#ashryn

[dl00b]

Chapter One Aftermath

10 REMAINING

Who do you think will win (idk why im doing this no ones gonna vote)

Who do you think will win?

Dloob

Arlo

Bluscreen

Nloob

Ashryn

Mint

Kade

Lynx

Harlow

Hydrogen

Voting ended onSep 6, 2025

[thomasknight180-blog]

Here my current Moc lineup that I have build for my reboot story. More on there way.

1: Thomas Knight

2: Ashryn

3: Nakano

4: Risnira

5: Raz0-4

6: Shadowcore

[vynive]

In case anyone was wondering who the poor idiots are who go up against Venasha and Seles are--it’s these guys.

(individual intros coming soon)

[leafyakiko]

"Oh... I thought you of all people would be happy to see your people burn."  "The Highborne made me who I am, not the innocent families and children you are leaving to burn with no escape."  "Do I see bloodlust in your eyes, Manawood?"

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  #Spoilers #Warcraft #ForTheAlliance

[sheketai]

!! Some battle icons for me, @rabid-halla-rider & @danirawrus 

[vynive]

Meet My Idiot Children.png

[leafyakiko]

Ashryn has very dark skin and extremely light hair when she’s young, she came form a family of Magi. She runs from home and the left displays her as “older” aka, when someone finally comes to seek her help in Feralas! The version of Ashe I draw now has pinker skin and displays more emotion than her past self does!! I will make a timeline of her in future, I understand people will be confused in thinking she is a Nightborne as a child, but she’s actually a Highborne with a heck of a family.

[livinqstone]

ooooooh, the one about dry humping on the couch pretty please??

Of course, of course ~

Ashryn was supposed to get less bratty with age but the brat is still lurking. This is more feelings than dry humping to be totally honest, but all of my smut is more feelings than smut.

Obligatory second person warning. Ashryn is always easier to write in second person for reasons I've never examined and likely never will.

You slide your hand down to the curve at the small of his back, pressing in as you grind your hips forward, basking in the slow intake of breath. Still, he doesn’t move against you but you can feel the tension in his body. A slight tremor that makes you hesitate, uncertain if it’s the right kind of anticipation. Your other hand cradles the back of his head, musses his hair a little to get his attention. “Want to stop?”

He shakes his head, grabs your forearm and pulls, pressing your hand more firmly into the small of his back.

You press your forehead to his, lean in to bump your noses together. “Can I kiss you?”

He breathes hard suddenly, and you’re not sure if it’s from your hips finding the right angle or muffled amusement - that you’re asking permission for this with your hand already moving to grab the cleft of his thigh and ass, pulling him in closer to grind against. He nods anyway and sighs when your lips meet his, only a hitch of breath and a bitten off moan when you tilt your head to deepen the kiss and rock forward hard at the same time.

He's always so quiet. Even when he's got a lot to say, he manages to do it in the least amount of words possible, tone level, with more patience than any sane man can possibly have. Usually it's a trait you don't mind, enjoy even when his silences settle like little pockets of carved out peace. Like this, though, you have difficulty interpreting exactly what they mean.

"Cass," you say against his neck, just short of a whine. "Talk to me."

It's a long moment before he replies, nearly put together, which you find personally offensive. He only says, "Cap-tain." But it's got that sort of plaintive edge to it, a request, quiet demand, and a plea all in one. The one that normally says, Please don't swear at the dockmaster if we are to make any profit for this shipment, or Show that poor boy how to tie off the sails properly so I don't have to climb up there, or Let the crew do the work we are paying them to do as they get twitchy when you do all the loading yourself.

You find yourself driven to discover the meaning to this particular version, much to Cassian's equal dismay and delight. Or you think anyway, if the way his head drops back against the arm of the couch is anything to go by, clutching at you as his hips follow the rhythm yours have set.