Studs, Spikes, and Blood @weslynnegoldmeadow - Tumblr Blog

Posts

I'm going to be turning this into a personal Tumblr within the next few days, so I can have a Primary Account to be the top of this blogtree. If you don't want to be following my personal Tumblr, this is your chance to run.

fuckyeahchinesegarden

spring festival lantern in laomendong, nanjing by 微风吹淡的蓝

pururin

queenophydea

Not to be a lesbian but holy fuck

mechanicalriddle

#i think about this gif literally every time i put on my parking brake

I think this is probably a goodbye. The WoW RP and game communities meant a lot to me, but I have very little that still ties me to them. It's been a struggle to feel happy writing long-form stories in this universe for a long while already, but it has only gotten worse as I have become more and more distant from friends, and I continue to see the news about ABK continuing to shit the bed.

Losing my very comfortable safe net in these past few weeks has really hurt me very deeply, but I think this is a good opportunity to avoid stagnation. Plus, I deserve better than being treated like shit.

One thing playing World of Warcraft has taught me in these past years is that good stories should end, and with that in mind I'm going to be shifting my focus elsewhere. I wish everyone the best as they pursue their goals, and I hope you all continue to enjoy yourselves moving forward.

I hope one day that I might return when things are different, because I really will miss telling stories with you all.

wyrmguardsecrets

Shit up nature Paladin, I heard you’re into smegma

weslynnegoldmeadow

YOOOOOOOOOOOOOO way to be predictable lol

Once upon a time, Weslynne Goldmeadow was a dashing swashbuckler of sorts. You could still see the evidence if you squinted, namely her crooked grin, and penchant for inappropriate jokes -- or perhaps her old, faded Gilnean navy tattoo -- but whatever she used to be... Weslynne Goldmeadow was certainly something else, now.

She awoke that night to a dull, rolling pain. The extensive, scarred patch along her belly where that royalist's bayonet had run rampant with her guts ached as if she'd been punched. Wes could feel the presence of rain long before she realized it was bouncing off the window, but now that she was fully awake, it was a wonder she'd managed to sleep through the storm.

The old knight swung her legs over the side of the bed -- which creaked, and groaned in protest -- before pulling herself upright. "I know. I know." Weslynne chided the mattress with a groan of her own. "Believe me, I'm not too fuckin' happy about it, either."

Though -- perhaps unsurprisingly -- the bed did not respond, her aging mastiff, Genn did. The old hound opened one eye and huffed at the minor disturbance before laying his head back down.

Weslynne paced across her living room, and into the kitchen. On a normal morning, she might've been able to gage whether or not the sun was coming up soon, but as she gazed out the kitchen window, all she could see was blackness though the waterlogged glass.

For a brief moment, she considered laying back down, but the dull ache of her old wound reminded her exactly what'd gotten her up in the first place. With a resigned sigh, she put a kettle on over the fire, and climbed back up -- past Genn on the couch -- to the loft where she slept. She rummaged through the chest at the foot of her bed for the treated cloak Merellia had given her when she came to Autumnhearth. It was a light, cowled thing, meant more for summer rain, than snow or cold. It would make a fine addition to her patrol garb this morning. Or night. Or whatever fuckin' time it was.

A sturdy pair of boots, her layered fur armor, a thick pair of gloves, and one cup of tea later, Wes was draping the inquisitor's cloak about her shoulders. She checked her belt -- rummaging though water-proofed pouches for extra slugs, and her case of cigarettes -- before buckling it 'round her waist and fastening her trusty machete. After a last look around the house, she regarded Genn with an amicable little nod, gripped her hunting spear, and set off into the rainy morning.

... perhaps Doctor Clarke would be awake in Easthallow by the time she got there. Wouldn't that be nice.

