#L’appel Du Vide story

[sloanesallow]

The Call of the Void

Siobhan Sloane, a shy and naive girl from Nottingham, is uprooted from her simple life when her magic manifests. Under the mentorship of Professor Fig, she travels to Hogwarts, not realizing her life will never be the same. Homesick and burdened with a responsibility she never wanted, Siobhan struggles to acclimate to the wizarding world. Preoccupied with finding a cure for his twin sister, Sebastian Sallow pays little attention to the new fifth year until their paths converge, and an unlikely bond forms. Together, they investigate the mystery surrounding Siobhan’s ancient magic, and unearth long-forgotten secrets that the school would rather keep buried. Despite the danger and warnings from newfound friendships, Siobhan is compelled to chase after the truth, even if it kills her. L’appel du vide—it is the call of the void.

I've been meaning to write a "canon" version of events for my MC, Siobhan Sloane, and I'm so excited to start sharing chapters!

Sebastian Sallow x F!MC | Third Person, Alternating POV | Canon-Divergent | Aged-Up Characters

You can read the first chapter of my new ongoing story on [Ao3] and [Wattpad]!

[winterandwords]

✍🏻 WRITEBLR INTRO

👋🏻 Hi, I’m Winter. I write dark, emotionally intense, queer fiction with characters to go feral over, inspired by city streets and stormy seas, scars and synchronicity, synesthesia and l’appel du vide.

💬 I'm writing-related ask and tag game friendly and I love reblogging your WIP snippets.

📚 You can read my stories online for free at 🔗winterandwords.com. It's the only place they're available. More information about each book can be found further down this post.

📱 I'm winterandwords on 🔗Bluesky for writing stuff and 🔗TikTok for daily life stuff.

☕ If you enjoy my writing and would like to offer support, you can do that via 🔗Ko-fi. I share my stories for free with the option to donate if you can afford to, so your contributions are super appreciated!

🌈 It always makes happy to encounter queer characters whose identity and narrative aren’t limited to or by their queerness, so I’m writing the characters I want to see in the stories I want to read.

📝 I write for an adult audience, but my stories don’t include explicit sexual content because it’s not my vibe (not a genital in sight here, folks). That said, if you’re uncomfortable with fiction that's frequently dark, sometimes spicy, and often chemically enhanced, I might not be the ideal writer for you to follow. Not everything is for everyone and that’s OK.

🛑 I would prefer minors didn't follow me. I don't follow minors, at least not intentionally. Sometimes it's not obvious and I'm not the age-in-bio police. In the kindest possible way, if you're under eighteen, my writing is not for you and I'd rather engage with other adults only.

💜 My reblogs tend to be writing-related, with a few exceptions. My likes are (mostly) non-writing-related things I get a kick out of, or personal posts that I want to acknowledge but that don’t feel appropriate to reblog.

💌 If, for some reason, you need to contact me outside of the hellsite, you can do that at winterandwords[at]gmail[dot]com

🌊 NOVEMBER BREAKS (complete)

BASICS Genre: Transgressive, literary Audience: Adult Length: Approx 52k words Working title: Project Storm Tags: #november breaks and #project storm More: Story summary

💻 To read online for free, please visit winterandwords.com

VIBE Crime, weather symbolism and questionable life choices. Hurt me, I need to feel alive. Violence is a drug. Also, drugs are drugs. This is a love story like crude oil is a tea. #ThatShouldNotBeHot. Nothing’s real anyway.

INTRO No conscience, no problem. Noah kills for money. Brett hides a life of crime behind a successful career. Officially, they both protect people from people like themselves. Unofficially, everything is falling apart. Until they meet. And it all gets worse.

🗡️ BRIDGE FROM ASHES (complete)

BASICS Genre: Cyberpunk, neon-noir Audience: Adult Length: Approx 70k words Working title: Project Frequency Tags: #bridge from ashes and #project frequency More: Story summary

💻 To read online for free, please visit winterandwords.com

VIBE High-rise buildings and low-life scum. Everything hurts, but not enough to feel good. Yes, that’s a gun in my pocket and no, I’m not pleased to see you. If mind control is real, why do I still have to make decisions?

INTRO Too useful for prison and too dangerous for freedom, underworld assassin Rafael Turner is sentenced to serve in a secretive military agency. When a mission to infiltrate a criminal operation drags his past to the surface and someone he thought he’d lost forever unexpectedly returns, how much is Rafe willing to risk to settle old scores and have a chance at a future he’d given up hoping for?

💀 SPIN CYLINDER (currently posting twice-weekly chapters)

BASICS Genre: Transgressive, literary Audience: Adult Tags: #spin cylinder More: Story summary and tag list

💻 To read online for free, please visit winterandwords.com

Spin Cylinder is the sequel to November Breaks, which can be read here.

POSTING SCHEDULE Spin Cylinder chapters are posting on winterandwords.com twice-weekly on Sundays and Thursdays from 1st September - 19th December 2024.

VIBE Slice of life, but life is drugs and crime. They deserve each other (derogatory). Violence as a substitute for therapy. Very elegantly wasted. My favourite mistake, my weapon of choice, and the parts of ourselves that we can’t leave behind.

INTRO Bound by desire and destruction. Contract killer Noah and white-collar criminal Brett retire from successful but stressful careers to build a home together on a foundation of obsession, shared secrets, and murder. But when they start to feel restless and the downward spiral beckons them deeper, how far will they go to find their way back to themselves?

🔫 NAME FROM NOWHERE (WIP)

BASICS Genre: Cyberpunk, neon-noir Audience: Adult Working title: Project Aria Tags: #name from nowhere and #project aria More: WIP summary

Name From Nowhere is the sequel to Bridge From Ashes.

VIBE Found crime family. Memory is a curse, but it’s also a weapon. What doesn’t kill you makes you deadly. No identity, still a crisis. Life may be more than survival, but survival is a good place to start. Because fuck you, that’s why.

INTRO Imprisoned for a crime or five that she definitely committed, Aria made it through her sentence remembering more than she was supposed to but not enough to make sense. An illicit trade syndicate gives her a fresh start and the acceptance she won’t admit she craves, but her blood family’s betrayal is seared into her mind and revenge is only ever an opportunity away.

📇 TAG INDEX

#the shit in my head | rants, rambles and writer life

#november breaks and #project storm | WIP excerpts, updates etc for November Breaks (working title Project Storm), the prequel to Spin Cylinder

#spin cylinder | WIP excerpts, updates etc for Spin Cylinder, the sequel to November Breaks

#bridge from ashes and #project frequency | WIP excerpts, updates etc for Bridge From Ashes (working title Project Frequency), set in the same world as Name From Nowhere

#name from nowhere and #project aria | WIP excerpts, updates etc for Name From Nowhere (working title Project Aria), set in the same world as Bridge From Ashes

#my writing | snippets and other wordstuff

#your writing | other people’s words

#writeblr tags | tag games and memes

#answered asks | replies to your questions and messages

#writeblr connect | boosting writeblrs for the community

#reblogs | what it says on the tin

#reblogs plus | reblogs with my additions

#tumblr meta | hellsite stuff'n'things

#calmwrimo | info, updates and reblogs for CalmWriMo, a chilled-out November writing and self-care experience

📸 IMAGE CREDITS

Profile picture My own

Header and background Original photo by Yaroslav Shuraev on Pexels, edited under license

November Breaks My own

Bridge From Ashes Original photo by Drew Dizzy Graham on Unsplash, edited under license

Spin Cylinder Original photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash, edited under license

Name from Nowhere Original photo by Wilmer Martinez on Unsplash, edited under license

[khaleesiofalicante]

Ah, here we are! 

This is your mandatory post about my new fic and next fic ‘L’appel Du Vide’ (LDV) - also known as the mavid rwrb au. As usual, I thought I’d share some info about the fic so you guys know what you’re getting yourselves into. So, here you go. 

Is this fic based on the Red, White, and Royal Blue movie or book?

I’d say both. But it’s primarily based on the book because I like the book better and there is more material for me to work with. 

2. Do I need to watch the movie/read the book to read LDV?

Not at all. If you’ve not read/watched rwrb, you don’t have to. It won’t affect your reading experience, I promise.

3. Does the fic have the same plot as rwrb?

Yes and no. This fic is an adaptation because I have to change the story to fit my characters. For example, Max is not going to have a bi-crisis like Alex did and David’s backstory is different because god knows Albert ain’t no Arthur Fox! So, the characterization and flow are quite different. But since it’s based on rwrb, many of the ‘key scenes’ are there - but they’re just adjusted and changed to fit my characters. 

4. How many chapters and whose POV is it from?

Similar to the books, the fic will be from a single POV - Max’s. But I will include a David chappy because we haven’t gotten his POV in so long and I’m mad about it. There are 20 chapters in total - this might change slightly if I decided to experiment with the outline. 

5. Is it true this fic has smut? 👀

Apparently so 👀 Look. It’s in the outline. I intend to write it. But this is my first time writing smut and some of you know I struggle with it and am self-conscious about it. I also find it weird to write sex scenes about people I know (I KNOW MAVID OKAY?). But this is a writing challenge and one I’m willing to explore. So, let’s see how it goes. Max and David’s relationship begins as a sexual one as it does in the rwrb book. So, there will definitely be sex scenes for sure. I just don’t know how smutty or explicit it will be. Y’all know I hate saying erection! And trust me, there will be many erections in this story. 

6. What’s the posting schedule?

Ah. This is the tricky part. I’ve decided to do a weekly posting schedule for this fic. In other words, one chapter per week. I’m going to be a bit busy in April and May. So, I know I won’t be able to commit to two chapters a week. I might try to whenever I can. But I’m setting one chapter a week as the target. 

Are you excited to write it?

Very much so! The last few fics I’ve written (TLND, IALS, FMF, LBAF) have been very heavy - both in plot, themes and writing. Even the posting schedule was so intense. While there are definitely heavy themes in LVD, I see this fic as more of a rom-com. So, I think it’d be fun to write! And I love writing Max pov when he isn’t suffering hehe. I really want this fic to be a fun one!  

A gentle reminder that this is not a malec fic, so please do not ask me for their povs or scenes or try to make this fic about them. I’ve seen that happen with my other mavid fics and so I hope it won’t be the case for this one. 

