#so i'm technically halfway through

[magiefish]

Crossed 10,000 words. I guess this is a novella now 🙃

I've written like 7000 words for a short-story in six days. What the fuck is wrong with me.

[icewindandboringhorror]

................ he 

[zhuoyichenpretty]

Today I am thinking about how hilariously and artfully FoF has continued to equivocate on the nature of ZYC's feelings towards WX

[zorilleerrant]

On the Side of the Angels

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Ficus knows. It knows all the dire warnings and the legal loopholes and the subtle way people shift their eyes when they know someone’s engaged with extraplanar entities. It knows the way its so-called father makes people avert their gazes, and it knows that’s not even because they know what he did.

Ficus also knows that, if it were just a matter of traversing the planes of hell, it could probably do that under its own power. With training, obviously, but there are a dozen names it could rattle off already, and they probably wouldn’t even charge that much, not with its sister hanging in the balance and all that. There’s enough magic under its belt that the stupid tricks demons like to pull would probably be navigable. It can entertain if it has to.

Dad’s house, though. He knows what his children can do. Could do, if they didn’t think they should trust him. This is on Ficus for keeping its opinions from her, but it’s not like it thought he was going to do this. She’s six. The demons aren’t even going to want her, yet, they’re just going to sell her on, and who knows where –

He probably didn’t even realize that, if some medical testing facility gets their hand on her, it won’t be hard to trace out the rest of the family. Even after this, Ficus can’t imagine that’s what he wants out of all of it – does he think he’s off the hook? There’s got to be some law still on the books about having kids with a witch willingly. Maybe he made some deal to let him lie to the court.

What Ficus doesn’t know is enough about the politics in hell to track down the right demon. Who’s going to refuse, and all that wasted risk along with it; who’s going to be bought and sold already, leave it to tricks. Who’s going to try to use it as a pawn. So, much as it would rather, it goes the other way.

Ficus doesn’t bother to pretend to read the contract. The angel’s going to have their way regardless of what it says. The brand burns into its chest, and everything’s done.

Sneaking in is easy, when it’s invisible, almost laughably so. Ficus can’t feel anything but holding its breath until its lips go numb, but everything is gone. It makes no sound, gives off no heat, leaves no trace of magic, scent, radiation. It’s weightless. It can see itself but, the angel assures it, no one else can, and that word, at least, the angel is bound to. Cameras, guards, tripwires – everything is gentle steps around obstacles, and keeping its own magic penned up inside where its father can’t spring a lethal trap on sensing it. Then it’s just up the stairs and to his study, labyrinthian turns meaningless to someone who grew up here.

Mistake one: he covered for demons, because apparently he doesn’t trust them not to double-cross him, but he never checked for angelic interference. Not that he’d have such an easy defense, killing a bound human, anyway.

Mistake two: he forgot his kid watched him put in the code to the safe a dozen times at least, and won’t trip the usual safeguards.

Mistake three: he forgot that shorthand isn’t his. It’s from the Green Family Codex.

Actually, no, the first mistake was selling his daughter to demons for a taste of the magic he’s so jealous of, but all of these lead a path to whichever Demon Prince he’s in debt to, and he knows what happens if he reneges on the deal. He’s worth much less than a witch is.

Information in hand, Ficus doesn’t bother hiding the fact that it was here. Its father can keep the reminder singed into the floor forever. The marble recedes overhead and everything smells of cinders and ash, and it’s greeted by a cackle.

Ficus doesn’t bother to stay invisible in front of the demons. It wouldn’t be able to jump through any of the hoops, anyway, and the one advantage of being out of that place is that it can let its magic run wild, scaring away the opportunists and bringing it straight to the arena. Battle magic burns through its fingers and flies everywhere it needs to. Ficus has to almost enjoy the opportunity to test it, unfettered, reaching for every ounce of its power in here.

