#he'll get there though

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 42 - Discovered

The rogue has an epiphany.

Her blood blasts him like a flare of sunshine. An opened window, light pouring in and engulfing him. His skin tingles, on the edge of burn but it’s so warm, so amazing. He groans and clutches her to him. Legs spread, her arms around his shoulders, burying him in the scent of her.

He gulps her down. Her skin, her touch, her slick still between his fingers. She was so tight, so hot. His cock was already hard but now it aches. The thought of entering her, still wet from his work…

He’s her first. No one else has touched her thus, tasted her thus, felt her writhing and gasping, the way she tried to bight back her delightful moans, but he tore them loose regardless.

All the pain and terror of the last few days burns apart in the golden light filling her blood. It’s not even blood, anymore, but ambrosia, life made liquid filling his mouth and gullet, seeping into his own veins and making his skin shiver.

“Darling,” he whines between one draw and the next.

She’s so godsdamned soft. His fingers sink into her plush thighs. She molds beautifully around him, as he expected. His cock strains against his too-tight trousers, and he can’t break away long enough to free it, so he has to settle for grinding desperately against her thigh like an awkward boy.

Her hands clutch at his shoulders. He wants her to bury them in his hair. Rake her nails over his scalp. Whisper into his ears and then caress the tips and oh, how her mouth would feel—

Her heart races. From passion, yes. But her blood begins to thin. He’s taking too much.

Astarion forces himself off. Lifts his head, licking at his lips, unwilling to let a single droplet be wasted. She sways in his hold, and he snatches up the closest bag and retrieves a health potion.

“Drink this,” he says.

She does so without complaint. Soft and compliant in the glow of her pleasure (that he gave her) (also from the blood loss). Makes a face and shakes her head. When he pulls her back down, the marks on her neck have closed, leaving her skin smeared in blood. He should ask. It would be the polite thing to ask.

He licks her instead. He’s imagined this. Following the trail of her blood. Lapping it as she squirms in his hold. In that fantasy, he buried inside her, bucking into her as she squeezes his cock and gasps.

But he’s her first. She said hands only, and so he shoves that thought down and savors every lap and lick. Cleans the mess he made of her neck. Takes a few nibbles and leaves a handful of bruises just to see how it looks, and she is divine. So prettily marked by his touch. He shifts down to complete the task and make sure he tastes every drop of blood clinging to the top of her breast.

And when he’s done, he lingers. Breathing against her, just so he can smell her skin, her blood, her lingering arousal.

Until she finally shifts. “Um…”

He both adores and despises that word. Half the time, it heralds something hilarious. But right now, it’s ruining the bliss of her blood flowing through his body.

“Do,” she tries again. She plucks at the ruined frills of his shirt collar. “I mean, I haven’t, uh. But do you want help? Y’know, with…?”

Ah. She’s noticed how hard he is. And is offering?

Oh, to train her hands on his cock. Teach her how to hold him, how to stroke him, how to squeeze him. Her hot hands on him, drawing forth his pleasure the way he rarely gets to experience.

He manages what he knows is a pained smile.

“I believe we ought to save that for another time,” he says. “Your blood was quite delicious.”

Warm and…and happy in him. He doesn’t really remember what it was to be drunk, but he imagines it’s this.

(So that’s why that bastard had them all—)

But he’s in his tent, with his glorious leader still draped over his lap. Her cheeks (and throat and chest) are stained in a light flush.

“You sure?” she says. “I, I don’t mind.”

The adventurous virgin. What an utter delight.

He runs the backs of his fingers along her cheek. She turns into his touch unconsciously, he thinks.

She’s his. She could be his.

“It’s been a very long day, darling. We both need rest.”

And she—he feels a twinge of a scandalous gasp twinge in him—looks pointedly to his lap and arches an eyebrow at him.

Gods. Of all the people he’s stumbled into since that beach, out of all their band of idiots, she truly is his favorite.