Finally, a quick shoutout to @gospi and @ladyoflilies who have been bullying me and supporting me behind the scenes to write this fic and have been excited as as I am. 

The first chapter will drop tomorrow (it’s already written and was written months ago!). Until then, here are some (theme) songs for you to listen to. See you tomorrow! 

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Gilded Cage" - Dark!Morpheus x Reader [TW: dark themes (referenced depression and suicide), obsessive behaviour, explicit language, glorifying captivity?, cringy lines]

[Next part: 'Silvered Perch']

SUMMARY: Your unhappiness seeps into your dreams. The pain in them piques Morpheus's interest. From the very first moment he sees you, he knows what he has to do, regardless of the price. A queen, after all, ought not to have a single hair fall from her head.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.3k

This story began when I fell asleep There was a mysterious ache inside me  All my faults and thoughts buried deep And in this world, I was nothing and everything A lost soul with too many secrets to keep Looking at the bright streets beneath I was wandering the edge of universe yet I couldn’t leap The cold breeze wrapped around me The Moon and the stars silent as I weep I became the brass and the gold, an abyss and a god L’appel du vide

Your dreams were like an itch he couldn't scratch, a speck of dust he couldn't get out of his eye; always in the back of his head, a shadow dancing at the edge of his vision. Had they been in any way pleasant, he wouldn't mind them as much - God knew how much he needed something pleasant in his otherwise bleak life. But they weren't anywhere close to "nice". The darkness residing in your dreams bothered him to no end, never quite letting him go like a blister that is scratched open with each painful step. Strangely enough, such a course of events was completely foreign to Morpheus - people's dreams and nightmares never stuck to him for longer than the fraction of a second between an exhale and an inhale.

At first, he feared he became privy to the first tremor of a shattering earthquake, that your misery was an omen of something much darker and sinister. Fearing for the well-being of his realm, Morpheus followed your dreams to venture into the Waking World and find you. Honestly, he was expecting to uncover a true calamity but he never did see it - at least not in the form he had thought.

What he saw was, in fact, a lot worse. All calamities have a source, the eye of the storm, but this one clearly didn't. It would all be very bitterly funny if it wasn't so heartbreaking - how everything you touched ended in pain and loneliness, rarely because of you at that. Your frustrations quickly became his own. Watching you go through every day like you were screaming at the world to let you be happy, to let you have something good for a second, but the entirety of creation was separated from you by a glass wall: you could only watch and weep. Were you cursed or hexed? No, he would have noticed something of that sort. Then what was it? What unnamed sorcery made you the scapegoat of humanity?

He once spent an entire night standing under your window like Romeo admiring Juliet. For hours on end, you were sitting with your face against the cold glass, eyes forever watching the moon travel across the black sky. Your tears slowly rolled down your cheeks as your vacant stare begged the universe for an explanation of its injustice. It pained Morpheus how beautiful and tragic you looked. Perhaps you truly weren't of this world? Would you not find your place in a baroque painting? Part of him wished he could paint that heartbreaking view. Not for his selfish pleasure, no, but for the whole world to be reminded of its barbarity until Judgment Day.

And Morpheus simply stood there until sun rays chased the world's dreams and nightmares away. He wasn't quite sure why he remained a watcher for the entire night. Maybe you appeared so distraught and fragile he feared that the moment he looks away the sunless abyss of secrets unspoken will devour you; that if he left his post there would be nothing tying you to this realm.

A lot has changed because of that night but mostly Morpheus himself had undergone some kind of transformation - he became quieter if that was ever possible and more irritable. He would pace around the throne room, clearly thinking intensely about something but never revealing what it was. And with time, he began to neglect his royal duties, disappearing for hours if not days on end, only to come back and refuse to give any explanation.

Little did you know that he was always there like a guardian angel that never abandoned its duty despite being exiled from heaven; hiding around corners as though he was a mere delusion that lingered on the edges of your vision. Wherever you went, he followed, often leaving pain and terror behind. Things started becoming weirder around you in the sense that people would fall to strange ailments or spiral into madness. Some never woke up, while others went for days without sleep. A snarky acquaintance did everything they could to not fall asleep in fear of the nightmares that awaited them. A cynical relative lost their mind and claimed that horrendous creatures from their night terrors trespassed into reality. Perhaps it was crude to say so but you felt a sense of relief at those tragedies: people too busy with their microapocalypses were too busy to add nails to your coffin, too preoccupied with themselves to put you on the receiving end of their wickedness.

But to Morpheus's terror, his tricks and punishments were not enough to aid your woe. They were merely temporary solutions like putting a bandaid over a stab wound. His anger only grew as the universe laughed in his face and continued its merciless quest for maintaining your unhappiness. Morpheus was forced to watch you being stuck in a cruel cycle of perpetual misfortunes and how you'd cry yourself to sleep only to somehow get out of bed in the morning and carried on, day by day. You were akin to Atlas but Atlas only carried the globe, not the peskiness of the cosmos like you did.

The streetlights lit brightly underneath you. Cars and motorbikes sped through the labyrinth of streets as if chasing time itself. Someone was walking their dog, a man was going home after his shift, a couple chatted happily while walking to a restaurant. They were each in their own microcosms, moving to the rhythm of life. All, except you. How could everyone simply live on, find balance and happiness in their unchanged daily bread? Was there something you missed? A secret you were never told? Or, perhaps, the answer was a lot simpler: you didn't deserve contentment. The fact that you came into this world was nothing more but a slip-up, a stumbling step taken while the person blinks.

You looked at the people filling the streets beneath you. From the distance, they were all so small, unimportant, cold. They never looked up to the tops of buildings, never acknowledged the acrobatics of someone struggling to cling to life. Even if they did, they probably wouldn't care - your hypothetical death was, after all, none of their business. Standing on the rooftop, you were no longer part of the same plane as them. Perhaps, you never truly were. Is that what birds saw as they flew over your head?

The rooftop was so high and the street so low... Would it hurt to fall? And the falling, would it take long? Lying on the cold cobblestone, your hot blood warming the otherwise cold world, how would this starry sky look? Would this rooftop look as faraway then as the street looked now? Would the pavement feel rigid and uncomfortable under your broken bones?

But, maybe, you had the strength to try one last time before taking that path. You looked up at the starry firmament and let out a sigh before speaking quietly. "Hey," you called out to the night sky, "if there's anyone out there, and I highly doubt that, can you help me a little? Life's a bitch, you know? I just... I just need a win. Something good, no matter how small, so I don't feel like my entire existence is pointless if not a burden. But if there really is someone out there, you're probably busy anyway. I mean, there's more important work to do than answer my whining, right? Wars to end, cancers to heal... But if you have a spare second, maybe you could give me something good. Or kill me, I don't care anymore."

"I have listened to your prayer and I heard your suffering."

Surprised and confused, you turned around to look at the stranger. He was tall and lanky, with dishevelled hair and a cold look in his eyes. In some strange and fascinating way, he did not look real but rather like a scribble that came to life; like a raven if it was reborn as a human.

"Who are you?"

"I am Morpheus, Lord of the Dreams," he slowly spoke in a low tone. "I came to answer your call."

As strange as it was to admit it, that was the truth: for the first time in your life, somebody answered your prayer. "I'm sorry, I didn't actually think this would work. I'm not much of a believer."

"And yet I came. Why did you call?"

No words left you at first. A shattering, painful tremble clawed through your body as that gaping hole in your chest was reponed. This sadness... it felt like being stabbed; like your body was so numb in its agony that you couldn't breathe. The full moon's silver light glistened in your tears as if it wasn't you weeping but the stars.

"I am violently unhappy," you confessed.

You didn't see it but Morpheus clenched his fist for a moment, which was more than strange - after all, he knew about your misery beforehand. Perhaps it was your admittance, irrefutable proof of your awareness of the injustice bestowed upon you, that gnawed at him. "Why is that?" he asked as calmly as he could.

"God, where do I even begin... It feels like everyone around me has something I don't like a love song only I can't hear. There's something wrong with me, I wasn't meant to be born into this world. I don't belong here. Nothing I do has any value, I can't keep up with the rest. You try and you try and it's never enough. No matter what you do or how. No one cares about your pain until it somehow involves them. I'm just so... tired."

"They will never stop disappointing you," he said as he walked towards you. Whether it was his own belief or merely something you wanted to hear, didn't matter. For Morpheus, it was one and the same.

"Every day I wake up to a web of human lives I've been woven into against my will, fulfil meaningless duties no one likes and yet everyone follows. Then I come back home to rest only for this pointless cycle to begin again in the morning. And I can't help but wonder if there is no third act where I'm someone special? Where I matter? Is this bland suffering all there is?"

"No," he spoke barely above a breath. "There is much, much more to this world. I could free you from this life."

"Free me?" you asked with a dry scoff. "I am as free as one can be: I love nothing and I'm loved by no one."

Morpheus, however, was a steadfast person and that annoying affliction only grew in strength the longer he was in your vicinity as if your presence was gradually gnawing at his sanity. It was an exchange he'd welcome more than warmly: his reason for your companionship. "You could be the pinnacle of my desire, the anger that forces my hand. All that breaks your heart will have to beg for my forgiveness. There shall be no day when all of my existence does not belong to you. I will bleed out just to quench your thirst." He took another step towards you, his face leaning in so close your noses were almost brushing. "If you do not wish for this freedom, let me imprison you." Then, in a wavering voice, he added: "Please."

His offer made your heart nearly jump out of your chest but you knew better than to immediately agree - he didn't deserve such a burden. Feeling shame and disgust with yourself, you looked away from him. "You will change your mind the moment you get to know me. I'm nothing interesting or worth loving."

Morpheus lifted his hand to your face. His index finger anxiously brushed against your cheeks as if you really were a baroque painting that he defiled with his undeserving touch. Morpheus spoke ever so quietly: "Had I whispered your name to Moses, the whole world would watch God's chosen discard the first commandment."

"Sounds blasphemous," you answered equally quietly. When your breath brushed against his cold skin, a shiver run down his spine. Perhaps if he could fill his lungs with your breath he would never feel sorrow ever again.

"Not to the goddess I worship." His blue eyes, the colour of a raging sea, stared into yours. There was so much he wished to say, unspoken confessions that would embarrass poets but he had a lot of time - all of eternity, in fact.

