#necessary to give them a bit more context esp for folks who only see my content on ao3

[consumedkings-archive]

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.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“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.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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.

[suzanneshannon]

Love in a time of Corona Virus - Tips, Tricks and Best Practices for Working Remotely

In this time of the Corona Virus and COVID-19, Microsoft has taken the unprecedented move of shutting down their Seattle campus. No one goes in to work until March 25th. That means they're all remote workers! Like me! For 13 years!

Do note that I am deeply sympathetic for the situation we all find ourselves in and I'm deeply aware of the privilege we have as tech/desk workers to be able to do our jobs remotely. I am also (dare I say) looking forward to what I believe will be a dramatic increase in Remote Worker Empathy on the part of the in office folks.

Check out my previous posts on being remote and explore the Remote Work category if you like.

Good, Better, Best creating the ultimate remote worker webcam setup on a budget

Tragedies of the Remote Worker: "Looks like you're the only one on the call"

30 Tips for Successful Communication as a Remote Worker

Virtual Camaraderie - A Persistent Video "Portal" for the Remote Worker

I also want to showcase some of the great tips and suggestion for remote work that are being shared. Here's tips from our own Adrian Murphy who has shared them internally at the company and has given me permission to share them externally. You can follow Adrian on Twitter and thank him his team for sharing all this information and for their kindness!

These tips are written in the context of using Microsoft Teams (which has an extraordinary free plan, BTW) but you can replace those references with Zoom/Skype/Whatever and the tips are the same.

Tips, Tricks and Best Practices for Working Remotely

Working remote can be quite a shift from being in the office, and sometimes the things you take for granted in person suddenly become massive inconveniences when working remotely. Whether this is your first time being remote or you're a remote superstar from the Antarctica office, this collection of tips and best practices may help you get settled.

Communication

Be mindful of time zones. Your middle of the day may be someone’s 3:00 am, so when scheduling calls or pinging via Teams, don’t forget to take into account the time zone differences for all involved.

Turn on your video when on a call with your team (there’s a bunch of communication which is non-verbal). Occasionally show off your pets on said video. It’s the little things that make it all feel more human.

Some might have reduced bandwidth. Consider turning on video at the beginning during intro and turning it off during important parts if you experience hiccups.

During calls, make sure to wait a few extra seconds when asking if folks online have any comments. It can take time for folks to un-mute themselves, and sometimes things can chug or hiccup. It’s not as instant as it is face to face, so you don’t want to move on before folks can even get a word out on a call.

Some headsets have a hardware mute button and different conference software has hotkeys for mute/unmute. That can make it faster to unmute yourself.

If you are in a room full of people with a conference mic, speak loudly and clearly regardless of where you are sitting. While folks in the room may be able to hear you fine from 6-10 feet away, the conference room mic registers barely a whisper for those dialing in.

Mute your mic in big meetings, in small meetings it’s up to you—an unmuted mic will also give some of the incidental non-verbal (but vocal) indicators of what you’re thinking/feeling.

If you plan to present, prepare for meetings ahead of time by pre-loading web pages, powerpoints, or other presentation materials. During larger calls Teams can sometimes get bogged down, esp with many video sources at once, and this will cause the rest of your software to run slower. Having a room of 15+ people watch a web page load for 30 seconds is a great way to lose friends.

Summarize action items or conclusions in the call for everyone when one has been reached. Finalizing a conversation by summarizing the key take away is a great way to make sure the information is correct, and allows the folks on the call have a chance to hear it and respond if need be before the meeting moves on.

If you are leading/proctoring a meeting, be prepared to play switchboard operator if multiple people speak up at once. In person we use social cues and body language to naturally reach a speaking order, in a remote call someone is going to have to make sure only one person is speaking at a time, but also that everyone gets heard eventually. It can be as simple as “why don’t we have person A speak first, then person B” and let the conversation flow from there.

If someone has something to say but is waiting their turn, and the conversation veers in a different direction for a few mins, make sure to check back with the person who was waiting. It’s possible their comment was addressed during the course of that conversation, but don’t assume so. Offer them the chance to speak before the meeting moves on.

If you are presenting from your machine remotely, ZOOM IN. What looks fine to you on a home monitor may be microscopic on a projected screen in a room of 20 people. You can use the free ZoomIt tool from SysInternals and draw on the screen if you like.

