#blue wraith spoiler | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fangsandfracturedhearts · 5 days

Text

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 18: Unleashed

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: 6.7k

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]

CW: Chapter gets dark - please be cautious

A howling tempest is whistling in your ears, muffling your ability to think clearly. A biting frost permeates your body, seeping into your bones and desiccating and fragmenting them. Although it’s agony, there is a peculiar pleasure in the descent into exile. The wraith strums a ghostly lullaby, like harpies enthralment, that encourages you to close your eyes and float away in the cyclone.

Your lashes flutter as you resist the temptation to let your dimming eyes shut. Icy vines braid and curl up your spine and caress your brainstem, coercing you to allow yourself to be devoured.

It sounds so easy, so serene, like the bottom of that dark lake where everything was wondrously still, still, still.

It starts slow, snowflakes fluttering through the irises of your dying eyes, each one descending to your soul. The first flakes melt and sizzle like drops of water touching a hot surface, but the barrage increases, and the fire within cannot sustain the onslaught.

Your very spirit is being doused, and it throbs as your psyche is pelted with sharp hail, chilling you to your very core and numbing you of your will to fight. The melody of violent winds, ice, and snow is rapturous, a perverted sonata that you long to get on your knees and recite.

You want it to sweep you away, sedate you, and submerge you gently into that final eternal night. It promises to remedy the heavy emptiness, and you pine for the feeling of not feeling at all. There is no drowning it out, no resolve to struggle, and the glacier you’re tripping on has cracks. There are tears creeping out of your eyes, turning to ice pellets as they hail down your cheeks.

Yes! Yes! The voice warbles as everything goes dark. Let go.

The crevice between your feet collapses, and you’re plunged into the frigid abyss. You fall down, down, down, until you find yourself in a barren whitescape with nothing but snow in all directions. Jagged icebergs the size of mountains jut impossibly high into the grey-blue sky and drift erratically with surreal speed, making them look like teeth trying to saw through the horizon.

The cold is lethal as it forms ice crystals in your lungs when you try to breathe, and even though your breath is as cold as death itself, it billows in misty clouds when you exhale. You try to suppress the urge to breathe so the biting cold can’t nip at your throat, lungs, and nostrils, but it’s hard when your jaw quakes and you’re nearly crippled by shivers.

You wade through the waist-deep snow in this hellish, frostbitten land. It’s difficult to form coherent thoughts as you feel yourself freezing to death. Your ability to move is quickly being confiscated as your limbs stiffen. Your skin is wind-burnt and blistering, cracking like dry firewood.

You will die here, or perhaps you’re already dead — you do not know.

An enormous shadow passes over the landscape, blotting out the meager light the dark, cloudy sky provides, but your neck will not crane to look up.

The terrain shudders under your feet as something immense lands just out of sight. Powdery snow is belched into the air like a puff of wafting smoke. When was the last time you were able to blink? Your eyes cannot focus quite right. The muscles in your face strain to war against the thin layer of ice accumulated on your skin.

A looming figure takes shape in the snow drifts, coming toward you, making the ground under your feet tremble with every step. It seems to shake an iota of sense back into your senseless body, and you find yourself taking steps toward the silhouette.

A dragon emerges from the squall; five chromatic heads in all colours rear up on regally serpentine necks to evaluate you. Their nostrils flare, shooting vapour into the air with every breath. The scales reflect the low light and appear almost prismatic, with strips of bluish-green, purple, and grey, glassy-smooth, running down the massive body and merging into a bronze that covers a long tail, tipped with a stinger.

Each head moves individually, sinuously slithering through the air until each one is poised close to your body. They are massive, each with maws twice the size of your body and flaming eyes of all different colours that examine you intently.

Their jaws open, revealing long, tapered teeth and forked tongues, and their hot breath wreathes you, dispersing the ice in your veins and biting frost in your muscles.

Although the figure does not seem to speak, you hear an alluring voice in your head. It is bewitching and gently ethereal. “Do you know me, child of night and dragons?”

Why you recognize the voice and why it soothes you is unclear, but it awakens your soul, sparking the white-hot blaze of your being roaring back to life with a vigour you have not felt for what feels like centuries.

“Tiamat.”

The dragon’s lips pull back, baring her teeth in a viscous smile. She opens her mouth and blows her scalding breath over you. “You do not belong in this realm, night stalker.”

The ice accumulated on your hair melts away, leaving it limp, wet, and sticking to your cheeks. Drops of water rain from your scalp, down your face, dripping off your lashes.

“I am lost. He is lost. We are lost.”

“Lost, thou say?” Timat’s laughter sounds like a celestial chorus that the stars themselves dance to. “Thou hast just been found. Wake, bloodkin, return to your realm, and seek the Lord of Lies. He shall hark thy plea.”

Tiamat rears her scarlet-scaled head, unhinging her jaw like a snake, with the ominous white glow of Hellfire scintillating in her throat. You reflexively take a step backward, putting your hands up to shield yourself as the white, molten flames burst.

Nothing survives Hellfire.

Her voice serenades. “Burn bright, child of night, blood of dragons.

The flames swim through the air with a crackle, enveloping you in a tornado of light so bright that you wonder if your eyes will be reduced to ash. You’re thrust off your feet, plunging you back into the abyssal depths you fell into, and careening directionless at an unfathomable pace.

You see yourself floating in a black, bottomless netherworld. The impression of movement halts you horizontally above your lifeless shape. Wake up; you want to scream, but you do not have a voice.

You must claw your way out of this watery grave.

Reaching toward yourself, you find that the other version of you mirrors your movements. Your fingers touch, and her eyes — your eyes — snap open and glow white. The Hellfire swirls around you both and flares out like ghostly, liquid flames in the shape of wings that curl around and fuse into you.

In a rush, you’re shot like a meteor, rocketing through planes of existence and bending time itself.

Your eyes flick open to see Rhapsody poised above your chest, the polished silver blades glinting in the candlelight. With a hard, inhumane scowl on his face, Astarion's lifeless eyes are fixed on you, the light obliterated by insanity. Rhapsody whistles through the air, plunging straight for your static heart.

Something beckons you to wield it — something new yet ancient, both familiar and unknown. When you reach out and grasp it, a blinding light is released from you in a destructive shockwave. Astarion cries out, staggers back, and rubs his eyes furiously.

“You petulant little shit!” He barks, his voice oozing revulsion and vitriol. “You will not leash me — you cannot leash me! I created you, and I will destroy you!”

Try as you might, you cannot get your feet to move as your mind fails to construct a viable strategy. You will not survive a battle with him, and you can’t imagine you will get too far even if you flee. Astarion shakes his head, blinking rapidly. His eyes coast around the room, unfocused, and his arms reach out, fingers grasping blindly.

He cannot see.

It’s only a matter of time before he heals, but it does give you a chance. You must make a decision quickly. Astarion cocks his head, growling like a feral animal with his lips pulled back in a snarl, trying to listen for your position. As soon as you move, he will be able to pinpoint your location.

You know what you must do, but you don’t want to do it. Furthermore, you don’t know if you have time to do it before he regains his sight.

Casting Misty Step, you bolt into your room, rifling through your drawers until you come across the scroll you need and stash it. Astarion is in the hall, and you quickly cast Gust of Wind to push him off balance and snatch Rhapsody from his grip before he has time to right himself.

“Fool,” he snarls, spittle flying from his lips as he lunges toward you. “I need no implements to end you. I will tear your limbs from your body as easily as wings are torn from a fly.”

You cringe at his tone — so cold, so unfeeling, so full of loathing. You sprint to the door, throwing it open and hurtling down the streets. Glancing back, you make sure Astarion is following you. His eyes remain aimless and restless in their sockets, and he moves erratically and only when he hears you.

“Astarion!” You call out, making sure you’re far enough away that you have time to make it to the next target in this death race.

He barrels toward your voice, fingers clawing through the air as you reappear at the next point, calling out again and again and again, keeping yourself always just out of reach, until the Crimson Palace looms out of the darkness.

You sprint for it, throwing yourself through a window. The glass lacerates your skin, and you know you’ve made a mistake. Astarion scents the air and races toward you. You tense your muscles like Astarion has taught you, roll back onto your feet, and dash through the halls toward your target.

Astarion is quickly gaining on you, hunting you through the halls with the finessed movements of an apex predator. His movements become more fluid, and you know he’s starting to get his sight back.

You are running out of time.

Veering left and hurling yourself down the steep staircase, you narrowly avoid his clutch.

“Oh, I have missed this, my little treat,” he taunts. “Chasing you around these halls, teaching you all sorts of delightful lessons. Do you remember my lessons, pet? Oh, how I loved the way you screamed.”

Of course, you remember his lessons vividly. The tortures and torments he subjected you to in the name of taming his unruly spawn, making you a perfect, pretty arm piece to dazzle and delight his opponents while he carried out his twisted ambitions.

And oh, how you screamed and begged for death.

And oh, how he laughed and laughed and laughed.

The corridor is like running headfirst into a dark tunnel with no light at the end. The air is musty, and the only sounds are your battering footsteps and the drumming of Astarion’s rapid heartbeat. Your eyes skip over the wall, searching for the invisible wall, and whirl, running through the illusion and into the dank, stone-brick room.

The kennels.

Your prison stands empty and desolate — the cage he had constructed just for you.

He had been so proud of himself when he commissioned this cell to be built with its chains, restraints, and locks too complex to use Knock on. You swallow thickly, forcing the memories down as Astarion enters.

“Ah,” he smiles menacingly, strolling in casually. “It’s good to be home. Isn’t it? I must say, I’m surprised that you would lead me here of all places. Did you miss my expert administration? I shall remedy that.” He tsks, clicking his tongue as if chastising a child. “I can deny you nothing, after all.”

Luring him into the cell was an easy enough feat, but you’ve run out of time. Astarion can see, but by the way his eyes are narrowed, you don’t think completely.

“Astarion.” Tears slip out of your eyes as your fears well up. “Please come back. Don’t make me do this.”