"Where will you take me?"

Dream's hand gently fell from your face to your own palm. Temptingly, his finger wrapped around yours. "To Dreaming - your new kingdom, my queen."

And from that day on, you never looked back. Never once did the faraway streetlamps visit your thoughts. There was only him: the eldritch king that fell to his knees begging for your affection that you so happily granted. Your desires became his, your pleasure his joy and your discomfort his anger. If he could tear himself apart, he would hand-feed you the pieces that were once him.

It was strange - how comfortable imprisonment could be, to be forever tied to someone. After all, aren't trees prisoners of their roots? And yet should they struggle free, they would fall straight away and die of thirst.

Were you not a bird of paradise? Sitting on a perch in a gilded cage only because someone liked your feathers or your song. All the comforts you were given, wishes that he granted, just so you stay the canary that sings his loneliness away. And like a bird, you were released from your cage only to be imprisoned by the confines of Dream's home. The bird, however, rejoices! For it never knew such freedom.

[devoursjohnlock]

A Sort of Frantic Gaiety

One thing that has always bothered me about The Abominable Bride is Sherlock’s gleeful expression as he launches himself over the falls.

Sherlock’s swan dive in The Abominable Bride

Within just a few minutes, we go from Moriarty being shoved off the precipice, presumably to his death, to Sherlock taking exactly the same route, as he grins wildly, decidedly out of character.

Why should he be smiling? And should we be smiling, too?

A long-awaited trip to Niagara, under the cut.

By now, I’ve spent a fair bit of time with Arthur Conan Doyle’s diaries, and they reveal very, very little. Generally, they hold scant lines of text or numbers (cricket scores, allowances paid to family members, etc.) on a handful of dates, surrounded by seas of empty entries. In contrast, I have been able to find exactly one commonplace book, which is comparatively very rich. This book is a collection of notes and fragments: remembrances of events recent and long past, historical notes, conversations, and particularly thoughts about religion and politics. It is undated, but appears to have been written in 1912. In terms of Doyle’s Sherlockian writing, it places between The Disappearance of Lady Carfax (1911) and The Dying Detective (1913).

The only section in this book that appears to resonate with themes in the Sherlock Holmes stories is part of a relatively long passage (still only a few pages) that is a fragment of an allegorical story. Like a lot of Doyle’s later writing, it’s about the threshold between life and death. Even this fragment is a frame story; Doyle writes from the point of view of a character on a ship (Major Wood), who is an unemotional man, telling a story that was told to him by another man who is not present (a shipwreck survivor, Mr -----). Major Wood is speaking to a man named John ----- (Doyle left blank space, to be filled in later), as a number of unnamed characters listen in.

The Niagara Fall

Here is the end of that story. Note that it contains errors that have not been corrected from the original text.

“I could well imagine” said Major Wood in his stolid unemotional voice “that if one were swept into a roaring raging sea it might even have something like exhilaration in the experience, though death might be the result.”

“I have thought the same” said [John] -----. “Death under such circumstances would surely be a less coldblooded affair than to drown in a quiet lake. If one were buffetted & whirled and tossed too and fro ones thoughts even in those few instants of agony of which Mr ----- has spoken would be so bewildered & distracted that one would scarcely be capable of sensation, since no man can think of two things at the same moment.”

“I can recall when I was a young man” said Major Wood “before this unhappy war with the American Colonists that I was stationed with a company of the 60th Regiment, which was raised from among them, at Fort Niagara which is, as you know, near the famous Cataract of that name. Once for some small wager I ventured out to the furthest possible point under the fall.

“I can well recall that when I found myself with that vast shed of water falling before me with my senses stunned by the roar and my person enveloped in the spray, I felt, though I am not one who is sensitive to impressions, that I could leap shouting into the heart of it, and go in a sort of frantic gaiety to mix my broken bones in the grand turmoil of nature, dashing and tumbling in a glorious confusion with into the seething pit below me.”

[John] ----- nodded in Comprehension.

“Had you obeyed this impulse, sir, it is not to be imagined that you would have been conscious of physical pain. And yet how terrible an end would it have seemed to the bye stander! How folk would have shuddered to read of it! Thus we are continually mourning over that which may have brought little grief to those who actually endured it.”

L’Appel Du Vide

The fragment begins on the question (not quoted above) of whether there can be a god, given the horror of shipwreck. Major Wood proposes that shipwreck is only horrible for the dying because they make it so:

“There is a reasoned fear, and there is an exaggerated foolish panic. For after all what was it that these people had to fear. The pains of drowning?”

Wood is arguing that one must face death with “reasoned fear” instead of “foolish panic”, and that a reasonable person would see that death by drowning is not actually very painful, and thus avoid feeling terror while it happens.

In other words,

You always feel it, Sherlock. But you don’t have to fear it.

Moriarty’s words in His Last Vow express Major Wood’s claim perfectly and succinctly. But when Major Wood goes on to talk about “frantic gaiety” (quoted above), he is describing something else: this is l’appel du vide, or the irresistible sensation of wanting to jump when faced with an abyss.

At this, Wood’s unnamed companion shows Comprehension. John ----- fully understands the desire to jump, but what holds him back? The answer is simple: your suicide wouldn’t hurt you. It would hurt the bystander. It would hurt those left behind. They are the ones who face the consequences of your action.

And this is another thread that runs throughout Sherlock, always. It echoes through every series.

Reasons for staying alive (S1–S4)

Why is this a recurring theme in Sherlock? It isn’t a feature of the canon stories—not even The Veiled Lodger, which is perhaps the story most overtly concerned with suicide—but from the passage above, we know now that it is in Doyle’s writing. That it was in his thoughts.

So, what do we make of the Abominable Bride waterfall scene, now that we know the context for this expression?

I think that this is not, and never has been, a happy moment. As described above, it ends with broken bones in confusion at the bottom of a seething pit. I think that this is a man who is embracing l’appel du vide, ignoring the consequences to the man on the ground. Despite the fact that Sherlock dismissed Moriarty on that ledge only minutes ago, he is now following Moriarty’s advice.

This is what differentiates Sherlock’s two spectacular swan dives. Sherlock wasn’t answering l’appel du vide in The Reichenbach Fall. He wasn’t compelled to jump as a fulfillment his own desire, but to save John Watson. He knows that, so why isn’t that what we see in his own dream in The Abominable Bride?

Edges of the dream: in through John’s eye, out through Sherlock’s gasp

Perhaps because Sherlock isn’t telling this story. At least not directly.

Think of how the episode opens: on John waking from one dream (his war flashback) into another, a Victorian version of his life with Sherlock Holmes. It mirrors our introduction to John Watson at the beginning of the series, in A Study in Pink. And while the “rug pull” at the end of The Abominable Bride tells us that we’ve been watching Sherlock dream all along, that rug pull consists of turning his plane around for a safe landing. When so much of Series 4 has been focused on a plane that has yet to be landed, can we trust what we saw? I don’t think that we can. And Sherlock’s “frantic gaiety” in his leap into the dream waterfall, and its similarity to the leap described in the conversation between Major Wood and John -----, as well as its dissimilarity to the leap from Bart’s roof, invite us to re-examine our assumptions about the perspective of The Abominable Bride.

For these reasons, I think that The Abominable Bride has to at least be told from the perspectives of both characters, if not from John’s perspective alone. Let’s say for the moment that the episode represents John’s interpretation of Sherlock’s dream. John shows Sherlock enjoying the fall, which we know that he didn’t. This is the action of someone who would describe Sherlock’s time in exile as “a game of hide and seek”. John doesn’t know what the fall cost Sherlock. He only knows what it cost him, the man left behind. In this context, all of what comes after The Abominable Bride—Series 4—is subtextually about the consequences of the fall. Not necessarily to Sherlock, but to John.

[scapinoz]

L’APPEL DU VIDE, chapter one.

[genshin!oc x gn!reader]

note, first chapter is out after probably five months, ig. but it’s here now. do keep in mind that it was around three a.m. when i wrote this, i was half dead by then. so there might be a few mistakes here and there, I’ll edit them— i swear. also english is not my first language and i just write for fun.

warnings, implied yandere behavior, masked men, creepy men, men with weird eyes, drinking, y/n and intrusive thoughts, nothing much probably, it doesn’t get bad in the first chapter itself. written pre-snezhnaya, so it’s all interpreted not canon.

CHAPTER ONE, masked men and winter nights.

And there he was again— sitting in the corner of the room (though you must admit that the shadows dancing across his face made him quite beautiful than he already is)— eyes never leaving yours as you finished your song, relishing yourself in the familiar sound of applause from the audience (a sound you’ll never grow dull of hearing).

Everyone around you clapped their hands, some even standing up and raising their glass while they were at it. That should’ve been enough, yes? The fruits of your labour echoing through the vast room would’ve been more than enough for you back then— back then when you hadn’t noticed the masked man (a mask you were well familiar with, thank the archons for the whisperers in the streets) sitting in the reserved booth.

Your eyes, involuntary, went back to his. He was not putting his hands together for you, like everyone sitting in his table was. He only had his gaze inspecting your form without blinking. And without the slightest of hesitation you did the same, holding his regard. The missing signature black coat was the first thing that you noticed, the coat he had traded for something a little less flashy. Though the mask was yet to come off, the mask his friends (or who you assumed you were his friends, judging how ease they had been with each other) were also donning on their face.

You had seen the group a few months now, regularly visiting the bar and sitting the farthest seat from the stage— not that you minded, of course. They always seem to talking and whispering something among each other, sparing you glances here and there when you were up on stage. The man, whose name you have yet to know of, always seemed to be sitting in the middle and facing right towards you, always having his eyes on you whenever you were singing (or that’s what you had noticed whenever you open your eyes after closing them for a split second or so). Never have you ever seen them talking to anyone out of their own circle either.

‘They’ve never once talked to the waiters either, it’s the boss who always personally sees to them. Sharing laughs and shit. Who’s to guess that the boss has dealings with such people.’ was your coworkers answer when you inquired about them. You knew what she had meant by with such people, everyone around the bar knew— the fatui, those who control every aspect of the land of everlasting winter. Everyone around the bar knew of the fatui and were cautious enough not to seek them. And one who was stupid enough got his hand broken just last week— it was what you assumed was a warning. You had heard stories and witnessed the cruelty of the ruling by your own eyes. The fatui were not kind people, not in your eyes lest say. And to think some of them would be actually sitting by a bar listening to your sing out your sorrows for mora, you could only laugh.

