#✶ — › it could be that deep / dandelion's screaming.

[dehvoursarc]

YALL, do you think Ch.ilde is so kind/silly with kids, wants to protect their childhood dreams because he had to kill 'Ajax' (and by extension, his own dreams and innocence) to survive the Abyss? He may not even be completely consciously aware of his motivation, either, but the epiphany hit me in the middle of the day when I was turning him in my brain like a rotisserie chicken (as one does)

[devourensarc]

I'm just thinking about the rarepairs I have for him, and how like (they're all slept on, it's tragic) these are all outwardly friendly people who are also badass in their own right.

navia? willing to put a god on trial, can chase after and catch someone in heels and put them in the hospital, a leader of an organization that many members look up to

thoma? literally threw a spear at a god's face. able to win people over, extremely resourceful, Knows Things.

yoimiya? literally defied a god during the inazuma archon quest to help Vision wielders. builds her own fireworks, is not afraid to break the law to follow her own moral compass.

ganyu? fought in the Archon War. I know she's sweet and sleepy but she is also a badass and I will die on that hill.

anyways. muse really does have a type.

[theurgists]

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ ON A PILLOW OF

GRASS AND DANDELIONS ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

astarion ancunin x fem!reader

summary: you and astarion take much-needed time to yourselves in a field kissed by the sun. blueberries are the fruit of the occassion, as messy and sticky as they were. sometimes though, messy is a good thing.

warnings: 18+, smut, oral, ejaculation, deep-throating (??), a bit of nipple play if you squint hard enough, astarion's very vocal ( i don't make the rules ), astarion licks fruit juice off reader's chest, slight worshipping, not proof-read

a/n: wrote this at two am with a foggy mind and rusty smut skills. but alas, here's a small gift of an idea that refused to leave me. now, i can rest easily, bless.

The sun - a ball of fire in the abyss of the sky - is the brightest star. It burns the surface of your skin in vibrant rays of light, warming you from the inside; and setting you aflame. It wasn’t a foreign feeling, just one you learned to appreciate in the years you’ve been on this plane, a hug without drastic intentions, a heated embrace. Aside from the fruit in your hand; cobalt in color, soft-skinned, ripe, and dripping sour juices. It pools on the surface of your tongue alongside sugary essence once the sharp ridges of teeth puncture through; mixing in with warm spit, tricking down the chin and onto the expanse of your chest, loose, low-cut blouse leaving little to the imagination. 

The feeling you get from it is almost erotic, you think, as your lover laps at stray sweetness making its way to the base of your neck, right under the spot he adored so very much. The wet muscle of his tongue skims across your collarbone, his long, cold fingers hovering above your hip, the other keeping himself steady, hand sinking into the softness of the sheet below. His touches give off a certain urgency although his actions show otherwise. Astarion wants to take his time with you; albeit having seemingly all the time in existence to do so. 

A sigh escapes your lips involuntarily, airy as the hairs on your arms raise every millisecond that his body inches closer to yours, craving skin-to-skin through the thin layers of fabric. It causes you to straighten your spine, almost as if you were a stick wedged in damp soil, letting it mold further into you, keeping your soul in place. Every single bone within you was practically screaming. They didn’t mind being constricted like this, a small jumble of voices bouncing back and forth. 

It made you chuckle, a sound that had him humming against your skin in curiosity. “What’s so funny, my love?” 

Smiling,  you lock your irises onto a cluster of stray curls above you, hand moving to twist around them - an action that makes him visibly shiver.

“I’m supposed to be feeding you.” 

With a raise of his head, you could see just how big his pupils had dilated, ruby eyes just a shade or two darker than usual. His low-lidded gaze traveled down toward the valley of your chest, a purple tint left in streaks adorning your collarbone; evidence of his affection. “Are you not already?”

You roll your eyes, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth as you shuffle about next to him on your side, propping your chin on the palm of your hand, elbow digging into the ground beneath the white linen of the sheet. “No, you’re far too busy being a tease.”

At your words, he chuckled, face dropping to the left side of your neck with such swiftness that you raised your hips further into his at the feeling of plump lips on your pulse point. Although you couldn’t see him anymore, the way his fingers squeezed at your clothed hip told you everything you needed to know.  

“If you wanted me to bite you, all you had to do was ask.”

A breathy sigh left your lips, nails moving from his silver curls down to his back, his tunic wrinkling under your touch, preventing him from escaping. Hot white heat pooled in your lower stomach; a longing to have him touch you in your most intimate of places - desperately. Desire envelops you whole, just like the sparkle of the sun.

“Please Astarion….”

Shivering at the coolness of his lips against your neck, your face grew hot in sudden embarrassment. The organ that was your heart hammered erratically in your sternum as he sucked on your flesh, setting your skin ablaze in a way where it was somewhat painful… a delectable pinch as his fangs pierced the skin.

Astarion was no stranger to drinking your lifeblood, and the act itself wasn’t a rare occurrence. He enjoyed it - no, he craved it as if it were the finest, most expensive brand of wine he had ever tasted in all his years. It satiated his thirst.

His cheeks hallowed as he sucked once - twice more before pulling away, thumbing at the corner of his lip before parting his lips, tucking his bloody thumb into the heat of his mouth. “Delicious…”

Astarion was sure that his body had started to relax as your blood flowed through his veins, sloshing around in the confines of his belly as if he were a drunkard. 

The ridges of your front teeth sunk into the pillowed flesh of your bottom lip, and you watched cautiously as he toyed with the edges of his tunic, lifting it to his naval. Slight hesitation embedded itself in his hands before he flexed them a bit, ridding himself of the fabric completely. Despite having been bare in front of you countless times - even if not fully on display, he found himself growing somewhat small under your fixated look, opting to stand and plop himself in a bed of grass a couple of feet away. 

He extended his arms outward, blades of deep green tickling his knuckles, creating an itch that he refused to scratch. Filling his mouth with fresh air, his chest rose before deflating, the hairs in his nose burning. “Sometimes, I forget how to breathe.” 

Lashes fan against his skin as he closes his eyes, his undead lungs trying to find a comfortable rhythm, steady.  You can’t help but admire him from your place, eyebrows unfurrowing from their constant state of distress. 

The light had moved in his direction, clouds changing their position to make way as it shone down on his figure, drawn to him like magnets to metal. It casts shadows on his face, carving out every gentle dip of his abs, the flexing of his biceps as he raises a hand in front of his face, blocking his vision from the viciousness of it all. Instead of irritation filling his undead heart, it was a foreign sense of calamity. A feeling that he held dear for as long as it lingered.

“This feels nice.” 

His ears perk at the sound of your feet crunching grass, alongside the periodic chirping of birds perched on enormous tree branches above. A gust of wind weaved through tendrils of curls, seeping into his scalp, metaphorically dousing him in cold water. For a second, he indulged in the thought of bathing in a nearby lake wherever camp was set up for the night, taking his time to let it take over every inch of his body. 

A clench of his stomach muscles sends his eyes shooting open, neck craning to stare down at your hand traveling down the ‘v’ of his naval, tracing patterns on the way. Your unexpected compliment was nothing but a whisper in the wind that made the tips of his ears grow as red as his eyes. 

“You’re beautiful.” Leaning down between his wide legs, your sticky lips graced his icy skin, sending a jolt of heat through him, a gasp caught in his throat as you painstakingly peppered his abdomen in an abundance of kisses. 

Astarion was by no means ashamed when it came to eliciting pretty noises in response to your touch; need apparent in the way his head fell back, cushioned by grass and a halo of dandelions, his adams apple bobbing as your fingers hooked in the waistband of his pants.

“Let me worship you Astarion. You deserve to be tasted.” 

