#the void's reflection

[all-for-geek]

The Void's Reflection - Chapter 2: The Manor

Chapter 1

Fandoms: Who Killed Markiplier/Hatchetfield

Summary: John and Wilbur continue through the strange manor, quickly learning that they are too far in over their heads.

Word Count: 1,566

The inside of the manor looked much more in line with the almost century of neglect the house had received. Even in the middle of the day, the foyer was dark, the only light source coming from the open door. Dust covered the once ornate house, now only the home of the animals that had snuck their way in.

Wilbur shines his flashlight around the space, first scanning down the hall deeper into the first floor. The furniture, although thickly layered with dust, had not budged in the near century that it had laid festering…no, no that wasn’t the right word. Wilbur squints at the chaise lounge in the drawing room. Slowly, he sits down on it, his flashlight highlighting the dust now floating in the air. The chair stood firm, not even a creak as he pressed more into the seat.

“It's like this place has been frozen in time,” John mutters mostly to himself.

“Maybe it is,” the colonel answers regardless.

John hums, acknowledging the point as he notices a discoloration in the tiles. Kneeling down, it doesn’t take long to realize it’s blood. He ruffles through his bag to grab the equipment to collect a sample.

“You know with all that rustling you might draw some unwanted attention.”

“Isn’t that the idea? Luring out whatever is here so we can catch it.”

“We only catch if it’s dangerous. For all we know this place could just have some poor souls trapped here. No point in dislodging them if they aren’t a threat.”

“No, no something is up with this place. I can feel it.”

Wilbur sighs, but he can’t disagree. He stands, turning his sights onto the rest of the house when a loud gasp behind him causes him to whip around, hand poised to take out his gun at a moment’s notice. John stares  at the broken mirror, even paler than usual. The colonel runs over to him, placing a grounding hand on the captain’s shoulder.

“What did you see?” he asks gently.

“A…a shadow. I couldn’t quite make out a shape. It looked like it was coming from inside the mirror.”

Wilbur furrowed his brow, a little confused. They had seen more strange and unsettling things on the base by far. Why did this get John so rattled? “...it’s different out in the wild, isn’t it?”

“It…it’s not that I…” John pauses to find the right words, but falls short. “I don’t know. A little, I guess.”

“Don’t worry. It wears off quickly.” Wilbur pats John’s back. “Come on. The sooner we figure this place out, the sooner we can leave.”

John nods, glancing back at the mirror as they head down the hallway.

The hallway leads into a small game room, the remnants of a poker match still on the table. John examines the cards, looking for any sort of spiritual meaning in them, but nothing.

“Wonder who won,” he muses to himself.

“My money’s on-” Wilbur pauses as his hand grazes over the table, his blinking slowing. Suddenly, his mind starts to get slurred and groggy, stumbling into the table as if he’s drunk.

“Wil?” John turns toward the man, his face paling as he rushes over to his side. “Hey…hey, talk to me.”

Wilbur stands there for a moment longer before blinking, his vision coming back into focus. “Alright…house provides visions…good to know.”

“Wait what?” John sounds the appropriate amount of alarmed. “What do you mean? What did you see?”

“A group playing at this table. There were 4…well, 5 with me I guess.” He walked around the table standing in front of the spot with the cards. As he talks, he points to the other chairs. “A man in a military uniform sat there…the mayor there…a detective and…that was the actor, Iplier.”

John mentally runs back through the guests at the party. “Which means you were in the spot of the DA.”

“Guess we know one of the spirits that still resides here.”

John can’t help but feel a shiver up his spine. “...let’s go. The sooner we find them the better.”

Wilbur agrees. The two move further into what appears to be an entertainment room, a projector pointed at the curtain and the body outline below it.

“This must’ve been where they found him,” John notes. He takes out his equipment, beginning to scan the area. “Huh. I’m getting a reading from-”

John’s cut off by the sound of shouting in an adjacent room. The two hurry over, guns raised, but when they arrive, they are met with dead silence.

“Okay…not the weirdest-” It is now Wilbur's turn to be cut off as he turns to the spot he could’ve sworn John was just a moment ago. He frantically reaches for his walkie.

“John? John, do you read me?!”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the crackle of static and Wilbur’s heart falling to the floor.

“....”

“...I r-r…d..ya…I…ink…” John’s voice, distorted and grainy but distinct, vibrates through the walkie.

Wilbur jerks forward, pacing to try and get a better signal. “John, you’re breaking up. Where are you?”

“...I do…dark…slow…everything…”

Wilbur rushes to the door. Maybe the house was interfering with the signal? He pokes his head out into the yard. He looks around for a moment, trying desperately to get a good read and-

Has there always been a figure by the pool?

John stares down at the empty pool. His breathing was heavy and labored. His thoughts race a mile a minute, still trapped in that odd space in-between he had somehow stumbled into. Something rushes into him, restraining him before his reflexes can kick in. It takes a moment to realize that it’s Wilbur, embracing him tightly. 

