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icarustica · 1 year

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u said u could make the last prompt angstier. do it i dare u

77 - "you were my best friend" round 2 electric boogaloo

(this one is actually on my archive page i'm very proud of it thank u anon for pushing me to finish it)

tw - implied major character death (none actually occur)

♥♥♥ sorrow ♥♥♥

“Listen, we’re out of wine, alright? The–the fucking besotted ladies who were all swooning over that fuckin’ bard bought us out, alright? The last I’ve got is this cheap Redania and that won’t… okay. Sure, I got it!” yelled the cook from across the bar.

Geralt, midway through drinking himself into oblivion, blinked owlishly, looking up.

Bard.

He’d found himself in Lettenhove, chasing after a lone drowner traveling up the Sinet river. It ravaged every fishing operation it came across, and Geralt figured once the bastard was dead he’d have fishermen practically throwing coin his way.

“Uh-huh. And of course the flashy boy’s got a whole procession and everything,” scoffed the cook, once he’d snatched the last bottle of cheap wine from underneath the counter. “Everyone all dressed up. Throwin’ flowers. Singin’ that song about that witcher.”

Geralt rose.

The cook looked, and his ruddy face paled. His tirade stumbled to a stop.

“The bard,” Geralt said gruffly. “Jaskier?”

The cook nodded, suddenly solemn. “Y-Yes,” he said. To his credit, he wasn’t afraid. Just… nervous, for some reason. “That’s the one. Our own hometown hero.”

Geralt’s mildly tipsy mind raced.

Why would Jaskier be back in Lettenhove?

Why would there be a celebration in his honor?

His mind landed on the only possible answer.

Marriage. The damn bastard had gone and got married.

The wine - ladies who’d desired Jaskier throwing themselves into alcohol. The procession, the flowers - a celebration fit for a lord.

“Of course,” Geralt grumbled, taking the last swig of his tankard. Misery clawed at his gut - all the unsaid words. All the said ones, the terrible ones spoken in biting mountain air. The one I’d been lucky enough to care for… gave up on me.

Geralt swallowed, lashes fluttering as he turned. He gave up on me.

“Witcher,” called the cook as Geralt walked to the door.

He paused, turned back, and met the cook’s suddenly soulful brown eyes. The cook shifted, still clutching the wine. “If you want to find him… Appleshon hill.”

“When?”

The cook’s brows furrowed. He shrugged. “Any time you like.”

Geralt walked up the hill - steep, with just a sparse cobblestone path to guide him. On the way, he was stopped by an old woman with a cane. One of her eyes was milky blue. “Witcher,” she said.

Geralt bowed his head a little.

“Where are you going?”

“To see Jaskier,” he replied. “The bard. I suspect there was some big fuss about him around here recently.”

She looked at him kindly, then toddled forward, reaching far upward to card her hand through his hair. She inspected it with the eye that worked, then nodded, seemingly satisfied. “You are his witcher, then.”

“I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

He felt that sinking in his chest again, the unpleasant ache. “I don’t think he’s calling me his anything nowadays.”

“Hm.” Her gaze turned sad. “I suppose.”

And, without another word, she pressed a bouquet of scraggly wildflowers into his hands. Dandelions. Daisies. Little purple things Geralt didn’t know the name of. He swallowed the lump in his throat, eyes firmly trained on their scattered leaves as the old woman turned away.

What a lovely gift, for a lover.

What a dismal apology.

He continued on his way.

Again, he was stopped, this time by a tall man dressed in black, with a large leather satchel. His face was drawn, gaunt. “Ho there,” he called. “Witcher.”

Geralt nodded, slid his eyes away, fully intending to keep going up the hill - he could see the crest now, the shambling stone wall dotted with ivy. Ten minutes, maybe five, and he would be there, closer to Jaskier than he had been in years.

He ran over his speech in his head - all the small things to say, all the large ones to hint at.

“Witcher,” called the man again, voice rough and broken. One dark eyebrow cocked. “What business do you have here?”

“Visiting a friend,” Geralt replied with a sigh, turning to face the other man on the path.

“No monster-slaying?”

“No.”

“Ah.” The man cocked his head. “Say, if you were ever in the mood to kill a monster, and wanted it remembered… well, I noticed your bard has gone rather into retirement.”

Geralt winced.

“Too soon? Sorry,” the man chuckled, in his gentle timbre. “Well. I’m a writer, not a bard. My name’s Hoid - in case you’ve heard of my work. Perhaps the witcher would like to try stories instead of songs?”

For some reason, anger welled up in his belly. Geralt quieted it with a long breath, in and out. He assessed the man again, from the silver on his shoes to the black stubble on his chin. By all rights, he should have liked this man more than Jaskier - the easy way he talked, the simplicity of his clothing, the wickedness of the knife at his hip…

But it wasn’t Jaskier. It wasn’t his fucking bard.

“No,” Geralt growled. “Never.”

The writer tilted his head forward in a single nod of acknowledgement. “I understand. Goodnight, witcher, and good luck.”

Geralt watched the man’s back for a long time as he made his way back down the cobblestone hill.

The door was made of wood. And even Geralt, at his considerable height, could not see over the stone wall. He swallowed the lump in his throat, preparing himself for whatever may lay beyond it –

Jaskier, incensed. Yelling. Screaming at Geralt, ripping his paltry flowers to shreds.

Jaskier, happy. Having forgotten Geralt and his dirt and monsters years ago.

Jaskier…

Geralt swallowed, hand clenched around the wildflowers. He ran through his speech again, through the careful words that had given him the strength to climb those last few steps. Summoning courage, he pushed open the thick wooden gate.

Headstones.

Geralt blinked, and suddenly things seemed to move in slow motion - the crashing of an ocean miles away. The birds circling one bare tree. The headstones all dotted in a row, a tomb or two along the side of the gray wall.

He swallowed, feeling like the continent’s worst fool.

Time moved like a dream. He walked along the headstones, every running word in his mind frozen. He let the heads of the wildflowers scrape the top of the stones, reading name after name, hoping, praying, for something he was too terrified to name.

Nordand Allsor - A Loving Father

Ophela Dart - When The Wind Moves The Tree, Think Thee of Me

Stormund Brekker - Lover, Took Too Soon

Jaskier

Geralt’s mind almost didn’t register it. The last in the row, nestled beneath a tree. He stood there for a long moment, expression blank as he read it, over and over again.

JASKIER.

Bold letters.

Geralt knelt, knees thudding in the dirt. How could he have thought it was a wedding? The flowers, the sad looks, the sudden kindness to a witcher - it couldn’t have been anything else. Jaskier would not be in Lettenhove otherwise. Except to be buried.

Geralt shoved his hand in the dirt, some animal part of him wanting to dig up the fresh earth, needing to touch him, to hold him, to cradle him in his arms and–

He let out a shaky breath, feeling the cool earth in his fingers. Most of him couldn’t believe it, that his bard had gone and died without him.

Geralt slammed the flowers right below the headstone.

His chest shook.

It felt like–

It felt like Jaskier himself was trying to climb his way out of Geralt’s stomach and into his throat.