He propped himself on an elbow, staring down at you with an expression that could only be described as that of some sort of challenge at your request, his unoccupied hand stretching out to grip your chin loosely in his hands, fingers tapping on the fullness of your cheeks. “Needy little thing.” 

The low tone of his voice caused you to rub your thighs together, trying to soothe the developing ache between them, a feeling you knew wouldn’t go away unless he helped you - until he conjured every single facet of his love and adoration for you to the tips of his fingers. “Who am I to refuse my love’s desires?” 

Loosening his grip on your face, he allowed you to tug at the fabric of his pants, lifting his hips slightly as you shed them off of him completely, fingers dancing up his thighs, eyes greedily taking in his cock that lay hard before you, slightly curved and sensitive. His tip glistened with wetness that formed a waterfall of saliva in your mouth to coat him with. 

It practically begged for attention, some sort of relief that you were more than willing to give by darting out your tongue, bobbing your head down his length, and taking him down your throat as far as you could.

Through spit-covered teeth, Astarion hissed lightly as you palmed him gently, the extra layers of skin doing little to help him catch his breath. It stretched at every tug of your hand, at every bob of your head as you took him further in your mouth, cheeks hollow and mouth wet, shining under mustard yellow hues from the surrounding landscape of the hidden field. 

He was fucking perfect lying beneath you like this, devoid of any sharp remarks, and scandalous comments - just a blubbering mess. A man formed by all things precious, and a subtle sort of stunning. 

“Gods, just like that, pet.” He bucked his hips upward, hitting the back of your throat so violently that you gagged, an encouraging hum causing his cock to throb in the expanse of your warm mouth. 

He could stay here forever, your lips closed around him, cheeks stained with tears, fingers from your other hand tracing figure eights on his pubic bone to occupy yourself further with pleasing him. Even with a brain filled with endless fog, the pale elf couldn’t recount the last time you had sucked him as if your entire existence depended solely on his pleasure. 

Hell, he wasn’t complaining at all. The noises escaping his esophagus were more than enough proof, and you were more than happy to make it known. 

You swirled your tongue around his tip, gathering the taste of him, pubic hairs tickling your nostrils as the tip of your nose made contact with the base of his shaft. His lower stomach couldn’t help but clench tightly, only contracting when your lips widened, jaw slacking as you quickened your pace. 

White heat coiled in his stomach, a sensation so euphoric to him that his back arched slightly, brows furrowing, a chorus of broken, muffled cries leaving his parted lips. He released his seed, spurting his arousal down your throat, something you swallowed without hesitation as you pulled away from him.

Finding the strength to open his eyes, Astarion narrowed them at the white puff of clouds painting the sky above through vibrant leaves, a tingle vibrating throughout his body as you straddled his hips, rocking against him gently as he peaked at you. “Isn’t there something else you crave?” 

The flesh of your mouth meets his pointed ear and his spine grows rigid, then he shudders in anticipation, in desire. His hands are under your blouse before you can utter anything else, following the dip of your lower back as you press yourself against him. 

“I want to be inside of you.” 

There it was. 

The seven words you’ve been wanting to hear ever since he took your hand and whisked you away into the horizon, a basket full of berries that currently sat discarded somewhere around the crumpled blanket, rotting away in the heat.

“I’d rip this off of you if you’d let me.” He whispered, thumbing at your shirt, hair tousled and out of its usual format of precise placement. 

He looked like heaven. He tasted like heaven. He felt like heaven. 

It was a mantra that you repeated in your head as he discarded the shirt that covered the swell of your breasts, nipples perking when he pinched them between his fingers, taking one of them in his mouth almost immediately after as if he were still famished. 

Fidgeting with the ends of your long skirt, you bunched the fabric up your thighs, fingers disappearing under the material to move your soaked underwear to the side, throbbing with need. “You know I would if the circumstances were different.” 

Ah, yes, the fact that you two were fucking like rabbits out in the open. A thrill that never ceased to make your heart beat quickly no matter how many times you both found yourselves in this position. 

“Yet you’re letting me take you in broad daylight.” 

It was hard not to smile at that. 

After all, he did have a point.

tags: @tallymonster, @astariongf, @scandalcus

[milksuu]

Second Magic

Pairing(s): Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & II / witch!fem!reader

Word count: 2.OK

Content/Warnings: soulmates, reincarnation, immortal, soft magic, slice of life, fluff, minimal use of y/n, minor angst, implied sexual themes, minor blood

Summary: Death claims everyone at some point. Unfortunately for you, your gift of magic cursed you with eternal youth and an ability that has shunned you from the village of Berk. More than one-hundred years later, memories resurface when you’re visited for a potion from Berk’s next chief.

He was the spitting image of your long-lost love—your soulmate—Hiccup Horrendous Haddock II.

a/n: hello there everyone! I'm back with something new to add to the hiccupxreader tags. still on my mythical/magical kick. I do plan to have about three parts to this. so please stay tuned for updates, or let me know if you'd like to join a tag list. thank you and please enjoy.

There came a knock at the door. No one ever knocked on a witch's door by accident.

From the bedroom window, you peeked through the muslin curtain. Below the two-story cottage, grew a garden of lush greens and wild flowers. Where the weeds and dandelions led a trail to your front porch, a figure stood at your door. More pestering thuds bothered the home and the skin of your nose wrinkled. Muttering a thing or two, you ambled down the aching stairs. Before reaching the door, you rummaged through a decorative drawer, procuring a gray river rock. It was enchanted with one of your magic spells—a screeching stone, you called it.

“You can stop trying to break down my door,” you said, pressing the stone against the entryway. “Didn’t you read the sign posted on the oak tree outside? Clearly, it said no trespassing.”

“No—think I might’ve missed it,” the muffled voice of a young man answered, and it seemed honest enough. The stone hummed at the response. “Are you [Y/N], by chance?”

“There’s a chance I could be,” you said with soured lips. “Not many people come this far into the woods. And fewer people know of me, let alone my name. Which leads me to ask, who exactly sent you?”

“Gothi sent me. She mentioned you two knowing each other,” he replied in truth, and the stone continued its soft hymns. “She said if there’s anyone who could help me, it would be you.”

She’s still alive?

“That all depends. I trust Gothi, but I’ll need to trust you as well. You can start by telling me your name.”

There was a beat in the air. “It’s Hiccup.”

The ghost of your breath trapped itself inside your chest. That name—it had been buried beneath over a century ago. Yet the stone sang sweetly, and your heart squeezed in a haunting delight. A part of you wished it would scream. Wretched and revolting as it was, it would give you reason to cast the stranger away.

To your grief, he wasn’t so much a stranger as you thought.

Pocketing the stone, you opened the door with a creak. Meeting the green meadow of his eyes, your magic dug its fiery claws between your ribs. With all your power, you tried not to let his familiar freckles unsettle you. Fearing if you did, your magic would spring out of control. The windows would shatter. The roof would crumble to dust. The fireplace would spark and scorch the floors. Or something much worse. Touch him, and reveal when death would knock on his own door.

You wouldn’t let that happen. Not again. Not ever.

With a deep breath, you pushed the door open wider. “Come in,” you said, "we can talk more inside.”

He tipped his chin and thanked you for the invitation. When he stepped through, his gaze swept about your home. Dried flowers, herbs and spices hung from every inch of ceiling by twine. Sunlight spilled from the white-painted windows, and warmed the cushions of two chairs perched near the fireplace. Bookcases stood on either side of the mantle, stretched tall enough to touch the rafters, and wide enough to cover the entire walls. At the back of the home was the kitchen and brewing space. With emerald cabinets and honied-countertops, stacked with jars and vials, scattered petals, and corked potions.

“Make yourself comfortable,” you said. “I’ll prepare us something warm to drink.”