“What the hell happened?” The colonel asked, giving John a once over to ensure that he’s not injured.

“I’m not sure…” John forces himself to focus as he answers. “One moment we were in the theater room. The next, you were gone, the world went black and white…then I was here.”

Wilbur frowned. He pulled out a device that scanned his partner’s body for any lingering effects. He breathed a sigh of relief when it came back negative. “We should get you back to base so we can run a more thorough test.”

“What? No!” John huffs indignantly. He wasn’t going to abandon his first mission just because of a little teleportation. “I’m alright, Wil. We can keep going.”

“We don’t know that. And as the commanding officer of this mission, I’m not going to put your health at risk. We have enough proof that this house is anomalous.”

“But we don’t know what the anomaly is. Look-” He pulls out the scanner from earlier, a bright white dot blinking over one of the rooms on the upper floor. “This is probably the hot spot for the activity. Let’s check that, and then after if you want to call it we can.”

Wilbur was conflicted. He knew that if any other agent had been with him, he wouldn’t be as ready to leave, but he couldn’t shake the terror that had overtaken his body when John had disappeared. He looked the man in the eyes. “If at any point, I think you’re acting off or something’s fishy, we’re leaving, and you won’t be talking your way out of it.”

“....fine.”

“Good. Let’s go then.” The two enter the cursed house once more, the stairs creaking beneath them as they ascend to the second level of the house. They follow the map on the scanner to a room that is dark even by the standards of the house. Wilbur’s flashlight reveals a table taking up most of the room covered by a cloth decorated to look like the night sky. On top of it sat a crystal ball along with a tarot deck.

“Well no wonder this room is such a hot bed for activity,” John comments as he slowly enters. 

He roams around to the other side of the room, every sensor on him going haywire. He scrambles for one of them when he hears the sound of cards shuffling behind him. Both men whip around to see one of the tarot cards now flipped over: a man in a toga standing on a balcony with the words “The Emperor” written in bold calligraphy on the bottom. John stares at the man, Wilbur looking at the card’s upside down, stoic face from across the table.

“You familiar at all with tarot?”

Wilbur shakes his head. He steps closer to investigate the card when his eyes fall to the crystal ball next to it. His breath seizes as it begins to emit a bright green glow, his hand poised on his gun before his body freezes, trapped in whatever vision he was receiving.

“Wil?!” John rushes over to him, shaking the man’s shoulder to no avail.

A cold laugh grabs John's attention. A woman steps from the shadows of the room. The soldier recognized her from the briefing: Celine Whitaker, Iplier’s ex-wife. Her face was sunken in, more bone than skin, but besides that she looked as if she had not aged a day. Her lips curl in an unnaturally wide smile as John pulls out his gun.

“My oh my…” She speaks in a voice that clearly did not belong to the body, a deep register that echoed off the walls. “How some things never change.”

[leftarmofl1fe]

color being tragic

-

I loveeee drawing him crash out in the void.

I think he’d have a lot of resentment towards Gaster at first, because I’m assuming he’d have regained his memories of him as soon as he stepped foot into the void,, and the only things he remembers is him really just not being there as a father, and now he’s being forced to stay with the guy that abandoned him in his eyes 😭

then again the new souls kinda force him to forgive Gaster because of the kindness/integrity he has… as much as he wants to dislike Gaster for what he was, he can’t because it’s hard to hold grudges when he’s always filled with kindness.

anyway I need to sleep idek if anything I’m saying makes sense

Othertale belongs to superyoumna

[letyhide]

When Mapicc did things that hurt Zam she was okay with laying her head low, apologising, changing her morals, working around her oath, and sticking by Mapicc.

Zam did things that hurt Mapicc. They were never directed at him, Often they were done out of refusal to fight him directly. Yet Mapicc still saw the lack of support during Mawn, and how Zam threw hearts at Bacon (when he was their enemy) as betrayal. And was hurt.

Due to Mapicc’s reactions to being hurt being usually violent, and directed towards Zam, it’s easier for his feelings and needs to be overshadowed compared to Zam’s in discussions. Because he sees himself as the victim even after being the perpetrator of some real damaging stuff - stuff that is often way worse than the what is done against him. Because yeah, Despite everything that happened to both of them, Mapicc is sitting on a comfortable 20 hearts, while Zam is on 4 BECAUSE of Mapicc and how many times she has been killed by him. Mapicc’s response to things is usually fighting and violence. He has self preservation and self interest very high on his priority list. While Zam’s n1 response to situations is usually self sabotage. That’s why their conflicts work so well. Zam throws herself at Mapicc many times, and just accepts whatever the outcome is (most of the time she knows she’s gonna lose).