He sneers with a wide, eerie Cheshire grin. “I am Astarion no longer, but you know that, don’t you? He drowns.” Astarion points to his head. “In here. I am devouring him, making him rot from the inside out until the pest is conveniently lost. I will exhaust his light. He slips away from you, even now.”

You lash out with the Weave, casting Hold, but he dodges your attack with a fleet movement to the side and slams into you before you have time to recover. You’re thrown to your stomach on the stone floor, his boot pressed into your back, leaning his weight on you.

“Stay,” he commands, and you’re immobilized as the compulsion branches out in your mind and twists through your muscles. You cannot see the self-satisfied smile on Astarion’s face, but it’s evident in his voice as he purrs. “Good girl.”

Astarion leans down, grabs Rhapsody from your hand, and chuckles. “We could have had it all, love. Power, wealth, pleasure — if only you would have just fallen in line, been obedient, but you were always an obstinate little cunt, weren’t you?”

Astarion lowers himself, sitting on your legs and squeezing your arms to your sides with his knees settled on either side of you. You cannot speak, and the only sounds that make it out of your mouth are strangled whimpers.

The pointed tip of Rhapsody presses into your back, not yet hard enough to break through skin, and you think you know what’s coming. He will plunge the dagger into your heart.

There would have been a time when your imminent demise would have brought you a sense of peace and relief. You’d sought an end to this nightmare often enough in the past year. Now, it’s only fear and the overwhelming feeling of failure that nestle in your chest.

You try to conjure up happy memories. Astarion’s face lighting up in camp when you walked toward him, the walks through the forest in the dappled moonlight, the way he would slip into your tent and cuddle you when he thought you were fast asleep.

You try to remember his eyes when he proposed, so vividly crimson, wistful, and happy. In that moment, you could have been just another madly in love couple. It all seemed so ordinary, so beautifully human, that you didn’t think about all that opposed the bright future he was offering.

I forgive you, you think, though the connection between you is sealed. I forgive you.

Thoughts move sluggishly through your head, as if getting caught on the sticky threads of spider webs. The cold metal bites into your skin. Slow and steady, Astarion carves into the flesh of your back with precise movements. The shock hits you first, realizing that he’s mimicking Cazador’s torture, and the pain soon follows. It feels obscure for a moment; your brain not able to conceptualize what’s happening.

The shock wanes, and the sensation strikes with an intensity that makes you almost lose consciousness. Your limbs itch to scramble as your brain wails at your body to thrash. When your muscles don’t comply, everything swims around you as your psyche dissolves.

“Ah-ah,” he tuts flatly as he focuses on the canvas before him. You can hear the blade cutting through your clothing, tearing and rending skin and muscles alike. “Stay with me, darling, and no going into shock either. I want you to feel the art of it.”

Astarion’s compulsion takes hold, and you’re alert, all your nerves aroused and buzzing back to life at his behest. It is a mind-obliterating kind of torture. If you were able to writhe, you’re not even sure your body would, as you lose sight of the ability to consider how to get it to stop. A bone-deep nausea overwhelms you, and your mind is seized by the white-hot agony mutilating your flesh.

He mumbles as he whittles away at your back. “I may not be the same man, but I do have most of his memories. Do you want to know a secret he keeps from you? Do you remember the first time we had sex in that forest? He loathed every second of it. Every one of your pretty little moans made him want to retch. It disgusted him — you disgusted him. How easy you were.”

The pain frays the edges of your mind as your husband, your lover, sketches a tapestry of heartache into you with his words and dagger. Every drag of the blade is like an artist's brushstroke, and your blood is the watercolour of his unspeakable masterpiece.

“Oh my,” he croons with feigned empathy. “Wherever are my manners? You may speak, my love.”

As soon as your lips are no longer stitched shut by his compulsion, an insensate wail erupts from your throat. It rebounds off the walls and echos, cutting through the silence like ghosts lamenting the torture this room has been witness to over the centuries.

Astarion still talks, but his words are just another hum flowing over your ears but never sinking in.

You don’t know what prompts you to laugh, but you do so bitterly and madly. Your own laughter is so hollow that, at first, you’re not sure if it is you until words start to form between the hysterical mirth. “I am fucking coming for you. I will defy the Gods to save him, and I cannot wait to make you choke on my light.”

The dagger punctures deeper, through muscle and into bone, you’re quite sure, and another hoarse, harrowing cry is loosed from your lips.

“Yes, sing.”

For me.

He’s said this to you many times in this room, a haunting mirror of Cazador, and you wait for him to finish, but nothing comes. The knife carving your back stills, and Astarion’s heartbeat goes from being steady and rhythmic to clattering with such intensity that you cannot tell if it’s skipping beats or beating so rapidly that the sound just merges into one thundering call.

“Illyria?” The blade buried deep in your muscles begins to tremble, no longer the steady-handed glide, and you wince as it vacillates your raw nerves. It clatters to the floor abruptly. “By the Gods. What have I done?”

Astarion throws himself off you, his back thudding into the back wall of the hellish cell so hard it knocks the breath from his lungs in a wheeze. The compulsion pales, receding from your mind, and your body shakes uncontrollably as shock starts to set in.

Your mind wants to slip away, your eyesight blurred by the tears welled in your eyes that you were unable to shed without permission, but you force yourself to focus. The muscles in your arms tremble violently as you aim to push yourself up to your feet, but you only make it to your knees before the pain makes your body wrack, dry heaving between fitful sobs.

A noise between a croak and a gasp hiccups from Astarion. When you look up at him, his eyes are wide with horror. His hand covers his mouth, and his still-flickering eyes brim with tears. You stare at him, wanting to speak and tell him it’s okay, but instead you ravenously take in every feature of your Astarion to try to rid yourself of the cold countenance of the man who flayed your back. Your eyes focus on every soft feature, on the lustre of those wide, mortified eyes and the rampant fear in them.

You have not yet decided if you want to run from him or crawl into his arms, kiss him, hold him, and tell him everything will be okay, but his eyes still rock between dimness and lucidity.

“Stay with me, Astarion,” you choke out, begging him not to go, but he doesn’t seem to hear you.

“Oh Gods. Oh Gods.” His voice breaks, cracking and tight with emotion.

Astarion looks around frantically, and you see the recognition of this room, but also the confusion with the concrete walls and barred door surrounding him. He may never have seen this cage, or if he did, you imagine he would not know what purpose it served.

He’s unsteady on his feet as he reaches for the shackles hanging from the wall and snaps them around his wrist, clicking each padlock into place with a hiss as the silver manacles burn his skin.

“You have to get away from me. I will kill you. The darkness, I cannot walk away. I am—“

You see the moment he loses himself again, the flickering light in his eyes dying out like a cooling ember. You grab the dagger, stumble out of the cage, and slam the door closed. You remove the scroll from your pocket and unravel the parchment with shaking fingers, leaving bloody prints all along the edges.

The incantation flows quickly, but precisely, off your tongue as you recite it. The words glow golden, float into the air, and the scroll vanishes. The blue-white shimmer of Arcane Lock encompasses the cell door.

Astarion hauls on the restraints, testing their strength with a calculating look at the locks. The shackles are made for you, thick chains braided together to make sure you could not escape, and locks too complex for any spell. The silver in the manacles is meant to weaken, but there’s no knowing if it will affect him in the same way it did you. He observes the incandescence pulsing around the door.

His deathly, cold eyes peer at you through the darkness. “Clever, clever girl. What’s to stop me from just compelling you to dispel it?”

“You’re welcome to try, but it won’t work. Only a Wizard has the ability to suppress this spell.” Your silver tongue lies perfectly and effortlessly.

A silence stretches out between you for what feels like an eternity before he sinks into the darkness of the cell. His voice is unnerving. “It’s only a matter of time before I get free. Enjoy what little time remains of your life.”

You nod curtly and stride out of the room. Closing the door to the kennels, you bolt through the halls to Astarion’s old study and pull out all the drawers until you find the ring of keys that he kept well away from you. You descend the stairs back down into the hall, terrified that you will see Astarion standing in the dark, but it remains empty. You shove keys shakily into the lock until one finally spins with a satisfying click.

It’s a pointless endeavour. If Astarion escapes, he can break the door down, but it gives you some small sense of comfort to know there’s another barrier between you and that monster wearing Astarion’s face.

You’re not sure what you will do if he gets curious and compels you to let him go. There was no time to plan quite that far in advance, but for now, he seems to have accepted that you cannot dispel it.

You can do nothing but pray that his ignorance of the arcane arts still holds true.

The walls themselves seem to brood at your presence and press in on you. You drop to your knees on the floor, and the open wounds on your back flood you with fresh agony with every movement. You would whimper, perhaps scream, but the thought of giving Astarion the satisfaction makes you grind your teeth and dive deep into the solitude and silence.

The silver shackles burn your wrists and ankles and drain your strength. The rough stone blocks grate at the skin on your back like sandpaper, but at this point, it’s almost a welcome sensation.

How long have you been shackled now? Weeks? Months? You cannot seem to keep your grip on reality these days. Sometimes you think you hear voices outside of your cage in the darkness. Seven thousand souls tell you that you deserve this, that you brought this upon yourself, and that you should rot in here for eternity as they will rot in the Hells. All true, true, true, you think, and you let it hurt until that too stops.

Hunger has become an all-consuming, mind-numbing pain. Bloodlust is such a complex patchwork of sensations. It is a pain of pressure, of maturing, of constantly growing larger, larger, larger until your limbs cramp and jerk. You want nothing more than to die before your body can twist itself into excruciating positions and lock up on you, and even then, the hunger grows.

You cannot die from starvation any longer. This pain will only ever increase. Every second, the burbling acid in your stomach seems to burn hotter in the pit, an agony that often makes you whimper and weep.

At least you are not entirely alone. You can hear the bugs, feel them clambering against your naked skin. Sometimes they are light; others are heavier, with chitinous shells and legs that prick. They chitter and clatter their pincers together. Sometimes they bite between your toes, climb over your face, and through your hair. You don’t have the energy to brush them away, and so you don’t.

You have not yet decided if you might try eating them.

You haven’t moved — not so much as a twitch of a finger — in what must be weeks. It goes on and on and on until you’re very sure that this is all you will ever know for the rest of your immortal life.