With a blink, he tore his gaze from the foliage and oddities. “Sure, I would appreciate it.”

When you left for the kitchen, he absently traced a hand against the chairs upholstery. Although it matched its counterpart, there were subtle differences; the legs were built taller, and arm rests crafted higher. When he took a seat, it felt made for someone of his stature—an odd thing to notice. His gaze raised to a row of books on one of the bookcase shelves. One particular book stood out among the jewel-toned backs of scarlet, green, and yellow. A simple spine of leather, softened over-time with use, and streaks of charcoal staining the edges.

Like a cool breeze, a sense of familiarity swept through him, touching the marrow of his bones. It begged the question.

“Have you always lived here by yourself?” Hiccup asked.

“You could say that.” 

For a moment, you lost yourself in the fragrant pools. When was the last time you served someone tea? It may have been the day before a young man's mortal fate—the same day you couldn’t convince him to stay. Leaving you to join the collection of things he left behind. Your throat tightened around what felt like a ball of hot wax. Searing as it was, you swallowed its entirety. 

Balancing the trembling porcelain, you returned to the next room and took a seat of your own. 

“I’m sorry if I was rude earlier. I’ve…never welcomed visitors. It’s always been safer that way.” With a smile, you offered him a cup. “But between Gothi sending you and your genuine nature, I’d like to help you.”

“Thanks—and you don’t have to apologize to me. I’m the one who decided to come here unannounced. So…” Hiccup trailed off, taking a drink. He stared at the ripples with solemnity. “My father isn’t doing so well. And you know Gothi, she’s the best Seer we have on Berk. She’s done all she can, but it’s not going to be enough. When I asked if there was anything more I could do, she recommended that I seek you out.”

“I’m sorry about your father,” you said, lowering your own cup. “If Gothi wasn’t able to help him, then he must be very sick.”

“I’m trying not to think about it too much.” He worked the tension of his lips between his teeth. Then pitched a sincere look your way, and said, “So you know, I’m not worried about you being a witch. If anything, I find myself pretty lucky to ask for your help. Even if that does mean I have to sell my soul for it.”

“I have some good news for you, then. I won’t be needing it. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t even know what to do with yours,” you said with a laugh. “But most spells and potions require something of personal value. At least, the stronger ones do.”

Setting your tea cup aside, you hopped onto your toes. Approaching one of the bookcases, you trailed a finger against the backs of countless titles. Your search came to an end when you plucked one out; dense with musky pages, a silver lock clasped at the side, and a small wooden door carved into the cover.

Peering over your shoulder, you found your nosy company arched forward in his chair. You cleared your throat, “Don’t think about peeking over here. A witch never reveals her secrets.”

He apologized under his breath, and shifted his chin away. But like a child snuffed out of his curiosity, he wore a pout of disappointment. You smiled in amusement, and brought your attention back to the book.

You knocked against the small door in a melodic tempo. The little door sprang open, revealing a tiny ear inside. You brought your mouth close, whispering the incantation with the smallest voice you could muster. Too loud, and the door would snap shut against your lips.

An unpleasant experience you remembered from childhood.

The lock clicked open, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Page after page, you mumbled and zipped through each recipe. A couple more turns, you tapped against the right one. Breezing through the ingredients, you had all but one. Oh buttercups, you blushed.

“What is it?” Hiccup furrowed his brows at your dawning expression. “Everything all right?”

“It’s a bit hard to explain. I—I don’t have one of the ingredients any longer. But maybe you still do,” you exclaimed, taming the warmth of your cheeks. “Come with me.”

With a tilt of your head, you gestured to the kitchen. Your guest rose from his seat, following your footsteps. With instructions for him not to touch anything, you scrambled to find your proper ingredients; mugwort, newt tail, bog water, and a strand of witch hair. Tossed and muddled by mortar and pestle, you poured the mixed contents into a glass jar.

“Time for the last ingredient,” you said, picking up a kitchen knife, “hold out a finger.”

Although hesitant, he lifted a hand. “Tell me you’re not going to cut it off. I’m already down a leg, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Not at all. That would be more than what I actually need,” you answered, albeit a little too plainly. With your other hand, you touched the stone tucked in your dress pocket. “You only have to be honest when I ask you this question. If you’re not, then we’ll both hear about it.”

He nodded carefully. “Go ahead.”

“Have you ever—Oh, how should I put this?” Calming the storm of embarrassment brewing in your chest, you exhaled the words in one breath. “Have you ever committed the coupling act?”

There was a gulp. Then a twitch of his lips. Followed by a blush that bloomed from nose to ear. “What? No, I—I haven’t. What kind of question is that?”

Without a word, you sliced the tip of his finger. A hiss sizzled from his mouth when you squeezed it open. Aligning the bottle underneath, you caught the blood falling in pitter-patters. Once enough dripped into the brew, a plum of red smoke burst into the air. Both of you coughed and waved your hands around the space. When the pungent cloud faded into wisps, you corked the bubbling potion.

“A warning would’ve been nice.” He wrapped his finger in a handkerchief you provided. He went on to mutter, “Not sure why you couldn’t use your own finger.” By the delivery, the last part was meant to stay in his head. 

Embarrassment washed through your veins, and painted every inch of your skin posy pink. The sight of it colored his own complexion.

“I didn’t mean to say that, honestly,” he apologized after the realization struck him. “It just sort of came out.”

“Absolutely no tact at all,” you chastised, snatching back the handkerchief. “Gods, you’re just as bad as him.”

He blinked with mystification. “Him?”

A slip of the tongue had the back hairs of your neck bristling. Magic pulsed like coils of lightning in your stomach. Crackling up through your chest, wanting to burn deeper holes in your heart. The roof groaned and creaked. Grains of wood dust fell onto your nose, dispelling the awful feeling.

“You have to go. Please, take it and leave. And don’t worry about repaying me.” Before he could argue, you forced the potion into his possession. With a clap of a hand, the wood beneath his feet shifted, motioning him out the front door.

“Wait a second.“ He wedged his prosthetic between the shutting door and frame. “Right bookcase, third shelf, leather back.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“There’s a book that belongs to my family. Ask me how I know.” The question was rhetorical, and in your bafflement, he continued. “My families crest is sealed in its spine. And the only way you could have it is if someone gave it to you. You said you never had visitors. Sorry to say, but I’m not buying it.”

“That book has nothing to do with you or your family,” you glowered, and the stone screeched and howled from your pocket. You clapped your hands against your splitting ears, with your company mimicking your movements. Over the prevailing wails, you cried, “You’re right—I lied and I’m sorry for it! It belonged to your great-grand uncle. And that’s the truth of it.”

The screeching stone fell to whispers. But the thumping of your heart continued to beat in your ears. 

“Wait. My great-grand uncle?” He caught a breath in his throat. “You don’t mean—there’s no possible way you’re talking about—”

“I am.” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “My only visitor before you; Hiccup Horrendous Haddock II.”

[disgurrr]

Throughout the books, Peeta gives Katniss hope, especially in her time of doom. Where she feels like she can’t continue, but he gives her hope to do so. And there are four significant times he does this(intentionally, or not), such as:

The Bread and the Dandelion

When Katniss is outside of the bakery, starving and hopeless. She is waiting for her death. Peeta throwing the bread gave her hope. For the first time, she had hope that her starving family would not die. That she can continue. It fed her starving sister, mother, and her. The next day, when she picked the dandelion, she knew how she and her family could survive. This connection between the two is something so unforgettable and meaningful, that Peeta comes to represent hope for her.

