#botanicaxu

Fanarts: I've found them all on pinterest and then haunted down works and authors on their other social media to find links to their pages, I hope it counts as proper credit! They're all also written here in the right order!

none of these is adult content, but some of them may be rather T rated

❤ 🖤 ❤ 🖤 ❤ 🖤 ❤ 🖤 ❤ 🖤 ❤ 🖤 ❤ 🖤 ❤🖤 ❤ 🖤 ❤ 🖤

Every single one is a fanart so better check all of them 😏😌😉

Authors in order: @kimmytsunami on tumblr (deactivated) and deviantart; 2× @minireklamo on tumblr; 6× @viria on tumblr; @botanica-xu and botanicaxu on tumblr; 123chachy on deviantart; @nananandann (comic panels) on tumblr; bryttkrou on deviantart; ds-china; @jhoca-art on tumblr; nini-pooh on deviantart (I think the account is deactivated😔); @allmaiheart on tumblr; ds-hina on deviantart (? I'm not sure if this account still exists but I know that you can easily find the art if you just type this name); @queenofthecute on tumblr and deviantart; @juney-chan that is still active on tumblr and deviantart!

I've also found more amazing work but couldn't find artists 😓😖

Here by Loppy777 on fanfiction.net is also one of my total favorites of maiko fanfic

Here some adult content 😳😳😳

For @botanicaxu​ for the @renarinkholinexchange​.

I made a thing.  And then I wrote a thing.  And then I wrote another thing.  They don’t quite connect properly, but I’m going to post them all anyway.  Enjoy!

From the mind of Renarin Kholin (sometime before seeing the vision of Jasnah):

I don’t know how not to be broken.

First it was being the other son, the one Father didn’t really understand.  Don’t get me wrong—I love my father, I love my brother and I know both would give the world for me.  But Adolin was the one who took being the Blackthorn’s son as something to aspire to and then excelled past everyone’s expectations so far he became an amazing fighter in his own right.  I couldn’t help but want to be just like him—just like both of them—but how could I even come close to making a name for myself when I had two legendary Kholins to prove myself against?  Still, I would have given it my all were it not for the fact that I was forbidden by my own body from even attempting to claim my own place in the world.  I was invalid, useless, one who was born unto nothing—not even unto myself, as my mother wished, since I couldn’t even achieve my own goals, let alone anyone else’s.  At most, my autonomy extended to rejecting the consolation prize of joining the ardentia to instead hope for something I would actually choose to come along.

Then things began changing.  Inheriting Father’s Shardplate.  Training with Zahel.  Joining Bridge Four.  Bonding Glys.  Somewhere along the line even my fits stopped and my eyes healed.

And I saw the Everstorm coming.

I suppose you could say that it was the first time Father and I were the same—we both seemed to have gone insane.  When it turned out we were both Radiants instead, it was such a relief that I honestly started being hopeful about the future for a bit there.  For once in my life, I was the son who Father related to.  We had unbelievable ancient abilities, visions from a higher power, and a solemn duty to save Roshar itself.  The thing was, while Father became a Bondsmith—a member of the Order that is arguably the strongest of them all, just judging him by his spren alone—I became a Truthwatcher corrupted by the very enemy we fight.  I can’t believe I’d actually been hopeful for once—I had looked at my random string of minor successes and saw it as a sign that I could be worthy of being called Radiant, despite the fact that every worthwhile accomplishment of my life was made by pure accident on my part.  I know Radiants are supposed to be made from broken people, but that’s to give them room grow into their magnificence; for me, I could only heal my feeble body and let my spirit shatter into something so much worse.

But do I explain just how bad my situation actually is to anyone?  Of course I don’t.  Normal people understand how to open up and ask for help.  I never learned how to do that, not really.  Help was always something thrust upon me and the thought of proving the assumption that I needed that help as being correct has grown so abhorrent that I only even consider asking when I have no other choice.  I’d much rather suffer in silence—it’s not like I can’t handle a little pain—rather than risk being an even bigger drain on everyone else than I’ve always been.  That way I can at least pretend I’m not a waste of space.