Magic to float. Magic to fly. Magic to breathe underwater and carve paths through earth and step through fire unscathed. Magic to decipher and magic to correct – magic to brute force its way through grates and gates meant to taunt it. Anger isn’t meant to make everything so strident, but emotions have a lot of force in hell.

The cage is covered with a soft drape, glittery tassels swaying in the breeze from the fan, at least until the Prince sends everyone out. They’re angry, but they’re hiding their anger well. They know the rules. They know the rules as well as anyone. They didn’t expect a witch line as ancient as Ficus’s to barrel its way through, but they fucking should have, because what do they think happens when they take one of its own? So they whip off the drape with one last cackle, daring Ficus to accidentally challenge them one on one.

She isn’t here.

[corvid-language-library]

No one's here for my 19:30 class, which is cool because yay no work but also annoying because I have to stay in the classroom for the full hour so I won't make the earlier train and I'll still get home around 22:45, which is not ideal when you have shit to do ahead of fun travels the following day.

[mxtxfanatic]

Spooky Month Recs

To give folks some time to get through at least one novel, here's a list of Halloween-appropriate novels regardless of whether I have or have not (yet) rec'd them before:

Mist

Kaleidoscope of Death

Death Spiral

Fantasy Farm

Carrying a Lantern in Daylight

Global Examination

After An Infinite Flow Player Retires

[hecatesbroom]

Is 3 am really the right time to be doing a final editing round? Probably not. Am I doing it now anyway? You bet

[legolasghosty]

oh shit i forgot to send a new one! brain mush.

uh. let's say 75 please?

No worries, thanks for sending these, they're really nice!!! More Holograms (and the introduction of I think the last major character...)

Julie laughed and followed her brother in, Reggie and Alex on her heels. Fuego was standing beside the receptionist’s desk. He looked up and smiled when he heard them approach.  “Ah good, I’ll let Mr. Covington know you’re here.” He turned away from them, pink nails clicking against his tablet. Julie was about to ask about the agenda for the day when she heard a crash behind her. She whirled around to see Alex lying on the floor, someone else practically on top of him, clearly having just bowled him over. “Oh my gosh, I am so sorry,” the new person exclaimed, scrambling to their feet and holding out a hand to Alex. “I wasn’t even looking.”

(Send me a number and I'll write that many words in my WIP and show you!)

[lucalicatteart]

Poll adventure (paventure? lol) Day 10: read the small story tidbit below the poll for more details, OR just vote based on initial impression

(✦ see past poll results + further information HERE (link) ✦)

Yesterday's poll decided that The Adventurer should join the travelers on the larger river boat for a short lunch ...

~

"Before he even fully musters the courage to shout a 'hello', the large group on the boat initiates contact first, gleefully waving at him, whooping and shouting as they near his tiny raft in the water. Apparently, some of them were betting over whether they'd actually find any other travelers out on the river today.. He fumbles over his words a bit, as always, but somehow manages to successfully get himself invited onto their boat for a quick lunch..

After safely securing his raft to the side of the boat with some spare rope, he climbs aboard, stumbling into the excitement of some sort of celebration. A few of them explain that they're traveling for 'kahesallei', an old elven holiday recently re-popularized in some of the larger cities nearby. Whatever it's true meaning and origins used to be, the current significance (at least to those within the city walls) seems to just be mindless feasting, drinking, and gaudy decor. Most of the traveling group are strangers to each other, only brought together by catching a ride on the same tour/party boat, but the mood is light, quite friendly between them, and perhaps a bit drunk.

While the boat itself is relatively plain wood, it's been strewn with gold and orange banners, flags, shimmery tassels, beads, and bushels of dark green ivy braided with fresh herbs and wildflowers. There are flat round tables of food and drink, plenty of cushions to lounge on, and one random guy perched precariously on the edge railing of the boat, gently strumming a lute for background music..