‘I heard they work under the fifth,’ Ana said one night when you were lying in her lap as she was combing your hair. ‘they wear his colours as well— black and silver— and the masks are just another giveaway. And they also seem to be here when it is you who is performing.’ Ana chuckled as she had seen how wide your eyes gotten when you heard that. You hadn’t stuck around enough to notice, you had better things to do in your day offs than to spend your day in a bar. You had denied her claims, saying it was simply a co incidence and that fate works in very mysterious ways. Ana could only chuckle and asked you to live in your own dream fort for the time being.

And yet seeing how he was looking at you from the back could not stop yourself from believing your friend’s words for a moment— just for a moment. Just simply for a few seconds as you hurried off the stage and into the backstage, the sound of hands clapping against each other still reaching you. And there was no way they could be here for you.

“[name],” Your boss, Kolya, patted your back with the usual smile. “Great job as always.” You nodded, dutifully. “It would not hurt to smile a little, would it? Or had you grown tired of synthetically smiling?”

Gods, never a day passes where you do not curse your employer and wish the amount of firewater he consumes would deem him mute some day. “You must do what’s expected of you, synthetic or not.”

“Yes, yes, expectations.” He chuckled. “Always weighing one down.”

Kolya Mikhalov was not someone you had expected to work for— not someone you had expected to cross paths with, if being honest. Kolya Mikhalov was the man who took one look at you and decided that you were deemed worthy enough to sing in his fine establishment no matter how many times you had suggested hiring a bard and being done with the fuss he was making.

His name was one whispered among the streets ever so often, a name you’ve heard so often. ‘That man who is trying to coax you into working for him,’ the apple vendor muttered one day. ‘I heard he has connections with the fatui.’ He said. And it was all the more reasons why you urged yourself to get away from the man. Everything about him which screams danger. You had underestimated Kolya and his stubbornness when he said “I am not one to give up easily.”

And so he had waited for you to say yes to offer for nearly two months— following you everywhere you go, paying bards to sing praises of your hauntingly beautiful voice, and even showing up right outside your house with his staff. Surely Kolya Mikhalov was the most eccentric man you had ever encountered— and that simply explains the elctro vision in his left glove. And so you did give in to the endless pestering, and thus resulting you standing in the very same establishment you never vowed to work in.

Kolya leaned in slightly, making you move out of the way. “You look as if you want to ask me something.” Shaking your head you waved him off. Yet Kolya was never to one to falter. “Oh, I’m quite excited about your question. This is the first time you ever showed interest in something which is not dogs.”

“The people sitting at the back of the room,” You said, choosing your next words with much heed. “Are they part of the fatui?”

“Yes.”

You blinked once, then twice— clearly not expecting Kolya to blunt with his words. You perhaps thought that he would coax you into believing otherwise. “What?”

“They are indeed part of the fatui, working under the fifth. I thought the coat and the mask was obvious enough.”

Kolya looked at you, the smile never leaving his face. He tilted his head, very slightly, expecting you to ask more questions. Questions as to how he had ties with them and such. You were never one to pry, we’re you? Everyone had their secrets and you have no business inserting yourself in matters that do not concern you.

So what if your boss has ties with the fatui? It doesn’t matter as long as you get paid, you’ll do your job without any questions asked.

“I see,”

“Oh, and,” Kolya dug his pockets searching for something. He handed you a velvet box. “I was asked to give you this. Seems like you’ve gained quite the admirers, [name].”

You reluctantly opened the box— knowing Kolya was still peeking. “By the seven,” in laid a bracelet— one so intricately crafted. It was gold, probably embedded with the finest gems from Liyue. You didn’t have much knowledge in jewellery but one look at the bracelet and you knew it must’ve cost a fortune.

had you attracted the attention of a man so rich that he could afford this as a passing present?

Admirers, huh.

The nights were not kind in Snezhnaya, nor were the days but yet the night was far more cruel than the days. At least you will be able to see the dangers under the sun while you could simply just feel eyes on your back as you walked underneath the moonlight. You gripped the strap of your bag tighter, never once turning around to look around you— it was never a good idea, as Ana would say.

You weren’t very fond of nights like these— cold and lonely nights that makes you wish you had someone to hold you and keep you warm against their body. Always a knack for impossible dreams, yes? You didn’t particularly wish for a partner, that much you were sure of. But nights like these brings you think that perhaps you should find someone— someone to cure the loneliness and the cold. The thought only ever crosses your mind at nights like these.

“Dangerous night to walk alone,” Instinctively you pushed your elbow back, expecting it to hit the stranger and not for them to catch it. “Rather cynical now, aren’t we?” The person muttered, gloved hands finally leaving your bare skin. “You appeared a lot more demure on the stage. It’s not safe for you to walk alone.”

Turning around, you rubbed your elbow. “Gods,” It was the same man from the bar, the very same one who couldn’t get his eyes away from you. “Why are you here?” You started walking again, paying no mind to him walking beside you.

“Kolya put me up to it when he noticed a few drunkards trying to follow you.” He answered.

Eyes wide you looked around, looking for any sign of being followed. “I see no one.”

“They were taken care of.” He said. “Kolya specifically asked me to walk you home, said he wanted his favourite employee out of harms way.”

Typical Kolya.

You nodded, inspecting the man beside you— you never got the chance to see his full figure, after all. And as you had already expected he was nearly half a head taller than you and lean— though the outline of muscles present through his shirt already said all you need to know. Black hair that reached right below his shoulders and the bangs even covering one side of his mask ( hair that almost made you have second thoughts about yours ). Though it was his eyes what drew you in. His eyes reminded you of the starry nights after the storm— black eyes with specks of gold and silver dancing around them.

Where you shamelessly ogling this man? Of course. Would you admit it if he were to ask you about it? You would simply dig your own grave and lie in it, for sure.

And it seemed like he didn’t mind you staring at him— without even realising that you were staring. ( maybe you were aware, you simply did not care enough. Pretty people are to be appreciated, the thought came in your mind quickly as it left as you realized he was part of the fatui. ) He cleared his throat making you snap out of it, feeling slightly embarrassed and made a mental note to never do it again. ( though you knew you would do it all over again. )

“My name is,” Was it really safe to mention your name to a stranger— a fatui nonetheless. “[name].” Curse the Archons, how stupid could you get.

“I know, Kolya told me.” You nodded, pursing your lips. The silence was awkward as it was painful to bear. The only noise reaching your ears was the sound of snow underneath your boots, and not his. He walked gently, almost tempting you ask if he believed the snow had feelings.

“And you are?” Another mistake made.

The man looked at you, the blank look on his face never fading away. “Zhenya,” He, who you now know as Zhenya, whispered— almost as if he was afraid someone else might overhear him. “I work…under the fifth harbinger.”

“I know, rumours are hard to ignore.” The mask speaks for itself, you wanted to say and yet didn’t. You heard him mutter something under his breath, words flowing away with the wind. “So, you come to the tavern often?” You muttered, cursing yourself internally to simply shut up with each passing word that left you lips.

You didn’t hear an answer from him, just slow breathing as you felt his eyes on your figure as you looked down at the ground, trying to convince yourself that the plain white snow you’ve been seeing for years now was more interesting than whatever that was going on in his eye. “Yes,” Zhenya finally said, his voice probably gentler and softer than yours ever could be. “Kolya— he often bugs me to visit.” He added after a minute had passed.

That sure did sound like Kolya— annoying, vexing and often frustrating. not that you would ever say it out aloud, of course. ( you valued your life more than a few passing sarcastic comments that you brain was so fond of coming up with, thank you very much. )

You simply nodded as the pair of you continued walking, as you often let out soft breaths, shivering slightly from the cold even though you had your coat and gloves on. It would be nice if this man beside me were to wrap his coat around me, like form the romance books Ana is fond of. you found yourself thinking before quickly shaking off the thoughts. No, [name], bad man. He’s part of the fatui, [name].

Where did the thought even come from?

“Do you live far from here?” Zhenya asked, making you blink twice as you were snapped out of your thoughts.

You shook your head, pursing your lips to stop your teeth from clattering. Surely you wouldn’t make a fool out of yourself in front of this gorgeous, gorgeous man. “No, just around the corner.”

It usually only took fifteen to reach your home but it felt like an eternity with the man walking by your side. He hadn’t even opened this mouth once, except for when letting out soft inhale and exhaled. You were sure that it must’ve been a little uncomfortable to breathe beneath that mask during the winter. ( then again it was always winter ).

You stood in front of your house— a modest home, one that you were proud of. “Thank you,” you managed to murmur out as you both stood outside the door, one hand inside your pockets as you fished out for your keys.

The man, Zhenya, nodded. “Nothing worth mentioning.” He said.

You were almost tempted to invite him inside, offering to let him stay by the fireplace and hand him a glass of fire whiskey to heat his skin up before heading out. Who knows how far away he lived?

No, no, part of the fatui, you reminded yourself, sighing in relief as you finally found your keys. Ignoring the stare burning through your layers and layers of clothing you finally opened the door, whispering a small “good bye,” under your breath.

And before you closed the door behind you, you heard him say something akin to, “I hope you like the bracelet.”

i genuinely had no idea what i was thinking when i wrote this. but i somehow managed to. how are we liking y/n so far? and zhenya (ew). y/n and ana for the win. zhenya who? never heard of him.

and if anyone couldn’t tell, zhenya’s kinda a uandere, ig. so this fic might turn out a little darker than intended. he’s also a part of the fatui, so there might be more…gore? but yeah, he’s not a good guy, that’s for sure.