Hunger, pain, loneliness, and bugs.

And then you hear the lock click, and you squint your eyes against the dim light of the candle that is set just out of your reach. You smell brandy and rosemary, and your lower lip quivers. You bite it to stop it from giving away your emotions.

“Don’t do that.” Astarion says, “Is that how you want me to see you for the first time in weeks, pet? Weak?”

Weeks… Is that all it’s been? It felt like years.

You hate that you are relieved to see him, happy to hear the devil's voice, and smell home, even if this home burns down around you even now.

Astarion grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger and forces you to look into his dead eyes. “I bet you’re starving. Hm?” He grins sadistically, turning it into a fake pout. “I do not like to see that look upon your face. Worry not. I’ve brought you dinner.”

He twists and grabs a silver bucket, turning it over and letting a dead, decaying rat splat on the floor beside you. Your nose wrinkles at the smell of it. It’s been dead for some time, and you can see and hear the maggots writhing underneath its rotting pelt.

But Gods, you are so hungry.

When you don’t immediately go for the rat, Astarion grabs your restraints and tugs hard, making your raw, blistered wrist light ablaze, and you whimper. “What? Not good enough? You ungrateful bitch. I lived on this diet for two hundred years.”

He kicks the rat forward. “Eat it. Now.”

“Please,” you croak weakly. Your voice has not been used in a while, and it sounds odd in your ears. “Please, Astarion. Don’t do this. I’ll behave. I’ll do whatever you want, but please.”

“I said.” Astarion grabs a fistful of your hair and shoves your face in the mushy corpse, rubbing your nose in it like a pup who has had an accident in the house. “Fucking eat it.”

With its putrid guts already spread across your face, you sob as you bite down into it, your fangs sinking into fetid flesh and stinking muscles, and feed.

It is worse than you thought it ever could be. Your mouth is filled with bits of congealed blood, but mostly puss and death and decay, and you swallow it down because you have no other choice.

“Gods,” Astarion grunts with his lips curled in disgust. “Hush now. You are terribly ugly when you cry, darling.”

You don’t dare trance and instead remain still and soundless, with only the pain igniting your being keeping you company. Fear keeps you rooted to the floor on your knees. Fear that if you leave, he will not be here when you return. Fear that if you dare move, he will strike from the shadows. Fear that you wasted too much time, and he is truly gone.

Fear. Fear. Fear.

Fear so sharp that you can feel it enclosing around you, squeezing the air from your lungs, making it feel incomprehensibly thin. Even though you do not need it, you try to gulp it down in shallow breaths, but there is no relief from the fear or the depravation that still strangles you.

You long to feel the connection with Astarion so you can stop feeling so boundlessly empty and alone. How easily you can get used to having another presence always at the back of your mind. It was comforting to know he was always there, nothing more than a thought or feeling away, but now that comfort too has been ripped away.

Sometimes you think you feel him touching your mind, but the sensation is fickle, like the wings of an insect tickling with soft, fluttering whispers.

There is no time to remain in this state of dejection, and yet you wallow in it. Perhaps you should not have told him, and this is your fault, but perhaps it was only a matter of time.

Nothing good ever seems to last.

You need help, but anyone who aids you will be in grave peril. Getting to your feet is a monumental effort; the scabs of the raw mosaic on your back split and reopen anew. You wonder what he sculpted into your flesh. What scars will you carry for eternity? It’s not like you will ever be able to see them, but maybe that’s a blessing.

You let yourself back into the kennels and force yourself to face him. There is a fleeting hope that when you light the candles, your husband's warm scarlet eyes will be what you see, but that, too, is another disappointment.

Astarion’s eyes remain almost matte, like once-polished rubies forgotten and dulled by the patina of time.

He sits on the floor, his arms resting on his bent knees, and watches you with a keenness that makes you shudder. You hold his stare. You will not be shy or meek. You cannot afford to show such weakness.

“Why?” Your voice is hoarse, clipped, and unsteady.

“Why what, pet?”

You ask the question that’s been plaguing your mind since you walked out of this wretched place — since he allowed you to walk out of this place. “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“Last night?” He snickers. “I wanted to hear your angelic cries once more before I—“

“No,” you bark, cutting him off. “Not last night. Why didn’t you kill me before? You had every opportunity. There was no one here to stop you.”

Astarion leans forward, making the chains rattle. There is a gleam in his eye, those perfect lips pulling back into a cruel smile. “Because I love you, of course.”

You almost want to laugh, as if he’s just told you a hilarious joke, but there is a resoluteness in his voice, a matter-of-fact intonation, that tells you that this is a truth to some extent.

Even this version of him, this soulless, fragmented rendition, loves you in his own twisted way.

It also indicates what you fear most: that this monster before you is still Astarion, and the only thing that stands between your Astarion and this one is the tattered remains of whatever is left of his soul.

If you fail in your quest and run out of time, this hateful, power-hungry savage will replace the man you knew. What would you do? Every atom of your being longs for him. If you cannot be his saviour, will you languish in the dark with him if only to keep him company? Would you be capable of hating him — killing him — if need be?

You wish to believe yourself resilient enough to roll your betrayal, sadness, and anger into loathing to release you from this self-flagellating love, but you know you will never be able to. There is still a soft part of your heart harbouring hope that if you keep getting up every time he knocks you down, if you keep fighting, there might be a happy ending at the end of this cluster fuck.

Or perhaps it is only your ending that awaits you at the finish line.

“That was quite a fancy trick,” Astarion drones, tearing you away from your thoughts. “Blinding me.”

You don’t bother answering before leaving him alone, locking the door uselessly behind you once again, and making your way to the main floor of the palace. The dust has settled in a thick blanket on the furniture, with cobwebs stretching out in every corner and between the slender candles in their opulent candelabra. It makes the atmosphere of this palace of nightmares all the more foreboding.

“Mizora!” You call out, knowing the cambion is ever watchful.

The air heats, smelling of sulphur and brimstone, and the oily blot opens up on the floor. Mizora’s fluid form arises, wings unfurling with her usual flair.

“That was quite the show last night.” She smirks with fangs peeking out of her lips. “Stupid, pet. Very stupid.” She sports a faux pout. “I thought you much wiser.”

“I’m not interested in your chastisement.” You cross your arms and immediately regret the way your shoulder blades stretch your injured skin, bringing fresh tears to your eyes. “Tell Shadowheart to meet me here.”

“What do I look like to you? A messenger pigeon?” Mizora tsks haughtily.

“If you want me to kennel Mephistopheles, you’re going to do as requested.”

Mizora huffs indignantly, stretching her wings out and jutting her chin up. You stare at her unyieldingly, not allowing your face to display your uncertainty, pain, or fear.

“Fine. Fine.” She huffs, waggling her clawed fingers at you. “I will fetch your darling little Cleric.”

Once Mizora disperses, you head straight for the library. It’s one of the bigger rooms, lined with floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookcases that are brimming with all kinds of tomes and books, ranging in age from new to ancient. Your fingers and eyes flit over the titles as quickly as you can, looking for anything even remotely related to infernal contracts, deals with devils, the nine Hells themselves, or arch devils.

The knock on the palace door makes you jump, and you are cautious as you make your way through the latticework of halls and corridors, trying to light candles as you go so that the palace is less oppressive.

Unsurprisingly, it does little to help.

When you finally tug the door open, you stay carefully behind it because you’re not sure if your sun protection has been rescinded, and you’re not interested in finding out. Shadowheart is waiting with her armour and weapons, arms crossed, and tapping her foot in the way she does when she’s either irritated or worried.

“You sent Mizora to fetch me? What in the blazing Hells is going on?” She strides into the palace, dropping her pack at her feet and putting her hands on her hips. “Why are we here, and where’s Astarion?”

Once the heavy door is shut and locked, you come out of the shadows where you’ve been hiding it. Even though you try to swallow them, tears weep from your eyes. “Astarion is downstairs. He’s locked up in the kennels.”

“Locked in the kennels?”

Shadowheart finally turns to look at you, and her stern expression vanishes. Her brows round, her eyes widen, and she pulls you into a hug, unaware of the wounds on your back. You wince as her arm folds over the barely healed lacerations. Shadowheart tries to jump away when she feels the cool wetness of your blood against her hand, but you mutter pleas to stay.

Eventually, when the bloodlust threatens to overwhelm, you let Shadowheart go. She stares at her blood-dappled hands and back at you.

“Show me.” She instructs, but you hesitate. You don’t want to show her this. She might not be able to forgive Astarion, and if that’s the case, she might be more likely to try and kill him than help you save him. “Turn around, Illyria.”

You do so slowly, with your head hung in defeat. Shadowheart’s heartbeat increases, and she gasps.

“By the Gods! Did he do this to you!? Did that monster finally show his true colours?!”

“You don’t understand,” you say quietly. “It’s not his fault. It’s not him.”

“We have to get you cleaned up, and then I’m going to fucking kill him.”

“No!” You yell, grasping her forearms and falling to your knees to beg. "Please, before you make any judgments on him, hear me out. Please, Shadowheart.”

“I... Ugh. Fine. Take off your shirt. We have to clean your wounds. Do you have any clothes here?”

“Astarion might,” you mutter. “I can go look up in his room for something.”

Shadowheart helps you carefully pull your shirt off, but it seems almost melded to your body, and it peels off some of the formed scabs as well. You can feel the blood dribble down your back. It scents the air with a coppery perfume, which makes your bloodlust surge.

Shadowheart is quiet while she works on patting your wounds as gently as she can, trying to clean them, and using her healing magic again and again and again.

You don’t have the heart to tell her which blade these were made with and why they will not heal.

“These are not healing well.” She comments, almost perplexed.

“They will heal in time.”

Shadowheart accompanies you to Astarion’s old room, and you pull out drawers only to find most of them empty. The various wardrobes are the same, but you do manage to find one shirt that still resides here, apparently not good enough to be packed and taken with the others.

His old camp shirt.

