#tumblr with the greatest of sincerity. what the fuck
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So on the topic of weird-ass ads, tumblr absolutely fucking blindsided me with this one today.
#tumblr with the greatest of sincerity. what the fuck#like i'm not at all opposed to the mango mussolini going to jail#but fuck ANY universe in which that piece of shit wins '24 and gets to serve his prison sentence in a resort
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The secret language of flowers
Another contribution to the @hdcandyheartsfest for the prompt "bouquet". I was heavily inspired by the classic tumblr "fuck you" bouquet, and it's companion mentioned in the notes, the "fuck me" bouquet. As always, a massive thank you my lovely friend @crazybutgood for the beta and flailing and for making me blush 🥰
Drarry | 2,3k (!) | Teen and up for mentions of naughty things happening
“Draco, dear, stop fidgeting.”
Draco looked up at Pansy sitting across the table from him, a heap of textbooks between them.
“I’m not fidgeting.”
“Okay. Could you then please stop this masturbation replacement and focus on our exam revision?”
He glared at her smirking face and stopped bouncing his leg up and down.
“Thank you.” Pansy smiled sweetly. “Now, could you please pass me the anatomy books?”
He handed them over with a sigh, when there was a tap on his kitchen window. A small brown owl with a flowery scarf tied around its neck sat waiting on the window sill. Draco bolted from his seat to let it in. It stuck out its leg towards him, revealing a scroll of parchment. Draco took it gently and let the bird perch on his owl stand while procuring an owl treat from his cabinet. He rolled out the parchment, chuckling in delight. “Oh dear, they really outdid themselves, this is perfect!”
“What is it?” Pansy got up from her chair and peeked over his shoulder. “A picture of a bouquet?”
He grinned. “It’s a drawn preview for a bouquet I ordered. Let me just approve it real quick and send it back with this owl. I want it delivered as soon as possible.”
He signed the form, dropped the correct amount of money into the owl’s pouch, and sent it on its way.
“Who’s the special one?” Pansy asked. “You haven’t told me you’re seeing anyone.”
“Oh, I’m not seeing anyone, it’s a bouquet of spite.” He turned to her, startling a bit at her demeanour with her arms crossed over her chest, leaning on one hip, eyes flashing. Pansy could be really fucking scary, and in any other situation, he’d be terrified now. But this time, he hadn’t done anything wrong, and she’d probably even enjoy his plan.
“A bouquet of spite?” She raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Let me guess: it’s for Potter.”
“How did you—?”
“Oh, please, as if half the class haven’t seen you eye-fucking each other since we started healer training. It was only a matter of time before you made it official.”
“We’re not— I’m not—” Draco spluttered. “This is a bouquet of spite!” He waved the parchment at her, then forced himself to calm down. Being upset would only undermine his point, even if his indignation came from being horribly misinterpreted. “Look,” he said, more calmly now. “Look at this and tell me it’s not the greatest way to send Potter the Sanctimonius Prick a heartfelt ‘fuck you’.”
He held up the drawing of the bouquet he’d ordered the day before, thrusting it towards Pansy, but she maintained her usual resting bitch face (although Draco knew perfectly well that the bitch was never resting).
“All I see is a collection of pretty flowers. Very striking, if I may say so.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t you see the symbolism?”
“What symbolism?”
“The symbolism of the flowers!” he said, suddenly feeling unsure. Was she playing stupid or was she really not familiar with the Victorian flower language? “Here, we’ve got geraniums for stupidity, foxglove for insincerity—”
“Have you met Potter? He’s the most sincere person in the world.”
“Yes, thank you, Pansy, I’ve noticed that. That’s the point,” Draco sighed. “Anyway, I also picked meadowsweet for uselessness, yellow carnations to say ‘you have disappointed me’, and finally orange lilies for hatred. Ergo: ‘fuck you’ in flowers.”
“Which secret language is this?”
“Pansy, my dear, the Victorian flower language is common knowledge, surely you know all of this already?”
Pansy was silent for long seconds, chewing the inside of her cheek, still with her arms crossed. She reminded him of a cobra waiting to strike. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.
“What?”
She shrugged. “Seems like an inordinate amount of money and time to spend just to tell someone you loathe them.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, sitting down again with his school books. “Let’s continue revising, shall we?”
💐💐💐
The rest of the day, Draco was in jitters. He couldn’t wait to see how Potter would react to the flowers. Would he be furious? Would he cry? Or worse, would he not care?
He got his answer later in the evening. He’d waved Pansy off and snuggled up on his sofa to read his favourite medical romance novel, when there was an urgent knock on the door. He groaned in frustration and considered disobeying his upbringing by simply pretending he wasn’t at home, but when there was another, even more persistent knock, he reluctantly left his cosy fortress and went to answer it. To his surprise, Potter was standing outside.
“Oh, Draco,” he said breathlessly, as if he was taken by surprise to see Draco and hadn’t just come over to accost him.
“Potter? What are you doing here?”
Draco realised that Potter had probably come to fight him because of the flowers, and Draco had foolishly left his wand on the coffee table.
“I, er… I came to thank you for the flowers, I…” Potter chuckled, looking down at his feet and then up at Draco with flushed cheeks and a glint in his eyes that Draco’d never seen before. Except when they were fighting. “Can I come in?” he said, and Draco wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or if Potter’s voice always sounded this… husky.
He was so flabbergasted by the request that it didn’t even occur to him to deny it, so he merely opened the door further and let Potter step inside. He closed it, and then Potter was so damn close, so much so that Draco could smell his aftershave and the hint of sweat underneath; it made his head spin.
“I have to admit I— I’ve thought about it, I mean, thought about us, but… I think I’ve been afraid to really think about it because I wasn’t sure if you’d feel the same,” Potter said, his lips so close to Draco’s ear that his breath tickled Draco’s skin, sending shivers down his spine.
“Sorry?” Draco squeaked.
“The flowers,” Potter said, drawing back to look Draco in the eyes (and Merlin, this close, Potter’s eyes were mesmerising, with subtle golden hues in them that only emphasised the green). “I have to say that I was a bit angry at first, because I know the foxglove is poisonous. But then I looked into the meaning of it, and…” He chuckled again, biting his bottom lip.
Draco’s head was spinning. It was like he’d been thrown into an alternate dimension, and he was too shocked by Potter’s behaviour to know what to say.
“I thought that, as much as we fight with each other, you wouldn’t send me poisonous flowers just to be a dick, so I think ultimately, it was the foxglove that made me realise you were sending me a message. Which shouldn’t surprise me, you’ve always been full of layers and mystery, haven’t you? So, why not send me a message about your affection and fear of telling me outright?”
“Sorry?” Draco said again. Why were words failing him now, of all times?
Potter rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face made it look… fond. “Come on, Draco, I know you probably think I’m clueless when it comes to these things, but even if I don’t know the meaning of flowers by heart, I know how to look stuff up.”
Draco didn’t answer, he just stood frozen, gaping like a fish.
“I’ll admit I was surprised about the meadowsweet for courtship and matrimony, because it felt like maybe getting ahead of things, but—” he stepped closer again, his hands coming to cradle Draco’s waist “—the more I thought about it, the more it made sense, and… I wouldn’t want to rule it out.”
Potter was so close now that his breath ghosted over Draco’s face, and Draco’s eyelids fluttered closed.
“Geranium for happiness,” Potter said, kissing the angle of Draco’s jaw, “foxglove and orange lilies for pride,” his lips glided along Draco’s jaw. “I shouldn’t be surprised you chose two flowers to symbolise your pride,” he chuckled, and Draco swallowed thickly, his breath quickening, heart beating wildly in his chest. “And the yellow chrysanthemums for joy and celebration were a nice way to sign the message off.” Potter’s lips had reached Draco’s chin, now.
“They weren’t—” Draco sighed.
“What?” Potter’s mouth was so close to his now that they were practically sharing the same air.
“Nothing,” Draco said, throwing all caution to the wind and tilting his head down to capture Potter’s lips with his.
Maybe this wasn’t the reaction he’d planned, but he was certainly not complaining about the outcome of his scheme. Especially not when Potter grabbed his arse to press himself closer, which led to Draco grabbing Potter’s hair to be able to angle his head just right, which lead to Potter eliciting the most delicious moan Draco had heard in his life, which led to Draco deciding then and there that he needed to send the florist an extra big tip.
💐💐💐
“So, it seems as if the flowers you sent really paid off.”
Normally, Draco would hate to admit to Pansy that she’d been right, but today, the day after having been snogged silly by the Prat who lived, he felt generous.
“Well, I guess one of us had to nudge the other one in the right direction.”
“I think you did more than just nudge Potter yesterday, if that love bite is anything to go by.”
Draco’s hand flew to the part of his neck where Potter had been most persistent in sucking yesterday, but was interrupted by a tapping on the window. When Draco looked up, it was an owl with the same neck bind as the one he’d received yesterday with the drawing of Potter’s bouquet, but this one was larger, and it was clutching a big brown package in its talons. Draco hastened to let it in and set the package down on the kitchen counter. He gave the owl a little bowl of water along with the owl treats—it looked a bit tired—and then proceeded to unwrap what looked like a packet of flowers.
“Oh, more flowers?” Pansy cooed. “A little thank you for your tryst yesterday?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco said, searching for a card. “And calling it a tryst makes it sound sordid, we didn’t even do anything under the belt.” Unless rutting counted, he thought, remembering with a thrill how Potter had shivered against him as he came.
Once all the paper was gone, he admired the bouquet Potter had selected for him. It was an odd mix of colours and shapes of flowers, not as aesthetically pleasing as the one he’d sent, but one couldn’t put too much faith in Potter’s choice in beauty.
“Is that a message as well?” Pansy looked at the bouquet with a frown, as if she was personally offended by the messiness of the ensemble.
Draco snorted. “Highly unlikely, since he completely missed my message yesterday.” But out of habit, he started going through the different meanings of the flowers anyway, just to show Pansy how wrong she was. “I mean, look: this one is for “anticipation”, and this, “elope with me. Sure, he told me yesterday that he wouldn’t want to rule out—” He cut himself off, because that particular information was something he hadn’t shared with Pansy yet, because he wasn’t sure he hadn’t been dreaming the whole thing. “And this is for ‘Victory in battle’, which, okay I’ll admit that that could be a message considering how much we fight about things, but—”
He cut himself off again, because the meaning of the red poppies could not be mistaken for anything else. Pleasure. He studied the bouquet again, heat rising in his face as understanding dawned on him. “Fucking hell,” he murmured, feeling Pansy’s eyes on him.
He fumbled for the card, which read “Hope you like them as much as I liked mine yesterday, XX Harry.”
“That fucking—” Draco crumpled the card in his hand and turned on his heel to go to his living room, where his Floo was.
“What?” Pansy said, bewildered. “What does it say?”
“It says I’ve been had,” Draco said, throwing a too big pinch of Floo powder into his hearth and spinning off to Potter’s flat.
When he stepped out, dusting himself off, Potter was leaning against the back of an armchair, arms crossed and a smug smirk on his face.
“Did you like the flowers?”
Draco drew himself up to his fullest height, trying as best he could to stare Potter down.
“You—”
Like yesterday, he was annoyingly at a loss for words, but this time, it was out of anger.
Potter tilted his head, eyes glittering, as if he was an innocent puppy waiting for a treat. “I, what?”
“You know of the Victorian flower language.”
Potter’s smile widened, but still with that sweetness to it. “Of course I do, it’s common knowledge.”
“So, you really sent me a bouquet telling me ‘I anticipate you to elope with me and conquer me in pleasure with much energy’?” Draco said, not sure if he should be offended or impressed.
“I was thinking more like ‘I’m anticipating you and me getting out of here so you can tackle me and enthusiastically fuck me cross-eyed,’ but, yeah, I guess your interpretation work as well.”
Draco choked on his own saliva. “So you— Yesterday— You knew— You understood what—”
“That you wanted to tell me ‘fuck you’? Yeah, I did.”
“But—”
Potter scoffed, pushing off the armchair and prowling closer. “Oh, come on, Draco. No one puts that amount of money and effort into sending an elaborate message like that to someone they loathe. Not even you.”
Draco crossed his arms as Potter stepped into his personal space and tilted his head up towards him. “Well, well, Potter. It seems like you have some Slytherin in you, after all.”
“Mmm. Though I have to say, I don’t think I have nearly enough Slytherin in me,” Potter whispered into his ear. “Care to help me change that?”
Draco nodded mutely as his cock gave a twitch.
“Good,” Potter purred. “And just so you know, you’ll call me Harry from now on.”
Following Harry into his bedroom, Draco swallowed any objection he had. “With pleasure.”
#drarry#hd candy hearts fest#prompt: bouquet#victorian flower language#harry potter draco malfoy#hpdm#harry is a little shit#but tbh so is draco#they deserve each other#i imagine at first the rest of their class will be like FINALLY!#until they get bored of the constant arguments#when they realise it's drarry's form of foreplay#andi’s candy hearts#andithielwrites
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[logging onto tumblr to make the same fucking post about mob and reigen every single day]
sometimes i read youtube comments from anime-onlys and realize that they think separation arc completely resolved the mob&reigen part of the story... mob simply KNOWING that reigen is lying to him doesn't solve the underlying problem. the thing that really upsets mob is WHY reigen lied: so he could use mob for his powers. that's the heart of it, that's why this lie is not frivolous at all. reigen tells mob with his words that psychic powers are just another characteristic and that mob's the same as anyone else but his actions speak much louder. "in that sense, [reigen] has given me more special treatment than anyone." mob's greatest wish is to be seen as a whole person and not reduced to his powers, and the lie makes him doubt whether reigen really sees him as having any more to offer.
so ch100 brings the necessary closure that's been hanging, unspoken, between them since separation arc. reigen admits, out loud, that he lied to mob so that he could use him for his powers. this long overdue honesty imbues reigen's following speech with more sincerity than it's ever had before. "it's not like you alone are special. that's what i really believe, even now." and finally mob can believe it too, because reigen is no longer hiding his "true self" from mob.
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So for your Music Festival, I think I've gotta go with "With or Without You" and Loki x Reader. That song is the one I keep thinking of. But only if it inspires you!! 💚💚💚
MCU FANFIC MUSIC FESTIVAL, ENTRY #6
"Of Love and Bono"
Pairing: Loki x Reader
Summary: You explain fan culture to Loki, attempting to quell his growing jealousy as he takes you to a concert for your birthday.
Word Count: 750
Your excited screeches echoed through the office, causing Tony Stark and Bruce Banner to come bursting into your small, private HR office on the ninth floor of Avenger Tower. “What? What’s wrong?” Bruce asked, his voice louder than it usually was when he wasn’t twelve feet tall and green.
They found you sitting on your desk, waving two tickets over your head as if they were the greatest prize ever found. Loki sat next to you, looking quietly amused, as well as proud of himself.
“Best birthday present ever!!!” You squealed.
“If those are Jets tickets, you may want to get your money back, Blitzen,” snarked Tony.
You shook your head, still high with excitement. “He got me U2 tickets to the Garden tonight! It’s been sold out for MONTHS! How did you even get these?!”
Loki smiled and looked into your eyes. “I would do anything for you to have everything your heart desires, my dove.”
You were grinning like an idiot. “But that’s not even the best part! HE GOT ME A BACKSTAGE PASS!”
Tony Stark shrugged. “Only one?”
Loki nodded. “Even I could only do so much while matching wits with the Ticket Master.”
“I literally get to meet and shake hands with the Lord of my Teenage Idolatry, The Bard of My Soul, the Voice of My Generation…okay, my parents’ generation, BUT STILL! Bono! I get to meet BONO!”
Loki chuckled, hiding a hint of insecurity that was only just beginning to tug at his brain. “As I said, anything for you, Y/N.”
------------------
You spent a ridiculously long time getting ready that night, to the point you were almost late to the show. You volleyed back and forth from “total fangirling slut” to “definitely cool and just here to shake hands” back to “fairest in the land and gives zero fucks.” You decided in the end to go for a less-desperate look, choosing a simple, approachable blouse and jeans, focusing instead on perfecting your makeup and hair.
“Aren’t you only allowed to meet him for a few minutes?” asked Loki, the bitterness in his voice growing, startling you.
“Are…you okay?” you asked, turning around.
“It’s just…the way you carry on about this Mono Man--”
“--Bono,” you instantly corrected. “And it isn’t like I’m planning to run off with him.”
Loki shrugged. “I don't really understand why you swoon over a musician so enthusiastically if your goal isn’t to bed him.”
