LINKDING

quote: Dad says Auntie was beautiful when she was young, with a bright-eyed gaze, pure yet alluring, and a slender, curving waist. When happy, her face was like springtime. When sorrowful, she was like a thin willow bending in the wind. Sometimes I try to imagine my aunt’s youthful beauty, and I end up thinking of those fox demon women in Zhiyi novels, eyes flickering like stars. With a slight twist of the demon’s waist, your soul is hers. But Auntie was the type who’s a thousand miles removed—aloof, full of rebuffs. Every boy who saw her back then suffered pangs of desire, yet they shunned her. Before Deng Baolin met her husband, she scratched the faces of thirteen boys. She was a prickly beauty, a thorny rose. In short, she was completely unlike the person before my eyes. ➤ scifi short story translated from chinese; originally published in 2021 ➤ it's a fascinating outside-outside pov, a nephew telling the story of his aunt, whose story is that of her famous physicist-astronaut husband ➤ the multiple layers of abstraction work well for this story -- and the narrative loops around itself in how it's told too, wandering forwards and backwards in time to circle around the heart of things ➤ which is really a story about family and about place and about how you decide what to prioritise in your life ➤ it's lovely and thoughtful and wistful. I really liked it! ➤ 7k words in length

Summary: <blockquote>It isn't even an accident, precisely—that might be the most humiliating thing about it. Lan Wangji had tasted the tea, expecting it to be precisely what it revealed itself to be; Lan Wangji had wanted to feel its effects, to gauge them, although he had expected them to be mild. He had brewed the tea himself. An entirely uncoerced and foolish act. Lan Wangji has a misadventure with an aphrodisiac. It works out for everyone.</blockquote>

Summary: <blockquote>there is no protocol for what they have.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Luo Binghe buys groceries, eats, cries, and eats again.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Wei Ying looks back at him now, a furrow between his eyebrows. Lan Zhan reaches out and smooths it away with his thumb, then trails his hand down to rest on Wei Ying’s cheek. Lets it rest there, feeling the heat beneath his palm. Do you understand? “Yeah.” Wei Ying closes his eyes, leans into the touch. “Okay, Lan Zhan. Sorry.” Lan Zhan nudges Wei Ying’s face and shakes his head. No apologies. The whole thing is, as Wei Ying had said, weird. Lan Zhan is used to not speaking. He’s only realized now that it was nice to have the option. (Or: Lan Zhan and Wei Ying have been together for twelve days, and Lan Zhan is cursed.)</blockquote> ➤ "the Softness is the plot actually" as one of the tags says and YEAH actually!! which is really cool!

<blockquote>“I won’t leave you alone, Lord Estraven,” Genly said. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me. In exile or at home. On the Ice or at the hearth.”</blockquote> ➤ just the right vibe to fit the book

<blockquote>I am a tender. I tend the St. Benedict Radioactive Materials Containment Center. I perceive the outside world through treated glass. My immediate surroundings are barren but comfortable. I can order anything I like, necessity or luxury, from the Federal Sustainability Program. The items I order are delivered by truck and placed in a transfer box that decontaminates everything that enters it, including the air. The purpose of this system is not to protect me from contamination by the outside world, but to protect the world from me. St. Benedict’s is meant to be a temporary facility, a place to hold materials destined for deep, permanent burial, but the fears of the public make it so hard to create permanent facilities that no one knows how long this place will be necessary. My job is to monitor the levels of toxicity in and around the containment vault and submit reports to the Sustainability Program. “I used to be very unhappy,” I wrote recently to the psych team, “but now I am happy because I have meaningful work.” </blockquote> ➤achy

<blockquote>He is not gone. Lan Wangji has to practice the thought sometimes. He is gone is a thought that he has worn into his being through years and years of tracing and retracing, and his mind flows easily into those hollowed lines the way water always finds its course. He has to step out of the house, out into the early morning, and think: He is not gone. Even though I cannot see him, he is not gone.</blockquote> ➤ ohhhhhh

<blockquote>“Are you cold?” he asks, because Shang Qinghua is usually cold. Mobei-jun does his best to keep him well supplied with furs, and warm cups of tea, and other necessities, but he still sometimes catches him blowing on the tips of his fingers in between drafts of trade agreements. “Ah, a little,” Shang Qinghua says, rubbing at his cheek with one hand, “but it’s all right, my king.” Mobei-jun says nothing, only extends a hand to tap him on the head, once, carefully. He stabilizes Shang Qinghua’s temperature with the touch, and watches as his cheeks go flushed. “There,” he says.</blockquote> ➤ from mbj's perspective. So earnest and tender! and clueless! it's great

<blockquote>Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji descend from the Cloud Recesses to investigate a case of possession. They return to take care of a rabbit.</blockquote>

<blockquote>It's been a long week. A long fucking week. And Daniel can never remember the rules about when normal Americans are allowed to touch each other, anyway.</blockquote> ➤ This fic has such good atmosphere, this quiet charged intimacy. (pre-slash)

<blockquote>Esca learns the Latin word by accident, from Stephanos of all people. Soul-mate.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Years after the events of the movie, the peace that Marcus and Esca have made for themselves may be about to be disturbed.</blockquote>

<blockquote>A few hours before, Steve was Captain America, flying a plane into the ice to save his country, save everyone. There's no United States of America on Earth anymore, but there's one on Mars.</blockquote> ➤ I am so into this

<blockquote>This is a question.</blockquote> ➤ the one where there's a satedan tradition of giving a gift of clay to ask a question and the recipient shapes the clay in answer

<blockquote>"WW2 AU: Kirk gets shot down over Germany and Uhura saves him with extreme badassery". I had to tweak things for historical accuracy, but the spirit of the prompt is still there.</blockquote>

<blockquote>He just wants to drum.</blockquote> ➤ the band au ➤ http://archiveofourown.org/works/108442

<blockquote>an utterly self-indulgent crossover that got entirely out of hand</blockquote> ➤ sldkfjhdflksdjjfd look this is one of those fics that just STAYS IN MY BRAIN because of how true and perfect and right and wonderful it is. YESSSSS. I am so glad this fic exists.