#spousal abuse mention tw

[faramirsonofgondor]

“Gabe isn’t abusive in the show” ARE WE WATCHING THE SAME SHOW???

Gabe is literally introduced by yelling at someone who, when Percy apologizes for Gabe’s behavior, says “I’m walking out, you’re walking in. I should be apologizing to you.” And then Percy reluctantly and slowly walks inside. And Gabe immediately starts in on him (calling him “Genius” in a mocking tone) as Percy repeatedly expresses that he just wants to talk to his mom ( and Gabe’s subsequent “Is that all you have to say to me?”) The fact that he answered Sally’s phone and acted like he had every right to do so?? The way he shows begrudging respect when thinks Percy was violent towards another kid at school?? The “you would think that because you’re a child, you don’t understand things…” The way he gets annoyed that Percy wants to know where his mother is. The “what are we doing Percy? every time! wow…wow!” in such a condescending tone??? Percy’s immediate alarm when Sally calls Gabe’s name. Gabe immediately yelling at Sally, not knowing anything about Percy’s life (he didn’t even know his school’s name despite literally just talking to them), the way he makes Sally negotiate to use the car (“Why am I okay with this?” “Make sure they put the hot peppers on my sandwich please!”) the way he acts like his tone of voice shouldn’t matter to Sally because he said “please” the aggressive behavior even after he concedes to letting them use the car (getting in Percy’s face, pointing his finger at him, etc.), like???

Just because he isn’t depicted as smacking the shit out of them doesn’t mean he isn’t abusive. He is constantly yelling, even when it’s not necessary, and is overall condescending and rude towards both Percy and Sally. He has a positive reaction towards the idea of Percy being violent, which means that he probably has no problems getting violent himself, even if it isn’t show on screen. The fact that he is constantly trying to redirect Percy and Sally’s decision to make himself the center of it (he is trying to goad Percy into an argument when he gets kicked out of school and overall keeps trying to redirect the conversation back to himself, he acts like he is allowed to breach Sally and Percy’s privacy but then makes Sally get his permission to drive somewhere, and even then she has to give him something in return). Like he is very clearly controlling and emotionally/financially abusive (he acts like Sally’s things are his despite not having a job and likely blowing through their money). It also seems like he tries to diminish Percy’s self esteem, possibly to keep him and Sally under his thumb (it’s a common tactic used by abusers to make the victims feel like the need to depend on the abuser). Overall, just because he might not be physically abusing them, doesn’t mean he isn’t abusing them and doesn’t mean his actions aren’t harmful. Furthermore, just because he isn’t violent on screen doesn’t mean he isn’t violent.

[nytehavyn-circle]

I'm gloing to tell you, right here, what I've told a couple of my friends today.

I'm going to cut and paste exactly what I told them today.

Maybe you'll understand a few things. Maybe you won't. Maybe you'll unfollow and/or block me, maybe you won't.

I've been sort of out of it the last few dy because I've been dealing with PTSD-related issues in my head, and in my nightmares as of late. It's why I've been clingy and needy latey.

Triggering subject matter under the cut.

Okay, I'm going to tell you why I have PTSD and nightmares and other shit. Maybe it might help you understand a bit why i am the way I am.

My first wife beat the fuck out of me on a daily basis, and my second wife (the marriage lasted a whole three months) was nasty as fuck - always trying to fight, always trying to gaslight me, etc,.

Every relationship I've ever had, all but two, has been abusive in some way - mentally, emotionally, and physically. I fell into that fucking trap a lot of domestic violence victims fall into - I kept getting involved with abusive people.

Now, the two that were actually good relationships but didn't last - one fo them, whom I loved dearly, could not handle being treated well in a relationship. My kindness toward her just confused the hell out of her, because all she knew was abuse. So, amicably, we parted ways. I would take her back in a heartbeat if she ever came back into my life. The second good relationship… we actually broke up and got back together twice. Until we finally realized we just made better friends than lovers. lol

Now, onto the worst of it: I've been raped twice. I won't go into detail, but suffice it to say that I didn't report either of the happenings because I'm a male, and even to this day most people don't believe a man can be raped.

So, all of that shit together is why I cling and hang onto nice and kind people when I find them, like you. Why I'm so touch starved, and, unfortunately, why I get hypersexual sometimes (even though the brain meds I'm on kill my sex drive a lot of the time and make it so I am usually half-impotent).

Now you know.

It's why I will bug the people I care about incessantly, whether or not they answer back. Because I need that connection. So, once again, I am sorry if anything I do makes you uncomfortable, if I love bomb you to the point you want noting to do to me, etc.

Also, this may be a part of it, it may not be, but it doesn't mean it's not real when it happens - when I fall in love with someone, I fall hard.

So being a bisexual polyamorous guy sucks sometimes. lol

But, there you go.

Maybe you care, maybe you don't. But at least maybe now, you'll understaand.

[helldustedstories]

Stolas' feathers have helped to cover quite a few physical injuries, over the years. Because of the colour of his feathers, especially, they hide most bruises. This made it easy for Paimon to ignore the consequences that physical correction had, as well as making it easier for Stella not to raise any questions if something she'd thrown had hit him or if she had slapped him.

While there aren't as many feathers on his arms, between them and the gloves he usually wears, the self-inflicted scars on his wrists are not usually visible. You can see them if you know what you're looking for, but it's much easier to feel them.

And now, in the aftermath of Striker's attack, his feathers hide even more.

[unovan-gardener]

Just because you locked him in with their special interest doesn't make it any less abuse.

The child feels isolated, unloved, hated while going though that.

Punishment shouldn't make a child feel like that.

It should be a learning experience.

What you did was terrifying to a little kid.

You sad excuse of a father.

What would your Wife think of you if she was here?

-G

//=D

My wife is dead.

She doesn't think much of anything anymore.

[snarklordjwc]

There's something that I have danced around in all of these posts which needs to be said. I don't feel comfortable talking about it but I also need to pretty badly. During my marriage we had a child. At first I believed that this would bring us closer together. We both wanted a child very badly and I loved my daughter dearly and sacrificed some of what little sleep I was getting to see her when I could.

My wife decided and gaslit me into the belief that we could not take care of our daughter. She would neither calm down on spending so I would be available to help and she said it was impossible to take care of the baby herself. Said that she would never be able to go to the bathroom because she couldn't put her down?

She wanted to send her off to her parents. She talked well and said that we would video call every week and many other promises we made. Additionally any resistance to this plan was met with extreme prejudice. When you sleep less than 4 hours daily on average and are dealing with constant abuse you have very little will and almost less wisdom. Eventually I made the biggest mistake of my life and stopped fighting it. My daughter went to live with my wife's parents and I have never been allowed to see so much as a single second of her again.

I do not know where my daughter is. I do not know if she is alright. I may never know.

[shardminds]

Ok I have a prompt for you!!! Eris, not the moment he becomes high lord, but a week later when all the novelty and sense of victory is gone. How might he feel?

love you, marissa!

cleansing. eris centric / 228w (tw for mention of spousal and child abuse!)

It took a few days to decide what to do with the table that spanned the length of the Forest House’s dining room. It was priceless, really. Rich mahogany inlaid with amber and gold — his grandfather’s grandfather had carved it long before the courts were split. It was as much Vanserra blood as he was. Witness to countless dinners, deliberations, and too many betrayals to count.

Eris’ knees were too familiar with the stone floor by the table’s head. Punishments delivered by rage-warmed hands. And he’d removed those first. The hands.

“I’m sure we could make use of it,” His mother, broken fingers still slowly healing, traced the leaves carved into its surface. Beron’s final gift still blistered at her wrist. “It’s quite—”

“Burn it.” He said, flames snapping to his own fingertips as if called. Power ached in a way it never had before. Heavy, begging to be touched. His own fire had been near militant, obedient to a fault, trained into submission after centuries of practice. But this? Oh, how he’d let it burn the whole court to the ground if he could, raze everything Baron Vanserra ever loved until there was nothing but ash and a throne of golden leaves. A cleansing.

He hated that fucking table.

Eris touched two fingers to its edge and watched the smoke as it disintegrated. Nothing more than charcoal.

[chickensarentcheap]

Lost and Found- Chapter 32

Fandom: Extraction

Pairing: Tyler Rake x Esme Drummond (previously established OFC. You do not need to read the other fics in the series to understand this one)

Warnings: profanity, VERY brief mentions of childhood cancer, child death, spousal abuse

Tagging: @tragiclyhip @youflickedtooharddamnit @secretaryunpaid @watermeezer @alisbackalleybbq

@ninjasawakenedmystar @kmc1989 @asirensrage @residentdormouse @arrthurpendragon

@ocappreciationtag @occommunity @munstysmind @themaradwrites

@karimac @fanficanatic-tw

My tag list is OPEN. Just let me know if you’d like to be added :D

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43179357/chapters/143167123

This is messy. I'm messy. My life is messy. But, yeah...anyway...

****

  After nearly an hour of being submersed in a bubble bath while enjoying half a bottle of white wine, she checks on Millie.  The exhausted four-year-old long ago tucked in by her dad; barely making it through two bedtime stories before drifting off in the secure and comfortable confines of her new bed.  One arm curled around her stuffed koala, the other around her doll Posie; her chest rising and falling with each soft, rhythmic breath, her sun-kissed skin a stark contrast against her crisp sheets.  Lucy and Bea keeping their eyes on their young charge; curled up together at the end of the bed, the cat’s body completely covering Millie’s feet.   

Gingerly tiptoeing around the room, she tidies up the remaining toys and books that hadn’t been put away; gathering errant laundry and tossing it in the hamper before moving to the bed.   Carefully and tenderly smoothing down Millie’s blankets and tucking them around her body, before running a palm over the top of her head; lips lingering on her daughter’s brow as she kisses her goodnight.  Giving Lucy and Bea scratches and pets and showering them with praise for being such good ‘siblings’; instructing them to ‘keep an eye on your little girlie’ before slipping from the room.

Briefly returning to the guest room, she tosses her damp hair up into a messy bun and snags a plaid shirt of Tyler’s off the back of the door; slipping it over her simple white cami and baggy satin pants as she heads downstairs.  The screen door audibly squeaks as she steps onto the front porch; the wood planks smooth and cool under her bare feet as she pads towards the end of the deck. As she approaches, he glances up from his cell phone; lounging lengthways across the patio swing with one leg dangling over the edge and the other stretched out across the cushion.  

He greets her with a smile.  Quickly switching off his phone and setting it on the deck. “You check on her?”

“Of course.  She’s down for the count. When she does finally crash, she crashes hard.”

He reaches for her. A hand on her hip as she lowers herself down onto the swing; settling herself between his legs, her own stretched out as she leans back against him.  Resting a forearm across her collarbone,  his hand sneaks its way through the opening of the plaid shirt; palm flat against her skin,  fingers splayed,  the tips of three meeting the neckline of her cami.  His free hand moves from hip to stomach; lips pressing a series of kisses on her cheek, ear, temple, and side of her head. 

 His eyes briefly close as he inhales deeply.  “You smell good. I’m surprised you still use that stuff.”

“Why would I stop? It’s always been your favourite.”

“How many other guys got to smell it over the last five years? They all tell you it was their favourite, too?”

She scowls over her shoulder.

“I’m kidding.”  Placing a kiss on the corner of her mouth, they lapse into a comfortable silence. Enjoying the cool, crisp breeze,  rustling of the treetops, and the chirping of the crickets in the nearby bushes. And he plants a foot on the deck, easily moving the swing back and forth as his calloused fingertips continuously swirl across the swells of both breasts and her collarbone.

Her fingers push through his as his palm rests on her stomach. “I remember when we first bought this place and we would talk about this;  getting a swing and hanging out on it every night.  Talking and relaxing and just enjoying one another.   I’m kind of surprised; that you went through with getting one.”

“Why would that surprise you?”

“Well,  it wasn’t exactly your thing . You just went along with it because I wanted one.”

“I knew it would make you happy.  I remember you talked about the swing at your grandparents' place;  you and your grandma sitting out on it,  knitting and crocheting and even bird watching. It was something you wanted. So why wouldn’t I give it to you?”

“You always have spoiled me.”

“Baby, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

“I guess I didn’t think you’d get one if I wasn’t around.  That you’d want to avoid something like that; being surrounded by things that would remind you of me.”

“That’s exactly what I did get them. So they would remind me of you.”

Smiling,  she tilts her face up towards him; his lips covering hers in a long, soft kiss. And she gives a long, content sigh when she pulls away, tucking her head under his chin.

“Things went pretty good, yeah?” A fingertip draws a slow circle around her navel.  With Alcott and Mia here. Wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be.”

“Your feathers didn’t seem too ruffled. Being around her.”

“Why would they be?”

“It’s not always easy being around an ex.  Even under the best of circumstances. But when it’s someone you’ve been through some really difficult shit with…”

“That was years ago.  And the marriage was practically over before the bad shit even happened, so…”

“It still happened.  You still went through it.  With her.  There’s kind of a bond, don’t you think? Left behind? How can there not be?”

“Do you have a bond with your ex?”

“It’s two totally different situations. My ex nearly killed me.  He put me in the ICU.  You can’t compare Mia to him.  I know things were rough between the two of you and things were over before your son even got sick, but…”

“I don’t think I like where you’re going with this.”

“...but they weren’t completely horrible, either.  You didn’t hate each other.  There was no abuse…of any kind…going on.  You just weren’t as compatible as you thought you were.”

“It was a little more than that.  What does it matter, anyway?  That was years ago.  Before I even knew you existed.  My son had already been dead for a few years. When we met.”

“But you didn’t get closure… real closure…until after me.  I’d already been gone two years; when you took the job in Georgia and Mia showed up at the prison to see you.”

“Esme, I don’t want to fight.”

“I’m not fighting.”

“Not yet. But it sounds like you want to.”

“I’m merely pointing out why it would be understandable if things were a little tense. Or why there might be some lingering bond between the two of you.”

“I don’t know what you thought you saw or heard while she was here, but nothing is lingering between us. Never mind some kind of imaginary bond.”

“You were married to her. She was your wife.”

“You’re right, she was . Past tense.  She’s now my EX-wife.  And she was going to be my ex-wife whether my son got sick or not.  There’s no bond.   Nothing that ties us together.  We’re only in each other’s lives because she’s banging someone I know.  That’s it.”

“So you felt nothing? When you saw her?”

“I mean, I guess it was good to see her again; know that she’s happy and doing well and her life seems to be going how she wants it to.”

“But you felt nothing?  No stirring of anything? No fond memories? Nothing warm and fuzzy?”

“Why are you even asking me this? If you saw Mark, would you feel anything towards him?”

“You mean other than the fact he’d send me into a homicidal rage? No.”

“Did you expect to feel something?  Want me to? So we could fight about it after?”

“Of course I didn’t want you to.  And I don’t want to fight. I just…”

“Mia hasn’t been a part of my life in a long time.  Doesn’t matter if we were married or not.  I don’t feel anything for her.  In the slightest.   I love you .  Only you.  It’s been only you for years.  And it’ll be only you until the day I die. Or you kill me. Whichever comes first.”

“If you don’t learn to put your dirty underwear and socks in the laundry hamper, trust me, I will end up killing you.”

“Don’t ever ask me something like that again, okay?  Because you should know better. Do you really think I would have been okay with her coming here if I felt anything for her? I would’ve kept the two of you apart.”

“I’ll admit…”  Lifting the heavy forearm from her chest, she rolls onto her stomach, pressing herself against him. “.. I didn’t stop to think about that .”

“I’d never disrespect you like that.  I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a total prick.”

“Just a bit of one,” she teases.

“Mia is nothing to me.  But you’re everything. You and Millie.”

“It was harder than I thought it would be; being around her.  And that’s not because of any personality flaw on her part;  she was more than friendly, and we got along well. Not to mention she was amazing with Millie.  It’s all on me. Feeling awkward, inferior…”

“Why would you feel any of those things?  Mia isn’t in my life. You are. I love you .  And if I have to tell you that a million times a day for the rest of my life…”

“I’m jealous, I guess.  That she got to be with you. That…”

“That makes no sense.  Aren’t you with me? Right now?”

“It’s just a little unsettling;  coming face to face with your past.  I knew you were married;  that you had a wife and son.  I knew all about things falling apart;  you wanting a divorce before even finding out your son was sick and then him getting cancer and you leaving and him dying while you were away.  You never held anything back when we were in Dhaka.  But hearing things and actually seeing them?  I wasn’t prepared for how that would make me feel.”

“I told you when Alcott called that I didn’t think it was a good idea if he brought her.  I was okay with it; I’d closed that chapter years ago.  But I knew it wasn’t going to end well. For you .  That you’d seem alright with at first, and then all hell would break loose later.  But you said you were fine with it and it wouldn’t let it bother you…”

“And it didn’t. Not at first anyway.  But now they’re gone and I’ve had time to think about it…”

Sighing, Tyler brushes loose strands of hair off her brow. “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?”

“You get yourself all worked up and backed into a corner and it’s like you don’t hear a damn word I say.  I could tell you a million times; how much I love you and only you and how you’re the most beautiful woman in the world and no one else might as well exist.  But it doesn’t seem to matter.  It doesn’t seem to register with you.”