#just little writing things to get my head in the game #merellia and allison make smol cameos #also genn gigglepaws

🍃🌺🌙If you receive this you make somebody happy. Go and send this to ten of your followers who make you happy or somebody you think needs cheering up. If you get it back even better 🌙🌺🍃👉👈

<3 y'all are so sweet

Thank you so much, friend 😭

mercurial-muses

Day 6 - 31 Day Writing Challenge

6. Write a scene in which your character’s past affects their current actions.

- - - - - - - - - -

Valdyss had learned early on to never count on magic alone in battle. The melee training she’d received upon her arrival in Northrend years ago had been brief and, frighteningly, had been replaced far too quickly with real fights against the scourge. The lessons she learned had been repetitive and held high stakes, cementing knowledge in her mind. It made tactics and techniques easy enough to recall even years later, but the mage was currently receiving a brutal reminder that there was no substitute for practice.

The wooden buckler felt heavy in her grasp and its leather straps were rubbing her skin raw, even through her padded cloth armor. The heft of the wood training sword was similar to her own blade, at least, though the motions she made with it lacked the smooth flow she’d once mastered. How had she let herself get so rusty?

Val’s current discomfort and aggravation with herself were overshadowed only by her gratitude to Wes for suggesting a test of her melee skills. It was something she’d be sure to thank her friend for another time, when the other woman wasn’t kicking her ass. Better for this mess to be occurring in a practice ring than in the woods.

The Marshal advanced yet again and the loud crack of wood on wood jolted Val’s buckler, the impact zinging up her arm and then reverberating down her left side. The shock of it led to only a second of hesitation on the mage’s part, but it was plenty long enough for Wes to get past her guard and jab the end of her quarterstaff into her gut. Pulled strike or not, that was gonna bruise. Dammit!

Valdyss’ angry gaze met the taller woman’s over the edge of her shield and she shouted out in wordless frustration as she ducked beneath Wes' reach, put her weight behind the buckler, and shoved tbe Marshal back. A sweep of the staff took the mage’s feet out from under her before she even saw the move coming, and the air exploded from her lungs as she hit the ground. Wes towered over her, staff raised to strike again, and Val froze when she should have defended or moved.

The screams of men and horses echoed from her past, punctuated with the harsh ringing of steel and frantic calls to hold the line. While the taste of blood in Val’s mouth was only imagined, the seizing of her lungs was not. Her breaths entered in quick gasps and exited as a wheeze. Lips tingled with the lack of air and the world took a dizzying whirl to her left. She wasn’t aware of the sword that slipped from her grasp or the shield hanging by its straps from her arm. Val saw only the face of a woman she trusted and cared for, weapon raised to end her. Again.

#friend writing #... plus a Wes cameo

I made this really stupid meme

Wes practically threw herself into the armchair when she got back to the Old Town apartment that evening.

Sorry. Morning.

Exhaustion had finally set in on the tired knight's features, but tonight she'd found something that helped to keep the existential fatigue at bay. Something she hadn't known in years:

Rage.

... but despite all her frowning, and hemming, and hawing, and grumbling, Weslynne knew when someone else had more of a right to a breakdown than she did.

She was planning to go home this evening, but the thought of donning her armor, and walking back out through the city filled her with such a bone-deep weariness that she could barely stand to dwell on it for longer than a few seconds.

"I fucking hate this city."

... and so she pulled herself up from the armchair, and made her way over to her travel bag. First, she unpacked an ornate, pewter tea set. Then, a small packaged blend of -- someone else's -- tea leaves. Finally, she set the kettle over the fire to boil.

Her apartment was spartan in its furnishing. She paid the rent on this room with her Silver Hand stipend for when it was necessary for the order to meet in the city, or in the outlying abbey... but that didn't mean she had to like spending time here. There were a few changes of clothes just in case she had to stay, but very little else outside of the bed, and a single chair.

... and so she changed. Out of the sleeveless quilted armor jerkin and leather trousers she'd worn to spectate the House of Nobles, and into a set of light clothes for sleeping.

Whiiiiiiieeee

The sound of her kettle's whistle snapped her out of the fugue.

"... let's see if Doctor Clarke's tea actually works the way she claims it does."

daisy : did your muse ever feel as though their innocence had been lost ? what moment in their life could be described as the end of their innocence ?

