October 8-14 Cosmere Challenge: "All Things Warm and Cozy"

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So this is a fun idea that the lovely Silver (also found here) came up with a little while ago, and I'm going to go ahead and cross post it here. Mostly because I need to be more active over here and it's a super fun thing. Basically, the idea of Cosmere Challenge is a fun prompt with a deadline that people can respond to. The idea is to give you a little bit of a creative kick and to get the fandom inspired to create some fun things. Art, fanfic, graphics, animations, poetry, whatever. So long as it's on topic, have at it!


Please note, Cosmere Challenges are not contests. There's no prize for having the best entry or anything like that. It's just a fun way to come together, make fun things, and see fun things that other people have made!


This week's prompt (crossposted from here):


It’s October! The weather is getting cooler and rainier which means it’s the perfect time to write about All Things Warm And Cozy! From pumpkin spice to cuddling up with friends or someone special we want to see some works that reflect this time of year to ward off the chill. Something that warms your heart the way autumn warms ours. Send in cute art of characters in oversized sweaters, write about OTPs getting caught in the rain and cuddling under a blanket to warm up, this month is all about shameless celebration of autumn’s wonderful delights.


Challenge runs from Wednesday the 8th until Tuesday the 14th.


Sound like fun? Let's go!


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Sounds interesting! Out of curiosity, where precisely should finished products be sent to?


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If you've got a tumblr account, you can post them with the tag #cosmere challenge though seeing as most people here probably don't have accounts, feel free to post here or post links here if you'd like to post it somewhere else!


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I couldn't think of an ending, but here's my idea.




The fire raged.


The room had not been built to house a fireplace, but it had been modified, chiefly with holes knocked in the ceiling. When your God commands that a fire be built, you do not give him excuses. You give him fire.


Lightsong sat huddled. The fire was beautiful. The logs had been treated lightly with oils; enough to make it burn bright, but not enough to cause the fire to burn too quickly. Something in the oil released a pleasing aroma into the room. Different logs contained different oils, causing the flames to flare different colors. Within his divine aura, the colors were even more spectacular.


Lightsong stared at the colors, eyes unseeing, face a grim mask of panic. His words came out ragged, stuttering, spoken in fear.


“The end… is here. The end of the world. It all… ends today…”


Llarimar, High Priest to Lightsong, stood at a respectful distance, as far from the blaze as he could justify, in a faint breeze that managed to find its way through the open design of the palace.


“I do not believe this to be the case, your Grace.”


“I speak prophecy. This is the end. The world dies in ice.”


Llarimar surreptitiously wiped sweat out of his eyes with the sleeve of his robe of office. He’d never before thought of his robes as all that bulky and warm before. He was changing his opinion.


“You have dreamt something, your Grace? Seen something in the art that you have not shared with us?”


Lightsong opened his mouth to say something, but then paused, considering. Calmseer took the duty of the visions seriously. He hadn’t made up his mind yet about it, but for her sake chose to treat the responsibility seriously for now. “Well, no,” he finally said. “But it’s freezing! In all my life, there’s never been a winter this cold!”


“Surely your Grace realizes that this is the second winter since you Returned. The last one was unseasonably temperate. This actually isn’t that bad of a winter.”


“How can you say that?! It is the end times! I saw Blushweaver walking across the lawn this morning. She was wearing sleeves, Llarimar. Sleeves! Down to her elbows!


Gorgeous tapestries had adorned the walls of this room, and others in the palace of Lightsong the Bold. Works of art, crafted with skill and devotion in equal measure by those who worshipped and served the Hallandren Court of Gods. The walls were bare now. The tapestries had been pressed into service to wrap about the God, twisting upon each other in a clash of colors, valued now more for their thickness than their beauty.


“I am forced to concede that you make a compelling argument, your Grace. Nevertheless, I assure you that the winter before you Returned was much colder, and yet the city and world survived. Why, that year, we even saw a brief fall of snow.”


“Snow…” Lightsong had Returned almost two years ago. It had been a while since he’d felt this sensation, the sensation of hearing a word and knowing what it meant, while knowing he’d never heard the word before in his life… cold. Wet. White. Falling like… rain? And for some reason it made him think of mountains.


“Regardless, I assure you that the world will not end. Winter comes and goes every year. The world is not ending, your Grace.”


Lightsong grumbled, but chose not to say anything intelligible. His High Priest was too smart and logical, and would refute what Lightsong knew in his bones. He sat, wrapped in wealth, watching wealth burn before him, reliving the traumatizing moment this morning when he’d stepped outside and the very air itself seemed to attack his lungs with a frigid knife. This couldn’t be natural. He closed his eyes and huddled deeper into his impromptu blankets.


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Vasher walked in the cold, northern region, regretting his decision not to bring an extra pair of socks. As he walked along the path he looked up at the bright yellows, reds, and oranges of the leaves above him. It was at this point he heard a voice in his head


Do you know why I like autumn Vasher?


No, but i'm sure you're going to tell me.


Hey, you're right! Are you psychic? Can you read my mind? Tell me what I'm thinking.


