#these deathless bones

[noahsbookhoard]

📚January 2025 Book Review (Part 2/2)📚

January is the month I've read the most comics and graphic novels since... middle school and my manga phase maybe? And I like it, I might read more of them this year

Part 1 here

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez

What did I just read?

This was recommended to me by a book club friend, I had heard of it but never read it and she told me how much she loved thi book, how it inspired Disney's Encanto, that it wasn't as depressing as the title made it seems etc... Well she and I haven't read the same book because that wasn't what I was expecting from her description.

Nonetheless it was interesting: we follow 5 generations of the same family in their small village far in the jungle, with their struggle, their conflits, their violence sometimes. They live through natural disasters, revolutions, war, technological progress and political changes. And that's not mentioning how cruel the family members can setimes be with one another, they ruin each other's life, they rest their legacy apart, and yet somehow it always remains enough to be mended, rebuilt. They might leave but somehow they always come back home to Macondo.

I don't share my friends enthusiasm but It's a classic and I'm glad I read it.

Les serres sous le velours noir by Charlène Ferlay

Okay, I know, I thought the same thing when I saw that cover but hear me out!

Man that book is a banger. I would never have picked it up on coverart and backcover summary alone:

In a Renaissance Italy-like setting in which The Goddess and her Angels and Archangel intervene in every aspects of life, Francesca Sebastiani is coming to the merchant City of Alba. There, she must obey her father's orders, to marry a merchant from lower social class as hers and to find her brother Taddeo, whom she hates, to convince him to take his place as the family's heir, but all she wants is to find the murderer of Iacopo, her other brother.

... and I would have missed what will very probably be on my top 10 for this year. This is something of a historical fiction, something of a fantasy novel, something of a thriller and just a truly amazing story.

Francesca, our main character would be absolutely unsufferable as a real human being but as a character she felt even more relatable because she's so bitchy: she is a noble woman, recently widowed, who just lost her beloved older brother, and whose father wants to marry below her. And she is SO MAD about it. She looks down on anyone who isn't a patrician, she falls in love with all the wrong people, she accuses every one that upset her even a little of the horrible murder... It was a tight balance because a character like this could have been very annoying but her aspirations, her anger, her doubts but mostly her love and passion were driving and made me empathise with her a lot.

I loved the setting: it looks like a quite well researched Renaissance Italy: architecture, art and clothings are vivid and anchor us in the period but the fantasy setting allows the author to twist it out and add 1) badass angels and 2) so much homoerotic tension it's bursting out of the pages.

The plot itself is full of tension and I had to force myself to pause it because I wanted to make it last, but wow that was hard! The investigation is very well handled and the climax of it felt so satisfying! The romance subplot was compelling but never took too much place in the story but it adds so much stakes, it works great!

It came out on December last year and isn't available in English but if you read French go read this one, you won't regret it I swear.

What Manner of Man by St John Starling

These Deathless Bones by Cassandra Khaw

This is technically my second reading but this time was the revised edition and I can't believe it could get better, yet it did!

Father Victor Ardelian has been sent to St Silvan's Head Island for an exorcism, however as he spent more time with his host and the object of his investigation, Lost Alistair Vane, his duty as a priest and his own feeling start to tear at him.

This is an epistolary novel and I loved having Victor's voice with his restrain and propriety slowly sliping as his feeling changes. Also it was funny to see the dates disappear of the dairy and the letters to his sister become rarer the more he got entangled with Lord Vane, every little elements surrounding the text itself worked to create this atmosphere and this feeling of a man slowly losing his purpose.

The eroticism was even better for all the loops Father A was jumping through to not have to say it (both 1950's sensibility and priestly ones). Victor's struggle with his identity and his eventual acceptance were very satisfying.

That answer one question for me: I like queer romance and ask a new one: why is Catholicism so dramatic?

Anyway, the next project of @stjohnstarling is Frankenstein inspired and I can't wait to see how it goes!

Short but impactful: The relationship between a woman with bone magic and her bratty stepson, and how it only spiralled downward from the start.

I don't want to say too much because it would get into spoilers really quickly but it was thrilling and a little satisfying too to see the stepmother realise what is going on with the boy and put an end to it.

Escape Incel Island by Margaret Killjoy

Years ago, the government manage to trick incels into getting trapped on a deserted island and since the inmates are under heavy watch and had no outside contact except crates of weapons and supplies. Mankiller Jones and Dr Helena Morrison are sent to the island to retrieve sensitive information that the military left behind: they will have to face the inmates, uncover government secrets and one way or another, escape incel island.

This was fun, there's no big revolutionary insight on humanity to be found here, only Lord of the Flies if the boys had already hit puberty and spent all their free time on 4chan. The inmates have sort of organise and there's some good idea on what their society would look like. I loved Mankiller's point of view with her attitude and her no nonsense talk. The message about toxic masculinity isn't reallyvsubtle but if you want a nonbinary person shooting Nice GuysTM with a shotgun this is.

This story reminds me a lot of The Kaiju Preservation Society by John Scalzi: this isn't the greatest book I've ever read but damn was it cathartic!

The Lotus Empire (The Burning Kingdoms #3) by Tasha Suri

This is the third and final book in the Burning Kingdom Trilogy, and it is a great finally to of ofvmy new favorite series.

We start right after the end of book 2 (as in I had to reread the last 5 or so chapter to catch up with the story). There is everything I loved from book 1 and 2: ruthless politics, badass women, queer ships, the original fantasy empire of Parijatdvipa with its gods.

The story takes its sweet time building up but the climax was worth it. And I got to catch up with by faves! They were not doing great! We get to see more action from Rao and Bhumika in a good 2/3 of the book, which I am not complaining about.

As well as the political threat, the danger of gods and fanatic priest is ever more presents and to me felt even more frightening than in the two first books. It was to me the most interesting part of the conflict as it was a built up from the very beginning of the series and at some point the purely secular political intrigue was being repetitive. I was expecting something more dramatic for the end of the yaksa plot though.

I have one reservation and it is on some dialogues between Priya and Malini: there is a very thin line between toxic yuri and Exes With A Messy Divorce Who Have To Sit Together For Their Kid's School Gala. I'll forget it because the conclusion of their relationship was worth it.

It is a big hit for me, I need more fantasy like this.

Shubeik Lubeik by Deena Mohamed

Shubeik Lubeik means Your wish is my command: In this universe wishes are real and are a whole industry. There're laws, international decrees and classification of wishes, from class 1 to class 3. The more powerful it is, the more reliable but also the most expensive and thr more regulated.

Shorky owns a little store in Cairo, for decades he had had three class 1 wishes he had never manage to sell: this is the story of those who will finally buy those wishes. And oh those stories are sad! Nour's especially hit me, a coleguw student put of their depth, plagued by anxiety. And that's the comic's strength: the characters are so real it hurts.

The worldbuilding is so clever: some of the informations are given by the characters but everything you need to know about wishes is explained between each part in infographics, as if the readers were handed out information pamphlets. It's simple, easy to follow and I never felt like the author was explaining this stuff to me out of the story. It reinforces what the characters already pointed out and adds informations to anchor it in the universe like dates and laws and advices for wish users.

This is the kind of books that makes me want to read more comics, I loved it.

Persephone's choice by Yihan Sim

Sophie has a simple life divided between her flower shop and the care for her mother who suffers from dementia. And then one day a stranger appears out of nowhere, saying he doesn't remember anything but his name: Hades. Sophie offers her help and somehow along the way she might not want him to repay his debt to her.

(Tw for dementia, emotional abuse and child death)

I will start with my one big and only complain: this is a Swiss gruyere of a book. Like, I liked it but there's plot holes everywhere!

Why is Hades amnesiac? Is he actually even amnesiac because I can't see what he has forgotten since he knew who he was all along? Why does The Rapture of Persephone exist as a children book if he has never met and loved Persephone before? Why is Hades immortal but not Demeter? What does the underworld look like to Hades, he never answered that question? Why is Sophie so chill about discovering Greek gods are real and part of her life? Seriously she has the best adaptation skills ever: The man who just fell from the sky is the Lord of the Underworld? Yeah, but does he want tea?

Nonetheless, this was a very low stake, switch-off-your-brain-and-enjoy-the-fluff kind of read. And I usually can't switch said brain off, ever, so this is saying something.

Sophie has the most AU fanfic shop ever (affectionate): it's both a flower shop and a tea shop in which she always have enough time to offer her regulars floral tea she creates herself and make unique compositions for each bouquet. And I love that for her. The relationship with Hades is so soft, too.

Conflict is minimal, it's mostly Demeter throwing wrenches in the work, which means the romance part is entirely this fluffy thing that slowly blooms and they just do heart eyes at each other for the 200 pages of the novel.

Honestly, the mythology retelling part is the least interesting. The love story would have worked just as well with all human characters. The supernatural explanation for the pandemic was interesting but that and the epilogue is all the god and goddess did for the plot. Still it made for some comedy, including Hermes' summoning ritual and teasing on fashion sense.

The book gets a bonus point for reassuring me that Cerberus is a good boy (of course he is) and the ending wraps it all in a woolen blanket with a nice cup of tea. Ovreall very cute, so I'm willing to forget the plot holes.