The elderly ship captain hobbles over to The Adventurer, sternly explaining that, no matter what the 'silly' passengers say, he's only allowed to stay for an hour because he didn't pay for a boat ride ticket, and thus really shouldn't even be allowed on board. By the time The Adventurer has mentally processed this information, the captain has already returned to his little steering room, slamming the door shut with a displeased grunt.. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to confront him or question the rules...... But! Hey, at least he has one hour at the party.. How should he spend his time? "

~

Additional Information

the adventurer's current main goal: follow his map to reach the abandoned castle ruins and see the rare animal specialist about the mysterious egg he has

[ageofzero]

do you ever think about a specific lost/unfinished media, and how it's got so much care/attention/detail in it, but you'll NEVER KNOW how it was going to resolve its story??

bro Mighty Space Miners is really good

[walterdecourceys]

9 books i plan on reading in 2024!! thank you @raedas for the tag this was fun yayyy ^-^

not tagging individual people due to the worms in my brain but if you want to do this go ahead 👍 i like seeing what other people are reading i'm nosy

[kangaracha]

what's a really unfortunate discovery in my life in the last two years is that my boss told me i was racing against my beeper counting seconds last year and confiscated it (secret skill unlocked: can count to fifteen seconds in your head with extreme accuracy) and i'm like he cannot be for real with this, how do you Race Time. and then i play guitar against a metronome and You'll Never Fucking Guess What My Fatal Flaw Is

[permanentreverie]

tag 9 people you want to get to know better

tagged by @puddleglumms akdjwjdj I'm so honoured!!

three ships: off the top of my head? Jude and Cardan from The Folk of the Air trilogy, Mr Gu and Yeom Mijeong from My Liberation Notes, and uhhh Anya and Dmitry from Anastasia

last song: Promise by Jimin 🥹🥹🫶🏻🫶🏻 it's been 84 years but we FINALLY have it on Spotify!!!! We won!!!

last movie: just finished watching Chicago (2003) with my sister for the first time and I actually really enjoyed it!!

currently reading: just started Hell Bent by Leigh Bardugo, and I SAY I'm rereading Les Miserables by Victor Hugo but I haven't touched it in like 2 months lol

currently watching: oh boy. Ummm Call It Love, Girl From Nowhere, and W Two Worlds for Asian dramas; Daisy Jones and the Six; and Bungo Stray Dogs, Yuri on Ice, and I guess I need to start the final season of Attack on Titan for Anime

currently consuming: I just finished a glass of chocolate milk and snacking on a bowl of nuts

currently craving: any food tbh. Our dinner is almost ready I'm just ready to eat

tagging @thebirdandhersong @thecoolestfreakyouknow @cordiallyfuturedwight @wellmanneredthief

[radarsteddybear]

@belphegor1982 replied to your post: The one thing that has remained constant in the...

I've heard a lot about this novel and the 1980s adaptation, but never read/seen it. (But I love seeing people talk about things they love 💜) What do you love about it (besides what you just said here)? What was your first reading experience like? Did you see/like the movie?

(Replying to this like an old-school xkit user because it's my blog and I can do what I want)

In all honesty, the thing I love most about it is all of the whump and hurt/comfort. Ponyboy has a really hard time of it (emotionally, physically, mentally) at different points throughout the novel, and the steady stream of hurt/comfort is 👌

I also like how I find that I frequently discover something new about it when I reread it, which may be more due to being so young when I read it the first time than anything else.

That whump was exactly what I was looking for at age 13 when I first read it (and also what I was writing, but miles and miles and miles better and much more cohesive). Thus, my first reading experience largely consisted of me thinking, "More whump? This is fantastic!" (except not exactly, seeing as I didn't have a term to describe it yet) as I read.

I wish I remembered the academic parts of reading it for school better, like what we talked about and went over. I doubt we went all that deep (or maybe I was too immature to grasp the deeper aspects of what we talked about, idk), which is a shame. I think we just had a packet with comprehension questions to fill out as we read, and I can't remember if we did much else.