But still Mapicc’s original worries and feelings are still valid. And they come out of a place of care for Zam and insecurity in himself. He just doesn't know how to deal with them. When he’s in a heated discussion with Zam he starts saying how "if killing you is gonna end this conversation, then i will do it” just another way of saying “i would rather hurt you than deal with my own feelings”.

It’s crazy to me that they both seem to not see the care and effort they each put into their relationship. it seems to be all about "who used who more" when, it genuinely is not about that. (Recently yes. Mapicc admitted to using Zam for the flame fight when wanting to cut her off. and yesterday he wanted to use her to get Mane with the arrow cannon). But all this talk about using one another is.. Quite frankly useless.

When Mapicc first mentioned the feeling of being used by Zam, it was all about his jealousy towards Derapchu, Zam’s new 20 heart teammate, and not being included in plans anymore. He felt like Zam was just calling him whenever she was in danger and needed help. Yet during *that talk* After the flame void trap, Zam asked Mapicc to stay by her side, and Mapicc refused. And says “if you ever need help with a fight or are in a dire situation. call me”, when he was accusing Zam of only using him for fights prior to this. Almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy. He only sees Himself useful in pvp. So mainly renders himself available for pvp fights. Or it could be projection? He accuses others of seeing him only for PVP skill. When He's the first one to do that. During the same talk he says “I provide what? pvp skill, that’s what i'm saying bro, that’s all i'm good for” And assumes everyone else does too… And I genuinely think this is what this misunderstanding all boils down to: Mapicc’s insecurities about himself, and his place next to people. After a teamless season, Zam pulling away might’ve gone better if it didn’t, in his eyes, prove exactly Mapicc’s worries. (but he's also an hypocrite as he's the first one to throw Zam away when the empire logged back on).

Mapicc pushes his feelings, and Zam, away. Says he didn’t mean the apology that day, because being angry has always been easier than being vulnerable for Mapicc. And this time Zam just doesn’t take it. All this time of having Mapicc’s insecurities being projected onto her, Mapicc actually uses her for the creeking thing, blows up her flower field and he couldn't be more blunt about his hatred for her, when all she's done is be there for him. And she snaps. “Mapicc should’ve known him this way. He just used me”, and looks back and picks apart every single thing Mapicc has done wrong to her, which to be fair. There is a lot. But also conveniently leaves out all of the hearts he gave her, she leaves out how many times Mapicc jumped back into a fight just to try and save Zam, Even though it didn’t benefit him directly. She leaves out how the other day Mapicc left her a heart in a chest. When you have the full picture you KNOW these two care about each other.

They’re so used to being by each other's side, and so bad at communicating the care they have for one another, that the second something goes wrong all they’re left with is their unresolved feelings, that they never got over, and use it as a weapon to hurt the other.

When Zam accuses Mapicc of using her, he replies “how did I use you, what did I get out of you exactly”. Even telling Minute “how did I use him, he’s the dropper” again giving this image of how he sees other’s (and by extension his) value through their fighting skills. As if "It wouldn't make sense that he would use Zam, because she is not as skilled as pvp as him". This of course isn’t what he actually believes. It was almost what he wanted Zam to believe, (and what he wants to believe himself, but he cannot even stick to this version in his head, as he replies that "I never said you did nothing" to Zam. when that's exactly what he was implying) because that is easier to explain, it makes more sense for “Mapicc” to believe that than for him to admit a “i care about you”.

And when Mapicc was alone with his thoughts, he thought about what Zam was saying to him... Did he actually use her? He says that, if he did, it wasn't on purpose.... Well except that one time. Which he sees as justified since Zam gave hearts to his enemy! Bacon... who... is now his teammate...... huh.... and the team really wants them to reconcile and he realizes that it just not might be his call as he was the one that farmed her until she was at 4 hearts... hmmm........ I'm so excited to see where this will go.

[sysig]

Reverberations, configurations (Patreon)

[clumsypuppy]

personal character design headcanons + brainrot

Note: the re-bound!au does NOT belong to me, it belongs to @chipper-smol I’m just not normal about it lol

[an-internet-introvert]

Help

[noxxuniverse]

you either have it, or you don't.

decide.

[all-for-geek]

The Void's Reflection - Chapter 1: The Threshold

Chapter 2

Fandoms: Hatchetfield/Who Killed Markiplier

Summary: John's first big mission would end up being one hell of a doozy. A haunted house turns into more than him or his partner could have prepared for. Will they make it out in one piece? Or will they become the latest souls to fall victim to the horrors within Markiplier Manor.

Word Count: 985

John looked down at the map in his hands, unable to tell if his leg was bouncing from nervousness or excitement. He had been on smaller missions before. Tiny anomalies or data readings about crop circles and the like, but never anything like this. Nothing that could actually lead to something. If the rumors were true, this house could potentially be really dangerous, but he couldn’t find it in him to be too concerned about that. Excitement, he decided.