If you want a cute no brainer romance, Greek mythology retelling which does not fall into dark romance you might want to try this one.

Ruined by S. Vaughn, S. W. Searle & N. Smith

Catherine's reputation has been ruined and now she must marry Andrew Davener who she barely knows to save face. He needs her money, she needs to escape: neither of them require anything else out of this marriage but they both wanted more out of life. What if they get it anyway?

Or : What If I Freaked Out About Being In Love With My Own Spouse?

That's basically it, Catherine settles in her new home and slowly warms up to her husband, they grow closer but when she feels she herself fall she panics and runs away. While she is at her parents he realise he also fell for her (no actually that moment was cute, the bewilderment on his face was priceless) and scraps his brain for a way to win her back. Ok, I am not entirely fair here, there's a little bit more to the story overall but the backbone of the romance between Catherine and Andrew is this.

The plot mostly rest on the characters having No Communication Skills Whatsoever and a dynamic of Oblivious Man in love with Contrary Woman. There would be no story if they just talked about it like adults and some of the things they did but hid form the other makes for nice revelations, but at some other occasion Catherine just seem to keep Andrew away for no reason at all! But still the ending wad satisfying, Andrew's letter was adorable and the final pages are really nice. For me and my pickiness with romance this is more than good.

However, I was disappointed with the subplots in general: there's many of them, Andrew's sister Gemma being afraid to go out in society, Catherine's maid miss Lee who wants to be seen as the talented seamstress she is, Catherine's sister and her woman lover, not to mention Andrew and Catherine's respective past... and most of them fall short. Gemma especially was frustrating: she gets no character growth! She was so sad, I wanted her to feel better and it cuts just as she was making an attempt! I understand the main focus being Andrew and Catherine but at least Gemma's story deserved closure.

I am not giving my opinion again on the Bridgerton series, no sir, but if I had to compare this comic to Julia Quinn's novel it ranks higher than even the books I really liked in the series. It shares the same tropes and structure but with more diversity in the characters and minus the heterosexual romance tropes that are absolute red flag on any real human.

I wasn't too fond of the drawing style though but it's a matter of taste and the story is good. A nice moment.

[clockworkbee]

[raymondsalvador]

The Deathless Rider

Patreon has weekly sword and sorcery content. ⚔️ 🔮

Just sayin’.

[cherryrockpops]

Myrkul - Lord of Bones

[aroaessidhe]

Some more aromantic YA books

THE GRIMROSE GIRLS / boarding school/fairytale fantasy / one of the 4 MCs is aroace

FUNERAL GIRL / paranormal contemporary / aro-coded ace MC

FIRE BECOMES HER / historical fantasy / demi-demi MC 

THIS GOLDEN FLAME /  ancient greek insp high fantasy / aroace MC

ELATSOE / contemporary fantasy/paranormal / aro-coded ace MC

THE BUTTERFLY ASSASSIN / contemporary dystopian thriller / aroace MC (canon in 2nd book)

NOT YOUR BACKUP (sidekick squad #3) / contemporary superhero sci-fi / aroace-spec questioning MC 

NOT EVEN BONES / contemporary paranormal thriller / both MCs are probably aroace-spec, have qpr-like relationship (by book 3)

DEATHLESS DIVIDE / historical zombie fantasy / aroace MC (dual pov, she’s a side character in book 1)

*as a note, some of these only briefly explore aromanticism, and/or explore the ace part of the aroace character more. If you want more details on how much things are explored, see my database!    

[gethsemene]

Not people complaining about The Darkling, Aleksander Morozova, THE BLACK HERETIC for being evil, he is at least humanized. You people would FAINT at the sight of Koschei the Deathless

[crownofefflorescence]

🥀 GARDEN of BONES

You, a mortal, awaken in an unfamiliar land of heat and sand, staring into the unfeeling mask of a spindly stranger who claims to rule the deathless kin of the air.

Beholden to an unremembered promise to assassinate their disgraced twin sibling, bound for an eldritch garden hidden somewhere in the arid plains, and compelled by an enchantment you do not understand, certain choices are beyond your control...

...yet even so, the power of life and death is forever fated to slip through immortal fingers. It lies within in your hands, and yours alone. Many questions plague you, but only one can you answer.

What will you do with it?

GARDEN OF BONES is a 17+ interactive work-in-progress with an emphasis on relationships, and includes some content that may be triggering; complete warnings will be included within the game and updated if necessary.

CHARACTERS

The Younger (M/F)

Weary of being disregarded and mocked for their aspirations, the Younger has their golden eyes set on not only their realm... but yours as well. Yet they need their disapproving sibling and crowned ruler out of the way, for good, and only a mortal can kill an immortal. Will you be their weapon?

The Elder (M/F)

A banished king haunts a garden removed from the flow of time; they had not considered that their beloved twin would stab them in the back... and now they are doomed to rise and fall by your hand. How far will you take this lie?

The Mortal (N/A)

A forgetful assassin, sent to dirty your hands on behalf of an immortal ruler from another realm. Cling to the past with bitterness or longing, or abandon it all if you wish. Forge a path built on vengeance or mercy. What will you sacrifice?

Note: as the siblings are identical twins, both ROs must be set together, so you will have the opportunity to play the game with immortal sisters or immortal brothers as your romantic options and potential allies.

FEATURES

CURRENT FEATURES

⮞ fey-adjacent immortal folk ⮞ 2 M/F selectable romance options (one of them is very ill-advised) ⮞ customize your appearance ⮞ shape your personality ⮞ 30 minute playtime ⮞ decisions

PLANNED FEATURES

⮞ a curse (may or may not be discovered) ⮞ bones (quite a lot of them) ⮞ angst ⮞ finished romantic route ⮞ platonic route ⮞ more creepiness ⮞ riddles ⮞ revenge

Everything here is subject to change.

LINKS

DEMO (TBA) | ITCH.IO | RO INTROS

Current word count (with code): 45,000.

I find friendships to be equally as captivating and fulfilling as romantic affection (and also fully support your right to antagonism and arson if desired) so expect me to do my best to ensure that each route is as lovingly detailed as possible!

There is a plan and intent to release the demo soon. Thanks for your interest and I hope to craft a most distressing and positively delightful journey for you.

Ask me anything!

~ Effie

[the3rddenialist]

I like to imagine the winners of each season meeting up with each other.

An armourless weaponless Grian with broken bones from the fall riding on a llama. Only able to communicate via chat. None of them have seen a Grian this defenceless. LimL!Martyn finds the sight familiar.

A fire resistant invisible Scott only seen via his armour and pet axolotl. Jumpy around lightning and gets along with zombies, to the amusement of DL!Pearl.

An unhinged but protected Pearl with hoards of dogs following her, founded mid bow shot. Peculiarly seems to stay close to LL!Scott and have phantom pains when he gets hit.

A bloodied almost giddy Martyn that always seems to hear a clock from somewhere. Also has hypnic jerks despite being wide awake. His banner around his waist catches the eye of 3l!Grian, but he doesn't comment further.

And now a newly deathless Scar, who doesn't seem convinced he has won indicated by all the tore pages he holds in his hands. His flowers, cloak, loneliness and loyalty rings to each of them, for very separate reasons. He prefers to stand by Pearl.

[neyafromfrance95]

media that haladriels may like:

nosferatu 2024

the great (tv show)

labyrinth 1986

house of the dragon

hannibal (tv show)

killing eve

shadow and bone

the acolyte

penny dreadful

wuthering heights by emily bronte

divine rivals by rebecca ross

deathless by catherynne m. valentine

the invisible life of addie larue by v. e. schwab

the cruel prince by holly black

i'm sure there is more so feel free to add ur recommendations!

[notbecauseofvictories]

The full list is quite long, so I didn't want to clutter up the last post with it---still, it is impressive to see them all laid out together. So without further ado!