Crowley may have forgiven Genn Greymane out of necessity, but Weslynne Kirdrin would not.

Not yet... and the stabbing pain in her side -- where her wound had healed badly without proper care in prison -- was a constant reminder of why.

The holdouts, bolstered by Crowley's munitions, had managed to survive the worst of the outbreak, and escape the crumbling city. They'd survived long enough to find something resembling a cure for the afflicted... but they were still trapped behind the bloody Greymane Wall.

The wall I'd gone to fucking Stoneward over. The wall I lost Faye and Charlee over.

Wes spit into the grass as the mere thought of it brought her anger boiling to the surface once again.

... at least Eckhardt Manor wasn't far, now.

Each footfall felt heavier than the last. It'd been years since she'd been home, and she hadn't seen her wife or daughter around any the survivor camps. Still, foolish as it might be, Wes had hope. The Eckhardts had lived well beyond the city limits, and their land was nestled up against the Blackwald. There was no one around for miles. Nobody except for the family, and the manor staff.

... but Weslynne's heart sank when she got close enough to see how badly the disrepair that plagued the manor had gotten. Everything was falling to pieces. There were broken windows. The horses were gone from the stable. The staff must've left long ago...

Faye's gardens were overgrown.

Wes felt as though her entire body had been plunged beneath the waves at Keel Harbor. Her wife had loved the garden. If it'd reached this point... well. She should've turned on her heel and left, but morbid curiosity was a hell of a thing.

She hadn't had a key with her when they'd scraped her off the cobble at Northgate, with a bloody hole in her guts, and a dead royalist's bayonet poking out her back... so she went in through a window.

...like a common bandit.

The inside of the Manor was much worse. Or perhaps the memory of how it should've been just made it seem so. There was water damage everywhere. Torn furniture, scattered papers, and splintered wood. The scent of mold and rot was so overpowering that she nearly retched. Wes's hand fell to the butt of her shotgun, and she rubbed the pad of her thumb along the black walnut stock. It had been her father-in-law's. A masterwork firearm. Quite frankly, it was a wonder it hadn't been "appropriated" from the arms lockup, but in this moment, it was of small comfort. A piece of her old life that reminded her that she had every right to be here. That this was her home, too.

Faye? Charlee? Aaron?

Wes didn't dare call out. Not that she truly thought she'd find either of them at this point, but-

There was a low, rumbling scrape in the room above her. In the drawing room... and it set the hairs on the back of her neck standing upright. She could feel her heart pounding against her eardrums. A deafening patter that sounded more like cannon fire than fear. With shaking hands, she slipped the shotgun free from the shoulder strap, and readied it.

Every cell in her body screamed for her to turn and run, but she remembered listening to an old rebel talk in the days before the alchemists had cracked the elixir. In his semi-lucid state, he'd spoke in hushed whispers. How, whenever the doctors -- and eventually hospice care -- would turn their backs, some forgotten instinct, buried in the pit of his chest would just scream with rage. She didn't dare turn hers. Not now.

If I heard it, then it definitely heard me...

The stock of that old gun was heavy, and hard as she ascended the stairs. The sensation of the smooth wood against her shoulder kept her anchored to the moment, despite every single step filling her with the pressing need to do otherwise.

... and then something hit her. Hard. The smell of acrid breath, and musty fur crashed over her a split second later. The first trigger gave way, and a brilliant muzzle flash lit up the hallway. Just long enough to leave dazzling spots in her vision, and an imprint of the mindless beast's snarling visage on her psyche.

It was like a spike of ice had been driven through her chest, and a heady concoction of abject terror and pure adrenaline shot through her. She brought the gun up -- to have anything between her face and the snapping jaws -- and ...

Indescribable pain. Claws ripped through her leather coat as if it were barely there, crushing the light, chain liner beneath the worgen's weighty paws until it, too, gave. Wes felt the warmth of blood, and a haze clouded her mind. The enraged beast batted her arms aside, and pain laced along her old wound. Not even the surge of adrenaline could help. Her grip on the gun gave.