He pulls her down to hover under her lips. “We’ll save that for a later time, eh?”

And gives her a quick peck. That turns into several. That turns to him burying his fingers in her hair (oh dear, he’s left a mess there) and licks into her mouth. He knows she must taste her own blood. But she doesn’t protest. She knows what he is and she not only neglects to stake him, she treats him like…like an asset. Like a valuable one.

She feeds him. Protects him. Jokes with him and tells him stories and grabs his hand to flee. She curls into his lap in his tent, her blood smeared on her lips, and lets him kiss her.

His chest is too tight.

He breaks it. Lays his forehead to her chin as if he needs to catch his breath (he actually stops breathing entirely) (why is his chest so tight, the blood should have fixed any injury).

Then he nudges her. Eases her off. She hisses and shudders. Shakes her feet. Catches his puzzlement and says, “Pins and needles.”

Which makes no sense. Until he remembers living bodies and living blood flow.

She recovers and ducks out to relieve herself (“I told you, not uneducated and people gotta pee afterwards”). He surveys the tent. The air thick with her scent and his. Her pack and armor laid against the canvas wall. The bedroll he’s been carrying ready to be laid out.

Which she does once she returns, smelling now of lake water. Her hair drips—she noticed his little lapse in situational awareness earlier, and instead of shouting or striking, she simply washes herself. Then she lays herself out. Looks up as he sits there.

“You gonna sleep, too? Or, what’s it, reverie?”

He smiles. “One of us ought to keep watch. You need more rest than I do, especially after that invigorating mean I’ve just had.”

She can’t hide her face fast enough to disguise the blush. She was riding his fingers over his lap, offered to stroke him off, and now blushes at the slightest wordplay.

Odd, delightful creature.

She falls into a slumber quickly, for all her talk. Poor thing must be thoroughly wrung out. Soon enough, those soft snores puff her lips.

Once he’s sure she’ll not awaken, he unfolds himself and steps out.

His hands shake as he nearly rips the buttons off his trousers. They’re so tight and he aches so badly. Sighs in sheer relief as he frees his cock. Ponders a moment, and then lowers himself to his knees and takes himself in hand.

He hasn’t done this in…oh, some time. Most nights end with his mark’s satiety. Even when he does get hard—a body is a body, after all, and sometimes when he’s feeling especially wretched, he’ll pick one that might, in some small capacity, attend to him. Give him the smallest moment of bliss.

But most nights he goes without. Most nights, this doesn’t bother him. Most nights, he’d claw off his own skin if he could and be done with the whole affair.

Not with her blood on his tongue. Her slick on his hand. It’s that hand he spits into and wraps around himself. Imagines it even wetter. Stroking himself with her. Circling over the tip and smoothing it down until he glistened with her. Her watching him do it.

“Gods,” he breathes.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps she’s in his lap once again, pressed tight and hiding her face. She’s ashamed of her pleasure. Yet she’s bold enough to make suggestions.

Traces of her blood still linger on his chin, in the creases of his fingers. He sucks those fingers into his mouth. Finds the hint of golden light and pumps himself into his own hand.

He’s had more sex than he can count or even remember. He’s had the blood of thinking creatures, say, enough to count on two hands now? (Do goblins count?) (Perhaps it’s just one hand, after all.)

Never have the two met. He’s thought about it, on his back, rocking in time to the ministrations of the mark atop him, their skin disgustingly damp. Sometimes they’ll press in close and their neck will be right there. In his mind, he opens his jaw and plunges in his teeth as they plunge into his body. A tit for tat.

He’s imagined that nectar—so close, yet utterly forbidden—pouring down his throat as he grabbed that mark, savaged them, tore them open and gorged himself. Would that he could every, single person who put their hands on him.

This, though. This night is another first time. His dear Eleanor gives them out so freely, doesn’t she?