THE 50 MOVIES AND 50ISH BOOKS I WATCHED/READ IN 2024

MOVIES

The Count of Monte Cristo (2024) Emilia Pérez (2024) Wicked (2024) American Psycho (2000) Heavy Trip (2018) La Planète sauvage / Fantastic Planet (1973) The Slipper and the Rose (1973) Bottoms (2023) I Saw the TV Glow (2024) *We’re All Going to the World’s Fair (2021) Oddity (2024) Maxxxine (2024) *The Substance (2024) *The Wicker Man (1973) Housebound (2014) Problemista (2023) Showing Up (2023) *Arsenic and Old Lace (1944) It Comes at Night (2017) The Boy and the Heron (2023) Abigail (2024) Seven Samurai (1954) The Iron Claw (2023) Talk to Me (2023) Bodies Bodies Bodies (2023) Rashomon (1950) *M (1931) Lord of Misrule (2023) The Tale of Princess Kaguya (2013) *Crimes of the Future (2022) Sanctuary (2022) After Yang (2022) **The Florida Project (2017) Pig (2021) The Favourite (2018) Poor Things (2023) Infinity Pool (2023) The Feast (2021) Office Space (1999) *Corsage (2022) Robots (2023) The Deer King (2021) Madame de… (1953) Orphée (1950) Master Gardener (2022) *Something in the Dirt (2022) Black Orpheus (1959) Priscilla (2023) How to Blow Up a Pipeline (2022) *The Lure (2015) To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar (1995)

BOOKS

The Shambling Guide to New York City, Ghost Train to New Orleans, Mur Lafferty What Feasts At Night, T. Kingfisher *Bad Girls, Camila Sosa Villada Don't Fear the Reaper, Stephen Graham Jones *Vintner's Luck, Elizabeth Knox The Barrow Will Send What it May, Margaret Killjoy You Know How the Story Goes, Thomas Olde Heuvelt Bloodchild, Wild Seed, Octavia E. Butler The Angel of Indian Lake, Stephen Graham Jones The Default World, Naomi Kanakia Fantasyland, Mike Bockoven Something is Killing the Children, issues 1-15 The Night Eaters Book 1, Book 2, Marjorie Liu This Wretched Valley, Jenny Kiefer These Deathless Bones, Cassandra Khaw *Dead Inside, Chandler Morrison Mental Diplopia, Julianna Baggott A Human Stain, Kelly Robson The Shape of My Name, Nino Cipri Daughter of Necessity, Marie Brennan The Mist, Stephen King A Skinful of Shadows, Frances Hardinge The Chalk Man, C. J. Tudor *The Rehearsal, Eleanor Catton Come Closer, Sara Gran The Underwater Welder, Jeff Lemire Blink, Christopher Sebela Pulling the Wings Off Angels, KJ Parker Thirteen Ways to Kill Lulabelle Rock, Maud Woolf An Elderly Lady Is Up to No Good, Helene Tursten Thornhedge, T. Kingfisher HEX, Thomas Olde Heuvelt Midnight Rooms, Donyae Coles Aglaeca, Mohnfisch Dr. Limos Plays God, Stevie Barot Home by the Rotting Sea, Otava Heikkila Last Crane, Narsid Sacred Bodies, Ver No Trouble at All, Various Authors (short story collection) *Wylding Hall, Elizabeth Hand Glass House, Paul Jessup Agony's Lodestone, Laura Keating * Big Swiss, Jen Beagin House of Rot, Danger Slater Dreadful, Rebecca Rozakis *Diavola, Jennifer Thorne Lute, Jennifer Thorne Regrettably, I Am About To Cause Trouble, Amie McNee The Rules Upheld by No One, Amie McNee The Sacrifice, Rin Chupeco The Bog Wife, Kay Chronister The Unmothers, Leslie J. Anderson *The Eyes Are the Best Part, Monika Kim Paying for It, Chester Brown Snow, Ronald Malfi Midnight on Beacon Street, Emily Ruth Verona Haunt Sweet Home, Sarah Pinsker The Doll-Master, Joyce Carol Oates The Third Person, Emma Grove The Werewolf at Dusk, David Small It's Lonely At The Centre Of The Earth, Zoe Thorogood Mom's Cancer, Brian Fies Mary Astor's Purple Diary, Edward Sorel Impossible People, Julia Wertz Roaming, Jillian Tamaki

[0v3rcast]

Gnaw: Grudge Match

For the first time, the Archon War and its ending are subject to a second opinion.

(And that opinion is yours.)

Osial banks across the stormy sky, feathers of his right wing dipping into the clouds above, water and wind forming beads against his wingtips that follow him as he dips back down. You lend him your energy, and Electro arcs across the vast plumage of his wings and pools inside the beads.

He flaps his wing. A single storm bead rockets down from the sky.

Fishing boats and trading ships are reduced to soaked splinters and fractured metal. The remains of sails, now naught but tatters, writhe in the wind before falling into the sea.

Those who do not die from the sheer enormity of the impact drown in the harbor, bleed out from shrapnel of their own ships, or meet their end at the hands of your contributed Electro energy.

Within fifteen seconds, the harbor has been reduced to a graveyard, the ruined husks of an entire fleet now skeletons lying in deathless slumber on the seabed.

Osial laughs, wild and untamed, just this side of lost to mania, and he dives, his wings glimmering with Anemo.

The Golden House didn't really stand much of a chance.

Electrically-charged Mora are funneled en masse into the vortex above, glinting gold with lightning tails flowing up into the sky in chaotic patterns. Some magnetize against each other, some fly alone, others ricochet into the sea or embed themselves into the land.

Several unlucky souls are punched cleanly through by the symbol of their nation's prosperity, leaving gaping holes in their flesh and ruined bones.

Their screams, warped by the wind and rain and the song of thunder, are a beautiful chorus to you. A performance to welcome you home and give warning to those who foolishly stand against you.

Thunder roars, deafening, and lightning falls, piercing Millelith members. Rain weighs them down, wind steals their breath, and the wind chill robs even the most hale and hearty of a steady aim.

Osial flicks out another storm bead. Several buildings are blasted apart, their rubble crushing their neighbors, metal and stone and wood making a cacophony of ruin.

Entire lives are being uprooted. Centuries of tradition are vanishing under the onslaught. The work of thousands of human lives simply vanishes as it topples into the bay, the waves hungrily lapping at the base of the city and greedily swallowing all that cannot escape.

A small smile stretches over your face.

They deserve this.

With a flick of your wrist, the remaining Mora cluster together into a single massive ball, and you will it towards the wreckage of the city with a little mental exertion.

It crashes down into the heart of the city, right where Rex Lapis once died, and it then erupts as all the force keeping it together simply ceases to do so.

Golden coins and human gore scatter in every direction as fleeing civilians are reduced to mulch by this world's most ostentatious fragmentation explosive.

Osial howls in glee, currents of vicious wind tearing humans from the streets and into his waiting maw as he dives again and again.

In the distance, there is a roar.

The earth shakes to its foundations as immense stone pillars rip free, aimed for Osial, their normally flat tops ground to geometrically perfect diamond spearpoints.

"Morax," Osial sneers. "Come to watch your miserable excuse for a city die under my wings?"

The being that appears then is not Zhongli, or even Rex Lapis. It is Morax. An ancient dragon, Archon of Geo. The God of Contracts and War. This is no simple serpent, no puppet meant to be majestic and awe-inspiring - this is the war-form. The true face of a draconic god, plated in metals hewn from the heart of the world, innards glowing with yellow-orange energy.

This Morax is the face of death.

Morax roars in wordless fury at his old foe... but then his eyes catch sight of you.

The roar becomes deafening, full of such hatred and vitriol that Osial briefly forgets to fly from surprise, leading him to dive instead.

On some cruel instinct, you give Morax the smuggest, most shit-eating grin you can conjure, and you mouth 'where were you when they needed you?'

If looks could kill, Morax would have just reduced you to subatomic particles.

You gesture to Osial, your gift helping to subtly translate, and he launches up into the storm and the highest points of the atmosphere.

Morax follows, howling threats in a language you don't know.

(The elements lean forward in their seats. You've just invited them to the best fight this eon. Bets are already being made. Geo and Anemo both grin at the other, eager to see whose champion is superior.)

Meteors fall, carved apart by wind.

Voices carry for thousands of miles, roaring in pain and glee and fury.

Bones shatter, scales are torn apart, wounds ooze blood in quantities enough to bathe Liyue in a red rain... and Gods war.

On the ground, the storm has only increased in strength, now that so much more energy is being poured into the area.

Not helping is the hail of immense stone pieces.

Where godly blood lands, life is burnt away by the acidic touch of divinity.

Those who did not flee before can flee no longer without risking swift, painful death.

(Ganyu weeps, the work of thousands of years falling apart in less than five hours. What use were her labors?)

(Ningguang vanishes into a bunker beneath the stone, where she can wait out this chaos. She will build herself back up. This is simply a setback.)

(Hu Tao watches from a distant field as her home is utterly destroyed.

...some morbid little part of her gleefully remarks that business is about to be skyrocketing.)

(Shenhe is unaware of this happening, having been spirited away into Cloud Retainer's realm the moment said Adeptus realized just who had been given a burial at sea.)

(Yanfei is luckily out of the country right now, instead in Fontaine to deal with a reappearing case she'd long thought solved.)

(Xinyan assists in evacuation efforts, her flames burning away godsblood and rain to shelter those nearby.)

(Chongyun and Xingqiu barely manage to stem the tide of raging Hilichurls that are dead set on killing the escaping civilians.)

(Kequing lies in the collapsed rubble of a multi-story building, her Vision repeatedly shocking her as Electro takes the moment to be immensely petty.)

(Xiao drowns in his Karmic Debt, feathers trying to force their way through his skin as his more animalistic instincts refuse to obey.)

(Baizhu has already fled, knowing that he neither can be nor wishes to be of use in this fight. His work is not yet done.)

(Yaoyao stands guard over the population who have made it to her home village.)

(Yun Jin helps to gather scattered families back together amongst the crowds of refugees. Xiangling and her father work to feed the masses while they are all displaced.)

(Beidou watches the storm from the far horizon on the deck of the Alcor. Going in would be suicide, but not helping is just as unthinkable. She must choose, but the sheer weight of the choice is paralyzing. The fleet follows behind her, whether that is into certain death or into retreat.)

(Qiqi stands in the heaviest torrents of the storm. Where the blood of gods stains her skin, life is breathed back into dead flesh.))