“Loki, Loki, Loki,” you said, lightly kissing his nose. “For your information, Bono has been married longer than I’ve been alive. He has a daughter who is older than I am.”
Your lover still looked a little confused. “On Asgard, musicians are considered talent, but it is simply their chosen career as much as any healer’s or soldier’s. We don't treat them like kings or give them concubines.” He was trying to paint over his jealousy with snobbery, but the paint was too thin to be effective in covering his true feelings.
Smiling, you kissed him again, softly, on the lips. “It’s a mortal thing. We’re just a bit more, as you put it, enthusiastic about the people we admire. You should see the kinds of shit they post on Tumblr.”
Looking into your assuring eyes and seeing nothing but sincerity behind them, Loki’s shoulders finally dropped in relief. “Besides, you like U2’s music too,” you added. “I hear you humming With or Without You to yourself occasionally.”
You didn’t expect Loki to blush at your comment. “Oh? I didn’t realize I was loud enough to disturb you.”
Shaking your head, you took Loki’s hand in yours. “I know you’re a fan too, darling. And admit it, you find Bono attractive as I do.”
Loki thought for a moment. “Not in a personal way,” he said slowly. “But were he Asgardian, I can see where he’d…err…have more than a few interested and willing sex partners.”
You decided that was about as much as you’d be able to wring out of him for now. “Would you rather I not go backstage?”
Loki let out a reflexive laugh. “Ha! After the amount of currency I had to surrender for the pass? Norns, you’re going!”
You chuckled, finding Loki’s insecurity a little more ‘cute’ than you should have. “Oh my God,” you answered, caressing Loki’s soft face. “Here you are telling me I’m being silly for swooning over a singer while also pushing me into meeting him. I guess I can’t live with or without you, either.”
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@mochie85 @lokisgoodgirl @roruna @holdmytesseract @muddyorbs @xorpsbane @mischief2sarawr @fictive-sl0th @silverfire475
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This was sent by @nothingtherefornow and I didn't have to post it but they put so much effort to write all this that it would be wrong to leave it in my inbox because it's well thought and I'll write my own comments in the end:
Answer to your reply about Marinette's friends behavior in season 5 (according to the bible)
Sorry for this late reply to the answer you gave me about my last question to you reguarding Marinette’s friends in season 5 according to the bible, I was in a place where there’s wasn’t any Wi-fi ^^’
I'm using the "billet" thing (french one sorry ^^') because as I'm still clumsy and new with tumblr, so I don't know how to send you the long answer I've concocted otherwise. If I haven't respected some rules with this billet let me know
I'm putting the SPOILERS alert in case !
So it was true, Kagami will believe Lila’s lies over Marinette T_T I never thought I would be so dissapointed in Kagami’s character before this, I honestly thought she was better than that. As someone who is not even friend with Lila and recognized her a liar and a rival for Adrien's love when she was akumatized in Oni-chan, I though Kagami would be smarter than Marinette’s other friends about Lila tricks, but I guess I was wrong. This is such a waste of Kagami’s character, because if she would rather believe a stranger’s words over Marinette whom she’s supposed to be friend with (and apparently has strong feeling for, according to the bible) then that means she was never truly Marinette’s friend to begin with, that Marinette’s trust friendship was never fully reciprocated.
I really though that other than being the second love interests of the main characters, Kagami and Luka were destined to become Adrien and Marinette greatest allies, but if the season 5 bible is not a scam, then my hopes about those two characters were misplaced. There’s still some hope left for Luka’s character because I heard that he would be out of the picture after the first half of season 5 probably because as someone who know both Chat Noir and Ladybug’s secret identities, it’s too risky to keep him in Paris. But if Kagami doesn’t ever realize at some point during season 5 that she fucked up reguarding her friendship with Marinette, and if she doesn’t feel regret nor sincerely apologize because of it, I will consider her character to be definitelly ruined by the show.
I asked the same question to a lot of people I know, and they all answered the same thing : If your supposed friends would rather believe the words of someone they barely know over your words, then they are not your friends.
About Marinette’s classmates chosing Lila over her as the new class president, I guess it really depends of the context. If it’s because Bustier decided that they had to change class president for reasons, and Lila’s program just charmed her classmates more than Marinette’s program, then I guess I cannot blame them for this. But as someone who experienced french school, I know that the class president stays the same for the whole year unless they give up their position as class president. And since Marinette and Adrien class is still the same since season 1, either Marinette chose to delegate her class president responsabilities because she’s not managing those well with her Ladybug’s duties, or her classmates decided Marinette was not fit anymore to be class president and chose to replace her with Lila (who apparently will chose Chloé as her assistant 0_0 ? ) and if the last option is the canon one, then yeah, Marinette’s classmates will once again dissapoint me, and the serie too. Because while I get that friends can make mistakes and not always behave as good friends, what’s the point if they never recognize nor acknowledge where they failed as friends ? Wha’st the point of portaying Marinette’s classmates as good friends if everytime Lila is involved they suddenly let Marinette down and doesn’t reciprocate the trust she gives them ? I would lie if I said I wasn’t entertained when a main character suffers and still overcome their struggles, but I’m not watching Miraculous Ladybug to see its female protagonist being the punching bag and scapegoat of its own serie and its fandom.
About the similar experience to Marinette’s that you went through, I’m glad that you had a teacher who defended you when that classmate of your lied about you (that teacher have all my respect ! we know that Miss Bustier would never do something like that for Marinette) and that you found the right word to convince your mother to hear your side of the story when your cousin lied about you. But because I never went through those kind of situation before I really don’t know if my opinion is valid or not. I am very fortunate that my parent would always hear my side of the story first before beleiving anything bad said about me, to have all my cousins being good people, and to have had a good school experience. I always shared my class with my twin sister (whom I’m very close to) since elementary school to high school, and she was always popular enough for others to not try to go farther that some mockeries (everyone apparently knew my name but there’s a lot of them I didn’t even know), and they stopped making fun of me once I started fighting back. But friends and family once said to me that as an autistic person, if I hadn’t had my sister with me, or my parents who would actively defend me against any injustice, there a high chance that I would have been more victim of bullying. So when I compare my situation to Marinette’s, I always feel like she deserves so much better, because if I could have it all then why can’t she ?
Sorry for this very long rant and comment I guess I really need to talk this out with others understanding fans
*********************************
Now me:
I don't want to write more about this because I really don't know, we don't know how this will happen and if this will actually happen, there are possibilities of changes in the script and such. It sounds too discouraging to think Lila would take Marinette's place as the class president, I wish that doesn't happen, because it has to happen if the class votes for her and I don't understand why would more people vote for her over Marinette and even pick Chloé too because they voted for Marinette to replace Chloé in the first place. I really don't see the reason for this. In my school we voted every year I think. I wouldn't like that, not only for Marinette to lose that position but for Lila not to gain the position and more power over other students. The more I dive into the bible the more it feels like a fanfiction Lila wrote. I thought season 4 was bad to Marinette, but this one sounds like she's paying for every sin her ancestors have committed.
#submission#miraculous ladybug#ml bible leak#ml bible spoilers#marinette dupain cheng#Ml class#Lila rossi#Ml season 5#Ml analysis
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TGCF First Read Reactions - Ch. 1
Reading TGCF for the first time and just…. Need to share some thoughts…
(Note: This is my first time reading the novel, and I have not consumed any other adaptation of it. I have, however, seen plenty of posts, out of context spoilers, and incorrect quotes on Pinterest and Tumblr, which is making for an interesting reading experience 😅.)
“I want to save the common folks!”
Cue Obi-Wan Kenobi: I have a bad feeling about this…
‘At this exact moment, a young child fell from the top of the city gate tower.’
‘Every lap the magnificent platform does around the Imperial City represented a prayer for a year of the country’s peace and prosperity. Now that it had been interrupted, wasn’t that the same as incurring disaster?!’
I can't find the post anymore, but there was a post that was along the lines of "How to end each MXTX novel in 3 minutes" and for TGCF it had something like "did not catch"
Before: SO confused. Didn't catch what???? DID NOT CATCH WHAT!?
Now (w/ some knowledge about the kid): Ah… ok.
”Saving people isn’t something bad. How could the Heavens fault me because I did the right thing?”
Cue Obi-Wan Kenobi again
Beginner’s luck; it was only the first question, but he had already gotten it wrong.
Lol. Oh boy.
Body in the abyss, but heart in paradise.
This feels poignant. Is it going to be a repeating theme? I bet it’s going to be a repeating theme.
Until three years later, when Xian Le descended into chaos.
Ah yes… the interrupted parade… right. Here we go.
The reason for the chaos was due to the Emperor’s cruel governing’
Of course. At the same time, this kind of feels like it came out of left field…
So, it turned out that their Crown Prince deity was not as formidable or perfect as they had imagined.
Never meet your heroes…
To put it more vulgarly, wasn’t he just an useless figure who was unable to accomplish anything, but liable to spoiling everything else?
With my experience of MDZS, I feel like this is going to become an irony point…
It was also the first time he did things he had never imagined himself ever doing: pilfering, robbing, violently cursing, and abandoning himself to despair.
But apparently you do it so well!!
Also, loving what this alludes to about his overall personality.
Body in the abyss, but heart in paradise.
Repeat count: 1
That Royal Highness the Crown Prince ascended to Godhood for the second time.
Yas king! What a boss!
…right after he ascended, he charged into the Heavens to beat up and murder everyone in all four directions.
Oh d***
First ascension: He ascended quickly, and descended even quicker.
Second ascension: It could be said that it was history’s quickest and most violent, yet brief ascension.
Home boy setting records and breaking (his own) records. Respect.
Who knew that after he was demoted again, he did not become a demon and quite sincerely adapted to his banished lifestyle. There were no problems at all, and the only problem was just he was really too earnest.
Ascended. Banished. Ascended to murder everyone in reach. Banished. Fully commits to being the world's greatest scrap collector. I have whiplash and we're still in the first chapter…
To be banished twice, no one could ever climb up again.
That famous weirdo, the laughingstock of the three realms, His Royal Highness the Crown Prince from the legends, he he he —— he fucking ascended to godhood again!
But wait! There’s more!
Also - Rollerblading in with sunglasses on and sipping a Starbucks… 'Sup b****es'
Note: I genuinely do not know who’s translation I’m reading and so cannot give proper credit. If I ever figure it out, I will come back and edit this post to give credit. (If anyone happens to be able to figure out which translation version I’m reading, please let me know!)
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It’s International Women’s Day, and I realised that I preemptively wrote just the thing to celebrate.
(I don’t know how strict Tumblr’s unsexy policy is now when it comes to writing, but there’s no real sexy, it’s just dialogue, as usual.)
Yes, it’s the @ask-spiderpool boys... (and yes, everything I write for them is canon to the blog, by definition.) So, Happy International Women’s Day!
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“Have I ever told you your ass is super fine?”
Peter was caught off-guard by the abrupt direction shift in the conversation. But, ever able to land on his feet, he delivered a sarcastic “No. Never. I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned it.”
“It truly is,” Wade paused for something Peter could only interpret as dramatic effect, “the greatest ass in the Marvel Universe. I know. I keep an extensive ranking list.”
“Who’s second?”
“Daredevil, actually.”
Peter gave it some consideration, pursing his lips. He conceded with a small nod.
“The pyjama boys get an unfair advantage. And there might be some color psychology at play,” Wade said, clearly having given this topic a significant amount of thought. “Red makes you hungry, you know. It’s science.”
“I love science,” said Peter, dumbly.
“Have I really not told you how much I love your ass? Because that seems like an incredible misdeed on my part.”
“You used to never shut up about it on patrol”, Peter replied. He hooked one of his fingers around one of Wade’s belt-loops, fiddling. “I don’t know if you knew I could hear you. I had half a mind to start up a harassment case. You’re lucky I’ve got such a good sense of humour.”
“I’ve got enough outstanding court cases against me as it is so, much appreciated.”
“...You’ve kind of shut up about it recently, though - present moment in exception.” Peter admitted after a small pause. “My ass just not do it for you anymore?”
“Oh, I have an extensive list of things I’d like to do to dat ass.” Wade emphasised, giving one of Peter’s cheeks a firm squeeze.
Peter groaned. Mostly to do with Wade’s appalling use of words, but also partly his body’s reaction to this new kind of attention.
“I’ll bite”, said Peter, “Why haven’t you started working your way down that list?”
Peter was mildly disappointed when Wade’s hand ceased it’s exploration.
“Well, you’re a newly christened bisexual, and,” Wade said, “I didn’t… want to rush you into anything that might, y’know. Weird you out. I know all about your fragile masculinity.”
“That’s not –“ Peter sounded insulted, “That’s not. Entirely true.”
Wade raised an eyebrow at Peter. Or he would’ve, if he had eyebrows.
“Besides, I’m not entirely new to this either.”
Both of Wade’s eyebrows raised.
“…You mean butt-stuff?”
Peter sighed.
“Your eloquence never ceases to amaze,” he said dryly. “Yes. I mean butt-stuff.”
“But Peter, I’m the first dude on your ever-rotating roster of fuck-buddies! Which means…”
Wade’s facial expression was wide-eyed and adorable before he started piecing things together. Then his face twisted into something so smug and so knowing, that Peter felt embarrassed before Wade had even opened his mouth.
“Black cat?” Wade said, cloyingly, “…It was Black Cat, wasn’t it?”
Peter buried his face in Wade’s legs, and grunted.
Wade’s hands resumed a gentle massage at Peter’s lower back.
“You know, I kind of had her pegged as that kind of gal.”
“Har har.”
“Oh, this is going to give me so much fantasy fodder.” Wade closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He overplayed a delighted “Mmm-mmm”, like he’d been fed the most delicious fucking food he’d ever had.
“I’m glad you’re having fun.”
“Oh, I really, truly am.” Wade savoured it just a minute more, before he turned down to look at Peter. “Did you have fun, though? How did you like it? Details, details!”
“It was”, Peter considered his words, as though the fact that he was half-hard in his pyjama pants wasn’t giveaway enough, “It was… fine. It, uh, wasn’t something I wanted to do again, though.”
Peter turned to lay on his back, head resting on Wade’s lap. Wade’s hands took the new position as an invitation to explore Peter’s stomach, running over washboard abs.
“Why not?” Wade addressed Peter, quiet and sincere.
Peter opened his mouth, but didn’t have an answer immediately. He flushed, feeling bare under Wade’s gaze.
“Probably s’mthin’ t’do w’th mh fr’gile m’scul’nity…” Peter mumbled at last, completely embarrassed.
“Peter Parker.” Wade spoke up, gravely. “I’ll have you know I have been pegged by every single girl I’ve dated. It’s a courtesy. All good boys deserve it.”
“Mm.” The information didn’t come as a surprise to Peter. He knew exactly how much Wade loved it. He’d participated in it. That didn’t stop the imagery from flooding Peter’s already flustered brain. “And is that what you are? A good boy?” Peter teased, a hand running up Wade’s thigh.
“Peter Parker.” Wade repeated in earnest, “I think you can acknowledge that lately, I have been a very, very good boy.”
“And a good boy deserves a reward?”
“Are you gonna give a dog a bone?”
Peter snorted.
“If that’s what he wants,” Peter said, stretching out. “Otherwise, he wins this fine ass for the evening.”
There was a beat of silence, and Peter could swear he could hear the fizzle and pop of Wade’s brain short-circuiting.