He moans and squeezes himself (he was right to get on his knees; he’d fall to all fours if he didn’t need both hands just now).

Her taste lingers in his mouth. Her enthusiasm, the sharpness of her mind, her own need as he held her and fucked her with his hand. She tastes like the sun. Like life itself.

His abdomen tightens. His relief barrels at him.

She stayed with him. Supported him. Even when she wouldn’t let him give her this. With nothing from him, she stayed. She even urged him to save himself. No one has done that before. No one has ever said those words to him. Not ever. But she did, and now he’s finally able to properly reward her and…and…

He gasps. He’s close.

He imagines her bare. Those breasts swaying heavy as she rides him properly. She’ll still hide her face, but in his imaginings, he pulls her hands aside to watch her brow furrow and mouth fall open. Stares at her as she clenches around him, blood streaming down her breast from his bite (he’ll bite and bite and bite until it covers her in her own, hot blood, and she’ll moan and sigh and grasp him, urging him on, giving him more). Blood will drip off her nipple, and he’ll curl in to suck them both into his mouth and he’ll—

Astarion barely bites back a shout. The tension snaps and surges out. His spend coats his fingers as he works the rest through. That shocks him, but not enough to stop—even when he does manage to present arms, as it were, the rare times he finds his bliss he’s barren. Not enough blood in rats and bugs. But this time, having feasted, he slicks himself thoroughly. And then the thought of her hands, sliding through his spend, the color on her soft hands—

But it’s not. Her hand. No warm, brown skin on him. No dark eyes glinting in triumph and arousal. He’s alone, in a cave on his knees, looking down at the mess he’s made over his pale, cold hand.

He swallows back a sour feeling in his gut. Wants to drop himself (his dead flesh feels disgusting), but then he would only dirty his trousers. Disgusting boy, look what you’ve done. Ever the filthy whore.

He rises. Walks to the water’s edge on heavy feet to clean himself up. At least this water doesn’t stink faintly of the sewers.

He’s done it. He’s seduced her—thoroughly, this time. Just as he planned. He’s used his body as it was meant to be, done the one thing he’s good at. Even now, a month or more away, free from him, and Astarion is still a thing to be used. Even by himself.

This is what he is. What he does. No matter what she might say. No matter what she might give him.

He stands there, a moment, staring out at the lake. Down at his softened cock. Tucks it back into his trousers and buttons himself back up.

He knows, has always known deep down, this is what he is. His body knows it so well it manages to trick him. But no matter. He’s won. He’s used the tools at his disposal to get what he wants, for once. That’s what he needs to focus on. His clever little leader will never turn against him now.

She hasn’t before. This entire time, she’s returned for him. Refused to leave him.

But now it’s ensured. Now he’s safe. He’s her first, and people get sentimental about that sort of thing. He can use that. Will use that.

His feet carry him back to the tent. The cave is always cool, and he doesn’t really notice it until he ducks inside and her living body has turned the inside air warm.

He seats himself nearby. Not touching. She sleeps on. Her face is nuzzled into the bedroll and for a moment, his palm almost feels her cheek, the way she nuzzled into him like she does that bedding.

Would she do that now, were he to lay beside her? Wrap herself around his cold flesh and sigh?

Because she trusts him. Because she likes him. She said that herself—she doesn’t even think of sleeping with someone unless she likes them. She must also believe he likes her back.

Many of his marks believed that very thing. Those who weren’t hunting a mark of their own, who didn’t ask him how much. Some of them genuinely thought he felt for them. Right up until he handed them over. Until the boudoir door opened and he knelt there, naked, as they realized something else was occurring. A rabbit caught in a snare. They would look to him (he never looked at them, not even as he was bedding them if he could help it; not in the face). Turn to him for answers. For help. And he provided neither.

He sits near her, now, fully dressed. One hand on the handle of his knife. Water laps against the shore, echoes off the cavernous walls.

