Why Fantasy Is So Addictive

“You have no idea what you’ve done to me. You’re mine.”

Ah, From Blood and Ash. The romantasy that exploded across BookTok, sparked about a thousand fan theories, and left readers swooning over daggers, secrets, and golden-eyed guards. I picked up this book with equal parts curiosity and skepticism — partly because everyone was yelling about it, and partly because I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I expected spice, swords, and swoon. What I didn’t expect was to be taking notes.

As a fantasy writer, I read a little differently. I’m not just swept up in the story — I’m analysing pacing, character arcs, and dialogue choices. And From Blood and Ash? It gave me a LOT to think about.

Let’s talk about what this blockbuster romantasy teaches us about writing: the good, the tropey, the infuriating, and the absolutely genius.

💥 A Masterclass in Tension (Romantic and Otherwise)

If Armentrout understands one thing, it’s tension. Romantic tension, sexual tension, emotional tension — it’s all here, and it’s juicy. I mean, Hawke and Poppy don’t even kiss until, like, halfway through the book and yet you’re screaming into your pillow because he looked at her collarbone. It’s impressive.

Every glance, every lingering touch, every defiance of a rule builds toward something explosive. And let’s not forget the dialogue — cheeky, charged, and full of innuendo. As a writer, I was reminded that tension doesn’t always come from grand declarations. Sometimes it’s about what’s not said. Sometimes it’s in the restraint.

You don’t need a sex scene every other chapter to keep readers on edge. You just need chemistry, stakes, and that slow burn.

📚 Worldbuilding That Unfolds Organically

Okay, let’s talk about the world. Is Solis the most original fantasy realm ever created? No. But it doesn’t try to be. And that’s not a flaw — it’s a strategy. Armentrout smartly avoids dumping lore on us in chapter one. Instead, we learn about the Ascended, the gods, the rituals, and the monsters bit by bit, through Poppy’s perspective.

She doesn’t know everything. In fact, she’s been deliberately kept in the dark, which makes her a great POV character. Her curiosity becomes our curiosity. Her confusion mirrors ours. And when things start to click, it’s satisfying.

As writers, we can take a hint here: Resist the urge to show off your 40-page worldbuilding document in the first few chapters. Trust your reader. Let the story reveal the world as the characters experience it.

🧱 Tropes, and Why They Still Work

This book is a walking, talking, dagger-wielding collection of tropes — and I’m not mad about it.

• Forbidden love ✅
• Bodyguard romance ✅
• Secret identity ✅
• Fated mates vibes ✅
• “We can’t, but oh we will” ✅

Here’s the thing: Tropes are not the enemy. They’re the scaffolding. What matters is how you decorate them. Armentrout knows exactly what her audience loves and she leans into it unapologetically. And as a result, the book feels like comfort food — with just enough surprise seasoning to keep things interesting.

As a writer, it reminded me not to be afraid of the familiar. Readers don’t want everything to be groundbreaking. They want to feel. They want to believe. And tropes, when done with intention and passion, deliver.

🧠 Internal Conflict Done Right

One of my favourite parts of the book was Poppy’s internal conflict. She’s a character torn in a dozen directions — between duty and desire, identity and ignorance, safety and rebellion.

She wants to fight, but she’s expected to obey. She wants to feel, but she’s told to repress. And honestly? That tension within her is as compelling as the Hawke situation (which is saying something).

It’s easy to overlook internal conflict when you’ve got so much external drama going on (see: killer creatures, religious cults, hot bodyguards), but From Blood and Ash shows us that internal stakes are what make a story stick.

As a writer, I’m taking notes: the real hook isn’t just “will they kiss?” It’s “can she become who she wants to be in a world that’s trying to keep her small?”

⚠️ That Plot Twist Tho

Spoilers ahead. If you haven’t read the book and want to remain unspoiled, you’ve been warned.

The twist — Hawke is NOT who he says he is — hit me like a punch to the plot-twist-loving gut. On one hand: genius. The clues were there. The reveal was shocking but earned. I gasped. Loudly.

On the other hand: oof. That betrayal? Rough. It straddles a delicate line between compelling drama and potential character assassination.

As a writer, I admire the boldness. I also recognise the risk. If you’re going to drop a bomb like that, you better be prepared to put in a lot of work to rebuild trust — both for the characters and for the readers. And to Armentrout’s credit, the sequels do address this fallout. But it’s a good reminder: Big twists need big emotional payoffs.

📝 Final Thoughts

From Blood and Ash is not perfect. It’s trope-heavy, the pacing occasionally stumbles, and the world can sometimes feel more like a backdrop than a living, breathing place. But none of that stopped me from tearing through it like a woman possessed.

Because here’s the thing: this book knows what it is. It’s indulgent. It’s dramatic. It’s full of tension, lust, danger, secrets, and emotional chaos. And sometimes? That’s exactly what you want.

It reminded me why I love writing in this genre. It reminded me that making people feel — whether it’s desire, betrayal, hope, or just the thrill of turning the next page — is the real magic.

So if you’re a writer, don’t write off the books that BookTok is screaming about. Read them. Study them. Learn from them. Because if a book like this can make a million readers care this much about a morally questionable dude with a sword and a secret, then it’s doing something right.

Even if it made me shout, “OH NO HE DIDN’T” at 2 a.m.