What I do remember is that we had a substitute teacher the day that we started book, and he told us that S.E. Hinton (the author) is a woman, which our regular teacher was mildly annoyed about because she'd wanted us to guess about it. And I remember the teacher explaining how to pronounce "Soc"* ("sosh" with a long o). Does knowing the correct pronunciation keep me from saying it "sock" in my head every single time I read it? Absolutely not.

We watched the movie at school after we finished the book; the teachers got together and blocked off a whole afternoon so we could all watch it in one sitting instead of in ~40 minute increments over a couple of days. I was disappointed that it cut out certain scenes from the book (which is understandable--a lot happens in those 180 pages), but otherwise, I liked it a lot. (I had some Opinions on the casting, though, that Ralph Macchio should have played Ponyboy instead of Johnny and C. Thomas Howell should have played Johnny instead of Ponyboy, but I was probably basing that more on looks than anything else, and as someone who doesn't ever have clear pictures in my head of what book characters look like, that means less than zero. Both did great in the roles they played, and Ralph Macchio did, in fact, fit Johnny's description very well.)

Some number of years later (no idea when), I borrowed the director's cut version on DVD via Netflix, but I have no recollection of whether or not it adds back in the specific scenes I was looking for. They've got it at the local library, so I'm going to try to go get it so that we can watch it sometime this week.

*"Soc" is the term that everybody in the book uses to refer to the rich kids, which is short for "socials".

[morningmask27]

Hey so, do you ever feel.. Iffy? Bad? Disappointed? That the Fandom at large only became interested in whistlepaw thanks to faer ship with Frostpaw? I admittedly was feeling a bit like that when the ship first started popping up, although I understand that Whis is quite a background character aside from that (and up until then, more or less). So like I get why fae would gain more traction only now but Idk. I can't help but feel a little sad about it since you've made me develop an attachment to this cat. Just curious about your thoughts on the matter!

I get chronically attached to background nobodies, so I'm used to people not really caring about my faves and I honestly like it more that way because popular characters are A Mess of discourse and drama,

but yeah it is a bit sad that Whis is only really seen as a love interest for Frostpaw in the major fandom, but in a way that's also what fae is in the books. Whistlepaw does nothing outside of supporting Frostpaw (and that annoys me So Much for daily whis purposes, I want more material!!!) and I can't blame the fans for not latching onto background WindClan cat #78 and making up a whole world around them

in the end the fandom portrayal is kinda bland, but inoffensive at least. I made Whistlepaw my little silly and have never really cared about the fandom at large; Fae's basically my oc at this point and if a few people enjoy what I do then I'm content

[mad-hunts]

in response to the other's answer in regards to what jervis would prefer on his toast, jack simply nodded. he'd found himself at a loss for what else to say even though that was actually quite rare for him. maybe it was the idea that barton could be outside at that very moment, listening in, that made jack suddenly feel like a fog had rolled into his mind; making it so that he could protect himself without even knowing for sure that there was a threat in the first place.

barton didn't like talking about julien - he'd pretty much stowed away every single picture but one the family had with him in it, in fact. for it still hurt him too much to look at them. therefore, especially considering his father's history of not being able to regulate his moods well, jack might have to perform 'damage control' if that were the case. but crossing the bridge if he were to get there seemed to apply quite well here. so, the farceur chose to move on and it turned out to be wisely, too.

jervis did look very tense lying there with jack visibly appearing to want to curl up into himself and never come out. after going to the nearby trunk in the room, he opened it. this was done as a means to distract the both of them from succumbing to the weight of their own differing circumstances. though there was certainly a good cover reason for jack to, ❝ oh, wow. ahh... i almost forgot that its supposed to get down into the forties tonight so you might need this. its going to be cold, after all, ❞ it was also hitting sundown at that moment as well.