“It’s not that I don’t hear you.  Or that I don’t believe what you say. It’s just…I don’t know…I guess I’m just a little insecure.”

“Yeah, just a bit.”

“I’ve always been like this.   You know that.   I’ve got tons of confidence in other things;  how well I do my job,  how ‘book smart’ I am. Sometimes even my parenting skills.   But when it comes to me ? How I look and what I offer someone else? Not so much.”

“For what it’s worth, you’ve got a lot to offer.  You’ve just never been around anyone that appreciated any of it.”

“You know, sometimes you say some profound shit.  Have you been on my phone? Listening to my podcasts? I’m pretty sure I heard something just like that on one of them.”

“I only did that once.  And it was some kind of sex podcast.  Why do you even need to listen to that one? It’s not like you’re not getting taken care of. Properly.”

“Hey, you never know. One day I might hear something even we haven’t tried.”  Laying her cheek on his shoulder,  she reaches up to continuously run a finger along the curve of his chin. Several minutes passing before she raises her head to look at him. “You know it’s not you, right?”

“What’s not me?”

“The way I can be sometimes.  All insecure and neurotic.   It has nothing to do with you.”

“I know.  I lived with you for a year, remember?  I’m not a rookie.”

“I just hate feeling inferior. Like I’m in competition with someone.”

“Who the hell would you have to compete with? There’s no one else, Esme. There’s just you.  Which is exactly the way I want things.   And inferior? To who? Mia? What the fuck are you…”

“She’s not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“Not… that.  I totally painted a picture in my mind of what she’d look like. And the only thing I got right is her being tall.   I thought she’d be some kind of beach babe;  all long and toned and lanky,  blond hair, green or blue eyes.”

“Yeah, you were way off.”

“I didn’t think she’d be so beautiful.  Or so intelligent and sophisticated.  So…I don’t know…put together.  And it… she made me feel like I’d never measure up. No matter how hard I tried.”

“You don’t need to try and do anything.  I don’t expect you to be like her.  I don’t want you to be.  You’re inferior to no one, Esme.  There’s not one person in this world that can even come close to you. And I know sometimes…maybe even all the time…it’s hard for you to believe that, but it’s true. Would I ever lie to you? About anything?”

“No.”

“What is it you say sometimes?  About how I’m ‘nothing if not brutally honest’? I would never bullshit you.  Especially about something like this.  I don’t love Mia.  I don’t think I ever did.  But I never question how I feel about you.  I never have. Not even when you weren’t around.”

“I just…” She chews pensively on her bottom lip. “...I was a little weirded out, okay?  About how much we look alike.”

“Who looks alike?”

“Mia and I.”

He can’t help but chuckle.  “What?  What are you talking about?  You two look nothing alike.”

“You can’t tell me you don’t see it.  The resemblance.”

“Esme, I am telling you, I do not see it.  You don’t look like her at all.”

“We could be sisters.”

“The hell you could.”

“Dark hair, dark eyes…”

“Have you ever considered that maybe I just like brunettes?”

“You honestly don’t see it? It wasn’t intentional? Picking me?  You didn’t do it because I reminded you of her?”

“That never even crossed my mind when we met. I have never put the two of you in the same category.  Ever.  You look like nothing and you are nothing like her.  You are a completely different person; inside and out.  And that’s why I ‘picked’ you.  Why I was attracted to you.”

“I don’t know…”  She fidgets with the ‘chain’ around his neck. A thin strip of braided paracord with a custom-made dog tag; engraved with birth date, emergency contact name and number, blood type, and various allergies.  A must-have in the mercenary world; a way of communicating your needs if you’re injured and unable to do so yourself.  And in the worst-case scenario, identifying your body.  “...I see it.”

“You’re probably going to get really pissed at what I’m about to say and I know I’m risking being banished to the couch for it, but what you’re seeing? What you’re thinking? That’s all up in here.”  He gently taps a fingertip against her brow.  “It’s all in your head, Me.  You are nothing like her.  And I mean that in the best possible way.”

“You don’t think I look like her?  Not even a little bit?”

“I am telling you the truth. I don’t see it.  Not in the slightest.  And I know you can’t help it. It’s not your fault that you get like this.  I know why you do it, and I know what…and who…caused it.  But I’m not him.  I’ll never be him.”

“I know that.”

“Do you? Because sometimes  I wonder.   I’m sorry that he treated you the way he did.  You didn’t deserve any of that.  But I can’t keep paying for his mistakes.  I spent a year doing it. When we first met. But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life… our life…doing it.  I’m not the enemy, Esme. Regardless of what your brain tells you.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be like this. I don’t mean to treat you like that.  I know you’re not him.  I know that you never will be.  But it’s so hard sometimes. Even now. Getting past all of that.  And I hate that I get this way. Because I love you and I don’t want to hurt you and…”

“You’re not hurting me. You’re hurting us .  You get that, yeah?”

She nods

“There’s only you.” Cradling her face in his palms, he kisses her. Long and soft and sweet.  “There will always be only you.”

****  

His foot continues the rocking of the swing. Her body now resting on its side on top of his; her head on his chest and both of his arms around her. One hand on her hip, and the other on the small of her back.  Both of her arms wrapped around his one bicep.

She presses a kiss to the side of his neck. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Being you. And for loving me like you do.  I know I’m hard to put up with sometimes.  I’m not an easy person to live with.”

“And I am?”

“You’re no picnic.  But I think sometimes I’m the bigger nuisance.”

“You’re not a nuisance at all.”

She glances up at him.

“Okay, maybe just a little bit of one.” Shooting her a playful wink, he drops a kiss on her brow.  One hand moves to the back of her head,  drawing it back down into his chest; fingers pushing through her hair and continuously and softly kneading at her scalp.

“When do you go back to work?”

“By ‘work’ I’m assuming you mean the normal, everyday shit. Not the mercenary stuff.”

She nods.

“There’s nothing etched in stone.  Before I left for New York I told my boss I didn’t know when I’d be back;  I had personal shit to tend to and I wasn’t sure how long it would  take.”

“He was okay with that?”

“I have a lot of vacation days stored up.  Besides, we’re not the busiest station. They won’t miss me.”

“What about the business?”

“Koen has things under control.  If he needs me, he can just call or text.”

“Does he know? About me? And Millie?”

“I told him you’d gotten into some trouble and hired me to get you out of it. And yeah, he knows. About Millie.”

“What did he say?”

“I didn’t give him a chance to say much.  There was too much going and I didn’t need to add any of his bullshit to my plate.  I told him we’d talked about; when I got back into town and had more time on my hands.”

“Is he the one that did Millie’s room?”

“I gave him a list.  Stuff that would get things started. So she’d have something to work with when she got here.”

“Speaking of lists…”

“I’ve seen her list.  The kid knows what she likes and what she wants, I’ll give her that.”

“You know, you don’t have to cross off every item on it.”

“The hell I don’t.”  

“She doesn’t expect the world, Tyler.  I haven’t been raising her like that.  She’s not the kind of kid that throws a fit because she doesn’t get everything she wants.”

“She may not expect the world, but I’d do anything to give it to her. Her and her mum.”

“This is a battle I’m not going to win, isn’t it.  You’re going to spoil her senseless, aren’t you.”

“Every chance I get.” 

“So no work for a bit?”

“Are you hoping I go back? Trying to get rid of me? Out of your hair?”

“I just want to know how long we’ll have you all to ourselves.”

“I’ll hang around for as long as you want me to.  There’s no rush.   It’s not like we need the money. There’s no chance of running out in our lifetimes.  Or even Millie’s, for that matter. So if you want me to stay home even longer than planned....”

“Well, we do have five years to make up for. I don’t think your boss will like it though. You staying off for too long.”

“I don’t give a fuck what he likes or dislikes.  I’ve got you and Millie now. A family. The two of you are my priority.  If he has a problem with that, he can fire my ass. Then I’ll go and get a job at another station.  His isn’t the only one that exists.”

“I’m just not ready to share you. With anyone.”

“Millie might have something to say about that.”

“Obviously she’s an exception.   It’s been a long five years.  I need to have you around for a bit.  But can you do me a small favour?”

“Anything.”

“Can you not get fired until I get a chance to see you in your uniform? And your turn-out gear?”

“Baby, I will wear those out of work. Just for you.”

“Oooo…”  Pressing a kiss to his ear, she gently bites down on the lobe. “...kinky.”

With a hand on the back of her head, he pulls her into a kiss; both her arms circling his neck as she eagerly responds. And she gives a small yelp when he slaps a palm against an ass cheek and then pinches the supple flesh through the fabric of her pyjamas.  Rolling onto his side, he brings her with him;  his back against the rear cushion, her head tucking into the crook of his elbow as one leg slips between both of his. 

She pulls back to look at him, two fingers sweeping hair off his forehead.  “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean? What…?”

“You’ve been a little… off …since Mia and Alcott left.”

“Jesus fuck, let’s not get into that again.”

“I’m not insinuating they had anything to do with it. I’m just saying you’ve been a little disconnected.  Closed off.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“Your shoulders are tight and you’ve got the line that pops up in the middle of your forehead.  Not to mention your eyes are darker.”

“You really do know me better than I know myself.”

“You’ve never been good at hiding it. When something’s bothering you.  So what is it? What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”

Tyler frowns. “Excuse me?”

“Regardless of what you think…”  She runs a fingertip over the scar on the bridge of his nose.  “...you can be both badass and beautiful at the same time. “

“You’re full of shit.”

“Look how beautiful Millie is.  She looks just like you. So you’re  not going to win this argument.”

“I rarely win an argument with you. Even when I know I’m right about something.”

“You know how to pick your battles.  Sometimes,  it’s just better to surrender. If you know what’s good for you.  But seriously…”  She trails a fingertip along his jaw. “...what’s up?  And don’t say nothing.  I always know when you’re lying.”

“You know how you talked about there being a ‘let down’? After everything that’s happened in the last two weeks? Hell, even in the last five years?  How it's been a lot for you to deal with? How suffocating and overwhelming it is?”

Esme nods.

“I think I’m starting to feel it.”

“Well, I think that’s pretty normal.  You are human.  And it’s not like it was a regular job.  It was extremely personal.”

“It’s all catching up to me.  What we’ve been through. And not just in New York City.”

“Do you regret it? Showing up there? Do you…?”

“Why the hell would you even ask me that?  You and Millie are the only good things I have in my life.  The best thing I ever did was take that job.  Other than six years. When I went along with Nik’s dumb ass ‘fake marriage plan’.”

“It may have been a dumbass idea, but it worked, didn’t it? In more ways than one.”

“I’ve never regretted anything when it comes to you.  Not even after you left. I never once wished I’d never met you.  Even if you did rip my heart out of my fucking chest.  Nothing could ever make me regret you.”

“ I don’t deserve that.  Someone loving me like  I don’t…”

“I’m not trying to sound like a prick when I say this, but you’re not exactly the best judge of character when it comes to  things you deserve.” 

Grinning, she presses a chaste kiss to his lips and tousles his hair. “ Touché . So…”  She pushes her hand through his dirty blond tresses, allowing the longer strands to slip through her fingers. “...is there we talk about?  What’s going on with you?”

“It’s like you;  we’re at the end of things, and it’s all starting to catch up to me. You’re right; it is overwhelming.”

She lays her forearm across his collarbone, chin on top, waiting.

“I don’t even know what to say.  Or how to describe it.”

“There’s no rush. Take your time. I’ve got all night.”

Sighing,  he briefly closes his eyes;  stringing thoughts and words together inside his head;  hands repeatedly travelling up and down her back before settling on her hips.  

“I’m tired, Me. I am so fucking tired.  I’ve spent three-quarters of my life fighting; either someone or something. And I can’t do it anymore. I’m forty years old and most days I feel eighty.” 

“Life hasn’t been kind to you. And you haven’t been kind to yourself .  You’ve shouldered so much; since you were just a little boy.  You didn’t deserve the cards you were dealt.”

“Some of it was my fault.  I can admit that.  I’m not arrogant enough to think I’ve never done anything wrong.  I  made some shitty fucking choices.   And I didn’t exactly cope with things properly; I got into the drinking and the meds and fucked myself up even more.  Let’s not pretend I’m innocent. I did bring some of this… a lot of this…on myself.”

“I’m the first one to tell you when you’ve fucked up.  I’ve never held back on that.”

“You’re the only one that’s ever had the balls to do it. Which is kinda funny considering you never grew past the age of twelve and I can pick you up and put you in my pocket.”

“I don’t know if it’s so much that I have ‘balls’. I think it comes down to how much I love you.  How much I hate seeing you beat yourself up all the time. And you know what I learned? Pretty much right after we met? You’re the type of person who needs to take accountability. For your own peace of mind.”  

“I treated people horribly. People who deserved a hell of a lot better. Who actually gave a fuck about me.”

“Mia.”

“And my son.  Things weren’t great.  Long before he got sick.  Our marriage was a mess; I wasn’t capable of putting them first and she wasn’t capable of being with someone like me.  She didn’t want that kind of life; a husband and kids.  Not really.  She thought she did. That she’d be okay with travelling from base to base,  country to country.  But she wasn’t happy. Not with me, anyway.”

“I think it was less about you as a person and more about you as a soldier.  I don’t think she was prepared for that; the life that came with being with someone like you.  Even I didn’t like it after a while and I’d been in that life myself. I was in the corps before I married a Marine.  Became a military wife. And even I struggled.”

“She wasn’t perfect.  Not by a long shot.  Neither of us were.  But she didn’t deserve what I did to her.  I couldn’t give her what she wanted; someone devoted entirely to her.  She needed her career.  She needed to be close to her family.  And being with me didn’t give her either of those things.”

“Did you want to be with her?  In your heart of hearts?  Can you look back at things now and say you were in love with her?  That you got involved for the right reasons? That you truly wanted to be married and have kids and…”

“I did want those things. I wanted to be a husband. A dad.   But I don’t think I wanted those things with her .  I just convinced myself I did.”

“Did you love her?”

“I don’t know. I think I did.  I think I loved her based on what I thought love was.  Now I realize I may have loved her, but I wasn’t in love with her.”

She nods slowly as she considers his words.

“Makes me sound like a real fucking prick, doesn’t it.”

“No. It makes you sound honest.”

“Did you love Mark? Before he became a complete fucking asshole?”

“I don’t know,” she admits.  “I was so young.  Naive.  And he made so many promises;  he wanted to take me away,  give me an amazing life,  and love me forever.  Or so he said.  I realize now he was always full of shit; he’d jumped right into the love bombing and I was too dumb and inexperienced to recognize it. I was so desperate for an escape and he knew that.  And he used it against me; said everything he knew I wanted to hear.  He got me exactly where he wanted me and then showed his true colours.  In the worst possible ways.”

“He really does bring out the homicidal tendencies in me.”

“He wouldn’t be worth your time. Or your energy.  Not to mention I think he’d be terrified of you.”

“Good.”

“Sometimes I do think about it.  The two of you coming face to face. You just going absolutely fucking feral on him.  I won’t lie; it would give me an immense amount of satisfaction. Seeing him suffer.”

“Then let’s make it happen. Just give me his address and we’ll catch the first flight out of here and you’ll get yourself some quality entertainment.”

“As much as I would enjoy seeing him get demolished and I love you for wanting to defend my honour, I’d rather you stay out of jail. Wasn’t once enough?”

“You could get me out there. You managed the first time.”

“I think I’ve called in every possible favour I’ve ever had coming to me. So let’s not take the chance, okay?  Let’s just keep you right where you are.  Here with me and Millie.”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.” 

She smiles as she receives a kiss on her forehead, then she settles her cheek on his chest.  They lounge in silence, listening to the creak of the swing, the crickets, and the rustle of the leaves; his hand slipping up the back of her cami and moving in slow, repetitive circles in the middle of her spine. And when he feels her move against him,  he opens his eyes and finds her staring up at him. “What?”

“I know there’s more.  And don’t even try to deny it.”

“Damn, you’re good.”

“The best.  In many ways.”

“I won’t argue with that.”  

She places her chin on his chest,  a fingernail continuously scratching across his beard.

“I keep thinking about something that happened in Dhaka, with Ovi.  When we were at Gaspar’s place.   He talked about his dad; sitting across the table from him and knowing that he’d killed someone that day.  And how it made him feel sick.”

“His father was a horrible person.  Drug dealing, gun running, racketeering.   Look at the mess he got his son into. Never mind that he threatened to kill Saju’s wife and son if he didn’t get Ovi back from Asif. He was a monster, Tyler. Don’t…”

“Right now, Millie looks at me like I’m some kind of hero.   I protect good people and save them from bad people. To her it’s cool; I’m big and I’m strong and I kick all kinds of ass.”

“She’s four years old, babe.  She’s just a little girl.”

“That’s exactly my point.  Right now, all that matters to her is that I stick up for people who can’t stick up for themselves. Her mother needed help and I showed up.  I kept her mum and her safe;  I got you away from all the bad stuff and New York City and to somewhere safe.”