But…she’s his first, too. She let him feed. His first taste of real blood, thinking blood. He’d wanted to make her cry out in pleasure. Wanted it to be his hand and his tongue and…and him doing it. It had felt…nice, the parts he was aware of. It hadn’t hurt him, she’d barely asked for anything, really. Just a hand and some words. He even got to finish himself off afterward (that was the blood; hers does that to him).

Ah. That. That is how he knows it’s a trick. One he’s pulled on himself (he’s done that many times before he learned better, ever the stupid, pathetic boy).

Astarion does not receive good things. Astarion is not a good thing. Not worth it. Doesn’t deserve it. So this cannot be a good thing. That’s not how the world works. This is a transaction. He can give her pleasure now, occasionally stab someone for her benefit, and she’ll come back for him. She’ll rally the others to protect him.

His plan from the start. He took a detour, and while he’s dense and bad at planning, he can eventually be corrected. He’s back on track, now. He’s succeeded.

He looks down at her. Vulnerable. Trusting.

Traces a finger over the edge of her hair to brush it out of her eyes.

She’ll keep trusting him. Especially now. Eventually, those sharp, dark eyes will open and she’ll greet him and possibly smile. And he’s never known a day two. The morning after. Only the night of passion.

What does one do after?

He’ll have to figure that out. Has to keep her invested (he’s got some idea of what gets her going, now; he can work with that).

She wiggles in her sleep. Scoots herself towards him. It seems to settle something in her, being closer. She sighs again and relaxes.

This is a transaction. She’s still a mark, if a long-term one. Because…because…if she wasn’t. What would that even mean? What would that make her? There isn’t anything else. People to be used, and the people who use. She can’t be anything else.

Then the sound of the waves changes. Something moves out there, on the lake. Astarion unsheathes his knives and crouches down to peer out the gap in the tent flap.

Distant heartbeats. Two of them. Only…one isn’t a heart at all, but a whirring, clanking—

“Oi! Over there!”

A familiar voice. Boisterous and strong, even at such a distance. Astarion re-sheathes his knife and ducks out to greet their long-lost band of idiots.

[egophiliac]

I just realized it'll take the eng server almost a year to reach the 3D Cheka T pose model :' ) we're at book 7 part 6, and we get a new main story update every 2 to 3 months..

Anyway, do you wanna share some fun, spoiler-free shenanigans that happened in jp's server.? Just to have some crumbs to lick off the table until we get our own sandwich (my heart is empty and my soul is crying)

spoiler-free is pretty hard, especially considering. the, uhhh, particular turn that things take directly after 6. (like, the fact that the other characters are showing up probably counts on its own?) and I do think that if you can avoid getting spoiled, most of it is definitely better as a surprise! some of the genuinely best Twst moments are waiting for you. :D

if I may, however, present one of my favorite little throwaway bits with absolutely no context:

[equill]

Sukea stuff

Extra: realization

It’s been a while

Panel 1: smile

Comic 2: Caught red handed

you’re his son

Extra: conversation

he just picking on him

Comic 3: You’re grounded.

[just-null]

i am literally on my KNEEEEEESSSSS. please please make more yandere hantengu clone art.. i don’t care if you don’t color it in or if it’s just a simple sketch PLEASE 😞

is the threat directed at you??? at others??? at something else??? do you even want to find out??? You'll probably be okay if you get back home before dark and make it up to him.

[crabsnpersimmons]

Ok I have to say this, eclipse, sun and moon look very squishy and huggable, great pillows most likely, they all deserve a hug, except sun, sun is too attractive it scares me so lil cookie for sun.

hehe they'd happily accept their hugs/cookie!

don't mind Eclipse, he's a a theater bot who doesn't like to share his stage. and Moon... Moon just likes treats

[anbaisai]

Care for a dip in the pool? The lifeguards may be marketable plushies, but they're 100% reliable!