[openeyes1031]

Open Eyes: My Journey Into Consciousness After NDE

Picture this: you are strolling down the street in your city on a beautiful autumn day. The air has that fresh October chill to it. The leaves are dying and allowing us to watch their slow, mesmerizing end-of-life process that turns our sidewalks shades of scarlet and amber. You pause for a moment to take in the beauty of the world around you. You stare up at the vast blue sky littered with cottony and effervescent streaks of white clouds. Perhaps, in your head, you take a second to marvel at the absurdity of it all. That’s right - absurdity. Have you ever wondered why or how? Have you gazed over the cliff of existentialism long enough to feel the l’appel du vide of humanity? Do you ever lay in bed at night and wonder, “What is this? Why am I here?’ If you have, I think my story will appeal to you. At first you may be skeptical. I understand. As humans, we are innately born to fear the unknown. In the years of early man, one must fear death in order to survive. The explosion of the beauty industry, artificial intelligence, cryogenics, and even holistic medicine over the past few decades shows us that we are doing everything we can to run from the gaping black maw of death, of the unknown. You are born to work, and you work until you die, and that’s it, so you better get ahead of the pack as fast as possible. You are running out of time, or at least it feels that way. Are you afraid that nothing you do matters? Are you afraid that everything you are and ever have been will eventually be nothing, or forgotten to time like so many others before you? I know you are. We are raised to believe that the fear motivates us. What would you say if I told you there was another option? I expect skepticism. I expect anger, outrage, and contention from most, because most aren’t ready to face the fear. Some of you, however, are running out of options. Do you know who you really are? Do you know who you’ve been, or why you’re here? Do you find yourself wandering hopelessly through life, strung along by the glimmers of humanity that make everything seem special? If you answered yes, I ask you to continue with an open mind and open heart. I ask you to put ego aside, just for a little while. Tuck it away in a cozy corner and make it feel safe until you come back, and follow me through my experience with life, death, and consciousness.

Continue reading on SubStack ->

[persephoneshellhounds]

"Persephone, Descending" is a haunting collection of prose and poetry that deconstructs the myth of Persephone and her descent to the underworld. This book explores the deterioration of sanity, trusting the l’appel du vide, and walking willingly into an internal chaos.

The poems are not just retellings of the myth; they are personal re-interpretations of Persephone’s story, from her abduction to her re-claiming her power. Fray Narte’s second poetry collection isn’t just for the readers who grew up reading Greek mythology, but for anyone who’s interested in exploring themes that revolve around loss, grief, existential crisis, and identity.

While it may be niched, the poetry in the book is confessional — a gesture of authenticity and self-acceptance of your worst, incomprehensible form. This makes the book perfect for readers who dare to look at and live their unfiltered truths.

The cover of the book is a picture taken by the author’s dear friend; both an imagery of Persephone succumbing to a sweet, hazy, solitary surrender, and a nod to Ophelia’s descent to madness and eventual drowning, said to be a symbolically feminine death. This sets the perfect tone for the collection. Persephone, Descending would be a great gift to anyone who seeks to look inward and appreciates poetry, mythology, and subjective spirituality.

Overall, the anthology is thought-provoking, emotive, and truly unique. It’s one of the must read Filipino poetry books. Support Fray Narte by buying a copy from the website of 8Letters Bookstore and Publishing or from their Shopee page.

[ryttu3k]

Some thoughts on His Dark Materials 3.05 and 3.06 - No Way Out and The Abyss! Spoilers for the rest of the series below.

I absolutely goddamn adore how they did everything with the Mulefa. Mary’s development from “...I’m following a talking elephant” to “these talking elephants are my besties, actually”, to how they handled the wheelpods, to the babies - but my absolute favourite thing was how they did the subtitles! Things like the Mulefa speech melting into English, but into a much more limited English to show Mary’s grasp on it, to how it just becomes more and more fluent, until she and Atal are just... chatting. Talking. It was so cool.

Completely understand why they redesigned them, too. The diamond-shaped thing would have been, hm, complicated, and this way they felt much more real. And the wheelpods really did look fun. Like rollerblading!

Land of the Dead was proper eerie. Really glad they kept in Will’s reaction to being separated from his daemon, because like. They have to build up Kirjava somehow, even if he didn’t feel it immediately like Lyra and Pan did. The set felt deeply claustrophobic (even if it did vaguely remind me of a Doctor Who stage set) and oppressive, and seeing poor li’l Roger so... lifeless was genuinely upsetting. Got a bit emotional at them talking about their adventures, Roger remembering more and more, seeing the flashbacks of them as little bitty kids (I guess they filmed those when they were doing season one?), and him just... coming back to life. Storytelling as identity!

I don’t know. “Tell them stories” is one of my favourite fictional aesops.

Adored the reunion with Lee. Look I know Lin Manuel-Miranda has been a... controversial choice, but I think he’s fantastic, and I’m so glad Lyra got to see one of her two dads again (the other is Iorek, obviously. Asriel whomst? He’s lost parental rights forever tyvm). And Will’s reunion with John just felt... so much more loaded. Like Lyra seeing Lee again just felt warm and cozy like a hug, but there was so much weight between Will and John, many more things to say. Apparently it was filmed months after principle filming due to John’s actor’s availability, which was why it felt much more self-contained, but honestly I feel it was pretty important for them to have that time. Also built up the concept that you can’t stay in a world that’s not your own for too long, which gives the viewer the thought, “Oh, okay, so Lyra and Will will have to visit each other via windows, they can’t actually stay together.” When the reveal about closing all but one window comes, it’s gonna hit like a truck.

The Abyss was horrifying. Metaphysical l’appel du vide and all. They played up how it’ll be a major part later on well, I think. Seeing Sergi being pulled in, Ruta’s complete helplessness... yikes, genuinely unsettling. I do like that Serafina explained exactly what was going to happen to Ruta, her soul falling forever. Keep that in mind, viewers! It’ll be important later!

Loved Gracious Wings’ rescue, too - I’m not even sure she knew why she did it. The whole thing plays on this big... trusting your intuition to do the right thing, even if you don’t know why you did. Which works very well with Lyra and the prophecy, actually.

Harpy-related note - it did disappoint me that they cut the Lyra/liar part, especially since it felt foreshadowed with the bureaucrat in the holding area. I just wanted to see Lyra come to that realisation that they wanted the truth. Ah well.

Going through the door... emotions. Bye, Roger ;_; Bye, Lee ;_; (I know he originally joined the fight, but I’m guessing they just wanted to streamline the story?)

My desire to slap Asriel continues to grow. Holy shit, dude. His war is going ‘successfully’ but he’s also kinda. Breaking a hell of a lot of eggs to make that particular omelette. Lowkey wish Mrs Coulter had punched him tbh.

On that note, her character has taken such a fascinating turn! Genuinely much more sympathetic - trying to talk for her life in the chamber, her terror and determination trying to stop the bomb (and her success! She pulled out the targeting mechanism so it could only use Lyra’s last known location, and Lyra kept moving, so it missed!), her despair when she believes Lyra is dead... standout scenes, I think, are after she returns to the camp. There’s the wonderful talk with Serafina, where Serafina talks about how Lyra being Eve is a good thing, a transformative thing, because look at how much she’s transformed, and that beautiful scene talking to her daemon. She’s making peace with her own soul again!

Anyway, Mrs Coulter/Serafina.

The contrast between her and Asriel is really interesting. They start out with like, Asriel is the cool uncle/dad who’s doing cool things, and Mrs Coulter is Evil Incarnate, and they’re both... just changing to be significantly more morally grey (or, well, outright terrible). Mrs Coulter is realising she does care about something/someone, she has a daughter she’s realising she actually does love, someone else to care for other than herself. She’s reconnecting with her soul. Asriel, on the other hand, is going into a downward spiral, becoming obsessive and callous, and any love he actually did have for Lyra is just... not a priority any more. Even Stelmaria is more absent. I really wanted to see her reaction to learning that Lyra was dead :-\

Just two episodes left!

[blues-story1]

L’Appel du vide

(The call of the void)

It’s a constant.

A woe that never leaves me,

Urging me to hit the uppermost high possible

Although I’d never truly do it,

Though the thought is intoxicating.

It feeds over my innermost emotions, exploiting my situation while bringing me further into the precipice of the unknown

L’Appel du vide

(Like a siren calling my name)

- Blu’s Story.

[diavolodigitale]

L’appel Du Vide: 00 Despicable Him

It took me a whole goddamn year to finally win the fight I fought against myself and start posting this story. I have 7 complete chapters written already but now cannot seem to find the strength to continue, so I was hoping releasing it into the world would give me a nice boost. Anyway, my friends enjoyed the story so if in reality it turns out to be bad, it’s obviously their fault, not mine ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Rhys is the CEO of Atlas and Jack's AI is back, surprise, surprise! Now Rhys is dismayed, Jack doesn't care much, and the events of Borderlands 3 are just beginning to unravel. Is there any way to fix the plot of this game? Would it be any better if Rhys had to cooperate with Jack this whole time? Well, this is your chance to find out!

Spoiler: yes, dammit, it would. Everything's better with a bit of Handsome Jack in it.

Genres: Fix-It, Developing Relationship, Alternate Canon, POV Third Person, Humor, Drama, Plot-driven (kind of? well, it has plot)

Pairing: Handsome Jack’s AI/Rhys (this is only the 1st chapter so don’t expect much yet)

Characters: Handsome Jack’s AI, Rhys

Rating: M for Mature but not in this chapter lol

Size: around 2500 words (chapter 1/11)

Rhys’s office was great. He liked to sit in his big executive’s chair and dreamily look outside instead of doing the paper work. The view was also great. Well, kind of.

What did not seem so great, however, was the war he had been recently dragged into by the Maliwan corporation. He didn’t like being involuntarily involved into global affairs, especially those that had something to do with fusions or takeovers. The situation his company was in was bothering him at the moment, so he took a deep thoughtful breath and continued staring into the window.

“Hey, kiddo,” said the voice of somebody who definitely could not be in Rhys’s office neither at this given moment nor at any other time. Rhys was almost sure in his sanity so he proceeded to ignore the not-uttered words, although he, for some unknown reason, became visibly shaken.

“He-e-ey,” said the voice with those familiar little notes of annoyance that would let the hearer know that the person speaking clearly didn’t like being ignored.

A half-transparent blue hand waved in front of Rhys’s face, and he totally lost it.

Still somehow managing to remain seated in his chair, Rhys jerked back and rolled right through the blue figure formerly standing behind him.

“Wha…” muttered Rhys, barely able to speak at all, “Jack? What are you… I mean, how… I mean, is that really you?”

“Calm down, Rhysie,” said Jack with the same smug expression on his face – perhaps, the only thing that was unchangeable apart from his self-confidence, principles, self-esteem, disrespect for the others, sly nature, and, well, many, many other things really. “I get it, you’re happy to see me, but gosh, have some self-respect!”