Far above in the heavens, Osial and Zhongli are tangled, claws gouging into the new Anemo Archon's innards as coils attempt to shatter the Geo Archon's ancient spine.

There is a deafening crack as Morax's spine bends in a way it was never supposed to.

Ribbons of intestine hang from the massive wound in Osial's underbelly.

Both of them begin to fall to the face of Teyvat tens of thousands of miles below, and you are along for the ride.

Osial lets out a wheezy cackle as he tightens his grip on Morax, drowning in his own blood.

Morax writhes, wings unresponsive.

You hug yourself against Osial. Impact comes far sooner than you expected.

There is darkness.

When you wake, you are in the shallows of an immense crater, exactly where Liyue Harbor should have been. The moon glows pale white above you.

Shattered pillars and ruined buildings jut from the not-quite-bay.

Sitting next to you is a not-very-undead Qiqi. She gives you a relieved look when she sees you're alive. You offer her a thumbs up, as though that will solve the issue.

She accepts it with as much grace as anyone in her situation can and returns the thumbs up, smiling at you faintly.

Beneath you is Osial, dying from mortal wounds but still very alive. Somewhere in the distance is a similarly wounded Morax.

You climb down from your dying companion and come to face him.

"Ah... good. You still live. I did not fail you," Osial gurgles. "Thank you... for helping me settle the score, my maker."

You tell him to hold on. You're sure there's something you can do to heal him. He lets out an amused huff.

"Your kindness is touching, but I know my end is coming. I can feel the Abyss."

You refuse. Osial is yours, damn it. Your friend. Your first Archon. Your protector.

A feeling wells up inside of you.

He will not die. You won't allow it.

Your eyes burn as tears stream down your face. You rest a hand against his scaly face, and ask him to trust you one more time.

"Of course. Always."

You let your power flow. The world erupts into starlight as a new constellation is born, sky adorned with a new pattern of stars: Serpens Fidelis.

The loyal serpent.

Where once laid your dying companion is now a male of mortal human size, who sits up, obviously quite discombobulated. He manages to find his feet, though repeatedly stumbles as he takes his first steps.

Scarred tan skin faintly reflects the moonlight, bathing him in an ethereal glow. Silver locks of hair with deep blue accents seem to drink in the moonlight.

He turns to you, finally, and grins, canine teeth closer to fangs than human, Cherenkov blue eyes glimmering with undeniable joy.

"Thank you, my maker. This new form is far less damaged."

From his right hip dangles a Hydro vision. The Anemo Gnosis is in your hands instead. It appears the cost for his life was you reclaiming the archonhood you bestowed upon him.

He is otherwise entirely nude and doesn't particularly seem to notice this. Maybe that's because he's never had to wear clothes before.

You kindly point this out to him, more than a little embarrassed on his behalf, your hands over Qiqi's eyes so she doesn't see.

Holy shit, was he always that built?

He grins at you, shooting you a salacious wink. "Yes, yes. Get an eyeful of my statuesque physique. I worked for many years on it."

You ask how he managed that as best you can while dying of embarrassment.

"You become quite proficient at lifting weights and swimming at the same time while trying to struggle free of stone javelins pinning you to the seafloor," he says mildly.

He manipulates the water and stormclouds into a set of luxurious robes. A sash at his waist now holds the Hydro vision.

On his back rests a fragment of the Jade Chamber carved into a massive greatsword.

"Shall we gloat over our dying adversary together, my maker?"

Yes, this sounds like a phenomenal idea.

You let Qiqi go, now that Osial is not running a one-hydra nudist colony, and she follows behind the two of you like a lost puppy.

Morax has returned to the form of Zhongli by the time you get to him.

The Vortex Vanquisher lies shattered at his side, and hundreds of rips and tears in his clothes display his grievous wounds.

Osial confidently struts over.

"Why hello, hated enemy mine~"

Zhongli weakly snarls up at him, and also at you, his fists curling feebly at his sides.

"Damn you both. May the Creator strike you both down into the depths of the Abyss."

Osial lets out a small 'snrk', begins to lowly chuckle, and slowly escalates to peals of howling, gleeful laughter. Zhongli just looks offended while Osial laughs himself nearly sick.

"By the maker, you have no idea who you're talking to right now, do you?" He wheezes, tears in his eyes, clutching at his sides.

"The destroyer of my people and an abomination wearing the skin of the Creator of All." Zhongli fires back, indignant. "Are you blind?"

"Go ahead and pray for our maker to save you. See what happens," Osial says, grinning cruelly.

Zhongli murmurs a prayer for protection from evil.

A faint glimmer of magical energy escapes his lips and swirls just above your hands. You cringe at it and wave it away like it's smoke.

Zhongli goes ghost-white, his eyes becoming impossibly wide.

"Creator?"

Tears bead at the corners of his eyes as his actions finally begin to play back in his mind.

"Please, my maker, forgive m-"

Osial cuts off his head.

"What an asshole," he snickers, some blood now on his cheek, a massive grin on his face. "I'm glad he's dead."

You just look at him like he's crazy. Which he probably is.

"Oooooooooohhhh, that's who you are." Qiqi says from behind you, having caught on to your true identity.

Another massive hydra erupts from the ocean in the distance and lets out a sound akin to whalesong.

"HI, HONEY!" Osial yells in her direction before immediately bolting towards her.

You let out a distressed sigh. Exactly what kind of mess have you just gotten into?

(Taglist:

@the-dumber-scaramouche @thatdeadaquarius @ssak-i @imyme20 @fried-lotud @acacla @itz-luna @iruiji @crierofirony @itsredactedlove @sweetsthetik @leafanonsforest @oxyotl @kkazuyass @featuredtofu @resident-cryptid @d4y-dr3am3r @crimson-ashes @red1sg0n3 @the-real-fandom-person @code-roevember @yourlocalsourwolf @rhoswen-drake @minimari415 @reversearrowhead @call-me-shroom @evqnescents @valeriele3 @mochicurls21 @sinnful-darling @fleshdotmp4 @ash1 @chilling-on-the-moon @fluffy-koalala @extremelytoastybread @euphoricaldemise

This should probably be all of you.))

[serbarris]

Offer Me That Deathless Death

Chapter 12 of At Best You Find a Little Remedy Dragon Age: the Veilguard, some spoilers for plot, spoilers for Emmrich's romance  Pairing: F!Rook Ingellvar x Emmrich Volkarin  Rating: E Summary: Their first time, from Emmrich's POV, under the cut as nsfw! Words: ~600 read the chapter on ao3

He knew the implications of what he asked.

“Have you touched yourself while thinking about me?”

As if her pleasure (or lack of) hadn't consumed his every thought since her admission in the library. It should be sacrilegious to leave someone so bereft. Maker knows he indulged himself enough over the years. It was thrilling, to be the solution to her predicament, to be the one to coax unfounded pleasure from the indomitable Rook. To be her first and only pleasure.

He asked her as if she hadn't been the one haunting his fantasies for months. He had barely touched her and yet his fantasies paled in comparison to the real thing. She lay before him, her honey hair a halo in the veilfire-lit room, her lips swollen from their earlier attention, her lipstick leaving the faintest stain. He traced her tattoo with his tongue, feeling the heat of her skin as she blushed so beautifully for him. He nipped and sucked at her skin, tracing the soft curves and hard bones, the strong muscles that made her so fierce in battle. As he descended, he mapped every mole, mark, scar, and freckle. He kneaded her flesh, so soft and malleable. He decided he wouldn't mark her, not tonight. Not when he intends to leave his presence etched upon her soul.

“I want you, Emmrich. In any way you'll have me.”

Oh, the ways he would have her. Not tonight, tonight was for her to experience le petit mort and for him to build the foundation of his eternal veneration. She had him enraptured. Far beyond the novel curiosity that she had piqued, the lust she ignited within him, she plagued his dreams.

His tongue explored her wet heat. He wanted to know what made her gasp and moan. What left her boneless and begging for more? What would put his name on her lips spoken with devotion meant for a prayer to the Maker?

He pulled away.

Her pupils were blown, he was barely able to tell the difference between the colour of her irises. Her parted lips framed her breathy moans, her legs squirming against the grip he had on her thighs. He knew it was torture for her, to be brought so close to the precipice of release but denied once again, especially by his touch.

It had been years since he felt such delicious warmth around his cock. He savoured it. He would sin a thousand times over to repeat this moment. His thrusts were slow and deep, he could feel Calliope tremble under him, whimpering. The leg wrapped around his hips was insistent, fighting his pace.

He will give her what she wants, eventually. If she is to come undone then it will be on his cock, where he can watch her tumble off the cliff, witness her muscles flex, her chest heave and the shape of her mouth as she reaches her peak.

She bites his lip. Oh so softly, so gently, he wonders if she even noticed she did it. Her nails etched scriptures on his back that would fade with the rising sun.

He relents, his stamina waning, his resolve shattering. All penitence for his pride. She writhed beneath him, her swallowed gasps a sweet aria that he conducted until they reached a grand crescendo—pleading each other's name like a chant that would have the Maker forgive them for their sins.