(Scarabia lifeguard AU belongs to @natsukishinomiyaswife, you can check out the tsum post here!)

[meowpupp]

I can’t stop thinking about pup-soap getting muzzled for his play date with puppy-girl reader because he was to rough with her last time :(( he would be so whiny and sad but at this point he’d be lucky to be let off his leash

GAGGED

price who's so mean to johnny. he can't stand how teary you are after each session with the hybrid, poor body covered in dark hickies and bites. after all, you're his. even gaz isn't allowed to mark the soft fat of your body, so why would johnny?

so the next time johnny comes over, he's muzzled. a large, steel cage securely fastened to his face, jutting out almost two inches. he cant even kiss you! poor boy whining clawing at your plush body, desperate to have you close. his ears are all droopy, pouting as he tries to nuzzle your neck.

even when he's deep inside your little cunt, he's barely given any freedom. two of simon's thick fingers looping under his collar, ready to pull him away from you at a moment's notice.

the cold metal of johnny's muzzle nudges against your cheek, desperate to get close, arms wrapping around you, pulling your body as close as possible, lifting your hips to meet his. he's lost in your sweet cunt, body shuddering at the feeling of your walls hugging him. his hips slam against yours, claws digging into the fat of your hips, denying you even an inch of space.

his eyes are trained on your tits, watching them bounce with each harsh thrust. the poor pup is practically salivating, teeth gritting as he presses the muzzle against your sternum. he's almost tearing up, so desperate to be able to sink his teeth into your soft body, drooling against you.

but simon and price are so mean, the moment you finish cumming on his cock, simon yanks him back. his owner shushes him, his hand wrapping around johnny's cock, grip too tight and fast. his cock throbs, twitching as he cums all over your pudgy tummy, almost crying as he's denied your sweet little cunt, again.

[badninken]

let's go

[arcticclimes]

Bonus:

[ruporas]

asking and receiving (bonus below readmore)

[ID: A black and white, digital Trigun comic of Vash and Wolfwood. In the first panel is a close up of Wolfwood's mouth as he says, "Vash". Accompanying it is a close up shot of Vash's eye, widen and cheeks flushed. Wolfwood presses a knee against the open space between Vash's legs and says, "Tell me everything you want from me." Wolfwood's face is equally as flushed. He continues to say, "I'll give it to you. Everything." As he talks, a wide shot shows the both of them in white space. Vash is sitting, leaning a little back with both hands pressed against the surface he's sitting on. Wolfwood is in his white dress shirt, stripped of the blazer. He's still leaning in with one knee in between Vash's spread legs, his right hand touching Vash's lips and his left hand behind his back.

The shot closes in on Vash's mouth and Wolfwood's hand against it, pressing down on the lower lip as he says, "You have to ask though. Go on." His hand moves down to Vash's chin, gently holding it. With a shy and uncertain expression, Vash hesitantly asks, "Um... K... Kiss... Please?" Wolfwood, without wasting a second, leans in and kisses him and indulges by pressing deeper, eliciting a small noise of surprise from Vash.

Wolfwood moves away from Vash first and with a smile, asks, "What else?" Vash tugs on Wolfwood's left sleeve, wordlessly budging Wolfwood to give him his hand that was still behind his back. In the next panel, Vash utters, "Hold me..?" He's holding Wolfwood's left hand with his own while his right hand is reaching for his waist. Wolfwood complies, moving his left hand to Vash's shoulder and his right hand continues to touch Vash's cheek. Wolfwood asks again, "What else?"

More comfortable now, Vash leans in to kiss Wolfwood. Wolfwood catches him immediately, pressing his thumb against Vash's lips to stop him before demanding, "Hey. Ask." Vash looks back in surprise and Wolfwood meets his eye with a quiet, insistent look. They're quiet for a moment before Vash leans in again and curtly requests, "Kiss. Me." Wolfwood says "Good", smiling as he lifts his hand away, and meets Vash's lips. In the next shot, Wolfwood had adjusted his position, sitting on Vash's thigh. The hand that was once on Vash's cheek has moved its way to Vash's nape, pushing away the collar of his jacket with his pinky. His other hand continues to grip on Vash's shoulder. Still kissing, Wolfwood asks again, "What else?"