The thought of it almost made him laugh, the memory of Jaskier’s voice when it became panicked. How ridiculous the man was. The next time Geralt saw him, he’d tell him–

It thudded into him again. A relentless realization, a chain reaction of simple things, the simple fact that he was now a memory, just some man. Geralt imagined fifty years down the road, when he was old and slow and he would have to tell his brothers about the time he had a friend. The time when someone loved him.

“Fuck,” he said, and it shocked the silence away. Now he could hear his own shallow breathing, hear himself tremble, his heart thudding away in his ears. “Fuck.”

His speech.

He’d had a speech.

“I’m sorry,” he started, because that was the beginning, wasn’t it? That had always been the beginning, when he’d imagined this, Jaskier in front of him, gold and alive and sweet and gentle and tough and angry–

“Fucking hell,” he spat at himself. He rubbed his eyes with the hand not grasping at the dirt. He sat up, shakily breathing, trying to find some semblance of composure. He held onto his meditation with a white-knuckled grip, feeling his own spine shake like a tiny dog. He trembled, but he did not break.

He owed him that.

He owed Jaskier dignity.

“I owe you a lot,” he said. “I owe you my life, certainly.” He swallowed. “Friendship. Coin, probably. I think when you… when you left, off that mountain, I took some of your coin with me.” He grabbed his coin purse, and with shaking hands pressed all the gold coins he had into the dirt. “There,” he said. “I…”

He had to pause. To allow his racing heart to return to his body, to let his clouded mind settle on the dirt and the stone in front of him. The sky rumbled, unhappy with his meager apologies.

“I think, though, we both know our friendship is a lot more than an exchange at this point,” he continued, and the words cut up his throat. “I’m truly sorry, Jaskier, for everything I…” he trailed off as he stared at the headstone.

JASKIER.

He reached forward to press his thumb into the indents. “You were my best friend,” he confessed, and the wind howled and tears pricked at his face. “In the whole world. The whole damn world. And I know it’s too late,” he added, hoarse. “Far too late. I should have been there to protect you, but I was a fool, Jask, I was a fucking bastard to you and I…”

He hung his head. “I wish I could be better to you,” he said, raw. “Give you things you deserve.”

Geralt swallowed.

“You deserve… me. If you want me.”

“Geralt?”

His eyes flew open, staring at the dirt.

Not a good time to start imagining things, Geralt.

“Melitele, I–”

Geralt turned his head, eyes widening, and–

There he was. Dressed in simple, plain clothes, a string of red around his neck, scruffy and long-haired but smelling of wildflowers and chamomile and apples–

Jaskier put a hand over his mouth.

There was a moment of silence, as Geralt, on his knees, felt his heart slow, then quicken, as shock thudded through him again.

“I can explain,” said Jaskier quickly, holding up a hand. “Those were very nice words, okay, I just–I didn’t want to interrupt, it looked like you were having a moment–”

Geralt stood on admittedly shaky legs, looking at him, just…

He was alive.

The embarrassment of the moment was overshadowed by the beating heart he could hear over the wind.

One moment he had stood, the next he’d wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s very warm, very alive body, pressing his face into the space between Jaskier’s shoulder and his neck. He breathed him in, only briefly wondering if he was allowed this, allowed this contact, before Jaskier’s hands gripped him back.

“Now, listen,” said Jaskier carefully after a moment. “There was a very nasty escapade involving my mother wanting me back to rule over Lettenhove. I had to fake my death. It was really quite an adventure but I can see how you sobbing over my grave–”

Geralt grumbled, deep in his chest. “Not sobbing.”

“Practically sobbing. Really close, in fact.”

Geralt leaned back, and held Jaskier’s chin in his hand, feeling that pulse again. Alive, alive, alive. “Weeping,” he said very seriously.

Jaskier laughed, blue eyes twinkling. Then they faded. “Wait. You’re serious. Geralt, I’m fully prepared to forget what I just saw if you want me to. I swear, even the part about you owing me your life–”

Geralt brushed his hair out of his face. “Don’t joke. I was mourning,” he said, and his voice was still rough. “I never want to mourn you again.”

“Oh,” breathed Jaskier, soft as a whisper. “Well, that’s very–”

Geralt kissed him, soft as anything.

-♥icarusty

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everywaythatmatters · 1 year

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I tuned in to Branderson’s stream just in time to hear the question “what would Hoid be for Halloween?” and the answer “he would be Kelsier, just to tick him off”

I’m actually dying can someone please write that fic

#cosmere #hoid #he also said Kaladin would do something incredibly low effort like putting on a different uniform than his normal one #which is so in character that I knew the answer before he even said it

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cosmereplay · 1 year

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Welcome to the tumblr cosmere fandom! Here's a list of common tags. I encourage you to use these tags to find the things you want and block what you don't want! Fellow tumblrinas feel free to add to this list:

#cosmere, #brandon sanderson, #cosmere fandom - general or wide ranging cosmere stuff

#cfsbf (cosmere fandom still best fandom) - for heartwarming stuff

#cfswf (cosmere fandom still worst fandom) - angst fics, complaining about other fans, hot takes from Brandon

#cremposting memes and such

Series tags! #Stormlight Archive, #Stormlight archives, #the Stormlight Archive, #tsa, #sla. Similarly, #Mistborn, #Mistborn era 1, #Mistborn era 2.

Spoilers! People are pretty good at tagging their spoilers. If you want to avoid spoilers for a book, block "book title", "title spoilers", and "acronym spoilers" and that should help you stave off the worst of it. Ex. #the lost metal, #the lost metal spoilers, #tlm spoilers. For a series, #mistborn spoilers. I've seen #secret project 1, #sanderson secret projects, #ssp1 spoilers, etc for the Secret Projects.

For characters, you might find different things by using first name only, full name, name plus topic. Ex #Shallan, #Shallan Davar, #Shallan fanart. For characters with common first names and no last name like Lift, use Stormlight as the last name, #lift stormlight. Same with #vin mistborn. Hoid's name is #hoid cosmere, of course ;).

Fanart! #stormlight fanart, #mistborn fanart, #arts arcanum

Fanfic! #stormlight fanfic, #mistborn fanfiction, #cosmere fic, #cosmere RP

Shipping! Here are some common ship names for your finding or blocking pleasure - #Kadolin, #Shalladin, #Shakadolin, #Syladin, #Kalinar, #Stormthorn, #KalMoash, #Rlainarin, #Kalarin, #Ravani, #Navaniel, and a lot more. You might also come across this format: #Kal x Moash, #Kaladin x Sigzil, etc.

Days of the week! #Moash loving Monday, #Rlain Rlendsday, #Thaidakar Thursday, #Mistborn fortnite friday

#zellionsweep if you want to pursue scholarship of the Zellion reveal and associated tumblr lore

Discourse! #discourse, #sanderson critical, #fan critical, #cosmere critical (sometimes shortened to crit), #moash discourse, #fuck moash - heavier discussions of important topics in the fandom

Sex stuff! #cosmere kink meme, #cosmere kink will turn up older writing prompts and short fics. #stormlight kink meme is a newer tag!