“You’re her dad .  That’s how she sees you.   You’re her daddy and her daddy just so happens to help people. She doesn’t need to know the details; the kinds of skills you have and the things you’ve had to do to survive.  She doesn’t…”

“But she’s going to grow up, Me.  And she’s going to start asking questions. About what I used to do. She’ll remember everything that went down in New York;  Alessio’s people coming after you and her, the sniper at the Continental, having to sneak her out of there and take her somewhere safe.  She already talks about the bad guys all the time;  about how she’s not scared of them anymore because I’m around to keep her and her mum safe. If she’s only four and she’s already talking like that…”

“There’s years before anything like that happens. Before she starts to question what you really did for a living. Right now she’s tiny and innocent. She feels safe and secure. And we need to keep it that way. For as long as we can.”

“But what about when she does ask? Because it will happen.  Have you thought about what you’re going to tell her?  When she asks why the bad guys came after the two of you?”

“I haven’t,” Esme admits.  “I figured I had more time;  to think about what I’d say when I needed to say it.”  

“I’ve done some horrible fucking  things. And not everyone I’ve done them to have deserved it.”

“But more have .”

“I have so much blood on my hands.  That I’ll never be able to wash off.   What do I tell Millie? When she finds out what I really did for a living. The extent of it.  When she finds out I killed people? For money.”

“You tell her that the things you did? You did them to help people.  And to survive.  She doesn’t need to know anything else.”

His voice is gravelly as he speaks around a lump of emotion sitting in his throat. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this. This life.  Not the one with you and Millie. The…”

“The mercenary one.”

“I don’t have much left in me.   I know I can protect you;  if someone were to show up and cause problems and try to get to you and Millie.  There’s no way they’d even get close to either of you.  But beyond that…”

“It’s almost over; that part of your life.  Once Nik takes care of things in New York City, and ties up all the loose ends, you can walk away. For good .  We can have a normal existence. Whatever normal is.  You can go back to firefighting and running your business and Millie can go to school and we can sign her up for all those things she wants to try.”

“And you? What are you going to do?  Go back to school?  If you got accepted for the nursing program the first time, I’m sure you won’t have trouble with a second.”

“I think that ship has sailed.  Honestly, I think I’m perfectly content being a homemaker;  focusing on being a wife and a mother.”

“If that’s what you want, I have your back.  It’s not like it isn’t doable; the well isn’t going to run dry.  Not in our lifetime.  Probably not even in Millie’s.”

“I’ll have a lot of things to keep me busy.  Decorating, gardening, baking.  Growing babies.”

“I love how you just casually threw that last one in.  Where’d that come from?”

“I’ve just been thinking about it.  A lot , actually.”

“I thought you wanted to wait.  Six months to a year.  Isn’t that what you said?”

“It is.  But like I said, I’ve been thinking a lot about it and I don’t see why we can’t do things sooner.  Millie will be five; I don’t want there to be too much of a gap between her and a sibling. And we lost five whole years;  we can’t get any of that time back.  So is it really so bad to rush into things? To get married and start adding to our family?  It won’t stop us from doing what we planned;  finding a therapist and working through things and making them… us …better.”

“I just want you to be sure.  That it’s what you really want.”

“You have to want it, too.  I can’t exactly make babies on my own.”

Cupping her face in his palms, he presses a long, soft kiss to her lips. “I want it too.”

“So does that mean we can start ASAP? No more playing it safe?  We can just let nature take its course?”

“If it happens, it happens.”

“Kinda scary, huh? The thought of more than one Millie running around the place?”

“You kidding? She’s an angel.”

“So was Lucifer.”  She squeals when he aggressively pinches her ass, then giggles when he shoves a hand through her hair and yanks her into a kiss;  much longer and hungrier, her body pressed tightly against his,  hands slipping up the back of his shirt, nails lightly and repeatedly travelling up and down his back. And she sighs when he finally breaks away, both breathless as he wraps both arms around her.  

Rolling onto his side, he keeps a protective hand on the small of her back and the nape of her neck to prevent her from falling off the swing. His calloused fingertips gently scraping against soft, warm skin. “I just want to be someone you can be proud of.”

Esme pulls back to look at him. “Where’d that come from?”

“I just want to be the kind of husband and father you can brag about.  When you’re out with your friends.”

“What friends?”

Tyler frowns.

“Even if I did have friends, when did you start caring what other people think about you? You’ve never given a shit before.”

“I don’t care what other people think about me. I care what you think about me.  And if you ever do get a chance to brag. I’d like to be someone you can actually brag about.”

“You already are.”

He stares at her pointedly.

“I’ve always been proud of you.  There’s never been a reason not to be.”

“I’m a mercenary.  I kill people. For money.  That doesn’t exactly come with bragging rights.”

“It’s what you did, not who you are.  And I’d never tell anyone something like that anyway.  First of all, it’s none of their goddamn business. Second, we both know it’s a security risk; telling people what we actually do.  All the bridges we’ve burned and the toes we’ve stepped on?  No one can be trusted with that kind of information.”

“And you call me paranoid?”

“I’ve always been proud of you, Tyler.  I know how far you’ve come.  I know how big of a mess you were when we met;  how close you were to drinking yourself to death. or ODing on pain meds, or putting a gun in your mouth.  And I was there; in Dhaka and on that bridge.  I saw what happened to you.  And how hard you fought to make your way back.  I know I like to joke about how I'm the main reason you stuck around in the first place…”

“You were the main reason. Hell, you were the only reason.” 

“But you did all the hard work.   I know how difficult it was; how painful and tiring all those therapies were.  It was a long process; getting back on your feet. No one would have blamed you for throwing in the towel. But you never did.”

“I had a reason not to. Do you really think I would have given a fuck if you hadn’t been around?”

“I think eventually you would have.  Nik or Keon would have smacked some sense into you, for sure.  And I know I complain sometimes about how stubborn you are…”

“Sometimes?”

“…but it’s not always a bad thing.  You’ve shown more than once that you don’t give up easily.”

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. When it comes to why I’m even still here.” 

“I’ve always been proud of you. For a lot of different reasons. And I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like I wasn’t.”

“You’re the only person who’s never made me feel that way. Like I’m some kind of failure.”

“Believe me, you are anything but.”

“I have an ex-wife and a dead kid that would disagree with you.”

“I knew this would happen. That her being here would bring all this up. No matter how much closure she gave you when she showed up at that prison. Why didn’t you just say ‘no’? When Russell called and asked if he could bring her here?”

“I didn’t want him to think I was a total prick. Or more of a prick than he already knows  I am. And the last thing I needed was him thinking I didn’t want her here because I’m jealous or some shit.”

“Are you? Jealous?  That he’s with her?”

“I don't give a shit who either of them are fucking. Don’t ask me something like that ever again.  I didn’t say no because I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal; if you could deal with her being here, so could I.”

“I’m not the one who has a past with her.”

“That's just it. It’s a past. Which is why I didn’t think it would bother me.”

“You know what I think? I think it’s a mix of a whole bunch of different things. That has you dwelling on stuff and getting overwhelmed by it. You’ve always been like this. I could always tell when things were piling up on you because you’d spend so much time inside your head.  I know it’s been a long, really tiring two weeks.  But we’re almost there. It’ll be finished soon. And then we can just move on and enjoy our new life.”

“I just want to do things right this time. I want to be the kind of husband and dad you and Millie want and need.  Deserve .  I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“You won’t.  And you already are what we need and want.  We love you. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t. You really need to get out of your head. Stop listening to all that bullshit inside of it.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Trust me, I know. I have my own shit that lives rent-free in my brain.”

“Just a bit.”

“But you’ve always been the one to help me deal with it.  You’ve always managed to  shut all those mean, ugly voices up.  Maybe it’s time for me to be that person for you.”

“You are that person, Esme. You always have been.”

Smiling,  she ruffles his hair and tucks her head under his chin.

“The only  peace I’ve ever known in my life has been when I’m with you.”

She pulls back to look at him. Taken back to the honesty in his voice and the sincerity in his eyes. “Really?”

Nodding, he presses his lips to her brow, then lays a hand on the back of her head and draws her into his chest. “Thanks for that.”

*****

“Mommy?” Millie’s voice -just above a whisper and trembling with emotion- jars her from a deep, comfortable sleep.  And a tiny hand rests upon her shoulder; shaking as insistently and vigorously as possible.  “Momma. Wake up. Wake up, momma please.”

Her eyes snap open; blinking against the strands of moonlight that greet them.  “Amelia…” She reaches out; brushing wayward pieces of dirty blond hair off her daughter's forehead and out of her eyes. “…what is. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I had a bad dream. A really bad dream. I made a mess in my bed. And all over my jammies. Posie got wet too.”

“Alright…” 

Tossing off the layer of blankets, she swings her legs over the side of the bed; wrapping both arms around Millie and lifting her into her lap. Ignoring the urine-soaked pyjamas in favour of cuddling her daughter close; one hand on the back of Millie's head as she holds it against her shoulder,  the other rubbing slow, comforting circles on the little one’s stomach.  Lips to the four-year-old’s temple as she quietly sings “Here Comes The Sun” and slowly rocks back and forth. And when Millie’s sniffling finally subsides, Esme gives a gentle tug on her braid;  encouraging her to look up at her.  “You okay now? A little better at least?”

Millie nods.

“Let’s go and get you into the tub. Then we’ll throw the dirty stuff in the wash and get new blankies on your bed.”

“You’re not mad at me, are you? For making a mess?”

“No, baby. I’m not mad.  Why would I be? These things happen. It’s nothing that can’t be cleaned.”

“I’m sorry I woke you up. And got your jammies wet.”

“Don’t worry about those things. I’m not. All that matters is that you’re okay. That you’re feeling better. Come on…”. The aches and pains linger in her body as she scoops Millie up and settles her on her hip. “You’re getting big, buttercup. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to do this. Carry you.”

“Big like daddy! I’ll be taller than you soon! And I’m not even five yet!”

“Only you can manage to be a little savage at four in the morning,” Esme teases, and playfully tickles Millie’s side.  

“I'm going to be super tall, momma!”

“You got your daddy’s genes that’s for sure. Arms and legs for days.  Speaking of daddy, let’s just let him sleep, okay? He’s had a really long couple of weeks.  And some really tough days.  He needs his rest.”

“So he can stay big and strong and protect us from the bad guys!”

“And so he has the energy to keep up with you. You crazy little monkey.”

Gathering up a pair of yoga shorts and a t-shirt for herself, she carries Millie into the master’s ensuite and prepares a bubble bath to share.  Afterwards, they retreat downstairs to the kitchen; Esme braiding her daughter’s still damp hair before preparing herself a tea and some cheese toast and Millie’s customary after-nightmare snack: a bowl of apple and cinnamon oatmeal, and a glass of white and chocolate milk mixed together.   Then they snuggle on the couch;   wrapped in the plaid throw that normally graces the back of the easy chair.  Millie enveloped in her mother’s arms as she presses herself tightly into her side; a thumb stuck firmly on her mouth, head resting on Esme’s chest. Across the room, the television is tuned into an Australian children’s channel; playing back-to-back episodes of Bluey.  And when a lull in programming comes and Millie tries -in vain- to stifle a yawn, Esme gently plucks the thumb from the four-year-old’s mouth.

“You doing alright? Feeling better?”

“A little. My tummy still feels weird though.”

Laying a palm on her daughter’s stomach, she rubs in slow, comforting circles. “It was a pretty bad dream, huh?” 

Millie nods.

“No. Not right now. Maybe later.”

“Well, if you feel like talking about it, just let me know, okay? It’s better to get things out in the open, sometimes.  Instead of holding onto them. You’ll tell me about it, right? When you’re ready?”

“I promise, momma.”

“You are such a good girl.”  Esme drops a kiss on the top of her little one’s head. “Such a good, sweet girl.”

Silence falls as Bluey returns to the screen, and Millie abandons sucking her thumb in favour of playing with her mother’s hair; repeatedly combing her fingers through it and twirling it around her index digit. “Momma.”

“Yeah?”

“It was really scary. When you got hurt.  I was worried; that you weren’t going to get better and you were gonna die.”

“I know things didn’t look good, but I wasn’t even close to not being here anymore. I was just really banged up.”

“And bloody. Don’t forget bloody. There was a lot of blood.”

“I know you were scared. And I am so sorry things happened the way they did.  But you were so brave, Millie. So brave and so strong.  Just like your daddy.”

“He  says I get it from you.”

“Of course he does.  You were such a big help;  when it came to taking care of me.  You always cheered me up. I loved hanging out with you; having breakfast and lunch in bed, but getting my hair brushed,  giving me manis and pedis. And I’m sure your dad appreciated it; keeping an eye on me and helping him out.”

“He was scared too, you know.”

“I know.  He’s a big man with an even bigger heart.  You are so much like him, Millie. In so many ways.  And that’s a good thing. A very good thing.”

“It’s nice, momma. It’s really nice.”

“What is?”

“Having a mom and a dad. It means I get twice the lovins.  And twice the spoiling.”

“I don’t know about that. When it comes to your dad, I think it’s more triple the amount. Quadruple, even.”

“Does it make you sad? That it’s not just us anymore? That you have to share me?”

“It’s a little hard getting used to it; no longer having you to myself and being the only one to make decisions. But no, I’m not sad. Because I get to share you with your daddy.  And he is my all-time favourite human.  Present company excluded, of course.”

“Soon you guys are going to get married! And I’ll get to wear a pretty dress and brand new Spidey sandals.  Maybe we can have a girls' day before that.  We can have brunch and get facials and manis and pedis. Do you think we can do that?”

“I am one hundred percent sure we can.”

Millie gives a brilliant smile, then a long, content sigh as she once more rests her head upon her mother’s chest.

“I am so sorry, Amelia.”

“For what?”

“That we didn’t come here sooner. So you could meet your dad.  And I know you’re little still and a lot of this probably makes zero sense, but I didn’t keep you away to hurt you. Or him.  I really did do it to protect you. Both of you.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“It will. When you’re older.  For now, just know the things I did. I did because I love you. And your dad.  And I thought I was doing what was right.”

“I know you love me, momma.  And that you’d never do anything to hurt me.  On purpose.”

“I do love you.  So very, very, very much.  And one day, when you’re bigger and you do understand why things happened the way they did,  you’ll forgive me.”

“I don’t need to wait that long. I already do forgive you. You’re my mommy. I love you no matter what.”

“I am so lucky.” She squeezes her daughter. “So very, very lucky.”

They once more lapse into comfortable, companionable silence as another episode of Bluey starts.  Millie fighting in vain to stay awake for its entirety; excessively yawning and rubbing her blurry eyes with the heels of her palms.  And she looks up at her mother with a sleepy grin when the latter eventually flicks off the television. “Momma?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think we can go to the beach today?”

“I’ll tell you what; we’ll go and get some more sleep and when everyone in the house is awake, we’ll talk about and make some plans. Sounds good?”

“Sounds good.  Can I sleep in the big bed? With you and daddy? I don’t want to go back to my room yet. My big blankie is still in the dryer. And so is Posie.”

“I’m sure daddy won’t mind.  And he’s a human furnace. He can keep both of us warm. 

Come on…” Tossing the throw into the nearby chair, she wraps her arms around Millie and stands, letting loose a loud, dramatic groan. “You really are going to be bigger than me in a few years, I think.  I don’t know how much longer I can manage; carrying you around like this.”

“Daddy will still be able to. ‘Cause he’s big and strong and I’m nowhere close to being as tall as him! Do you think one day I might be? As tall as him?”

“Anything could happen.  I don’t know if you’ll get to six foot three, but…”

“He really is a giant!”

“Yeah…” Chuckling, she presses a kiss to Millie’s temple.  “...he really is.”

**** 

He stirs as Millie climbs into bed. Groaning loudly and rolling onto his side;  eyes squinting against the first rays of sun that peek through the curtains.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is thick with sleep; rumbling deep within his chest, accent much thicker. “Everything okay?”

“Millie had a bad dream,” Esme explains, as their daughter crawls her way into the middle of the mattress. “I told her she could come and snuggle with us.”

“I made a mess in my bed,” Millie chimes in.  “And all over my jammies and blankets  and Posie.”

“But it’s all cleaned up,” Esme adds, as she slips under the covers.  “Everything is freshly washed and in the dryer. Including Miss Posie.”

“Mommy didn’t even get mad. When I made the mess.”

Tyler leans in to press a kiss to Millie’s brow. “I bet your mom barely ever gets mad at you.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. She has her moments.”

“I’ve been on the receiving end of those moments.  I feel your pain.”

“You two are just comedians twenty-four seven,” Esme grumbles, and rolls onto her side to face him.

He uses a fingertip to swipe loose strands of hair off his daughter’s forehead. “Must have been a pretty bad dream, huh?”

Nodding, the four-year-old slips underneath the blankets. Until completely covered from head to toe. “I don’t wanna talk about it though.”

“She wouldn’t tell me either,” Esme laments.  “But I said when she’s ready, she knows where to find us.  I’m hoping it was just a one-off. That it’s not going to turn into a regular thing.  It's been a while since that happened.”

“Still think we should find her a  t-h-e-r-a-p-i-s-t?”

“I think we all need one. Correction. I don’t think, I know we do.”