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catch me crying at hannibal season 2 finale. everythings suddenly made clear and its so fuckin heartbreaking
ok hannibal 2x13 spoilers here so if you’re one of the people currently watching and dont wanna be spoiled don’t click the read more cause i HAVE to rant about that goddamn fucking episode
first of all. hannibal smelling freddie on will and realising he’s been manipulating him this whole time is genuinely the most upsetting shit ive ever seen in my life. he really truly believed will was gonna run away with him, to quote mads he was “blinded by love” and his face when all of that falls apart is so. he barely reacts and yet he conveys SO much. and i HAAATEEEE ITTTT. and then will calling hannibal to warn him, deciding last minute that he can’t set him up but its too late and hannibal is so hurt and of course he’s not just gonna leave without being a dramatic bitch about it and then the fight scene with him and jack is obviously SO fucking good but then... jesus fucking christ. listen. listen. when i say That Scene in mizumono is my favourite scene of anything ever i mean it wholeheartedly, yet its also the worst thing ive ever seen in my entire life. ok so im assuming if you’re reading this you’ve either seen the show or you don’t care about spoilers so im just gonna put the video here so people can watch it and and relive the pain
youtube
THIS SHIT.....IS SO....... i sincerely do not know who i feel the most sorry for. ok well sorry for is obviously abigail cause its hard to pity those other two fucks but hell if i dont feel bad as fuck for them both.
their entire relationship is based on a mutual fascination by and understanding of each other. it starts out with hannibal immediately being intrigued by will because to him will graham is essentially the greatest christmas present in the world. the psychiatrist part of him sees the way his mind works and naturally wants to study it further, meanwhile the Dark And Twisted Cycle Path side of him sees...well the same thing really but with an added element of hm. this man’s entire Deal is empathising with serial killers and holy shit wait im one of those oh this is gonna be so fun. oh wait he....he truly understands these killers....haha would he be able to- lol no he wont be able to understand me surely- and then at the end of the first episode he sees will emptying his gun into garrett jacob hobbs and he sees the look on his face and oh there’s so much potential. and naturally he starts being a real dick about it all and completely betrays will’s trust in every way imaginable and will is so so hurt by it and so naturally by the time he betrays hannibal part of you as the viewer is like well yeah, obviously, of course that’s what he’s doing. fair is fair. but then at the same time...
and will has those same doubts, and he’s realising that for all the hurt hannibal has caused him he’s also helped will understand himself a whole lot better, and while he doesn’t have the complete lack of conscience hannibal does he’s not exactly adversed to killing either, if it’s the right person. and maybe... maybe running away with hannibal wouldn’t be so bad... yeah maybe he should just- but then he remembers abigail. and he can’t get over that just yet. i truly believe if hannibal hadn’t “killed” abigail will would have given in sooner. but even then, he ends up warning hannibal that he’s given him up and that the fbi are coming and he goes to his house and oh my god there’s abigail. and im just imagining... the range of emotions he felt... when he saw her.... betrayal and hurt again sure because hannibal lied to him once more, but also holy fuck there goes most of his apprehension for running away with him and oh my god what has he done. and then he turns to see hannibal and THEEE HURRRRTTTTT IN HIS FACEEE.
and then he stabs him and off he goes on his fucking speech and i think part of why it’s so effective is that up until then we only ever see slight glimpses of genuine emotion of any sort from hannibal and all of a sudden we get everything all at once and god it’s so much. for the first time in his life someone had the ability and want to truly understand him, something he’d long since given up on if he ever as much as tried (same goes for will, though he doesn’t have the added bonus of an extremely illegal hobby) and even more than that there is someone HE is that interested in? literally the only other person hannibal has genuinely loved up until that point was his sister and even then he was so young and suddenly here’s this guy who ticks just all the right boxes and for a second, just for a second, hannibal allowed himself to be seen and to believe he may have found genuine connection. and he had, technically, it just happened to be more brief than he would like
also hey, here to make it so much fucking worse: mads mikkelsen!
hey fuck you dude! what the fuck 😃
also this that tumblr user linpatootie wrote in their recap of the 2015 red dragon con
the idea of hannibal feeling Extra Betrayed because he realised will didn't even realise he loved him makes me want to FUCKING DIE
ok i gotta stop this none of this made any points forget i said anything i hate hannibal
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If It Was To Work
Title: If It Was To Work
Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader
Word Count: 3,949
Warnings: Slight angst, Fluff, Smut, Fingering, p in v, Happy Ending, SPOILERS FOR 15.08 OUR FATHER WHO AREN’T IN HEAVEN
Summary: Dean gave Sam some great advice. Sam just wishes he’d take his own advice sometimes.They had a lot on their plate with their Chuck situation, but that doesn’t mean they can’t take on an old-fashion, black and white case. That also doesn’t mean they can’t go out and celebrate a job well done afterwards.Walking into that bar and seeing you was the last thing Dean thought was going to happen.Maybe Sam’s right. Maybe he should listen to his own advice.**SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR 15.08 OUR FATHER WHO AREN'T IN HEAVEN**
A/N: My first one-shot on Tumblr! Find it on AO3 too! I hope you guys enjoy and please let me know what you think! :)
Some would probably say that going off to kill some vampires in Iowa while they still have their God problem would be a bad idea.
To Dean, it was the best idea Sam had that week.
He had been itching to get back to a regular, normal, non-Chuck related hunt for weeks and he was very glad to be hacking heads off vamps just outside of Des Moines.
Taking out a cloth from his back pocket, Dean walked towards the Impala as he wiped the cloth down the length of the machete to get the blood off. He dropped the machete into the weapons box, just as Sam came up behind him and did the same. Dean shut the trunk and walked over to the driver’s side, getting in and starting the engine.
“I don’t know about you, but I could go for a cool one” Dean smirked, as the radio started.
Sam nodded. “You know what, let’s do it.”
Dean frowned. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, I mean we haven’t done a victory beer at a bar in a while, so why not?” Sam shrugged.
“Okay.” Dean said, looking between Sam and the road. “Better take this opportunity now before you change your mind.”
Sam rolled his eyes, as he scrolled through his phone. Dean continued to drive for about 15 minutes before they spotted a roadside bar. He pulled the Impala up into an empty spot, before shutting the engine off. He got out of the car, as Sam followed behind him.
“You grab a spot, I’ll get the beers” Sam said, as he took in the large gathering within the bar.
Dean looked around the bar, taking in his surroundings. They hadn’t done this in a long time, and he was glad that they didn’t have to get back to the Bunker straight away. No one had any leads on Chuck, so they could take a day if they wanted to. At this point they needed to. As his eyes roamed over the patrons, they stopped on one person in particular.
She leaned over the pool table, lining up the shot, giving him a great view of her ass in the dark blue jeans that she wore. Round, perky and irresistible. Perfect. As she stood from taking the shot, Dean caught a glimpse of the tattoo she had on her right arm; a sleeve of vines and flowers. She laughed, as the two burly men they were playing with forked over a roll of cash each. The girl had confidence. Dean smirked, already taking out some cash to buy her a drink. Something about her felt familiar, though, as he continued to admire her.
When she turned away from her friend and faced the rest of the bar, it hit him like a fucking Mack Truck. A flood of memories flashed through his mind, all at once, knocking the wind out of him.
Y/N. Y/N was here. In the same bar as him. After all these years of never having run into each other, not even on a hunt, and here she was.
Damn it. This had to be Chuck’s doing, right?
He suddenly heard a snapping sound and saw something waving in front of his face. He shook his head and looked away, facing Sam. His brother was wide-eyed and confused, his forehead creased as he looked at him.
“Dean, where the hell were you?” he asked.
Dean shook his head again, lifting the beer to his lips and taking a large gulp from it. “N-nothing. I mean, nowhere. Nothing. Shut up.”
Sam raised an eyebrow, bewildered by Dean’s sudden odd behaviour. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I just-” Dean started to answer Sam but when he looked up, he saw that Y/N was walking towards the bar.
She was wearing a tight black Led Zeppelin t-shirt, and her Y/C/H flowing behind her as she walked. However, much like him, she took in her surroundings and stopped in her tracks when she saw him. Sam saw Dean go completely still and wondered what was happening. He turned around and knew straight away what was going on. No wonder he was acting strangely. Dean slowly got up from the stool at their high top, leaving his drink behind. As he hesitantly walked closer to Y/N, her eyes widened in shock. He was just a few inches away from her when he took in her features. She hadn’t changed; she was still as beautiful as ever.
Y/N took him in. How was it possible that the man became more attractive with age? She looked past him at Sam, who gave her a small smile. She couldn’t believe that in all the years since she and Dean parted ways, she would be seeing them again now and in the most random of bars.
“H-hi” she squeaked out, as she moved closer to Dean.
Dean nodded. “Hey.”
She brushed her knuckles together, as she looked around the room. She was trying to avoid looking at him too long, for fear that she might burst into tears.
“How are you?” she asked, only glancing at him before looking away again.
A sad smile crossed Dean’s face when he realised what she was doing. She was forgetting how well he knew her.
“Have I really changed that much that you can’t look at me?” he said, in the most light-hearted manner he could muster up, but it still held a sadness behind it.
She finally looked up at him. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“You’d be surprised” Dean grimaced, wishing he had brought his drink over with him.
Everything else in that bar faded into the background as Dean and Y/N continued to look at each other. A range of thoughts and emotions flooded Dean’s mind as he thought back on how they had left things the last time they were together. There was so much about that night that he regretted, the most painful of which he knew was something neither of them had gotten over. It was the greatest regret of his life; letting her go. Pushing her away. What he didn’t know was that she completely understood why he did what did. She always understood.
Y/N looked back at her friend who was still preoccupied by the men they were playing pool with. She turned back to Dean and knew she had a couple of options here. She either walked away and went back to her friend, forgetting about him completely. Or… she asked him to have a drink with her, for old times’ sake. She took a deep breath, ready to ask him and possibly open herself up to being heartbroken again.
“Hey, you wanna grab a drink with me and Sammy?” Dean asked, beating her to it. The same thoughts had been running through his head; about whether or not to ask her.
She smiled properly this time, a full wattage smile that reached her shining eyes. “I’d love that.”
Y/N walked over with Dean to their table and smiled at Sam. Sam immediately got up from his seat and hugged her, causing her to laugh.
“I swear you got bigger somehow” she laughed.
“How are you?” he asked, smiling.
“I’m good” she said, simply. “Honestly can’t complain. I know you two have it worse.”
“What? You been keeping tabs on us?” Dean asked, intrigued as to whether she was or not.
“Not really, but… Garth talks. A lot” she replied, laughing again.
Dean scoffed as he smirked. “Figures.”
They all proceeded to catch up on everything from the past years. Y/N told them how she now had a place in town, somewhere to come back to after a hunt. Sam told her about the Bunker and she was suddenly giddy.
“Oh man, I gotta see it” she smiled.
“Yeah, first time we got there… couldn’t really believe that it was real” Sam said, smiling too.
Dean smirked as he watched Y/N. “You should, you know? See it, I mean. You should uh… You should come over some time.”
Y/N looked at him and smiled softly. “I will.”
Sam looked between Dean and Y/N. He remembered Dean telling him about what happened between them and knew there was a lot of things that were left unfinished between them.
“You know, I’m not feeling too great” Sam said, getting up from his seat. “I’m going to get a cab, head back to our motel. Leave you two to catch up.”
Dean glared at Sam while Y/N wasn’t looking. He knew what he was doing.
“Oh okay, well it was good to see you” she smiled, as she hugged him again.
“You too” Sam said.
As he moved behind her, Sam turned around and gestured to her. Getting Dean’s attention, he mouthed “talk” before he gave Dean a knowing smile and walked away. Dean shook his head but quickly turned back to Y/N before she noticed the silent conversation between him and his brother.
“Another round?” he asked.
“Sure” she replied.
Y/N and Dean sat across from each other, each of them had two empty beer bottles in front of them. They had both moved onto whiskey. Dean brought his glass to his lips, taking a large sip. Y/N turned the glass around in her hands, watching the amber liquid move around.
“Never in a million years did I think I’d see you again” she laughed, the sound of it somewhere between sincere and bitter. “I thought you and Sam were so good at hiding… I’d never run into you.”
Dean huffed. “Small world, I guess.”
She nodded and smiled sadly but didn’t say anything else.
“Listen, Y/N-” Dean started but she placed her hand on top of his to stop him. He looked at her and wondered what was wrong but was confused when she smiled at him.
“Dean, I know you’re about to apologise and you shouldn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong” she said.
“Didn’t do anything wrong? Are you kidding me? I left without even saying goodbye. All I gave you was a fucking note saying I had to go, and I was sorry” he said, his voice angry but lowered so no one heard them.
“Don’t you think I knew why? Dean, I knew you had to go back with your dad. I knew you would do anything for him, how important your family is to you. I get it, Dean. I always have. I don’t hold any of it against you, I don’t blame you for what you did. I never have” she explained, tightening her hold on his hand.
Dean looked up at her, his expression sad and yet bewildered by what she just said. She got it, why he had to leave. She understood.
He suddenly remembered the advice he gave Sam recently about Eileen.
She gets it, you know? She gets us, she gets the life.
It was with the same with Y/N.
If it was to work…
Could it work again? For them? Could they go back to what they were with everything that was going on with Chuck?
You don’t ever think about something? You know, with a hunter? Somebody who understands the life?
Sam had said that to him once. When he would find himself thinking about Y/N over the years, he always thought about what Sam had said.
Y/N gripped his hand tighter, smiling as she looked down at their hands intertwined. She stroked her thumb over his knuckles, thinking back on all the times she had done it all those years ago.
“I missed you” she said, looking up at him.
Dean looked into her eyes. He could see what she was feeling in that moment because he felt the same. He had a decision to make. Let go of her hand, get in the Impala and drive away, leaving her behind. Or take her hand, go back to her place and pick up where they left off. Option 2 was tempting but he was scared. Scared of what might happen to her if he did. Then the words he said to Sam repeated themselves in his mind. He had to try.
Dean picked up his drink and gulped down the whiskey in one hit. Y/N did the same, knowing what was thinking and being on the same page as him, instantly. He took out a few bills from his wallet and put them under his glass, before taking her hand in his. He led her out of the bar and over to the Impala. Opening the door for her, she sat inside before he walked over to the driver’s side. Getting in behind the wheel, he started up the engine.
“So, where to?” he asked.
She smiled as he turned the radio on. Zeppelin. Just like old times. “Take a left at the exit.”
Dean pulled out of the parking lot and followed Y/N’s directions all the way to her house. When they arrived, he parked outside. It was a small, quaint one-storey, enough for her and maybe even someone else to live in. They got out of the car and he followed behind her as she guided him inside. It was spacious and decorated simply, yet it wasn’t empty by any means. The lounge flowed into the kitchen which had a door to the backyard and outdoor furnishings.
“Nice place” Dean said, looking around.
“It was my parents. When dad died after the ghoul hunt, he gave it to me, but I started hunting instead. When I realised I needed a safe place to come back to, I came back here” she explained.
Y/N walked closer to Dean. “You want another drink?”
He shook his head as she stood in front of him, close enough to smell her perfume.
“No” he replied, simply.
Dean pulled her closer, before he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. She kissed him back, instantly. She wrapped her arms around his neck as his came around her waist. He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist, their lips still connected. He felt the same, like nothing had changed, and yet it somehow felt new.
She pulled away from the kiss but still kept her lips against his. “Down the hall, on the right.”
She leaned down to press her lips to neck, as he carried her to the bedroom. He was slightly distracted by her lips as he stumbled down the hallway but made it to the room without crashing into things.
She lowered herself from him, her feet firmly on the floor. They didn’t waste any time, as they kissed heatedly and began to remove their clothes. Dean pulled away to take her in as she stripped down to red bra and panties. She was as beautiful as the first time he saw her.
“Fuck” he groaned, as he leaned in and began kissing her neck.
She took his shirt in her hands and pushed it off, only pulling away from him to lift his black shirt over his head.
“Dean” she moaned as her hands roamed his chest.
Dean gently placed his hand behind her head, until she laid down on her back. He sat up to pull her bra off, and leaned in to place kisses along her breasts. His hand wandered down her body, his fingers feeling how wet she already was through her panties. He wanted her so badly, even after all this time apart. He missed her.
His hands trailed her body, feeling her smooth skin against his calloused hands. She whimpered, feeling his rough yet light, soothing touch. She closed her eyes as she thought about how they were in the past, and how much she still wanted him. So much time had passed since they were last together like this, but he still remembered the right pressure and movements that drove her crazy. He pulled her panties down her legs and slowly ran his fingers along her pussy.
“Dean” she sighed, in a needy whisper. She pushed herself up on her elbows and cupped his cheek in her hand. “Can we… can we do that later? I just…”
Dean smirked and leaned forward, nudging his nose against hers. “What do you want, sweetheart?”
She bit her lip as she looked into his eyes, just as lust blown as hers. “I want you inside me.”
He leaned forward and kissed her, passionately, before he shifted back. He wasn’t about to waste any more time with her.
He quickly pushed his boxers down before he moved closer to her. Y/N pulled him as close as she could to her, wrapping her arms around his neck as he settled himself between her legs. He pressed his lips against hers, as his hands moved her legs to wrap around his waist, trying to get even closer to her if that was possible. She reached down between their bodies and took his length in her hand, holding it near her entrance. Dean moved his hips forward as he looked down at her, his cock slowly pressed into her. He watched as her eyes fluttered closed, a small smile spread across her face. When he was fully inside her, he waited. He wanted to do this right and not rush things. Apparently Y/N had other ideas though, as she combed her fingers through his hair roughly, and pulled him in with her legs.
“Dean” she gasped against his lips. “Please move.”