You're thinking we should destroy some evil.


Hey, that's exactly what I was thinking! You are psychic!

Anyway I like autumn because of the plants.


Vasher was taken aback. Did Nightblood enjoy the colors of fall? Did he find them beautiful? Could he even comprehend beauty?


Really? You do?


Yeah, because they're all dying. Every leaf that falls will never live again, it has fallen from it's blissful perch and will slowly rot, placing it's nutrients in the soil and feeding the vicious cycle of death. Autumn is essentially an apocalypse, the deaths innumerable. And it happens every year.






That's why I like autumn.


Vasher made a mental not to never ask Nightblood about winter.


Shut up Nightblood. 

Edited by Fatebreaker

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I was bored so I wrote this. Please be kind. I am not a writer, especially not in English.




He felt numb.


He had been walking for what felt like hours. In fact, it had probably been hours.


He remembered the pooling blood, the scattered brain, the eery silence with a frightening precision as if time had stop at this specific moment, but he hardly remembered anything that came next. He tried to put his thoughts in order, but truth to be tell he couldn't remember leaving the body and joining back with his scouting crew. Had anybody noticed anything astray with his ruined uniform? He couldn't tell. Perhaps they did, perhaps they didn't, perhaps they did not care, but he certainly couldn't remember a thing, one way or another. He was too numb to remember.


At some point, the scouting effort ended. When exactly, he couldn't tell either, but he did remember walking away. Away from the tunnels, away from the tower, just away. He needed to be alone, so he walked.


And there he was, outside, in the pouring rain, unable to remember what had happened in the last few hours of his life. He had always hated the feeling of wetness on his clothes, he had always did his best to remain hidden from the rain, but today, he couldn't find the strength to care. It was not long before he was soaked all over. His blond hair were plastered on his forehead and his feet were damp.


He missed dinner. Dimly, he wondered if anyone had missed him. Perhaps they did not even notice his absence. They were busy. It was a new world, a new beginning for everyone, everyone but him. To him, it felt like an ending. He stared at the towering mountains surrounding the city, so high, so uncrossable, so....


There was no way out. He was trapped. This was not a city. This was a prison. And there was no air in this prison. He raked his hands through his wet hair and he winced as the right one madly throbbed. He tried to breath. Why has the air gone out? Where was the air? Shouldn't he be able to just breath? He dropped to his knees.


He had murdered a highprince. Worst, plunging the knife into this crem infested eel had, for a moment, felt like the right thing to do. But now it felt like the worst thing ever. It just felt wrong. How can something so right feel so wrong? And why was he kneeling is a puddle of freezing water in the middle of the night? Why was he looking for air? Where was the air?


Breath. Just breath,


Everything was wrong. He sobbed.


By the time he managed to get back up on his feet, the rain had changed to light snow. Winter was coming. He shivered. He came to a decision: he had to find right again.


By the time he got back to the tower, he was shaking. Either from the cold or from something else, he couldn't tell. By the time he made it to this particular door, his teeth had started to chatter. There was no guard. Too late in the night, too cold, too occupied elsewhere, he didn't care. He couldn't care. He was too numb too care.


He knock.


"Do you even know what ghostly unseemly hour it is to be knocking on someone's door?", she ragged as she opened the door and stop dead.


"Adolin? What are you doing here in the middle of the night?" she paused and took a good look at him. "Oh my, you look like a drown frozen cremling, what happened?" she said more softly.


I murdered a highprince.


"I... I want to talk to you" he said through chattering teeth.


She came close, she gently touch the wetness on his cheek. What it rain, melting snow or tears? He couldn't tell.


"You are all wet and cold", she said. Then she grabbed him by the arm, dragged him inside and force him to sit on her bed.


"Sit", she simply said as she started fumbling on his coat buttons. "We've got to get you out of this clothes. You'll freeze to death. You already are freezing to death and that is not a nice thing to be doing, especially not in the middle of the night when you should be sleeping".


She removed his coat. He heard it drop to the floor. He looked up and took her hands into his. He try to take a deep breath, but nearly choked. Air. Gone. Again.


"Shallan", he mumbled between raged breaths, "Would you marry me if I weren't Adolin Kohlin? If I did not come with rank, money and safety? Would you? Would you still want me if I were...nobody?"




She had gone silent. She never was silent. Silent was not good. She removed his shirt and it drop on the floor, next to the coat.


"You are cold", she simply said as she pulled blankets around him. "Warm up, alright?"


"Would you?" he asked again, more wetness on his face. He as out of the rain, out of the snow. These had to be tears. Was he crying? It was hard to tell.


"Shshshsh, hush will you." She cupped his hard in her hands and did what she always did. She kissed him. After a while, he returned the kiss. This was not the answer he had been hoping for, but it would have to do, for now.


"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?", she said as she broke the kiss for an instant.

"I love you."

"I know."


He fell back onto the bed. She fell with him or perhaps it was she that pushed him down. He couldn't tell. They kissed. He felt her hands on his chest. He took a deep breath. Air. He found air again. This is wrong. This is wrong. This is so wrong.


But why does it feel so right?


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