jack could tell by just looking through the crack in the curtains of the one window in the room. while gnawing on his bottom lip, he pulled out the plush blanket inside of the chest only to shake it out a bit. now, as jack tossed the blanket up just enough to cover jervis's body without touching him? something matilda told him a few years ago echoed in his mind during a conversation they had late at night: 'you know, i know you'd like nothing more than to get rid of all your feelings sometimes - but i hope you never change.'

jack just remembered looking up at the tent he was in that day of camping afterward, as he decided he should probably get to sleep. but it felt validating in a way he couldn't explain as well even now. because jack's first instinct upon seeing jervis was that he was struggling, so he should help him; though one could definitely say that sense of responsibility had made him suffer in the past. thank goodness sucking in a deep breath through his nostrils and exhaling could allow jack to quiet his mind then.

he tilted his head at the other's words and squinting his eyes, deep in thought. of course if jervis didn't believe in one, that was fine, but it appeared like he might. these sorts of concepts could trigger whole debates for a reason, however, as spirituality was something that jack affiliated himself with. but religion? he wasn't so sure, so he more than understood when jervis settled for saying his loved ones being at peace was simply something he wanted to believe in. with jack's sudden exit came the arrival of a much less benevolent figure, to say the least, and barton couldn't say he blamed jervis for seemingly somewhat disappointed that his son left.

jack was easy to get along with, and with just a little bit of time spent with him, he might just win someone over with his compassionate nature. barton knew this well along with the reality he had to learn other people's behaviors throughout the years to appear at least 'semi-normal.' how that was going for the doctor would often depend on who you asked, though. barton could only snort derisively at that, ❝ funny. just remember, you'd be in arkham right now if it weren't for me and my daughter. ❞ he pointed a sharpened nail in the direction of jervis as he proceeded into the room.

the same crack in the curtains jack had once looked through was soon closed with a quick 'swishing' motion. barton was personally raised with a very limited exposure to faith, as neither wesley nor winslow were particularly religious father figures. but barton could admire those who participate in it regardless of their level of involvement in it. though it could be used as a force of evil as much as it could be used for good, a lot of humanity existed in shades of gray.

so even if they were under the threat of suffering through something like eternal damnation after death... in barton's mind, it was only a matter of time before someone used a widespread thing like faith to their own advantage. and maybe this was bad of him but thinking about wesley being in such a place somewhat brought him a sense of twisted satisfaction; because at least barton would be getting a form of justice for every fearful moment wesley put him through that way. barton only blinked as his eyes trailed from jervis's face to the teacup that jack had presumably brought him.

shockingly enough, all he felt when he discovered that marty's father was a powerful figure was an incredible amount of disbelief for a moment before it fizzled away. barton was used to things getting worse even if he couldn't have seen this coming. plus, he'd gotten frighteningly good at treating human lives like this police captain's more as obstacles than actual beings. it remained to be seen which one jervis was to barton. he squinted his eyes before standing up and ultimately finding out that, yeah, he had done that too quickly.

barton felt like he was green around the gills all over again, ❝ that is one way to put it, jervis. but don't worry. you just reminded me that, although we're going to have to get creative, there are ways of getting away with it. i'd say pinning his murder on someone else might be the best. ❞ he uttered after swallowing thickly, making a 'turn around' gesture with his finger towards the other. barton talking about murder as if it was light dinner conversation said everything that needed to be said about how he felt about their current predicament.

maybe it was because he was still feeling a lot of malaise, but no part of it bothered him in particular. the doctor was more worried about jervis becoming queasy because he accidentally saw the scars where he'd stitched on yves's arm to his own body, ❝ uhh, just in case you didn't get that, turn around. i'm going to change my shirt. ❞ once that was done, barton slipped his current bloodied one over his head only to replace it with the other. he slumped down in the chair to the table opposite of jervis and looked over the tarot cards laid out before him.

barton, too, knew how to interpret them. ❝ what were you two planning on doing with these? a 'past, present, and future' reading? because i can do it while my son's gone for you. ❞

Jervis gave the barest of shrugs as he glanced at Jack through his bangs, the quiet rhythm of their breathing, the slow drip of the IV, and the faint shifting of the cards against the tabletop the only sounds piercing the air. "Either one sounds perfectly agreeable. I defer to your good judgment." A ghost of a smile, pale and wan, tugged at his mouth for an infinitesimal moment.

