#embercrested

@embercrested​ said: 🔥🔥🔥 ;D

( Send me a “ 🔥 ” + a topic for an unpopular opinion. // no longer accepting )

🔥 Retaking Darkshore wasn’t justice for Teldrassil, Tyrande is right and she should say it, she’s not lost to vengeance, she’s justified in wanting the Horde as a whole to pay for what they did instead of Sylvanas alone, changing sides and yelling honor doesn’t make the others less guilty, from a lore point of view the nelfs shouldn’t be at the siege working with Saurfang (Saurfang who, you know, made the whole plan to march on Darnassus while it was virtually defenseless having mostly only civilians around), did I say Tyrande is right she really is

🔥 Sometimes writing styles and/or people and/or headcanons just don’t match and not wanting to write with someone because of that shouldn’t be reason for anyone to feel guilty, the same way people shouldn’t take it personally when it isn’t personal  

When  Tess  strode  boldly  forth  towards  the  shores  of  Kul  Tiras,  she’d  not  expected  to  become  completely  embroiled  in  house  affairs.  No  doubt  she  thought  it  would  be  similar  to  the  Broken  Shore  ---  albeit  with  a  few  less  demons  and  a  few  delicate  Horde  affairs  to  navigate,  but  the  introduction  of  cults  and  the  occult  reminded  her  of  old  harvest  druids  warning  her  people  not  to  delve  too  deep  into  the  Witchwood,  and  she  was  not  a  child  warded  off  by  old  wives  tales.

Though,  in  recent  times,  she’d  begun  to  wonder  just  how  much  validity  the  old  crones  had.  Witches  roamed  the  craggy  land  in  the  bodies  of  hags,  twisted  by  ancient  death  magic  and  matrons  coaxing  young  girls  with  withered,  bony  hands.  At  the  centre  of  it  all  lay  the  daughter  of  the  matron  and  her  rejection  of  the  Drust  King,  ascending  her  to  leader  whether  she  liked  it  or  not.  She  found  herself  bonding  to  Lucy  ---  both  women  the  same  age,  bound  by  strict  and  unrelenting  parents  ---  though  she  found  her  current  mindset  a  touch  aggravating.

❝  Now,  now,  Lady  Waycrest,  let’s  not  be  so  dramatic.  ❞  Subtly  required  a  degree  of  clarity  and  suicidal  idealisation,  though  caused  from  one’s  patriotism  to  their  country  and  people,  would  not  suffice.  It  was  not  the  first  time  she’d  heard  such  declarations,  though  the  mouth  from  which  they  proclaimed  no  longer  had  the  voice  to  speak  it.  ❝  This  is  no  time  to  get  our  knickers  in  a  knot.  ❞  She  would  not  allow  her  to  pull  a  Liam,  suffice  it  to  say.

Send (▰˘◡˘▰) for a kiss drabble about our muses — accepting! @embercrested​ said: (▰˘◡˘▰) sisterzone eh?

keep the WOLVES from the door.         i hear them scratching like i don’t know better.

     “ This is the Lady Lucille Waycrest, ” introduces a man whose voice stutters not at all, eyes unwavering as he stares down the Death which glances right past him to his Lady. She might have been impressed by that, were she a little less hungry and a little more inclined to think favorably of these salt-soaked nobodies, but alas. 

     Hasn’t put its best foot forward, Kul Tiras. What a shame. 

     ( “ Behave, ” Jaina had plead on the way to these stormy unfriendly shores, right before they’d been clapped in irons and left to fester underground with rats and worse. She could laugh at the irony if it weren’t so very enraging. )

     But far be it from her to stoop as low as the adversary. Thus as she stops before this pretty little waif of a noble, she does not grasp that long expanse of throat as she so ardently desires, nor does she rip the soul from the resultant corpse before turning upon the impotent bodyguard, and the squealing townsfolk, and every other pestilent stain of a so-called human life festering on this soggy waste of soil before bashing Katherine Proudmoore’s head upon the ground with a melon burst.

     Behave, Jaina had plead. And thus.

          She stops before the Lady.

     Haunting courts for half a decade or more has left a certain polish upon even her rough butcher’s manner; Deathlord is all crooked grins and arching spines as she sweeps down upon the proffered hand to cradle it between those black clawed gauntlets that would like to crush bone, with all the care of a crocolisk scooping a hatchling into her jaws.

     If the curtain of her lips should unfurl to flash wrought ivory upon the soft warm skin of the dear delicious Lady Waycrest.... well.

          She did mention she was hungry, earlier.