If possible/acceptable, record meetings in Teams. This allows folks who weren’t able to attend, or may have otherwise missed a moment in the meeting due to a bandwidth hiccup, to catch up after the fact. Add the video link to your meeting notes when sending out (Teams will usually finish processing a recorded video within 10-15 mins of capturing it, and sends a notification to you in outlook that it’s ready).

Keep on top of your mails and Teams inboxes. If people can’t walk up to tap you on the shoulder, this is your only interface with your colleagues. Consider enabling pop up notifications or flashing task bar indicators for when you have unread messages.

Likewise, be aware that Teams chat is async by nature, just like e-mail. Expect more delay than when you walk to someone’s desk to ask them a question.

Never forget that there’s a real person behind every email address, Teams message, and DevOps Tickets.

You may have to “read the room” more as a remote worker. You may not be able to see someone’s body language to know whether or not they are joking, smiling, or upset about something.

It’s okay to take calls in casual clothes if you're comfortable and able. Don’t wear anything that’s offensive, explicit, etc - use your best judgment - but don’t feel like you have to get super dressed and be uncomfortable all day. Enjoy being home and wear your sweatpants!

It’s okay to eat on calls if it’s your dinner or lunch time, we do it all the time in the Boston office! Just mute your mic, chewing sounds are gross!!!!

Equipment

Make sure that you machine is properly enrolled in Intune and has VPN access before attempting to work from home

Make sure you have at least one of your comm tools (email, teams, slack) on your phone in addition to your laptop, so that you can let people know whats up if you lose power/internet at your home.

Keep your laptop batteries charged.

Get mobile with unlimited data if possible.

Stock up on necessary dongles, adapters, cords, and wires. Lack of necessary connectors can decrease your productivity.

Consider a headset for calls, specially ones with an easy to access mute button and fold down mic. It really can improve the quality of your audio. Webcams, specially those not at keyboard level (pointing up your nose) are also important.

Lifestyle

Take a little time to make your work environment pleasant. If you’re working in a mop closet with no windows, or the spare-room-equivalent thereof, you probably won’t be that productive. We’re complex beings. Put a plant on your desk, get some music going, clean.

You may wish to have a conversation with your kids that goes something like this: “Now, when I’m at my desk this week, it means I’m working. I can be interrupted a little bit sometimes, but most of the time I’ll need to be able to concentrate.”

You may wish to choose a work place in your house with a door to make this more explicit for children. “When this door is shut I am at work and you need to find your other parent”

EAT. You’ll forget to eat when you’re not surrounded by huge cafeterias or a team of people asking you what you want to do for lunch.

Working remotely can be lonely sometimes. Find a way to reproduce the feeling of that office chatter, or the casual hallway/water-cooler conversation. Music, podcast, background TV noise (when appropriate), etc.

Get some fresh air from time to time. Normally when you’re at the office you’re walking to/from the office and from your building to the cafeteria for coffee or lunch so you get outside quite a bit, but when working from home and the kitchen is just downstairs, you can very easily go a few days without actually leaving the house. It doesn’t need to be far, and with COVID19 around it probably shouldn’t be, but maybe sit on your porch while you drink your coffee, it helps clear the lungs and the head.

Good light is important. Having good lighting closer to natural light wavelengths makes the environment much more pleasant.

Build a routine of specific cues to help you switch into “work mode”. For example, you may still get dressed as you would if you were heading into the office to put you into the right mindset for the day.

Get interesting drinks and snacks!!! If you drink 12 cans of seltzer a day, make sure you have seltzer in your fridge. If you like getting peanut M&Ms from the team room at 2pm, grab some for your home! You’d be surprised how boring your regular drinks are when you’re used to fridges filled with flavorful things and a huge tea selection etc.

Things to avoid

If you are in a meeting room with other folks, try to keep side conversations and noises to a minimum. Imagine you are sitting in the center of the table and hear the things closes to the mic the loudest, because that’s how it is for anyone calling in.

Don’t sit right next to the microphone if you are going to be taking notes on a loud keyboard. It will drown out every voice in the room.

Don’t disclose sensitive information if there are others in your home office when you’re in a meeting. Generally speaking, it’s better to be using headphones if others are around.

Don’t direct a question to more than one individual at a time. This can be mildly awkward in person, but over a call it becomes nearly impossible to figure out who will speak first without any of the visual/bodily cues we normally rely on to resolve speaking order conflicts.

Don’t use whiteboards unless they are clearly visible to the room camera (and even then it can be tricky to see). Digital mediums present in Teams are always going to be superior for folks who are calling in.

What are your tips?

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