“Let’s give it a few days, yeah? Get somewhat settled first.  Maybe we can…” He frowns when Bea hops onto the bed, then stretches out across his feet. “No cats in the bed!”

Esme grins.  “Babe, you used to let chickens sleep with us. The cat stays.”

They settle into a comfortable silence. Facing each other, Millie burned under the blankets. And with a smile curving his lips, he lays an arm across his and Esme’s pillows, cupping her head in his palm as he presses a lingering kiss to her brow. “You should have woken me up. I would have given you a hand.”

“I had things under control.   She just needed a bath, some snuggles, and her normal after-nightmare snack.”

He arches a quizzical brow.

“White and chocolate milk mixed together, and a bowl of apple and cinnamon oatmeal.  It’s become our ‘thing’ when she has a bad dream; she has her snack and we cuddle on the couch and I rub her tummy.  She gets a sore belly when she has bad dreams.”

“She has them a lot, or…?”

“Not really.  She went through a bit of a stage where they were a little more frequent;  typical little kid nightmares about monsters chasing her or hiding under the bed and in the closet.”

“And killer clowns!” Millie pipes up from her ‘hiding spot’.  “Don’t forget the killer clowns!”

“How could I forget them? I don’t like clowns, either.   You good under there?”

A lone, tiny hand sneaks out from the comforter and flashes a thumbs up.  “I’m good!”

“I really did have things under control,” Esme assures him.  “And I didn’t have the heart to wake you up.  You need your rest.”

“So do you.”

“I’m almost completely back to normal.  Things are just starting to hit you.  It’s time to rest, Tyler. Or at least try to.  I know you can’t totally let your guard down yet, but..”

“I’m never going to be able to let it down. Not when it comes to you and Millie. Not completely, anyway.”

“You always have been protective.   Sometimes a little too much.”

“If you think I was bad before, just wait. After spending five years away from you? And everything that happened in New York City…”

Esme lowers her voice to a near whisper. “I think that’s what her dream was about.”

“She didn’t tell you?”

“She didn’t want to talk about it.  Which isn’t unusual for her;  it usually takes a bit for her to calm down enough to tell me what happened. But she did tell me that it was scary;  my accident and seeing me hurt.”

“She’s not the only one it freaked out.”

“She talked about how much blood there was.  And that she worried I wasn’t going to get better. That I was going to die. I tried telling her that it never came close to that;  things were a bit ugly and I was pretty banged up, but that was never going to happen.”

“I tried to keep her from it. How bad things looked.  I didn’t want her to see you like that. Fuck, I didn’t even want to see you that, and I’m a grown-ass adult. So I can’t even imagine what it’s done to her.”

“She’s so strong, Tyler.  So brave and so strong. Just like you.”

“I think her mum has me beat. In both those departments.”

“I think once she gets used to living here and having you in her life and gets settled in school and activities, the bad stuff will start to fade. At least I hope it will.”

“She’s her mother’s daughter. She’ll be just fine.”

“And I think it will do her a world of good; to talk to someone about everything that’s gone down.  It’ll do us good, too.”

“I gotta admit, I’m not entirely thrilled about spending time with another shrink. I didn’t exactly get along with the last one.  That we saw after Dhaka.”

“You’d been through hell.  I mean, you were clinically dead just a few months before. You were still healing and busting your ass to get back on your feet.   I think it’s understandable that you’d be a bit prickly.”

“That sounds like a nice way of calling me an asshole.”

“I’d never call you that.  At least not out loud. And especially not to your face.”

Smirking, he presses a kiss to the bridge of her nose. 

She sneaks a hand out from under the mound of blankets, then uses her fingertips to clear strands of hair off his forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That it scared you.  The accident.  And that you had to see me that way. I know you’re used to being on the other side of the fence.”

“All I could think about was how I’d just gotten you back. After five fucking years.  I barely survived that . How the hell was I going to survive you being gone permanently? With no chance of ever getting you back.”

“But here I am.  Almost back to normal.  You protected me. Made sure they couldn’t get close enough to finish the job.  If you’d been hurt worse and hadn’t been able to do any of that…”

“Let’s not even think about that.  Let alone talk about it.  You need sleep.”

“So do you.”

“I’m not the one who got up at the ass crack of dawn with the kiddo.”

“I’m used to it.  I’ve got four years of this mommy thing under my belt. You’re not getting up yet, are you? It’s not even six am.”

“Six am is a late wake-up for me.  I got some shit I need to do: I normally go for a run and work out a bit.  And I need to check up on Koen.  Make sure he’s not fucking things up.”

“It won’t kill you to miss one day of working out. And Koen’s a big boy; he can handle things on his own.  Just stay here…with us…for a little bit?  I’m not asking for much, just a half an hour, an hour at the most.”

“Let me guess. Until you fall asleep.”

“Please?” She slides her head across to his pillow.  The tip of her nose pressed against his. “ Stay?  Just a while.  Millie got her snuggles. Now it’s my turn.  And there’s nothing better than a snuggle from my favourite human. My person.”

“Well now that you put it that way…”  Tangling her fingers in her hair, he presses a series of kisses to her face. The centre of her forehead, the bridge of her nose,  temple, ear and cheek, and finishing at the corner of her mouth.  

Her eyes close when he rests his chin on top of her head and her body melts into the hard muscle of his chest. A long, soft sigh escapes her lips as she’s soothed by the familiar scent that clings to his skin and the warmth that radiates off his flesh.  The closeness and the contact filling her with a sense of completeness she’s never experienced before; quickly and easily lulling her towards the edge of sleep. Both her heart and soul content; secure in both knowledge and evidence of being loved, adored and protected.  

[ficbrish]

Chapter 1 - Transgression

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

[Ao3 link]

[[TW/CW: Suffocating gender roles, gender dysphoria, rigid society, self-destruction, degradation, anonymous sex, references to past spousal abuse/marital noncon, death mentions, cptsd]]

Summary: The baron is dead, but recently-widowed Vistri still isn't free of his clutches. Suffocating in her gilded cage, she meets a rakish stranger alone in the woods at night. He might just be her key to shedding respectability and the weight of her late-husband's great name.

“I am sick with ballrooms!” Vistri proclaimed, throwing off her gloves and stomping out to the garden.

The frazzled housekeeper gave the other servants a warning look; no one was to mention this outburst beyond the manor’s walls. Satisfied with the group’s silent promise, she followed after her mistress, almost tripping over the footman collecting the fallen gloves.

After a swift apology, she called out, “Baroness! Wait!”

However, her impertinence was already far from the reach of her mistress’s ears, swallowed up by a thick tree line. Vistri had torn through the mud as a shortcut instead of following the stone path. She had no need to spare her dress, only the need to get away. To breathe air that the man, who haunted her, had never breathed.

Besides, her dress was already ruined. A pale lavender silk turned black with custom. What was a mourning period to someone who couldn’t grieve? Other than a prison? A ruin of all color. A lack of society.

A reminder, that even after death, one was still just that old man’s wife.

Gasping, Vistri slammed her back against a tree. That dead man had claws and they reached up through the ground, snaking up her thigh like a vine. Growing and climbing to her throat, where it would cling and drag her down into his cold embrace. Never letting her go.

“Ma’am! You cannot go!” her own housekeeper forbade her. Her own staff.

Because they were his staff, not hers. Everyone who resided in that house served a man currently turning into dirt. Worms swallowed his flesh and shat him out, yet all the while, everyone he’d ever controlled still lived for him.

It was improper to go to a ball this early in her mourning period.

“It would be rude.”

Rudeness was ruin.

Well, her clothes were ruined! Creditors showed up at her door before neighbors. The cook refused to change the menu from his late-master’s preferences. And once she was finally free of her husband’s willowy, lecherous fingers, she was to wait a whole season before entertaining the possibility of another suitor.

Gods, it had been years since she dreamed of being touched. And when that cursed, old man drew his last breath, she felt her first shiver of lust. Celebration ached in her bones. Freedom was so near it ran away with all her senses.

Perhaps that was why she gave into her housekeeper’s insistence like a child having a fit, shouting, “I am sick with ballrooms!” as if it were her own idea and desire not to go. Then she’d run into the woods just because it was somewhere not within those walls.

A whole other year before she was allowed to be touched. And even then; a peck on her knuckles, the span of a dance.

Unless she wrapped another collar around her neck. But even if she did want such a thing, who would choose to marry a widow over a virgin? Widows were Eve after the fruit. They tasted too much to settle for nothing ever again.

She couldn’t breathe. The neckline on her dress was not very high but it was choking her. Vistri struggled with its buttons along her spine, but her damp, clumsy hands couldn’t undo them. She was as trapped in this dress as she was trapped in the confines of marriage. Of a woman’s role.

And just when she felt as alone as one could feel in the world, Vistri felt the presence of another.

Through the trees came the shape of a lone rider.

Her heart started to beat fast in her ears as her mind raced with the decision of whether to run. She could barely hear her thoughts over its pounding. The skies were darkening. She was alone. Even though this was her property, the forest was nature’s domain. If the rider was a stranger, his approach could bring her death. If the rider was someone she knew, his approach could bring her scandal.

They came into view of one another as she debated which was worse.  

He was a man with silver hair on a silver horse. A stranger.

So death it is.

Vistri smiled and greeted him, “Good day, sir.”

There was a manner of pleasant surprise about him, like his discovery of her were something slightly out of the ordinary of his routine, and not a threateningly strange moment.

Then he tipped his hat, and said, “Or good evening, more like.”

Vistri bit her lip, hating this man already. She couldn’t stand to be corrected on irrelevant details! If he were going to kill her, she hoped he’d do it fast and not drag on with useless conversation beforehand.

Searching through convention for a response proved impossible, for meeting upon a stranger in the woods at night as a lady defined convention. Unless said lady were a prostitute, in which case…

Her hand flew to the front of her dress. Its delicate silk was torn around the neck from her fussing, but the damage didn’t expose her. Still, she held her hand up to it in a protective gesture. As if she were ready to strangle herself; take the chance away from other hands.

“You are correct,” she said with nervous bitterness, “It is getting quite dark. Pardon me, such a thing escaped my notice—”

She would have finished with, “as we are on my property, of which I call home,” but stopped herself, realizing that such information may doom rather than save her. Landed gentry could fetch an exorbitant ransom.

The rider waited for her to finish, but she didn’t go on.

“And do you know what else escaped our notice?”

Vistri remained perfectly still. She didn’t nod or shake her head.

The man answered as if she had, and said with a flair of his hand, “Introductions.”

“Are we to be introduced?”

It was a question that fell from her mouth stupidly. Something she’d said so many times before, it eventually became habit and the query lost all meaning. Her lips had spoken for her, mindlessly uttering words that invited rather than pushed away.

He nodded, “In polite society, people are introduced to one another. But usually there is someone else to do the introducing. Whereas here there is just… you and I.”

She couldn’t tell if his slight pause was meant to be the beginnings of a threat or seduction. Maybe this stranger just had a sick sense of humor. Vistri didn’t care either way. She just wanted whatever this was to conclude as swiftly as possible.

Shrugging, she said, “Then I guess we must remain strangers. Not one name shall pass between us.”

For some reason, her heart began to patter as she said those words. Not because she was unused to being bold, but because it left open everything else that could pass between them. Everything but names.

He was still too far away to make out his expression, and Vistri found her feet closing the distance. Suddenly willing to let the moment linger.

“Have you lost your way?” he asked.

“I have not.”

“And yet you are here,” his statement sounded almost like a question, “All alone.”

Alone. How she longed for that to be true. No other people. No heavy name.

“Do you take offense at that, sir?”

He paused before he answered, “It’s just that there are devils out here who would rob you of your purse.”

Close enough now to see his face, Vistri noticed the smirk it wore rather than a show of concern. Immediately, she took him for the rakish sort instead of a true gentleman. His riding clothes were fine but worn.

He flashed a grin over that smirk, and added, “Or your virtue.”

“Only maidens can have virtue, and I am no maiden.”

“Well, well. What a pair we make. Only gentlemen can have virtue, and I am no gentleman.”

Vistri figured he could be an actor or a vagabond. Same thing, really. Both just as likely to do something nefarious, free from watchful eyes.

A long look passed between them, intense calculations happening behind their masked expressions. They were spinning theories. What was the sum of this stranger in the woods? Who were they?

What would they allow?

“May I approach?” he asked, even though she already had.

“That depends. Is your intention to rob me?”

He let out a composed chuckle that seemed a bit forced, and assured her, “I am after a brief respite. Nothing more.”

Vistri nodded and the rider dismounted.

A palpable shift occurred in the ether as his feet met the ground. Upon his horse, they were passing strangers. Now they were on equal footing, and he was securing the reins to a branch. Their meeting had gone from a crossing of paths to a visit.

A tryst.

With no names.

If they were to be discovered even now, it would surely be the scandal of the season. Ruinous. Utterly and entirely ruinous. The prospect of that was like an itch that felt good to scratch even after it started bleeding.

The light through the trees burned orange, and the shadows around them grew thicker.

“My condolences.”

“What?” the sound of the man’s voice startled Vistri back to attention.

He gestured to her wardrobe, “Are you not in a period of mourning?”

Smirking, she said exactly what was on her mind, “There is a simple answer to that, and complicated one. The simple answer is a falsehood, and the complicated answer is something private you are not privy to.”

“How disappointing. I do so love a complicated story.”

This time his smile made Vistri notice his mouth. Seeing his lips for the first time, she had the strangest urge to stare. She asked him a question, not because she had something to say, but just to watch them move again.

“Then I give you permission to make one up. Tell me, am I in mourning?”

He seemed amused and surveyed her for a moment with crossed arms.

“Yes and no,” he finally said. “You wear the costume, sure enough, but there is more anger in your eyes than sadness. Shall I go on?”

Captivated by his accuracy, she nodded.

“You do not have the deep circles of someone in deep grief, but there is a weariness about you. As though sleep has eluded you. But the cause of that sleeplessness? That’s a bit harder to place. Perhaps whoever left your life, left a ghost behind.”

Vistri could no longer breathe. This man in the woods read her heart so easily, she wondered if she wore it on her sleeve. Were her ugly truths really as hidden as she thought?

“That sounds complicated indeed.”

He gave a little bow, “I aim to please.”

She blushed at her own boldness, asking, “Do you?”

Another flavor of smirk graced his lips. This one more confident than teasing. He stepped slightly closer, and she caught the heated curiosity living in his eyes.

“Is that something you’ve been missing?” the heat in his eyes had sunk into his voice.

“How can someone miss something they’ve never had?”

It sounded more pathetic than she meant it to be. Her words were less careful with her mind racing and tripping so.

“Seems a travesty for you to spend your life without it. What a waste of a pretty thing.”

All she could do was breathe and watch his approach.

“What happened here?” he asked, gesturing to the ruin of her neckline with an impertinent stare at her chest.

He was giving her a way out. A reason to hit and spurn him. Or waiting for a sign to move forward. For her to reach out and caress him. Or maybe she was reading him too kindly. He did admit he was no gentleman, after all.

Vistri longed to be reckless. To cross a line she could never uncross; sever herself through time so that she could never be, who she was now, again.

She arched her back, answering, “It was choking me.”

The stranger clicked his tongue, and cooed, “Poor dear.”

He was close enough for his scent to reach her. Sweet herbs and a hint of brandy that grew stronger with his next words.

“Do you require assistance?” His voice was soft, but his eyes held a wild look.

With no idea what would happen to her if she said yes, Vistri nodded. Nothing that happened to her mattered. She couldn’t remember a time when it mattered.

But she was a lady from a great family and bore a name heavy with great history and property. She wanted someone to take that from her. Make her nothing.

“There is a tear, here,” Vistri pointed to the one on the swell of her breast. Inviting him to look.

Not even her husband looked at her before so unabashedly. She felt naked under his stare.

“Do you think it can be mended?” she asked. Inviting him to touch.

He brought his finger up to her breast. Lightly tracing the torn fabric of her dress.

“Oh no, dear,” he spoke low, “I think it is absolutely ruined.”

She groaned, and it sounded like someone else. Vistri was already changing with this dalliance. If she walked away now, she could still never be who she was. But the baroness did not deserve a gentle death. She needed to torture who she used to be before she could bury it for good.

Closing her eyes in surrender, Vistri let the stranger have her lips. She didn’t need those anymore.

He must’ve been the devil himself, because his skin was all fire and stars. The whole world dissolved in his touch, leaving only heat.

“Ruin it more,” she pleaded once she could speak again.

With a wicked smile, he ripped open the top of her dress, exposing her bodice. She gasped. Her cleavage heaved in spherical waves, and the sight of such a transgression turned a switch that made them both wild.

She reached inside his coat for his trousers, running her hand along the clear line of his arousal. He rewarded her with a moan that sounded almost too loud in her ear. It broke over her senses like a tidal wave, drowning her in desire.

Her back pressed into a tree. He pressed hard into her. Through their clothes, they rutted and groaned and supped each other’s kiss. Just like two young aristocrats who didn’t yet know the ins and outs of fornication.

Vistri was overcome by a need to be caught in the worst position imaginable.

She dropped to her knees.

As Vistri unbuttoned his buttons, she purred, “My late husband had such an ugly cock. Please tell me you have a pretty one.”