Rhys was still confused, so after a few seconds of silence Jack felt the need to add, “Of course, it’s me”.

“But I thought you’re…”

“Dead? Gone? Dead and gone?” Jack clicked his tongue three times. “I thought, you knew me better, Rhysie. I thought, you’d welcome me with your arms wide open. Are you not happy to see me?”

“I am,” Rhys started nodding zealously and clenched his fists tight, hoping that Jack wouldn’t notice he was shaken. “But I don’t understand. What happened…”

“What happened was a mistake. I was gone for a while, but now I’m here to stay.” Jack leaned towards Rhys’s face and smiled. It was in no way an amiable smile. His glowing eyes reminded those of a vulture watching his prey. He already started to smell fear in the air.

“And where exactly is here?” asked Rhys with the last glimmer of hope fading from his voice. More than anything now he wished for the story not to repeat itself, but it was not like he had a choice or something.

Jack only tapped on Rhys’s temple with his index finger and leaned back. Rhys didn’t feel the touch but the gesture itself made him uncomfortable. He knew what it meant, unfortunately.

Jack jumped onto the table of the CEO of Atlas and crossed his legs and arms, waiting.

Rhys swallowed loudly. This was not great at all. He was sure his head was clear from this phantom and there was nothing to worry about. He was sure he would never again be convinced to go against his nature and pursue the world domination. Or any kind of domination. He was sure, but whenever it came to Jack, he was a defeatist.

“This can’t be true. I don’t believe you came back. I must’ve hit my head or I’m just seeing things…” Rhys’s voice quavered in disbelief when he spoke.

“Now-now, honey, no need to worry so much. You know I don’t like it when you wince, it makes you look older. Seeing me here must make you feel sorry for what you’ve done, but you should know that I don’t hold any grudge. Actually, I’m kida proud of you, you know. It only proves I was right all along,” said Jack roguishly. His manner of speech made his words sound benign, as if he was forgiving sins during the confession. Rhys was still not buying it.

“I did what I had to, what you made me do! If anything, it was YOUR fault, YOU betrayed me, so don’t you try making ME responsible for everything! I don’t know what kind of mind game this is, but I know you can’t be here.”

As Jack opened his mouth to yet again say something pricky, Rhys, still sitting in his chair and tightly gripping its arms, yelled at top of his lungs, “Begone! Begone, foul apparition!”.

The apparition sat on the table, sandbagged and with a dropped jaw, for a few moments and then uttered “Wow. Just wow. I’ve always known you’re weird, but this is just… wow. Are you on drugs or something? I’m not judging, you just seem really… deranged? I wanna say deranged, but I’m not sure it’s the right word.”

Rhys snuffled resentfully and looked at Jack with a brooding expression on his face. “You won’t go?” he asked, not really hoping anymore.

“Nope, kiddo. Everything’s gonna be just like the good old times – me as a hero and you as a… as a… I dunno, a less attractive sidekick?” Rhys quietly sighed, holding his head in his hands. “We’re gonna hang out, kill bandits, save the world, and I will always, always be at your side. I’ll make sure of that.”

“I killed you, Jack. I destroyed you. I ripped you out of my body, tore you apart and threw you away from my memory. Nothing’s gonna be the same anymore, you know that.”

“No, Rhys, I was killed by some OTHER goddamn crappy bags of… ugh, I’m not even gonna bother with that. You and me just had a misunderstanding. Often happens between two forceful promising personalities, like between me and the previous Hyperion CEO. Oh, wait, no,”–Jack scratched his head and furrowed his eyebrows–“no, I killed him, that’s a bad example. Anyway, you know what I mean.”

“I smashed my fucking arm to get rid of you! You,”–Rhys pointed his cybernetic finger at Jack–“are the only one who is insane here if you think that’s nothing. We both know what we did, Jack. Whatever you want, I’m not helping you. The last time I tried, you took control of me and tried to end my life.”

Jack’s expression turned from stolid to menacing as fast as gray clouds cover the sun and it starts raining in summer. He wanted to be good, he really believed that he did.

“Why do you always have to be so stubborn?” he hissed at Rhys. “I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want me to. No matter how much I don’t want to admit it, I’m dependent on you, you little whiny coward, so do me a favor – be a good boy and listen to what daddy has to say. You kept your eye implant, didn’t you? Don’t even try arguing with me, I know you did. It was your decision to leave it be, so it’s you who brought me here. I’m grateful for that and I promise not to be nasty. No taking over bodies and no homicidal tendencies. Well, at least when it comes to you, pumpkin.”

“…Okay,” fumbled Rhys. Even though he didn’t believe this was really the case, he knew disputing with Jack never solved anything anyway. “Although… I didn’t really use the chip afterwards. I don’t know how you’ve found out I had kept it, but I surely wasn’t that stupid so as to put it back into my head after what you had done. I really want to know how you’ve managed to–”

“We all have our secrets, Rhysie. But enough about me, let’s talk about you.” Jack gave Rhys a wink. “How’ve ya been? Must admit, I fell out of the loop and now need an update,” he said petulantly. Now he was idly looking around as if he had lost all interest in what was happening.

Rhys decided to let go of his worries for now. If he couldn’t make Jack talk, his only option was to gain his trust once again and find out how he survived. Or if he did at all. Just be composed, not the worst scenario you’ve ever been in, he said to himself.

“Um, actually, I’m great. This is my office and… We’re doing fantastically if you disregard the fact that we’re at war with Maliwan and currently I am occupied with this new–”

“Yeah-yeah, okay, what was there about a war? I don’t remember Maliwan scum being at least somehow dangerous. How did you even manage to mess this up?”

Rhys stood up from his huge chair, arms akimbo, eyes disdainfully narrowed, and went on with his story, affronted and even a little peevish.

“As I was saying, I’m working on a new plan right now. At this point I’m pretty fed up with Katagawa, this new CEO of Maliwan,”–definitely peevish right now–“Oh, in fact, I just hate him so much!”–now even irate–“The day he murdered all his siblings, he just mobilized his fleet and went straight to my planet! Who in the right mind does that? Could’ve sent a message at least. Anyway,”–Rhys hid his hands into his pockets and sunk back into his chair, having lost all his righteous anger–“he wants our corporations to merge, to fuse, as he says, to become one.” The irritation on Jack’s face was becoming more distinct with every word Rhys said. “He wants me to sign the deal and share my developments with him, can you believe it? That greedy bastard!”

“Proposals like that don’t just come out of nowhere. Seems like he’s been watching you. This Katagawa guy, what does he offer you in return? Money, contacts, tech?”

“Himself, I guess,” said Rhys without any second thought.

“What?” asked Jack contemptuously. He was already close to seeing red. Rhys forgot how it worked with him.

“He said we would become partners, but I think it’s all lies to make it seem pretty. I suspect he will simply take control of Atlas and our new shiny guns, and all my work will be wasted.”

“I see, no one can trick our Rhysie,” said Jack, grinning. “Thank god, at least some good news.”

“That’s right!” said Rhys, perhaps, more enthusiastically than he should have. “No one,” he added more quietly. Except for you, you snake, muttered the inner voice inside his head.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something this whole time. Funny how I really haven’t been here for long, but you know. May I?”

Jack’s incisive manner of speech was absent, so Rhys took his guard down for a moment, getting the feeling that this conversation was like one of those they used to have before – unbraced and at times even innocuous.  

“I know what’s on your mind, Jack,” he said, heartfelt and certain.

“You do?” Jack undoubtfully seemed surprised at his interlocutor’s insight.

“Yes. I’ve noticed how you look at me and I know exactly what you want to ask.” Rhys made himself more comfortable in the chair, crossed his legs and sat straight, in a more business-like manner. “This,”–he made a vague hand gesture around the area of his mouth–“is a siege mustache. Shh, let me finish, you can’t say anything I haven’t heard about it before. My troops love it, and as a good commander, I do what I can to boost morale on the battlefield. Of course, I don’t go out there, but they are happy enough when they see my hologram. A-a-and, now you can talk. I guess. If you want to. By the way, I don’t care if you hate it, it’s my face so–”

“You know what? I love it. Love it. Never thought I would say that, but I am saying it right now, so here you are. The second rule of a successful boss – do what the fuck you wanna do with your face. The first one is murder the previous boss, of course.”

“Really?” gingerly asked Rhys, who, in reality, had never heard anything good about his poor moustache.

“Really. But I must upset you, Rhysie. This is not what was bothering me. You see, there’s this other little thing, pretty close in its significance to your moustache.”

“Oh,” uttered Rhys nonchalantly, “what is it?”

“Hyperion. What’s with it? What’s with MY Hyperion, Rhysie?”

At the sound of that very word Rhys hunched in his chair and felt as if he was reducing in size under Jack’s cold gaze.

“After what had happened… the Helios was destroyed and everything collapsed and…”

Rhys sat silent, not able to go on, and this was the last thing he should’ve done. Jack was not in the mood for such a behavior.

“Look me square in my fucking translucent eyes, Rhys, and tell me – what is with my Hyperion?” yelled Jack.

He still sat on the table quite far from Rhys, but it seemed like the room suddenly shrunk and he was right in front of him. Jack was a ghost, a phantom, not able to do anything, not able to inflict any damage or even touch him, but Rhys sensed the danger. No matter in what form, Handsome Jack was still Handsome Jack.

“I don’t know. I guess, somebody took control of it after I left. The weapons are still being manufactured, but I didn’t bother to find out who was the next in line after Helios was… after I destroyed Helios.”

Rhys exhaled loudly and averted his eyes from Jack. Oh, yes, making Jack angry is much easier than making him proud, how could I forget, he thought.

“I see. I didn’t doubt for a second you would do that to infuriate me. Believe it or not, this is the first time I’d rather be disappointed. But you know what? It doesn’t matter now. Now we’re bonding,” Jack sucked the air through his teeth, “now we’re rebuilding what was destroyed like a family we are. Isn’t that great? Look at us, two best buddies exchanging the latest news.”

“And you promised not to be nasty this time...?” Rhys made a feeble attempt to save himself and remind Jack about the terms under which he was allowed to accompany him.

“Yes, Rhysie, and you know damn well I keep my promises.”