You slip it on; at least the fabric is soft and does not get caught on your wounds. It is, of course, much too large for you and likely looks beyond ridiculous, but it’s something at least.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Shadowheart says softly, her usual prickly demeanour nowhere to be seen.

So you do. You explain it all from top to bottom and back again. You tell Shadowheart about the way his mind sounds if you use Detect Thoughts; tell her about the version of him that lurks within; and about Mizora and Mephistopheles.

You conveniently leave out the marriage proposal.

“Hells!” Shadowheart rubs her face. “I knew there was something we didn’t know about that godsforsaken Rite. Fuck. We were such fools. So the man in the kennels, the man that did that to you, is not Astarion?”

She means that you were a fool, but it matters not.

“He is Astarion,” you answer. “But he’s a version of Astarion that’s been corrupted. He’s not the Astarion we know.”

“I want to see him - this version of him.”

“It’s not a good idea.” You shake your head. “I don’t actually know how long it will hold him.”

“How are we going to get our Astarion back?” Shadowheart says. “What’s brought him back before?”

“Me,” you say, sitting and combing your fingers through your hair. “It’s usually me, but this time seems different. He came back for a moment, but he was gone again quickly.”

“We’ll get him back, Illyria.” Shadowheart says it with a smile, but it’s forced. She squeezes your shoulder. “We will find a way, or he will.”

You nod, “Until then, we need to learn everything we can about infernal contracts and how to negotiate them.” You rise from the chair with renewed determination. “I pulled some books from the library already. We can start there unless you know where to acquire more specific books.”

“What do you mean negotiate them?” Shadowheart retorts with her brows pinched. “Don’t we want to destroy the contract? I very much doubt Mephistopheles will be willing to renegotiate if it means putting a muzzle on him.”

“Who said anything about Mephistopheles?” You grin wolfishly. “I’m going to negotiate new terms with the Lord of Lies.”

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. Your support gives me the motivation to keep this fic going.

AO3 [Crossposted]

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:

It's been a while since we’ve seen this version of Astarion... We need our Astarion back!

Tiamat - Real or hallucination?

Lord of Lies - Bad idea? Most likely...

Posting a day early because it's my birthday tomorrow, and I'm not sure how drunk I'll be by the end of the day 🤣

#ascended astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x you #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion smut #astarion baldurs gate #astarion bg #astarion bg3 #fangs and fractured hearts #astarion x oc #astarion ancunin #astarion x named tav

67 notes · View notes

orionremastered · 22 days

Note

oml, so I saw the post about the shape shifter golden tiger and I absolutely loved it. I was just wondering if you could do one where the reader is a panther!shapshifter instead. Another big cat, maybe just smaller than the tiger but they are way for flexible, agile and stealthy (got me thinking of Bageera from Jungle book) so imagine how everyone reacts when this panther is just roaming around Gotham city. (And maybe Robin could get to pet this one since he didn't get to pet the golden tiger)

Kisses >3<♥️🧡💛💙

Masterlist

Wraith

"You're too young! You're not ready to go out into the real world."

You're an early maturing shifter at the age of fourteen, not the common age of eighteen that most shifters mature at. But your parents wouldn't budge, and it pissed you off.

So you snuck out like every teenager does. Out to the port, watching a cargo ship unload containers into trucks in the low light of nighttime.

You blend in with the shadows, watching the common event with fascination. You've never seen anything like this before, people just going about their daily lives and experiencing the same things as you.

Fascinating.

You're enjoying it, the peaceful moment with the sea breeze bringing the smell of salt to your strong nose. It's short-lived as the sharp bang of fire startles you into action. Port workers collapse on themselves as a group masked and dressed in black rush in and converge on a single shipping container.

Shit.

You jump into action despite your parents' warning of staying far out of trouble, taking down one of the men quickly and returning to the shadows in an instant.

"What was that?"

"Golden? The Bat?"

You launch at another unsuspecting thug, clawing at his neck before scampering back to the shadows once he swiftly goes limp. The other two remaining look around wildly, guns waving around. Just when you think they've found you and are about to shoot, a high-pitched whistling sound whips past you and lands in the form of a batarang, lodging into one of their hands.

He screams and drops the gun, allowing you to pounce and take the last one out.

The only sounds that fill your ears are the quiet musings of the dark sea, slowly churning around the port deck as it moves towards the sands.

"Another shifter?"

You raise your head, blinking slowly as you watch Spoiler appear from the shadows.

"A panther this time... huh." She creeps closer and smiles when you allow her to scratch behind your ear. Then she says something into her comms. "How about we see what they were trying to steal."

The two of you slowly approach the shipping container, dented with bullets that have melted off the blue (and already scratched) paint. Spoiler hauls the door open and you can see what's inside before she even pulls the flashlight from her utility belt.

Unmarked, unnamed crates.

You walk over to one of them and take a careful sniff, nose scrunching at the chemical smell. You let out an annoyed growl and Spoiler laughs. "Doesn't smell good?"

She pries the crate open and you stand your front paws on the rim.

Rows and rows of vials with pale blue liquid. You look at Spoiler and she shrugs.

"I'll have to get these tested," she says, taking one from the crate and handling it gently. "The GCPD can take the rest."

She gives you a gentle pat on the head. "See you around, uh, Ghost? No, Wraith. Wraith's better."

You nod your head, flick your tail, exit the shipping container and melt back into the shadows of the port. Your parents will kill you if you're tired in the morning.

Spoiler sighs as she watches you leave. "It's like there's a new one every day."

#batfam #batfamily x reader #batfamily #spoiler x reader #x reader #spoiler dc #stephanie brown

75 notes · View notes

ftvs-cm45 · 5 months

Text

NEW Whaiths

The season 2 finale is gonna be so colorful!!

#disney #the ghost and molly mcgee #tgamm season 2 #tgamm spoilers #molly mcgee #scratch #tgamm scratch #libby stein torres #darryl mcgee #ollie chen #june chen #ghosts #wraith #green #blue #magenta #orange #red

20 notes · View notes

chernabogs · 7 months

Text

Stasis

Inc: Lilia, Malleus (egg), Maleficia WC: 2k Warnings: C7 spoilers (heavy), discussions of death/rot Summary: To wrap that child in his magic, to lull him into a gentle rest until the time is right and he can come into a world where he knows no death—is that not the greatest act of kindness? The greatest act of love? (i wrote this then went a lil goofy)

There is a glorification of dying in battle that is so deeply ingrained in their culture, that one would think it was woven in with the clay and the magic that was used to create them. It’s as though the gods, when their hands were forming mouths to scream and eyes to weep, asked those very first Fae;

so, how shall you decay? how shall you crumble to these foundations, of which I build you on so gently?

And when the Fae did not speak—for voices had not yet been given—those very same creators deemed that only through sword and through arrow could a noble death be found. Perhaps that is why they failed to grant immunity to those who were expunged from the Otherworld—discarded to the realms of man like naked, starving wraiths, scrambling in the shadows to build up the foundations of life in a mockery of their own creation.

The descendants of that first generation feast off the bounty of those struggles with a never satiated hunger. Lilia knows; he bore witness to it first-hand in youth. Tattered memories remain in the scarce edges of his mind of who the two that raised him were before the collapse. There are moments by the ocean, where baby-blue waves kiss pale feet and sand dots raven hair, and there are moments in the night, where a large hand holds his own as he looks up to the stars that represent the Fae long passed.

These are marred by the aftermath of greed. Rather than sand dotting raven hair, it becomes bone fragments, with red waves now kissing pale feet instead. A large hand is stiff and cold in his own as he looks at a slack-jawed face with half-hooded eyes that are as blue now and as bright as the stars he once admired. He cannot recall how long he sat there—perhaps until the pungent smell of rot finally drove him to leave.

They did not have a noble death. They went like a cacophony, screaming and begging until those sounds were silenced by a singular fracture to a fragile bone.

There is a glorification of dying in battle.

Perhaps this is why she decides it will be the way she goes. She has always burned so brilliantly, her light engulfing every space she enters and drawing the masses to her. But those who burn so bright are blind to the way that brilliance consumes their flesh as well, and he knows it’s this mindset that drives her to the end—although he will never admit it aloud.

But it’s the silence after the end that’s the worst. The family is granted the right to see the body first—now that the body has been retrieved, of course—and he’s blessed that Maleficia considers him family enough. The grand chamber of Black Scale Palace is uncannily silent and therefore makes the steps he takes sound like thunder rumbling across the stone. He spies the egg in her arms, cradled close to her chest as her hand runs a slow, soothing motion over its mottled shell. It shouldn’t be mottled—but he wagers that the trauma of the past few days has done a degree of damage, even if small.

“They did their best.” Maleficia’s voice is quiet as he stops a few feet back. It isn’t out of courtesy—he’s invaded her space many times before—but more out of fear. He does not want to see the body he knows is lying in the stone tomb just ahead. “There was not much to salvage, though.”

“They left her there for days.” Lilia’s voice sounds foreign to himself as he clasps his hands tightly behind his back. It had been a hard-fought battle (were they not all hard fought?) to retrieve those remains. They had been rotting on the bridge in the meantime—Heinrich’s additional snub to the royal family. He pauses for a moment before tentatively asking, “To what extent was the damage?”

Maleficia is silent for a moment longer as her hand slowly strokes the eggshell. Lilia considers that she’s doing it more to comfort herself than the child within. “They took her horns, in addition to a few other parts.”

The statement turns over in Lilia’s mind as he finally takes those last few steps closer. He draws to a stop next to Maleficia, glancing up at her towering form for only a scarce moment, before forcing his gaze down to the body before them.

They had wrapped her in a shroud. The white fabric sits oddly on her, and he can see truth in the Queen’s words—there are no horns to be covered. Instead, the crown she would have worn upon ascending is resting upon her brow, and the torc around her neck holds the shroud fast in position. He cannot smell rot due to the excess of roses put in the tomb as well, and yet the sickly sweet scent still makes his stomach turn, still makes him draw back.