In the next shot, Vash is starting to turn, moving Wolfwood with him. Vash asks, "Let me on top of you?" Wolfwood says, "Mhm" before asking again, "What else?" The next panel shows a close look of Vash's face. He's looking down, flushed and shy just as he had been at the beginning, but now, more decisive. Vash asks, "Wolfwood... Let me have you..?" A panel of Wolfwood taking Vash's hand into his, pulling it towards his chest. The next panel shows Wolfwood lying down where Vash had laid him. Vash's hand is on Wolfwood's chest, covering the cross of his rosary while Wolfwood's hand lingers against his, loosely pressing Vash's hand in place. He looks up at Vash with a shy smile of his own, flushed cheeks. He says, "All yours."

A panel shows a close up of Vash's tender gaze before he leans down to be closer to Wolfwood. The final shot is a front view of their positions, Vash's face turned away from the viewer; Vash is leaning over Wolfwood who's lying down with his right leg draped over Vash's legs. Wolfwood's left hand holds onto Vash's left arm. With finality, Vash says, "...Mine." End ID]

[ID: A follow up bonus comic in a looser, sketchier style. They're laying comfortably in bed when Vash asks, "What was that earlier?" referecing to the start of the previous comic. Wolfwood glances away and says, "To get you used to it. Asking. And getting what you ask for. Since you're alwasy hesitant about it." Vash's eyes widen, tight lipped. Wolfwood continues, "Knowing you, it'll be a tough habit to break..." When he says this, Vash can't help but laugh, unable to deny it. Wolfwood slowly brings a hand to Vash's cheek and continues to say, "So I'll keep trying -- whatever ways I can... to get it through your thick skull." Vash takes Wolfwood's hand with his, kissing the the palm gently. Wolfwood's eyes soften and holding onto Vash's cheek, he leans in to try for a kiss. Vash says, "Hey..." before stopping Wolfwood's lips with the back of his hand, a smug look on his face, "Ask." Wolfwood's embarrassed and with little irritation, asks, "Really?" Vash smiles, saying, "You're in need of practice too." They pause for a moment, Wolfwood looking contemplatively, before he's leaning in again, asking, "May I please kiss you?" Vash looks him in the eyes and says, "Yes." The comic ends with a "chu", indicating an off-panel kiss. End ID]

[dragonsbluee]

Every time Cale uses an ancient power and then gets confused when people react in worry I laugh and want to shake him because Cale, CALE YOU NEVER EXPLAIN WHY YOU'RE VOMITING BLOOD.

And here's the thing, vomitting blood, regardles of colour is a sign of serious internal problems, and you know what signs and symptoms you should definitely watch out for afterwards?

Dizziness, especially after standing.

Rapid, shallow breathing.

Or other signs of shock.

So everyone around him makes the very valid assumption the Cale using an ancient power = severe internal bleeding and then Cale goes and usually displays some symptoms of shock (I.E shaky limbs, dizziness, weakness in limbs) and just never explains that he's actually fine. Instead, he tries to get up and keep moving unless he's already fainted.

OF COURSE THEY'RE FREAKING OUT CALE! They think you need serious medical attention and you keep refusing to see a healer or a doctor! (Yes we know you don't want them figuring out how many powers you have and that they can't do anything anyways, but your friends don't!)

Since we don't see what the others are doing every time Cale falls into a coma as a response, I imagine that they're all frantic, trying to figure out what went wrong, how injured he is and how to get him the proper medical care. And then Cale wakes up and is just confused as to why they made it such a big deal.

Like Cale, please, for at least the first few times, they probably thought you were DYING.