His heated chuckle made the back of her neck prickle, like it had been hit with a ray of sun.

“By all means, be the judge.”

She obliged, pulling his trousers to his knees. His alabaster thighs were like marble statues made to worship the male form.

“Well?” he asked teasingly, “What do you think?”

“I didn’t know men had the capacity to be pretty,” she answered honestly.

His hands gently stroked her jawline, “It’d been even prettier between your lips, my sweet.”

Eagerly, she opened her mouth. Surprised by how much she liked the way he guided it in.

“Easy now,” he sighed, throwing his head contentedly back, “There’s so many other ways I’d love to defile you.”

Again, he took what was in her heart and recited it out loud. Vistri needed him. Needed to feel everything she could from this passing stranger to carry it with her for a lifetime. She had no idea it was possible for such passion to channel through her hollow, empty form.

The stranger suddenly pulled himself out from between her lips and pushed her to the ground. He positioned her on knees and elbows, then lifted her skirts. Vistri couldn’t see his face, just feel his movements. His flaming touch.

“Why do fine ladies have so many layers?” he complained from behind her.

Maybe it was the break in intensity, but Vistri found herself laughing. Not just an awkward chuckle, but a full, hearty laugh. Something she’d long forgotten the sound of.

It stopped at the feeling of cool air on her skin. Her entire breath caught in her throat. Then his warm hand met the bare skin of her thigh, and she cried out from want alone.

His fingers got to her first. They undid her in a series of strokes. She cried out with her ecstasy, part of her hoping to be discovered. The deliciously devastated look on her housekeeper’s face when she found her mistress in the dirt on all fours, reaching her critical period in a stranger’s palm, would be worth the lifetime of ruin.

“Fuck me like a farm animal,” she begged as pleasure tapered off her senses.

No respected baroness got fucked from the back on all fours in the woods by a nameless cad. Vistri figured she could be the first.

They both cried out as he buried his root between her legs. He tore her open, and whimpering like a pup, thrust into her again and again. She rocked roughly back into his thrusts. Soon, she was coming undone once more.

He pulled out after she stopped pulsing around him, and panted a command, “Stand up.”

She groaned and dragged herself to her feet. The stranger stood up first, and Vistri followed, needing his heat.

He examined her a moment before stepping in to steady her.

“Look at how you tremble. Weak from pleasure. Your body begging for more of mine as mine begs for more of yours.”

Vistri leapt at his kiss, running her fingers through his silver curls.

“Mmm,” he moaned, “We are nameless strangers, and yet our bodies are already so deeply devoted to one another. Do you think we should give in to what they ache for?”

Again, he pressed her to a tree. This time hiking her thighs up over his waist before burying himself deep inside her sheath. Vistri shouted, answering yes over and over while he rutted with increasing speed.

Their mouths clashed until pleasure made it impossible. Ecstasy snatched them in the same moment, and it ran through them in violent shudders.

Then the strangers stood apart, both the very picture of ruin. Covered in dirt at various states of undress in the now-dark woods.

The man’s horse gave an impatient snort.

“He didn’t like our performance.”

Vistri laughed and admitted, “I thought it was all right.”

“Oh?” he feigned offense, “Just all right?”

If any ounce of her marital act had been like this, Vistri would’ve had a reason to grieve.

“Maybe a little better than that.”

They stood there, not knowing how to say goodbye. The horse snorted again.

“He doesn’t much like the dark,” the man explained.

“Right,” the night had fallen, “Well good evening, then.”

“Is it not night now?”

Impatiently, she bowed and smiled, “Good night, then.”

But he stopped her as she turned away, unwilling to leave her alone in the dark wood. Vistri agreed to ride with him to the tree line but stubbornly insisted on going back the rest of the way herself.

At the edge of the forest they said their real goodbyes, sure they would never again cross paths. Maybe that’s why she left him with one last longing kiss before allowing the stranger to disappear forever.

[next chapter]

[theblurbwitchproject]

Weyward by Emilia Hart

Published: February 2, 2023 Publisher: HarperCollins

The Author

Emilia Hart is a British-Australian writer. She was born in Sydney and studied English Literature and Law at the University of New South Wales before working as a lawyer in Sydney and London. She is a graduate of Curtis Brown Creative’s Three Month Online Novel Writing Course and was Highly Commended in the 2021 Caledonia Novel Award. Her short fiction has been published in Australia and the UK. Weyward is her debut novel. She lives in London.

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The Story

In Weyward, the narrative intertwines the lives of three women spanning five centuries. In 2019, Kate seeks solace in Weyward Cottage, escaping from London and her abusive partner. She slowly unravels a mystery hidden within the cottage's history, hinting at secrets from her great aunt's past and the 17th-century witch hunts. In 1619, Altha faces trial for a murder she didn't commit, relying on her unconventional nature magic to defend herself against accusations of witchcraft. Meanwhile, in 1942, Violet feels trapped by societal constraints and the prison of her family's estate, yearning for freedom and the memory of her mother, who was rumored to have gone mad before her death. The only remnants of her mother's existence are a locket marked with a mysterious "W" and the word "weyward" etched into the bedroom's baseboard. This novel masterfully weaves these women's tales together, revealing a compelling narrative of strength across generations and the transformative influence of the natural world.

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The Vibe: family lineage, nature magic, self discovery, witch trials, feminine strength, betrayal, forging your own path

The Style: historical fiction, magical realism, multiple povs, part epistolary, part narration, emotive

Trigger Warnings: imprisonment, domestic abuse, spousal rape, car accident death, entrapment by pregnancy, emotional abuse, suidical ideation, mention of stillbirth, “hysteria”, hysterectomy, abortion, misogyny

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The Review

I picked Weyward up on a whim and am so pleased that I did. Historical fiction mixed with magical realism and a dash of incredibly rich writing made it a real pleasure to read. The narrative weaves between three women across five centuries, deftly showcasing the myriad ways in which women demonstrate resilience and bravery under difficult circumstances.

Being totally honest, I often struggle with split narrative timelines in novels. I can’t be the only one who has found themselves bored with one section of a book, willing the boring chapters to end in order to get back to the characters I am invested in… right? Thankfully, Weyward’s leading ladies are all so fabulous and their stories so engaging, that I was invested in each timeline equally. This actually sped up my reading as the story progressed, as I wanted to find out how each character was doing in their timeline more and more desperately. If you want to read a moving story with wonderful characters that emphasizes the transformative power of nature, please pick this up!

Witch. The word slithers from the mouth like a serpent, drips from the tongue as thick and black as tar. We never thought of ourselves as witches, my mother and I. For this was a word invented by men, a word that brings power to those who speak it, not those it describes. A word that builds gallows and pyres, turns breathing women into corpses.

One thing I will say before really digging in to the review, is that there are a lot of trigger warnings for this novel (see above for a summary). Reading through the list, it may seem that this is a tome of sheer doom and gloom, but it actually didn’t feel that way to me. Obviously, a lot of the trigger warnings may be Hard Nos for some people, and that’s totally fair, however I found this story so engaging and the characters so strong, that the TWs didn’t beat me down as much as they could have. Being set across five centuries, this book explores a number of methods by which patriarchal societies abuse women.  From the outright cruelties of the 17th Century to the more insidious offences of modern society, there is a lot of violence and misogyny at work here. It can get difficult in parts, but I found myself uplifted by the women’s strength in the end.

Now, I’ve discussed how strong the characters are; let me properly introduce them to you! Kate, living in her 2019 timeline, wants to escape a violent partner and discover the truth about her family. Violet, in 1942 and the midst of the Second World War, wants to escape the societal confines and expectations of femininity and live a life she chooses. Altha in 1619 just wants to survive. I loved them all. I cared about them all. I may have even shed a tear or two over them (and books don’t make me cry super often). I particularly loved Violet and her sheer determination to live her own life. I really appreciated seeing her as a teen from her own perspective, as well as from Kate’s perspective looking back at Violet as an old woman. (I want grow up to be an eccentric old lady with the witchiest house in the world just like her!) The interlacing of their stories is so well conceived, it really feels like you’re seeing a cohesive timeline rather than random sections plonked together.

Perhaps one day, she said, there would be a safer time. When women could walk the earth, shining bright with power, and yet live.

There is so much witchcraft detail in this book, dropped in so sneakily and creatively, I just loved it! All the leading ladies have Witch Marks (which definitely need to be used in witchy stories more frequently), but they’re not overly emphasized… they’re just there and mentioned in passing in various subtle ways. The way the Familiars work is also super cool; not every animal can be a familiar, and they aren’t necessarily easily controlled, but they provide emotional support and do their witches’ bidding when needed. I especially loved the constant presence of the crows, which at first seem wild and dangerous, but eventually become as important to the plot as the leading characters as symbols of power. And I love, love, love how the magic stems so much from the witches’ connection to the natural world. It just felt so right to me.

One notable factor in Weyward for me was how deftly Emilia Hart wove historical facts into the narrative. From the Lancashire Assizes to the Pendle Witch Trials and King James I and his obsession with Witch Hunts, Altha’s timeline felt so based in history as to be almost visceral. This sort of thing really happened to living women. I was especially impressed by the use of the Great Comet of 1618; Hart definitely did her research in order to place her story firmly in the real world, with an additional magical touch.

There was something about us – the Weyward women – that bonded us more tightly with the natural world. We can feel it, she said, the same way we feel rage, sorrow or joy. The animals, the birds, the plants – they let us in, recognising us as one of their own. That is why roots and leaves yield so easily under our fingers, to form tonics that bring comfort and healing. That is why animals welcome our embrace. Why the crows – the ones who carry the sign – watch over us and do our bidding, why their touch brings our abilities into sharpest relief.

Weyward has become one of my favourite reads for 2024, and has 100% got a solid seat in my Top Ten of the Year. It is endlessly impressive to me that is was Emilia Hart’s DEBUT NOVEL. Seriously, my hat is off to her for creating a story that felt so real and so magical at the same time. I will definitely be reading more of her work as it is published. If my recommendation isn’t enough, Weyward also won Goodreads’ Best Historical Fiction title in 2023. And if you buy a physical copy of the book, you get a neat little flip book of a crow flying in the page corners. If all that doesn’t sell it to you, I don’t know what will.

[sirowsky-stories]

Collision

Part 9

Description: Taking a gamble, Pero seeks out the people responsible for the threat to Niki's life, ready to end it, one way or another.

Warnings: Pero Tovar x OFC, no reader insert, Pero's pov, conspiracy, cursing, angst, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, secret identity, AU fic. TW: mentions of child-abuse and rape, as well as spousal abuse and coerced self-cutting. (Not committed by any of the main characters.) Rating: Mature/Explicit 18+ONLY Word Count: 6520 Series Masterlist

Author's Note: So sorry for the delay, but here is the final part of this series. I partly wish that I'd had more inspiration for a different ending to this, but I'm also not sure what that ending might've been. Anyway, thank you to anyone who toughed it out and comes to see how this ends! And to those of you who showered this story with your enthusiasm while it was active: You're all superheroes!

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   It’s been three days since his run-in with the general’s assassin when he finally finds a way into the secure military base which the man himself operates from.    All of Pero’s informants have been on constant high alert since he informed them of his need to gain access to Hayword, preferably quietly, but by any means necessary should it come to that. And they haven’t disappointed.

   The Qwerty brothers are the ones who bring him the crucial intel, having managed to trick an off-duty officer into divulging a few tidbits of information during a drinking game the night before. If there’s one thing the superstar wannabes are good at, it’s holding their liquor.    He had expected them to try and worm their way out of the deal, using this success as their bargaining chip, but surprisingly, they seem only excited to give him something useful. They even offer to act as his muscle, which would in no way benefit them if he fails.    And come to think of it, not really if he should win either.

   He turns them down, though. It’s easier to sneak in undetected if it’s just him. But he does consider it, because undisciplined though the men might be, they are formidable killers and completely unbothered by the status or power of whomever their target might be. They’d be handy in a close-quarter fight, no doubt.    As it is, this mission requires finesse rather than brute force, so he heads to the compound alone.

   It’s big. Departments of almost all branches of the US military operates from here, which is why Hayword has so many resources at his disposal. But Pero suspects that not many people here are aware of the real reason why such a decorated and high-profile officer hasn’t risen further in status yet. His accolades on paper more than suggests he should be eligible for promotion into the very highest ranks of the US Army, but here he is, commanding just one base in the District of Colombia.

   They don’t know that this is as far as he will ever go, because of the practices he applies to achieve those victories. That he’s a precision tool being used where he can operate the most freely, while still under strict supervision.    They have no idea the man is responsible for entire massacres, and that he considers such actions to be normal practice. To him, there is no such thing as an atrocity, so long as it’s committed in the name of protecting American citizens.

   And the fact that only a handful of people within the highest seats of the government know this, is also precisely why killing the general won’t solve anything. It would just spark an even worse manhunt.    Which means that Pero has to play this much more delicately. But he’s prepared himself as well as he possibly could have.

   A precision strike, perfectly timed and executed is what it’ll take to succeed here tonight, but if all his assets have performed exactly as instructed, there’s every chance it could work.    He chooses to focus on that, rather than the overwhelming odds he might fail, as he begins his perilous endeavor into the base.    This is for Niki. So, even if he dies trying, it’s already worth it.

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

   “That’s it?”

   “It’s all I can find. He heads for one of the neighboring buildings, by the looks of it, but I can’t see him beyond the subway cameras.”

   “So, what? He’s just gone…?” Niki half screams, half sobs, because this is more than she can take right now.

   “No, no, no, hey…” William counters softly, taken off guard by how strongly she reacts, rising to his feet and turning away from the screens to give her his full focus. “He would never leave you. You gotta know that.”

   She does know that. In the safest and most tightly guarded part of her heart, she knows. But her mind falters, corroded by the terror she’s been living with for weeks now, and she closes her eyes against his words, unable to allow herself the hope.

   “Something’s happened while he was out, either someone spotted him or he’s afraid that someone will, that’s the only reason he’d behave like this. Trying to throw someone off our scent. So, now more than ever, it’s imperative that we don’t screw up.    Do you hear me, Niki?”

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

   Once inside the compound, Pero moves fast. He needs to locate the general before anyone clocks him as someone who doesn’t belong there, although the stolen uniform he’s wearing helps to make him stand out less. There are way too many people to try and sneak past, so he has to walk among them as though he belongs, knowing who to salute and how to behave like just another cog in the military machine.

   Which is why he’s spent the past three days scouting the base from afar, learning it’s rhythm, routine, and discipline. He knows everything he needs to know, including that the rank indicated on his uniform gives him access to the building where Hayword mostly operates from.    He gets in without problems, thanks to an immaculate fake ID badge with a built-in electronic signature for all locks on the premises, courtesy of the best forger in the world.

   The general is already in there, he’s made sure to time it so that the man will be in his office, probably having lunch, when Pero gets to him.    This is where routine and punctuality becomes a man’s enemy, because those things make him predictable, and the trespasser has spent enough time observing him to know that he never misses his lunch.    Mrs. Hayword makes it for him, with outstanding precision.

   On his way there, Pero encounters a nervous cadet, probably only given access to this building while she learns about the real-life application of military forces, because she doesn’t have the rank required to actually work in here.    Ordinarily, that would require her to stay on the heels of a chaperone, or supervisor, but she’s all alone when he meets her in an otherwise empty corridor.    Most all corridors are empty, since personnel here work primarily at desks and with computers, not requiring them to move around much within departments.

   “Sir!” she salutes as she approaches him, and as soon as he’s saluted her in return, she launches into a nervous rant. “Sir, I’m so sorry, I don’t wanna be a bother and I’m sure you’re very busy, but I’ve lost my captain, and I don’t know what to do.    Can you help me? If I screw this up, I won’t pass this month’s evaluation…”

   He checks his watch. It’ll take him another two minutes to reach the general’s office and by his calculations, he has at least ten minutes before his mark might be finishing his meal. But he’s not keen on going off-script. Even the smallest deviation could be fatal to his mission.

   “Do you know where you’re supposed to be right now, cadet?” he asks, hoping to ascertain if this might be a quick fix.

   “Uh, I think we were heading for Logistics, but then I went to the bathroom and when I got out-…”

   “Straight down this hall, take a left, then follow the corridor all the way to the end. Logistics is the last door on your right,” he cuts her off, then continues on his way.

   “Oh, gosh, thank you so much, Major!” she chirps while she starts moving in the direction he’s indicated.

   He has the entire building memorized from top to bottom, so simply giving directions was never gonna be an issue.    But as he’s about to turn a corner, he hears the young woman say something, more to herself than anyone else, and her words manage to grind him to a halt.

   “…I’m enough of a failure as it is.”

   Precisely why hearing these words from this unknown woman (well, more like girl, really) affects him so profoundly in that moment, escapes his understanding at first. But as he turns back and sees her initial excitement at knowing where to go, fade with the understanding that she’ll likely get an earful once she gets there, and how her shoulders slump with the realization that she’s already failed, something stirs in his gut.

   Some dormant paternal instinct, maybe, brought to the surface by even the frailest possibility that he might one day have to see his own child suffer with self-doubt and insecurity.