I'm going to die.

It was the only thing that made it through the cacophony of fear, and nerves. The pounding of her heartbeat, and the ringing in her ears.

... but at least I'll die in her home.

Death never came. She waited, and waited... but when she opened her eyes, she saw the Worgen. Its jaws frozen mid-snap... with what could only be described as recognition in its eyes.

She could barely move the arm, but she could pull the trigger. The muzzle of the old shotgun flashed again. A blinding, purifying light. Wes barely heard the sound of the blast over the cannon fire that was her heartbeat... and then her arm went limp, and the worgen slumped atop her.

((Hey thanks for asking me this question @foxglovethings! This was a super fun moment to recreate.))

holly: how strong is your muse’s sense of intuition? are they aware of it? do they ever fear that it is only paranoia?

Weslynne has got what the kids nowadays call:

T R A U M A...

Which is to say that... kinda. A lifetime of soldiering will help to build something of an instinct for how to survive, but she does struggle with some level of hypervigilance.

... and on a level, she understands that, and tries her damndest to ensure that she can tell the difference between reality and a false positive, but she's spent a lot of time alone since the end of Legion... so sometimes she fails. Especially where social situations are concerned.

(Thank you @nzoth-the-corruptor I appreciate you for asking <3)

abatina : is there anything in life your muse has changed their mind about over time ( due to becoming more educated on the topic , certain experiences , etc . ) , or that they would change their mind about under certain circumstances ?

Weslynne was a good soldier, and a true believer in the Alliance of Lordaeron. She was, at one point, a picturesque squire.

... but then Gilneas happened. Not just the politics of it, but her father. He was a wheeler and dealer, and he desperately wanted to be the hero that helped orchestrate Gilneas's joining the Alliance of Lordaeron. So she was "encouraged" to leave her squireship, and marry into a Gilnean noble family whose patriarch had some level of sway in Greymane's court.

Already disillusioned from years of just... doing what she was supposed to, Wes became depressed and further disenchanted. When Greymane wanted to pull out of the Alliance, and erect the Wall, Wes was all too eager to duke it out as a member of Crowley's Rebels... but the threat of having to choose between the Gilnean family she'd grown to love, and the mother and brothers she'd left behind in Lordaeron are truly the thing that radicalized her.

When the rebels failed at Northgate, and an injured and battered Weslynne Kirdrin was thrown into prison, she lost both worlds... and forever cemented the anti-nobility, anti-politicking Wes of today into being.

((Thanks for the ask, @terezascania! For the record I did actually RP out the Gilneas backstory over on a private server over the course of a year, and it was one of my favorite parts of Wes's story so far.))

promptfairy

❥ 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 [ 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃𝚂 ] .

headcanon prompts with questions based on plants & what they represent in flower language . happy roleplaying !! ♡

acanthus : is your muse deceptive , or willing to lie or deceive to achieve certain means ? why or why not ?

aloe : how does your muse handle grief ?

amaryllis : what is something or someone that your muse takes pride in ? how do they express that pride ?

anemone : how does your muse view the world ; as a cruel & unforgiving place , a land full of wonders , or something in - between ? where does that world view come from ( what experiences , life lessons , etc . ) ?

angelica : where does your muse draw inspiration in life ? what motivates them ?

apple blossom : how does your muse go about expressing or not expressing their sexuality ?

bachelor’s button : does your muse actively seek romantic companionship , or cherish the liberties of being single ?

basil : does your muse have a love - hate relationship with anyone or anything ?

bay tree : does your muse seek glory & accolades , or do they favour a simpler , more personal life ?

begonia : how cautious is your muse ? are they prone to noticing red flags , or paranoid to the point of untrusting most everyone ? why or why not ?

belladonna : how does your muse respond to silence ? do they take comfort in soundlessness , or seek to fill the void with noise ?

bluebell : does your muse learn from their past , or are they prone to repeating the same mistakes ?

carnation : what is your muse’s relationship with their gender ? how do they express or not express this relationship ?