The man next to him chuckled amusedly, glancing over at John a dangerous amount of times for someone who was driving. Wilbur knew that the man was excited, but he had forgotten about that fresh spark in a soldier’s eyes that made them almost glow. It was sorta cute, if he allowed himself to admit that. Which he didn’t, obviously. He was a professional.

“Run me through the debrief,” Wilbur instructed. The order earns him an exaggerated groan.

“God, again?! We’ve gone over it three times already on the trip over here. Not to mention the actual debrief back on base.”

“Yes, that briefing you were definitely paying attention to.”

“I was paying attention.”

“That why you got the details wrong the first time?”

“I got them mostly right on the second!”

“And let’s see if you can get them all right this time.”

John groans again, realizing he’s not going to get out of this. He drones in a monotonous voice. “The house has been abandoned for 85 years. Last owner was an old Hollywood actor with a tangled love life. Wife left him for his brother, and the wife’s brother was the only friend he had until he locked himself away. Last thing to happen before the house was abandoned was a poker night that ended with all the guests presumed dead, though allegedly a few have been seen walking around since then. The area has been experiencing temporal anomalies that all occur within a 5 mile radius of that house.”

“Who all were there that night?”

“You really expect-”

“They are the potential spirits we could come across. You have to know what you’re getting into, Johnny-Boy.”

“Johnny Boy?!”

Wilbur shrugged.

John huffed, shuffling through the dossier on the house.

“There's...the actor, obviously: Mark Iplier, or Markiplier to the public. Official guests were the brother-in-law and then mayor of LA Damian Whitacre, a detective Iplier had hired, the district attorney of LA, and the affair partner/brother: Colonel William J. Barnum.”

John snorts.

“Maybe you two know each other.”

“The man is suspected of multiple murders and a serial adulterer.”

“Relax, it's a joke. No need to be so cross about it.”

Wilbur blinks, letting the pun fully sink in. “That was awful.”

“Oh you loved it.”

“I truly did not.”

John snickers as Wilbur rolls his eyes. “Keep going, Macnamara.” John continues through a fit of giggles before his voice evens out. “There was minimal staff that night: the butler, Benjamin, the chef, and the groundskeeper, George. Though the latter never went into the house according to reports. Eyewitnesses from that night also spotted two reporters and the ex-wife, Celine, entering the property the day after the party. Most of the guests were never seen again, Iplier and Celine’s bodies were found three days afterward still in the house. Due to blood in the foyer, far from the two bodies, it was assumed there was some violent altercation between the other guests as well. There were reports of Colonel Barnum appearing every now and again after, though he was clearly deranged. Anywhere he allegedly was spotted bodies were sure to follow. The staff left late in the night the day after the party. None gave save testimony about what happened that night except for George who only called the house a ‘den of evil’ and said nothing else. ”

“What was the name of the DA?”

“What?” John starts digging through the dossier. “Hey that’s not fair, that’s not in here.”

“Exactly. Cause we don’t have one. A public official like that should have some sort of record, but we can’t seem to find one. It might be part of the anomaly.”

“....aaaaahhhhhh.”

Wilbur chuckles. “You’ve still got a lot to learn my friend.”

Friend. That left a sour taste in John’s mouth, though why he had no idea. He quickly shakes the confusion off, throwing Wilbur a lop-sided grin. “Good thing I have such a good mentor then.”

Wilbur tries hard to suppress his smile. “What’s the game plan on our end when we get there?”

This part John recites by heart. “The team will split up to cover more ground. Sector A is checking the surrounding area, focusing on a nearby club that is another hotspot of activity. Sector B will patrol the ground and act as backup for Sector C, us, who will investigate the mansion itself.”

“What sort of gear do we need for this?”

“Well we don’t exactly know what we will encounter when we get there, so we have to prepare for anything. We’ve got ghost busting gear-”

“Paranormal search and containment equipment.”

“Whatever. And shit for demons, witches, and eldritch anomalies. Along with the standard data reading equipment.”

“Good. Sounds like we’re good to go.” With perfect timing too, as the van pulls up in front of an elaborate manor. It certainly doesn’t look like it has been condemned for 85 years, the building showing no signs of disrepair. John looks up at the house, curiously.

“You sure no ones been here since the 1910s?”

“Positive.” Wilbur gets out of the van, helping the secondary team set up their equipment outside. John opens the trunk, prepping their own gear and putting on his bulletproof vest. Wilbur joins him soon after. 10 minutes later, the two are standing in front of the front door.

Wilbur looks over at John. “You ready?”

John grins. “Oh fuck yeah.”

[chopshajen]

10-14.

