The Only Thing They Fear is You

■The Track: Spotify licensing agreements strike again. The only thing available on spotify are shittty covers. And sure while they do a good job of playing the song on guitar the problem is the original is preformed by a computer. It blends sounds not possible with acoustic instruments.

I fucking love the original so much. Some of the heaviest, intense, melodic, acid rock tracks ive ever heard. The only version that truly does this song justice is the original:

●The Concept: The climax of the encounter so to speak. The search is over and the beloved has been found. There are no more questions as to where it needs to go, there is only the question of what is in its way, and the answer the being brings is incredible violence. They will resist and fight with all their might, but ultimately they are all aware of the fulity of their efforts and when the mist of blood settles there is only the open path of the doom slayer as it continues forward, unyieilding.

11: Light the City Up

■The Track: You know theres not a whole lot of tracks i can find that really embody the idea "Id burn down the whole city to keep you safe" but this song comes pretty close.

Fun fact, this song isnt on the soundtrack for Spiderman:Across the Universe because production of that movie was a mess, but this is the song played in the giant chase sequence in the spider HQ between a the different spidermen

●The Concept: The story blurs in the blood lust as the being continues his conquest burning down everything in its path. There is literally nothing it wouldnt destroy to keep the one it loves safe and those still foolish enough to stop it begin to learn why the legends were written in the first place.

Here the brush strokes of my story grow broader as therea less form to the songs and their intent. The story begins to swing more wildly in its respective directions as the being desperation grows with the beloved just outside of his grip.

12. Stompbox

■The Track: You can rely on the Qemists to give you some good frantic chase music. This track has no vocals aside from one desperate scream thats overlaid in a few spaces. Still this song gives me the feel of a hostile confrontation at high intensity.

●The Concept: The home stretch. The recovery of the beloved. Reaching the goal. The accumulates momentum of our being finally reaches its moment of critical mass and barrels through the finish line. Perhaps this the final guard, the boss of the ememies... maybe its a final test or a desperate dash to saftey. Whatever it is, it does not stop the being.

13. Tension 2

■The Track: I love me some blue man group. Following the flow of chase music this track pulls out all the stops in portraying anxiety inducing stress and tension. Beats of different speeds overlaid with fast paced bass rhythms blends with the patter of drums.

●The concept: Take the money and run. The being has what it came for. The beloved is honored, the balance is restored... but now is the time to get out. Get the beloved safe. Now is the time to avoid the crashing waves of consequences that swing in from all sides to try and once again seperate what has been rejoined.

14: Rip and Tear

■The Track: More acid rock from Mick Gordon. Another one of those songs that manages to push such vvid imagery without ever saying a word. Theres a confidence in the sound of this track, but also an underlying doubt and anxiety. High pitched siren like sounds mix with a heartbeat like pattern.

●The Concept: Gutteral tones convey the desperate and intense violence of fighting with every once of being. Tooth, nail, knife, fist and spit, this is the last stand of a cornered animal. The full fury of the legend is brought forth in events which new mythologys will be written about by whats left of those close enough to behold its power.

15: Blahhhh blah blah. "Stone Men Song"

■The Track: So this is the end credits song that plays after Jorah and Tyrion are jumped by the stone men and Tyrion appears to sink into the depths of the river, his hands bound. The screen cuts to black and this song plays.

To me it conveys the horror of a situation you cant control and that has gone horribly wrong.

●The Concept: This is not a comedy but a tragedy. Despite whatever best efforts and good intentions of the being, it finds itself in a situation it cannot control. The consequences of its actions have accumulated to a point tbhat in its horror it finds itself ripped from its goals.

16: Ebla

■The Track: A fusion blend of rock beats with synthetic classical overlays and a choir singing in latin. Its not quite hopeful but not quite defeated. Its a somber song that echoes the beauty of love that can create such violence as well as a reminder of its costs.

●The Concept: The ode to the doomslayer. Whatever end its story met, if an end at all and not simply the start of the next cycle, it now once again rests in silent suffering. Its purpose fuffilled and perhaps its time cut short, for whatever reason this chapter ends. The night grows silent and the only light is the glow of the smoldering ruins the doomslayer has left in its wake.

-------

Awww look at you. You sat through all of that! Thanks!

I hope you enjoyed that and that this playlist helps you fuel your own creative art.

BONUS

If you genuinely enjoyed this playlist and want more ive got good news! I have an extended version of the playlist that kit has assured me is "Extended like Lord of the rings, not Star wars"

So for sitting through all that, youve unlocked it!

[unhonestlymirror]

Hi! I hope you are well and having a wonderful day.

I've been following your account for quite a while now, and your content is fascinating but it's certainly been hitting a brick wall, cracking it and discovering a completely different reality. And because of that I would like to know more about Ukraine. And actually, that's been complicated for me. And I don't know if you can help me to take a starting point, like some names of history books that you recommend or forums or newspaper news that don't contain Russian bias.

Anyway, thank you so much for what you already share, it's a treasure.

Thank you for your words, really. It's the best motivation for me to continue.

I... don't really know much books about Ukrainian history on English. I like this one:

I also like reading @ukr_arthistory (on Twitter) and @vintage-ukraine. @qirimlia (on Twitter) writes about Crimean Tatars.

This musical clip has English subtitles, and I cry every time watching it

This is the playlist of Ukrainian music, maybe something will hook your soul

Maybe @ohsalome or @kurhanchyk or @hirkyy or @wintersmitth or someone else from ukrtumblr can recommend you something else to read

[peachgreentea]

studying for the lsat (for free)

i know lsat prep courses are so expensive and i cannot pay for that so i thought i’d share what i’ve been doing

insight lsat on youtube has a playlist with a free prep course, in which they go over each section of the lsat/each type of question you’ll encounter. it’s very helpful and i recommend pausing the video and trying to answer yourself whenever the instructor recommends it!

after going through question types, he provides a list of “homework questions” — the questions add up to essentially being 2 full sections from a few different practice tests, so at the moment i’m doing the questions one recommended practice test at a time (making it 2 full sections each time i practice)

i compile answers to these practice questions in a google doc, where i correct myself and make notes on what went wrong, as well as label what types of questions i missed so i can see any patterns

i use a notion spreadsheet to track how much time per day i study, as well as scores and/or percent accuracy for my actual practice (when doing the homework questions/2 sections instead of a full test, i calculate accuracy since i do not have an actual score)

after working through the lsat insight course and doing all recommended practice, my next step will be to do full timed sections (when i do homework practice it is untimed)

then, i will take a full timed test, so that i have a new diagnostic score and i can plan out the next phase of studying. i will once again track what types of questions i’m missing so i can implement more targeted practice.

more notes:

- i get my practice tests of pdf coffee

- i check answers using manhattan prep (it’s a forum so explanations are detailed and written by real people)

i hope this was at all helpful, and if anyone has any questions or recommendations let me know! :)