Call it the lingering pangs of paternal instinct or projection, whatever you felt was most appropriate, but some flicker of warmth—worry mingling with concern—stirred within Jervis' breast; softening the veneer of exhaustion and discomfort that clothed him like a second skin. Like an invisible cancer that had latched onto him, draining his vitality—a slow-acting poison decades in the making; only this time, the source was external, a reflection of Jack's own unease radiating across the space between them.

Jervis drew in a shallow breath, feeling the tightness in his chest not as his own, but as if their nerves had blurred and grown entangled. He tried to focus, willing his own breath to steady, his hands to unclench. A low chuckle escaped Jervis' chapped lips at Jack's query. The medications in his IV coursed through him, cold and prickling, sending a frisson over his skin as goosebumps rose in response. And yet, somehow, it eased the deep ache within him, dulling the edges of both pain and nausea. He could feel the weight of his discomfort receding, just slightly, as though the medicine were smoothing his raw nerves; coaxing him toward a delicate, unfamiliar calm.

Not quite like ketamine.... not like the cozy, blithesome feeling that coursed through his veins with each dose. Even when most of his prior consumption of the drug hadn't been consensual—thick enough to cut his teeth on, it ensured small pockets of blissful ignorance hardening into a dissociative shell, like callus. (God bless those poor, ministering angels at Arkham... only a trace of spite and animosity there, rage bleeding with sorrow at how his autonomy and consent was completely ignored, snatched... one wrong move, and he was left cowering in a crumpled heap, or otherwise dead to the world... but now? Would the scales be tipped, if they managed to drag him back there? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know that answer.) If Odysseus and his crew had been desperate to escape the Lotus Eaters only to stumble unwittingly into the clutches of Polyphemus, Jervis felt quite the opposite.

For better or worse, the ketamine had left him numb to everything.

The pain, the grief, the anguish that tore gouges in his heart and mind; lacerated his psyche to shreds, in conjunction with the ECT. Somehow, he compartmentalized it... gravitated to the cannabis as an alternative upon his discharge, once he'd regained his center of gravity and emerged from his self-immurement; the fractures left by his losses and lessons grinding him to the bone. Everything it cost him and what he'd earned in exchange. Simon. Arabella. His time in Ireland. Sylvie. The flood. Alice.

The lengths he had gone...

And so Jervis chuckled; the sound dry and hollow, barely touching his eyes. He met Jack’s gaze, his expression tightening as he mulled over the question, tasting the irony in it.

“An afterlife…” he murmured, his eyes drifting. Thoughts and memories broke the surface like apples bobbing in a bucket: Simon and Stephen putting aside their differences over the blessing at Passover; his and Arabella's quiet, but spirited discussions of Heaven and the saints and catechism, the differences between the Old and New Testaments as they strolled along the shoreline. Stories of the witch trials in Ireland, of John Calvin and his legacy in Scotland.

All the old beliefs he’d grown up with circled back and hit like a tidal wave, tied as much to memories of family as to the concept of religious faith itself, all its beauty and diverse forms, yet it left him feeling frigid now. For a little over three decades, he'd told himself that he could appreciate the mythology of it all, even found it strangely comforting at times, but belief? That had always been a different thing entirely.

Jervis' mind tugged him back to reality. He could sense Jack’s curiosity pressing at the edge of his own awareness, a secondary presence so strong it was almost rendered a physical form. "That's.... a complicated notion, from where I'm standing.” He let out a slow, careful breath; curled his fingers back around his necklace as he dissected the question. “But... yes. I'd like to think our loved ones are at peace."