[elrielffs]

This is just a loose theorizing by me about Gwyn's role in the future books and how this ties to Azriel and an Elriel story.

It's not meant to be anti-Gwyn. I actually really like Gwyn as a character but it does incorporate Lightsinger Gwyn and for some, this is anti-rhetoric.

This is just me kicking things around in my noggin' and nothing concrete but just loose attachments.

Under the cut cause it's kinda long.

I was thinking about some of the details we've been given in story and some meta things from SJM's pinterest. I don't really subscribe to the pinterest as end all be all but I do think some things are very interesting on it.

I do think SJM is pulling from various fairytales and myths, particularly Blodeuwedd, Koschei the Deathless and other Russian folktales, and The Little Mermaid. We know SJM takes inspiration from fairy tales.

First we have Blodeuwedd which SJM saved titling Elain. The story of Blodeuwedd is that she was made to be the perfect wife of Lleu Llaw Gyffes but rejects him and falls in love with another, Gronw Pebr.

In the Koschei and the Deathless, we have Ivan Tsarevich who has 3 sisters that marry 3 winged wizards. Ivan saves Marya Morevna, a warrior princess, from Koschei and marries her.

I think the first two speaks for themselves on how they relate to ACOTAR so I won't delve to much into it but you can see how it relates to the story that is playing out.

Last is The Little Mermaid. We all know this story because of Disney and also it's probably one of the more well known fairy tales' but the broad strokes of the ORIGINAL telling is: The Little Mermaid falls in love with the human prince, makes a deal with the Sea Witch for her fins to be turned into legs to be with him on land, the prince falls in love with someone else, and the Mermaid is tasked by the Sea Witch with killing the prince to get her fins back but she can't do it because she loves the prince too much and instead turns into bubbles/foam/becomes an air spirit.

How does this relate to Gwyn?

Gwyn has been described many a time with ocean/water like imagery and has been stated to have nymph heritage. Her eyes are constantly described as the sunlit sea and she even says the quote," I am the rock on which the surf crashes."

We are also told about Lightsingers in the same book that Gwyn is introduced: They are ethereal beings who will lure their prey to them, appearing as friendly faces. Only when their prey were in their arms would their true faces emerge.

This shares many similarities to Sirens: creatures that live in or by the ocean, that lure victims to them with an alluring voice. Sirens have also become synonymous with mermaids, merging into one creature with siren and mermaid being used interchangeably to describe the one being.

Gwyn has show these same characteristics in story. Gwyn is shown to be a singer and have a beautiful voice and to also glow when she sings.

When Nesta hears Gwyn sing she describes it thus:

Drawing any listener in.

Nesta also says this about Gwyn upon first meeting her:

Gwyn also tells Nesta at one point that Nesta wouldn't like the "real" her.

I won't go too in depth to the Lightsinger theory because there are plenty of other posts floating around breaking it down better than me but suffice to say that there is a correlation between Gwyn's voice/singing=some type of power. This easily translates into Lightsinger/mermaid/siren imagery and theory.

Now this next part is just me spit balling and is more fast and loose and how this could tie into an Elriel story:

We don't know too much about Koschei in story except that he's a Death God and older brother to Stryga and the Bone Carver, beings who traveled from another world to Prythian (Daglan/Asteri?) and a powerful wizard that cursed Vassa.

At one point he tells Azriel he has "been preparing for you". What could this mean? Why has he been preparing for Azriel?

Why would Koschei, who is a powerful wizard, bargain with the Acheron's father, a human nobody? Is it because he is Elain's father?

Rhysand speculates that there's a possibility that the priestess have been infiltrated. We saw with Ianthe that not all priestess's harbor good intentions and in ACOWAR that the library can be broken into.

It has been highly speculated that Merrill, a priestess in the Library, is up to something. Is she in line with Koschei?

Who works under Merrill? Gwyn.

We know from HOFAS that the cauldron is corrupted by the Asteri/Daglan, a fact speculated by Azriel himself in the bonus chapter.

Is possible that Koschei as a Daglan/Asteri had a hand in corrupting the cauldron to mix up Elain's mates? Is that how Koschei "prepared" for Azriel?

And what about Gwyn working under Merrill? Gwyn could be manipulated and unknowingly assisting Koschei/Merrill or she could be working for them for some kind of favor--returning her sister Catrin to life?

Also, the fact that Gwyn and Catrin are twins can be used for shenanigan's. What if Gwyn is actually Catrin? (This is purely speculative on my part by the fact that they were made twins rather than just sisters.)

It's also mentioned that Catrin had webbed fingers. I love this little detail and wish Gwyn had them too but is there a reason she doesn't? Could this be to distinguish Catrin and Gwyn at a later date besides hair color?

Could Merrill/Koschei know about Gwyn's Lightsinger heritage and be using her as way to lure Azriel away from Elain?

What is one of the gifts Elain gets Azriel? Ear plugs.

We know it as a gag gift but we also know that Elain has visions--we don't know how fragmented or how fully she receives them but is is possible that she saw something that inspired her to give Azriel the ear plugs?

Is this to upset the balance of the 6 pointed star mentioned in HOFAS?

Could Gwyn, unknowingly or knowingly be working for Koschei to infiltrate the IC via Nesta and the training, lure Azriel away from Elain? Could Gwyn fall in love (this part is not needed, it can be just business on Gwyn's end) with Azriel but realize thru her connections with the Valkyries and training and Azriel that she can't go thru with it?

Let me reiterate, I don't think Gwyn is evil. I think she could be manipulated, coerced, or promised something she can't refuse to help or go along with Koschei/Merrill. She might not even know it's Koschei she is helping or that she is even in fact assisting. She could be manipulated into using her unknown Lightersinger powers.

Gwyn (the Mermaid) is promised/manipulated into using her Lightsinger powers by Koschei/Merrill (Sea Witch) to lure Azriel (the prince) away from Elain (the woman the prince loves) but the end she can't go thru with it either because she realizes it's wrong, realizes she's being manipulated or because she can't do that to Azriel.

I know there is more that can be conjected but this is already quite long and I didn't even delve into the Swan Lake and Sleeping Beauty parallels.

I realize this could have been posted before and nothing new but I just wanted to put my thoughts out there and hear some more of my fellow Elriels!

[cherryrockpops]

God of Death

[tomalbon]

Poem #84

On The Convalescent (Gwen John)

There is no scenery, no staging

To gatekeep nor bind in scrutiny

By the line’s deliberate dissolution.

Just simple paraphernalia interlinked

In spells of blue and beige inventing

Their own deathly transitions. Finally,

The world asserts the drabness of its fixtures;

The strange world where I was a mere stray.

Just the calm, the obliterating calm

Dredging songbirds form the celebrated

Dead to peculiar animation.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!

They said to them, but those ghoulish men

Picked clean their ethereal remnants

Long ago. Mounts empty as fallow

Vowels, rummaged by body snatchers,

Gave only cairns, and they took them for

Punctuation the same shade as her wallpaper.

No, not death inside them, but use,

Harping through wind chimes of bird bones.

Her downcast eyes could easily be dreamt

From litanies of those unredeemed places,

Sprawling from the pages’ ant-marked script

Like malaria, misting the graveyards

Of their egos. Flightless, rooted, earthed

By afflictions of mock deathlessness,

This is the grief of every life we

Never live. The songs are spent, slaughtered,

Hollow as birdboxes, and their liquids

Dissolve the lines and smudge the colours

And muddy things they could never really say -

And we face its enormity and it looks like peace

Only because we succumb to the same

Tongueless stupor. Yes, she could be sleeping,

If only words still opened to immortal dreams.

-

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 23: Way Down We Go

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

Gale’s words shower over you like acidic rain. Could he really be speaking the truth? Could Astarion’s compulsion have been driving you down this path all this time? Even though you don’t need to breathe, it feels like the air has been sucked from your lungs, and you clutch at your chest as if it might help you feel a little less off-kilter.

You glance at your husband, who has stumbled away from the altercation and is pressing his forearm against the wall, taking deep breaths to try and keep himself present.

That icy chill of the sensuous song howls through the bond and regresses into your bones, making them feel like your skeleton is splintering. The ambrosial chords of the melody beseech you to sink into it, let yourself be overtaken, and it swears an oath that it will provide you with unlimited serenity.

You know it lies—that it parades false hopes and delusions—but the promises are tempting nonetheless. There is a part of you that begs to give in, if only so you can be swept away from this dream turned nightmare.

There is a choice you have to make quickly, and you glance between Gale and Astarion. Who do you believe? Who do you put your faith in?

Do you pick Gale, who has never directly lied or tried to manipulate you and who still harbours some sincere feelings for you? Gale, who has been trying to save you from the consequences of your foolish decisions since he and Shadowheart took you in knowing the danger you posed. Gale, who has been working tirelessly to find ways to pluck you from the suspension of this deathless death and restore you to life once more?

Or do you pick your newlywed husband, who you know has manipulated you, compelled you, and could easily be doing so again without your knowledge? Your husband, who played your love like a lyre to secure himself a spot in your good graces. Your husband, who kept you locked away when you did not turn out to be as obedient as he hoped. Your husband, who carved into your flesh without a hint of remorse.

