romanze....

[braintransplant]

in response to the twt post asking what you think is the most romantic moment in all of fiction...these are just ones off the top of my head. my taste is bad and my choices require heaps of context but who cares...its just vibes

left hand of darkness

> "The fact is," I said, "that you're unable, or unwilling, to believe in the fact that I believe in you." I stood up, for my legs were cramped, and found I was trembling with anger and weariness. "Teach me your mindspeech," I said, trying to speak easily and with no rancor, "your language that has no lies in it. Teach me that, and then ask me why I did what I've done."

+

> "Do you want to see if I can teach you how to speak it?"

> He laughed. "You want to catch me lying."

> "If you ever lied to me, it was long ago, and in another country."

estraven abandoning literally everything to free genly from kundershaden prison and take him across the gobrin ice so that he can get off the planet is literally the most romantic shit EVER. what if you were a political refugee on a desolate icy planet and there was only one person in the world who loved you!!!!!!!!!! i feel like i’ve said everything there is to say about tlhod on twitter in the past so if you know you fuxxking know. God.

the terror by dan simmons

> “We could stay here at Terror Camp,” said Bridgens. “Or even return to Terror once our numbers have...decreased.”

> “To do what?” demanded Peglar. “Just wait to die?”

> “To wait in comfort, Harry.”

> “To die?” said Peglar, realizing he was almost shouting. “Who the fuck wants to wait in comfort to die? At least if we get the boats to the coast - any of the boats - some of us may have a chance. There might be open water east to Boothia. We may be able to force passage up the river. At least some of us. And those who make it will be able to tell the rest of our loved ones what happened to us, where we were buried, and that we were thinking of them in the end.”

> “You are my loved one, Harry.”

gay shipmates with huge age gap dying of scurvy and starvation and lead poisoning and exposure...nobody gets it!!!!! and i didnt even include the part where they pretend that bridgens (the older one) will outlive peglar...so evil.

the scorpio races

> Sean says, "I'm going to give you the reins now. I'll need you to hold him while I get on or you'll be on your own. Can I trust you to hold him?"

> "Could others hold him?"

> His face remains the same. "There are no others. You're the only one."

> I swallow. "I can hold him."

i always say it but scorpio races literally the pinnacle of het romance like this book has my number. love is when a guy asks you to take the reins of a capaill uisce that ripped someone’s throat out yesterday and also your parents were killed by the same species so you’re not exactly a happy candidate for the job.

the winged histories

> Tav, I will bring you flowers dark as cloud, dark as your hair, your hair is cloud. My hands are flowers in your hair. Tav, your hair in wind. You, riding over the fold of the mountain, such wild hair we thought you were a boy. You and Fadhian riding over the mountain that first time and into camp. And everyone thought you were a boy. Who is this slight Olondrian boy with hair blown in the wind, ragged in wind? And in every way we were wrong. Wrong about you, the stern boy slipping lightly off his horse, my stern Tav, your shoulders and your swinging walk. Not Olondrian, Fadhian told us, holding in his smile, and not a boy. Lady Tavis of Ashenlo. You, riding over the fold of the mountain. And Fadhian gone now. Gone. Dead in your war. Can I say these things together in this way? You riding over the fold of the mountain and flowers for your hair and Fadhian dead. Can I say it? Can you write it?

+

> I hope I have made you weep. I hope I have made you think of me for one moment. Just one moment. I dream sometimes of your wrist. Your shoe.

no words….there are no fuxxking words.

a stranger in olondria

> And in the box bed I wept. “Stop,” she said. “Stop, Jevick, it’s over, it’s finished.”

> “It’s too late,” I choked. “I’ll never know you.”

> “You know me now.”

> “But I can’t do anything. I can’t do anything for you. If I’d known I might have done something—found you—”

+

> I swept a space in the orchard clear of snow, built up a heap of broken chairs, and placed on them the pink box Auram had brought with him: a wooden confection adorned with carved rosettes in which the bones of my love had been folded and put away like a musical instrument. The sound of something shifting inside the box knocked at my heart; my hands were sweating, and when I had positioned the coffin I wiped them on my coat. The house observed me, silent. Miros and Auram were there, but no one looked out; they had left me to complete this ritual alone. I am the last thing you will see, I said in my heart. I am the last, I have carried you in my arms, I have brought you home.

what if you fell in love with the ghost/angel you were being haunted by and the only way to release her into the afterlife was to have her tell you her entire life story so you can write it in a book. which just causes you to fall in love further. PAIN

deathless

>You could tell your tale differently this time, I suppose. But you won't. Your name will always be Ivan Nikolayevich. You will always go into that tent. You will see her scar, below her eye, and wonder where she got it. You will always be amazed at how one woman can have so much black hair. You will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut, just that fast. You will always run away with her. You will always lose her. You will always be a fool. You will always be dead, in a city of ice, snow falling into your ear. You have already done all of this and will do it again.

yeah...