I guess that’s why I’ve always tried to help with whatever I can.  I’ve probably operated the Oathgates more than anyone else at Urithiru since it needed to be done and I was one of the very few people capable of it.  I was and am proud to do it.  But even with this acceptance of responsibility, there’s that hole inside—and not just because of the corruption.  No, it’s that in pretty much every respect, I am replaceable.  There are plenty of others bonded to living spren who can work the Oathgates if I’m gone.  Both of my surges are covered by other Radiants and to better effect—Shallan with her Lightweaving (a power which I still don’t understand) and Lift with her Growth and Regrowth (which she somehow can fuel with food instead of Stormlight, despite that being impossible by Radiant standards).  The closest I can claim to being unique is that I can see the future, and that is a gift that makes having epilepsy look desirable.  It’s not like I can even change what I see anyway, so what good would it do to just make everyone worry beforehand?

Keeping quiet is the only real skill I have anyway so I might as well continue doing that.

A Vision and a Reality

From the Mind of Renarin Kholin (sometime after the Thunderclast battle):

So… I’m not dead.  I didn’t expect that.  I also didn’t expect Father to be capable of defying Odium, but he did and I’m more than a little relieved.  And now I guess I’m in that weird place where I wonder: did that really just happen?

I went up against a Thunderclast—a Thunderclast—and won.  I’d assumed that Truthwatchers were meant to stay on the sidelines, acting as healer to all the injured non-Radiants who couldn’t heal on their own.  Instead, I was in the middle of the action, healing myself again and again so I could keep on fighting.  It scarcely mattered that I am sorely undertrained, I made up for it with tenacity.  I guess if there’s one thing I know how to do well, it’s taking physical distress in stride.

And I guess I’m—dare I consider it—a little hopeful again?  I know I can’t rely on Father creating a pocket of pure energy to draw upon every time I have something evil to take down and I certainly need to put in some long, hard hours with Zahel.  But I think being squashed repeatedly only to get back up again cemented it for me that I’m not a defenseless weakling anymore.  Yes, I feel like I overdid it and need some serious me-time to get grounded again, but now I know that I can do it—and with that knowledge, I will be able to fight yet again.  With the Last Desolation upon us, I’m probably going to need every scrap of self-confidence I can muster.

It’s just… the thought of throwing myself completely into optimistic belief in myself is more than a little terrifying.  I already have an impulsive streak—me jumping into a duel despite knowing full well my Shardblade would scream at me the whole time is sufficient proof of that.  I can’t just expect external circumstances to swing things in my favor.  Being a Kholin or a Radiant doesn’t make me immune from getting unlucky—ask Elhokar, ask all the Knights Radiant who lost their lives before the Recreance, ask the storming Heralds themselves.  And even if I just disregard all that, my Nahel bond is still unreliable.  Yes, I don’t fear what I see as inevitable futures, but that doesn’t mean that my visions don’t have a very good success rate that ought to be respected.  There are so many reasons to be cautious right now, when one wrong step can mean the literal end of the world.

But my soul now longs so much for unbridled freedom that I’m not sure I can tell it “no” again.

Please say hello again to Botanica ( @botanicaxu ), one of our Guest Artists who will be illustrating a page or two for our Goodwill Games section! Stay tuned!!!

Check out more from them on Twitter | Instagram | Deviant Art

*scrolls down to the bottom of the post*

*sources are all Stormlight Archive Wikia or links to Google Image search results*

Shallan and Jasnah arrived at the hall ahead of their hosts. Though the hall was teeming with servants and other guests, there was yet no sign of Jasnah’s brother or uncle. Shallan peered around, watching the Kholin army staff go about their business.

“Industrious, aren’t they?”

“My uncle would have it no other way,” said Jasnah absently, scanning the crowds for someone or something that Shallan couldn’t fathom.

Shallan hummed, setting herself to discern what her mentor was looking for. “I suppose being at war is a decent excuse for being late to dinner.”

Jasnah’s lips quirked, but she still didn’t look away from the other guests. When Shallan turned to see if any of the Kholins were arriving yet, a tall man dressed all in black stood in front of her.