And he did. But only when he promised to kill somebody.

[rosesfordre]

The Longest Dnf Fan Fiction Masterlist Ever (But You’ll Want to Read Every Single One)

(strictly ao3 - check tags/warnings - contains NSFW - will continue to add fics - note below)

Heat Waves by tbhyourelame (complete)

Helium by tbhyourelame (sequel to Heat Waves - incomplete as of 5/17/2022)

Stars, Stripes, and Aristocratic Snobs by hayloftown (complete)

With a Whisper, We Will Tame the Vicious Seas by hayloftown (sequel to SSAS)

When by hayloftown (complete)

pine hill by angelbeachcat (complete)

Protected by Aenqa (complete)

half magic by meridies (complete)

melting point (how long before we burn?) by anonymous (complete)

tidal pools and stars by passmethemolly (discontinued)

patches, my beloved by myicedcoffee (complete)

cortisol by angelbeachcat (complete)

catalyst by angelbeachcat (complete)

The Dating App by tellthemstories (complete)

jaw. by saintaches (complete)

reverie by saintaches (sequel to jaw. - complete)

evening variations by saintaches (sequel to reverie - complete)

l’appel du vide by angelbeachcat (incomplete as of 5/17/2022)

Dear Dream, by Qekyo (complete)

Stella By Starlight by Qekyo (complete)

one step heavy, two steps high by meridies (complete)

ace of hearts by meridies (complete)

in the rain, give you sunshine by meridies (complete)

Love-Shaped Clothes by isntitlovely (isntitcrazy) (complete)

seconds, minutes, hours, lifetimes by meridies (complete)

pretty privilege by karlnapitys (complete)

Sweet Disposition by loglady1980 (complete)

van gogh out with me by moonsooms (complete)

throwing smoke into the night by schauss (complete)

tonight we are dead by lazykitkat (complete)

shampoo bottles, dish washing and loving by rednow (complete)

aches, scars, and a pretty boy by your bed by cloudfarmer (complete)

my soul, my heart (pull everything apart) by meridies (complete)

thy eternal summer shall not fade by crimequills (greyquills) (complete)

how love ought to be by moonsooms (complete)

People Pleaser by moon_strvck (complete)

firsts, seconds, thirds by tieramybeloved (complete)

cardinals fly (when i’m with you) by stardustlips (complete)

Lost in Translation by yungluv (complete)

anti-romantics (and the fools that fall for them) by angelbeachcat (complete)

ebb & flow by angelbeachcat (complete)

as i am by angelbeachcat (complete)

Chasing Snowflakes by passmethemolly (complete)

Wise Men Say by sadiehour (akapeterman) (complete)

Summer of Twenty by seryters (complete)

ReasonsToDateMe.mp3 by kivy (rkxin) (complete)

the still point by orphan_account (discontinued)

The Wasteland by backtopluto (complete)

All is Fair in Love and Football by graciegirl2001 (complete)

Metanoia by 24notfound (complete)

Papercuts & Stamps by discountsimp, lxcuxex (complete)

suck a dick fallacy by literaphobe (complete)

days under my moon by lazykitkat (complete)

Read Between the Lines by hayloftown (incomplete as of 18 July 2022)

Note: At some point in time, all of these made me feel something—whether it was happiness, sadness, nostalgia and so on—I truly enjoyed reading every single one of these for one reason or another. I hope you find the same comfort and enjoyment in them as I did, and please, share your love with the amazing writers who wrote all of these wonderful stories! They deserve the love of the world for all their beautiful words they have written. And there you are, reader; I destine you to find something great in, at least, one of these stories—read your heart out.

[belle-keys]

No but Thunder Bay and the Horsemen and the entire Devil’s Night saga was just… unbelievably joyful for me. Like the plot and the characters and the flashbacks and the webs between all the character arcs and the unapologetic rawness of it all? It’s one of those series that reminded me of why I love reading. I got so lost in Thunder Bay and the lore and their family, like Thunder Bay feels like one of those real-but-immortal settings (you know what I mean)? Plus the way l’appel du vide lies at the heart of the story and the characters but also (clearly) within people who really really enjoy content like this? This shit was amazing from start to finish and it wrapped up so beautifully. This is the same feeling I get when I read TSC and Harry Potter and The Goldfinch I tell you.

[ggukkiereads]

Hiii! Did you have a nice day? I wanted to ask for a fic rec of fics like @youremypride 's apocalypse. I'm not looking for zombie ones, just fics that are creepy?? Thanks!!!

🌷 Hello! My day before was kind of weird! Like all the wrong files/documents happening at work. I don’t believe much in mercury retrograde (astrology) but I asked my coworker who’s into astrology if we’re under this phase (so the answer is NO lol; my files are just really messed up. It’s all on me 😅). So I hope it’s better today!

I am assuming you binged on the author’s fics too? That’s what I did after reading their hilarious Gamer!Jungkook fic! 🥰

For your request, I had a lot in mind but I realize they’re either pure yandere or thriller or horror/suspense or killer aus. I get what you mean with Apocalypse. It’s creepy and haunting (but I can’t really classify it as horror too for some reason). It is more of a strange, peculiar romance (like what the writer said in their a/n). Kudos to the writer @youremypride for writing this!

Creepy  (and Haunting) Fics

- I tried to recall ones with similar vibes of Apocalypse (creepy but sad; haunting and not just scary) so the genre will be a mixture of horror, thriller, suspense, some yandere.

⚠ (please check tags and don’t proceed if the themes are uncomfortable for you):

Beloved @bang-tan-bitches - Yoongi

one shot | 17.4k | political, historical, daechwita-inspired, thriller, yandere themes | s

so this is part of my favorite Daechwita fics! That last part, I had my mouth open and I wanted to scream for OC. It’s creepy in a different way and I don’t want to think about what happens after the fic (if I were OC I’d probably go crazy)

Motive @jessikahathaway  - Jungkook

one shot | 12.6k | outcast!reader, popular!jungkook, OC accused of  murder, and yes sh*t happens | A, S

So I read this on AO3 last year and I was captivated by the story; maybe because in my mind I was thinking that the story will be your regular popular guy meets normie!reader and they fall in love. I don’t know if I can say this is “creepy but haunting” but it haunted me a bit and it played with my emotions (😥)

Room 105 @park-jong-seong - Jungkook

drabble | 1k | creepy hotel vibes, horror | s

this has the vibes of those creepy ghost stories shared during Halloween.

Dollhouse @itskimtaehyung - Jungkook

one shot | 10.4k | established relationship, horror, spirit possession, supernatural, haunted house | a, s

I still think about this. Every time I see this, I just remember the ending when OC snapped. I started to question: was it even real? Or was it some psychological issues that led to...that ending? I hope it’s creepy enough for you.

The Dulcie Inn @yandere-society - Taehyung x Reader x Jungkook

one shot | 12k | yandere!jungkook, fiance!taehyung, horror | a, s

I have so many questions! But, seriously never take your fiancé’s concerns for granted. Just look at Taehyung 😭. This is more of a thriller too.

L’Appel Du Vide + Satisfied @infireation - Taehyung

two shot | 16.7k | serial killer au | s, a

it’s just...creepy; and that fact that OC still made an appearance in the sequel made it creepier. I love how Taehyung was written - he just fits the scary but enigmatic character. *chills*

Totem @yeoldontknow - Hoseok

one shot | 5.5k | horror, suspense, thriller, haunted house au, light romance | a

What follows is an account of YouTube vloggers Euripet3s1 and theJungProject. This is a report of the last known whereabouts of Jung Hoseok.

Please don’t read this at night. It’s creepy and haunting and mysterious until the very end. I love the writing style too (like a transcript). It’s more of horror/suspense/thriller too.

Apothic @jiminstonic - Jimin

one shot | 6.1k | thriller, zombie au, yandere!zombie Jimin who will protect you, post-apocalypse | s, a

okay so seems romantic that a Zombie!Jimin will do everything to protect you from other zombies but you have to check his intentions and all. He is still a Zombie end of day plus the idea of a romance with a zombie should be creepy itself (but when do characters listen?!?!).

Lichterloh @saturnmyg - Taehyung

one shot | 12.9k | small town horror au, action, dullahan!taehyung, newcomer!reader, teacher!reader, supernatural | a

dullahan is a headless horseman. this is set in modern times about someone escaping the busy city life. the small town itself is creepy and the mom kept telling OC they can’t find it in the map, etc (lesson: always listen to your Mom). The people in the town seem...okay? And then Taehyung seems scary according to the “legend” but he’ll show up at one point in the story and you’d think you can trust him. Okay I’ll stop now and let you discover things yourself.

A Portrait’s Whisper @jimlingss - Seokjin

one shot | 4k | psychological thriller, horror au | a

“When you’re trapped in a house controlled by a witch’s power, Seokjin will go through every means to search for you again.”

- uhmm, yeah right 👀

Ghouls Just Wanna Have Fun by various authors - OT7 (each gets a one shot)

all the fics are inspired by psychological thriller films so expect the same kind of fics. I can’t say that all have the same vibes you are looking for (maybe they’re more of psychological thrillers/suspense) but I put a 👻 to the one closest . Some of the links are not updated so I’m posting it here:

The Seance @junqkook - Seokjin |  inspired by Demonic! | ghost hunters au, demon au, horror  👻

Wraith @gimmesumsuga - Yoongi |  inspired by The Shining! | boyfriend!yoongi, music producer?, possession, thriller

Perfidy @yminie - Hoseok |  inspired by The Babysitter! | horror, thriller, demonic rituals

Moving On @gukyi - Namjoon | inspired by Carrie! | supernatural au

Zemblanity @cinnaminsvga - Jimin |  inspired by Misery! |  fan!jimin, idol!reader, horror/thriller

Hide & Seek @oppamanse – Taehyung | inspired by Sinister! | author deactivated

Sub Rosa @jincherie - Jungkook |  inspired by The Thing! | alien au (sort of), thriller, horror  👻

posted: 2021 June 24 | updated:

other fic rec lists

feel free to chat about fics =)

.