Ok I saw a photo of Tyler that grabbed me by the brainstem so I decided that doing a painting/value study of that photo would be a good idea. It was certainly an idea that cost me much sleep, but I’m happy with how it turned out so?? Worth?? I eyeballed everything, no tracing, then painted in grayscale as I always do before placing it in Mx. Gradient Map’s capable hands LOL

[purplecatghostposts]

Post-Reveal Senticousins except sometimes Adrien accidentally scares the shit out of Félix because Félix will walk into his room and doesn’t see that Chat Noir is there until he moves because he’s got the power of Black Cat Camouflage and blends in a little too well with the shadows sometimes.

[styrofauxm]

So you know that thing that's floating around about Vivziepop not wanting to ruin people's fun by confirming Alastor's romantic orientation?

I was going to make a venty (untagged) post about how that's kinda queerbait-y* and arophobic. But then I was like "you know what, I should check the source because I don't remember the exact quote."

And it turns out I never actually saw the exact quote. Nor did anyone talking about it bother to include the context. And while I don't think either removes the queerbait-y* or arophobic aspects of the statement, they certainly make it better than it initially seemed to me.

Here's the stream (linked to the proper place): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y5ONxBZoR0A&t=3793s

And here's a loose transcript (it cuts out some less relevant statements in-between but loses almost no context as far as I could tell): https://www.reddit.com/r/HazbinHotel/comments/mle06e/alastors_sexual_orientation_aromanticasexual/

*I am keeping the actual word on the shelf, I just don't know a better one to use here. I think what she said is SIMILAR to queerbaiting but is NOT queerbaiting.

With the queerbait-y stuff, it still maintains the "aromantic people, tune in, this character may or may not be aromantic. We'll tell you eventually, just keep watching!"

With the arophobia, it still maintains the prioritization of shipping over representation, and treats aromanticism as a subsect of asexuality at best, and as flat out not an orientation at worst.

I don't think either is as bad as my original perception, but they certainly aren't good. And keep in mind, this was 3 years ago, any number of things about her beliefs could have changed in any which way since then.

But what gets me is that Vivziepop absolutely did not say that everyone should just let everyone else have their fun. What she said was to have fun and be respectful of his orientation and the people that are represented by him. She says that multiple times.

I'm not feeling this generous, but I guess you could say the fandom had some kind of Mandela Effect over what she actually said.

I think it's more likely that a few people, maliciously or not, spread the incorrect paraphrase without context, and the rest of the fandom, reasonably, believed them.

Anyway the lesson here is check your sources before you contribute to misinformation on the internet.

[drowned-cypress]

“Do you mind if I play some music?” Robin asked, shuffling through her PDA.

“What is music?” Al-An asked.

Robin had to stop and think about that one. “It’s… a form of expression,” she answered, setting the PDA aside.

“Expression?”

“Communication. Art,” Robin clarified. “Music is a combination of sounds using rhythm or harmony or melody or words, or some combination of those, which attempts to communicate complex or elusive ideas and emotions.”

“Is this not already a function of your system of language?”

“Well, yes, but music isn’t nearly so precise, and there’s an aesthetic component to it as well.”

“If it is not precise, why utilize it?”

Robin frowned. “The value of music isn’t in its utility. Music is often very beautiful, though not always. Usually music is just… more visceral than language. We experience it on an emotional level.”

“It is instinctual?”

Robin opened her mouth, then shut it again. Oh. Al-An wanted an explanation from a biological standpoint. “There is evidence of a biological basis for music. There have been arguments that it was an adaptive trait for our ancestors–a means of social cohesion when living in large groups, to convey and regulate emotions. It’s a kind of communication that’s thought to be older than language. Some research suggests that language evolved from music.”

“I would be interested to hear an example.”

Robin shrugged and scrolled through her PDA’s menu system to put on one of her favorite songs. It was a mostly instrumental piece, but it had choral accompaniment. She always felt like it conveyed triumph in adversity and a kind of breathless elation, the joy of success. It made her feel like she was flying. She closed her eyes and listened. There was one part of the song that never failed to give her chills.

“I believe I understand,” Al-An commented once the song faded to silence. “It has an impact on your pulse and breathing. It makes you move differently. This response could come from a kind of synesthesia endemic to your species, connoting combinations of sound frequencies with specific emotions in your brain’s emotional centers.”

Robin fidgeted with her PDA as she thought about that. He had apparently been observing her reaction as much as he had been listening to the music. “You’re probably not wrong, but the experience isn’t universal. The emotional responses people have to specific pieces of music depend on the kind of music they’ve been exposed to in the past, especially during their developmental years. It’s like language in that respect: a learned social behavior. Also, musicality isn’t limited to just humans. Plenty of other animals enjoy, and even make music. For example, there are many species of bird native to Earth that produce complex melodies as part of their calls.”

“My people have encountered species with complex vocal calls before. We have determined that those calls often elicit an emotional response in other members of the species.”

Robin nodded. “Exactly. Humans are not unique in that respect.”

“So music is the vocal call of humans?”