You’ve spent months connected to Astarion’s mind. You’ve felt his feelings, heard his unfiltered thoughts, and haven’t detected any indications of deceit, but that does not mean Astarion could not force your mind to forget or bypass anything that was there.

He made you forget your name, after all.

You try to reach out to Astarion’s mind, but he cannot hear you over the bellow of Cania clamouring in his skulls.

Do you love him? Or is that another trick of the Ascendant? Has his compulsion rooted him into your mind and grown from a sapling to a mighty tree? Shadowheart’s warning twists in the storm of your chaotic thoughts — He will always do what it takes to survive.

The fates have not bestowed the time to deliberate. The choice must be made. You must pick one or the other, and the consequences of choosing wrong are dire.

A dangerous game, indeed.

“No, Gale,” you condemn resolutely. “Whatever proof you think you have, I have no need to hear it. I know in my heart that what I feel is real and not a compulsion.”

A small voice, deep within you, whispers. Is it?

There is no need to hear the objections forming on Gale’s lips. Your choice has been made, and you choose your husband, for better or worse. You turn away, ruck up your dress, and hurry over to Astarion. When you place your hand on his shoulder, he jerks away and snarls at you like a cornered animal. Your hand wavers for a moment, but you place it back on him defiantly.

“Astarion.” You try to get a look at his eyes, but they are squeezed shut with a terribly pained grimace that contorts his face. “I can be your light. Let me in.”

His eyes crack open, and you’re barely able to make out the scarlet that peeks through the narrow slits. You grasp onto him, and he fumbles to try and push you away with rigid, ungainly movement that is so unlike his usual easy grace.

“You don’t understand!” Gale shouts. “You will always choose him. It’s exactly what he’s compelled you to do. If you will only give me a moment, I can show you.”

“No!” You scream at the top of your lungs, the shrillness of your voice ripping your vocal chords. “I don’t care what you think you know, Gale. Leave. GET. OUT.”

Shadowheart grabs Gale’s robes, desperately trying to tug him away, but Gale shakes her off. “I’m sorry, my friend. You leave me no choice.”

Your brow quirks for only a moment before Gale shoots Dancing Lights high into the darkening sky, and you recognize the signal for aid from your adventures.

The high-pitched whistle of loosed arrows and the rush of marching boots are soon to follow. You quickly cast Wall of Stone and grab Astarion to drag him down behind the barrier. Numerous arrows hit the wall with a thunk. When the barrage finally ends, you peek around the wall to get a view of Gale’s apparent backup.

You’re stunned to see Gur filing into the space, bursting through all the doors, breaking windows, and lumbering over the fence of the terrace. Has it been Gale feeding the Gur information all this time? Did he nearly get Astarion killed?

Shadowheart stands in the midst of the chaos, mouth agape and completely unprepared, but you can see the golden light of her radiant magic illuminated on her fingertips. Whose side will she take? Gales or yours?

Astarion still pants beside you, his body practically vacillating the air with every one of his muscles quivering as he tries to fight the urge to sink into the song and languish in the abyssal prison of his own mind. You toe off your heels and unholster the spare dagger you know Astarion always keeps concealed under the leg of his pants. The sharp blade smoothly splits through the fine silk of your gown, and you tear away the bottom half of the skirt hastily.

The Weave fills you at your behest, and it coruscates around you in a roseate corona. You crouch, ready to pounce as the hoard of shuffling feet inch closer.

“Run, my love.” You hear Astarion’s strangled gasp as you take the first step out from behind the wall. “Run, and never look back.”

Though you understand the warning, you refuse to leave Astarion behind to be absorbed by the deceit of a devil. You once pledged to spill no more innocent blood, but it seems you cannot escape death. Rage burbles inside you, boiling over the edges. How many times have you tried to be good, do good, and where has it gotten you?

Perhaps it’s time to rise up like a lightning-ignited wildfire and fucking burn.

The first hunter rounds the corner of the stone shield with their crossbow aimed. You lash out, casting Fear, and the hunter cowers. Lunging forward, you grab their face, digging your fingers into their fleshy cheeks, and fire detonates from your palms. Flames liquify skin and burst from every orifice as they let out a strident shriek.

You hate that it feels good.

A battle axe swings in your peripheral vision. You duck, cast Magic Missile, pelleting the man with spiny bolts like a fleshly pincushion until he drops. Your grabbed from behind by a rough pair of hands and dragged backward away from Astarion. You growl, struggling against the constraint on your body. To your surprise, the hunters run straight past you, only meaning to subdue you.

You are not their target.

Sweat begins to drip down your forehead as you watch hunters barrel toward the wall protecting Astarion. You throw your head back, smashing your skull into the Gur’s nose, causing his grip to weaken, and wriggle out of his arms. You reel forward, fingers dancing, and a cloud of daggers bursts into existence, catching some of the hunters in their approach and cutting the rest off.

It’s all you can do before you’re thrust down and slammed into the boards of the terrace. Despite your attempts to fight it, the hunter manages to pin your arms with your palms flat against the rough wood. A knee digs into your back to cement you in place, and you’re helpless to watch as the hunters begin to descend on Astarion.

“Morere!”

You barely catch the flash of sickly green magic, feel the sudden jerk and shudder of the hands holding you down, and you’re released as the body slumps to the side. Shadowheart helps you to your feet, hauling you up with a surprising amount of strength.

There is no time to talk, and you nod in thanks as you sprint forward and rain Fireball down on the group nearing Astarion. Shadowheart tries to stick close to you, but in the chaos, you’re both bounced between bodies and separated once more.

The whiz of a blade slicing through the air makes your ears twitch, and you pivot just in time to catch the blade in your palm before it splits your skull in half. The sharp edge slices deeply into your hand as you strain against the sheer strength of a Fighter, and you must use both arms to block the attack.

Blood oozes down your forearms, coating your ashen skin in vivid red as you grapple, feeling yourself slowly fold under the brute force. Your eyes dart around for Shadowheart, but she’s locked in her own struggle across the terrace. Fire spits from your palms, heating the blade until it burns red-hot, and you can hear the sizzle of your skin and your opponents, but he does not let up or even falter.

“Not her!” You hear Gale shouting from somewhere in the disorder. “We had a deal!”

Your knees eventually begin to fold in on themselves under the pressure, and your arms shake as the tension mounts. The rigid boards creak as your knees are ground into them. You squeeze your eyes closed and let out a strangled cry as your arms begin to giveaway.

The stress is released suddenly. Your eyes jerk up, and your stomach sinks when you realize it’s not your husband’s brilliantly red eyes staring back at you, but the blunted maroon of his shadow.

He smiles hauntingly. “Shall we put our differences aside for a moment and deal with the more pressing matter at hand, or would you prefer I kill you now?”

You nod your grim acceptance of the offered temporary truce. He flourishes his dagger, grabbing your arm and yanking you forward into his chest. For a moment, you think the truce was another ruse, and he’s about to sink his blade into you, but it lodges deep into the temple of a hunter who is holding a stake that was meant for your back.

Thrusting yourself away from him, you turn and press your back against his in a reflexive habit formed during your adventure. It is a tactic you and Astarion used on many occasions when you were fighting hoards of enemies. He seems to remember it and holds his position while you cast Thunderwave to throw the incoming attackers backward.

“Can you slow them down?” He asks.

“Do you really need me to, Ascendant?”

Astarion chuckles darkly. “Hardly. I was thinking of you, darling. It would be such a pity if one of these dogs had the pleasure of putting you down before I do.”

“Then I guess you’re going to have to keep me alive.” You cast Web to slow the Gur down. It will allow you to cast at range, and Astarion should have the dexterity to negate the effects. “Right or left?”

“Left.”

Astarion bursts into mist, reappears behind one of the Gur, and his blade runs across their throat, slicing through skin and sinews like softened butter while he laughs maniacally. You go right, keeping yourself skirting around the borders where you are most proficient at casting at range. Spells skip across your lips, and the Weave flows between your fingers in a kaleidoscope of colours. Chain Lightening ropes between enemies in close proximity, turning them to little more than steaming husks. Scorching Rays buffets the chest of a hunter to your left, and Magic Missile skewers another.

You cast carefully, trying to keep track of Astarion from one minute to the next, but his speed makes his movements nearly incalculable. He blinks in and out of existence, often appearing out of thin air, running his blade from belly to neck like gutting a fish, and phasing out once more.

It would be impressive if it were not so incredibly daunting.

The click of a crossbow surprises you, and you hear the bolt whistling through the air as you turn toward the sound. It streaks toward you, only visible by the faint chromatic flash of the metallic arrow point, and your stomach sinks as you brace for the impact. Astarion appears in a flurry of red mist. He snatches the arrow out of the air, whirling to keep the momentum, and launches it back. The bolt imbeds itself into the eye of the woman with so much force that her head snaps back, and she’s reeled off her feet.

He smirks smugly with a wink and disperses again. You continue your death march, your eyes skipping through the crowd until you spot Shadowheart grappling with a hunter. If you don’t get her out of here, Astarion will target her when he’s done massacring the remaining Gur.

You run up behind the hunter, cast Disintegrate, and grab her arm, dragging her toward the door. “You need to leave. Now.”