Some tips:

You can put spaces in tags!

If you add commentary in the tags, your followers, and anyone who looks in the tags specifically, will see your comments. Tags don't get reblogged unless someone likes them enough to add them to the post via screenshot or retyping them.

Add alt text to all images you upload, whether it's art or screenshots or memes. Because of Tumblr's ability to have longer text posts, it's also reasonable to add image descriptions to reblogs if the original image doesn't have alt text. Reblog and tag described posts with #described, #image description, #id in alt text, #alt text, #cosmere described to make it easier for people using screen readers to find it. Tag undescribed images with #undescribed or #not described so people using screen readers can block it.

#cosmere fandom #long post #I hope someone finds this helpful #updated with more tags

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koravelliumavast · 1 year

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Someone should write a fic where Kelsier and Hoid are in a ramen noodle shop and they see each other and Hoid vs Kelsier round two almost happens.

#but they end up being civil because this is their favorite ramen place #Hoid #kelsier

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isnt-it-pretty · 9 months

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tell us your mistborn thoughts. tell us your mistborn thoughts

Oh gosh I have a lot of them honestly. I said in my post that there wasn't many fans because the tags on tumblr aren't particularly active, and there aren't many fan works on ao3 for it, which is usually how I measure these things. I'm glad to see people coming out of the woodworks in response.

Anyway, Kelsier and Marsh live rent-free in my brain because I too have a sibling I love with all my heart even if I don't like her. I'm midway into writing two fics about them (one ft. Kelsier & Dockson). I also love how fucking dramatic Marsh is in era 2. Dude is living his best life and I'm here for it.

Recently I've been thinking about how interesting it'd be if Dockson Snapped when Kelsier died (making him a mistborn would be cheesy af but I mean that's what fan works are for anyways). It would be a nice parallel to Kelsier Snapping upon watching Mare die. (It's obvious Dockson loves Kelsier. Not necessarily romantically either. Brothers, queerplatonic, whatever.) I think it'd change a lot in book 2 as well to have another mistborn kicking around. (Also "I don't have noble blood" "well apparently you do")

Was also thinking of the concept of Kelsier and Mare finding Vin when she was younger. Kelsier says he wishes he did, but what if they had? If Reen and Vin had come to Luthadel a few years sooner, then it's plausible. My thought was Hoid getting involved, of course. Reen being gone and Hoid passing on word to Marsh as an informant for the rebellion that "Oh there is this girl using allomancy." Marsh finding her, realizing she's a mistborn, and not knowing what to do with her beyond passing her off to Mare (and Kelsier by virtue of being Mare's husband, but really he's handing her off to Mare) since he trusts her. Vin being somewhere between nine and eleven years old and learning to have a family, followed by the betrayal when Kelsier and Mare go to Kredik Shaw and are caught. Also the panicked conversations with Ham because he has kids while Kelsier and Mare have no idea what to do, and passing Vin around to their friends to learn allomancy because Kelsier hasn't Snapped yet.

I read all of Stormlight Archive and I loved it, but honestly, Mistborn is probably my favourite. The first book was so good it's for sure on my list of favourite novels. The found family doing crime energy is just so good. I also love Elend and Vin in the first book. I like their relationship in general but that first book is so good.

#mistborn #cosmere

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stolen-stardust · 1 year

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(taps microphone) anyone gonna write a fic of hoid meeting the mechanisms or am i gonna have to imagine it in my head indefinitely

#hoid is Such a mechanism based on vibes alone

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moiraineswife · 3 years

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Drawn In - A Witsnah Fic

IT’S TIME FOR NEW CONTENT.

Title: Drawn In

Summary: Pre Rhythm of War: Jasnah and Wit's first kiss. Canon compliant. It's soft and it's fluffy and a little dramatic in places (bc Wit) but it's what they deserved!!!

Teaser: 'Counter to the vicious rumours and harsh jibes, Jasnah was still human. She did not experience lust the same as others that she knew. But she was also not a frozen husk of a woman, devoid of need, or want for companionship and comfort.

A part of her longed for this connection with another person, this intimacy, this want that she increasingly found only with him.

He was dangerous, yes, but he made her feel safe. He made mock of everyone around him, but for her he made sense, and certainty, of things she’d never thought to understand. He was a roamer, a drifter, a wanderer, untethered and bound. But he was hers.'

Link: ao3

Commission Link: Have me write other cosmere characters

“So Investiture will be found on planets with one Shard or more?” Jasnah said, speaking the words aloud as she wrote them shorthand in her notebook.

Conversing with Wit was always a stimulating process. He seemed to view each conversation as something of a duel. The chance to spar, to test his opponent, feel them out, offer them new challenges, new quips that required responses, new information that needed to be processed, new barbs to return in kind. It was invigorating.

Lately, they had been spending more and more time together. He was the Queen’s Wit, and as such he accompanied her to most public gatherings she attended, as was proper.

Something that was decidedly less proper, by Alethi standards, was the amount of time they were now spending together alone behind closed doors.

Nothing untoward had happened between them. Not yet. At times she wondered if she had fabricated the impression that it could. Then she would catch a glint in his eye, the edge of a smile curving across his clever mouth, the way his eyes sometimes darted to her lips as they spoke.

There was flirtation, too. Gentle, for the most part. He was not from this world, but he knew the Alethi well enough never to push too hard or too far. Even if she was not, strictly speaking, Vorin, the society they played within was, and there were rules that had to be abided to.

Outside of that, she had never been one for flowery compliments, or overt, blunt attempts at seduction. They felt hollow and insincere to her, not to mention distastefully brusque. It reminded her of Amaram’s entitled insistence in his pursuit of her. She did not like being made to feel she was a hog bound at the end of a rope to lure the waiting chasmfiend.

She preferred something altogether more subtle and cerebral than the usual Alethi courting methods. Someone who would dare to draw close to her, to tease at implications of what might, to pique her mental curiosity, stimulate her mind, who worked to connect with her, truly, on the most important levels.

Wit...Wit was dangerously skilled at that. And he seemed to know it was what she wanted, seemed to read the eagerness, and the intent, in her responses.

Indeed, she had considered courting him. Truly courting him, and allowing him to court her.

So much so that she had discussed it with Ivory. He was the only person whose view on the matter she considered worth taking. Had he protested, she would have heeded him, and regardless of how invigorating she found Wit, it would have gone no further.

However, Ivory, like her, was intrigued. He felt it would be a ‘good new avenue to explore for her personal growth’. She didn’t view it quite as logically as that. There was some feeling behind her own interest. More than some, if she was honest.

It was late, now. They were tucked away together, deep in her chambers of Urithiru. If anyone heard of it there would be a great scandal. She was, as far as Vorin society was concerned, a single woman. She would be expected to be chaperoned, to ensure Wit didn’t try anything inappropriate with her.

Wit seemed to consider the very definition of what each people he visited ‘inappropriate’ to be his own personal playground. He liked to establish himself within the boundaries of propriety, then slowly test, and push, and pry at them. And occasionally set them on fire and watch them burn with barely restrained glee.