He could map it all in a dozen lines, right down to his own lived experiences, the rules he tried so hard to follow, the ideals that always seemed to warp and fray. There was karma, consequence, perhaps even the lingering shadows of what people might call a curse. But the idea of any higher being calling the shots? It gnawed at him like an old wound. And so Jervis looked back at Jack, almost apologetic, the faint sting of an old ache flickering beneath his words.

He was spared from elaborating with Barton's sudden appearance; lurking on the threshold like a wraith. Poor Jack's confidence and ease withered like a hapless petunia caught in the dead of winter. A few quiet words of dismissal and a pat to the shoulder were all that heralded the reluctant, leery departure of his one potential ally in the wolf's den.

'As phantoms frighten beasts when shadows fall.' Jervis sighed, slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, looked Barton in the eye; as well as he could, anyway, with the lingering gray spots and his missing glasses still impeding his line of sight. “Maybe we each make our own heaven—or our own hell.”

Perhaps that was petty or harsh of him to say out loud... though that was the truth of the matter. Jervis didn’t need religious belief to drive him, after all; he needed only his own peculiar code, that precarious balance between curiosity and cynicism, and the sense of duty he still felt for a daughter who had deserved something far more stable, more secure; safer than the patchwork life he had known. Whatever his flaws, his faults, some small part of him still respected the right to believe—what faith meant to others; its power to inspire, to build, to destroy. The cause and effect of human history, the double-edged promises of faith. And maybe that was the root of it: faith could be a tool, a guide, a balm.

But then the stark, often bitter truths he’d learned through survival would come rushing back. Besides, he reckoned, Barton likely wouldn't give a damn about any of his prior train of thought. In any case, on the topic of hell, Jervis never pictured the vast, cavernous expanse of fire and brimstone that Jonathan Edwards had once preached about in the summer of 1741. No. Hell always conjured up fevered images of a frozen lake in the deepest, darkest part of the center of the earth, untouched by light and warmth and life��the last of Dante Alighieri's nine circles.

'I sometimes think we must be all mad and that we shall wake to sanity in strait-waistcoats.'

He was torn from the thick mire of his thoughts, yanked back outside his mind as if caught in a sudden hurricane at Barton’s next revelation. Jervis shut his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, then reached for the cup of tea Jack had brought him. The liquid within was a warm, golden amber—like sea glass he’d once collected as a child in Bermuda, or the bits Alice would gather along Gotham’s coastline on their rare visits when she was little.

How simple those days were...

"Well." Jervis' voice was completely flat, his brow creasing with incredulity and disgust. Barton’s outline weaved and blurred before his eyes like a will-o’-the-wisp. No more, no more… no room, no room. He felt completely hollow. "Trading one problem for another, are we?" His scarred knuckles bulged as his fingers curled around the delicate porcelain; his grip hard enough to produce a faint, foreboding crack.

He would weep, if he had anymore tears left to shed over their predicament. For Marty and his partner, for the trouble Jack and Matilda had been brought into by association… but none for himself or Barton. He wasn’t certain he was worthy of it; and Barton had no qualms over their actions, he’d freely admitted it at that bistro earlier. Jervis’ hands tingled, as if they were still covered by the bloodied gloves he wore when he dispatched the driver in order to retrieve Alice’s rabbit, wielding his hatpins on pure impulse; there was no premeditation involved, but there was no discounting how surgical his actions had been in their efficacy with each targeted nerve cluster and artery. He wasn’t indulging in self-pity, oh no… nothing so shallow or solipsistic. Not like that at all. Just a pure ant mill of growing dread and horror and regret, one that couldn’t be encompassed by words alone.

His teeth sought the gouges in the corner of his mouth from where he’d previously bit himself in the throes of his nightmares, worrying at the cuts till they began to sting anew.

‘Despair has its own calms.’