“I didn’t do this, Illyria!” She shouts, pulling back. “I swear.”

“I know.” You cast Telekinesis and launch a hunter blocking your path to the door off the terrace. “Astarion’s gone. You must go.”

“I won’t leave you!” She growls obstinately.

A hand wraps around your arm. You snarl and turn with your teeth bared, ready to rip out the throat of whoever dares try and stop you, and see Gale’s rounded, solemn eyes. There is a part of you that wants to make him pay for this, but you know that his intentions are pure. In his eyes, he’s trying to protect you, and you cannot damn him for that.

You grab his sleeve roughly and shove them both into the foyer with all the force you can muster. “Leave. Both of you. Now.”

“Illyria.” Gale pleads, trying to grab your shoulder, and you smack his hand away. “Don’t you understand? It’s all been a compulsion. All of this, everything you think you feel, is a lie. If you would only give me a moment—”

“No!” You trample over him, and the truth sneaks out of your mouth. You look at him sombrely, tears pricking your eyes. “Don’t you understand?! I don’t care. I don’t want to know.”

“What?” He stares at you slack-jawed. “My friend, you cannot be serious.”

“I am.”

And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? The unfiltered truth is that you would rather sink into this fantasy than sink into despair. If it has all been a compulsion, a beautifully polished lie, you don’t want to know.

“Leave.” You thrust Shadowheart’s bag into her hands. “Both of you before Astarion—“

“Before Astarion, what?” Astarion appears, blocking the doorway, blood-drenched, and looking beyond crazed. “Going somewhere?” He pouts. “And here I thought we were all such good friends.”

You’re launched backward, sliding across the floor, and back out onto the terrace until you hit a mushy mass of flesh. You scramble to your feet, stumbling, and Shadowheart and Gale are likewise pitched out of the villa, their bodies thumping into the boards and skipping across them.

Your brain works to try and formulate a plan—any plan—but falls flat. Astarion is too quick to try and run from and too strong to try and fight head-on. Even if you could fight him, would you? Could you? Is this the poisoned loyalty that Gale is talking about or love?

Astarion glances around the ruined villa with a furrowed brow. “This is lovely. What party did I crash?”

“Our wedding,” you answer honestly.

“Gods,” he spits in limitless contempt. “He married his spawn? Idiot.”

Spawn…

It dawns on you that this version of Astarion has no idea that you’re not merely a spawn but a bride, which means he does not know you share a mental connection. There must be a way to use his ignorance to your advantage, but you don’t have very much time to figure it out.

“Well, all the more reason to rid myself of you,” he shrugs irritatedly as if his counterpart has left him a chore to do. “The wizard might make a fun spawn though, no? I wager he would be splendidly obedient. Unlike you, pet.”

Shadowheart gasps, bringing his attention to her, tucked away behind your legs. “The Cleric, too. She knows how to faithfully worship a God. Don’t you, flower? You wouldn’t even need much training. You already know how to get on your knees.”

You growl low and shout. “You won’t touch her or Gale for that matter, boy!”

Boy. What Cazador used to call him, and you know he despises. If you can enrage him, you might be able to get his attention completely on you. It’s a bad plan, a terrible one, but it’s the best you have right now.

“Pardon?” He hisses. “You best rethink that, pet, or I will make you suffer!”

You hate what you’re doing, but you try your best to reuse things you heard Cazador taunt him with. “I’ve known you for years. Have I not suffered enough?”

“Silence!” He orders, a tic working in his jaw, and his eye twitching.

“You are weak,” you snarl, pressing on even though it makes your stomach twist in upset. “You’re a small, pathetic little boy who never amounted to anything. Even with all this power, you are still nothing.”

You see the quick flash of Astarion’s hand going for his dagger; see him lunge toward you as if in slow motion. The Weave glows in your eyes. You will fight to your last. If you’re lucky, it might give Shadowheart enough time to get herself and Gale out of here.

Astarion flashes across the terrace, disappearing into mist and reappearing only a step ahead of you. A flash of fire suddenly brightens the area, blinding you temporarily. The smell of brimstone and sulphur fills your nostrils, and your eyes snap open to see Astarion’s dagger millimetres away from your chest, but he’s held fast in a spell you recognize well.

Hold Monster.

You look to Shadowheart and Gale, but it’s clear neither of them are behind this because they look as bewildered as you.

“Quite the show this has been. A pity I had to step in and ruin the grand finale.” Mizora’s voice comes from behind you. She waves her hand, and a swirling, fiery portal opens up just behind you. “I can only get you to Avernus. You will have to find your way to Cania from there.”

When you don’t move, she rolls her eyes. “It’s now or never, pet. I cannot hold him forever.”

You can’t leave Astarion here, not like this. There is no telling what horrors this version of him will reap on Baldur's Gate. More importantly, he will no doubt target your friends. What good would saving him do if he cannot live with the guilt of his actions?

“He needs to come with me,” you murmur.

“That’s a very stupid thing to do.” Mizora snaps. “He will kill you as soon as you set foot in Avernus.”

“Maybe, but maybe not. It doesn’t matter. He cannot be left here.”

Her eyes narrow, and her brow creases with tension as the spell shimmers, wavering slightly. “You’re running out of time.”

“Let him go when I give the signal, Mizora.”

She huffs but nods. “Tick-Tock.”

“Illyria! Don’t do this!” Shadowheart grabs your ankle, but there is no time to debate.

“I have to.”

You position yourself several feet behind him and get ready. Before you can nod, Shadowheart scrambles to her feet, takes Gale’s quarterstaff from his hands, and tosses it and her bag to you. You catch them, secure it across your body, and grip the quarterstaff in both hands. Whatever the bag holds, it will be your only supplies. There is no time to fetch clothes or weapons. Even you can see that Mizora is struggling to hold him, and the cage has started to fissure and crack like stressed glass.

Nodding to give the signal, Mizora instantly lifts the spell, and Astarion reels forward. You sprint with all the speed you possess, slam into him, and use the momentum to propel you both through the swirling, burning maw of the portal.

Jagged, obsidian crystals slice gashes into your arms and legs when you crash into the treacherous terrain. The air is sweltering, acrid, and tastes heavily of ash. You push yourself up onto your wobbly legs. Before you have time to recover, Astarion’s hand wraps around your neck, lifting you into the air with no visible effort.

“What have you done!?”

Your words are cut off, and only strangled noises are able to escape your throat, but you cannot help the faint smile that quirks your lips up. Those dull eyes are filled with an unease and the slightest hint of fear.

He seems to notice and quickly steels his countenance back to that of a confident arrogance. His hand tightens a fraction, fingernails cutting into your bruising skin. His dagger flashes in his hand, twirling into his grip, and he presses the tip of the blade firmly into your abdomen. You’re surprised when the progression halts before it can do so much as cut you. He falters, the dagger wavering almost imperceptibly, and he scoffs, dropping you unceremoniously.

He glares at his hand with a puzzled twist to his lips and stows his blade. “I have half a mind to decorate the ground with your innards.”

His threats sound empty, or you have abandoned your fear of this version of him. He once told you that he would never kill you, and so far, that has proved true despite the ample opportunities he’s had.

“Why didn’t you then? Performance issues?”

“No!” He huffs in indignation. “I have a better idea.”

Astarion’s eyes glow, and the tendrils of compulsion take your muscles hostage. “Follow me, pet.”

You obey, getting to your feet, and hate that it feels glorious to assent. Astarion looks around, apparently settling on a direction, although you think it’s simply a random choice. There is nothing but hills and low, rocky mountains as far as the eye can see. He starts walking, and you quickly fall into place at his heels.

The land is covered in rubble and sharp stones of quartz and other crystalline-looking structures that gnaw at your bare feet, but you’re helpless to stop even as the pain mounts. Each step leaves a bloody footprint, dotting the charred wasteland. The side effects of the blood war can be seen spreading across the environment. Skulls and bones of creatures big and small litter your path, and it’s not long before you begin to see the crumbling remains of buildings, their walls blackened and caved in, stone strewn about, and large craters in the terrain from the impacts of the fireballs.

Clouds of red and black roil in the reddened sky, flickering with orange flames and fireballs that frequently race across the darkened heights. You stay quiet, staring at the back of Astarion’s head while you try to figure out how exactly you’re going to get your husband back. His ignorance of your mental connection could prove useful, but he will know if you attempt to go digging around in his head. That will have to remain a last resort.

Astarion only gave the order to follow, but he did not specify how closely, and you begin to fall behind. At first, it’s merely a small length, but the distance increases as your feet are chewed up by the ground.

“You’re quiet.” You hear him utter from ahead of you. “There was a time when I couldn’t get you to shut up.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

Astarion glances over his shoulder, alerted to the fact that you’re lagging behind him by the quietness of your voice. “Quit dawdling.”

It’s not a command, and you don’t bother to quicken your pace but only roll your eyes at him with an exasperated scoff.

“You’re bleeding.” He states simply, scenting the air.

“Wow.” You transform your expression into one of mock awe. “Your powers of observation are truly a marvel to behold. Seven thousand souls have given you the great power of stating the obvious.”