The two-victor rule change

After she sings to Rue and her body is taken away, katniss walks aimlessly. She even has to remind herself to walk and eat. She is in shock, and in a fog almost. When the Gamemakers announced the two-victor rule change, she screamed Peeta’s name. She even lets out a smile for the first time when she finally realizes that he was no danger to her, after all. And she has hope once again; that she will not be alone, and she can finally keep the boy with the bread.

His first interview with Caesar since the QQ

Katniss is so sick in 13. She ghostly walks through 13, and is on all types of medications to keep her alive. But she doesn’t want that. At first, she actively attempts to kill herself, but they won’t let her die. So she waits until she knows if Peeta is alive or not. When she sees him for the first time, she makes a noise. And she describes it, as her finally “submerging from a body of water,” she has life back in her. She can breathe. Her Peeta is alive, and she has hope that they both can get through this.

His return to 12

Her sister's death kills something so deep in her. She is no longer old Katniss, she is ashes. When she returns to 12, she is waiting for something. In my interpretation, she is waiting for Peeta to come back. When he does, something in her wakes up. Her bettering her appearance, embrassemed what she looks like, shocks something in her to wake up. The next day, she confronts all of her losses and starts to prioritize herself. She starts to work on healing. She simply rebirths to a new Katniss. Peeta’s return to 12, and maybe even his refusal to let her go, gave her hope that it could be good again. And only he can give her that.

[daisydoesfanfics]

|You know I didn't want to have to haunt you|

blade hears you speak, whispering in his ears, calling out to him. he looks around, not a sight of you anywhere. he follows the sound of your voice, slow and hesitant steps turn into a determined sprint. he dashes through the woods, your cries growing louder and louder, like a sob for help. he sees you, he finally sees you. but before he could reach out to you, a sword makes contact with your heart, piercing through your chest in one swift motion. "why didn't you save me?" you asked him with a shaky breath as you fall to the ground, blooding spilling everywhere. he feels dizzy, as if the world started spinning around him. and suddenly he wakes up, lying in cold sweat as you haunt him in his nightmares.

|'Cause when I'd fight you used to tell me I was brave|

he would bury himself in your arms, tears quietly streaming down his face as the pain of the mara washed over him. your fingers ran through his hair, your other hand on his face as your thumb wiped away his tears. "you'll be fine, i promise." you pressed a kiss to his cheek, feeling his breath starting to go slow and steady. "you're so brave, you know. not everyone can suppress such a disease." your praise was like music to his ears, it made him feel stronger during times where he felt so weak. his arms tightened around you, wanting to protect you and keep you with him forever. but not even the tightest embrace can stop the cruelty of this world. now he sits alone, with no one to wipe his tears anymore.

|And I still talk to you (when I'm screaming at the sky|

he finds himself in a field of dandelions, your favorite flowers. he never understood your adoration for them, "they would die eventually." he argued. but truth is, you were just like those flowers. the tip of his fingers caressed the seeds of the flower, but no matter how gentle he was, they all flew away from him. he clenched his fists, looking up into the sky as he cursed the aeons. he cursed all of them, asking why they took the one thing that he loved, the one person who supported him. and he screams out, asking you why you left him so early. but he slowly looks back down at the ground, knowing there's no one else to blame but himself. he whispers sweet apologies to the stars, hoping that there's a chance you might have heard him, and that you would forgive him for not being able to save you.

|You turned into your worst fears|

he promised to you once that he would change his ways, he would become a better person. and he feared that he may not be able to keep that promise, knowing about the things that the mara forces him to do. but knowing that you were there, he still tried his best. after he lost you however, all the warmth and hope that you gave him turned into dust, turning him into the cold and ruthless man he used to be. he kills mercilessly, without a second thought or a single bit of sympathy for his victims. yet, deep down, in the pit of his heart, a sort of guilt bubbles up. not because he regrets his actions, but because he regrets failing his promise to you.

|And I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want, just not home|

for the longest time, blade didn't have a place to call "home". he often wandered around, moving from place to place. even when he had an agreement with elio, becoming a part of the stellaron hunters, he didn't know what "home" meant. sure he lived somewhere for good, but that's all it was. it took you to make him realize that "home" wasn't a place, it was a person, at least it was to him. home was in your arms, your loving embrace, your kind words, your caring actions. your presence made any place warm and welcoming. but now, even the walls of his house, that used to be filled with your warmth and laughter, was cold and gloomy. and every night, he looks over to your side of the bed, which was now left vacant. the pillows still smelled like you, and he'd hold them close to his body, yearning for you once more.

♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫

A/N: So, here's the first piece on my new collection "Stories and Music"🩵 I quite like this actually, especially since I love Taylor! I will also post an updated masterlist with this collection, one shots, and multiple part stories soon. Hope you liked this:)

[a-dose-of-comatose]

What Adam does for lute when she’s mad at him

How Mad is She?

***

Lute was in the zone. There were only three minutes left until the end of Extermination Day and she was plowing through Sinners with as much vigor as if only three minutes had passed.

She was surrounded by ten or so Sinners, nothing she couldn’t handle on her own, but Adam had kept his axe fairly clean that day - so why wouldn’t he hop in to help?

As he sliced through five of them with one large swing Lute screamed, “Adam! What the fuck are you doing?!”

He scoffed, “I’m picking fucking dandelions - what the fuck does it look like I’m doing?”

She ripped her sword out from the last Sinner’s chest with an angry huff, “Go find your own!” She stomped. “God-fucking-damnit!” She stabbed her sword through the Sinner’s chest once more.

“I think you got him, Tits-”

She frantically looked down at her watch before letting out a long screech. She sounded like a tantruming toddler.

“Dude - what’s your fucking problem?” Adam questioned.

“There’s only one minute left in the Extermination and I still need to kill two more sinners to beat my record from last year!” She yanked her helmet off her head and threw it at the pile of bodies bleeding red onto the surrounding brimstone. “And by my calculations you just stole fucking five from me, you dipshit!”

His jaw dropped as she continued to stop through the puddles of blood to retrieve her stained helmet. “Bitch! That’s not fair!” he protested, “how was I supposed to know-”

“I had them!” Her knuckles clenched shut. “I fucking had them!”

At that moment their watches began to chime, signaling the end of another Extermination.

“I cannot fucking believe you!” She groaned, slinging the helmet back on, not so much as wincing as it flung still warm blood over both herself and Adam. 

He opened the portal back to Heaven and watched as the Exorcists took to the sky. 

Looking back to Lute, he rolled his eyes, and reminded her, “There’s always next year.”

That was a mistake.

“Did you just roll your fucking-” she cut herself off, taking a deep breath before spitting between clenched teeth, “Y’know what? Fuck you.” 

“Lute, can we please just talk about this?” 

She grabbed her sword and took flight without so much as looking back down at him.

“Fucking women.” He grumbled as he followed suit.

***

“Lute, babe for real?” He banged his forehead against the bathroom door, grimacing as the shower turned on. “We always shower together after the Extermination!”

“I’m mad at you!” She shouted back. “Go shower somewhere else!”

He groaned, “But Lute!”

“I don’t want to fucking hear it, Adam!”

“Does this mean no head?”

From beyond the closed door she threw something hard and fast his direction. The shockwave of its impact went through the thin door and directly into his skull. “Ow! Fuck!” He jumped back. “Okay, maybe I deserved that one-”

He could hear the venom dripping from her voice as she screamed again, “What part of ‘I don’t want to hear it’ are you not getting? Go the fuck away!”

Adam ran a hand through his matted helmet hair. The next Extermination wasn’t for another year - and Lute could hold a grudge longer than anyone he had ever met - and he was the first man, he had met a lot of people throughout his long afterlife. 

He begrudgingly pulled out his phone, typing into the search engine 

‘How to apologize to my angry girlfriend’

He mindlessly scrolled through options that simply wouldn’t work for Lute. Bullshit like ‘speak to her rationally’ and ‘admit your wrongdoings’ before he found the perfect option.