The last time he had seen her she had been lively, throwing her egg to him and laughing as she prepared to dispatch those who dared defy her. Now there is an eerie stillness about her that is unbecoming of who Meleanor Draconia is. His gaze draws down the length of her body, at the plain white robe they dressed her in, and the hands that are folded over her abdomen. Her skin is gray, and he can see where the funerary workers attempted to conceal the spots of decay already taking place.

People often believe that, when a Fae dies, they return to the clay and the magic that had crafted them. Lilia remembers the two who raised him telling him tall tales such as that, until their bodies had begun to turn to sludge and he realized that there was no clay, or magic, or grand departure at all. The Fae are no better than humans when it comes to death—all rot and gas and empty spaces in the hearts of the living.

“We cannot permit this to continue. We cannot lose anyone else.” Maleficia’s voice draws his attention once more as he looks up to her. Despite the stoic expression on her face, he can see exhaustion in her bloodshot gaze. She looks to be both a queen and a woman who has gone through hell in the past few weeks. To have lost a daughter, a son, and to be holding your entire world in your arms with no reassurance of its survival…

He feels his throat tighten. No.He has shed his tears already in the darkness of the barracks, the burning sting of alcohol and a frigid metal mug as his only companions. He cannot fall before her because he cannot allow her to see all that she has left crumble. He digs his nails into his palms and ignores the way this may draw blood as he looks back to the body.

Quiet. So quiet.

And then… an idea. Perhaps outrageous, perhaps suicidal, but perhaps also the most efficient idea they have. The mottled egg in the queen's arms retains its faint, magical glow—the dimming powers of its parent’s love—and Lilia feels a pull to preserve that for as long as he can. He did not care for children, but he did care—does care—for Meleanor and Levan.

So, he speaks.

“We cannot let it hatch.” His voice is blunt and dry as he looks at the egg. It quivers, as though hearing the weight behind his words, as Maleficia’s hold on it tightens. She doesn’t immediately object. Instead, she frowns.

“Speak.” She commands, and he does.

“Raising an heir in these conditions would be nothing short of damnation. We know not of how long this will drag on for, nor what the end will be. If we can keep the heir—keep Malleus—in his egg, preserve him until it is safe enough for him to be raised...” Lilia’s voice trails off as Maleficia continues to observe him dispassionately. Her hand does still in consideration, however.

“Like a sleep.” She hums softly, the motion then resuming. “A peaceful sleep, full of lullabies and warmth, until it is safe enough for him to greet the world. Much akin to what the Thorn Witch did, no?”

Lilia nods at her words. “Precisely. A stasis position until we are sure nothing will befall him... nor will he be dragged into conflict. I speak for us both when I say we are tired of witnessing our loved ones in conflict.”

Maleficia does not reply immediately as she continues to stare at her daughter’s body. The empty tomb next to her full one, meant to resemble the husband who is presumed to have been lost as well, speaks loud in the absence of sound.

“It will require a tremendous amount of power.” She finally adds. “Power I cannot give just yet. There is too much happening right now for me to split myself in such a manner.”

Lilia knew she would say as much before the words even left her lips. She is now the sole royal remaining in Briar Valley; even with the support of other Fae, all is on her shoulders at this moment. The well-being of the nocturnal Fae, the preservation of their lands, the concerns of the colonizing happening on the shores. She is drawn so thin that she is fraying at the very seams.

“Is it not fortunate,” he muses quietly, hands still clasped behind his back, nails still digging in his palms. He can feel warm liquid smearing his skin. “That you have me?”

Green eyes snap towards him with an expression of both outrage and shock, the most emotive he has seen her for a while. It then smooths over to composed indifference once more as she takes a levelled breath. “You do not owe that.”

“It was by my absence she fell.” He replies tersely, knowing this is a lie. He had fought tooth and nail to try and stay with Meleanor, but she had driven him back with lightning and taunts, forcing him to swear to protect her son. He is protecting her son by doing this. To wrap that child in his magic, to lull him into a gentle rest until the time is right and he can come into a world where he knows no death—is that not the greatest act of kindness? The greatest act of love?

So, he fibs, if not just a little. “Permit me to do this. For her, and for him.”

There’s a vagueness in who he means by him. Maleficia looks upon him for a long moment as he lowers his gaze to the onyx floors beneath their feet. For a moment he fears that she will strike him down as her daughter had done so often, until he hears shifting, and she extends the egg she’s been cradling so possessively towards him.

“Take the... take Malleus, to the lower chambers. Do as you must, as I will not burden you with the consequences—for I presume you have thought on this quite extensively already.”

He looks up to her. The face he had seen many times now since she pulled him off the streets and into her home is fracturing, with traces of sorrow beginning to show. She has always been vulnerable to him, to her daughter, and he knows it to be a rare privilege. He extends his hands and takes the egg, his bloody palms soaking its black surface.

“I swear to you—” he begins, but she cuts him off as she turns away.

“You have given enough to me. More than I have the right to take.” Her voice is cold and formal again as he nods, giving her a low bow before beginning to leave. As he does, she speaks up once more, her tone quieter now than before. “She went a noble death. They both did.”

Lilia pauses as the words play in his mind and his grip tightens around the egg. He can feel its warmth, as though he can feel her love through it, before he leaves that sickly-sweet smelling chamber without a backwards glance.

#lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #twst #twst spoilers #twst fanfiction #im just super ill abt all of this #malleus draconia #maleficia draconia #anyway stan maleficia we love a grandma

92 notes · View notes

yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere · 1 year

Video

after s2/THOUGHTS-instagram post BELOW:(later on my ig post after s1 +my grishaverse show 1 year anniversary ig post with lots of edits♥)

https://www.instagram.com/p/Cp7oZkRIbVL/

body > iframe { min-width: auto !important }

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by 𝑠𝑎𝑔𝑒| a&f 2️⃣3️⃣ (@gretasag)

! afterS/(*spoilers)/

#grishaverse #ShadowAndBone #ShadowAndBoneSeason2 #ShadowAndBone2 #SixOfCrows @ shadowandbone @ netflix @ netflixgeeked #MALINA #WESPER #HELNIK #KANEJ #GENYADAVID #GENYALINA

♥no words,no edits,no pictures will express my feelings right. I'm just so grateful and i can't believe it's truly real&i don't take any of this for granted/it means more than any of us will ever be able to say/all queer ppl,the lgbtq+ ppl,the neurodivergent ppl,ADHD&Dyslexia+so many many more ppl,the survivors of SA/of abuse of any kind. people who KNOW how important the found family is. people who know grief&loss. ppl who found comfort&safe home&so much love with/in this universe/these books/these characters/this fandom/this cast/THIS found fam/ppl who see themselves in these fictional ppl, fictional ppl who're holding our hands like real friends would/AND THEY ARE ALL FINALLY HERE.on our screens-netflix show/teenage me would NEVER think that the very first queer couple i've ever read about thinking 'wow,they're so cool,why MORE books can't be like this?'AND one of my most beloved YA bookseries could truly *really* be here-it means THE WORLD. it means EVERYTHING to have my favorite ppl on screen now as a young adult brought to life by this INCREDIBLE actors who CARE SO MUCH abt the books&characters they play. We're all so lucky to have them in our grishaverse fam. We're so lucky to have THIS SHOW to help us walk through so much of very dark and hard things in our lives.+pandemic?lockdown? another war-this time in Europe? I feel BEYOND grateful to be here will all of you, through every social app we can reach one another, from so many places all around the world and to KNOW this show and these people-fictional/real mean just as much to you♥

our queen @ lbardugo so many of us and so much of everything wouldn't be here without you. We love you forever.

some of us waited for MALINA winning against TheDarkling since2012. For our crows together as a group since2015. We have SO MUCH with s2. All book quotes&scenes that make us feel so much. none of that would be possible without our WONDERFUL cast(+everyone behind the camera from the crew)

our favorite sunshine+most badass grisha sun queen @ jessie_mei_li our THE BEST tracker @ archierenaux3 our shadow man who is nothing irl like the character he plays @ benbarnes our AMAZING #DaisyHead @ daisymayhead have you seen s2? Where is her EMMY? our queen in blue the one and only @ sujaya_dasgupta our unhinged crows leader @ freddycarter1 our THE BEST+most stylish sharpshooter @ kittheyounger AND our-or maybe just mine-favorite favorite favorite crow forever my underestimated badass demolitions expert @ jacktwolfe +our entire fandom parents and the only jack&rose TITANIC we know-our HELNIK @ daniellegalligan_ @ calahan.skogman +our queen of KetterDAMN the best Wraith forever @ amitasuman_

i missed Fedyor&Ivan this season @ juliankostov @ simonsears and Mal's pals @ anguscastledoughty @ andyburse1 but i LOVED more of my beloved David @ lucapasqualino + so badass and yet so full of heart our twins duo @ lewistanofficial @ longbrophy and our Sturmhond/King Nikolai @ paddygibson so much love for Nadia&Adrik @ missjoanna_rose @ alistair.nwachukwu +Dominik @ louisboyer

!! LINKS and CREDITS for this post:

after s1: https://instagram.com/p/CODgAnQr2XZ/

one year annivers: https://instagram.com/p/Cb7CdmfI-W1/

1. Grishaverse-CAST-my whole heart-twt messrxmoony

2. cast sings every time we touch+crows dancing+THIS CAST s2 wrapped- ig gossamer x

3. CHARACTERS-soldier poet -king -ig wespcr

4. no not just girls early March2023 wesper edit tiktok COME AND GET UR LOVE+ x2 FIRST WESPER edits i saw in Jan2022 after W casting ig wespcr + FIRST WESPER EDIT i've ever seen ig mrsblakex

5. Wesper-heart-eyes + about you twt edits x2

6. Malina- out of the woods + kiss it better baby x2 twt edits

7. SAB posts Feb21-2023-meet Wylan vid + GRISHA WOMEN ig wespcr +Helnik-Dani-Cal-tt dailywesper-in another life/ our parents, our jack/rose titanic we know/our fav enemiestolovers /happy edit bc helnik is still alive and fighting in the show

8. HELNIK treacherous twt -elizaxonly + enemy twt loveforcaptnswn

9. s1 edit genyakostyk--we re gonna need a miracle or two (Alina,Mal,Jes this vid really shows)

10. thanks NetflixGeeked-if SAB was a 90s show makes me laugh always.

honorable mentions of s2 really quick(not in any order)

-longer episodes

-all book quotes/scenes(fav quotes listed down somewhere)

-malina being malina

-5/6 crows is a BIG WIN anyway

-ep7, Freddy what is this fun surprise for book fans-it can be so MANY things!