Dean chuckled softly, kissing her once. “Someone’s impatient.”
She gripped his hair tighter and groaned. He glared down at her playfully as she winked, her eyes glinting with mischief. He shook his head and smirked, leaning down to kiss her once again.
Dean pushed his hips forward and then back. He set a slow pace, thrusting carefully and taking his time. She leaned up and kissed his neck, biting his collar bone as her arms wrapped tighter around him. They looked into each other’s eyes, seeing all the years of longing for each other and how much they still loved each other.
“Dean” she moaned. “Harder.”
Dean wrapped his arms around her back and sat up. He leaned back and sat her in his lap, looking right into her eyes and their arms came around each other. She moaned into his mouth as his lips captured hers, her hands in his hair as her hips rocked against his. His left hand wandered into her hair as his right held onto her hip, his fingers pressing into her flesh.
“Fuck” he groaned, as her hips came down hard, repeatedly.
“Dean… I love you” she said, a hitch in her voice.
His hips begin to rock harder against her, as he pulled her in even closer. He kissed her fiercely, lightly biting her lip.
“Dean, I… oh my God” she moaned loudly, as she kissed her neck, the spot that always drove her crazy.
“Fuck, sweetheart” he huffed. “You feel so damn good.”
“Dean, I… I’m close” she gasped.
Dean could feel it. Her hips started to move faster, stutter slightly as she became overwhelmed with what she was feeling.
“Let go for me, Y/N” he said, looking up at her.
“Dean, I…” she started but cut herself off as she moaned loudly.
Y/N’s eyes shut tightly, as she moaned his name repeatedly through her climax. Dean’s hips moved faster and harder, as he feels his own release. Y/N placed her hands on his neck, as her thumbs ran along his jaw.
“Dean, baby” she moaned sweetly, as she smiled at him. “Cum for me, Dean. Cum inside me.”
“Fuck, Y/N” he grunted as he came, spilling his seed inside her.
He rode out his climax, resting his forehead against her chest. Y/N held him close, her hands in his hair, lightly massaging his scalp.
They came down from their high, breathing heavily. Dean lifted his head and looked up at her, his hand cupping her cheek and bringing her closer. Their lips met in a soft kiss, once, twice. Dean pulled away and looked at her again.
“I love you” he whispered, his breath still laboured from their love making.
Dean slowly pulled out of her, turned and laid down on his back. Y/N laid down next to him and pushed herself closer. He wrapped his arm around her as she laid her head on his chest and hooked her leg around his. They laid there in silence for a while, as they enjoyed the quiet and basked in the afterglow. Dean took a deep breath, trying to figure out what he was going to say next. How he was going to say what he wanted to since they got to her apartment.
“Penny for your thoughts?” she asked, breaking the silence first.
Dean huffed a laugh. Of course, she knew that he wanted to say something.
He took another deep breath. “What would you say… if I said that I… if I said that I wanted to start things up again?” he asked, ripping off the Band-Aid.
Y/N turned and leaned her chin on his chest. Her eyebrows furrowed as she didn’t say anything for a few moments.
“What do you mean?” she asked him.
Dean brushed his hand down her arm, absentmindedly. “I mean that we hunt, together, and then we came back here… or the Bunker… together.”
She smiled softly as she thought about what he meant.
“Some things that have happened recently, they’re… they’re making me think differently about this life. About my life. I just know that now that we’re back here…” Dean explained, taking her hand in his. “I’m not ready to give it up again.”
She sighed as she leaned in and kissed his hand. “Me neither.”
“I know I’m risking everything again, doing this with you. I mean, we’re on God’s radar, and he could strike down at any minute but…” Dean started but stopped when she cut him off with her lips. She kissed him hard, pulling away and leaving him breathless.
“We can do it, Dean. Things are different now… scarier, yeah, sure but… I get it. I know what your life is and what it could mean, I know that joining you means I won’t be a regular, running-after-a-normal-monster hunter anymore. I know it and… I don’t care. Despite everything, despite whatever gets thrown at us… I know we can make it work” she said, as she shifted forward and leaned her forehead against his.
Dean smirked. She gets it. She gets the life. “So… we’re really doing this?”
She grinned back. “Yeah. We are.”
Dean leaned in and kissed her, passionately. He slowly rolled her onto her back, the kiss growing and becoming more intense. They both knew the risks, hell, they knew they could die at any minute, but as long as they had each other they had something more to fight for. The years of missing each other and now finding each other again, it would all be worth it when they got out of this alive. He was determined. They would find a way to get rid of Chuck, they would find a way to live a comfortable life, and when that happened, he wanted Y/N by his side.
The next morning, after the sun had risen and they made love once again, Dean made her breakfast. They ate and laughed together. Dean answered a call from Sam about another hunt he found. Y/N packed up her duffle bag and placed it next to Dean’s in the Impala’s trunk. They smiled at each other as she sat next to him, listening to classic tunes as they went to meet up with Sam and go off on the next hunt.
Together.
#dean x female!reader#dean x female!reader one shot#dean x female!reader smut#dean winchester#dean winchester one shot#dean winchester smut#supernatural smut#supernatural one shot#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural season 15
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WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic.
chapter ten: the kind of love we gather
word count: 7.5k
rating: m for mature
warnings: there is an interaction with an abusive ex-husband that eludes to physical/domestic violence. also, i think it's fair to warn against joseph himself--whatever argument there is to be had about the sincerity of his feelings, there's a few times where it feels like there's definitely some emotional manipulation happening.
notes: this is an interlude chapter, a little flashback/prelude going through isolde and joseph's relationship--or, at least, a significant part of it (still some secrets to be discovered!). i've had this chapter drawn up for a while and i thought this would be a great cliffhanger/changing point in the story to give their relationship and their dynamic a little more context, so i hope that's alright with y'all!
some of you folks who follow me here on tumblr may recognize a part of this chapter as a smut oneshot i wrote for them; that was the alternate universe to this instance in time, which is firmly rooted in their canon. lmao
it should go without saying that i have yeeted canon out the window for all of ancient names and witching hour, and the way that the seed brothers were pre-reaping and hope county is subject to much the same.
—Before—
The first time that Isolde saw Joseph, she knew she was in for it.
If he had been any other man, she thought, it wouldn’t have been so clearly a disaster waiting to happen. She would have been able to crash and burn with him as she pleased: but he wasn’t just any other man. He was John’s man, his older brother, the one that he tried so hard to live up to and impress. She had only heard of him in passing, but that was all it had taken. Isolde knew exactly how John felt about him.
“Who is that?” she asked, when she spotted the cleanly dressed man across the room. The office was dimly lit with the lights lowered; people mingled and chatted, drinks in hand, as everyone celebrated that they’d been able to move into a nice, new office downtown, with a whole floor to themselves.
John’s gaze followed hers. His expression flattened. “Stop it.”
No fun. Isolde feigned innocence. “Stop what?”
“That’s my brother Joseph, Sol,” he hissed. “Do not try to fuck my brother.”
“You have a couple, don’t you?” she asked. “What’s the one?”
“Fuck off.”
She sighed, taking a sip of her drink. Just her luck. A Seed boy, and yet, so fine. What a waste. “Fine, Johnny,” she said, patting his shoulder. Across the room, she saw Joseph’s gaze land on hers as he politely smiled at one of the other partygoers, and then stay locked, right on her. “I won’t fuck your very hot brother, who is very plainly making eyes at me from across the room.”
“He’s never had great taste in women.” John grimaced. “Off-limits, Isolde, I mean it.”
“Scout’s honor.”
So much for that, anyway, she thought later, when Joseph crossed the party and made his way up to her. He was even more handsome up close, and though long hair wasn’t typically her type, it looked good on him, pulled back and slick. Just enough to look polished.
“You’re Isolde?” Joseph asked, and his eyes swept over her. “That doesn’t seem right.”
“Are you the authority on Isoldes?” she replied. She arched a brow loftily at him. “I didn’t realize I was in the presence of an expert.”
“Well, it’s just that John rarely complains about beautiful women,” he countered easily, the flirtation slipping so seamlessly from his mouth that she might have missed it. “They’re his greatest vice. Yet, he complains incessantly about you.” He paused. “I’m Joseph, his brother.”
That did sound like John. Isolde wrangled a smile, leaned comfortably back against the wall as Joseph sidled over to her. With him in front of her, he almost completely eclipsed out the rest of the party, like he’d suddenly bubbled her and it was just the two of them in the entire room. He was so very good at that—with his eyes on her, it felt as though nobody else in the entire world existed.
“I’m flattered,” she murmured, “that I’ve managed to break John of his greatest vice.”
“I did come to thank you for that.” Joseph’s mouth ticked up into a smile, almost playful, if the rich timbre of his voice wasn’t so soothing. “And for taking good care of John. He’s a...”
Isolde watched Joseph through her lashes. He had no alcohol in his hands, but kept them tucked easily into the pockets of his slacks; he held himself without the easy arrogance that John carried himself. It was more like Joseph knew, exactly, his place in the world, and so didn’t feel the need to assert it. It simply was.
“Handful,” Isolde supplied.
“That’s a good way to put that,” he agreed. A quiet moment stretched between them—an easy silence, and she got the impression that it was going to be like this with him; no pressure to fill the silences—before she shifted on her feet.
“So, how are you going to do it?” she asked him, taking a sip of her drink. Joseph’s gaze, which had drifted to where John was chatting with Jacob and another guest, flickered back to her. The inquisitive tilt of his head followed after, and when she didn’t supply further questioning, he didn’t bother smothering the amused little smile on his face.
“Do what?” he asked.
“Thank me.”
The smile didn’t quite leave his face yet. “Didn’t John give you the same speech about how off-limits we are to each other?”
“Well,” Isolde relented, “whatever is he going to complain about if his brother doesn’t take me out for dinner? I’d be failing him as his vice breaker if I didn’t keep my game fresh.”
“Is that what I’m doing to thank you, then?”
Joseph’s voice was a low, rich sound, rumbling straight through her, vibrating in the cavity of her chest. She thought, instantly, that she’d like to know what it felt like to have him say her name into her skin. Isolde’s lashes fluttered; she hummed thoughtfully and polished off the last of her wine.
Dinner isn’t sex, she reasoned. So technically, I’m not really breaking John’s little agreement.
“It’s an option,” she offered after a moment. And then, in an act of what John would surely describe later as pure spite for his well-being and mental health: “Though you’re welcome to do more, if you feel inclined.”
This finally (finally, a part of her said) elicited a laugh out of Joseph. His eyes slipped from hers, lingering on her mouth before pulling away to the rest of the party, almost reluctantly.
“Tomorrow,” he said after a moment. “Are you free?”
“Technically I’m working,” Isolde drawled, “but lucky for you, I’m the boss and I can make my own hours.”
“Lucky, indeed,” Joseph replied amusedly. “Six, then.”
“And don’t tell John,” Isolde said, as though making a pact. The man inclined his head a little, reaching up and sweeping a loose strand of hair behind her ear and made a low noise of agreement.
“And don’t tell John,” he reiterated. “Yet.”
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“I asked you for one thing, Isolde!”
John was, as to be expected, upset.
“That’s not true,” Isolde defended, busying her hands with gathering up a few files and tucking them into her bag. “You ask me for a million things, every day. Namely, tolerating your ego. Not to mention keeping your head from exploding every time someone pays you a compliment, and—”
“You know what I mean.” John exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers to his temples as though Isolde had inspired in him the greatest of headaches. She hoped that she had. It would be the least he could suffer, after all of the brainpower she had to expend on the daily to keep him in check.
Leaning back in her chair, Isolde said, “It was just dinner, John.”
“Do not pretend to be stupid all of a sudden,” John snapped. “Joseph does not date around. He doesn’t ever do something that’s just dinner."
"Funny," she mused, "it feels like that's exactly what it was. Eating food together, at a restaurant, during the evening."
John’s head cocked to the side. He leveled her with a singular pointed look and said, “Oh, yeah?”
She squinted at him. “Yeah.”
“Is that so? Then what did you do after dinner, Isolde?” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against the wall as he waited for her answer. She kept her face wiped clear of emotions even though John’s question instantly inspired in her a flurry of memories; Joseph, snagging her hand on their way out of the restaurant, leaning in and kissing her; and kissing her, and kissing her, keeping her pulled close against him until she thought she was going to go dizzy from it all.
And then, well—
“We’re two consenting adults, John,” she said at last, and he threw up his hands.
“I explicitly said not to!”
“Yeah, well!” There was no good excuse; she knew that. The excuse was that Joseph was incredibly attractive, and Isolde had wanted him, and so that had been the beginning and the end of it. Still, she kept her eyes on the paper in front of her. “I made that agreement before I got a good look at him. John, I’m actually trying to get some work done, so if you could—”
John scoffed. “One, Joseph is related to me, so of course he’s hot, and two—you’ve got the impulse control of a toddler. I hope you know that.”
He pushed off from the wall and started collecting his things to leave her office; a blissful departure, to be sure, but there was something sitting and stinging in the pit of her stomach that wouldn’t let her leave it to rest.
“Rich,” Isolde said demurely, “coming from the man who can’t stop an endless chain of making-up-breaking-up.”
His movements paused. He stared at her for a long moment, before he said. “Hey, Isolde?”
“Yes, John?”
“Fuck you.” John’s movements resumed to the door. “Fuck you, and see you in the conference room in twenty.” Another pause, and then thrown over his shoulder: “If you’re not too busy letting my brother—”
“Alright, point made!” she exclaimed, exasperated. “It’s really not anything serious. Okay? It was just dinner and a date, that’s all.”
This had him stopping again, paused in the doorway with a bit of frustration welling up in his voice when he said, “You don’t know my brother, Isolde.”
“But I know me. Alright?”
He sighed. “Yes, alright. Twenty minutes, then.”
For a moment, it felt like things had been settled between them. John was still young, she thought; younger than her, and the baby of his brothers, which she knew meant he held on tighter to things that maybe he needed to all the time. Too tight, or too loose, to make it hurt less when something didn’t work out.
But the peace only lasted for a moment, because a few minutes after John had settled back in behind his desk across the hall from her, their secretary came around the corner, her arms filled with a fragrant bouquet of lilies.
“Ms. Khan, you have an admirer!” she exclaimed delightedly. Isolde met John’s eyes across the hall, staring at her with an expression that could only have been described with the phrase I told you so. “It looks like they’re from a gentleman named Joseph S—”
“Thank you, Laura,” Isolde interrupted, clearing her throat. “You can set them on the table there, I’ll find them a vase.”
Laura nodded and smiled, laying the bouquet delicately on the coffee table and then making her way out of the office. Isolde left the flowers untouched for about an hour, unable to stand the thought of John catching her keeping them alive (because she would never hear an end to it), but it was killing her a little bit. She had mentioned once, in an off-hand comment, that she didn’t like the typical flower bouquets like red roses or carnations; lilies were her favorite. One tiny comment, and this was the result?
There was only a note with the flowers. It said, Hoping John isn’t giving you too much trouble. Be by at six for you.
It felt a little treacherous; just enough to make it a bit harder to look at John with a serious face and not burst out laughing at the absurdity of their situation. Thankfully, close to the end of the day John made the dramatic announcement that he thought he was going to kill himself if he had to spend even another second sitting across from the elaborate bouquet.
“I’m going to go home,” he said, shrugging into his coat, “and try to retain at least half of my brain cells.”
Isolde hmm’d. “So just the one, then?
“Ha-ha. Goodnight, Sol.”
“Have a good night.”
It seemed like there were only a few moments of quiet between John’s departure and Joseph’s arrival, though in reality it had been a few hours; focusing felt like a chore, like it took a little extra work to get through the depositions she had to prepare and the emails she had to answer.
Just dinner, she thought. Just dinner and a date, and whatever happened after. And just one more date tonight. Not a big deal; adults go on dates all the time. I’m an adult. It’s fine.
But it wasn’t just that, because she was sure her heart rate had plateaued at a solid one hundred and ten since Joseph’s I’ll pick you up from work text. Because Isolde wasn’t the kind of woman who took a man back to her place on the first date, and yet.
By the time Joseph did swing by to pick her up, John had been gone for a few hours and she’d gotten almost no work done, instead completely consumed by the predicament she’d planted herself in. It did break the rules to date Joseph. No business and pleasure, first and foremost. Normally, Isolde would have considered herself a woman of incredible discipline, able to turn down temptations of varying degrees—but when Joseph rolled through her office door with those stupid, hot yellow aviators on his face, she thought maybe she had overestimated herself.
“You look tired,” Joseph said lightly, brushing some snow out of his hair. Isolde’s expression flattened.