Robin hesitated. “We don’t really think about it like that, but you wouldn’t exactly be wrong to interpret it that way. Music can serve some of the same evolutionary functions as animal calls. Though, while humans are incredible vocal mimics, we use instruments as well as our voices to make music. These days though, music is mostly viewed as entertainment.” Robin paused before asking, “Does your species have a call? Even if you don’t use it anymore, I’d be interested to know more about the evolutionary origins of your species.”

There was quiet as Al-An gave the question some thought. “No, we do not have a vocal call,” he finally said. “We did not evolve a biological means of creating complex vocalizations. However, before we evolved telepathy, our ancestors first expressed emotions through bioluminescence.”

Robin’s eyes widened. “I would like to see that. That sounds amazing. Do you still have bioluminescence? Do you make visual displays with it as an art form?”

“Yes, we have kept the bioluminescence, but while we can control it to a small degree, it is largely an involuntary part of what you would likely call our limbic system.”

“Ah, so more like body language.”

“That is accurate.”

There was a long moment of quiet between them as Robin thought about what Al-An had said. “Didn’t you describe the network as a kind of harmony of strings?”

“Ah. Yes, but in a metaphorical sense. I had not realized your species utilized harmonies.”

“But you understand the concept of harmony? That’s a musical concept.”

“It is a known phenomenon. My people find the mathematics of sympathetic resonance to be aesthetically pleasing.”

Robin blinked. They found the mathematics to be aesthetically pleasing, but they held no opinion on the actual sound? She supposed that explained why he didn’t really understand music. Or perhaps they did have their own music, but it was unrecognizable in comparison to what she had played. “But why use that metaphor?”

“It is…” Al-An made an inarticulate, frustrated noise. “Trying to describe the sensation of the network to you is trying to describe a sensory experience you have never had using a communication method that is imprecise and inadequate for the task. Your language does not contain a word for the sensation because no human has experienced it. The best I can do is use one of your own senses as metaphor. It is like describing your tactile ability to detect vibrations as similar to your ability to sense temperature. They may be somewhat similar, and serve similar functions, but are by no means the same.”

“Ah, so the network doesn’t sound like literal strings.”

“No, it does not sound like anything at all. But as a metaphor for the network, the concept of harmony is appealing. Each individual has their own frequency, and when grouped properly, interactions may produce resonance. Your sense of hearing also works better as a metaphor than any other sense you possess, because humans communicate primarily through hearing.”

Robin chewed her lip, thinking. The picture he painted of his species was very alien: they didn’t produce complex sounds, and communicated through telepathy and bioluminescence. It sounded fascinating, but she didn’t want their differences to become a wall between them. “Will you still be able to communicate with me once you get your own body?”

“You need not worry.” Al-An’s usual monotone carried a softness Robin was not used to hearing. He was getting better at picking up on her emotions. “Even if I could not calibrate my telepathy to a frequency you are able to receive, I would still be able to produce sounds in your range of hearing through my cybernetic components.”

Robin smiled. “Want to hear more music?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Yes,” Al-An replied with a kind of eagerness that made Robin’s smile widen. “Please, proceed.”

[mylovesstuffs]

ANNOUNCEMENT !

Hi everyone, I have something really personal and important to share. Please take a moment to read all the way.

I'll be answering asks regarding this for the next 6 hours. No, I won’t be bribed. Yes, I know my inbox is about to explode. I accept my fate.

After much careful consideration and in light of recent developments, I’ve made a big decision regarding this blog @mylovesstuffs and my writing. This space has meant the world to me: it has been my creative outlet, my safe haven, and most importantly, a way for me to connect with some of the most supportive and kind-hearted people out there (yes, that’s you).

That being said,, I've decided to focus on other creative projects that require more of my attention.. A while ago, PLEDIS Entertainment reached out to me regarding some of my writing, and after multiple rounds of interviews and discussions, they’ve offered me a freelance opportunity to be part of their internal creative team. Yes, the same PLEDIS that manages SEVENTEEN.

I’ll be joining their behind-the-scenes content team, helping with narrative building, concepts, and other confidential projects related to SEVENTEEN and their future releases. It’s honestly a dream come true, something I never thought would happen when I first started writing here. But it also comes with its own challenges. Unfortunately, due to legal contracts [NDA, etc.] and company policies, I won’t be able to continue running this blog as a fanfic and reaction writer. I’ve been advised to step back from writing unofficial content about SEVENTEEN while working with the company.

I’ll be logging out from the blog to dedicate my energy to new projects that require my full attention. It’s a strange feeling, but I’m confident this is the right move for both my growth, my mental health and career. This isn’t a goodbye forever, but it does mean this blog will be on indefinite hiatus.

I am deeply grateful to every single person who read my works, shared kind words, and stuck with me through my ups and downs with this godforsaken app, but this platform helped me hone my skills and gave me the courage to even dream of this moment.