He had revealed much to her in the time he’d spent as her Wit. She’d met him before, of course, and guessed at his nature and origins, but she had coaxed more concrete answers from him now.

He was an ancient creature, unlike anything she, or anyone else upon Roshar, had met before. He had visited other worlds, had witnessed their destruction, as well as the birth of the Shards that now held sway in the Cosmere at large.

The knowledge he held within his mind was incredible, incomparable.

The Heralds had been a revelation to her, as a dedicated historian. They were history come alive, walking, talking, sharing their truth with her.

Wit was the same. Yet so much more. For he was the living history of not only her planet, but many more besides.

Jasnah relished this time they spent alone together. Speaking with him, learning the secrets he carried, the keys to understanding her powers, and the powers of Roshar and beyond.

He seemed to thrive upon her questions, as much as she thrived upon asking them. He was a showman, she knew, a performer. He liked to have an audience to play to. He had stories in his soul, and his purpose was to give them to others, as he felt was appropriate.

“Quite correct,” he replied, absently, not looking at her but making some note on the papers he had propped on his legs.

He was lounging back in his chair, boots up on her desk, which she permitted when they were alone together. If that was his comfort, she would not complain. She was not Dalinar, with military discipline drilled into her. She would not chide a man for sitting as he would in a moment of private companionship.

There was a stack of parchment balanced on his raised thighs. She suspected he was taking his own notes on their conversation. He had done so before, after she had made some observation he’d actually found original and interesting enough to write down.

She hadn’t thought, after all his years of life, that she would be able to provide him with anything he had not already experienced from someone else. It seemed that she had been wrong, and that he found her as intoxicating and stimulating as she found him.

She didn’t object to him writing, either. She found the tradition of forbidding a person from their potential passions or interests based upon some arbitrary concept like gender a foolish prohibition.

Although, not having to deal with men in the hallowed spaces of her research had been refreshing, at times. Excluding a rough half of a population's minds from any topic was ridiculous, she felt.

Besides, Wit had learned to read and write long before Rosharans had even thought it unseemly. He was beyond such things. Indeed, some days he’d confessed to her he was beyond such things as gender.

“And it can exist in multiple states?” she continued, pushing her thoughts back to the topic of Investiture, stopping them wandering down avenues far darker, and more mysterious, in regards to her and her Wit, “As a gas, such as the mists you described upon Scadriel,” she had to glance at another notebook to check the name of the planet. Wit nodded vaguely, “As a metal,” she said, “Like our Shardblades,” another nod, “Or as a liquid, like that gathered at the Well of Ascension.”

“Indeed,” he said, making another few marks with his pen, still not looking at her.

She didn’t mind that, either, but she did lean over to peer at his paper to see just what he was so engrossed in.

She was surprised to see that he wasn’t writing at all. Instead, he was sketching, with delicate movements of a charcoal pencil he must have filched from her desk drawers while she’d been occupied. It was a rather impressive, and rather detailed, rendition of her.

Jasnah as he saw her. Her eyes alive, focused on her work, hair unbound, cascading around her shoulders and down her back. Fingers deftly making some notation. Her face beautifully sculpted by sweeping lines of black against the tan parchment.

It was a very different style from Shallan’s, reminiscent of the drawings he had given her to help identify the Heralds. It was less focused on realism, imprinting every aspect of a moment captured in time, and more stylistic. Obviously his work.

There was...A care to his movements, and such an intimacy to his creation that, absurdly, she found herself having to fight down a blush.

“That’s beautiful,” he murmured, glancing up at her, making swifter, surer strokes with his pencil, “If you’d just hold that pose for a moment more, my dear,” he said, as if this was the purpose of their meetings together.

“I’m not supposed to be posing, Wit,” she said, composing herself, forcing herself to sound queenly and proper. And perhaps overcompensating, by the flicker of the smirk that he gave her. “I’m supposed to be learning. From you, I might add.”

“We’re both old enough and ugly enough to do more than one thing at once, I think,” he replied blandly.

Then he stopped and looked up at her, a faint glint in his eyes.

“I do apologise,” he said, putting a hand to his chest and giving her a slight bow, without removing his feet from her desk, “I forgot to whom I was speaking for a moment.”

He reached out and deftly slid a knuckle under her chin, angling her face more towards the pool of light that shone from the goblet of spheres on her desk.

“You’re not quite what I should define ‘old’ just yet,” he said, the smile pulling apparently irresistibly at his lips.

“Wit,” she said, rolling her eyes, using the motion of turning back to her notes to cover the slight shiver that had pulsed through her at the intensity of his attention upon her a moment before.

“No, please,” he said, cupping her chin gently between his fingers and turning her back to face him once more. “I’m almost finished,” he said, almost breathless, intent, “You can spare me a moment, surely? For the sake of art, Jasnah.”

“You know I don’t care over much for art, Wit,” she said, though she did not pull away from him this time, drawn in to the faint glimmer in his eyes, the plea in his tone.

His touch was strangely electrifying. As if there was Stormlight in his fingertips, sparking between them where his body met hers. The smallest of connections, yet the broadest of implications contained within such a simple gesture.

“I know,” he said, with a dramatic sigh, “One of your very few failings, Brightness. We all must have at least one, I’m told. Except me of course.”

“Of course,” she returned, rolling her eyes again, even as she found herself suddenly, dangerously, drawn in to those bright, sharp blue eyes of his.

“There’s just...Something wrong,” he said, cocking his head to one side, studying every line of her face.

“Oh?” she said, feeling a spike of alertness breaking through the fog of her intoxication.

“Yes,” he said, frowning, “Something not quite right. I think it’s your mouth.”

“My mouth?” she repeated, confused, until she followed his gaze down to his sketch of her.

“Mm,” he agreed vaguely, nodding, “Your lips have such a precise, sculpted quality to them,” he murmured, his thumb rising from her chin and tracing ever so tenderly over them.

She had to restrain herself from closing her eyes and leaning in to him. It had been a long time since she had allowed anyone to touch her as intimately as this. It had been a long time since she had wanted anyone to touch her as intimately as this.

“I don’t think I’ve managed to capture it correctly,” he said, mirroring the motions he was making against her skin on the parchment, shaping her mouth more precisely.

Lines of flesh and lines of charcoal, and breathless daring held together in the stillness between his words, neither of them moving, neither so much as breathing through them. Held. Captivated. Connected.

“That is a shame,” she said, finally, forcing herself to get some words out.

She should draw away. She should put a stop to this. Should direct them back to their studies. This was more than he had ever dared with her before, further than he had ever pushed his teasing flirtation and gentle courting. She should not allow it. He was dangerous. The pull she felt to him was dangerous. The smart, the logical, thing to do was to walk away. To halt this before it began.

She didn’t.

She didn’t want to, Storm it. Her world had ended, and she now struggled in the muck, and blood, and ash that remained to see what she could salvage. It was cold, hard, lonely work. As it had been for all those years she’d worked alone, in shadows, unseen, unwanted, untouched.