‘Buy her flowers’

He quickly ducked out through the front door, and even faster opened a portal to the nearest flower shop. Adam had passed it hundreds of times but never set foot inside - he had never had a reason to. 

Until now.

“Hello!” A chipper voice called from the back. “I will be right with you!”

“All good!” Adam called back, realizing just how out of his element he was, surrounded with all the blooming plants in every imaginable shape and color. 

The Winner waltzed to the counter, tying an apron around his waist. “Hi sir, I’m David. How can I help - woah. You, uh,” he stuttered, “you have a little something on your robes, sir.”

Adam looked back down at his robes. The ones he hadn’t had a chance to change out of since getting home from Hell. “Oh shit-” he muttered, “yeah. I was - uh - baking.”

“You were baking?”

“Yeah.” Adam reaffirmed, trying to convince himself it was a believable excuse just as much as he tried to convince the shopkeeper. “Yeah, that’s why I’m here. I kinda fucked up with my girlfriend and she’s pretty pissed.”

“How mad is she?” He asked.

Fuck. How was he supposed to explain that his psychotic girlfriend was mad that he killed off what would have been lucky numbers two hundred and thirty-six through two hundred and forty-one? 

“Well-” He exhaled. “We were baking - and my girl, she’s one of those real competitive types - y’know how it is.” He waved his hand. “We were on the last few - um - cupcakes before a deadline, and I may have tried to help her when she didn’t want it - and I guess it messed up some goal she had so she got pissed and threw,” he looked down to the blood on his robe, “jelly at me.”

“No. How mad is she?” The florist rolled his eyes before pointing up at a sign directly above his head. 

The letters read:

‘How Mad Is She?’ followed by pictures of three bouquets ranging in size - A being the smallest, and C being the largest.

“Based on the fact that you’re covered with-” he paused to look Adam up and down, “-jelly, I’m thinking you might need a C.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Definitely a fucking C.”

“Let’s ring you up and then get you outta here.” David reassured. “That’ll be one hundred and twenty heaven bucks.”

“Oh you gotta be fucking kidding me.”

***

Adam tentatively knocked at the bedroom door when he got home. “Hey, Lute-” he drew out her name, “can I come in?”

“Fine,” she grumbled, “but I’m still mad at you.”

He opened the door, and was greeted by her mouth dropping open in shock. “You got me flowers?”

He smirked. “I did.”

“I was mad - so you got me flowers?”

Uh oh. That wasn’t the intended reaction. 

“Surprise?” He offered, approaching the bed.

Her angry eyebrows softened as she struggled to contain a laugh, her gorgeous grin spreading across her cheeks as she finally cracked. “You fucking dork.”

“I’m sorry for fucking up your kill count today.”

“It’s alright,” she sighed. “I’m sorry for snapping at you like I did. The flowers are sweet, thank you.”

 He grinned, leaning in for a kiss. “Nothing but the best for you.”

She pushed him back playfully. “Nuh uh. Not until we get you cleaned up.” She hopped out of the bed.

Taking his hand she pulled him towards the bathroom. “Wait - does that mean?”

“It’s not a post Extermination shower if we don’t do it together.” She relented.

Adam looked to the ceiling and whispered a silent thank you, to god, to the internet, and to fucking David at the flowershop. 

The flowers fucking worked.

[fangirleaconmigo]

On the topic of book scenes that were changed, one of them that interests me is the scene where it seems Geralt and Yen have died in The Last Wish. In the book, the mayor of the town starts to go on about how it’s so sad that Geralt died but don’t worry they’ll build him a statue. This greatly angers Dandelion and he yells at the mayor. In the show, Jaskier is the one who’s like “This is so sad, but don’t worry I’ll write the greatest ballad for Geralt!”. The complete change of the personality of the same character is what interests me. I love reading your analysis, so I was wondering if you have any thoughts on this. I know the change was probably for comedy purposes and that this is pretty insignificant, but to me, Dandelion’s reaction in the book just really screamed such a deep love for Geralt so I found the change a bit disappointing.

The Last Wish vs Bottle Appetites - Dandelion's reaction to Geralt's 'death'

Hi Nonny! Thanks for the ask. You sent this to me so very long ago, you may have completely moved on. BUT I figure if you aren't still interested, someone who follows me might be, so here I go:

Your ask is about a compare/contrast the book vs TWN scene where Geralt is presumed dead, and we’re comparing how Jaskier(Dandelion) react to his possible death, and how much emotional weight the scene is given.

I'll start by summarizing, but just a note: Dandelion does something in the books that I don't know how to interpret and maybe you (or anyone reading) can give their thoughts.

Ok, we’ll start with the show.

Bottled Appetites

In the show, the mayor and town dignitaries are not in the scene where Jaskier thinks Geralt is dead. It is just him and Chireadan looking at the building. Things are quiet, and Jaskier assumes they are dead.

"Are you sure they were up there? This can't be happening. This can't be happening."

I gotta say, Joey Batey, sells the emotion here. He has the most expressive eyes. He could do just about anything with any material, I think.

"Why did Geralt go in there, it doesn't make any sense...to save a mad fucking witch, why?"

It cuts away to Geralt and Yen. When it comes back to Jaskier, he is on his knees, assuming they are dead. Here is what he says:

"What am I supposed to do now, hm? It wasn't supposed to go this way. I'm going to write you the best song, so that everyone remembers who you were, what we did, everything we saw. And I will sing it, for the rest of my days. "

That is what you means as far as it seeming like he's giving up rather quickly. As he speaks, most of the camera work is on Chireadan, who goes to actually look whether they are dead. Chireadan stands in front of the window. At the end of his speaking part, the camera is back on Jaskier for the punchline.

"He always said I had the most wonderful singing voice."

And that’s the jokey joke. It references the b plot of Geralt feeling bad that he called Jaskier’s voice a ‘pie with no filling’. When Jaskier is hurt, Geralt says that he doesn’t want that to be the last thing Jaskier remembers.

Clearly, that would not be the last thing Jaskier remembers, because he will just change it to suit himself. It's a little of the ol’ Dandelion impenetrable ego performance.

And that is the 'piercing' of the dramatic moment you referenced.

But then Chireadan comes back.

"They're alive."

And Jaskier is like...

"Bollocks."

They go look in the window together, and see them having sex. Chireadan pulls Jaskier away.

The Last Wish

In the books, it's quite a different set up. 

Dandelion is with the Mayor (Neville) and Priest of Rinde (Krepp), while Geralt fights with Yen in the building. 

The reason for this reflects what I think is the biggest difference between the two stories-Yen.

Much like in the show, Yen did send Geralt to beat up the townspeople who are against her. (the tone is quite different, and the show doesn’t show it, but the basics are the same)

However, Yen does not want Geralt to get into legal trouble on her account, so she sends Dandelion back through a portal, and asks him to use his last wish to help Geralt.

Dandelion drops back through the portal.

“Innocent!” yelled the poet in a clear melodious tenor, sitting on the floor and looking around, his eyes vague. “Innocent! The witcher is innocent! I wish you to believe it!”

So now Dandelion is with the mayor and the priest, and Geralt goes to help Yen against Dandelion’s advice. Like in the show, Dandelion advises against it.

“Geralt,” said Dandelion, ‘you’ve gone stark raving mad! Keep away from that bloody strangler!”

And look, he has a point. He’s basically like, she is choosing this. She wants to do this. She used us both against our will. She is powerful and terrifying (the subtext being, why would she need you. If she’s dead set on this shit, then let her do it)

But of course Geralt goes. He is already falling for Yen. I think in the books it’s more clear as to why. But that’s sort of beside the point of this post. (At some point I want to do a compare/contrast Yenralt.) 