chamomile : what is your muse likely to take away from a painful experience ? are they one to be haunted by adversity , or to use what they’ve gone through to become stronger ?

chrysanthemum : how does your muse express romantic love ? how do they feel about love as a concept ?

daffodil : is your muse one to be loyal in relationships , or are they likely to quickly move from one bond to another ?

daisy : did your muse ever feel as though their innocence had been lost ? what moment in their life could be described as the end of their innocence ?

edelweiss : what was the bravest moment in your muse’s life ? are they known to be courageous from then on ?

fern : does your muse believe in magic or cosmic forces , or are they more likely to think their life is ultimately a matter of their own control ?

forget - me - not : has your muse ever forgotten something that is or was important to them ? are they afraid of forgetting things like that ?

gardenia : is your muse one to confess romantic feelings early on , or to conceal them for long periods of time ?

gladiolus : describe a moment from your muse’s life that they will never forget .

goldenrod : does your muse believe in luck or fortune ? why or why not ? where do they believe these things come from ?

heliotrope : does your muse believe in soulmates ?

hibiscus : how does your muse view the gentler , daintier things in life ? as things worth preserving & caring for , or things only bound to wither & disappear ?

holly : how strong is your muse’s sense of intuition ? are they aware of it ? do they ever fear that it is only paranoia ?

hollyhock : how strong is your muse’s sense of ambition ? what’s something they strive for in life ?

hyacinth : is your muse athletic ? does it come naturally to them , or have they had to work for their physique and/or skill ?

hydrangea : how much does your muse value communication in their relationships with others ? are they prone to being misunderstood ?

iris : if your muse could convey one last message to someone they have lost or left behind , what would it be ?

ivy : what are your muse’s views on marriage ? do they believe it is something strictly for love , or an institution rooted in business & social benefits ? do they desire or have they desired to be married ?

lavender : how easy is it to gain your muse’s trust ? once their trust is broken , how might one go about mending it ?

lilac : what was your muse’s childhood like ? how has their upbringing affected them as they’ve aged ?

lily : how does your muse view their mother ?

lotus : has your muse ever felt as though they’ve been reborn ? have they ever desired the feeling of a fresh start , or a better understanding of themself and/or the world around them ?

magnolia : describe your muse’s relationship with nature & the natural world .

marigold : is your muse prone to jealousy ? how might they handle envious feelings ?

mint : does your muse view themself as virtuous & moral ? what do these words mean to them ?

nasturtium : describe your muse’s relationship with their birthplace , or homeland .

oak : who would your muse consider the strongest person they know ?

pansy : does your muse often reflect on their own actions ? do they ever think a lot about the past , and what they could have done differently ?

parsley : describe a holiday your muse enjoys , and why they enjoy it .

peony : what would a ‘ happy life ’ look like in your muse’s eyes ?

poppy : what comforts your muse ?

rhododendron : is your muse receptive to warnings & advice given by others ?

rose : how much does your muse value other people ? do they wish to have many friends , lovers , and/or associates ? are they an easy person to love ?

sage : what is your muse’s legacy ? what do they want to be remembered for & what might they actually be remembered for ?

salvia : is your muse possessive over people or things that matter a lot to them ? how do they express that possessiveness , or lack thereof ?

snapdragon : is your muse merciful ? why or why not ?

southernwood : how seriously does your muse take themself ? do they prefer a solemn & intellectual atmosphere or do they delight in jokes & banter ?

sunflower : what brings your muse the most joy in life ?

tulip : how does your muse view people in general ?

violet : how does your muse respond to betrayal ?

willow : how does your muse handle sadness & depression ?

zinnia : how has the loss of fallen comrades and/or loved ones affected your muse ? has it taught them anything or given them any new perspectives ?

#I am planning to spend all of tomorrow writing and answering asks #pls give me something to do <3

7 - Did your muse have a favourite childhood story or fable?, 13 - Are there any physical items that make your muse happy?