And yes, I know the timing might seem off, but this is genuinely happening. It’s something I’ve thought long and hard about, and I’m excited [and a little nervous] to share this with you all. But yes, this is really happening.

Thank you for being my community, my little corner of the internet where I felt free to create.

I love you all. Thank you for everything.

— Celeste <3

P.S. Before I log out, I’ll still be posting mingyu's bd oneshot and the collab fic I participated in! Those two will be the only exception—before and after that, there won’t be any other fics from me. Just wanted to make that clear so no one’s confused later.

⌦ 🎢 © mylovesstuffs | est. 2025. thank you for being part of this journey—your support has meant the world. until we meet again, stay cozy and keep dreaming ! ◜ᴗ◝

[mcytegg]

drastics.

[biowaredisasterbisexual]

Reflection Ruesday

Thanks for the tags, @thedissonantverses and @basedonconjecture! (And I see you, @woundedsoul12, I’m doing your version tonight too 😁). And thanks so much for creating this, @becausedragonage!

What to do: Go through your writing, art, gifs, etc. that you started but never finished and find something you love. Brush it up a bit if you want and share it. Tag me and use the tag Reflection Ruesday (it'll grow on you, I promise) and I'll comment and reblog. Then tag some other folks you think might enjoy it.

I’ll give very gentle tags to @hyperions-light, @ofcrowsanddragons, @mageofquandrix, @bygonesigh, @dymme, @vael-fire, @swamp-jello, and @grimrevolution and anyone else who wants to dust off something old to share!

Why break up a good theme? More Josephine and Leliana below the cut.

Ferelden was not quite what Josephine had expected. For one thing, she had not quite been prepared for the biting cold. Though she knew well enough that the south was nowhere near so temperate as her home country, Orlais was colder than Antiva as well, in Ferelden there was already a frost. The second surprise was the mud. Haven, it seemed, was far enough from any major settlement to be devoid of paved roads. The snow kept the dirt wet, and everywhere she walked, she sank.

It was…most unpleasant.

And then there was the smell. Though it did not reek of wet dog, the way haughty Orlesians claimed, it did smell of wet animals. With the muck and the wet and the hay for cows or horses, it was unavoidable.

The number of favors Leliana owed her in recompense for her recruitment was mounting higher by the minute.

Once inside her office off of the main hall of the Chantry, away from the prying eyes of everyone who might comment upon a show of weakness (at least until a runner came in, or Minaeve returned), she could let herself sulk for a moment. Josephine swept her cloak from her shoulders and hung it from the back of her chair. She brushed some hair up that had escaped its bounds as she went over towards her fireplace.

Every wall was bare stone, and cold radiated from each surface as though the building itself wished to drive them out. Josephine knelt carefully, avoiding any soot on the floor, as she lit the kindling.. The cold had made her clumsy, and she nearly knocked over the fire tools as she stood.

Josephine glared at her own hands for a moment, as though like a junior emissary they might bow to her will with the proper application of force.

She managed, only just, not to start as the door swung open, instead simply straightening so that the interloper might not know what she had just done.

“Did I scare you, Josie?” Leliana asked, sounding a touch too pleased with herself. The spymaster quietly closed the door behind herself, leaving them in relative privacy. Josephine knew she could pretend it was for her benefit that Leliana did this, but she also knew that Leliana did it so that her reputation - which grew more omniscient and frightful by the day - might not be damaged by someone seeing her being human.

Leliana pulled the hood from her head, revealing only slightly mussed hair the color of bright copper. A shake of the head, and her hair fell back into place easily. Oh, but Josephine was always deeply jealous of her ability to do that. Her own hair, coarser and naturally full of waves and curls, could never be made to behave so easily. Indeed, only the Commander’s hair was more unwieldy than her own.

“Of course not.” Josephine lied, her voice not giving even a hint of her deception. After all, she could have hardly risen to being a chief diplomat if she could not lie nearly as well as Leliana could.

Still, the other woman knew her well, and Leliana smiled knowingly as she removed her heavy leather gloves. “Of course not,” she concurred. Ugh, it was endearingly infuriating when she did that.

“Are you settling in?” Leliana asked, walking around the room slowly. It might have looked casual, but for the way her eyes narrowed on every feature in the room as though checking it for spies or assassins.

Knowing Leliana, that was actually what she was doing, however unnecessarily.

“I am.” As though to illustrate the point, Josephine walked purposefully to the chair behind her desk and sat down. Maker, but it was uncomfortable (though it was the most comfortable chair Josephine had been able to find). Everything, it seemed, in the entirety of Ferelden had been built for function, rather than for comfort. Though they criticized Orlais for going too far the other way, Josephine did wonder if they might learn something of the finer things from their neighbors.