Counter to the vicious rumours and harsh jibes, Jasnah was still human. She did not experience lust the same as others that she knew. But she was also not a frozen husk of a woman, devoid of need, or want for companionship and comfort.

A part of her longed for this connection with another person, this intimacy, this want that she increasingly found only with him.

“Perhaps,” he said, then paused, licking his lips, almost as though he was nervous. Do it a part of her willed him, say it. Please. “Perhaps a closer look?” he murmured.

She nodded, expectant. But when he slid from his chair and cradled her face in his hands, kneeling in front of her, he only traced the shape of her mouth with a tip of his finger, leaving her disappointed.

Yet she could see the want in his deep eyes, the gentle intrigue, the spark of daring that had led him to reach out and put his hands on her as he had tonight. With far more intimacy and familiarity than he’d ever risked before.

“Wit,” she said quietly, dislodging one of his fingers.

His eyes flicked to hers, and she felt her heart fluttering in her chest, as if she were an awkward teenager, fumbling into her first exploration of romance.

She forced herself under control, and made sure her voice was level when she said, “Do you want to kiss me?”

He blinked once, startled, then a smile spread across his lips, tentative, still, as if a part of him wondered she might be asking so she could put an end to those thoughts.

But he nodded, “I do, Your Majesty. Most improper thoughts for a Wit to harbour for his queen, I admit.”

“More improper still if they are reciprocated,” she said very quietly, watching his smile flare in his eyes at that.

“Indeed,” he said, now sounding almost breathless, as if he could not quite believe what was happening.

This feeling was likewise mutual.

“If you want to kiss me, Wit,” she said, “Perhaps you should stop dancing around it, and just do it.”

He held himself, suspended by shock, for a single heartbeat. Then he moved, surging towards her like a highstorm’s flood. One hand cupping her cheek, guiding her, the other sliding deft fingers deep into her thick hair.

Then his mouth was on hers, finally, and she was closing her eyes and sinking into him, and he was moving gently against her. Drawing away for a beat, heavy lidded eyes meeting hers, seeking approval, which she gave. Then again, his lips against hers, heat pulsing between them like a freshly infused gemstone.

“Ah. Yes. That helped,” he said, smiling softly at her, making to turn back to his sketch, as if that had been the only purpose of their embrace.

“Yes,” she agreed quietly, “I think that it did.”

Her tone held him in place and he bit his lip, giving her a small half-smile, no longer keeping up the joke of his sketch. Indeed, he let it slip from his lap, the pencil dropped from uncaring fingers, his attention focused entirely on her now.

“I’ve been wondering if you were ever going to allow me to do that,” he said, still sounding a little breathless, though Stormlight should have dealt with any purely physical exertion.

“I’ve been wondering if you were ever going to try,” she admitted, her fingers stroking absently at an out of place curl of black hair at his forehead.

Wit smiled more broadly at that, taking her hand and gently brushing the knuckles against his lips, “I did promise you that I would never leave your questions answered.”

He leaned in for a second kiss but she pulled back, frowning, “You leave my questions unanswered all the time, Wit.”

“I do not!” he said, affronted, placing a hand over his chest.

She gave him a flat look, “You disappeared for three weeks last month. Upon your return I asked you where you had been and you told me that you had ‘gone fishin’,” she said, badly mimicking the accent he’d used.

He smiled and rubbed noses with her, which was the last thing she’d expected, and startled her so much she almost missed his reply.

“Technically, my dear, that was an answer," he said, smiling innocently up at her.

She just stared at him, unimpressed.

Wit raised a finger, “I promised you I would give you answers. I said absolutely nothing about those answers being of any use to you.”

Jasnah sighed, then kissed him again. That seemed to take him by surprise, which was pleasing. She found herself smiling against his mouth, and he against hers, and they broke apart, both laughing softly, unable to maintain the kiss.

“So” Wit said quietly, his eyes flickering up from her lips to meet her gaze, “This is something we do now, is it?”

“I assumed when you said that you wanted to kiss me, that implied more than once,” she replied with a small sniff.

Wit smirked at her, “Rather presumptuous of you, isn’t that, Your Majesty?” he said, waggling his eyebrows at her in a way only he could get away with doing.

“Not if I’m right,” she said evenly, “And I am, aren’t I?”

Wit grinned at her, “This is one of things about you I’m so inordinately fond of, Jasnah.”

“My ‘unfettered, unyielding, and quite boundless arrogance’?” she asked, smirking slightly at the memory.

Wit paused, then cocked his head and said, “Ruthar?”

She inclined her head, confirming that suspicion. His grin broadened.

“If you’re right, I don’t think that’s arrogance. I think it’s justified confidence in oneself in that circumstance,” he said, musing.

“So I am right, then?” she said, feeling a ridiculous flutter of nervousness as she asked the question, as if he might now turn around and reject her, after everything.

Wit stroked her cheek with his knuckles and said quietly, “Given that I’ve been thinking about nothing but kissing you again since last we stopped I’d say that yes, your hypothesis has some merit.”

“I thought I already told you what you should do if you want to kiss me,” she replied, “I am not fond of repeating myself, Wit, you know this.”

“I do apologise, my Queen,” Wit breathed, already leaning in, the words pressed against her lips a moment before his mouth met hers again.

When he drew back again, Wit cupped her face between both hands, gazing up at her, intent, and said quietly, “This is what you want? I am what you want?”

“Yes, I believe so,” she replied composedly, “I have already come to the conclusion that this is a mostly appropriate course of action to pursue.”

Wit raised an eyebrow at her and she actually blushed, turning away from him, feeling ridiculous. She had taken charge earlier, had all but commanded him to kiss her, but now she was stumbling around him like a teenager who had never so much as had another person hold her safehand?

“I am not accustomed to this kind of conversation,” she admitted, trying to reassert herself, though feeling horribly awkward at the same time, “It has never been my forte.”

He just shuffled in a little closer, and she realised that he was still kneeling on the floor in front of her while she sat primly at her desk. Storms. What a ridiculous man.

She stood up then said, “Come, let’s sit somewhere more comfortable, if we’re to have this talk now.”

Wit stood up as well, but put a gentle hand on her arm, “We don’t have to talk about anything right now,” he said, “It was a kiss. Which may turn into more kisses. Or it may not. We don’t have to define anything just yet, if you aren’t ready for that.”

She stared at him incredulously.

“Did you hit your head on something as you were standing?” she demanded.

He blinked, confused.

“Have you forgotten entirely who I am?" She went on, "I can’t think why else you would say something so ridiculous to me.”

He snorted with laughter at that.

“Of course, of course,” he said, waving a hand, “How foolish of me, to attempt to put a woman at ease and remind her she’s under no obligation to me because of a single kiss we shared in the heat of a moment.”

Jasnah sighed again and rubbed her forehead, wincing.

It had been some time since she’d had to navigate a romantic relationship and she...Well she hadn’t been exactly good at this to begin with.

She opened her mouth, but Wit just put a finger to her lips and spared her the trouble of making an even larger storming fool of herself.