-showing WYLAN's relationship with his father without actually showing it/his relationship with piano!/+how they handled showing he can't read./+his wonder and his awe and his chaotic and his talking back and-just his whole character and personality. So well done.(also when Kaz says 'Any questions?' Wylan wanted to ask 'What am I doing here?' but thought better of it.)

-ruthless Kaz winning The Dregs and Per Haskell over

- Kaz's past+trauma

-Jes's past+trauma

-Jesper in kilt throughout ep5,6,7,8-through ShuHan, saying something stupid, the fight with real Sankta N, then becoming THE ONE she chose to give the blade to, hallucination of his Mom, that little fight with Wylan, the deeper conversation with Wylan, running our of Sankta N place and giving Inej the blade, chasing after Wylan, kissing Wylan, getting back to save Ravka's king's life and fighting with that scary grisha while also making full realization that being a durast is a blessing not a curse, while also realizing Wylan helped him to understand that, through almost dying(again), going into the fold, reuniting with everyone and yeah basically saving the world. I guess everyone had the same clothes but Jes was in kilt in SO MANY PLACES like the weather? Wasn't he cold? What if he had to go to Fjerda as well? ALL IN KILT? Jesper Fahey, we love you.

- WESPER truly one of the best this season, because they were so safe while everything else was well.. scary or terrifying or heartbreaking or triggering or else. Darkling's grisha army? Scary. Rollins basically becoming the ruler of Hellgate? Terrifying. So many of my beloved people dying or almost dying? And then there's WESPER just being Wesper and my queer heart loved that. I've waited for so long to see them on screen. And as i think every other book reader i was.. SURPRISED no SHOCKED because i knew Wylan won't be 16 but somehow in my brain i didn't think adult wesper will be really well adult wesper. So i had to pause MANY TIMES bc wait they did what.. wait they kissed?.. wait they kissed again?.. after i saw them in bed together waking up and Kaz being Kaz i think i stopped pausing BECAUSE this is WESPER. and i can see how so many of you friends dont know how to feel with crooked kingdom parts in this season or Kanej getting closer or Wesper being this close already or the way Wesper met and all i can is that.. we want the crows yes? We want Kaz's past? Well then these characters are who we know-they just GET MORE AND MORE CLOSE every time they can, they are together so they grow closer. Both Kanej and Wesper. Because if they didn't-they wouldnt really be our kanej and wesper.. also truly Kaz's trauma and past haunts him and you really think he can somehow NOT decide to get revenge on Pekka right away? Brick by Brick, no matter the cost? We have the crows and they have each other and they feel things and there's no way they couldn't. That being said quickly abt Wesper.. i guess personally i need more teasing and the banter and the flirting and the slowburn just all that book wesper had before they got THERE where in so many ways show Wesper already is. They met they got to know each other went through some horrible adventures together discovered they like one another and then decided to move together after like weeks?months? of knowing each other? That's book wesper. But NO i dont think show Wesper is that different the core of Wesper is there(and for all upset people the 'Do the Shu not kiss before noon?' can still happen because even if Jes will know Wylan better he could so easily get overwhelmed by the world and do stupid things you know?-I'm not sure if this is a joke or not but yup) Because i had DAYS to think about it and this is exactly how more adult Wesper could act. How Kaz would act around them. I understand some of you may be not so happy with the beginning since there was no "You can't kiss me from down there, Wylan" before Jes understood Wy is an epic demolitions man and no "No. Not just girls" scene before they even kissed (so grateful Jack and Kit did that for us in that interview and SO GRATEFUL that Kit said Jes is bi-because there're still people out there who don't acknowledge that and it hurts. But that interview means THE WORLD to me.) But yes, so many book quotes that now won't work. For both Wesper and Kanej i believe. EVERYONE it's a tv show. They can make so much work in some impossible way still. And some just won't work and that's okay(?) because no matter if it's a fight between malinas or darklinas or sab and soc we are ALL grateful for this show and this cast and WE WILL BE STREAMING NON-STOP for the first 28 days at least so netflix would see we NEED more of this world on our screens. So, last thing about Wesper, maybe they can pull them apart and then together again? Since there's so much stuff Jes doesn't know about Wylan(also is Jesper the only one who knows W can't read or Kaz noticed?/also how long ago Wylan was *forced* to leave his house and for how long Kaz knows him? Does he knows KNOWS him, tho?) There's also Jesper's gambling addiction and his past and his dad and him fighting more and more with Kaz and it's not like he will just accept being a grisha and boom done. It will take time to learn to feel about it differently. So yes, i am hoping for even more deep wesper talks in the future and time alone on their own when they grow and learn and truly understand that they need each other.

FAVORITE SEASON2 QUOTES:

'What?We just got back in town'

'Never thought I'd miss the Fold'

'You were with the funny guns and the angry hat'

'Careful is something you learn from losing your fingers'

'Can I get anyone some tea?'

'It's because you're a symbol. You're not just a sunshine, sunshine.'

'And you trust Kaz?'

'You remember that NOW?'

'You've been on safari when?'

'What you did tonight made you a crow'

'Yeah, of course.. We don't'

'I'm here for the killers. People like me.'

'Wait this is a 'proposal' proposal'

'All that matters is that we know what's real'

'We can't tell Kaz about Alby'

'Jesper Fahey, are you worried about me?'

'Well, I know now. And I'm not going anywhere'

'Kaz, Alby Rollins can't help who his father is. And you.. you can't punish him for that. I won't help with that'

'You came here for Ravka. I came here for you. You're my flag,Alina,you're my nation'

'Danger-fun'

'I kinda like your face'

'No mourners.. No funerals'

'I want you to remember'

'I might very well have left you first. But that was before I got to know you'

'That was even better than the last time'

'This is never going to happen. I'll destroy the only thing you have left'

'Look what he did to her!'

'Your beauty is your armor. It's fragile stuff,all show,really. But what's inside you,that's steel. It's brave and unbreakable and it doesn't need fixing. You don't need fixing'

'I said something stupid'

'Brekker..Just breathe'

'Of course it hurts!'

'You're trying to tell me how to feel about my shame! When you're hiding the very thing that makes you special.. I'm talking about the fact that you're Grisha'

'Because it's not a blessing, it's a curse'

'This is how we die!'

'I cannot believe that I get to see this in my lifetime'

'I was just a kid. I needed you too'

'I need YOU'

'And you,Malyen Oretsev,are the firebird'

'She's not sacrificing herself for me!'

'He's not my weakness. He's my universe'

'That sounds like Ravka's problem'

'Except for you,in the hat'

'When I saw it,all I wanted in the world was just to tell you about it and squeeze your hand'

'Everyone's lost their minds'

'No.-I'm it'

'No.Out!'

'We're both running out of time'

'I will not kill you!I won't do it!'

'I could process a fragment of Mal's bone and fuse it with your.. well,fuse it with you. Like we did with the Stag. Rember?.. Of course you remember'

'An ordinary life full of ordinary things'-'If love can ever be called that'

'How they are so powerful?!'

'Nina Zenik. Heartender. Big fan'

'I mean,yes,Expert'

'If you die we don't get paid'

'I'm sorry.. did you say Mal is a bird?'

'Yes!My Man!'

'I love you'-'You know where to find me'

'Mal and I changed the world'

'I will save myself'

'There's five of us'

"I can't feel his heartbeat'

'Choice. Not destiny. Choice. That's the real true north'

'My brother is never coming back. Yours still can'

'Stay in Ketterdam. Stay with me'

“And how will you have me? Gloves on? Fully clothed? And your head turned, so our lips never touch?(..) I will have you without your armor,Kaz Brekker,or I will not have you at all'

'Djel will absolve me. I am clean'

'Of course she is. We're fantastic.'

'But I look amazing in blue'

'Any questions?'

and finally s2 - in my opinion:

-Fedyor-ok Ivan is dead and F/in the books/as well but not even one scene with him/even scene where he dies fighting on Alina's side/not even mention of him?//and SOMEONE had to let other grisha and Zoya know about Nina and M, yes? So where's F? What's up with that?

-you have Jack playing the piano and you don't have him also SING as Wylan? are you SERIOUS?

- The change in Malina's ending(not sure how i feel about that truly) how they aren't 'dead' to the world and not together together, leaving everything behind like 'ok,we're out now it's YOUR turn bye. We retire to be happy and at peace and in love' bc it was SO malina of them AND also they were both kinda reborn like phoenixes-getting a second life, second chance. And i loved the idea of it but now.. there's so many possibilities and i have absolutely no doubt they will reunite since they are each other's home and endgame but yeah just not sure how i feel about the change in the ending. Nina not Twins? Ok. Alina using Merzost just by saying PLEASE i guess that's ok, too. But was it necessary? After all Mal is our grishaverse very own Jesus figure-he just came back faster..without merzost but the price she paid is her light, correct? Since that cut was pure shadow? So she goes to Shu Han to return the blade, obviously doesn't turn evil. She reunites with Mal and before they both have some freedom and just a break a moment for themselves and then they can return and help king Nik or decide not to? I loved for Mal to do something on his own so quickly after. At least he escaped this whole mess. But twins go back to N and Inej takes a break or just returnd fully to the crows bc JURDA PAREM??

-WESPER 1st meeting, like i NEED it okay? I just waited for that flashback so much. I NEED it. That's all. Even if it's dark and messy and quick and whatever i just ALWAYS need more wesper content. It's a rule for me. My yt most searched for YEARS is "Jesper and Wylan" for a reason! *they are just THE BEST* also wait THE NIGHT WE MET song was Wesper song after all or not?