But anywho. In the books, Dandelion is with the mayor, the priest, and Chireadan and they are watching the building from a safe distance.

Dandelion is distraught.

“What’s happening there!” Dandelion, clinging to the wall, strained his neck, trying to see in the downpour. “Tell me what is happening there, damnit!”

Then as the house begins to fall, 

“Why did Geralt have to go in there?” groaned Dandelion. What the hell for? Why did he insist on saving that witch? Why? Chireadan, do you understand?”

Of course, Chireadan is in love with Yen, so he understand perfectly.

Then, Dandelion is terrified Geralt will die. He is upset, he is wailing.

“Are they both going to die?” wailed Dandelion. “How come, Krepp why? After all, the witcher--Why by all perfidious and unexpected plagues, isn’t he escaping? Why? What’s keeping him? Why doesn’t he leave the bloody witch to her fate and run away? It’s senseless...It’s suicide. And plain idiocy!”

The mayor is not so distraught.

“It’s his job, after all,” interrupted Neville. “The witcher is saving my town...if he chases the demon away, I’ll reward him handsomely...”

Then Dandelion cuts him off. 

Dandelion snatched the hat decorated with the heron feather from his head, spat into it, threw it in the mud and trampled it, spitting out words in various languages as he did.

Now, I believe that spitting in one’s hat is considered something for good luck, and in some cultures is meant to ward off evil spirits. Dandelion looks down on superstition as is quite explicitly atheist, yet he resorts to it the minute he’s desperate on Geralt’s behalf.

(If I am reading that correctly. It could also be an expression of antipathy for Neville for all I know. Maybe someone else can comment, I'm just guessing)

And then Dandelion realizes something. They explained to him that Geralt actually has the wishes, but then it dawns on him that Geralt could use it to save himself.

“But he’s...” he groaned suddenly, “still got one wish in reserve. He could save both her, and himself! Mr. Krepp!”

The priest explains how difficult that would be. Then the house ‘explodes’ and the djinn escapes. The mayor and the owner of the house rejoice. The owner of the house has previously said that he has good insurance, so he says ‘what a wonderful ruin’. Dandelion is not so happy. In fact he is distraught, understandably. He sees that the house has fallen and he is afraid they are dead.

“Dammit, dammit!” hollered Dandelion...”it’s shattered the entire house! Nobody could survive that! Nobody I tell you!”

The mayor jumps straight to the same conclusion, but it significantly happier about it.

The witcher, Geralt of Rivia, has sacrificed himself for the town,” mayor Nevills said ceremoniously. “We won’t forget him. We’ll revere him. We’ll think of a statue...”

Dandelion does not react well to this. This is the part you were referencing.

Dandelion shook a piece of wicker matting bound with clay from his shoulder, brushed his jerkin free of lumps of rain-dampened plaster, looked at the mayor and, in a few well-chosen words, expressed his opinion about sacrifice, reverence, memory, and all the statues in the world.

I kind of wish the book had spelled out exactly what he said because I think it would have been amazing. But Dandelion tears him a new asshole and tells him where he can put the statue. We just don't get to hear the exact words.

Then it grows quiet. Dandelion is still afraid they are dead, but decides to go look to make sure.

By all the gods,” muttered Dandelion, “what silence...they’re dead I tell you. Either they’ve killed each other, or my djinn’s finished them off.”

Notice he still calls it 'my djinn', I think because he found it. He clearly is ready to blame himself. But then they go take a look at the ruins. They start to hear noises.

“Yennefer’s alive,” said Dandelion suddenly, straining his musical ear. “I heard her moan. There, she moaned again.”

And like in the show, Chireadan looks through a broken window, seeing Geralt and Yen having sex.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said quietly. “Let’s not disturb them.” 

Chireadan is heartbroken, because he loves Yen.

Of course Dandelion is curious and doesn’t want to be put off (as always).

“What are they doing,” Dandelion was curious. “Tell me damnit!” The elf smiled very, very sadly. “I don’t like grand words,” he said. “And it is impossible to give it a name without using grand words.”

I think because of the involvement of the mayor, showing the way they see the witcher (useful, but highly expendable) next to Dandelion (that’s my friend, motherfucker) is interesting. I like that Dandelion tears him a new one.

The moment is definitely moved past much more quickly in the show, though to be fair they have a lot less time.

But what does everyone else think? If you’ve got this far, please share your thoughts! Which version of the story do you prefer? And what was the hat spitting all about?

[fairy-verse]

Horror and Dust are so sweet it makes my week.

Can i ask what their first kiss was like?🫶🥺

The winter air prickled at his wings and summoned flesh and he shuddered beneath his woollen coat, yet he remained warm as could be on his own in such frigid conditions and he watched closely as Horror finished his preparations for the chilling days to come. The air and the lakes sang of the yearly freeze, and Dust’s instincts screamed at him to get inside a warm nest and just sleep, sleep, sleep until the next summer arrived; yet he refused. How could he sleep when he knew that Horror was awake, this giant, warm, gentle fairy that had been nothing but kind and sweet and helpful towards him?

For the two months that Dust has spent together with Horror he’s known nothing but patience and tender care, something he’d forgotten existed up until he’d been rescued, and even now he sees the way Horror glances over at him, smiling, giving him a little wave as a mark to let him know that he’s just about finished.

He snuggles deeper into the coat, taking in its scent as he recalls the memory of watching Horror make it for him. He’d been thoroughly bundled up in the nest then, having just begun to regain some warmth in his body, and Horror had taken breaks in his work to feed him warm mushroom soup and deliciously hot dandelion tea. It had warmed him so pleasantly and even the memory brought a soft flush to his cheeks.

“You cold, bunny?” Horror’s voice was deep and calm as he approached, and Dust looked up to take in the other fairy’s presence, feeling cold on his behalf for the lack of proper winter attire, though knowing that Horror didn’t need it due to his unnatural body heat.

Bunny… It’d been a nickname he’d earned the first week here for being skittish and far too alert, though so, so afraid of suddenly being found by the human that’d held him captive for years and years. He’d struggled to relax even as tired and sluggish as he’d been, and Horror had taken to calling him bunny, though he’d explained that the main reason was simply because he “is so small and pretty, like white bunnies with twitchy noses.”

Dust still blushed at the thought of it, being so easily called pretty by a fairy he considered too beautiful for this cruel world.

“No,” he said, and only partly lied. Horror only smiled in return and reached out to touch his cheek with the knuckle of a clawed finger.

“Heh, you liar,” Horror chuckled and motioned for them both to head inside the nest, a quaint, cosy little place built into the trunk of an old tree with just a door and two rounded windows. On the inside there was room for a small kitchen stuffed to the brim with food, a table with two chairs, a chest and closet for clothes, a fireplace with various pots hanging nearby, and finally, the large bed carved into the wood with a silken cloth hanging partly over the opening, making it more secure and hidden should one desire as such.

Dust hadn’t been used to this sort of nest before, only ever living within one made the traditional summer fairy way which usually only included a circular space for sleeping, along with baskets hanging from various heights that contained both stored food and clothes that they’d need. All the meal preparations always took place outside.

“You can rest, bunny. I’m finishing up to sleep for… the night, too. Just need a moment,” Horror said. He’d been having less struggle with speaking as of late, probably because he had someone to practice more with now… Not that Dust said too much in return, even now as he just nodded and undressed from the large coat, shuddering despite the warmth from the fireplace. He quickly hurried into the nest to hide beneath the furs and woollen blankets, though… he still felt cold.

Horror only did some small things to prepare for the night, setting aside some food, securing the fire so the sparks wouldn’t jump out, and blocking the door with a wooden board for extra security. Dust knew Horror hadn’t done that before he arrived. He’d seen him make that board on his second day here.