     “ Lord Zoen Mith. ” No herald nor bodyguard to announce the royal dead, save the black beast loyal at her side. Her grin crooks higher as she meets the Lady’s dark brown eyes, scars crinkling in a way that looks as ugly as it feels. “ Charmed. ” 

     And you could almost believe she means it, had it been anyone else that said it.

but consider. the other books are all about orcs and honour and you don’t want that

Send 💀 to walk in on my muse killing someone. - accepting@embercrestedd

|| what is this that  I  C A N ’ T   S E E                  with  ICE COLD HANDS  taking hold of me? ||

  THE BEAST WHINES AT HIS FEET. It’s not alive, not even in the sense of him and his, no mind or soul at all ever having inhabited its form. Just a scrap of wood and cloth roughly bound by twine and animated by others’ will, lupine only in the vaguest silhouette of shape and manner. Dread is beyond its capacity, but a sensation basic to existence, general as atoms, compels it to shudder and claw desperately at the blade pinning it to the ground.  

   “I can hear you.”

   He does not look for her, engrossed as he is by the pantomime death throes. ( The percussive violence of her heart is enough. ) A coat of frost has spread across its body, creeping towards jerky limbs and the thrashing antlers. The rot is minimal, by his command; that’s not what he’s here for. Not yet.

    “ Step into the light. ”

some ask meme

Control. Control, a thing he had craved since before he had hatched, had worked for tirelessly the entirety of his short life. Control, much like knowledge, was a thing he grasped for with vicious abandon, though unlike knowledge which he sought in part to use as a weapon control was desired so that it might never be taken from him. Not again.

Old Gods had sought to take it from him before he had hatched, had bent the parts that made him to their will until reds had cut away infection from him violently, terribly. They too then sought to control him, to guide his path as if he were no more than a prisoner to their will, and he would have been he knows. Had he not been stolen from them, had he not evaded them, then he knows he would have been little more than an exotic pet to a self righteous flight.

Wrathion was neither a toy nor a puppet.

Still, where had his vicious search for such things brought him? With the world he so loved dying, and with those he might have wished at his side distant. 

She was right he knows, knows too that she knows for all Wrathion does not think she understands to what extent. She could not possibly, his secrets coveted carefully lest any stumble upon them. He was a closely guarded beast.

“Aren’t we all?” He opts to say in the end, vague and ever aloof as claws tapped mindlessly against table between them. “I suppose it is how we recover from such, no? Either we allow it to keep slipping, or we find a way to hold tighter and tug it back to us.”

Send ’ 🎉 ’ to kiss my muse at midnight on New Years Eve.

*+:｡.｡ Anduin had met Lucille a couple of times before during his time in Kultiras. It was briefly put, but he knew who she was. As the king, hoping to bring in a new people into his care, he wanted to get to know everyone the best that he could, and she was no different.

What he had not anticipated, however, was just how close she’d gotten to him during the New Year celebration in Ironforge. He’d invited them all there, of course. It was incredibly important to be inclusive of everyone, and he made it a point himself to show up. He couldn’t be sure if it was just the moment of the new year, the fact that he was, in fact, quite alone for the celebration, or if she’d had a touch of alcohol but if he had to make a guess, he would bargain on the third option.

Her lips were soft against his, and his eyes had immediately gone wide. He was unsure how to respond. Pushing her away would have been rude, and it was a time for new things, of course. But he did have a kingdom that looked up to him, that he had to think about in the forefront of his mind at all times. He responded to the kiss for a moment—he was young, and lonely, and it really couldn’t be helped—before he pulled back from her.“Miss Waycrest, I—Um. I’m very flattered that you, er…thank you.”

Sex & Romance Headcanons

Jaina sighed, her mind lost in memories. Love Is In the Air was a time when the atmosphere buzzed with the energy of love and affection. And while she wasn’t often one to be found in a packed tavern sitting across from a special someone, nor one of the many women flashing around their cards, chocolates and roses that would wilt in days, it remained one of her favored holidays. Not so long ago, many of Theramore’s citizens and the occasional Alliance traveler from all across Azeroth would make the long climb to the top of her tower and show up with dopey grins or overly confident smirks. Then from behind their backs, sometimes gifted in small, wrapped boxes they’d present her with a lovely charm bracelet. She had kept every one. All of them now dust, destroyed in the blast.She’d rarely received them since. What remained of Theramore’s citizens were scattered, having resettled elsewhere. Her reputation had shattered along with her city. Perhaps it was best, she thought. Admittedly, storing so many bracelets had become quite problematic over time.