-is Demon Nikolai in deleted scenes bc I want this

-as a HUGE malina fan i don't care about the lack of white hair or no tattoo we all so love or even not THAT MUCH about how different Baghra's death scene was BUT GenyaDavid DavidGenya .. she wasn't even happy and safe FOR A MOMENT there was war and shadow monsters and the Fold..and they did not get married-like i have read ROW only once bc as much as i loved return of my 2 fav grishaverse couples MALINA and WESPER, and Kaz(?) I just.. i'm still not over it. That certain death. So i dont remember the details but.. i want a funeral, there should be one. If you go THERE go there fully so i could sob even more. But yes, the ruby, the plan of the ring-it showed like.. those compliments-the list. It showed how David always thought about Genya,how hard he was trying for her. And the moment he protected her? The line 'i can't feel his heartbeat' is like 'i can't find David' in another universe my heart is so broken for G and i don't think i will ever be able to rewatch s2 and not sob.

So YEAH, CONGRATS S2-you delivered 2 deaths of grishaverse that hurt me the most(out of 3) only that I still did NOT recover from THAT one. So it hurts. D and Nik will never become friends in the show now never create and invent together-

WHICH IS WHY I LOVED WESPER SO MUCH. my joy this season among all the crying.

Fav episodes-2x06,07,08 (YES i love 2x01-how come it is barely first ep of s2? And yes 2x02 WESPER fighting scene, plus 2x04 KAZ and WESPER)

And yes s2 was so much greater than s1. I don't know where we go from here and if THAT will happen(SixOfCrows here comes trouble trouble..) but for now i'm just so grateful for being HERE.

For seeing Jes and Nina my bi duo just sitting there and watching unhinged Kaz. For Wylan who can admire butterflies and then feed them to his friends if that's what's needed. For Malina just being young and feeling the pressure. For seeing our Fjerdan in Hellgate. For Wylan playing flute and piano. For Inej and Jesper talking about Kaz. For all Genyalina hugs. For crows on THE cemetery. For Baghra's stories. For Wylan asking why NMNF. For another living Saint. For adult Wesper. For all the tiniest book scenes there-when N realized V is an idiot and they can all die, when Mal is being chased for being a deserter, and when V tried proposing to Alina. And "i love it when you quote me" and Zoya checking N out and Kaz telling her "your prince" bc Brekker is always the matchmaker. Genya and Kaz scenes this season. Tolya and Jes becoming besties. Zoya being "already a queen" for the scene when Inej cuts all the shadow monsters like a machine and Nina just slowly wakes up to see The Fold gone. For Kaz telling THOSE THREE about a new job.

NMNF

in pics:

on TWT:

https://twitter.com/ThisIsGSage23/status/1637402649904513024?s=20

and AFTER S1 IG POST:

https://www.instagram.com/p/CODgAnQr2XZ/

body > iframe { min-width: auto !important }

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by 𝑠𝑎𝑔𝑒| a&f 2️⃣3️⃣ (@gretasag)

in pics:

and here my show 1 year anniversary ig post:

https://www.instagram.com/p/Cb7CdmfI-W1/

body > iframe { min-width: auto !important }

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by 𝑠𝑎𝑔𝑒| a&f 2️⃣3️⃣ (@gretasag)

+edit after Nov16,2023(8 months..)

https://twitter.com/ThisIsGSage23/status/1725060609929003041

https://twitter.com/ThisIsGSage23/status/1725048509936685230

https://twitter.com/ThisIsGSage23/status/1725047970708492741

91 notes · View notes

jackie-gremlin-ghost · 4 months

Text

It took the finale freaking breaking me to finally make OCs for this series 😅 And it also kinda counts for a continuation idea I have.

This is Ginevra "Ginny" Wolfe and her daughter, Francez, but she prefers to go by "Fran".

Spoilers for the finale ahead (I know it’s been a couple weeks, but better safe than sorry)

Ginny is a feisty Italian-American single mom and Todd’s paternal cousin, and she’s the one who bought his old house after the finale. He actually called her as soon as his house went on the market because he couldn’t think of anyone better to have it.

Over the years, Ginny had wanted so badly to reach out to him… but had so much to deal with on her own, especially after the loss of her husband Garrett. So when her favorite cousin (who she heard through the grapevine had become somewhat of a recluse years back) just up and called her out of the blue one day, telling her that he was selling his house to go travel the world with his best friend like he’d always wanted when they were kids, to say she was relieved would’ve been an understatement.

Fran, meanwhile, has what she refers to as the “Neurodivergence Triple A Plan”; Autism, ADHD and Anxiety. That doubled with her over-enthusiastic love for all things mythical, cryptid and occult, it naturally made her a bit of social outlier. And the loss of her dad didn’t make things easier. She retreated into herself for a long time, sleeping most days and barely even speaking unless spoken to. Her mother was terrified for her health at this rate. She’d already lost the love of her life, like hell she was losing her baby. It was a rough road and took some time, but she was able to get her to agree to therapy and begin to heal. It was a while after this that Fran was made aware that her “Uncle Todd” was coming for a visit, and she was about to take a big step in the next chapter of her family’s life.

A few months later, the three of them met up in Chicago to catch up and finalize everything on buying the house. While she was elated at seeing her cousin the happiest he’d been in years, Ginny was a bit apprehensive a first; uprooting from everything they’ve known and moving to another state, let alone a new town? She wasn’t afraid to admit it scared her. Todd was quick to reassure her two things; 1) A change of scenery and a clean slate might be just what Fran needs, and 2) Taking big risks are a part of life and what makes it worth living. And in a town like Brighton, Fran was sure to make some great friends and make a lot of memories.

So not long after Todd headed off on his next big adventure, Ginny and Fran started their own by moving to Brighton, not yet knowing that as their moving truck was pulling into town, it caught the eye of a young girl.

————

So yeah, I kinda have a story in the planning stages for this, so I can’t give away TOO much, but I can show you one thing: Ghost!Fran (No, she doesn’t die, but she’s also NOT a Wraith. So, have fun with that little tidbit 😉)

#the ghost and molly mcgee #tgamm #tgamm oc #my ocs #my art

17 notes · View notes

felassan · 1 year

Text

Thoughts/wonderings on Dragon Age: The Missing #2, under a cut due to spoilers for The Missing (not just #2) and for the recent leaks:

Overall I think issue 2 was more interesting and more exciting than issue 1. I don't mean this in a bad way about issue 1; it's just that issue 1 had a lot of catching up to do ('here's what's happened since you were last in Thedas') and setup both for Varric&Harding (they should open a detective agency together)'s current quest and for future issues in this series. that was quite a lot of setup and the comic issues only have a few pages. now in Issue 2, the story is properly starting off and the plot thickens etc.

continuing the theme of issue 1 (which is: Varric Is Having A Very Bad And Terrible Time), this issue opens with Varric groaning and cursing. it really is like this huh.. "shit", he says, while.. stepping in shit.. it's eponymous. eponymous suffering.

change in art style and artist from issue 1. if memory serves, Fernando Heinz Furukawa is the artist who worked on some previous DA comics such as Dark Fortress and Blue Wraith. here's Varric portrayed by Fernando in Knight Errant:

and here's Varric now in The Missing #2

it's day and night! he looks Older and more tired, and also maybe redesigned (outfit, scar etc). if this comic is set around 9:52 or shortly beforehand, he's over 50 years old now since he was born in 9:1. according to this tweet of Fernando's, it wasn't Fernando who did a redesign, BioWare had sent along the reference for Varric for this comic. are we looking at Varric's DA:D Era (Dad Era..) Redesign? is this how he'll look in DA:D? if so why did he look the same as usual in issue 1 - was it a recent decision of BioWare's that happened after issue 1 had been illustrated but before 2 was drawn? or is it just differing art styles between issues - I notice that each of the 4 issues of this comic has a different artist. it will be someone else again in issue 3, so I'll guess we'll find out based on what he looks like in issue 3 :) also, a different artist for each issue is an interesting choice - is it to showcase as many different peoples' talents as possible?

We don't see much of Vyrantium in this issue but from what we do see I think it looks cool

Harding's hair is definitely red/orange here. in one leak the person wrote that there was a rogue lady dwarf party member. in another the person implied via emoji codes (hh) that one of the companions that they saw is a lady with red hair. with these in mind plus Harding's presence and appearance in this DA:D lead-in comic, I wanna speculate that Harding is a companion in DA:D. if Harding is and Varric isn't, I'd be down with that! I'd rather he isn't a companion again, and this setup would provide a lady dwarf companion, an ascended extra (see: Cole, Merrill etc), and the familiar returning face/Inquisition representative on the team without filling up a slot with someone who has already had a turn at being a companion. maybe, like Charter says in issue 1, Varric builds the team, but instead of joining it in person himself, it's Harding who joins the DA:D roster and he's around doing some stuff in the background like giving quests or advising or something. Varnick Fury...

last time we checked in on the Qunari invasion of Tevinter, they had invaded Neromenian (Dark Fortress). before that they invaded Carastes (Blue Wraith) and Ventus/Qarinus (Deception). now the Antaam have progressed towards Vyrantium and are laying siege to it. this shows the passage of time between our looks at Thedas and that that the world isn't static, and it keeps building the backdrop in Tevinter of the Antaam invasion as a potential background plotpoint for DA:D (reminds me of the mage-templar war in the background of DA:I). the Tevinters don't seem to be having much luck in this war, losing city after city to the Antaam.

looking at this progress map below, I'm reminded of this line from Dread Wolf Take You in Tevinter Nights: "I fear everything east of Vyrantium will be under their control inside a year, and northern Antiva as well", said by the Mortalitasi at the meeting Charter attended. we're seeing this come to pass now, and if it roughly followed that projected timescale it gives us a bit of insight into when Charter's meeting with Solas in TN took place relative to the effective prologue to DA:D (this comic). if the Antaam keep this up, I guess the next settlement is Marnas Pell and then onto Asariel. Minrathous has famously never fallen to siege or invasion. I guess you could still effectively choke a country by capturing all of its other cities besides the main one though. maybe the plan is to take the rest and Minrathous would be the last hold out? its food supplies in the Catacombs will only last a year

"You think Solas would have crawled through a city's worth of shit to get here?" felt like a bookend to Varric's comment in the previous issue, "It fits, though. A refuge in the ass end of nowhere is exactly Solas’s style". at this point varric sounds like he's talking about an ex who jilted him lmao. and probably not, Varric, he's probably fast-travelling around as it suits him via the eluvian network. I thought the highlighting of sense of timing, how long it took them to get there, how rough the road there was and the obstacles they went through to reach their destination was interesting. maybe it's a precursor (for the sake of creating contrast) to the possible upcoming 'travelling around via eluvians' stuff from the recent leak? to the possible plotpoint of 'here's how the Inquisition remnants have eluvian access now'? it's taken them weeks to walk from Marnas Pell to Vyrantium, which gives a sense of the scale of Thedas and emphasizes travel time outside of in-game 'fast travel' mechanics. Solas is basically leading them on a wild goose chase in this comic series all over Tevinter. given his effective teleportation relative to their having to walk for weeks to get between cities, he has them at a massive disadvantage.

new locations in the lore: Armael Hills, Wava River/Wava River crossing. given that they have travelled from Marnas Pell to Vyrantium, these must be places in Tevinter.