His soul fluttered, and worse still, Dust felt tickly as Horror undressed and approached the nest they’d shared for two months already. He felt so tiny as Horror lay down beside him before reaching out to pull him closer, not only bringing the blankets more comfortably over him but also using his great, soft wings to keep him close for the duration of the night.

Dust wondered how long Horror had been in love with him. Since the first day? The first week? He couldn’t tell but he felt a fool for not noticing it sooner. Winter fairies often fell fast and hard when it came to love, and Horror was no different in that regard, though he’d clearly put his feelings aside to ensure that Dust was comfortable and taken care of, probably thinking that they’d part ways once summer arrived.

“… Horror,” Dust muttered, his sockets heavy with the need for sleep and his body relaxed from finally being enveloped in blissful warmth. It was Horror’s warmth it’d longed after, no other.

“Yeah, bunny?” Horror replied, his voice oddly soft and quiet.

Dust didn’t want to leave him waiting, so he reached up to hold his cheeks, and without needing to ask he was pulled up closer to Horror’s face as the two of them met in the middle, breathing sighs of relief and content as the silent longing was put to rest with a single kiss.

[six-white-venus]

MY FAVORITE WORD EVER

rot

OR!!

gone

you find my corpse on a bright summer morning.

you break into my freezing cabin with a raised eyebrow. unphased. curious. then, a slow smile appears. i am immediately wary.

it has been years since i’ve had visitors in my humble abode and i like it that way. the cold keeps me safe. my body rots like a bruise swells; slow, painful, with withering purples and blues. it stretches the time of my body in this land into an endless limbo that i clutch with my cold, dead hands. my heart is still and i am numb, have been so for a long, long time. i am safe.

you find my corpse on a summer morning and stomp into my home/hell with eyes ablaze and teeth flashing and if i was alive, my heart would’ve seized at the sight. you lug my body to my backyard, unflinching. the sun burns my skin and everything hurts and i want to kick and scream and thrash in your hold because you idiot, you stupid motherfucker, don’t you know the rot sets in faster when life is around?

but dead men don’t scream, don’t move. you drop me on the grass with heaving breaths and all i could do is burn while the cicadas sing of my second demise. then, you start talking.

you tell me about your day and ask me about mine and barrel on when all you’re met with is silence. you tell me of the sky, the wind, and your favourite sundress. you must be insane. out of your fucking mind. don’t you see this rotting vessel of mine? my unseeing gaze and blue lips and cracking skin? don’t you smell the rot, the death? you surely do. then why aren’t you running? no, stop. stop moving closer. you madman, leave me in this wretched place. the warmth of your touch will only make me fester, don’t you see?

but you stay. you tell me how the crisp apple bursts into a delightful sweetness when you sink your teeth into it and pull my head to your lap. you tell me about your mom’s cooking and let my cold seep into your skin. my mouth is sewn shut and you are holding me so gently and i want to scream for mercy, for an ounce of cruelty. give me back my home, you villain. give me back my hell.

ice melts. the heat thaws my flesh and the rot digs into my body with its talons unsheathed and merciless. you pitch a tent next to my body and spend your nights here. night after night, i listen to the lull of your heart and watch the rise and fall of your chest as my body breaks itself down from inside out. i am warm.

and you, stubborn, baffling, ethereal you; you stay. the next day and all the days after that. the stench is getting unbearable now. i can see it in your eyes, in every ragged breath of yours. a corpse will remain a corpse no matter how much it is loved. there are only so many stories you can tell without gagging at the sight of this monstrosity. the sun always sets. stories end. love lives where life does. your kindness never did have a place between my blackened teeth and diseased heart, my dear.

but you come back with a gentle brush of lips against my decaying forehead. your hand cradles my rotten head. my sweet warmth, there you are. won’t you leave?

you won’t, right?

you dig my grave all by yourself. six feet deep, seven feet tall because you want me to be comfortable. what a useless gesture. i learn love feels like the glow of the moon and feather soft touches and a grave dug with bare hands.  you lift me in your arms, careful not to jostle me too much, lest i fall apart. kindness feels like a siren’s lullaby and i can feel my eyes droop. it’s dangerous and so very beautiful.

things are different in my new home. numbness feels so far away. there is life thrumming in my veins and eating away at my flesh. you bring me flowers everyday- chrysanthemums, dandelions and tulips- you tell me they remind you of me. how foolish. how very wonderful.

soon, i will bloom into all the flowers you can dream of from this very earth you laid me in. soon, i will rise, petals unfurling, laugh booming. i will weave myself in your braids and take root in your chest and spread down to the very tips of your fingers. my darling, my sun, my rose; i promise i will find you on a bright summer morning.

[nevermindirah]

I'm a lucky duck who lives in one of the markets getting the limited release of Dandelion! Per Nat's request here are my thoughts to tide you over until it's more widely accessible.

As I said in my immediate reaction post, KiKi Layne was built for the big screen. This movie is full of gorgeous closeups of her. And medium-sized shots, and distance shots, and ok maybe it's just me, but bless this movie for making her a singer-songwriter-guitarist, because this means there are so many lingering closeups of her hands, and oh mY GOD NOT TO BE A LESBIAN (gender-neutral) BUT >:)))))))))

I could look at KiKi Layne all day, and now I could also listen to her sing all day. Her voice is beautiful and so expressive. She said in press leading up to it that she was nervous to share her singing voice and maybe that had something to do with just how expressive she is as a singer. Maybe sharing that is more intimate for her than the on-screen nudity this movie also has, and which is also compelling as hell.

This pro review notes that KiKi contributed to the music writing, which is so cool! It also acknowledges that much of the dialogue isn't quite right, often a little too like an essay or a headline to be organic for these characters, while getting at how forgivable that is in a movie whose soul is in the music and the visuals and the chemistry.

Somewhat miraculously for a movie with a white writer-director whose skill isn't primarily in dialogue, about a Black lead in a mostly-white place, it's conscious about race without being didactic. Dandelion is wary of going to white redneck territory for a music competition, and there's a sequence where microaggressions turn into shitty petty crime, but she's also not the only Black person in the sea of likely [redacted] voters. The movie does get a touch didactic about the struggles of women in creative industries, so maybe it wasn't a product of careful effort so much as Nicole Reigel's limited perspective, but the result works. Antiblackness isn't The Conflict of The Movie, simply a shitty part of the background radiation of Dandelion's life.

The music is so damn good. Soundtrack album here! Though the album tragically leaves off two of the movie's best songs: the stunning final number where Tracy Chapman vibes meet Prince, and a cover of 90s white boy song Hey Jealousy that starts off as mere pleasant background track introducing us to KiKi's voice and turns into a sleeper thematic tornado. Once you've seen the movie go look at Hey Jealousy's lyrics and backstory so you can join me in screaming about it and these characters.

Dandelion is a little movie, marvelously so. It's about just a few people in a short time in their lives. I hadn't thought about it like this until now but there are several thematic as hell shots of one or two characters shown tiny and off to the side amid sweeping rocky nature. The artsy shots of flowers superimposed on emotive faces aren't my taste but the overwhelming scale of the landscapes really spoke to me and now I'm realizing this is why.

There's a thing about some side characters wanting to be the biggest band in the world that's kind of an example of the clunky dialogue and kinda perfect for how wonderfully small this movie is. It doesn't matter where Dandelion's career goes after this. These scant few weeks of her life make for such a rich story on their own. This moment in time matters, even if these events don't turn out to have any more effect on the characters' futures than they do on the timeless mountains and prairies of South Dakota.

