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“Will it,” he says. “I mean. This is- a very great honor. I am honored, to take the Beam within me. To be- trusted to carry it.” He swallows. “Will it hurt?”
His grandmother’s face softens. The tattoo of Filament crinkles around her eyes as she gives him a gentle smile.
“Oh, Wicky,” she says. “Of course it will.”
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Molly spits the blood and the dirt in Lorenzo's face and watches his expression sour.
He hears him say, “Respect,” and feels the blade twist. Knows, fundamentally, as readily as he knows his own name most days, that there is no surviving something that feels like this.
No, he tries to say, but his lips do not move. No, not yet—
His consciousness fades, an ever-shrinking point of light in a sea of endless black. Molly flails, lashing motionlessly out for anything at all, and among wordless curses and pleas, he steels himself one more time, grits his teeth or thinks he does, and demands, No.
Molly dies. Molly wakes up. Molly dies. Molly wakes up. Molly dies. Molly wakes up.
Some paths are not meant to be trod so thin.
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If Essek were to kill Caleb, he would do it with a spell.
None of the intimate agony of feeling the last flutters of his heart with his own skin. He cannot even afford himself the painful honesty of knowing that if he were to do it, it would be impersonal and practiced, something Essek has done to many before and will do to many others. This knowledge is not enough to stop him imagining it.
In the months following the events of Cognouza and the Somnovem, Essek fails to come to terms with the fact that he is a dangerous man.
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The stranger smiles, eyes wet, like Martin’s just given him everything he’s ever dreamed of and more. “Just—look around. We did it, Martin, we made it.”
Martin flinches back, out of reach of the man’s bloodstained hands, and stares at him. Something is wrong here. So, so wrong. From the blood anointing them both to the way this man says his name like there are worlds of meaning behind it, everything about this is wrong. “Did what?” he pleads. “I- I’m sorry, do I know you?”
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It was completely fine that Jon was following up on this very normal, non-supernatural statement at midnight on a Friday. He was going to find nothing at all, and then he was going to go home and sleep for fourteen straight hours and feel absolutely no qualms about moving case #0150409 directly into the filing cabinet marked "discredited."
Or: Jon and Martin investigate Carlos Vittery's basement and find the entity formerly known as Jane Prentiss together.
Recent bookmarks
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An Uncivilized Citizen by Dayadhvam for kutsushita
Fandoms: Imperial Radch Series - Ann Leckie
20 Dec 2014
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My heart is a fish, hiding in the water-grass. Five times Seivarden could have left, and didn’t.
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- English
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Bookmarked by TheWrongShop
10 Feb 2026
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The first thing he sees is the steaming breakfast in front of him. The next is Gale of Waterdeep.
“Not you,” Rolan groans.
Or, an Act II remix where Gale and Rolan can't escape each other's orbit.
Bookmarked by TheWrongShop
18 Nov 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
I’m going to FLING MYSELF into the ABYSS!!!!!!! One of the best gales I’ve ever read and honestly just one of the best wizards overall
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“We ventured too far, considering our unexpectedly low number.” Essek turns his face against the light, as if to let it cleanse some unwanted quality from his expression. Instead, he looks carved in bone, immortalized in frowning marble. “There were … traps. Perfectly clever ones. Still functioning.”
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Essek tries and fails and tries to save the man he loves.
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It's a holdover from his old body, his old identity. Sometimes his blunt little human teeth ache to bite. To rend, to tear into flesh and set his jaw and just rip.
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Cecil and Carlos deal with life, sex, pancakes, and possibly being anthropomorphic personifications. Also, Night Vale history as told by Night Vale, and a step-by-step guide to defying Death. Today's weather is by Ray Bradbury.
Bookmarked by TheWrongShop
12 Apr 2025