[its-sixxers]

Hiii! I was just wondering if you had any plans to continue anything with Deacon and Charmer? Your story was wrapped up very well… i just love their story. ❤️

Leave a Light is supposed to focus on both of them raising synth!Shaun and Carmen struggling to adapt to a more peacetime Commonwealth, I just gotta get off my butt and get some motivation for continuing it. I’ve learned a lot about writing and I think I’ve improved since I initially started writing for Fallout 4 (l’Appel du Vide was my first longfic in a decade) so there’s also a little nervousness in how much whiplash there’ll be in that regard lol.

My life should hopefully be chilling out soon (in the midst of a move rn) so I’ll have energy for plucking away at things again!

[pebblysand]

[fic: hp; hinny] pick me, choose me, love me

written for the hinny birthday challenge on discord. theme was television and my twist was: it was all a weird dream because [insert character here] was in an accident.

this one is pure fluff, absolutely not on brand. see? i can write happy things too. sometimes. lol. hope you enjoy it.

wordcount: 2080

rating: T

the life she has, it’s the life she chose. the boy she singled out in a crowd, just shy of ten years old - she picked him out not because he was famous, or because he was handsome - eyes that reminded her of the jars that her mother kept in their pantry at home (like he was somehow already part of her home) - but because for the first time in her life, she found herself silenced in his presence. ginny, the chatterbox; ginny, the fearless witch - she looked at him and thought: yeah, okay, and didn’t know what else to say. it was scary and intriguing in all the right ways and, so, she added: perhaps, it’ll be you, then. perhaps, you’ll be the one who stops, holds, and stays close.

years later, on her television screen, a blonde-haired girl declares that life is a series of rooms and who we get stuck in those rooms with adds up to what our lives are. ginny likes the quote, thinks about it quite a lot. as a child, as a teenager, for a little while, it felt like all she did was hop from room to room until she found the right one. when she did, harry was in it. a boy, back then (her husband, now), her wild card, her hurricane; he opened the door and broke them out and into the whole, wild world. she found it full untamed unknowns that she couldn’t help but be drawn to. l’appel du vide, the edge of a cliff, a volcano.

the both of them, they’ve toyed with danger before, but always kept each other safe. ginny, well, she can’t speak to why harry picks her (or to why he loves her) - that is not and will never be her story to tell - but she can explain why she chose him. it wasn’t because of a childish crush or because of his name, but because no one else has ever made her feel this way. ginny marries him, builds a family with him because she knows it is a risk, but harry is one well worth taking.

of course, to get the life she dreams of, she makes sacrifices. they both do. hers aren’t her career - she stopped playing when she wanted to - and certainly not her kids. she lives for james’s smile and albus’s cautious-curious look, lily’s determination (even when it hits a little too close to home). in her chest, ginny’s heart still pounds with the way that harry hesitated the first time he held each of their children in his arms, like no matter how many times the healers told him that everyone was fine, he wouldn’t believe that his kids were actually alive until he materially felt their breaths against his neck. ginny looked at him as he sat on a chair in st mungo’s and thought: the sacrifices they’d made so far, the ones it took to get there, she’d do them all again, in a heartbeat. the nightmares, and the wars and the wins coaxed in losses - just to get here. right here, with him. that’s worth everything.

no, as far as she is concerned, the sacrifice she makes is this: ginny wants kids, ginny loves kids, but merlin, does she hate being pregnant. for a little under a hundred and twenty weeks, she carries the three of them like she carried on her shoulders the heavy weight of a rebellion at age sixteen: with a goal in sight, an investment in the future she so desperately wants. in those years, she is sick, she is tired, she can’t sleep, her back hurts, her legs hurt, her bladder won’t hold and she’s so hormonal she can’t even bear her own company, genuinely wonders how harry takes it all in stride with a smile on his lips. in the early days, she wasn’t quite sure what to expect but by the time she misses her period with albus and the test comes back positive, she is ecstatic, sure, but a very tiny part of her thinks: ah, here we go again. truth is, though, she’s been through worse and that oddly helps, especially when she has to leave the table over sunday brunch to go vomit and her mother says: ‘oh, i’m sorry you’re feeling so poorly, dear. i loved being pregnant, never had a single issue.’

harry’s hand gently covers her forearm in what most people probably read as a caring gesture, not knowing that the alternative would have been to let her hex her own mother with her wand under the table. by the time lily is born, ginny looks her husband dead in the eye, mere hours after the birth and says: ‘that’s it, harry. i am done. i’ll get my fucking tubes tied by muggles if i have to.’

in response, he laughs, kisses her, and tells her he loves her. the five of them are her everything, by then, and merlin knows she loves him, too.

with albus, the healers tell her to stay home and ‘rest’ at twenty-five weeks which, being the kind of person who can’t sit still for more than two minutes, is truly the worst of it all. hermione brings over her well-wishes (and books to entertain) which drives her husband to roll his eyes and say: ‘you should get a tv instead.’ the liquid inside the bottle of corona he holds swirls slightly as he sets it down on the table. ‘dean’s installed ours, he can get them to work in magical homes, now. has made a whole business out of it. you can watch the muggle sports on it and all. should keep you busy, they’re fucking mental.’

hermione quickly admonishes: ‘just because it’s not quidditch doesn’t mean it’s “mental,” ron,’ but ginny’s brother shakes his head before catching her gaze.

‘for real, there’s one where you have to move forwards to score but they can only throw the ball backwards, don’t tell me that’s not mental.’

that’s (frankly) all it takes for ginny to be sold on the idea (to tell the truth, she would probably be sold on any and all forms of entertainment at this stage), and so she is already halfway through asking ron for dean’s contact details, when harry asks: ‘so, does dean work alone? or does he, i mean, have employees that come in or something?’

ron throws him a puzzled look as if to say: who cares? hermione glances up across the table. ginny doesn’t even need to see his face.

both girls simultaneously burst out a laugh.

officially, he denies ever feeling the tiniest bit of jealous insecurity, of course, which only makes ginny tease him more, knowing that he’d do the exact same if the roles were reversed. just for that bit of fun, getting the tv installed is worth it. she insists that dean come in person, makes him tea and chats amicably while he performs complicated spells that power the technology up; harry politely hovers in the background carrying james in his arms as if to prove that he’s acting perfectly normal, not bothered at all, thanks very much. after dean leaves, though, he kisses her rather possessively, mouth claiming hers and he says: ‘yeah, okay, you win. maybe, i was jealous, a little bit, alright?’

she laughs against his lips before whispering, ‘i chose you. i love you, harry potter,’ and promptly taking his clothes off.

through her pregnancies and her kids’ early years in the mid-to-late 2000s, the television becomes a background item in their lives. she turns it on on occasion, whenever she needs a distraction, or to take her mind off things. sometimes, it’s during naptime. sometimes, it’s late in the evenings when harry’s on a mission and it’s either that or blankly staring at the clock and watching the minutes go by.

these days, ginny likes: the stupid soap operas that she can’t stop laughing at (‘gin, even petunia didn’t watch those,’ harry observes once as they watch some woman miraculously awake from a 15-year coma that apparently was all a hoax, to which ginny responds: ‘well, we all know your aunt’s got shit taste, anyway,’) and the silly quiz games that teach her about muggle culture, like the weakest link. that first year when she’s pregnant with albus, she (unfortunately) also gets hooked on a rather pointlessly intense american drama about muggle healers and tells harry: ‘i swear, so many of their problems could be solved either by magic and or if they didn’t all sleep together all the time.’

they are in the kitchen making food, he sets the knife in his hand down on the table and barks out a laugh: ‘are you watching porn while i’m at work?’

and, of course, she isn’t (it’s just grey’s anatomy), but she sort of laughs and teases: ‘so what if i am?’ slowly, the tips of her fingers trace slow, deliberate patterns next to him, against the worktop of their kitchen as she describes. ‘lying on the couch on my own, thinking of you when you’re not here...’

harry freezes mid-movement as he transfers an empty pan onto the stove, gaze narrowing on hers, trying to determine if she’s messing with his head. yet, then, a thought clearly occurs to him and suddenly, she definitely is messing with his head - he blushes and avoids her look, and it’s nice to know that even after all these years they’ve spent together and (almost) two children, the idea of her touching herself on their couch to the thought of him still makes him blush. ginny raises a daring eyebrow; he shakes his head and laughs.

(needless to say, the reality of grey’s anatomy, when she does show it to him eventually, is rather disappointing.)

throughout the next seventeen years (and counting) of the series’ run, ginny hangs onto it and rarely ever misses an episode. by 2021, she sure is more than fed up with the whole thing, pretty much begging for it to end, but she’s also invested so much time and energy into this thing that she can’t just give up now, can she? the storylines get more and more ridiculous and the number of life-shattering events that happen to these people range from insane to completely bonkers but by then, she is determined to see it through. harry gave up after about half a “season” but she still keeps him updated with her own commentary. ‘well,’ she says, once. ‘i thought it was all a dream because meredith was in an accident again, but low and behold -’

about ten minutes into her recap, with lily nestled in his arms, harry is already shaking his head at her in disbelief.

in 2012, ginny crosses her arms as she ventures up into their bedroom, stands at the threshold, and pouts at harry when he catches her gaze. ‘they’ve killed off the hot one,’ she laments.

he rubs his eyes under his glasses, sets the work file he’d been reading down on the bedside table. ‘oh? the one with the hair?’

she frowns at him for a second (because no, it was actually the other hot one), but then ginny laughs and suddenly mcsteamy’s death doesn’t matter as much anymore. harry sends her a questioning look and, ‘funny,’ she tells him, ‘that you’d think the hot one is the one with the dark, messy hair. wonder how that came about.’

‘ha-ha.’

regardless, it so happens that in grey’s anatomy, the first hot one dies in a plane crash and the second hot one dies in a car accident which permanently puts ginny off any and all means of muggle transportation. even dragons feel safer, at this point.

so, one night a couple of years later, harry sits next to her on the couch, her head resting against his shoulder as he half-pretends to read something work-related and meredith grey discovers herself yet another secret sister. ginny laughs, shakes her head, and says: ‘they make our lives look boring, don’t they?’

and, it is a moment of quiet. a moment where suddenly, silly, soapy fiction isn’t the only thing she thinks about. there is the room they’re in, with its steady walls and it’s warm heating, and the both of them and harry nods, silent, drops a kiss into her hair. ‘boring’s good,’ he tells her. ‘i like boring.’

she smiles. thinks that: yeah, she does, too.

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