“It’s quite alright, my dear,” he said, eyes twinkling in a way that she found, frustratingly, both irritating and enticing all at once, “In fact it’s rather refreshing. It’s the apocalypse, after all, we haven’t time to waste with pointless pleasantries and empty reassurances. Lead on, your Majesty.”

Still grinning, he slid his hand into hers and allowed her to draw him over to the reclining couch she had set up on the opposite side of the room to her study desk. A place for more relaxed reading or meditation.

They both settled themselves, Wit still smirking at her, and she withdrew her hand from his and clasped it in her lap, not looking at him.

“So,” Wit said, leaning in, and raising his eyebrows suggestively, “You’ve, let me make sure I get this correct,” he cleared his throat, and his already deep voice lowered even further as he said in a breathy, exaggerated, voice, “‘Come to the conclusion that I am a mostly appropriate course of action to pursue’ have you?”

She stared at him flatly, and in direct counter to his hyperbolic seduction, which had intensified to the point that he was now fluttering his eyelashes at her, replied as matter-of-factly as she could, “Indeed. Ivory and I have already discussed it together at some length.”

That made him sit up, suddenly dropping the act, which surprised her, as she’d expected him to drag at least a few more minutes of torment out of it.

“You spoke to Ivory about us?” he said, in normal tones again.

“Of course,” she said, frowning slightly, unsure why he thought this so worthy of remarking upon, “Any relationship I am involved in will directly impact upon him. It was only right that he be allowed a say in it.”

“You wish to embark upon a relationship with me?” Wit repeated, a little dazed, as though she’d just swung a heavy weight into the side of his head.

“Yes, Wit,” she said, then narrowed her eyes and drew away from him, “Unless you are only interested in a physical distraction with me,” she added, feeling suddenly cold at the prospect, “In which case this ends here, with no further conversation required on the matter.”

“No,” Wit said, quickly, his voice gentle and reassuring.

He reached out and took her hand to stop her retreating from him. When she hesitantly allowed this, he squeezed it and scooted closer, bumping his shoulder against hers in a manner that he apparently saw as affectionate.

"Not at all, Jasnah,” he said, shaking his head. Then he paused and added, “The kissing was very pleasant, I must admit. But there is more here, Jasnah, much more.”

He met her eyes, and there was a depth to him he had rarely allowed her to see there. Knowledge, and history, and life and all of it focusing entirely upon her and this moment. It was almost overwhelming.

She nodded slowly, running her thumb absently back and forth on the top of his hand, “It has been some time since I have connected with someone the way I have with you these past months,” she confessed quietly.

Despite the fact that she had kissed him mere minutes before, despite admitting she had spoken with Ivory about him, despite the fact she’d all but told him that she wished to embark on a relationship with him...That revelation made her feel suddenly vulnerable. Almost to the point that she instinctively withdrew, before he saw, before he could use it as a weak point to hurt her.

But something in him held her there. Like a Windrunner balanced on a surge, suspended above a chasm, unable to fall, to retreat to the ground where it was safe, and familiar, while the thrill of the flight kept them airborne, free, unwillingly to remember what life had felt like before this intensity, this rush of feeling and joy.

Wit nodded to her, squeezing her hand again, stopping her from falling, as she had so many times before, “I feel the same way,” he admitted, “You are a truly extraordinary woman, Jasnah Kholin,” he breathed, huffing a soft laugh and shaking his head. “And I would be lying if I tried to claim that I had seen this coming. I doubt even Cultivation-” he broke off, shaking his head.

Taking a breath he composed himself, and met her eyes once more, tenderly cupping her cheek in his hand. She allowed him, once again feeling as though something in his touch was electrified, as though something sparked between them at the merest brush of his skin against hers.

“You took me utterly by surprise, Jasnah,” he said, his voice now soft and sincere, “I knew you were a woman of uncommon beauty, of unsurpassing intelligence, and wit, even before I joined your court,” he added, seemingly unable to stop himself. Then he sobered, his voice gentler, more serious, “But I could never have predicted the effect that you would have on me. How stimulating your companionship could be, how addictive spending time with you could become.”

She nodded, barely conscious of the gesture, then she cleared her throat and said, “Is this your long winded, Wit way of telling me that you want to be in a relationship with me as well?”

Wit laughed at that, but it was a fond laugh, not meant to mock or hurt. He stroked his fingers through her hair and said, “Would it be more direct and obvious if I just kissed you again?” he asked.

“I certainly don’t think it could hurt,” she replied flatly, even as something in her chest fluttered in excitement at the prospect.

He did just that, but broke away before she was ready for it to end and said, “Jasnah Kholin.” She didn’t have a chance to reply before he was kissing her again. “I am telling you now,” Another kiss. “In no uncertain terms whatsoever,” He kissed her once more. “That I absolutely,” Another kiss. “Without a doubt,” She was smiling now. “Or a shred of hesitation,” he kissed her once more. “That I, your Wit,” he leaned in for another kiss but met only her finger, pressed against his lips and blocking him.

He raised his eyes to meet hers without drawing back from and said, the words mangled by the press of her finger against him, “Am asking you if you would-”

“Wit,” she groaned, shaking her head, even if she was still smiling at his antics.

He straightened up, also grinning, and said, “I want to be in a relationship with you, Jasnah. A romantic relationship. With you as my partner. If that is something you think would please you?”

In answer, to be quite sure he understood her completely, she kissed him again.

***

#jasnah kholin #hoid #witsnah #stormlight archive #rhythm of war #witsnah fic #my fic #jasnah fic #hoid fic #jasnah x wit #text post tag #long post #mine #I SPAWN ONCE MORE #WITH CONTENT #SOFT CONTENT #MWAHAHAHA

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keclan · 3 years

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Mash and Sazed SHOULD hold hands. But also consider, Marsh making out with Hoid simply because he knows it'll annoy Kelsier.

sakdjaskdjla!!!! i’m only like halfway through well of ascension so to be honest i don’t really remember what hoid’s appearance in tfe was. all in all this is very funny and valid!!!!