   “Cadet,” he calls back softly, and she immediately stops, whirling around and adapting the correct pose for when an officer addresses her, with her hands tight to her sides and her feet close together. “How old are you?”

   “Nineteen, sir.”

   “Nineteen…” he repeats, tasting the word while his mind makes a quick jump back in time, recalling his own, less than excellent youth. “You’re in the military rather than a gang. You take pride in accomplishing a task, rather than expect the world to cater to you. You worry about how to be a good soldier, when you could’ve just as easily thrown your life away in any number of ways and for any sort of shallow reasons. But you’re here. Where everything is hard and challenging, testing yourself to the limits of your abilities, day after day.”

   She grows teary-eyed as she listens, and he wonders if no one has ever seen or pointed out her strength before. Just as he wonders why he does now, and why this girl’s strength even matters to him.

   “You’re not a failure, cadet.”

   He can see her open her mouth to say something, but her throat is too tightly closed, so she nods instead, while a small but infinitely grateful smile adorns her lips, before she turns and sprints down the hall, no doubt worried about how late she already is. And perhaps eager to conceal her tears from someone she believes to be her superior.

   Pero watches her leave, even though he’s on a schedule, and a strange feeling that this encounter was important to him, lingers in his body.    Something warm but also frightening.    Once she’s gone, he shakes his head a fraction and then resumes his course for the general’s office, checking his watch again on the way. Three minutes to spare.

   Reaching the correct door, he pauses and listens, confirming someone’s actually in there, before he knocks just once and then steps in without waiting for an invitation. He only alerted the man to the presence of someone at his door to ensure that he’ll be looking this way as Tovar steps in, since he knows the man will immediately look him up and down in search of any visible weapons. And finding none, he’ll trick himself into a false sense of security, which is exactly where his enemy wants him. Oblivious to the real danger.

   “Good day, general. My apologies for interrupting your lunch, sir, but I’m afraid I have a rather urgent matter to discuss,” he politely addresses the older man, who looks mostly annoyed, but also confounded.

   “I’m sorry, do I know you, major?”

   “No, sir.”

   “Then what makes you think you can interrupt my lunch at all?”

   “Urgency, as mentioned, sir. I’m afraid this can’t wait.”

   “I don’t care how god damned urgent you think whatever this is might be, I don’t know you, which means you’re not part of my unit. So, you can either get out or get arrested,” the general barks, glaring at him now over his plate of roast beef and mashed potatoes.

   “You’re correct, sir, I’m not part of your unit. In fact, I’m not a major or even listed in any military,” Pero confesses calmly, following the other man’s movements as he quickly rises from his chair and picks up his phone, probably to call the military police.

   But his uninvited guest doesn’t flinch.

   “Mary does make wonderful lunches for you. There’s such dedication to every detail, so much time spent on planning and preparation, one might think she’s a chef,” he says, layering every word with implication, and seeing the man freeze before hitting any button as he realizes the fraud before him isn’t harmless. “Even the plate is immaculately prepared. Not one drop of sauce in the wrong place, everything perfectly measured and laid out in exact proportions… almost as if she worries that getting one detail wrong would see her punished for her failure.”

   Hayword is fuming by the time he finishes, but he keeps his feelings under control for the time being, undoubtedly hoping to learn more about his enemy.    Although, the fact that he puts the phone down without having attempted any calls, reveals to his guest just how uncomfortable the man suddenly is, and how much power Pero has over him right now.

   “Everyone here knows my wife; you could’ve asked around for that information. If you’re trying to intimidate me-…”

   “She cuts herself in the evenings,” he clips the general off, and sees his quarry literally swallow whatever he’d been about to say. “You’ve taught her how to do it exactly right so that it’ll hurt without causing any real damage. Because you like to watch.”

   The older man’s rage is undiminished, but his lips remain sealed, because he knows where this is going, and while he might not be ashamed of it, he damned well knows what happens if it gets out.

   “Her pain is the only thing that arouses you, so you stand there at the edge of the bed, stroking yourself while you watch her cut repeatedly at your command, just so you can shove your dick down her throat and choke her half to death once she’s got you hard enough,” Pero continues, letting his disdain for the man be heard in every syllable now. “I’m curious, do you think your unit would have your back if they found out what happened to your first two wives?”

   Hayword’s anger seems to dissipate now, because this is entirely unexpected. He’s been assured that no evidence remains of those women, or of the crimes he committed against them.    But Tovar is no ordinary man. Secrets find him as if they had a mind and a will of their own.

   “You’re bluffing…” the general tries, although his tone is all but convincing.

   To prove that he isn’t, the trespasser produces an envelope from his jacket pocket, throwing it on the desk for the other man to retrieve.    He’s not stupid enough to hand anything directly to the trained military officer with no conscience or morals, as that would practically be an invitation for the man to engage in physical combat.

   Hayword picks it up and pulls the top open, sliding the one folded piece of paper out and taking a step back before he unfolds it, since looking at it requires him to take his eyes off his enemy, and he wants a little more space between them first, to give himself another second of reaction time, should Tovar decide to attack when his focus is elsewhere.    But one look at the paper in his hands is enough to make him realize that his unwanted guest fights his battles in a different way.

   “Who the fuck are you?” he asks between tight jaws, as he refocuses on the man who stands in the middle of his office, with his arms hanging loosely down his sides, seeming as unbothered by this encounter as he would meeting a tree in the forest.

   “My name is Mr. Hood,” he replies, and then pauses to let the general absorb that, clearly familiar with the infamous name, before he continues. “Ordinarily, I never work for anyone other than myself, but in this instance, I’ve made an exception.    And her name is Nikita Morse.”

   The older man doesn’t seem terribly surprised to hear that, but his mood shifts again because he’s well aware of how important that woman is right now, not just to the US military, and even government, but to the general himself.    Failure to ascertain or assassinate this particular target wouldn’t go over well with his superiors. Best case scenario is that he merely loses his job.

   “If you know anything about Morse, you know we can’t just leave her be,” he counters, but there isn’t much conviction behind his words anymore.

   “And I’m here to inform you that if you don’t, I will not only ruin your life… I’ll come after everyone. Straight up the chain of command, all the way to the President himself,” Pero cautions, meaning every word.

   “You’d never get close to anyone else. I’ve seen your face, we’ll be able to track your every move from now on, you won’t be able to take a shit without us hearing about it.”

   “Oh, but that won’t be necessary. You see, my method has always been to use middle-hands for everything, and this is no different. My face won’t help you because I won’t be the one who delivers the damning evidence to the courts, or the spouses, or the children.    I’ve been doing this for a long time, general. Long enough to know how to infiltrate your innermost circles and get your terrified wife to confess to exactly what you do to her, just like I know how colonel Peters doesn’t go to church for the sermons, or why the Chairman himself has no less than three hidden bank accounts in different parts of the world.”

   Hayword merely swallows hard at that, but Tovar can see how he’s still looking for a way out, refusing to accept that this one man could ever do so much damage.

   “So, you’re willing to die for this woman? Because you gotta know no matter what you might have on me, I can’t let you waltz out of here.”

   “Well now, the problem isn’t really what I have on you, is it?” he taunts, knowing he’s still got the upper hand here and ready to play his cards as savagely as he possibly can.

   “The fuck does that mean?”

   “Tyler…” Pero says softly, and all color drains from the general’s face.

   Because even he knows that out of all the messed up shit his family has going on, his oldest son takes the cake, by miles.

   “Where was it you found him the first time? Arizona? With those poor boys he’d raped just bleeding out on the ground…    And what did you do? You helped him cover it up. He killed two little kids, and you just swept it under the rug like it never happened.    The second time was in Tennessee, if I’m not mis-…”

   “Alright! You’ve made your god damned point!” the general all but roars as the truth gets to be too much for him. “Just… stop.”

   But his unwanted guest isn’t one to let his marks off easy.

   “I can’t do that. Unless you stop first. That’s the only way this ends, because even if I die, my informants will continue to do my bidding. They’ll have no choice. I’ve made sure of it.”

   “Do you have any idea how dangerous the information your girl sits on is? How powerful that knowledge would be in the hands of our enemies?” Hayword presses, but his tone betrays nuances of desperation now.

   “Yes, I do. But the problem here, general, is what you have failed to understand about all this, which is that when you turn on your own… the definition of an enemy suddenly becomes very broad.    Right now, for instance, you’re my biggest enemy. The US government is my enemy. Not because of my own history or even your politics, but simply because you used and discarded some of the greatest scientific minds of this country, as if they were worthless.    How am I supposed to trust anyone who treats their own assets that way?”

   “No, you just blackmail your own fucking assets instead…”

   “The difference being that I’ve never tried to hide it from them or gone back on my word to leave them alone if they do what I demand. I tell them from the start exactly what’s happening and how to avoid it escalating into something truly unpleasant, and if they play along, nothing bad happens to them.    You told these people they were free to go live their lives, and then you hunted them down like cattle to the slaughter.    I’m no saint, but at least I don’t hide behind an army so I can pretend to be the good guy.”

   The general has no comeback for that, but he’s deeply unhappy with how this conversation is going, that much is evident from the ever-growing hopelessness in his eyes.

   “Considering what I’ve just told about myself and my methods, I have only one more thing to ask you, sir,” Pero finally determines, holding the man’s gaze with pure steel in his own, as he delivers the last question. “Will you comply with my demand, and seize all pursuit, physical and digital, of the innocent woman we both know as Nikita Morse?”

   “It’s not within my power to command.”

   “Yes, it is. In fact, you are the only person with the power to make that command. If you weren’t, I’d be in someone else’s office right now.”

   “I can’t risk the safety of this country-…”

   “And losing the entire government, along with all trust from the American people, isn’t risking the safety of this country?” Tovar counters, letting his voice turn sharp and somewhat threatening to highlight the ridiculousness of the man’s reasoning.

   The general falters at that, unable to think of a retort. He’s painted into a corner, held hostage on one side by the responsibilities he carries against his superiors, and on the other, by Pero’s ultimatum. Either way, he risks terrifying consequences both to himself and those around him, so the only questions which remains, is whether he values family or his work the highest.

   Pero is ordinarily exceptional at reading people and their intentions, but on this occasion, he can’t determine what the general will decide.    With how he treats his wife, one could be forgiven for thinking he doesn’t give a shit about her, but on the other hand, he’s gone to great lengths and sacrificed a lot in the name of protecting his son.

   So, the trespasser waits. And the man deliberates.

   Then…

   “I have your word that my family affairs will not be publicized, in any forum, on any type of platform, physical or digital, if I agree to call off the search on Morse?”

   “If you pick up that phone and make the call to the Chief, declaring her dead and dealt with, right now in front of my eyes, and give me every assurance that no further efforts will be spent, from any unit, military, private or otherwise, on further pursuing her, covertly or openly, then yes. I will disappear, and you will never see me again.”

   “And what about the outside sources who already pursue her?”

   “They’ll be dealt with; I can promise you that.”

   The general takes one more moment to consider, and then makes his decision.    He picks up the phone, and just to make sure that he knows he can’t trick his way out of this, Pero recites the number he needs to call, checking that the man does indeed punch in the correct digits and insisting that he put the phone on speaker.    The call is brief and to the point, and when it’s over, the unwanted guest leaves the same way he walked in.

   No alarms start blaring. No one tries to stop him. The general has kept his word.    For now.    But Tovar fully intends to keep monitoring him closely.

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

   Two months after he disappeared, Niki has all but stopped believing he’s ever coming back.    She never stands by the curtained windows anymore, dreaming of stepping outside into the freedom and fresh air. She no longer pesters William for updates, desperate for any scrap of news about her lover.    She persists. Her life is a prison-like routine of exercise, food, and sleep. Nothing more.

   If not for the baby, she would’ve given up by now and taken her chances on the streets. But she can’t risk the life she carries.    His child, and maybe all that’s left of him.    Weeks ago, she made a choice to think of him as dead, and allow herself to grieve him, because otherwise she would’ve been buried under the endless torrent of uncertainty. So, to her mind, he’s gone, and he isn’t coming back.

   In his place, Will does what he can, taking care of the housework and making sure that Niki follows her routines to stay healthy and give the baby the best conditions available.    He stopped telling her about any leads he finds a while back, after noticing that it only ever upsets her when nothing comes of them. But she knows he still searches.    That the hours spent in front of those screens aren’t merely to make sure he knows if someone picks up their trail, but also to look for any clue his missing friend might’ve left for him.

   She worries about him. He’s a fragile person, prone to denial, but eventually he will have to accept that his searching is in vain, and when that happens, however long it might take for him to reach that point, it’s going to absolutely destroy him.    But she suspects it’ll take him years to get there.

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

   Without Will’s help, it takes three times longer for Pero to find the people he needs to find next. But he can’t risk contacting them.    Hayword has thus far stuck to his word, and so long as the three of them only have the Chinese element to worry about, he’s not gonna jeopardize their best chance of getting out of this in one piece, just because he misses Niki.

   He does though. So fucking much.    It’s impossible not to think about her, not to wonder if her belly has begun to swell, or worry that she’s had to come to terms with having lost the baby, without him there to grieve with her and comfort her.    That’s the hardest part. Not knowing if she needs him right now.

   But he’s close to finishing this, he’s finally found the person who’s after her. It took this long only because the woman was hiding behind a network of decoys, but once Pero figured it out, locating the actual culprit wasn’t very hard.    What is going to be hard, though, is getting to her. She’s got layers upon layers of security, and lives in what’s essentially a fortress, forcing her enemy to keep his distance and observe.

   Mr. Hood is not a man who enjoys violence, and although he is good at fighting when it’s required of him, he’s always preferred a more elegant solution. It generally creates less ripples on the water, less potential future complications.    But this time, he may have no choice.    His research into this woman has revealed no skeletons, probably not because there aren’t any, but more likely due to her exceptional skills at manipulation.

   She runs her miniature empire not by instilling fear in her subjects, but by making them love her and thus desire nothing more than to protect her.    To get to her, Pero is gonna need to get creative. He already knows that what she wants from the information Niki can provide, is to use it as leverage against the male dominance of her country’s leaders and decision makers. She wants a seat at the table.    But what he can’t figure out is how to offer her something either better than the weapon’s research, or something scary enough to make her back off.

   Everyone has something in their history they don’t want people to know. And this is always especially true of the rich. The problem is that her circle is so tight he can’t get to her from the outside. Can’t rummage through her secrets by coercing someone to feed them to him, because everyone who might know them live in the fortress with her. All equally inaccessible.    Unless… he tries something really stupid.

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

   “Come on, Tovar,” William grumbles to himself, having once again checked all his online traps for signs of the missing member of their group, and come up dry. “Give me a damned crumb, will ya.”

   It’s the middle of the night and Niki’s asleep, so he keeps his voice down, but this is how he spends most nights these days. Hunched over his keyboard, restlessly searching in ever more unlikely places. He’s got programs running non-stop, some designed to look for Pero’s physical description in coroners reports from all over the world, others to look for mentions of his alias in people’s voice mails, emails, text messages, and so on. He’s got dozens of these programs running every minute of every day.

   Nothing pings anymore. After almost three months, there are no leads.    Nikita gave up on him a while ago. But not because she doesn’t want him to come back or because she doesn’t believe in him. She gave up because hope hurts too much.    She doesn’t have a choice now, but to focus her efforts on her baby, and she tries. But Will can see how it tortures her. That however much she might try and convince herself he’s dead and that she’s grieved him, the hope is still there.

   That’s why Will hardly ever rests.    Even if he can’t bring her partner back to her, he can at least try to give her closure, if indeed Pero has been lost.    But unlike Niki, the veteran still leans on his hope. He still believes that the mysterious Mr. Hood is alive, working hard on keeping her safe. He’s got too much experience with the man to believe he could be bested even by enemies of this caliber.

   And what drives his hope most of all, is actually the lack of findings. Because if Tovar had been killed, someone would’ve been yelling about it, somewhere in the world. A person like him doesn’t just vanish, not when so many people have reason to fear what he knows, and how that information might be distributed upon his demise.    No, he’s still alive. Plotting, scheming, hunting. Wherever he is, he’s not done.

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

   It was far from a perfect plan, but as he now stands before his quarry, finally, after weeks of patiently waiting in a dungeon, he’s smiling internally at the fact that he’s about to win this war.    Getting himself captured might’ve seemed counterintuitive, but it had been the only way to get himself inside the fortress, where he’d been able to start sowing seeds of doubt within the residents and learn more about his captor in the process.

   And now he has the woman herself, Baozhai Gao, in front of him at last.    He knows how to get her to back off, just like he knows that she’s actually not a villain. Her entire life has been spent in a silent war, a constant threat to her existence, and all she wants is just to have enough power that she doesn’t have to fight anymore.    Something he can easily give her.

   “I’m told you are responsible for the loss of my best team,” she says once he’s standing before her, tied up and on his knees, but otherwise unharmed.

   He’s waited until today to disclose to his guards that he knows all about the house in the woods and the six operatives who never returned from there, since Gao clearly doesn’t know who he is by face alone.

   “It was my house they tried to infiltrate in search of Miss Morse,” he admits, and sees her interest pique at the mention of Niki. “Unfortunately for them, I’m a very resourceful person. And someone who cares a great deal about the woman you seek.”