[aurieeeeeenyx]

oh yeah also jayvik are extremely orpheus and eurydice coded i don't make the rules

[sclappin]

Jumped the gun on posting this before revisions last week, but finally finished this commission for my mom and her friend.

It's a double portrait of my dad & his buddy as a gift to them from their wives for Christmas. Don't worry about the trebuchet.

Commission info

[frobby]

Yukio doesn't realize rin was lonely because he was key contributor to said loneliness

[sualne]

what could've been

[danwhobrowses]

Now that Critical Role's VOD of episode 120 is out and everyone in the fandom's had a moment to breathe, simmer, and adjust to this all. I wanna do a big talk about my favourite idiot punk rock, Ashton Greymoore.

Because over these last few episodes, I've been so proud of them.

Many people have had vocal opinions on Ashton, not all of them positive either; I've seen many berate them and say they're selfish, not a team player, or that they 'don't add anything to the group'. But over the past few episodes, I feel like Ashton has been an unsung hero in the battles with Ludinus and Predathos, with their contributions, oftentimes selfless and cooperative, ending up providing the floor for others to deliver strong and impactful actions.

While Dorian and Imogen will rightfully get the lion's share of praise for their clutch moments - Dorian's Force Cage on Ludinus saving Liliana and defeating Predathos' first stage alongside Imogen's Power Word: Stun setting up Ludinus' death and defeating Predathos' second stage - Ashton's actions were often the prelude to moments that could not have succeeded without them, including these clutch moments. Their attack on Ludinus in 117 prompted the Silvery Barbs that burned up his reaction - which allowed Dorian to successfully use Force Cage without being Counterspelled, their high-damage attack on his neck hole in 118 broke Ludinus' concentration on Ravenous Void - which somehow later got credited to Chetney - which gave Imogen the freedom and mobility to get in range for Power Word: Stun, they got the Insight check whisper on Predathogen in 119 to know that Imogen was physically inside of the body and needed to be pried out - which Imogen achieved herself thanks in part to Fearne reaching her, and recently in 120 they pulled Imogen out of Predathos' maw, abandoning the Hammer synonymous with their character (to the point that Keyleth titled them the 'Paradox Hammer') to prioritize saving their friend, which - following Dorian's healing - gave her the chance to use the Ring of Remembrance for the finishing Meteor Swarm. Not to mention all the other damage they dealt and tanked throughout the four fights, the passive d4 bonuses and advantage they gave the party (almost acting partly as a secondary paladin or a tertiary bard) to buff their damage and saving throws, and accepting the risk of disintegration when Laudna used their Hammer's spell splitter - which forced Predathos to use its final Legendary Resistance.

The Disintegrate moment itself was tense because we all know that Ashton is high among the Hells who would sacrifice themselves to save the group - a mentality most of the Hells likely shared in this fight - but fortunately they don't have to, they'll never have to, and they gained something just as if not more valuable than a heroic sacrifice: they get to live. The person who before meeting these chucklefucks believed they'd likely die face-down in a ditch in some backwater alley and thrown into an unmarked grave AT BEST gets to live, and the people that mean most to them get to live thanks to their efforts, their successes. And that's the most important part; for all the times they couldn't help or save someone because they were unconscious or out of reach, for all the times they let their imposter syndrome tell them they're just a fuckup undeserving of trust, praise, or love, and for every fear they had that one day they'd mess up and this new family of theirs will abandon them like the Nobodies did, this time they were there standing beside their people to the very end - and they helped get them out alive. No mistakes, no carelessness, and no-one left behind.

For that, I am proud of Ashton Greymoore; not Bells Hells' Weapon but their Helm, not a Blunt Instrument but a Protector, and not a Hero who needs to do 'what needs to be done' but a Friend who is saving their people no matter the odds. Under all the hardened and rugged exterior that has always been who Ashton is - the perfectly flawed character they are.