“Thanks, Romeo. ‘Hi, Isolde, how was your day?’ ‘Oh, just fine, except for your brother throwing a baby temper tantrum every five minutes’. ‘You poor thing, Isolde, but you have to tell me how you manage to be so exceptionally beautiful still’.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t look beautiful still,” he replied. His eyes followed her as she walked around her desk, having slid her coat on and collected her purse; they stayed trained on her all the way up to when there was no space left between them, until he was gazing at her with amusement dragging his mouth into a smile.
She said, lightly, “You didn’t say I was beautiful at all, actually.”
Joseph reached up. Though the room was empty of everyone except the two of them, somehow it still felt special when he looked at her—it still felt like nothing else in the entire world mattered to Joseph in that moment except for her. The pad of his thumb brushed her lower lip, his gaze drinking her in, admiring and hungry in equal amounts.
“You are,” he said, his voice low, the timbre of it rattling something animal inside of her. “Beautiful.”
Kiss me, she wanted to say, because he was so close and yet seemed to refuse to actually finish the job. She didn’t think she could have mustered the words even if she wanted to; Joseph was a wildfire, eating up all the oxygen around her, sucking it right out of the air until there was nothing left but for her to feel swallowed by it.
“I wasn’t entirely truthful with you, the other night,” Joseph continued, dragging his thumb from her lip down to her jawline, “when I said that John’s greatest vice was beautiful women.” He paused, his head tilting. “They’re mine.”
Isolde’s lashes fluttered. She glanced up at him, and she said, “Well, that’s not the greatest sales pitch for yourself. How many red flags should I be looking for?”
He laughed and brushed his lips against her temple. “I get the feeling you won’t miss a single one.”
It shouldn’t have been quite so endearing, his casual reference to any red flags that he might have. Even his confidence that she’d pick them out (she would; if finding red flags was an Olympic sport, Isolde would have been a gold medalist) didn’t inspire the greatest feeling in her, though if she was playing devil’s advocate she knew that there were things about herself that didn’t make her so very well acquainted with healthy relationships.
“I’m glad I was able to come and pick you up today,” Joseph continued casually as they left her office and headed down the stairs. “It’s been snowing all afternoon. I’d hate for you to have to drive in this weather.”
And then he did things like that—uncharacteristically gentlemanly of him, to not want her to drive herself home in adverse weather. “I think I would have been fine,” Isolde replied. His fingers brushed hers at her side, snagging them and bringing them up to his mouth to kiss.
“Undoubtedly.”
It hadn’t been a lie, his remark about the snow. By the time they were pushing the doors to the lobby open, bidding the security officer goodnight, at least a solid foot of snow had collected and was pushed up against the lip of the sidewalk.
She grimaced. Winter was her least favorite season. Holiday cheer and Isolde Khan were not two concepts that melded well—not that she was a scrooge, per se, but with her only family halfway across the world and, on top, a tenuous relationship at best, it didn’t make Christmas very fun.
As they walked down the sidewalk, passing Joseph’s car in favor of pursuing a nearby restaurant, the blonde kept their fingers tangled together. The gesture was light, and didn’t demand anything, but it was enough to say something: I want you close to me.
“Does your family come here for the holidays?” Joseph asked lightly, disentangling their hands in favor of giving her hip a squeeze, keeping his hand there as they drifted into a warmly-lit wine bar. “I remember you saying they live in Turkey.”
So Joseph did just have that good of a memory. She’d have to be more careful about the things she said to him. “No,” Isolde replied, desperate to steer the conversation elsewhere. “It’s too far. And I don’t go there.”
“Then what do you do on Christmas?” he prompted. He tugged a seat out for her at a spot farthest away from the door and then planted himself across from her, absently reading over the list of wines.
“This,” she said, gesturing vaguely. And then, in an effort to redirect, again: “You, if you’re around.”
Joseph’s gaze flickered up to hers from across the table. She could tell he was trying to stifle a smile. “You’d have to come all the way to Hope County if you had that penciled into your planner, Miss Khan.”
“Oh, Miss Khan, am I? We’re suddenly very formal with each other.” Isolde grinned. “And what does Joseph Seed, in Hope County, do on Christmas?”
“We haven’t spent many holidays together, but this year I’d like have a big family dinner on Christmas Eve, the handful of us.” He settled back in his chair a little, like he was getting ready to be there for a while. “Since John’s moved out here for work, Jacob’s been out of the country, and we only recently found each other again, we don’t get a lot of time together.” He shrugged. “And you, of course. If you’re around.”
Before she had an opportunity to respond, caught off guard by how easily he wielded her own flirtation against her, she felt a few bodies brush past their table and then pause, only to be followed by a dreadfully familiar voice: “Isolde?”
Something sharp and hot brought her pulse to a grinding stop—or it felt like it, anyway, like all of the breath had been sucked right out of her and she had ceased to be alive anymore, a cadaver sat up to play pretend like in those old photos. No, she thought when she felt a hand touch her shoulder, nausea welling up inside of her. No, I don’t want this, not right now.
“It is you,” Alec said, his voice blooming with warmth. “I thought I recognized you. I know you like this spot.” His hand slid from her shoulder and she felt, without even looking at him, the way he turned his eyes to Joseph. “Who’s your friend?”
“Date,” Isolde bit out. “He’s my date.”
Her ex-husband let out what she could only describe as a comical exhale of breath. Joseph was watching her, inquisitive but ever-so-composed, before he turned his gaze politely to Alec and offered his hand.
“Joseph,” the blonde said. “It’s nice to meet you.”
The sight of the two men shaking hands made her want to puke. Everything Alec touched in her life was rotten, putrid—brimming with bile and spoiled, forever. She didn’t want it to be like that with Joseph, too.
Alec began, “I’m—”
“Alec is my ex-husband,” Isolde interrupted, her voice hard, punctuating each consonant of the words that came out of her mouth with violent intent.
Joseph settled back in his seat. Suddenly, Isolde was reminded that he had a penchant for remembering even the smallest throwaway details, and that she’d probably let him in on more than she would have liked about how her relationship had been with Alec without even saying anything. Yes, Isolde thought absently, her brain careening like a plane on fire as she watched Joseph fix his eyes on Alec, yes, he can tell.
“Fresh on the dating scene, and only six months divorced,” Alec remarked lightly, his infuriatingly handsome face the only thing filling up her peripheral. “I’m happy for you, Isolde.”
“So leave,” Isolde snapped. She finally looked at him, really looked at him, and naturally he looked perfect; dark curls, stubble neatly trimmed, eyes bright and amused. There were a few thin, gossamer scars on his face from the last time they were together— but he must have paid quite a bit of money to smooth those out.
He lifted his hands in a show of surrender, his gaze sweeping over her. Just that one gesture felt like a violation—she wanted to smash his face into the table and tell him he didn’t get to even look at her anymore.
“Good luck with this one, Joe,” Alec said, his overly-familiar use of a nickname that Isolde had never heard anyone use with Joseph sticking to her ribs like a heavy dinner. “She’s a wicked little thing.”
“I think I’ll be fine,” Joseph replied serenely.
Alec paused; his gaze lingered on her neck and suddenly he was grinning. Isolde knew what it was he was looking at—a bruise, a remnant of the night before, left by Joseph.
“Yeah,” Alec agreed, “it looks like you’ve already figured out how to handle her.”
Who’s going to pity you? If you were me, you would have seen that you were begging for it. You fucking asked for it.
Isolde stood abruptly, the chair screeching against the wooden paneling of the floor. Sick, she thought, her stomach rolling. I’m going to be sick. “Leaving,” she managed out, only vaguely aware of Joseph also coming to a stand across from her, albeit more composed. “We’re leaving.”
I’m your husband, Isolde. It means it’s my job to keep you in line.
“Not on my account, I hope,” Alec sighed. “You’ve always been so dramatic. Anyway, Joseph—a pleasure to meet you, and—you know, call me if you need help with her. I’m always happy to lend my expertise.”
Everyone knows what it takes to get you under control, and I’ll tell anyone who asks.
She pushed past him, stepping around the table and clutching her coat and purse in her hands. There wasn’t time to put them on; there would never be enough time to get as much space between herself and Alec as she wanted.
I should have killed him, she thought viciously, taking in lungfuls of frigid air, snow dappling her face and sticking to her eyelashes. Right then, I should have bashed his fucking skull in.
Fingers brushed her arm. On instinct she startled, whirling to face the impending threat, half-expecting Alec to have chased her out into the street in an attempt to corner her—a thing that he had taken great joy in before, sweeping things off of the counter to grab and pull and rip—but it was Joseph. He waited two heartbeats before he reached again, his fingertips cradling the crook of her elbow.
It was a question: can I? Will you let me?
“I wish he would die,” she said, without thinking, the words spilling out of her like a poison she just couldn’t hold in anymore. Whatever information Joseph had gleaned about her tumultuous marriage with Alec made him unbothered by this statement; he tugged her closer to him, the hand not holding her arm reaching up to brush the pads of his fingers across her pulse point.
He said, “I know.”
“Joseph—”
“Isolde.” His voice was low, the words murmured against her forehead. “Don’t explain.” Because I already know, is what he meant. Because I already understand what’s going on here.
He tugged her coat out of her hands and pulled it around her shoulders. Bent like he was, leaned into her with something that she thought might be adoration, Joseph brushed their noses together. She felt tension flood her body; she was afraid that he might try to kiss her right then, of what she might do if he did while her body was brutalized by adrenaline, but he didn’t.
He just held her.
“Here,” Joseph said, taking her hand and bringing it to his neck until she could feel the steady, rhythmic beat of his pulse under her fingers. “I’ve got you.”
It should have frightened her. Joseph’s intensity was an intimidating kind, but in these moments, the intensity was required to cut through the panic. It overwhelmed her fried senses, the neurons firing rapidly stifled and swallowed up by the looming responsibility to recognize his closeness. The smell of his cologne, the bump of their noses, the feeling of his stubble under her fingertips, his hands closing the jacket around her shoulders. All of it meant that her brain could no longer panic, and had, instead, something to occupy itself with.
“Can you take me home?” Her voice felt small coming out of her, like it belonged to someone else. A different Isolde, at a different place and time. The girl she might have been or perhaps was before Alec.
Low, Joseph murmured, “Of course. Whatever you need.”
A sick, macabre part of her wanted to look back behind Joseph at the wine bar. It wanted to see Alec again—the way that you couldn’t stop yourself from peeking through your hands at the monster in a horror movie, the way that you couldn’t look away from a brutal car crash on the highway. Sick, she thought dizzily. He made me sick.
“Take me home,” she said, more firmly this time.
“I’m trying,” Joseph replied. His voice was so soft that she almost had to strain to hear it over the pounding of her heart. His hands came to her face, cradling. “You have to let me.”
Isolde nodded, swallowing back what adrenaline insisted on leaking into her brain. She hadn’t realized that she was bolting her feet to the floor, gritting her teeth against the gentle pressure of Joseph’s hands, until he said, you have to let me.
“Okay,” she murmured. He nodded and brushed the hair from her face. This time, his guiding pressure actually registered in her brain; when he nudged her away from the bar and down the street to his car, she moved, instead of digging her heels in.
When they reached the vehicle, he opened the passenger door for her and waited for her to climb in before he leaned down.
“I’m—” Isolde started, the words shredding in her mouth before they got out of her. I’m sorry, she wanted to say. “About—the bar, I—”
“I told you, don’t explain yourself,” Joseph insisted, tucking her hair behind her ear. There was something almost earnest about his gaze now as he watched her, her heart thrumming violently in her chest with a different mantra now. Same, it said, when Joseph’s fingers grazed her cheek, tilted her chin up. Same as us. Ours, too. He’s our kind.
“There’s plenty of people I wish were dead, too.”
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Shoes, clothes, charger, phone. No phone?
“Where did he put my phone?” Isolde muttered, searching through the suitcase on the bed. An array of clothing was laid out, but not yet folded; in fact, the only things that were packed yet were all work things that she’d have to take with her. Joseph would probably be furious—he had, in fact, specifically insisted that no work come on the vacation—but better than anyone he knew what it was like to rely on John for things. Which was that, if you liked things done to the standard that Joseph and Isolde wanted them done to, you didn’t rely on anyone else. Least of all John.
“Soli…” It was Joseph’s voice coming from the bottom of the stairs, not questioning but asking. Beckoning. You’re taking too long. “Dinner’s getting cold.”
“Where’s my phone?” she called back, pacing around the other side of the bedroom. “I’m trying to pack it up for tomorrow so that I don’t have to worry about it.”
A beat, where Joseph was likely collecting his patience, passed. “It’s down here. You left it on the counter.” And then: “Come eat, won’t you?”
He was doing that thing where he phrased it as a question and meant it as a statement. Joseph had learned, in a very short period of time, that she didn’t like when someone told her what to do; as petulant as it was, she’d buck against something like that desperately until it felt like her idea all along.
Isolde sighed. “Yes, I’m coming, Joseph.” One more up-and-down the stairs, ten more minutes of packing, and then she’d be content enough to sit down and eat.
“Full first name?” came the leisurely reply from downstairs. “My, you are in a mood tonight.”
Isolde busied herself with folding clothes, a smile fighting its way onto her face in spite of Joseph’s insistence that she was “in a mood”. She wasn’t; if he wanted to believe that, he was certainly welcome to, but she wasn’t in a mood. She was thinking.
So she put folded clothes over the work files and said, “Joseph, light of my life; the sun which my planet orbits; the fabric by which the stars are made…”
“This sounds more like the Isolde I’m used to.” His voice was closer now, coming from the doorway, and when she looked over her shoulder at him he said, “And definitely not coming to eat.”
“Do you go by Joe?” she asked lightly, dropping the last of her clothes in the suitcase.
Joseph wandered across the master bedroom until there wasn’t any space left between them; his hand came up to her face, trailing the slope of her cheekbone. “I certainly do not.”
“So, definitely call you that, then.”
“You are testing my greatest virtue,” Joseph replied, leaning down and kissing her. Just the once, though; long enough for her to want to lean into it, and not long enough to be satisfying. He pulled back just so far as to let their lips brush when he said, “Come sit down.”
Skimming her fingers along his chest, she asked playfully, “What are you going to do if I say no?”
The blonde eyed her amusedly. “John was right. You really don’t like being bossed around, do you?”
“How dare you say those words, in that order, in my presence,” Isolde murmured without heat. “You know I can’t stand to have someone stroking his ego by admitting he’s right about something.” A low laugh slipped out of Joseph and he carded his fingers through her hair, letting the pads of his fingers skim the back of her scalp as he kissed her temple.
She loved it. She loved when he did this; Joseph was so tactile, taking every opportunity to connect them through touch, like she grounded him. Like she was something precious that he wanted to enjoy every chance he got.
“You are the only one I’ll say something to more than once,” he said, his voice pleasantly low. “But luckily for you, I find your obstinance endearing.”
“If it helps,” she countered, “I don’t mind if you boss me around. Mostly. Why don’t you give it another try?” That wasn’t true. She did. But she liked the way it made Joseph’s ego inflate the second he did, even if it was for something stupid.
“Sweet girl.” His voice was a pleasant purr against her skin. “Always threatening me with a good time.”
This made her laugh. Joseph kissed the slope of her cheekbone, and then the corner of her mouth, his fingers sliding through her hair affectionately. She finally relented and allowed him to nudge her out through the bedroom door, making her way down the stairs. It wasn’t her first time going on a vacation with a… Friend of the romantic persuasion, but it was her first time going on vacation with a friend of the romantic persuasion back home. She’d never introduced her parents to any man that she’d dated—not only because they were eleven hours away by flight, but because there just hadn’t ever been anyone.
Joseph was—different. But she had always known that; she had always known that he was an exception to a lot of people’s rules, not just her own, and she was violating cardinal rule number one of her own personal regiment, which was “don’t mix business and pleasure”. Pursuing a romantic relationship with your business partner’s older brother didn’t exactly adhere to that, did it?
“It’s going to be hot,” Isolde said, “and the flight is long, and the traffic is going to be… Well, insane. But my parents will definitely insist on feeding us the second we get there—”
“That’s fine.”
“—so what I’m saying is, if I blink at you five times in rapid succession, we need to make up an emergency to leave. What’s the emergency? We have to have one ready and on hand, otherwise my dad will see straight…”
Her voice trailed off. The kitchen was not as she’d left it, a little over an hour ago, to pack. In fact, it was dimly lit by candles, the dining table sporting a bouquet—not roses, like someone might have expected out of a scene like this, but calla lilies. Her favorite.