   “You know where she is,” Gao hungrily replies, too enamored by learning this to realize that what he’s really saying is, he’s never going to help her find her quarry.

   “I know a lot of things, Baozhai. Like what your brother did to you when you were twelve. How he tried to sell you so that your parents would only have him to dote on.    I know about The Park and what you were made to do there, the things you had to do to free yourself, the things the ensuing guilt then made you do to yourself… I know you’ve had about the shittiest life anyone could imagine and that all you want is just to be free of men and our endless pursuit of power.”

   She looks absolutely sick to hear him say this, and he understands that, because this woman has never shared her secrets with anyone. Not really. She carries her deepest burdens alone, specifically so that no one can use them against her.    And now here’s this foreigner, this outsider, who somehow knows her innermost truths.

   “How?” she challenges, and there’s both anger and desperation dripping from the one little word as it falls across her lips.

   “That’s not as important as why.”

   “It’s important to me.”

   “Only because you fear that someone else might learn about it, but I can assure you, they won’t. I’m not here to hurt you, just to make a deal.”

   “A deal? You mean blackmail me into leaving Nikita Morse alone.”

   “No. I mean offer you something even more valuable, in exchange for her freedom,” he counters, deliberately using the word freedom instead of suggesting she should cooperate, since he knows what that word means to Gao.

   She doesn’t respond verbally, but her eyes tell him to go on.

   “I can provide you with damning information about half the world’s most influential people. From leaders and corporate whales to those you’ve never even heard of, but who’s networks of information are crucial to the balance of power within this world.”

   “If you really have this kind of information, why not use it yourself?” she challenges, not ready to believe that anyone could have that level of power and just sit on it.

   “Because I’ve never had any ambitions. All I’ve ever wanted is just for people to stop being cruel for the pettiest fucking reasons, but I could never find anyone who didn’t disappoint.    And then I met Niki. And now all I want is just to be with her. To not have to run or hide for the rest of our lives. To find out if our baby made it-…”

   He has to stop then, because the thought reminds him of how long he’s been away, and it tortures him to think of how Niki must hate him now. How she must’ve come to the conclusion that he’s either abandoned her completely, or that he’s dead.    If the baby did make it, she’ll be halfway through the pregnancy by now, but unable to see a doctor or an OBGYN, unable to even leave the apartment. And he can imagine what something like that would do to a person like her.

   Whether Gao believes him or not, she decides that the information he offers is too valuable to pass up and agrees to a deal.    It takes him another two days to convince her of his truthfulness, however, which he does by offering up absolutely crushing evidence against one of her worst adversaries, but then she finally lets him go.

-=¤=-

   Returning to New York is just as terrifying as it had been to leave. He has to be cautious, though. Not rush back to the apartment building, but instead take the time to make sure Hayword is still keeping his word.    He makes his presence in the city known by walking around where dozens of different cameras will capture his face and body in detail, and then he makes himself disappear again, sticking to the shadows as he watches and waits.

   After five days, he decides that if someone is still watching, he’ll risk it. He has to see her again, even if it means getting back on the run.    He walks straight up to the front door of the building and steps inside, heading for the elevators and going to the correct floor without detours or any attempts at confusing anyone who might be tracking him.

   The doors open and he walks out into the hallway, suddenly so scared that they won’t be there. That no one will answer when he knocks.    He passes a painting and sees his reflection in the glass, abruptly concerned that he hasn’t dressed better, or combed his hair, or washed his hands since going to the bathroom that morning. As if any of it matters.

   Instead of peepholes, there are little widescreen cameras at chest height in each apartment door, directly linked to a touchscreen inside, which automatically displays what the camera sees if there’s movement within its field of vision. So, they’ll know it’s him before they even open. If they’re still there.

   His hand shakes as he raises it towards the flat surface before him, and he hesitates, taking a couple of trembling breaths before he taps on the door, so timidly that it barely makes a sound at first, and he has to coerce his hand to tap harder.    His heart races while he waits, too loud in his own ears for him to hear if there are any sounds from in there. Any signs of movement. It takes so long.

   Then the deadbolt turns.    The handle slowly drops.    The door begins to swing open.

   His breath vanishes as she comes into view. Her eyes are wide but so bleak, her skin still too pale, her movements slow and cautious.    But she’s fuller now. Thicker. And there’s a well-defined bump in between her hips.

   All this time, he’s forced himself not to let it in. Not to allow the reality of the threat against them settle into his being, not to let his fears have any room because that would’ve broken him, and he couldn’t afford it.    Those walls crumble at the sight of her, and he drops like a ton of bricks onto the threshold, collapsing to his hands and knees as the four months of terror catch up to him.

   He feels her hands grip him, stronger now, but trembling just like his as she pulls him into her embrace. And he wants to hold her, but his arms won’t obey. Wants to kiss her but his body is suddenly so heavy.    Somewhere to his right, he hears William ask if it’s over, and he manages to nod. Shortly after, sunlight streams into the apartment as the man has apparently pulled the curtains back. How dearly he must’ve longed to get to do that.

   Then the sweetest voice he’s ever heard in all his life, whispers in his ear.

   “I love you, Pero.”

   She’d promised him she’d say it. When it was over.

   “I… I love you… both,” he stammers through the tears, just as he’d promised.

THE END

-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-

Thank you for taking this journey with me!

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed

[elliepassmore]

The Sins on Their Bones review

4/5 stars Recommended if you like: fantasy, historical fantasy, LGBTQ+ characters, political intrigue, Russian Revolution

Big thanks to Netgalley, Random House, and the author for an ARC in exchange for an honest review!

TW rape/SA, spousal abuse

This definitely seems to be a book that you absolutely love or that you struggle with. I obviously thought this book deserved 4 stars, but I did struggle immensely with getting through the book. The pacing is very slow and it takes a while for the plot and the characters to really warm up. I do feel like a good portion of the first 50% could be cut without damaging the story.

Without a doubt this is a story about suffering and about healing. Dimitri, one of the MCs and narrators, is in terrible amounts of pain after what occurred with his husband and the revolution. He's the one we see suffering the most, but the book does follow his journey as he begins to heal and discover who he is on the other side of those things. Vasily, another one of the narrators, has pain in his past that is alluded to over the course of the novel. He's at a different stage of the healing process than Dimitri, but that pain and healing is still there.

I think part of the problem with the book's pacing is that Samotin strives to show a realistic journey of pain, depression, and healing, and that path is not a quick one. Dimitri does not recover over night or in the span of a chapter. He first needs to recognize that he can heal and then he continually needs to make that choice. I do think it's a realistic depiction, and I applaud Samotin for showing that. However, I think time jumps could have, and probably should have, been used.

Setting aside the pacing, I was fascinated by the setting of this book. It takes place in a fantasy, Jewish-majority version of Russia circa the Russian Revolution. The setting is rich with architecture and clothing and traditions. I liked the interplay of the different sects of religion in the novel and how that was used to create tension between characters who followed Ludyazist mysticism vs. those who followed the (not-so) Holy Science. I also thought it was interesting to read a book where a fantasy version of Judaism is the predominant religion instead of having it be a fantasy version of Christianity.

Dimitri is the main character, imo, even though there are three narrators. As mentioned above, this is very much a healing story, and Dimitri has a lot to heal from. He was the Tzar of Novo-Svitsevo prior to the revolution and he desperately loves his country. He also desperately loves his husband, who overthrew him and is just generally a not great (read: abusive) dude. Dimitri is grappling with the consequences of war and the feeling he let his country down, as well as the guilt associated with helping place his husband, Alexey, in a place to do that in the first place. But he's also recovering from the abuse Alexey put him through and coming to terms with the fact that it wasn't his fault. Beyond all of these things, Dimitri is extremely loyal and it's clear he loves his friends dearly.

Vasily might be my favorite narrating character. He's Dimitri's spymaster and fled with him into hiding after the end of the war. He blends humor and seriousness well and is able to stabilize situations fairly well. I liked seeing him work, I always think it's fascinating to see a character become someone else as a spying/manipulation tactic. He has his own past trauma that gets revealed a bit throughout the book, though he's further along on his healing journey than Dimitri is.

Alexey is the last narrating character and he was Dimitri's husband. Through experimentation with the Holy Science, Alexey has become immortal and is impossible to kill. He was already tempestuous and abusive, but post-immortality and post-war, he's only become more volatile. He strives to create and control an army of demons in order to make Novo-Svitsevo the strongest country in the world. But despite his delusions of grandeur, most of his court is terrified of him and he has little patience for what it means to run a country. Alexey is not portrayed as the good guy in any way, but his POV is one of an abuser, so keep that in mind.

I enjoyed the side characters on Dimitri's side of things. Other than Vasily, there are three other members of his court who fled with him and they are Annika, his general; Ladushka, his strategist; and Mischa, his physician. They each felt like well-rounded characters with their own pasts and idiosyncrasies. I would've liked to know a bit more about them but the pacing of the book makes that difficult.

Overall I think this book had a lot of potential. The pacing definitely got in the way of the plot and I think a good portion of the beginning of the book probably could've been cut. I liked the side characters more than the main characters as well, so that could've contributed as well. That being said, the characters have a lot of depth to them and the setting + magic system were interesting.

[the-hinky-panda]

The Preacher's Wife Series: Escape (Part I)

TW: Domestic spousal abuse: emotional, mental, physical, and sexual

Hank’s in love.

Again. 

It’s too soon, the wounds from the previous relationship still fresh, still stinging. But he thinks back to feeling Maggie pressed to his side, her hand in his, her head resting against his shoulder. It was one of the only times that he actually followed the speed limit back to her rental, trying to draw out the time. He can’t get it out of my mind just how perfect everything had been. He certainly doesn’t believe in romantic nonsense like soulmates but the feeling of watching Maggie walk into the cabin by herself was like watching a piece of himself go with her. 

Maybe he is starting to believe in soulmates. 

Either way, the problem remains of her husband and the process of getting her and the two children out of that mansion in La Jolla. He can’t contact Maggie directly so he approaches the next best thing, Maggie’s sister, Stitches. She’s been the medic for a couple years now and hasn’t mentioned anything specific about Maggie and her marriage. She’s hinted at being concerned for Maggie, always excited for Maggie’s visits to Santo Padre. But never has she brought up to the club a fear for her sister’s safety. 

Stitches is organizing her medical supplies in the treatment room in the clubhouse when Hank finally tracks her down. He’s only been back from Big Bear Lake for two hours and he can’t shake the conversation he had just earlier today in the truck with Maggie. He raps lightly on the open door. 

“Stitch, you got a minute?” 

“Yeah, absolutely.” She stands up and immediately starts scanning him, looking for any injuries. 

“I’m fine,” he waves her off. “I, uh, I actually wanted to talk to you about your sister, Maggie.” 

Concern immediately clouds her face. “Maggie? What’s going on with Maggie?” 

“I ran into her, up at Big Bear Lake.” 

Stitches’ concern dissipates immediately and she breaks into a big smile. “Oh yeah, she was heading up there for a conference.” 

Hank smirked. “Conference.” 

“Ah,” Stitches leans against the exam table. “So she told you about her other ‘job.’” 

“She did. My mom likes reading her books.” 

Stitches’ grin gets wider. “I’m sure the next time she’s visiting, we can stop by and see your mom if you want. It’ll do Maggie good, finding people who enjoy her books. She doesn’t get to have that satisfaction too much.” 

Hank smiles at that but then gets to the real reason for his visit. “Has Maggie ever said anything about how her husband treats her?” 

All positivity drains from her face. “I know he’s an asshole. Emotionally manipulative and a bully. I’ve been stashing money and family heirlooms for her in preparation for her to leave but she keeps telling me the timing isn’t right yet. Her publisher is also holding on to her royalties as well. Why?” 

“She just said a few things that concerned me. Wanted to get a clearer picture from you.” 

Stitches’ mouth is a firm, tense line. “What things?” 

The words are so bitter on his tongue when he says them. “I think he’s hitting her.” 

“That son of a bitch.”

She starts to move past him but he puts out a hand and catches her shoulder. The explosion is expected and he is prepared for it thankfully. “Now hold on. You know if that’s true, we do have to wait on her.” 

“Dammit, I know.”  She emits a frustrated noise and kicks the small trash can. “Shit. I had no idea he was hitting her or that it was even a possibility. He’s so focused on goddam appearances I didn’t think he would do that.” 

“It seemed like she let it slip when we were talking. She said it was never anything to go see about at a hospital or ER. I don’t think anyone knows.” 

“Course not. Simon Peters needs to keep his reputation clean or he could lose that money machine of a church. Can’t have a wife sporting bruises and casts…” Stitches pauses in her rant, her eyes going wide. “Oh my God. Her foot.” 

“She mentioned breaking it but didn’t say how.” 

Stitches returns to pacing the small room, her face thunderous. “I knew it. I knew Simon had something to do with her broken foot. The bones on the top of her foot were just snapped. She had to have metal pins and plates in there to fix it. She said her foot got caught under a box and she lost balance and fell backwards. It sounded fishy to me but she assured me that’s all it was.” 

Hank feels that sick feeling settling in his stomach. “What did it look like to you?” 

“It looked like someone stood on her foot and pushed her backwards, that’s what the breaks looked like.” Stitches lets out another sound of anger. “Six years! Six years, she’s been stuck in that house with that asshole! And I didn’t…” her eyes flood with tears and she covers her face with her hands. “I didn’t know, Hank. God, I didn’t know.” 

“What the hell is going on in here?” Bishop appears in the doorway. 

Tears are still streaming down her face and gives both Hank and Bishop the most helpless look. “My sister needs help.” 

Bishop turns to Hank. “What kind of help?” 

Taza appears at Bishop’s shoulder, peering into the room. “What’s going on?” 

“Stitches’ sister needs help,” Bishop says. 

Hank fills in the rest of the information. “Abusive husband.” 

Bishop nods. “He armed? Security guards? What are we talking?” 

“He’s the pastor of a megachurch,” Hank answers. “Lives in a mansion in La Jolla.” 

“The kids,” Stitches says. “We need to get the two kids too.” 

“Alright,” Taza puts his arm around Stitches’ shoulders. “We will. You talk to her, find out when would be a good time to get her and the kids out.” 

“Safely,” Hank adds. 

“Safely,” Bishop repeats. “In the meantime, if we have something coming up that needs attention, I’ll make sure at least three guys stay behind to help. You pick them. Okay?” 

Stitches wipes her eyes with her sleeve. “Okay. But don’t you have to bring this to the table or take a vote in Templo or something?” 

Bishop  glances at Hank and Taza, who give him minute nods, and he shakes his head. “No vote needed this time. Sometimes, we’re just all in agreement.” 

[loriensasylum]

The performance of the poem (starting at 37:38) is so good.

TW: mentions of spousal and child abuse

[idiotwhowritesshipstuff]

Rei Mekaru and Kanata Inori x Ultimate Nurse reader with a similar backstory to Mikan Tsumiki (but not the personality)

Note: ....I’m into DR again, I blame Danganronpa Another, god save me. I’m trying my hand in making banners as the ones Im currently using were from a request to a blog and a gift from a friend so if they look shitty in comparison to what is on this blog that’s why, I figured if Im gonna try writing again why not try to at least put more heart into it

Btw if the prompt is confusing, essentially the reader doesn’t have Mikan’s weak personality and undying need for attention that they’ll humiliate themselves for it, they’re a professional nurse with an abusive family and peers which forced them to learn how to treat their own injuries as no one else would.

- Mod Monaca

TW: Described child abuse from peers and family, Kanata’s section also contains a brief mention of spousal abuse 

She initially dismissed you like everyone else for being a prodigy who she thought didn’t have to work as hard as she did in life so she was rather surprised but pleased to discover your skill as a nurse comes from hard work and determination much like her teaching abilities.

As someone with a disappointing family, she is sympathetic to your backstory about your horrid family and is proud of you for taking the step to improve your own situation over just hoping for someone to save you from your family. She would love to hear about how you managed to get your hands on medical textbooks and equipment since your family obviously couldn’t have been the source.

If you want your family to be put away for their abuse, Rei would be happy to help with some of her connections through the students she’s taught and acknowledged as competent. She would discourage the idea of you asking Kinjo to help as even if he’s the Ultimate Police Officer, he can be a bit manic and she thinks she can help you find better people to get on the case, however she will enlist Kinjo’s help if she can’t get someone better.

If you two were put in the killing game together, she would only be willing to cooperate with you for most of the game, she’d take your autopsies over Inori’s and would help you figure out who the culprit is and how they did it but she wouldn’t spell it out for you, you’re competent enough to learn how to become a fully fledged nurse while being abused by your family at home and by your peers at school, she’s sure you’re competent enough to figure out who the culprit is from your investigations together and some hints she’s willing to give.

On days where your past is haunting you, she would help you feel better by taking you on a date in a place like the library or somewhere that you two can simply relax and chat so you can unwind from stress. It’s during dates that you really get to see Rei’s softer side and she may even open up to you about how her life on the streets affected her since she feels much more comfortable being a little vulnerable around you.