Fandom people are probably more likely to connect with this movie than the average non-musician viewer because of something that baffled me about a review I wildly disagreed with. Apparently some people can watch this and not understand how fast two people can develop deep intimacy and attachment despite barely knowing each other, just because they make art together. I don't understand how that reviewer didn't understand. You make art with someone and you're in each other's souls. It's intoxicating to collaborate with someone who gets what you're trying to say with your art and helps you make something that best captures the ineffable but crystal clear thing you're trying to say.

Not so intoxicating that you can no longer make rational decisions — but, well, in a way maybe it's the more rational decision to keep chasing the high of drift compatible creation, even when the person you've found to be your musical brain twin is maybe a not great choice in other ways.

Purely for Book of Nile reasons this movie is a damn gift. Tons of shots would be so easy to swap out one scruffy white boy's face for another. (Though Thomas Doherty is the same height as KiKi, which I personally enjoy, it's fun to have variety.) So much of the lyrics are extreme bait for gifsets and fic titles. (Tiny for the movie but very big for the BoNers spoiler: SHE LITERALLY CALLS HIM OLD MAN.) The first two thirds of the movie I kept thinking how perfect this plot would be as a BoN musicians AU — until a twist where I was both so pissed on Dandelion's behalf and internally screaming BOOKER WOULD NEVER.

As I was watching the final scenes I kept waiting for a thing to happen that didn't happen, a certain way of resolving the romance. The ending we do get left me yearning a little. But starting a few hours after leaving the theater the yearning subsided and now a week later my satisfaction with the ending has fermented into a yearning only to listen to that last song on loop forever. (WHY is it not on the soundtrack. I mean, TRACY CHAPMAN MEETS PRINCE.)

One more thing before I go. Dandelion is another thrilling expansion of the repertoire of KiKi's characters in terms of vibes and aesthetics. She looks so different than Nile in a theoretical mirror image outfit of practical boots and jeans and an oversized borrowed button-down thrown over a tee. None of KiKi's other characters, not even gentle Tish, would look so at home in delicate florals, doubly so when they're paired so effortlessly with a comfy denim jacket. And KiKi's physicality here is unique to this person: Dandelion, Theresa, a guitarist. Wholly unlike Margaret the dancer or Nile the warrior. Maybe someday Nile will grow locs like Dandelion's though.

In conclusion: watch Dandelion! I'm as glad I saw this in theaters as I was glad I watched Don't Worry Darling at 1.5x in a small corner of my laptop and only slowed it down for Kiki's scenes. The limited release is real limited, alas, but if you have access to a biggish tv to stream it on I'd strongly recommend making that effort. Both for the landscapes and those gorgeous closeups of Kiki's face.

[dehvoursarc]

I'm actually so emotional over Ch.ilde's momma Signora — having someone who actually cared for it, who saw it as the kid it was, struggling with its identity and who it was, and went "my kid now." Someone who it felt was safe, enough it would seek her out when it was scared or overwhelmed or dissociating.

And then, Liyue happens. And not only does Zho.ngli betray its trust, she did, too. He is pissed and hurt and refuses to talk to her, and she heads off to Inazuma. . . and then she is gone.

[devourensarc]

me in my corner getting emotional about ships/dynamics where chi/lde is able to show the other person all the sides of himself - the human side and the monstrous side. so often people only want one or the other. his family wanted their ajax back, and when they realized he was gone, they turned their back on him. the fatui want the monster, and showing his humanity with them would be dangerous for him.

and yet, for as much as he clings to the fatui and his own monstrousness, there is still a part of him that craves human connection. sure, he doesn't really connect the way most others do, but it's there. he won't even really admit to himself it's there, so for him to have someone who sees both those sides to him, and who gives him space to be all of himself, it just. I love it so much.

just. him showing a warmer, more human side to someone is such a sign of trust. it's him placing himself in their hands and going "I trust you with this show of vulnerability". when he does that, he's not giving them his pretend care, the smiles and the charm that he fakes for most others. he is giving them himself, the person who was too monstrous for his family, and the person who is too human for the Fatui, and he is trusting them not to throw him away, too.

[pharmanic]

What herb are you ?

Dandelion

You grew up too fast and all you know is the calluses on your fists and the thousand invisible scars that you pretend don't ache. Your anger burns so bright, so hot or maybe not at all, so deep you could never tell it was there. You are yours and you will defend that to the death after so many years of being ripped apart and denied your own agency and maybe you are still facing the bastards who stole your innocence but you will survive because that's the only thing you know how to do without breaking, the only thing you know besides protect, protect, protect, protect, yourself or sometimes those few others you claim as yours.

You are a thousand sharp edges but impenetrable, a traumatized child so covered by thorny armor that you promised yourself you're grown now, you're stronger than anyone who has ever hurt you. You're safe. Nothing will ever hurt you again. You're so alone though sometimes, in a world that sees you as too much or too broken or too angry or too hurt, and you want to scream with the too-much of it, prove that you're okay, that you're self-reliant, that you are strong enough to stake your claim on your body, on your mind, on your heart, on your people, and protect it from any who dare take it away from you. You are the sea in tempest, a howling sky, a tsunami in motion, a force of nature, no matter how much you sometimes yearn to be still, to be safe, to be small. You are a dandelion, stubborn and determined to grow in the rockiest of soil, and bloom again in spring.

[captainseamech]

What kind of herb are you?

Dandelion

You grew up too fast and all you know is the calluses on your fists and the thousand invisible scars that you pretend don't ache. Your anger burns so bright, so hot or maybe not at all, so deep you could never tell it was there. You are yours and you will defend that to the death after so many years of being ripped apart and denied your own agency and maybe you are still facing the bastards who stole your innocence but you will survive because that's the only thing you know how to do without breaking, the only thing you know besides protect, protect, protect, protect, yourself or sometimes those few others you claim as yours. You are a thousand sharp edges but impenetrable, a traumatized child so covered by thorny armor that you promised yourself you're grown now, you're stronger than anyone who has ever hurt you. You're safe. Nothing will ever hurt you again. You're so alone though sometimes, in a world that sees you as too much or too broken or too angry or too hurt, and you want to scream with the too-much of it, prove that you're okay, that you're self-reliant, that you are strong enough to stake your claim on your body, on your mind, on your heart, on your people, and protect it from any who dare take it away from you. You are the sea in tempest, a howling sky, a tsunami in motion, a force of nature, no matter how much you sometimes yearn to be still, to be safe, to be small. You are a dandelion, stubborn and determined to grow in the rockiest of soil, and bloom again in spring.

[mouthymercx0x0]

What kind of Herb are you?

The Dandelion

You grew up too fast and all you know is the calluses on your fists and the thousand invisible scars that you pretend don't ache. Your anger burns so bright, so hot or maybe not at all, so deep you could never tell it was there. You are yours and you will defend that to the death after so many years of being ripped apart and denied your own agency and maybe you are still facing the bastards who stole your innocence but you will survive because that's the only thing you know how to do without breaking, the only thing you know besides protect, protect, protect, protect, yourself or sometimes those few others you claim as yours. You are a thousand sharp edges but impenetrable, a traumatized child so covered by thorny armor that you promised yourself you're grown now, you're stronger than anyone who has ever hurt you. You're safe. Nothing will ever hurt you again. You're so alone though sometimes, in a world that sees you as too much or too broken or too angry or too hurt, and you want to scream with the too-much of it, prove that you're okay, that you're self-reliant, that you are strong enough to stake your claim on your body, on your mind, on your heart, on your people, and protect it from any who dare take it away from you. You are the sea in tempest, a howling sky, a tsunami in motion, a force of nature, no matter how much you sometimes yearn to be still, to be safe, to be small. You are a dandelion, stubborn and determined to grow in the rockiest of soil, and bloom again in spring.