“What—” She stopped in the doorway, but Joseph sidled up behind her, hands on her hips and nudging her forward. “Joseph, what…?”
“I told you.” He kissed just below her ear, reaching for her left hand and bringing it up to kiss her knuckles there, too. “You’re the only person that I’ll say something to more than once—”
Isolde felt something—something both hot and cold, sharp and too soft—whip through her immediately at the leading tone. “You’re not making any sense,” she managed out, trying to dig her heels in, but Joseph wasn’t trying to push her in any further so it didn’t matter.
“I want you to marry me.” Joseph said against her skin, and he slid something cool and metal along her finger. “I want you to be my wife, Soli.”
A ring, her brain said, the alarm bells ringing immediately. That’s a ring. Holy shit, that’s a really big fucking ring. On your finger. Holy shit.
“Isolde.” Joseph turned her around to look at him fully now, brows furrowing at what was surely a look of panic on her face. What she thought had to be the assumption that they were only nerves, he continued, “I know that—”
“No.” The word came out of her mouth before she could stop it, the single-word-statement fleeing her mouth in her panic. She thought she’d feel regret about it, but she didn’t; only about the way Joseph looked at her when she said it.
He seemed to be gathering himself for a moment, like maybe he didn’t think that she meant it, that she was playing some kind of joke on him.
Joseph began, “If this is your idea of—”
“I mean it,” Isolde interjected. “I won’t marry you, Joseph. So—no. Take this—” She fumbled the engagement ring off of her finger and put it into his hand like it was a cursed item, like she couldn’t get it off of her finger any fucking quicker. “Take this back. And—that’s it, I just don’t want it.”
His eyes were fixed on her, no longer soft in their romanticism, but hard, steely. “And why not?”
She swallowed up a sound that probably would have been close to agony. It was agony, having to explain to him; her mind vibrating at an entirely different frequency than his, the panic settling into her bones. She needed to say, I’ve been married before you and I know what it’s like to give yourself over to someone, she needed to say, I won’t fucking let someone own me, Joseph Seed, she needed to say, I told you two months ago I never wanted to get married again, and you just apparently didn’t listen, which is reason enough.
“I don’t need to justify myself to you,” is what she said instead, going to step around him. But his hand caught her wrist, the carefully manicured and polished exterior fading into something that hit an edge of tension, pulling pulling pulling until she thought she was going to watch him finally snap.
But he said, “You do.”
“Fuck. You,” Sol bit out. The anger flared hot in her chest. It was, at last, a familiar emotion; anger and not panic, filling her up. Drowning out the sadness that tried to rip through her like a wildfire. “I told you. I told you I wasn’t doing it again.”
“I’m different.” Now it was his turn to sound almost petulant, his grip on her wrist like iron. “You said that yourself. That we’re—”
“Not different enough,” she snapped. “Apparently, anyway, since you couldn’t wait longer than two months to try and put your name on me, could you?” Trying to pull her wrist out of his grip proved futile, and she managed out with the timbre of her voice vibrating with poison, “And get your fucking hand off of me, Joseph.”
He stared at her for a long moment before he finally loosened his hold on her wrist. Enough to let her pull away if she wanted to. She didn’t. Isolde stayed firmly put, willing her legs to carry her somewhere else—back home would probably be the best thing, driving the hours it takes between Hope County and the nearest lick of civilization.
You said that yourself. I’m different.
He was. She wanted to say, you are, Joseph, but she didn’t, because she knew that it would only start them in another circle again, a snake swallowing its own tail in an endless cycle.
So they stood there for a moment: neither of them saying anything, her last threat hanging, jolts of anger fizzing and popping in the air between them. Isolde’s hand slid just enough to catch at the wrist in Joseph’s grip, and he took her hand instead, then, tugging lightly to draw her close to him.
Testing her out. Feeling her boundaries. She’d basically said I’ll tear your hand off if you don’t listen to me, but he didn’t think she would. And now he was going to slam those buttons—slide his fingers under her edges until he found the exact farthest he could push her.
“I won’t,” Joseph said, very low and quiet, “let you do this to me, Isolde.”
She had been expecting something else. Something sweet, maybe—Joseph liked to do that. Sweet girl, he’d say to her, and if anyone else had tried to call her girl they would’ve gotten dumped, but with this viper it was different. It didn’t feel condescending when Joseph said it to her. It just felt covetous.
And that’s what he was best at: bite, and then soothe. It made his sharp edges more tolerable. It made them nice. But now he was all sharp edges, only hard lines, catching on her and tearing every time the two of them made contact. It had always been this way; John had said that he thought they were poorly matched, and at the time, she’d written it off as John not liking to share even his business partner with his older brother.
Now more than ever, she thought that he was right. They were both too unwieldy, too wretched, to let someone else sway them from their opinions.
“You are so fucking dramatic,” Isolde said, pulling her hand out of his grip at last and turning on her heel. “We don’t need to be married to be together. And your antiquated notion—”
“There are things I want to accomplish, and they’re best done with a wife—”
“I’m sorry, did you hear a period punctuating the end of my sentence? Don’t fucking talk over me, Joseph,” she snapped. For one split second, she saw something vicious flicker over Joseph’s face—just for that one, tiny second—and then he cleared his face.
After a second of silence, of waiting for Joseph to try and get the last word in, she finished, “You don’t know me well enough to want to marry me. And—marriage is a scam, anyway. I would know, I handle nasty divorces every day at work.” I’ve handled my own nasty divorce. “If you’re looking for a pretty housewife to sit around statuesque and have dinner ready for you when you come home, then—well, then you really don’t fucking know me.”
Joseph was silent. His jaw worked, his eyes sweeping over her, tension radiating off of her until he said, “I guess I don’t.”
“I guess so,” Isolde agreed. Another moment of silence, where it felt like they were circling each other like wounded dogs, and she said, “I’m going to go—”
“Fine,” he interrupted, the thing that he knew she hated. “When you’ve calmed down, we can discuss this like adults.”
“There isn’t anything to discuss,” she said, gathering up her coat and keys and walking up the stairs. “I’m not going to change my mind, Joseph.”
From the kitchen, she heard him agree, “Not yet.”
“Shut up,” Isolde snapped. “You make me so fucking mad.”
He didn’t respond to that; she heard him moving around in the kitchen, gathering things and putting them away as she hauled her suitcase down to the front door. He met her at the door, opening it for her—which pissed her off half as much as him putting an engagement ring on her finger.
It shouldn’t have, but it did. It was like he was saying, I know you’ll be back, so go on. Feel free to leave whenever you’d like.
Like the gentleman he was, he carried her suitcase out and loaded it into the car, lingering around the driver’s side as she threw her coat inside. And then she was the one waiting, unsure of what to do; the muscle memory of her body said, kiss him goodbye, the fury in her brain screaming to get in the car and leave.
“When you change your mind,” he reiterated calmly, reaching up and brushing the hair from her face, “you know how to get in touch with me.”
Isolde’s gaze flickered at the touch, Joseph’s warm, heady cologne washing over her as the space between them vanished. She said, the amber and vetiver of him welling up inside of her and filling her like a wineskin, “I won’t.”
His lips grazed her temple, fingers brushing her jaw. “I love you, Isolde.”
Fucking narcissist, she thought, venomously, pulling away from him. Her gaze drifted over his face, trying to find something familiar, something that reminded her of the man she had thought she had loved—but who had clearly proven he was incapable of thinking of anyone but himself.
So finally, she bit out, “This is what you think love is?”
She wanted the words to sting. She wanted them to wipe the tranquility off of his face. He had always been so composed; the wretchedness in her wanted to shake it out of him, making him squirm like he was so good at doing to her.
But he didn’t; his mouth ticked upward in a serene smile, eyes fixed on her as he stepped back from the car. He seemed confident in himself—that it was love, that she would see it was. One day.
I won’t let you do this to me, he’d said.
“Have a safe drive,” he called, when she slammed the door. It was an hour to the airport; an hour, and then however long of a flight, however long she’d have to wait for the next flight heading out to Georgia.
Joseph turned and walked back inside as she pulled out of the driveway, as carefully as she could through the snow; in her rearview mirror, she saw him stop at the door and turn to look, eyes fixed on her.
There are plenty of people I wish were dead, too.
#fic: witching hour#otp: i could sleep inside the cold of you#witching hour interlude#joseph seed x ofc#joseph seed/ofc#ch: isolde khan#ch: joseph seed#this felt important to include#a lot of it is polished from my pre-cult canon but it feels!!!!!#necessary to give them a bit more context esp for folks who only see my content on ao3#thank u everyone for being patient w me <3#my writing#far cry 5 fic#fc5 fic
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Hey guys,
Yu, Rai and both Jakes.
Actually..If I talk about my feelings I'm pretty well. Don't tell Jake I said that, but I couldn't be happier about our situation. I mean, we can talk again. Without me being kidnapped and finding a weird Tumblr profile of him. (Which we think was a set up by one of the entities of my world since he obviously doesn't have one. Jake thinks it was goldies doing, I on the other hand don't believe that. Don't ask me why, but it feels like goldie wouldn't do that. And it didn't help me either but only made problems. I was distracted because I was writing the profile (you read it, right Yu? I don't know about the others) and angry. Like, really angry.)
Putting that aside, Jake called me, like he promised :) And it was the longest phone call I had for some time. Most of the time I talked and he didn't get distracted once, just listened to me and everything that happened. And then he started cursing, which is kind of understandable. He apologised for being into stasis. And for this other version from before the 'time setting back' thing. Because I don't find a name I'll call it TSB from now on.
The only problem I have now is going to work, I guess I'll take me some vacation...But at least I'm not as scared of the raven-ass anymore. I mean, I still am, but in the moment I know his steps. And I am not alone.
Jake, I intentionally write the next part in red, please don't read it. That's for Yu.
I know you think that Jake sees you as a threat. If it still is like you wrote in the letter. Jake knows that, too and he doesn't like it. You know him better than I do, of course, but without saying too much...I think it's quite the opposite. Talk to him about that. Even though it's probably not the best circumstances I think he enjoys being with you :)
The next part, purple (damn, I need more coloured pens), is for you Jake.
You already told me that you don't like that Yu thinks you see her as a threat. I only have to say one thing, if it still is like that, talk to her about it. Earlier than later.
The new thoughts about the blood ritual are really interesting. But please don't put yourself in this danger (or not, but I think it's understandable what I mean?) if it isn't necessary. But I also agree with Rai, I thought the same thing for a while. That you desired having someone, Jake, with you. It sounds plausible.
What more was there...Wait, let me reread the letters.
Oh yeah, Rai! One, till now my crow crew seems to still be in stasis (Jake realised that now, too) and two..Please try to take care of your health, yeah? I'm worried for you.
Lis🐾🔥
Ps. Damn...I'm writing this exactly when I wanted to leave the house (I mean, I sadly cannot hide my face forever).
Two new things...I got a message. I mean, it was a threat (because I am the obviously the bad girl that kidnapped Hannah), but I don't care. Maybe that means the stasis is slowly dissolving!
But number 2...I didn't get the vacation. My boss called me almost immediatly. "Under no circumstances [a word is blacked out] Liska. We have July and Alice, Tim and Jenny all want to take free time, too. You are one of our best workers and we can't afford you leaving now. You have no children so you have to wait. Also Max told me that you don't have any problems in family."
So long story short: He wants me to be there tomorrow. Argh, if he would pay me like he's talking that would awesome. And I'll kill Max when I see him next time. (My cousin that thought it was fun to try and steal my work so we both got the rank of 'one of the best workers'. The only problem: Max' title is official. -.- Overall, I'm so much more annoyed than some time earlier. Maybe I should ask Jake for help
Lis,
Okay, the Crow Crew drama is fading a bit, so I'll answer this now. Sorry if I seem disjointed at all, I'm probably going to be going back and forth from conversations to this letter a lot. I can't afford to have them all think I'm compromised, I need to focus on getting out of here and I don't want to deal with their pressure on top of everything else.
Yeah, I don't think the Tumblr profile was Goldie either. Goldie seems to try to be very much a "hands off" sort of entity, like my own. The Tumblr profile thing seems a little out of character for at least my Jake. At least, publicly answering your submission certainly was, though he may have panicked since you sent it in on anon and answered publicly without really thinking about it. I guess I could see him having a Tumblr profile for purposes of following people on social media and watching what they post, though. And then deciding he likes the media and posting a little bit of impersonal things that can't lead back to him. Probably my Jake will say something about that when I hand this letter over to him, stay tuned.
Yeah, I at least read some of the things you sent that profile, and I showed what I had to my Jake too. I'm not sure if I read all of it, since it was a bunch of printed-out screenshots in an envelope, but I read the ask where you told him you hated him (fair at that point but ouch that's got to have hurt) up to when you said you'd found Hannah. After that you sent me your letter telling me time had turned back and the Tumblr screenshots ended.
I'm glad you and Jake managed to talk things out. I was sort of worried about how he'd react, but it sounds like he took it pretty well, considering. I'm... not exactly sure he should be apologizing for the stasis, though. Or the TSB!Jake. Maybe especially not the TSB!Jake. Jakes seem to be oddly different from timeline to timeline, just based on what I've seen of them. TSB has been one of the most different so far.
Oh. One thing I should mention that you might not have seen from the profile: The MWAF used your phone to mock the TSB account, and mentioned that TSB wasn't the only person who could hack, and the MWAF blocked TSB from finding your location. Might want to warn your Jake about that.
A vacation sounds like a good idea :/ It's really hard to go back to normal life right after tragedies or trauma. It feels like the world keeps moving on and you're still stuck in place, and you just want to scream at them that they need to slow down, can't they see that the world is
Good. I'm glad you don't feel alone. It's easier to deal with this stuff when you're with someone else, even if it's not physically.
(Jake, my Jake I mean, if you're reading over my parts of these letters skip to the ||| now please.) I'm not saying he doesn't also enjoy my company. I can tell he does. That doesn't make me not a threat. Like how early on I suspected Thomas, but still thought he was a nice guy and enjoyed talking to him. (Obviously I don't suspect him any more XD ) Still, if you think I should talk with him about it, I'll try to find a tactful way to bring it up.
Yes, because obviously tact is my greatest strength. Sigh.
Like I said to Rai, the underlying desire thing is definitely possible. That'd either mean I'm more obvious about how I feel for Jake than I think I am (very possible, I'm not great at hiding how I feel in person) or the entity has some level of telepathy/mind reading. The reason is that chessboard. Since Jake likes chess, it's clear at least to me the entity expected him to come here at some point. I THINK, if the underlying desire thing is true, I can manipulate myself into wanting specific things by doing things like writing it over and over and repeating it out loud when doing the ritual, but I'm not sure.
|||
It's probably good that your Crow Crew is in stasis, like how it's objectively probably good my outside life is going on without me. Less drama, less pressure.
Huh. The harassment is definitely a promising sign. Maybe you should try contacting Darkness again, same way as I suggested near the beginning? That feels so long ago, but it really can't have been much more than a week, can it?
You... didn't get the vacation. Fucking hell. Is there ANY way you can convince your boss? You really should have time off. Maybe your Jake can help you come up with ideas.
Or at least maybe he can come up with a way to have your boss give you a bonus for your trouble -_-
Oh shit Cleo's interrogating me I'm gonna hand this to Jake now
(The handwriting changes to Jake's.) Hello, Lis.
I agree with Yuvon: "TSB" acts markedly different from myself. There would be no benefit from me promising to be there to find you in the moment, and indeed I would have been falling for a very transparent trap. Even in my possible state of panic, I cannot see myself being there physically, much less revealing myself physically to authorities in the process, unless I was playing the role of bait in a counter-trap. While it is plausible that this was TSB's plan, TSB gave no indication that Yuvon or I could tell that this was the case. Of course, I would have done my best to be there physically in the aftermath of the kidnapping, but not in the moment.
I also agree that the Tumblr profile seems to be out of character for both myself and for "Goldie", though I hesitate to judge TSB's actions by what I myself would do. I seem to vary in surprising ways across universes and even from timeline to timeline, based solely on your current Jake's reactions thus far. I do actually own a Tumblr profile for the exclusive purpose of following social medias I wish to track, but I used a random username generator website for the username and not my own name, and I certainly never posted anything.
The news about the MWAF being able to hack is new to me; I must have missed that the first time I read through the screenshots. That is quite troubling. I suppose I will need to be more careful in future.