"food poisoning" ye sure okay bud. at the end of issue 1, Varric was after a stiff drink. this panel is a smart bit of continuity from that, and also, BioWare must have fully known what they were doing with this panel lmao.. on a serious note though I hope Varric is doing okay like, and this was just a hangover after a celebration like he says, rather than part of his recent tired/sad/kinda strugglin vibe. otherwise coupled with his older tireder more haggard look it reminds me a bit of Ser Aaron which is sad to think about :( (RIP)

lmao the valet was really like "You? The noble famous Viscount of Kirkwall? but you're so scrungly, stinky and oldlooking.. No. It can't be so. Bye"

if Lady Crysanthus has been 'indisposed' for months it means Solas was here months ago. that's confirmed when they mention about how the bedroom hasn't been used in months. they're so many steps behind him and would continue to be - the walking distance between Vyrantium and Arlathan Forest is even further than that between Marnas Pell and Vyrantium.

I enjoyed how their cover story was "Hi I'm Varric", they walked straight up to the front door, showed themselves and told him who they were, and then broke in talking about how they're supposed to be being subtle lmao. (also that setup for the house going up in flames at the end and condemning the lady's husband to death so dramatically, LOL subtle indeed. I guess it was them being ironic). so knocking on the door was Harding's suggested approach, Varric had initially suggested breaking in and they decided to try Harding's way first. that's nice, it contrasts them as characters and carries on that idea from their discussion in issue 1 about their two different suggested ways for approaching/dealing with stuff/Solas if they found him

so about Varric's redesign, he has speed stripes now/salt and pepper hair, and where/when did he get that big serious scar? also would you take Varric's hand and trust him, even though he's like, a pathological liar? after that panel i would ok

their dynamic is cute

Tevinter architecture is cool (red glass windows) and I like those lil Tevinter wind chime looking things. inside the bedroom there are serpents coiling around the bed posts.

Harding was right after all, and had the smarts to check under the sheet. she looks shook when they discover Crysanthus. and no wonder, of course the only person they know who can turn people to stone is Solas. from the lady's outstretched 'Stop!' arm and scared facial expression, it doesn't look like she and Solas were having a pleasant conversation when he did this.

that wall mural... lmao. the dog looks kind of like a mabari, which I guess I could see since they originated in Tevinter. my random obscure headcanon is that this ~Decadence~ mural is supposed to, by in-universe artists, depict the golden age of the Imperium when it ruled most of Thedas and before the mabari defected to the 'barbarians' of the south hh

shoutout again to Harding's cool looking cape

Teia and Viago!!!! as the front cover prophecy foretold!! man we knew it was coming but i still went OOOOOO at them appearing. their entrance and they in general was/are so cool. they look amazing!!

wing-like motif on their outfits, fitting for Crows :) hh, Harding knows immediately that they are Crows. also "subtle".. :)

lmao he's so done

I enjoyed the banter back and forth at this point, it was fun :)

Harding's freckles 🥺

The question is, who put out this contract on Crysanthus to the Crows and why? it must have been a pretty big deal (the person who took out the contract and/or the reason for taking it out), otherwise what are two Talons from two different Houses doing on a job in Tevinter when the Antaam is currently invading Antiva and we know from TN that the Crows including Teia and Viago (Eight Little Talons) were going to be taking the defense of Antiva seriously?

So the Inquisition remnants are still basically "The Inquisition" when it comes to name-dropping, and Varric 'my cover is hi I'm Varric also I'm gonna break in now' Tethras has no qualms about telling a pair of Crows they've just met that they're working with the Inquisition. whereas he omits mentioning Solas specifically by name. I guess "Inquisition" is an easier sell than "The Dread Wolf"

also interesting, why are the Crows concerned about a Tevinter mage possibly working with the Venatori, or about the Venatori planning a possible concerted move against the Imperium, or about stopping that? I'm reminded of TN where we learned that a mysterious patron had contracted the Crows to kill a bunch of prominent Venatori (Lucanis' story). some of the Venatori were scared about that, particularly of the aforementioned notorious Crow, "The Demon", who had been doing a lot of these contracts. the Venatori said that they wouldn't cower to foreign mercs like the Crows. and it was implied that the anonymous hirer was elfy, as they gave Lucanis assistance/info about a magic secret passage inside a statue of a vhenadahl, the passage of which was lit with veilfire and guarded by an elf, Athima, who was sent by their patron. then Lucanis died or "died" and we saw his wake, which Teia and Viago were at. and now here are Teia and Viago in Tevinter on a contract job to take out yet another Venatori/Venatori collaborator. are they continuing where Lucanis left off? Crows, the Venatori, and Solas... curiouser and curiouser

the fight scenes in this comic were cool. Varric at one point doesn't even draw Bianca, he just socks someone in the face like POW

Viago with his poisoned rapier/poisons again, ice cold but also like, what a nerd

when the secret door opens Harding is like > :) hhh

when the valet says "You've killed us all just by being here", is it Lady Crysanthus' husband that he's thinking about or someone else? the Venatori? the person who turned the lady to stone?

so Lady Crysanthus was a spymaster who had records and notes on many known Venatori agents, as well as maps and papers relating to their plans to get a magical artifact/magical weapon called the Crucious Stone out of Arlathan Forest. she was also helping Venatori operate in Tevinter. given this, why would she invite Solas to come and talk to her? their mutual interest in the Stone? was the invitation even for Solas, or did he or whoever was using the room in the Deep Roads get it from the person it was actually supposed to be for after he/they got wind of this scheme?

the Stone can bring the Imperium to its knees. that would explain why the Venatori, who are apparently plotting a move against the Imperium (to.. make it great again? I guess they have to take it down or take it over before they can make it great again?), would want it. Solas isn't a fan of the Imperium - is he interested in this Stone because he'd also like to impact Tevinter, or because he needs to use the Stone's powers for his plans relating to the Veil or similar? (I'd think more the latter than the former) Any relation to, or how does it tie in to, the Orb or the idol?

Also I wonder about the specifics of the stone's powers. to bring the whole Imperium to its knees.. we must be talking blood magic? I'd guess? plus some Veil wibbly-wobbly Fadey stuff too, if the last page of the comic is anything to go by. also, the shape of the stone reminds me of the sarcophagus from Dark Fortress. that artifact was of unknown origin but built to fit an elf and there were some possibly elfy aspects to its design..

"Monologue about it, who knows?" // "Is this a contract or an old flame?" // "Well..." killed me hhhh

Viago asking the Important Questions

Stone Fist

Teia is badass

nice group takedown, again a party with majority dwarves and elves :)

Varric's one liner while the guy stabbed through the wrist crushed by a broken statue of his beloved departed wife while he burns to death is. stone cold.

this time around there's a reason why they didn't gather up a bunch of papers/books from the Secret Den, it was going up in flames and they had to escape. makes sense. I still wonder why they didn't take those books with them from the Deep Roads room in issue 1 hh.

in the panel where they are back outside on the streets of Vyrantium, the column of smoke from the burning house can be seen in the background going up into the sky, and off to the right in green is the figure that Teia clocks in the next panels.

Cat

presumably the possible Venatori assassin is the Venatori we saw tailing Varric&Harding at the end of issue 1.

Varric and Harding leave Teia and Viago on a positive note which is nice. I hope we meet them for a bit in DA:D :)

also since it was confirmed that the characters in this comic are Teia and Viago, I think again about the 'this comic is introducing us/re-introducing us to various factions/groups who are players on the chess-board or otherwise of note in DA:D' idea. Issue 1 had Wardens, 2 the Crows, 3 looks to be the Veil Jumpers. also since it was Teia and Viago, I'm also once again wondering if the two Veil Jumpers will be Strife and Irelin, who we know are in a Dalish clan that lives in/near Arlathan Forest. (also I enjoyed the confirmation in this comic that a few/multiple Dalish clans live in Arlathan Forest. those clans, like Morlyn, sound super interesting due to the magical/ancient nature of the Forest)

About the last page of the comic, the tree branches give an elfy vibe, and that structure in the distance being upside down gives a Fadey and/or Arlathan Forest's current time/space topsyturvyness vibe. could the archway in the structure be an eluvian? is this how they get eluvian travel? is this what's in the heart of Arlathan Forest, or is it somewhere in there where the Veil is thin and the time/space reality warping has influenced things? did Dalish elves build those walkways?

the synopsis for Issue 3 is as follows:

Following their adventure in Vyrantium, Varric, and Harding travel to Arlathan Forest in search of the crucious stone. When the duo finds themselves face-to-face with a pair of Veil Jumpers, they decide to team up. Finding what they seek will have them up against puzzling obstacles, and their success could depend on the allies they can gather.

this is the issue in this comic that I'm most excited about. I'm so hyped to meet the Veil Jumpers AAAAAA!! [cat.yodeling.png]

#dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #dragon age: the missing #dragon age: the missing spoilers #bioware #video games #long post #longpost #dragon age: dreadwolf spoilers #solas #alcohol cw #lul #strife

67 notes · View notes