7. Favorite Childhood Story or Fable

Wes was born about five years before the First War, and most of her life was so hectic during that time, she barely remembers it. She was eight when her family fled from Stormwind, and her older brother used to tell stories about Anduin Lothar's heroics. Surely, he had embellished. Wallace was at most 15, and nowhere even close to the know.

Still, when the nights were dark, and their parents smuggled then out of the city by lantern light, the two Kirdrins would pretend to be Stormwind's greatest heroes. When she wanted to cry, she'd think about the stories she'd been told -- none of them actually true, she would discover later -- and find power in them.

They were what lead her to squire when she turned thirteen. They were what she thought of when she'd ended up living in Gilneas instead.

13. Physical Items That Make My Muse Happy

- A Sapphire Pendant that once belonged to her mother.

- A Tea Infuser and Kettle that her paladin mentor bought in Pandaria during deployment, and passed down to her when he died.

- A Collection of Shitty Pulp Novellas mostly purchased during the hazy, mostly-drunk mercenary period of Weslynne's life. For the longest time, she kept very little in the way of possessions, but now that she's settled, she's glad she kept these... and she always picks up the most recent Bloody Saoirse novel whenever she's in Booty Bay.

- A Beaten Up Old Guitar that she received as a gift from her father-in-law alongside his hunting shotgun. Though she certainly gets more use out of the latter, the Guitar is a prized possession and it's gone more places with her than most people have.

horrificmemes

Horrific Headcanons part 2

Since it’s one of my most popular memes, here is a part 2 to THIS meme, all about RP muse headcanons that are dark, angsty, or horror/scifi-related!

😇 Does your muse pretend to be innocent if they’ve done something wrong? 😈 Are they a deceitful person, and do they see themselves as such? 👁 Have they ever been a stalker, or been stalked themselves? 👀 What is the most disturbing thing they’ve ever seen? 😴 Would they ever choose to die in their sleep? Why or why not? 😡 What would someone have to make them lash out in violent anger? 🎃 If they were to play a mean trick on Halloween, what would they do and who would be their target? 👥 Is there anyone they wish they had never met? 🤡 Do they have any phobias or irrational fears? ❌ Would they consider themselves easy to corrupt? Already corrupted? 🤞 What is one of the biggest lies they’ve told (or their most recent lie)? 🥀 How would they handle the death of a loved one? (optional: specify person) 🔫 Would they ever sacrifice someone in order to save their own life? 💣 Name one dangerous experience they survived. 🍗 Have they ever wondered what human tasted like? Or do they know? 🎵 If they were going to torture someone, what music would they play while they did it? 👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨 How would they react if the person they fell in love with turned out to be a criminal? 😍How would they react if the person they fell in love with turned out to be non-human? 😪 Name one thing someone could say or do to make your muse cry. 🦋Would they choose to die if it meant they’d come back as someone stronger? 👄If your muse had the ‘kiss of death’, would they ever use it? 🗣When is the last time they yelled at someone in anger? 🍼 Would they have a family with someone who was not of the same species/human-ness as them? 👤 If they could switch bodies or lives with any one person, who would it be? 👽What would they do if they witnessed an alien ship crash landing? 🤑Would they commit a brutal murder if it meant they would become rich? 👣Do they believe in Bigfoot? What about other legendary creatures? 💥If the world were ending, would they be satisfied with their life? 🔥 In a fire, they can only save three things (including people). Who/what do they save? 🍷 What would they do if someone slipped them a slow-killing poison? 😱When was the last time they were shocked or startled? 🦉Could they stay calm lost in the woods all night by themselves? 🐲Were they afraid of monsters under the bed as a child? 🎧How would they react after hearing an unexplained sound while home alone? 🏡How much would they have to be offered to live in a haunted house for a month? 🙀Do they believe animals have extra senses that people don’t? 🔪What do they think is scarier: a killer with a gun, or a killer skilled with a knife? 👻If they were a ghost, what methods would they use to haunt someone? 🔮They have a premonition that something terrible will happen to them. How do they handle the situation? 🔭Do they have a fear of the unknown and things they can’t explain?

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

Studs, Spikes, and Blood