I am sincerely sorry your request for a vacation was rejected. I do not know how much you intend to separate your personal life and the Duskwood case, but if your stasis is truly wavering, you may be able to reveal some measure of the danger you are in to convince him to let you flee the area for a small while. Especially since you mentioned in your Tumblr post that you saw a raven note in your wor
Oh.
You need to leave that place. Now. Do not inform your employer of the danger you are in, reveal nothing to him or to anyone, take unpaid time off if you need to. Get your cousin and anyone else you care overly much about out of there too. Invalidate any information you can your employer or coworkers knows about you. Do not tell the truth to anyone, even your cousin. Make up any excuses you need to, ask your Jake for help with ideas if you need to. You may also wish to check that the coworkers your boss listed who are going on vacation are ACTUALLY going on vacation.
This is a priority, Liska. You need to tell your Jake all of this too, especially the part with the note in your workplace. You need to get out of there.
Good luck.
—Jake & Yuvon
(The letter tucks itself into the paper clip with the others.)
#duskwood letter game#yuvon writes letters#duskwood#duskwood game#duskwood everbyte#duskwood jake#lis
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a message.
This whole post is full of things I’ve wanted to say for a very long time. So yes, this is going to be very long.
Before I begin, I just wanted to say I’m sorry to the innocent people who had nothing to do with this. I’ve never ever been involved with online/fandom drama before, I hate being in this position so fucking much with all my heart and soul, and I never thought in my whole life that I’d be in this position, either.
Secondly, this is about the DEF LEPPARD FANDOM ON TUMBLR. If you’re not part of this fandom, kindly fuck off :^) This is not about you.
This post explains why I feel this way. And to those innocent people who aren’t involved with this, I’m sincerely sorry if any of this has changed your opinions of me.
I’m in a mood and a half, so I’ll do my best to effectively tell everything from my perspective. Read if you want, but this is just what I’m thinking.
I’ve been running this blog for almost three years now. When I first joined this fandom on tumblr at the beginning of 2018, there wasn’t really a ‘fandom’ per se; all the main blogs were dead, no one ever really posted, and there wasn’t much content. I decided to start a DL blog of my own to vent my love into it and not spam my main account.
Within a month, I could quickly see that some sort of renaissance was happening in this fandom; more blogs were popping up, more people were posting, and more people were just participating in general. There were memes now, there were conversations now- it was great! There was a real community; it was all about sharing information, spewing our love, getting creative, and interacting!
There was integrity, and there was respect for the band as well as one another.
I, as part of this community, wanted to do everything in my physical power to contribute in any way I could. I was insanely active and hyper-productive and could not be stopped. I still haven’t stopped, but I certainly have slowed down significantly (due to lack of new activity from the band and increased mental health issues I won’t get into). I don’t want to be self-centered and say that I was “running” this branch of the fandom for the past 2.7 years, but I was certainly a big player in it, and I feel everyone agreed (and some still agree) with that as well.
There were some times where disagreements happened. There were times where many of us knew that someone else was crossing a line in a post. We knew what qualified as “not okay” in terms of being perverted and such. We’d solve this by not blaming, not hounding, not sending anon hate, not calling out, but by presenting facts, talking maturely, and trying to right the wrongs as maturely as we could.
Yes, it was possible. Was.
I don’t think you guys realize just how much content I’ve contributed to this fandom. I have spent basically every single day of the past 3-ish years trying to spread information/content/photos/videos/links/etc. to everyone who follows me (and everyone who doesn’t). This fandom was (and I cannot stress this enough), literally my entire life for the past 3 odd years, and I really wanted to spend the rest of my life contributing to it the way I’ve been.
I don't think anyone on here realizes everything that I have done for this community. Because of me:
this fandom has access to Animal Instinct for free
this fandom has access to the rare picture disc interview
this fandom has numerous scans of photos that may have not ended up online otherwise (I also paid $70 to have access to some of these. You're welcome.)
we have Fabulist Icons content
we have a decent amount of fanfiction that doesn't only focus on the boys banging each other/sex in general (seriously, this simply didn’t exist on here before I started posting my shit)
we have a little more fan art
we have content from Phil's and Ross's books
we have hundreds (yes, literally, HUNDREDS) of edits/moodboards/memes/etc. that I made myself
we have gifsets of things that no one else would have made
we have achieved justice a lot of the time when content was stolen because I have defended everyone without question/rallied up armies the second I heard it happened
some of you have gotten updates on news/facts/history/details/etc. that you’ve never even heard of
probably a shit ton more things, but that’s all I can think of for now. You get the point.
But that’s only half the story. This band and fandom has given me so much to cherish over the past few years.
Because of this fandom and the people (that were once) in it, I have:
met Rick in person
met, quite honestly, my two best friends ever, @ballistic-lipstick-dream-machine (my true Terror Twin) and @paper-sxn (adopted little sister/cousin)
became in contact with Phil's guitar tech from the mid-80s (Mike)
gained creative ambition to play guitar, create art, write stories, make edits/gifs, travel, and basically just better myself
began a record collection that is now in the hundreds and gained a lot of knowledge from it
discovered a whole new genre of music
found a community/culture where, for the very very first time in my life, I felt like I BELONGED.
fallen in love with something and someone for the first time
felt like I actually mattered to people, like I was actually important (because people would always come to me for information or help if they needed it)
basically impacted every corner of my life
just about a million other things, too, but I will be here all night if I try to list them all.
To put it delicately: Def Leppard and this fandom on tumblr absolutely changed my life, and was the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.
I have spread so much information around, you newer people wouldn't imagine. I have gathered and seen so much information, you wouldn't believe how much I know and how much I've learned. I have bounced back and forth between formats time after time again that I feel like I’m stuck in a time warp. I have edited so many things on non-professional programs that I am an MS paint expert. I have been here so long, that I’ve seen 98% of the people in this branch of the fandom rotate in and out at least two or three times.
That being said, all of the toxic people in this fandom will most likely be gone within the next 6 months.
Def Leppard has taught me so much, but a big thing was love and loyalty. It's clear that the majority of people in this fandom (read my lips- I am N O T saying anyone’s names. I mean that.) do not know the meanings of either of these words. I've been practically running this fandom on Tumblr for nearly three years now, you’ve seen all that I’ve done for you, and what have I gotten in return?
Slander, cyberbullying, disrespect, consistently stolen content, etc. That’s what I’ve gotten. I’ve never attacked anyone on here, and that is still something I won’t do.
Yes, I am against slash fic, and I can’t believe that THAT’S the only reason why I’m being torn down like this. Something so dumb and immature as that has torn my beloved community in half. I have never attacked ANYONE for writing slash fic, yet I’ve been getting attacked since August (it is November now) for simply believing it is wrong to openly admit you want the boys to fuck each other.
(I’d also like to point out that someone from the KISS fandom ((god knows why)) had the balls to call me “homophobic” for hating slashfic. I can’t even begin to explain how much I laughed at that.)
I just wanna say that these are REAL people you’re writing about, you know. Don’t you think THEY would be against it? I know I cannot stop anyone from writing slash (I’ve said that before, but no one seems to remember it). I don’t think any of you realize that there is a certain line you shouldn’t cross when it comes to the internet, and being perverted in such an explicit and disrespectful way is one of them. We always had integrity in this fandom, and slash was never part of something we stood for. We knew when to stop, and we kept the slash on rockfic.com (where it belongs imo. That’s like their element).
I was very confused when more slash fics started appearing on tumblr this year. Now, it seems like that’s all there is, and I’m disgusted.
Whenever something close to that happened in 2018, everyone would be totally against it, and we’d talk it out and explain. While we all had our fair share of horny (and maybe then some) in this fandom, but we always knew where to draw the line. That was the line. That line doesn’t exist anymore, apparently, and nobody knows how to be mature and respectful to the band, to each other, and just for fuck’s sake. Now, I’m being slammed that being perverted for them fucking their best friends is “just fandom, bitch” and “the norm” and that it’s done “out of respect”, which I will never understand. You can’t use “slash” and “respectful” in the same sentence, and you can’t change my mind, but I know I can’t change yours, either.
Slash is not, nor will it ever be, respectful. This fandom has become toxic.
Fanfiction is an outlet for creativity to be used for fun, not to be used as an excuse to project your sexually perverted sexuality headcannons/fetishes onto innocent, REAL, LIVE people. If all you write/read is them having sex with each other, then it really makes you wonder if it’s about “respect” anymore, doesn’t it?
In my opinion it’s fucked up that it’s “normal” and “just part of fandom” to create sexualities for- again- REAL, LIVE PEOPLE, and it’s everyone’s first instinct to argue that it’s fine, apparently? If you “respect” your idols so much like you claim you do, then why don’t you maybe respect their actual orientations instead of creating masturbation material for random 12 year olds and boomers, perhaps?
I don’t know what I did that was so fucking wrong in your eyes, as I’ve always tried to keep integrity in this area of tumblr.
I'm very deeply hurt, more than I've ever been by this. It physically hurts me to admit that this fandom has become as toxic as it currently is. I don’t feel welcome here anymore at all, despite practically running things on here for so long.
I don’t know how I could ever live without this fandom, but now it looks like I’m going to have to try, or at least try and rebuild it on my own (again). I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop posting about Def Leppard, and after all, I only started posting about them for myself to begin with.
We were supposed to be the good fandom, the happy fandom, the fandom with no drama. I am ashamed to be associated with you now. I tried to stop it as best as I could, and hoped people would back me up, but I’ve received nothing but hate for simply trying to preserve some dignity.
You guys have been immature to say the least, and I find it very hard to believe that some of you are legal adults (but let’s be honest; most of you toxic people are probably too young to even be behind a computer, anyway).
I’ve had to block some people that I really didn’t want to, but the deed is done. Keep your slash to yourself, tag it, do a read more, post it somewhere else, even- that’s how you co-exist. Just don’t come after me because I think it’s wrong. I never came after anyone specifically like that.
This isn’t goodbye, but I certainly am leaving for a while. I hope I got my point, my history, and my perspective across.
And I hope you’re fucking happy, because you’ve destroyed something I loved.
-Rachel
#also to helena_s_renn on rockfic: suck my dick bitch :3#thank you to those who have messaged me and been kind#time to watch my follower count dwindle at the speed of sound#goodbye
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SVTFOE: A Retrospective
Happy Mama Star Day!
OK, first and foremost, a quick update on TGG: I plan to have something ready for at least one of the major anniversaries coming up, and hopefully will resume slightly more regular updates from then forward. Thanks to everyone for your continued support, it’s been a rough year so far for me personally and for everyone in in the current pandemic situation. The anniversary of both STH and Mama Star seemed like a fitting time to get some things off my chest, both good and bad, so I’ll do that now and get it out of the way to focus on bigger and better things in the future.
Fair warning, this is gonna be long and rambly and personal more than it is any sort of serious show analysis. If you’re looking for fun, feel-good celebration of what definitely were some of my favorite moments in the series, I’m not so sure this is gonna be the post for you.
It goes without saying that Star vs the Forces of Evil, for better or worse, is incredibly important to me and has been without fail for years. How are you supposed to feel when something that important lets you down so hard? Is having such strong, mixed emotions and attachment better than having nothing you care about at all? The past year hasn’t answered these questions for me, and this post certainly won’t either. There’s no thesis or likely any kind of closure here, just me baring a bit of my soul here on tumblr dot com.
It’s been a rough year or two for me. I don’t want to get too much into the specifics, but let’s just say I hit a crossroads where the entire path I’d envisioned for myself in life came into serious question, and I had been spiraling into depression and paralyzing anxiety over a complete lack of any fulfillment in my “professional” life for months before I even recognized it for what it was. Season 3 finished airing around the last few months of my undergraduate degree, which (while obviously it significantly emotionally impacted me) was a generally happy and stable time in my life. As things started to change and get worse for me, SVTFOE S4 was my ray of hope. I’m not kidding when I say that some days in the hiatus leading up to it, the thought of S4 delivering on its potential for emotional fulfillment and Starco goodness (consistently, not just at the end) was the only thing that got me out of bed in the morning and the only positive thing I could see in my future.
When we got the S4 we got, it shattered me, utterly and completely. This isn’t an attempt to dunk on S4 in some “objective” manner - hell, I even like a lot of the things about it that the fandom despises (the ending prioritizing character closure over lore, the upheaval of the political structure rather than just having Star become the Goodest Queen, etc). I’d still make the argument that a lot of the character development was very flimsy and poorly paced, a very clear effort to force the relationship resolution to be delayed until the end at all costs, but that’s not the point here. Life felt dull and lonely and warm fluffy Starco was my vicarious escape from that, and the season we got left me so completely hollow insid that it felt like I couldn’t breathe for its first more-than-a-dozen episodes, and I was so burnt out that I couldn’t even properly enjoy the parts that were genuinely good.
Even earlyish on, I was already fearing that things wouldn’t be resolved till the end and that there’d be almost none of the content I actually longed for from the show. As I’ve mentioned before, The Greatest Gift was born the morning after Lake House Fever’s late night release, out of salt and spite and a need to give myself something good to look forward to, even if it would be something I’d be making myself. I completely removed myself from even passing conversations with my best friends in the fandom because it hurt too much to even think about. I even had Seddm give me summaries of episodes before I watched them so I could take some time to emotionally prepare (at least until the 2nd to last week). And to the show’s credit, its last few weeks of episodes (with some exceptions) tried their absolute damnedest to right the ship (pun intended) and bring back the sorts of things I wanted with a vengeance. I was smiling like a complete fool for 12 hours straight after Here to Help. The ending didn’t fix my issues with the show, not by a fucking long shot, but it at least left me on a positive enough note that there was a feverish enthusiasm to continue it further on my own.
But it’s been tough. Have you or a family member/friend ever gotten bad food poisoning from a restaurant you really liked, and the smell of it makes you queasy afterwards even though you do really like it? That’s probably the best analogy I can draw to a lot of my relationship with SVTFOE since it ended. PLEASE NOTE I’M IN NO WAY TRYING TO EQUATE THE MAGNITUDE OF MY IRE WITH A CARTOON WITH SERIOUS DISORDERS THAT PEOPLE SUFFER FROM, but I’d almost be tempted to liken it to PTSD. Seeing reminders of the painful parts can put me in a bad mood for hours, and on some days even just dwelling on the show in any way will invite creeping negativity and “why the fuck couldn’t it have just-” types of thoughts taking over. There have been some days writing TGG where having to draw inspiration from or reference events/dialogues in S4 was so emotionally taxing that I had to stop writing for the night. I blocked Seddm’s entire askbox tag because I’d find my own emotions frothing into a rage over things in the show people would bring up. I’ve lost acquaintances and potential friendships over my bitterness. I instantly block anyone who posts even a hint of Tomstar/Kellco content in the Starco tags on any site because it induces such palpable negativity in my heart - I think I’m up to 1000 accounts blocked on Instagram right now, which is why Toxic runs the TGG page over there. If you’re one of the people out there that tried to strike up a conversation with me over a shared interest in the show and I vomited bile into your DMs, I sincerely apologize. And to anyone who got wrapped up in the brazen high hopes I put forth here every day as S4 approached and came crashing down with me as a result, I’m sorry for that too.
And yet... I can’t say there’s not a genuine love I still have for a lot of it. I still have my little shrine of stickers and pictures that I’ll sometimes just get let myself get lost in. There was a recent postcanon fic started by someone who just caught up on the show that brought such a depth of warmth into my chest that I’m smiling like an idiot just now thinking about it. I haven’t watched even a clip (let alone a whole episode) that Star and Marco’s voices in my head feel distant and abstract, but when I’m writing chapters I can still get emotional imagining them saying and doing things out of their devotion to one another. I’ve made no secret that I (to put it very very very lightly) have a strong distaste for the vast majority of this fandom, and yet the joy of knowing I could make people’s days or lives brighter gives me a satisfaction I can’t put words to. Don’t get me wrong, writing quickly just isn’t my thing normally anyway - I’m not trying to suggest that the sole reason for TGG downtime is that I’m driving knives into my own heart and pouring my blood onto the page. Just that that’s part of it, and it takes its toll.
The last few months, although I have missed the joy of brewing up fluff ideas and seeing them come to life, have admittedly been a welcome reprieve just not having to think about this stuff so much. In the last few weeks I’ve finally been coming around to a bit of a better place where the good bubbles up without bringing as much of the bad with it. It will likely still wax and wane, and I can’t guarantee if or when TGG will fully finish. And this isn’t my entire life - I have MMOs and card games and all kinds of other hobbies that suck up lots of my time, so don’t worry about me just lying in bed sobbing over S4 for 12 hours a day. I don’t know if the day will ever come when I can truly be at peace with it all, but I don’t want to toss out the good with the bad. All I can ask is for your patience as my own journey evolves alongside my writing, until the day comes when perhaps this story can finally come to a close. Thanks for reading, and stay safe.