She was extremely excited to be classmates with you due to your talents both coming from the medical field. It’s extremely likely that she’s at the very least heard about you prior to coming to Hope’s Peak as people have speculated how well you two would work together as teenagers with extensive medical knowledge who outclass working adults.

Kanata’s heart would break when she finds out you gained so much medical knowledge because no one would treat your injuries. She did worry about the bandages around your body but she didn’t comment on them as they were well bandaged and she just figured they were from an accident. The fact they come from abuse from your family is devastating to her. Considering how she comes from a loving family, both biological and adopted, she struggles to fathom how someone could be so heartless to their own family though she is reminded that she’s had a few surgeries on people who were attacked by their spouses or romantic partners. It really hits her how cruel people can be when someone she’s close to is a victim of abuse. 

If you ever wanted to pursue getting your family arrested for their crimes, she would encourage you to get Kakeru on the case, as the Ultimate Lawyer, he can definitely help you assemble a case to get them charged for child abuse so you don’t have to worry about them anymore but she won’t push the matter if you want someone else to handle the case, this is your family matter after all.

She would love to introduce you to her adopted family, especially her father, as she firmly believes you deserve to experience what it’s like to have a proper family and with how selflessly the Andos were in taking her in when she had nothing, she’s sure they’ll be able to help you experience the familial love you never got.

In the killing game, you two are major sources of comfort to each other over being unable to save the lives of your classmates. As medical professionals, it’s extremely frustrating and upsetting that you two are never able to save your classmates as they continue to die one by one due to the motives given by Monokuma. When making autopsies she would love having your help so she doesn’t potentially make any mistakes in identifying injuries and causes of death, while she she is confident she can identify them, it’s always good to have a second opinion.

On days where your past is haunting you, she would try to take your mind off it going on dates with you in places like the park. She usually doesn’t go to places like these because she’s so busy with work and she would normally spend time with you talking about patient stories or general medical knowledge, she would comfort you by trying out something completely different from those activities since you may not want to discuss them when in that state. If you do still want to discuss them she’d be happy to chat about it but it wouldn’t be her first idea in helping you.

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

WIp Wednesday Apr 26.23: Snipe's Little Cowgirl Series

TW: REFERENCES TO CHILD ABUSE AND SPOUSAL ABUSE UNDER CUT

The first time Snipe had ever held a gun he’d been eight years old. He’d been Shawn then, Shawn Fujioka, the weird Japanese cousin to the Cord family and the weird half-gajin cousin to the Fujioka family. It was at a Cord family gathering, and he’d been hiding from his mother after she screamed at him for wearing a shirt she didn’t like. She’d slapped him across the face and stomped off. His father she’d dragged along even as the man tried to say something to her. After slapping him to, screaming that ‘the little shit needed to learn’. Snipe had booked it outside of the house to hide in the trees. Big Mama found him though.

 Big Mama wasn’t like a lot of the adults in the family. For one, she tended to distract the other adults when they got loud and drunk. She also gave the worst looks to a lot of them. She wore pretty dresses that covered her arms and legs but Snipe could swear he saw bruises like the ones his mother left on him on her arms. 

 “Shawn?” Big Mama asked softly to the trees. “Me and some of your cousins are going to the range Big Papa put up,” her breath hitched mentioning her husband.

 (Snipe always sort of knew how the man treated his wife. How he tormented her and used their children to keep her leashed. How he’d used his Quirk on her to make her scream and hurt. But he hadn’t actually known until he was an adult, when he and the others had their talks. When Big Mama spoke about how the man hurt her so frankly.)

 “Want to come?” Big Mama asked. 

 “Whose coming?” Snipe had asked in his accented voice. Big Mama didn’t bark at him to speak clearly like the others did. Didn’t sneer at his accent like the older cousins did. She just smiled.

 “Well there’s me, the Gems, Candy, Micheal and Mabel. Bethany is also comin’ I think if you’re interested, sugar.”

 “… okay,” Snipe agreed. Big Mama swept him off to the truck where his cousins were waiting. Micheal was shaking like a mad man, the teen sitting in the front seat with his head jerking back. (After shocks of his mother using her Quirk on him.) Candy was clutching her teddy bear to herself, stroking the fabric in her hands with glazed eyes. (She had a bruise leaking out from her shirt collar. She’d still been Candy then. She only used Candice later on, reacting violently to the nickname she once responded to.) the Gems, Vivian, Blanche and Delilah, all had wet faces and shaking bodies. (Forced to cry and cry so that their Quirk would turn the tears to gemstones for the family to sell. Bruises covered their bodies from fists and feet.) Mabel and Bethany were smoking, even though they were only fourteen and twelve. (They hadn’t been allowed to eat for a few days and it cut the appetite.)

 Big Mama got in the front with Micheal while Snipe climbed into the bed of the truck with the girls. There was a picnic basket and some guns in the back. Candy grabbed a soda and started drinking it while Mabel shakily grabbed a chocolate bar. She looked terrified with it and Bethany had shot out a hand to grab her arm.

 “Pa will beat you bloody,” she said.

 (Years later, Snipe still bought that brand of chocolate. It was a simple kitkat bar. He bought them and ate them all the time, but he went out of his way to buy the different flavours for Mabel when he could.)

 Mabel put the chocolate down. She kept smoking. 

 They drove all the way to the range. It was just a bunch of targets and some bottles around. (Snipe tried to ignore the post in the middle of the field where there was a few piece of rope near it. Where there was a bit of blood.)They jumped off the bed of the truck, and Big Mama got out to grab the guns. Micheal flinched and wandered off, still shaking. Vivian followed, Snipe only able to tell it was her thanks to her Ruby red dress. (They color coordinated the girls so they knew what they’d get when the tears started.) She didn’t like guns either.

 Big Mama had looked at Snipe, the youngest there, and smiled. “You ever shoot honey? You’ve got a version of my Quirk right?”

 “Mother said it’s worthless,” Snipe said instantly. Big Mama frowned.

 “That’s baloney. Come here sugar, I’ll teach you to shoot.”

 Snipe shot his first gun that day. He shot it while his family (the ones worth knowing from the Cords at the time) hung around him. Bethany got the most bullseyes after him, grinning like crazy. But Big Mama gave him a special smile.

 “See? Ain’t worthless sugar. You’re a damn good sniper.” 

 It was the first time he held a gun. Snipe carried that moment for years inside of him, thinking on it. It was a precious memory. It was the first time a family member other then his dad told him he was good at something. That he wasn’t worthless.

 (The first time he really realized that he wasn’t alone in the family.)

[aparticularbandit]

A Sea Psalm for a Penitent Soul: Stanza One: Paved with Good Intentions

Chapter One: Blood

Fic Summary: When Agatha Harkness is barely ten years old, she witnesses the trial - and execution - of a woman who'd looked after her since she was a baby.  As accusations from outsiders fly and as Agatha struggles with controlling her own dark magic, the world she knows and depends on is ripped out from under her.

Chapter Rating: M for adult themes. Fic Rating: M for adult themes. TW: Blood; menstruation; combustion; mentions of child loss and spousal abuse

General Note and Content Warning DD;DNE - It only gets worse from here.

AO3

previous chapter

“Alice Baker, are you a witch?”

She shouldn’t be here.

Agatha stands, half-crouched, just on the outskirts of the coven circle, hidden in the thicket of trees.  She’s small for her age – only ten years old, but that’s double digits, so she should be allowed, even if she’s not really an adult yet – so she can hide easily enough in the bushes, just behind a tree.  It isn’t fair; she’s older than Agnes by months, but she gets to be at coven meetings.  All because of that stupid blood maneuver!  She should have tried it; it would’ve been simply enough to catch some from one of the chickens Prudence cooks for supper; it’s just avoiding Prudence that would be the problem—

Her teeth grit and grind together.  No more thinking about Agnes, even if she can make out her best friend standing just next to a taller figure who has to be her mother – it’s hard to make out faces from this far away, and she can only make out what her own mama is saying because she, Agnes, Nicholas, and Nathaniel have played this game hundreds of times.

Fake witches.  Fake trials.

The other children always think it’s a joke, and it is!  Mostly.  Everyone in Salem knows that witches are evil, so whoever’s on trial has to die.  But it’s always a game, so they fake dead and then get back up in seconds. No one really stays dead.  And it’s always a short little thing they can do between all of their other chores and....

Well, it sounds a bit like public confession, and while the adults don’t really like that they’re witches, they don’t mind too much, other than giving them a very, very strong look.

But by this point, Agatha knows the beginning by heart.  She’s her mama’s daughter, so she usually plays the coven head, usually accuses Agnes.  Sometimes they switch.  Sometimes they let Nathanial be the head for the fun of it, even though everyone knows that boys can’t be the head of the coven, no matter whose kid they are.  But it’s not like Agatha will ever be head.  Charity, her oldest sister, will, and if something happens to her, it’ll be Prudence.  They’ve probably heard this hundreds of times from her mama, but Agatha’s only heard bits and pieces.

And she wants to hear the rest of it!

Agatha tucks back the dark strands of hair that have pulled away from her messy braid, and she pushes through the long dying grasses, around the bushes, and as close to the circle as she can get.  The sudden throwing back of all the coven members’ hoods covers the sounds she’s making; as cautious as she is, she can’t be completely silent.  But they’re all distracted anyway, focusing on the slender whip of a girl standing at the stake, thick, interlocking wisps of blue light writhing around her wrists and holding her in place.

Alice Baker has been part of the Salem coven since before Agatha was even born. Hers isn’t the first face that Agatha remembers seeing, but it’s close to it.  She’d been the age Agatha is now then, with bright rosy cheeks and equally bright brown eyes that always twinkled with mischief.  She would tweak Agatha’s nose, and Agatha would bat at her fingers – bite them, sometimes, with sharp baby teeth – to stop her from doing it again.  Her mama would always tell her to quit biting; Alice would just give her a wink and say she didn’t mind, that Agatha was just acting like the animals did when she tweaked their noses.  Then her mama would say that Agatha wasn’t an animal, and that would be that.

Except when Alice would take young Agatha next to the bubbling brook to make sure she was bathed correctly, to make sure she didn’t drown, and then she would tickle her chubby cheeks and Agatha would bite fingertips, and Alice would laugh and laugh with those sharp pointed teeth of hers.

Alice was kind to Agatha, once.  Before she got married to Thomas Thorne.

Agatha thinks of him and shudders.

The waterfall thunders in the distance, loud enough to cover their voices from afar, loud enough to cover their voices from near, too, if Agatha doesn’t listen very carefully. She misses Alice’s vocal admittance, but she sees the witch’s head thrust back, chin tilted up, and she can imagine Alice’s bright brown eyes peering inquisitively down at her mama.

Of course, Agatha can see her mama clearest of all, straight across from Alice, with her two older sisters – Charity and Prudence – at her left and right hand.  Charity’s flat, dull brown hair looks drenched in the moonlight, but that’s as it always is; no matter how much she cleans it, it always ends up looking greasy and dirty.  Her hawkish nose peers out into the darkness, though Charity doesn’t look up at Alice, looks down at fingers clasped demurely in front of her, ruddy cheeks reddening from the torchlight on either side of her.  Prudence, on the other hand, gleams like a dying star.  Her thick black brows throw shadows over the softer curves of her face, which though beautiful in the light of day, now only make her look like a skull with a thick crop of black hair falling in waves about its sides. Even from this far away, Prudence’s green eyes glint in the flicker of the flames.

And her mama between them, staring up at Alice, ramrod straight, the light blue glimmer of her crown thin atop her greying hair.  Already, her mama is old, so much older than most of the town matrons. Even the Puritans – the real ones, not the fake ones they pretend to be to hide among them – look up to her mama as a fountain of wealth, even more so now that her stomach swells with what will hopefully be another little brother or sister for Agatha to play with.

Maybe this one will live.

She’d had another sister, once.  Younger than Charity and Prudence, but older than Nathaniel.  Not that she’d ever met her.  She’d died when Agatha was a baby.

By all accounts, Agatha should be dead, too, born in the frigid cold the way she was, right when everyone usually got so sick.  Babies born in the winter don’t live.  They die.  They—

“You have betrayed your coven,” her mother continues, voice soft over the thundering water, piercing eyes focused entirely on Alice.  “You practice the darkest of magic, and you murder—”

“I have murdered no one,” Alice interrupts, voice crystal clear, loud where her mama’s is so soft.  “I only defended myself against a vicious warlock—”

“—by draining him of his magic until he was nothing more than a mummified—”

“He would have done the same to me, and you would have done nothing to him.”

Agatha bites on her thumbnail, worries it, rips it a little too close to the quick, and winces, cringes, aches.  She stares at her thumb, catches the smallest bubbling of blood.  As Alice and her mama quip back and forth, she sticks her thumb between her lips, sucks the blood from it, and sneaks as carefully as she can around the outer edge of the circle, staying behind the trees. She’s seen her mom and sisters enough; she wants to see how Alice looks.  The bitter taste of copper fills her mouth, which is weird because normally ripping her thumbnail doesn’t cause her to bleed this much.  She pulls her thumb out, stares at it.  Just a drip welling up.  But the taste was so loud.

Every now and again, Agatha glances back to Alice.  The blonde witch has set her jaw, angled her head so that she leers down at her mama, and the shadows of the torchlight under the softer glow of the moonlight set Alice’s shape in sharp relief.  She’s gotten thinner since she lost her baby.  A lot thinner.  Agatha tugs her lip between her teeth and keeps creeping.

“What will you do to me, then?” Alice asks, her voice suddenly deceptively soft.  “For defending myself, what will you do?”

“There are ways to defend yourself without using dark magic,” Agatha’s sister, Prudence, suddenly snaps out.  “You could have—”  But she stops all at once, and Agatha pops her head up to see her mama placing a hand on Prudence’s wrist, giving a little shake of her head.

Agatha’s mama looks up at Alice, but Agatha has gone too far now to see her expression when she says, “You have endangered us, Alice.  Do you not have an answer for that?”

“I have endangered no one, and my defending myself, I have saved—”

“You broke the rules—” Prudence starts to shout out.

“They bent to my power!” Alice snaps out, glaring around at them.  In that moment, she wrenches forward, sharp teeth glistening in the light, held back only by the wisps of blue magic wrapped around her wrists. “You have no idea what it’s like, shackled to a warlock who cares nothing for you, who beats you for stepping an inch out of his plans, who chokes you near to death when your child—”  Her voice cuts off, chokes off, and turning to her now, Agatha can see that Alice’s head has lowered.  Light glistens off of her cheeks.  “I did what I had to do.”

Agatha’s mama shakes her head.  “No,” she murmurs, voice so soft that Agatha wouldn’t have been able to hear it if she’d been on the other side of the circle, “you did not.”  Her gaze never leaves Alice as she says, “You should have asked your sisters for help.  You should have told us—”

“And what would you have done?”  Alice sobs, chest heaving with breath.  “Nothing, nothing.”  She glances up again, meets Agatha’s mama’s eyes levelly.  “I did. what I had. to do.”

Her mama shakes her head again, slow.  “Dark magic is never what you have to do, Alice.  I’m sorry that we were not able to teach you that.”

At her mama’s words, the other members of the coven begin to chant in Latin. Agatha can just glimpse Agnes off to one side, staring up at her own mother, who gives her a little nod. Together, they raise their hands, palms out, towards Alice, just as the other coven members do, and all at once, beams of blue-tinged light rip out of their hands and pierce Alice’s skin.

The instant before they hit her, Alice glances up.  She catches Agatha’s eyes, and her own widen in horror.  Then the magic hits.  Her entire body glows from within.  She screams.  She screams. She—

Agatha wants to turn away.  She shouldn’t be here, she shouldn’t be seeing this, she shouldn’t be hearing this desperately low animalistic growling.  But no matter how much it makes her stomach turn, she can’t look away.  She’s fascinated, focused so entirely, so completely on the way light runs thick through Alice’s veins, turning her into a golden human lantern.  Of course, Alice sounds like she’s in pain, but she’s….

She’s beautiful.

This is a whole new side of magic Agatha has never seen.  It scares her.  It rejuvenates her.

For the briefest of moments, Alice’s moans stop.  She glances up, yells out, “Do not forget me,” and then lowers her head and stares directly at Agatha.  Purple magic circles the pits of her pupils.  She meets Agatha’s eyes.  Winks.

Combusts.

Agatha can’t stop herself – she gasps.  Immediately, she covers her mouth with her hands, but it’s too late.  Her mama glances over her shoulder, catches her. She doesn’t look the way she always does; her face is lined like old, worn out leather, and her face is an ashen, ashy white.  For once, her mama doesn’t chide her for being somewhere she shouldn’t be, but she doesn’t hold out an arm to draw her in either.

She just looks.

Quiet.

Somehow, that disconnected, apathetic, uncaring look from her mama – as though she has nothing to say to her at all – is the most terrifying part of the entire experience.

Something lower than Agatha’s stomach clenches, and she doubles over as blood begins to trickle down her legs.

“My daughter,” her mama murmurs in that same, soft-spoken voice, “you are one of us now.”  Now, she holds out a hand, staring at her with eyes dark with shadows.  “Come, and join your sisters.”

Agatha grits her teeth, swallows, and stumbles forward, dripping and in pain.