She felt Leliana move behind her, and then lean over her shoulders to take in what was on her desk. “I do not imagine all of those letters are complimentary?” The other woman sighed.

“I suspect you know how complimentary they are.” Leliana was undoubtedly reading all of Josephine’s mail. And Cassandra’s, Cullen’s, and the Divine’s.

The older woman chuckled, and slid around Josephine until she was resting against the edge of Josephine’s heavy desk, between the Ambassador and her work. “Ah, Josie, you wound me with such baseless accusations.”

“Hardly baseless,” Josephine retorted, but she was smiling.

Leliana huffed, but did not look offended in the slightest. Nor did she move out of Josephine’s way, so that she might actually respond to those letters, complimentary and not complimentary alike.

Josephine leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at Leliana speculatively. This - intrigues halfway across Thedas, the looming threat of battle and bloodshed, secret pages filled with facts known only by one or two souls - was where Leliana shone. Though she was dressed simply, in leather trousers covered by pieces of armor, two layers of heavy shirts beneath her custom-made chainmail, leather bracers, and her hood, she projected an aura of confidence and competence that most could only aspire to.

It did not intimidate Josephine - no, she knew Leliana far too well for that - but she could see how easily Leliana might command the respect of the others.

“Do you have everything you need?” Leliana asked, nudging Josephine’s leg gently so as not to bruise her with the heavy metal Leliana wore.

Everything she wanted? Absolutely not, nor had she ever worked in a position where she had had such an embarrassment of fortune. But Josephine could do what she did with nothing more than ink, parchment, quill, candles, and a board if she absolutely had to. She nodded. “Yes. I am thankful to Her Worship for the accommodations.”

Leliana burst out laughing. Though Josephine knew she should be offended, she could not help but smile herself; Leliana’s laughter was always something special to behold.

“It is cold, wet, and muddy. This building has likely not seen an attractive drapery since the Orlesian occupation. Haven may be the site of the holiest of holies, but you cannot tell me it has met all of your expectations,” Leliana said.

Yes, Josephine should definitely be offended. And yet, as always, maddeningly, Leliana was not wrong.

“I am not the delicate flower you paint me as,” she protested, the barest hint of sulk in her voice, and only because it was Leliana. “But yes, you might have mentioned that we were to lodge in a town once overrun by a cult and lacking in cobblestone.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Josie?” Leliana wheedled, eyes sparkling.

“With the draperies. Which, by the way, I should purchase.” Josephine reached forward to gently push at Leliana’s hip. “Go on, I should attend to my work.”

Leliana pouted. “Have I offen-….Josie, your hands are freezing!” No longer giving Josephine the playful look of mere seconds before, the older woman was turning Josephine’s hands over between her own (noticeably warmer) ones before Josephine could stop her.

“No, this will not do.” Leliana placed Josephine’s hands together, as though about to lead them in prayer like the Chantry sister she sometimes played at, and began to rub them between her warmer, rougher palms. “We must get you better gloves, yes? It would not do to have you freeze here.”

Josephine huffed, but let Leliana fuss. Apart from any more selfish motivations (Southerners were all so aloof, and she missed physical connection), she knew it was good for Leliana. The more time she spent as the Left Hand of the Divine, the more disconnected Leliana became from her own, good-hearted nature. She had been forged, like steel, sharpened to a deadly and effective edge. But, like steel, Leliana could shatter and break if made too brittle. Moments like these, caring for an old friend away from prying eyes, helped Leliana retain some of her warmth and humanity. The effect could be seen for hours, sometimes even days, afterwards, at least by Josephine.

“I will purchase better gloves,” she promised, the mother being left unsaid. Still, Leliana heard it, and arched an eyebrow.

“Until then you must borrow mine,” she pronounced. Leliana reached into a pouch hidden on the side of her thigh, and pulled a pair of gloves out. Without waiting for permission, she began to tug them onto Josephine’s hands.

They still bore the residual heat that had seeped through from Leliana’s body, and the leather (lined with ram wool) was well-worn and soft. “And what shall you wear, then?”

“Ah, but I am Ferelden, my dear Ambassador,” Leliana reminded her, wiggling her eyebrows playfully. She was in rare form today, it seemed. “My battle gloves will be enough. Come, let us go get some soup to better warm you.”

She tugged on Josephine’s hands until both women were standing. Leliana tucked an arm under one of Josephine’s, and began to lead her towards the door. “My work,” Josephine reminded, rolling her eyes and attempting to reclaim her arm.

“Always so busy, Josie. The letters will wait. Besides,” Leliana smirked, “none of them were particularly urgent.”

Josephine sighed. “Baseless accusations, you say. Go on, then. Feed me, if you must.”

Leliana pulled her hood back over her head, and handed Josephine her cloak, and then Ambassador and Spymaster went to enjoy the culinary delights of Ferelden.

Oh, Leliana owed her for this.

[front-facing-pokemon]