Ngame
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A while back you said “Generally I like to imagine Zim/Membrane as some kind of psychological/paranormal horror story (with most of the horror, of course, being on Prof Membrane’s end)” and I am intrigued. Care to enlighten us on what a darker Zimbrane might be like?
Well, this is the second time I've gotten this exact ask, so sure, why not. I tried to put in a read more and tumblr DELETED IT so i'm trying to edit it back in but if it doesn't stick, I apologize for the long post, I tried my best.
So let's rewind to episode 1 and start off with a full AU. Zim lands on earth and decides not to disguise himself among mere schoolchildren; instead, he does, like, five minutes of research on the planet he's just landed on and decides that the most useful place to infiltrate will be the scientific labs of the planet's greatest genius, so he can properly assess the planet's pathetic technological advancements and defenses and counter them accordingly.
So cut to Membrane labs and that was the last time we're gonna be in Zim's perspective. From now on it's all Membrane, all the time. And what he knows is they've just got a new recent grad ("graduate at what level? bachelor's, master's..." "I am the master of ALL!!" "master's level, cool") working for them. He says his major was in "everything that is known of the sciences on this filthy planet" and that his alma mater is "a university SO advanced you haven't even heard of it!" and like, with credentials like that, he's clearly going to be a great asset to the lab. And he asks so many questions! Clearly he's preparing to work on his doctorate and is prodding around for interesting subjects to write on. Membrane supports this ambitious fellow completely.
But something's odd. The first time his son visits the lab and sees their newest hire, he starts screaming about how he's an alien. Membrane always knew that Dib was a bit... obsessed with his fantasies—hunting for things that don't exist—but Membrane had always comforted himself with the knowledge that claiming he's looking for cryptids and claiming he's found cryptids are totally different things. This... this is a disturbing new development. He's starting to really worry about his son.
Thankfully, New Guy Zim takes it in stride—says he gets this all the time thanks to his skin condition, humans can be sooo gullible. His work isn't disturbed at all.
And wow, what work he does. He sees potential flaws in their lab work and inventions long before anyone else does. Lots of the other employees think he's an obnoxious little know-it-all, but Membrane recognizes his genius for what it is and is constantly amazed at his insights. He's basically the only one who can always keep up with Membrane's latest inventions & creations, understanding the science as easily as though it were elementary to him. And Zim is constantly expressing surprise that Membrane keeps up with his work, which is kind of weird, since Membrane has been doing this a lot longer than fresh-out-of-some-master's-program Zim has. But maybe it's because he's never actually worked in a lab doing REAL SCIENCE before. He's astounded to be around his peers. That's clearly it.
At one point Zim irritably shoves aside another inventor trying to get some doohickey working and with thirty seconds and some crap he pulled out of his backpack he gets a device working that they've been tying to get to function for the better part of a year. Membrane praises Zim effusively. (The inventor, who at this point is sick of Zim's crap, quits on the spot.) And Zim's little eyes light right up.
Suddenly he's inventing new things so fast Membrane doesn't know when he has time to make them—it's like he's just pulling them fully formed out of some closet he's got them all tossed in at home. Membrane is over the moon. His lab's never been this booming. And Membrane's got to confess: when someone is that good at science—possibly better even than Membrane himself—that's... kinda hot. Kinda super hot.
As a bonus, Dib's making more excuses to hang out at Membrane's lab. Membrane is sure that it's to "monitor the alien," but if it means he's exposed to more Real Science, ultimately it's gotta be good for him. At least Dib's hostility toward Zim has cooled somewhat—"I thought he was here to try to take over the planet, but, I dunno, it looks like he's just sharing the wisdom of his alien society with us? Which doesn't seem so bad." He's still totally convinced Zim is an alien, though. Ah, well. And he's determined to convince Membrane, too: "You know that energy absorbing creature thing he pulled out today? Do you have any idea what research he based it on? Like, is this a creation that naturally progresses from any of the current science we've got? You'd know, Dad, you're on top of every new development. So what's this one based on? Isn't it weird that you don't know? As if he's—oh, I don't know—sharing the end product of a field of scientific research that's centuries, if not millennia, farther along than ours?"
And Membrane's got to admit: he has found it weird. He has wondered how Zim just leapfrogs over gaps in their scientific knowledge to seemingly create things based on discoveries no one has made yet. Membrane's assumed that he's just using his own research—research he hadn't shared—but maybe...
No. No, that's crazy. Membrane would be crazy to think it. Zim is just a talented, gifted, genius, normal human.
Who is absolutely ravenous for Membrane's praise.
And thaaat's about the point they start dating.
First it's lamenting about the recent difficulties in the lab together. (They've has a lot of resignations lately, wonder why. But no problem, Zim's had some great success automating the more menial tasks with robot labor...) Then it's hanging out discussing Science, because that's definitely what scientists do in their spare time. Then it's occasionally grabbing dinner together. (Zim's got some weird dietary restrictions, probably due to his skin condition, but Membrane can adapt.) Then it's going to scientific conferences together to save money on hotel rooms but oh no the only room left has only one bed so Membrane's sleeping on the very edge of the bed staring at the wall in the dark going oh shit oh fuck oh hell this is an opportunity here but does he like me like me or does he only like me I am a sweaty hormonal 15-year-old experiencing a first crush and don't know what to do with myself because we've never actually discussed whether we're dating or hanging out
(Membrane sleeps in his full lab wear, minus boots but still in socks, under the blankets, like a monster. Zim spread eagles to take up as much of the bed as possible and stares at the ceiling all night because he's not sure what's involved in human sleep besides lying down and being still.)
Things are going great! They're going great. Except the more time Membrane spends with Zim outside of a lab setting, the more strange Membrane realizes he is. Not in a bad way—it's a very attractive strangeness—but more and more he finds himself wondering...
And then Dib admits he snuck into Zim's house (he snuck into Zim's house?!) and found evidence that actually he is here to take over the world, Dib doesn't know why he's handing over so much of his species's technology but it's got to be a trap of some kind, dad, dad, you've gotta believe him, they've gotta do something—
And then Zim escalates the flirting to the point where it's unambiguous. Like, "hand job in the office when the door is closed" escalates.
Hard to misinterpret that.
At that point it's a torrid, very weird love affair, and Membrane is finding himself increasingly and alarmingly unsure whether Zim is actually into him, or is trying to pump him for information on what work is being done at other major global scientific labs—he can't tell whether Zim likes Membrane or just wants Membrane to like him—but whatever the case, Membrane does like him, even if he's finding him increasingly unnerving, and he's constantly getting the impression that even with all Zim's shown off to him, there's even more he's holding back. But how can that be? How can there be more? It doesn't make sense unless Zim really is...
But he's not, he's not. That's crazy, that's crazy, that's crazy.
At one point in bed (they're in bed now—Zim doesn't like to take his clothes off, doesn't want to be touched between his legs, only gets satisfactions from strange touches and strange actions and Membrane isn't actually sure whether he gets off or not or if he's getting something else out of it, and sometimes he doesn't want to be touched at all, sometimes he just touches and watches—)
At one point in bed, Zim hisses a confession that sounds so true and so sincere that it makes every other thing he's ever said sound a bit more untrue by comparison; he says never in his life has he been appreciated like this, never in his life has he been admired, not once until he got here, never, ever, ever—Membrane's not sure if Zim's trying to say he's grateful, trying to say he's flattered, trying to say "I love you," trying to confess some kind of childhood trauma—because he doesn't say anything more than that. But just from that little bit, Membrane is Deeply Moved.
But also unnerved. What did he mean, "until he got here"? Here from where? Did "here" mean Membrane lab? Did "here" mean Earth?
Because as Membrane is trying to deny it, and as hard as Zim's been trying to distract him (oh, god, is that what Zim's been doing, has this all been an attempt to distract Membrane after Dib broke into his house?), the truth is there's a very large part of Membrane that now, after spending a whole lot of personal time with Zim, now thinks there's more evidence than not that Zim is, in fact, an alien.
This horrifies Membrane. Because there's only two possibilities: either he's wrong, or he's right.
If he's wrong, then that means he's gone nuts, he's let his own son suck him into his delusions when as the father it should be his job to help guide his son's mind, help his son tell true from false; and it means he's in no fit mental state to do REAL SCIENCE, he's in no state to be running a lab, he's probably in no state to be raising his own kids, like he's not sure if "does the parent believe one of the people closest to them is an alien" is a criteria for determining whether a child should be taken from the parents but Membrane would certainly not trust that such delusions wouldn't seep into their parenting and for the sake of his kids he has to hold himself to that same standard; and it means that he's wrongly suspecting his own lover of not being human, which, god, what a cruel thing to think, and over what, a skin condition and some odd behavior quirks, it's the twenty-first century equivalent of conflating mental illness with demonic possession, and is there any possible higher injustice he could do to the man he lo— Does he love Zim?
Is Membrane in love?
But if he's right, if he's right, then it means Zim is an alien. It means Zim is an alien masquerading as a human. It means Zim is not some eager young scientist showing off his brilliance, it means he's... what? Is he here to take over the planet, like Dib says? If so, can Membrane trust anything he's ever done or said? Is he flooding Membrane's lab with new inventions because if he replaces human technology with his own then he can control it? Is Dib wrong, is Zim a benevolent alien sharing his technology? Has his relationship with Membrane been a very dedicated ruse to get close to his resources? Or to distract him from the truth? Or to manipulate him into assisting in his alien agenda?
Membrane doesn't know which possibility is worse.
But he can't go on not knowing.
So he goes to Dib and says, you want me to believe Zim's an alien. Here's your opportunity: prove it. Do your very best. Membrane's listening. With... a reasonably open mind, but not so open his brain falls out.
Dib's over the moon.
Membrane's not sure whether he dreads the possibility that Dib's going to pull out a cork board coveted in unrelated conspiracy theory articles and strings connecting them or the possibility that Dib's going to pull out incontrovertible evidence more. But what Dib says is okay it's infiltration time. Wear something stealthy. Lab coats aren't stealthy, dad. Membrane's like oh good great we're breaking and entering now. Well, if he's going to be entertaining mad theories, then he might as well go absolutely off the deep end with it.
So they break into Zim's house.
The underground base is compelling evidence but maybe he's just... he's just got... a really advanced home lab... Membrane's home lab is pretty advanced too. Dib's like dad PLEASE. Look, on that computer over there he's still got the window open for the order page for that new "invention" he showed off at work last week. He bought it on the internet! The ALIEN internet!
While Membrane's still reeling from that, they run into Zim. Sans disguise. Zim's face goes through about twelve emotions in two seconds, starting with Shocked Beyond Words and ending with Time For A Villainous Monologue. He's like SO! You have seen my TRUE FORM!! You're going to try to STOP ME?!?!?! and membrane's like uh I uh I well uh erm that is, if Zim happens to be planning to take over planet Earth in order to hand it over to some kind of alien empire, then no, Membrane isn't going to let him do that. And Zim's like THEN WE ARE ENEMIES!!!!!!! and Membrane's like oh.
A dumb fight is had. Membrane's sort of in over his head, mainly because he's still reeling from the disbelief that he's been dating an alien. It ends with Zim kicking them both out (rather than, say, killing them—which seems a little odd for an alien hellbent on world conquest, doesn't it?) and then crowing "YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE LAST OF ZIM!" and packing up his base and vanishing. He's just gone. Surely he hasn't left Earth, but he's relocating to god knows where and they're gonna have a hell of a time tracking him down now.
Membrane needs to go home and go to sleep. (He doesn't get any sleep.)
So that's phase 1 of the story. Phase 2 is Horrified Membrane and Gleeful Dib teaming up to stop Zim. Membrane gets hauled into the Swollen Eyeball and hates it. ("Where do you work?" "NASA Place." "Oh thank goodness, a fellow man of science! What's your field? Astronomy? Engineering?" "Janitor." "Oh.") Zim encounters are far more sparse because all the How To Human knowledge Zim picked up at the most advanced lab on Earth and while trying to convince Membrane one-on-one that he's definitely a normal human have made him much better at evading detection. And every showdown is... emotionally fraught.
Turns out Zim was suppressing half his personality while pretending to be human. This new real Zim is a lot more maniacal. Maniacal Zim is... unfortunately also hot.
Zim doesn't act like he feels anything for Membrane now. Is that because it was all a ruse, or is he concealing his emotions the way he once concealed his true alien self? Is Membrane really picking up on hints of suppressed attraction and yearning and frustration under his efforts to stop Membrane & Dib from thwarting his efforts—or is that just wishful thinking?
When Zim extends an offer for Membrane to join him, is that to throw him off his game, to manipulate him, or due to a sincere desire to not fight him? Is the offer he makes mid battle between one maniacal laugh and the next different from the offer he makes in the dark two inches behind Membrane's ear in the middle of the night when Membrane thought the house was locked and secure?
Did Zim make any of the wonderful toys he used to so impress Membrane? Is he actually an inventor, a scientist, in any capacity? Is he actually scientifically inclined, or was the vast knowledge he showed off equivalent to kindergarten stuff for his species? (And if his knowledge is extraordinary for a human but ordinary for an alien, is it wrong for Membrane to still find himself drawn toward considering Zim extraordinary anyway?) Is Membrane mistaken, or is Zim even now trying to show off with new toys? Is he wrong, or is there pain under Zim's anger when Membrane accuses him of having imported his weapon of the day?
When he insists that they don't need to fight, if only Zim gave up trying to conquer the world they could have productive SCIENTIFIC EXCHANGES between their species, it doesn't need to end with one of them eliminating the other... is he imagining that Zim actually listens for a moment?
Is he imagining that Zim seems reluctant to permanently harm him?
Is he imagining that Zim still flirts with him mid-battle?
Or is it manipulation? Or is it petty cruelty?
Or is it a wishful delusion?
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can you tell me more about le passe-miroir? what you like about it?
I need to write a disclaimer first that I don’t want to shoulder the responsibility of recommending these books to anyone (anymore… s/o Ellis and Nóra) lol. They have a bunch of structural problems and sometimes you just want to e-mail the editor/s about it idk. Some people have no problems with it but, pesonally, When I was reading the first half of the first book all I did was complain. I actually gave up at some point, and I don’t even know why I went back to it. So like, yeah, take that into account, and if you decide to read it and end up hating it please don’t put the responsibility on me :p
What I like about it tho!! I think it just goes into a bunch of topics I love: reconstruction of the self via the other, people learning how to talk to each other & creating a new mutual “grammar”, art x artist, agency and responsibility, bla bla bla… It’s funny because when you start reading this book, you can spot the tropes from a mile, and then you sit down and wait for happen, eyes ready to roll, and then… some of these tropes just…. don’t happen… it’s a weird feeling that I enjoyed hahaha
Like I was telling a friend, I think this happens because (IMO) the author’s greatest merit is that she really lets herself go, so the majority of this work feels very sincere and (esp the last two books) has a high symbolic value, which I’m not sure she was necessarily aiming to put there, but which really attracts me all the more because of that ;P I particularly like that the characters in general feel very “fleshy”… Two things that tire me out in fantasy is a) characters that are like, archetype armors held up by the author’s imagination cardboard equivalent, and b) when the author suddenly swoops down and intervenes in order to produce a neater structure…. I don’t have the vocabulary to discuss this dbhnjmds but I’d say both of these things flow from the same source of like, an artist being too taken up with ‘idea’, or maybe, curating their production too carefully, to the point where it’s all ego and no id. If in art I have to choose between “neat” and “messy”, in terms of the relationship between the art and the artist, I do prefer “messy”. And these books are kinda messy lmao… That was probably a relief, as two fantasy books I read recently had a bit of those problems.
More direct:I also particularly like the main character, and I also know that… 8 years ago I would have hated some later plot points, which nowadays I just find really very interesting hehehe ;D Ah yes also! The worldbuilding attracts me, which is also very rare in fantasy :) And I also like the relationships between the characters and the worldbuilding… Like, this book (and Nóra’s gentle encouragement) actually motivated me to create OCs lmao. I can’t even remember the last this happened…
Anyway, without spoilers, I think that’s it! As a PS, I also want to say that I like the fandom, so far I haven’t seen a single sign of ship wars or anti posturing
#the mirror visitor#la passe miroir#personal#the problem is that now I'm living with my gf who has shelves upon shelves of fantasy lit#but I'm kinda saturated now sdbhndjeb whoops#Anonymous
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My answer is NOPE.