“Cheeky. Be careful with that smart mouth, darling, or I’ll cut your tongue out. Now, hurry the Hells up.”

“I have no fucking shoes, Astarion!” You gesture toward your feet. “It’s like walking across hot shards of glass.”

He arches a high brow at you, looking rather amused or astonished at the insolence in your tone. “And whose fault is that exactly?”

“Yours.”

“I do not believe I was the one who pushed us into the fucking hells!” He snorts, crossing his arms. “Come on, pup. Walk faster. We haven’t got all day.”

“We’re immortal, Astarion. We literally have eternity.”

But you do, in fact, hurry up because you cannot fight his compulsion. The sharp rocks and stones rend the flesh of your feet, often jutting from the ground and piercing so deep you’re sure they glance off your bone. It doesn’t matter how carefully you try to place your steps; the ground is uneven and cluttered, and every step serves as another painful reminder of where you are and who you are with. The only reprieve afforded to you is when he stops to look around, where he once again appears to choose a direction at random. He leads you deeper into what appears to be a ruined fortress of some kind. Skeletons, big, small, and gargantuan alike hang limply, strewn everywhere the eye can see. Others look so old they’ve petrified, and you have to crawl between teeth that are twice your size.

It is beyond still in this fiendish graveyard, and the silence is so deep that you wonder if you might be able to suffocate in it. Whenever you trip over a rock or fall, it gives you the distinct impression that you’re disturbing the peaceful rest of the dead simply by existing.

When you once again finally step out into the ruined street, you can vaguely see the river Styx, slithering over the landscape like a scarlet snake with glinting scales. You don’t make it far when you notice a slowly moving shadow that seems to be increasing in size as if a dark cloud were drifting over you.

Your eyes flick upward and spot a mammoth fire-spewing boulder careening with the speed of a meteor. It takes you a moment to recall what you read when you were doing research about the layers of the Hells.

“The fireballs that race across the darkened sky of Avernus appear random at first glance, but be warned, they actively target motion.”

Shit.

Instinct kicks in, and you bolt toward Astarion, who is just beginning to notice the increasing darkness. For a moment, you’re blessedly free of the pain in your feet with the spike of adrenaline. Your arms encircle his waist, and you launch your body weight into him. He tries to catch himself before falling, but his heel catches on a rock, and he falls backward.

“You little shit!” He shouts.

The fireball hits with enough force that you can feel it vibrate the ground as red silt is blown outward like a wave. You close your eyes, feeling as it settles on your skin. When you’re able to open them again, dust falls off your lashes, and the earth is charred and smoking around the crater that lays just a little ways off where Astarion’s feet are.

You don’t realize that you’ve fallen on top of him until you glance back and see his wide eyes looking at the hole where he had been standing and back to you. For a moment, you think you see affection in those cold eyes, perhaps gratitude, but he chucks you off of him roughly.

“You did that!” He hisses.

The stones feel like needles against your palms as you push yourself up and give him an incredulous look. “Why the fuck would I do that and then save you?”

“You’re trying to toy with me, with my emotions, but it won’t work!” He growls, gesturing wildly. “I have been manipulating people for longer than you have been alive. Your games will not work on me, you wretched bit—”

His shouting is cut off when another shadow descends, the boulder whistling through the air, and Astarion has to phase into mist and back to avoid the strike. Both of you look to the sky, and your brows downturn, mouth slack-jawed, when you notice the swarm of them catapulting toward you.

“Shelter! We have to find shelter!” You scream.

You barely get the words out before they start thundering into the earth, each seemingly having a mind of their own. They force you to throw yourself to the side, back, forward, repeatedly to avoid being squished.

“The cave!” Astarion bellows, pointing toward a rocky cliff face.

Between the smoke and dust in the air, you can’t see a cave, but you attempt to start flinging your body in that direction. You can’t see where Astarion went, but you do feel the tug of his compulsion forcing your feet to move in a certain direction, which is interfering with your ability to evade the oncoming onslaught. That, coupled with the current state of your feet, your movement is dreadfully hindered.

A fireball slams into the ground behind you. The heat radiating off it sears your flesh before it explodes on impact, and you get caught by the shrapnel and thrown from your feet. Black dots march in your vision. You try to blink them away and get up, but the hellscape around you swells and dips like rough waves.

You can barely make out of vague darkening of the area surrounding you, and you try to drag yourself out of its path. Will it hurt, or will you be brought peace long before your brain can receive the signals for pain? You laugh softly at the prospect of being killed by a fireball after you’ve cast them countless times to do the same to your enemies.

Your stomach lurches as if you’ve fallen suddenly, and your world becomes a shapeless blur. A comfortable pressure encircles your waist, and before you know it, you’re enveloped in a deep dimness. When your eyes finally clear, you’re looking out the mouth of a cave, watching fireballs fall like hail from the sky.

Astarion stands with his back pressed hard against the stone, his eyes closed, and his chest heaving with heavy breaths. He’s covered in soot and rusty-coloured dust. He saved you? Hope blooms in your chest that when he opens his eyes, they will be the fiery sunset warmth of your husbands.

“Astarion?” Your voice is rough and hoarse from having inhaled the dirt in the air.

“Master to you, pet,” he purrs, his eyes opening slowly to reveal the lifeless maroon like a ruby covered by layers of dust.

Astarion watches you almost curiously for several minutes while you observe the chaos happening just outside the opening of the cave before he takes a seat. His forearms rest on his knees, and he twirls his dagger between his fingers, feeling the edge of it to judge the sharpness.

It’s nostalgic watching the way he assesses the blade and checks the weight and balance of it. How many times did you watch him perform the same inspections of his weapons in camp? You shouldn’t be surprised, you guess. This Astarion is still Astarion, but this Astarion is composed of two centuries of darkness and Cazador’s tortures.

Opening Shadowheart’s bag, you dig through the contents. There are a couple of random scrolls, a potion of healing, and the sharp, glass scraps of whatever potion didn’t make it through. There is a small pouch of coin, though you think it will do little good here. Your heart swells when you see her trousers and shirt, apparently stashed after she changed into your dress. The masterpiece that was your wedding dress is ruined beyond recognition, and you slip out of it.

“That’s some positively scandalous negligee,” Astarion taunts. “I assume that was for him?”

You glance down at the strappy, lace nightwear you had meant to surprise your husband with. “Well, it certainly wasn’t meant for you,” you retort.

“And yet, here I am enjoying the view and not him,” he says sinisterly.

Astarion turns, grabbing your ankle and giving it a quick tug toward him. He crawls up your body with that sensual smile you know too well and dips his head to kiss your hipbone, below your belly button, and continuing upwards. Though your brain knows the difference between your husband and this imposter, your body does not, and a shiver runs down your spine.

You push hard on his shoulders, trying to push him away, and he brings his eyes up with a lazy, crooked smile. He rests his chin on your stomach, his hot breath fans your cold skin.

“I know you want me,” he purrs, his fingers playing with the straps of your nightwear. “You cannot hide it from me, little lamb, and it seems we have some time to spare.”

“I want him,” you correct. “I have no interest in you. Get off me.”

“Him. Me. What’s the difference?” He shrugs and places another lingering kiss in the soft spot between your ribs. “We are one and the same. I’ll even be generous. I’ll whisper the sweet little lies I’m positive he feeds you, and you can pretend I am him.”

“I said no,” you growl, letting your palms heat against his shoulders in a warning.

Astarion sighs, rolls his eyes, and pushes himself to his knees. “Gods above. Why are you such a drip? Honestly, it’s like you hate having a good time.”

Pulling on Shadowheart’s shirt and tugging on the trousers without acknowledging his goading, you grab your raw feet and cringe. The blood is starting to dry, your healing abilities kicking in, but there are still crystal slivers and shards sticking out of your toes and heels, nestled deeply in your skin and muscle. You grasp at them, managing to pull some out, but your fingers aren’t quite nimble enough or adroit enough at getting purchase on the smaller, thinner pieces.

Astarion watches you again, with an odd intensity that you find puzzling. He reaches for you, but you recoil and pull away.

“Let me help.” It borders between an order and an offer, as if he couldn’t decide which and never made a choice either way.

It’s either this or walking with crystal shards impaling your feet, so you reluctantly slide your foot toward him. Astarion’s hand wraps around your ankle, and he lifts your leg and places it on his thigh. His eyes scrutinize the wounds carefully, and though his face remains cold and impassive, when they flick to you briefly, you swear you see concern in them.

Astarion plucks out the remaining pieces one by one, easing them from your flesh with more care than you would have thought this version of him possessed. When he’s done, he scoops up the remains of your dress and cuts long pieces from the silk, wrapping them around each foot in some sort of makeshift shoe. It’s unlikely to do much in the way of protection from the elements and will likely get chewed to shreds as quickly as your skin did, but the gesture still leaves you dumbstruck.

You cannot help yourself. “Why are you doing this?”

“I need you to be able to walk.” He states simply.

“Where are you taking me?”

He smiles ominously, predator-like, and it makes you such in a sharp breath. “We are going to bargain with Mephistopheles, of course. What do you think he will bestow upon me when I hand deliver the little snake who aims to reverse his arrangement?”

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things.

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

We've finally made it to the Hells!