“Good evening!” he greeted. “I see we are gifted tonight by the presence of two beautiful women I’ve not seen before! What brings you to the plains of war?”

“Research,” said Jasnah dryly, glancing the man up and down.

The man shrugged. “What’s there to research here? Maybe the properties of chull scat? There’s an awful lot of it around.”

“You must be my brother’s Wit,” said Jasnah. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking. The man only laughed, completely at his ease. In front of a woman as imposing as Jasnah, Shallan had to wonder at his mettle.

“Then you must be Brightness Jasnah Kholin,” he said. “I go by Wit these days. And you…?” Wit gestured at Shallan.

She shrugged. “A ward.”

“Oh, don’t make me guess, I’m terrible at those sorts of games,” said Wit, leaning on a nearby table. “A ward… against evil? You don’t strike me as a very effective good luck charm. I didn’t realize Brightness Kholin was so superstitious.”

Shallan bristled at the outright insult to Jasnah, double-barbed since Jasnah’s reputation of atheism and academic prowess were so infamous. Judging by the sparkle in his eyes, Wit knew exactly what he was saying.

“Not that Brightness Kholin has any need of it,” said Shallan, “but I hope a ward against frivolous men who run their mouths without thought to accuracy or justice of character.”

Shallan discreetly glanced at Jasnah to check her reaction, knowing that her mentor didn’t necessarily appreciate her letting her cleverness run off with her mouth. Jasnah hadn’t reacted to any of it. Her attention to the repartee was almost disinterested, but Shallan didn’t think, disapproving.

Wit’s head tilted, and though his silly grin hadn’t budged an inch, Shallan thought he had liked that. “Oh, but frivolity is hardly a bad thing, is it? Why would you want to curtail a little fun now and again?”

“Fun is hardly the same thing as frivolity,” said Shallan, “if your brand of flighty nonsense is anything to go by. You seem to say silly things to raise people’s ire, not to make them laugh.”

“Raising people’s ire makes me laugh,” Wit pointed out. “Look at what a good job I’m doing!” He laughed, making his argument. Shallan grudgingly admitted it was actually a nice laugh, the kind that made her want to join in. She’d been hoping he would have sounded like a buffoon.

“A jest that only serves one person doesn’t strike me as clever,” said Shallan. “What value is a joke if it only makes you laugh?”

“A wise man once said that it is easy to be solemn, and that we must work to find laughter in our lives. So I am clearly doing my part,” said Wit, gesturing to himself in a manner so farcically self-aggrandizing Shallan had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing.

“I find that men mostly make rules for other men to follow and don’t seem to care much for what women do. Perhaps if you think of a wise woman to quote at me?” suggested Shallan.

“Ah,” said Wit, “I’m sure you know many more words of wisdom than I.” He winked. “I’m so frivolous I only know the one wise thing - maybe you should be the one quoting at me. I don’t suppose you’ve read anything wise lately?”

Shallan let herself smile. “Often these days. Things like ‘the one who is silent is also wise’ and ‘fools speak when the wise listen’.”

Wit sniffed. “Spoken as though you were not here speaking your own mind as well. You’re as frivolous as me! Brightness Lack of Brevity.”

“Then I shall call you Lack of Wit and be done with you,” said Shallan.

Wit’s reply was interrupted by a sudden rise in volume, marking the arrival of the king, Brightlord Dalinar and his sons.

“I’ll take my leave,” said Wit, bowing with an easy grace Shallan didn’t see in most women. “It was an honor to meet you, Brightness Davar.” He turned and left to greet others still entering.

Shallan whirled in surprise to look at Jasnah, who had covered her face with her sleeve. “Jasnah? Did you - ?”

The sleeve dropped, and Jasnah smoothed her dress. “I see my mother. Come, I’ll make introductions over the meal.”

“I - Jasnah!” Shallan gasped, and quickly trotted to catch up with her. Her mentor’s shoulders shook slightly as she dodged all questions about Wit.

...Was that a giggle?

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