#i was in post limit jail all day #but i'm free now #mistborn #thank you #i genuinely didn't know how to respond to this when i first got it #but you're valid #there's barely any marsh fic on ao3 #none for marsh/sazed so i feel like the only person in the world #but solidarity w you friend #bc i think i would remember if i'd seen hoid/marsh fic #so we are in this boat together #anon #ask

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pocketramblr · 3 years

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"my child is fine" your child is incapable of ever shutting up about Sigzil

#I'm sorry i STILL have so many Sigzil posts in my head rn #i want!! more Sigzil content ok!!#i want to know about his spren! i want to know about his past! i want to know why Hoid picked him up! i want to know who he tried to kill!#i want him to explain the azish words (and forms) for queerplatonic and aspec to Kaladin so he can better figure himself out #i know the azish must have the words for it i know it #anyway!! i want to see him fly more... first in the sky...#i want to explore him and Kal and how they're foils and play off each other more #i want to explore him sciencing the magic more #i want his internal monologue of whatever he must have been thinking during the time skip when you know who dated lyn!#i know he must have had something funny to say i know it #i want him to show up in more fics and aus #'you're complaining a lot pocket' yes!! and I'm only a little sorry #I'll write it too once i can.... I'll write what i want to read #once i have time

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szethsmom · 4 years

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Chapters: 8/8 Fandom: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Nightblood/Sylphrena Characters: Szeth-son-son-Vallano, Kaladin (Stormlight Archive), Lift (Stormlight Archive), Dalinar Kholin, Shallan Davar, Nale (Stormlight Archive) Additional Tags: Crack, look don't judge me I wrote this pre-OB as a joke for me and my sister, brony gavilar, no offense to actual bronies intended, Accidental Baby Acquisition, szeth adopts lift, (or the other way around tbh), I just want them to be happy, Nale is a dumbass, ruthless mocking of skybreakers, ruthless mocking of everyone, Pls don't kill me

I am... SO sorry to present my Stormlight crackfic, written long ago in anticipation of Oathbringer’s release. Blame @liltumgrum and @dawn-the-rithmatist for encouraging my nonsense to be posted on the internet.

#this is terrible but I'm still so proud of it #writing bs interludes? fun fun fun #I tried to follow brandon's structure but somehow I missed the murder-prologue & hoid-epilogue thing #brony gavilar saga #dear lord what has my blog become?#(a truer reflection of my personality if I'm being honest)#y'all... I'm weird. if that hasn't been made obvious enough already #oathbringer #stormlight fic #cosmere crack #cosmemes #cfsbf #stormlight archive

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cosmereplay · 2 months

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The Blue Envelope with the Bronze Seal by cosmere_play

Rated Teen, 6000 words, Sigzil & Hoid, mild Oathbringer spoilers

For @aro-soulmates-fest I wrote a fic about aroallo Sigzil rejecting his soulmate in favour of something he wants more out of life.

Chapter 1:

For being such an expansive auditorium crammed with so many people, it was unnerving to hear such a large silence. Sigzil was half-certain that everyone could hear the thumping of his heart. Certainly he could hear that one of the adjudicators standing against a far wall was chewing something. Focus. He stared at the top sheet of the pages in front of him, hands in his lap, willing the test to start. Would he even be able to concentrate while he was this nervous? He could hear clothing rustling as his fellow applicants adjusted their robes and wraps; the nervous tapping of pens, quickly self-chastened back to stillness; then at last, one set of footsteps, ringing clearly through the hall like bells. “You may begin.” Finally! Sigzil flipped over the first page eagerly, then skimmed through the length of the test, evaluating the difficulty of the questions to ease his mind a little. This would be a good place to start: actuarial questions. Get through those, and then he could start on the history of— The sound of whispering distracted him, and he glanced at the doorway to find a tall, large woman in high ranked scion’s robes in a huddle with two of the guards. They looked up, directly at him. Oh, Yaezir guide me , he thought miserably, and snapped back to the pages in front of him. If I get kicked out just for looking up, my parents will kill me. More footsteps, this time the heavy thud of boots. They sounded like they were getting closer, but Sigzil didn’t dare look up. He frowned, trying to concentrate. Calculate the merchant’s profit, and then subtract the taxes for the Prime, given Hazep’s Rule of Sixths. Consult the table of risks— The footsteps got louder, then louder. He covered one ear as he scribbled. Average distance of goods, value of goods…hold on. Are they delivered by ship or over land? Oh Pali, of course it’s both— Two looming shadows darkened the desk. A gauntleted arm knocked the pen from Sigzil’s hand, and it landed with a crack against the bronze floor. Sigzil watched numbly as his lucky pen shattered into a thousand pieces under the rows of desks. “Oops, I do apologize,” a gruff voice said, but Sigzil felt like the words were travelling to him underwater. Then two large hands grabbed him under the armpits and yanked him to standing. He hardly heard what came next. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us, Citizen Cheater .”

Read Chapter 2

#aro soulmate fest #oathbringer spoilers #alloaro #sigzil stormlight #stormlight fanfic #my fic #fanfic friday #it's a double fic night wheee!

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jazzy-kandra · 4 years

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The Pure Lake Plague (that is, the common cold) has finally come to the Knights Radiant…and spreads. Post-OB.

#stormlight archive #sa #adolin kholin #shallan davar #shallan kholin #kaladin #jasnah kholin #dalinar kholin #navani kholin #hoid #wit #cosmere #cfsbf #crab world #stormlight fanfic #cosmere fan fic #stormshot #mistshot #kandra writes

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hunxi-after-hours · 3 years

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Hello! Firstly, thank you for everything that you do- your meta is always fascinating and your fic may have gotten me into ballet. Secondly- She Who Became The Sun: why is that book so good? I went in with such high expectations and yet somehow it completely met them!

words cannot contain how excited I am that folks are enjoying She Who Became the Sun!!!! look I just want the best things for Shelley Parker-Chan, all the time, okay

I feel like the reason SWBTS is so good is because it's so goshdarned competent on multiple levels of fiction writing, like:

plot: did you see that second-to-third act twist coming because I sure didn't

character: I feel like a lot of epic fantasy (or historical epic!) can struggle with humanizing their characters and allowing them to be flawed, hesitant people beyond their epic, prophesied purpose, but SPC manages to strike that careful balance between human and legend

themes: sometimes you read a book with excellent plot and characterization but then you get to the end of it and you're like "well, guess that was that" because when you actually look at it, the ideas and concepts in the book aren't all that complex. and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that! I love rollicking good yarns! but SWBTS deals with some very morally gray characters and situations, especially with its main characters (love it when authors make their protagonists morally gray in a morally gray world, instead of morally pure in a morally gray world), and that's what gives it staying power in my mind

language: I lost my goddamn mind over SPC's use of translation and style in this book, the absolutely mind-boggling thing is that SWBTS reads like it's in translation and I'm just. yelling

content/concept: I mean, just like "founding of the Ming Dynasty but make it queer/historical fantasy/not at all what you'd expect" is just. SPC your MIND. and the fact that SPC sets their novel in identifiably Ming Dynasty China, from material details (can we talk about the scene where Ma is repairing armor with pages torn from books because holy shit) to place names to twists of language is so fucking cool. look, I respect authors who take their East Asian inspirations and set them in secondary world SF/F. in fact, I prefer those works (Ninefox Gambit my beloved), but for SPC to go "nah, I'm going to set it in what is identifiably China" is super fucking kickass, okay

novelty: Brandon Sanderson wrote a wild epilogue in Stormlight Archive where one of his characters (Hoid, I love you) muses on the nature of art, asking what is the most important thing in establishing the greatness of a work? And he comes to the conclusion that's not quality, nor is it ingenuity--it's novelty. It's doing something before anyone else does it. And I don't think anyone is doing it quite like SPC is--not Ken Liu, not R.F. Kuang, not Zen Cho (though don't get me wrong, those three authors are also creating incredible content). SPC really was like "I couldn't find any cdrama-like stories in English so I wrote my own" and then proceeded to do exactly that

tl;dr SWBTS is a tour de force on multiple levels

#tbth I wasn't super into SWBTS while I was reading it #weirdly enough I struggle somewhat with silkpunk because now I'm always like #'(squints at page) okay but are you doing it RIGHT'#but I think I finished the book and then let it sit for a bit #and this slowburn realization of 'holy fucking shit this book is GENIUS' came for me in the week after I closed the book #this book makes me so mad and so happy at the same time and I think that is honestly a good sign #hunxi book tag #She Who Became the Sun #ALSO ANON tell me about your ballet journeys!!!#always interested in hearing ballet journeys considering mine is uh #(checks notes) on hiatus

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yuexuan · 3 years

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Fiction recommendation 21

Time for some more fic recs because its been awhile since I did them!

1. 幻想农场 (Fantasy Farm)

Author: 西子绪

Farming/slice of life, food fic, supernatural, mythology

Summary [taken from novel updates]:

After being fired, Lu Qingjiu finally decided to return to his hometown to farm.

At first, he started raising a pig, and then he found that the pig could solve more high-level math questions than he could.

After that, he started raising a flock of chickens, and then he found that his own fighting ability was one-tenth of that of a single chicken.

Finally, Lu Qingjiu finally realised that this old home wasn’t quite right… Especially a certain person by his side who constantly stared at him day in and day out.

Lu Qingjiu: “Are you drooling because of the spicy stir-fry I’m holding or because of me?”

Bai Yuehu pointed at the stir-fry.

Lu Qingjiu: “Then can you let go??”

Bai Yuehu reluctantly glanced at Lu Qingjiu’s arm, before loosening his teeth.

Comments:

My first thought is: don’t read this fic when you’re hungry. Every chapter is filled with delicious descriptions of food that’ll make one’s mouth water. The novel makes a lot of references to creatures from the Classics of the Mountains and Seas, which is a delight to learn about. An easy-to-read, fun novel.

Novel | Novel [Eng] Translation

2. 全球高考 (Global Examination)

Author: 木苏里

Infinite flow, suspense, action

Summary [taken from novel updates]:

One day, You Huo and his famiIy was puIIed into an exam caIIed the GIobaI University Entrance Examination. Going through exams together with other unfortunate examinees, their Iives are put at stake and they can only Iive by passing each exam. However, something about these exams and the system controIIing it didn’t seem right — lt seemed to be trying to trap the examinees with ridiculous ruIes and strange questions…

There, You Huo meets lnvigiIator 001 who seems to hoId a key to the past he no Ionger remembered and, together, they go through the exam, unravelling the mysteries behind their past and the system.

Tldr: A pair of chaotic madmen work together to go against the examination system while feeding the readers dogfood.

Comments:

I admit that I didn’t like the story when I first started reading it. But as the story progresses, the rules of the examination fall into place and the different examinations got very challenging and interesting. The whole power couple and stranger-to-lover tropes are an added highlight.

Novel | Novel [Eng] Translation | Audio drama | Manhua

3. 全球上线 (Earth Online)

Author: 莫晨欢

Infinite flow, suspense, survival, action

Summary:

Six months ago, tens of thousands of huge towers appeared all over the world, floating over cities. No one could do anything about them.

Half a year later, people are used to the towers and learned to ignore them.

One day Tang Mo saw a bug fly towards one of the towers and hit it.

The next day, a child's voice announced to the entire world: Ding dong! 15th November, 2017, the earth went online.

The three iron rules of the towers: (1) The towers shall explain everything. (2) The game time starts from 6:00 - 18:00. (3) All players please try their best to attack and defeat the towers.

Comments:

Another suspenseful infinite flow stories. I love the smart power couple dynamic, how the two of them become powerful when they collaborate, but are also equally capable of defeating the towers’ levels by themselves. Moreover, all the characters don’t have your typical “oh let me be a hero and save everyone” complex. They all weighed the benefits and costs at each turn and are capable of making decisions that best maximize their chances of survival - whether that is ruthlessly killing other players or extending a saving hand. All the powers and items that the players received and the world-building are very unique (especially Tang Mo’s and his book haha). This one is gonna challenge your brain a bit, but definitely worth a read.

Novel | Novel [Eng] Translation

4. 不要在垃圾桶里捡男朋友 (Don’t pick up boyfriends from the trash bin)

Author: 骑鲸南去

Infinite flow, transmigration

Summary [from novel updates]:

Chi Xiaochi: fourth-rate citizen at birth, three-time award-winning film emperor, second-rate temper, first-class looks. He crawled his way out of hell on hard mode to become a winner at life.

Then, he was smashed into a vegetative state by a chandelier.

061: Hello, here’s a brief rundown on the scum gong reconditioning system. This system measures the regret level of the scum gong. Every time their regret level reaches one hundred points, you will be able to leave the current world. A friendly tip, usually, through dedication and self-sacrifice, our employees slowly foster a sense of dependency in the scum gongs, gradually making it so the scum gongs can’t live without them.

Chi Xiaochi: How many regret points is a complete loss of reputation and standing worth? How about a fall from grace? Or wanting something but never being able to obtain it?

061: ……

Comment:

Don’t let the title fool you. I entered the novel thinking it’s some meet-cute modern-day slice-of-life comedy, but it turns out to have some really good angst and adventure moments in there. Heck, it’s been awhile since I cried for a novel. :’)

There are ten arcs (i.e. worlds) that the protagonist enters, each with its own backstory, so this novel might feel longer than the usual danmei. Nevertheless, I enjoyed all the details placed into each world and all the side characters. I also like that the protagonist is very smart and cunning and he grows throughout the different worlds. The only con I’ll say to this is that everything proceeds a bit too smoothly, especially with the golden finger of 061, so the protagonist can come off as being too OP. Nevertheless, the ending and last world are just huge tear-jerkers.

Novel | Novel [Eng] Translation

5. 迪奥先生 (Mr. Dior)

Author: 绿野千鹤

Comedy, fluff, romance

Summary [from novel updates]:

One day, Zhang Chenfei met a car accident. Fortunately, he didn’t suffer any serious physical injuries. However, due to the impact of the car crash, his brain’s perception of the real world had turned into that of the novel that he was reading prior to the accident. The thing that horrified his wife, Jiao Qi, was… the Smart Brain, Louis XIII downloaded a series of books which meant that his husband would turn into a different character each time!

How will our adorable little wife deal with this kind of husband who seemed to suddenly suffer from multiple personalities?

This novel’s plot focuses on Zhang Chenfei’s changing personality based from the characters in the books, and how his wife, Jiao Qi, deal with every character as he will have to act in sync with whoever his husband’s character is. This is per the advise of the private doctor since treatment of this special condition was still under research.

As they act out their roles, they will gradually discover and learn more about the other, which they’ve never known in their seven years of living together.

Comment:

The amount of second-hand embarrassment and cringe I got from this novel is huge and I love it lol. If you are curious about how cheesy and cliche Chinese romance can get, please do try reading this. It includes some of the worst and most dog blood tropes in a comedic and satirical way, while advancing the main pairing’s relationship at the same time. Truly a fun read!

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