maebarfield-blog

[maebarfield-blog]

TOUCH MEME

send a symbol for my muse to react to yours… (or add +reverse for my muse to touch yours)

VIOLENT 🔪 – stabbing them 👊 – punching them ✋ – slapping them in the face 👞 – kicking them 🎀 – pulling their hair

FLUFFY/FRIENDLY 🍭 – stroking their hair 🖐 – high fiving them 🤝 – holding their hand 👄– kissing them on their [place of choice] 👐 – hugging them 💅 – painting their [finger/toe] nails  🤧 – comforting them when crying 🤒 – caring for them when sick/injured 💃 – dancing with them 👗 – adjusting their clothes 👒 – brushing their hair

NSFW 👋 – spanking them on the booty 💋 – giving them an open mouth kiss 👅 – giving them a love bite on [place of choice] ✌️ – fingering them/jerking them off 💦 – eating them out 💫 – pulling their hair 🔥 – grinding against them 💧 – bathing them

[maebarfield-blog]

Dream. Three wishes they have.

Before meeting such a horrid end...Mae had three very simple dreams.1) To find love. It had eluded her as anything worth hunting should. 2) To one day earn enough money to open her own Clinic, still under Hudson's guiding hand of course, but a practice that would be her own.3) Starting a family. A couple of kids, a home outside the city with room to garden, it's what she always wanted.

[maebarfield-blog]

You have all of one ask to completely shatter my character. Make it count.

[maebarfield-blog]

How hot?

Mae never had the pleasure of meeting Kat. Being Farah's mum though and a Kat fan, Kat is hot as hell in my opinion. Dem legs are on points and she rocks leather.

[maebarfield-blog]

lets play how hot -- Connor and Desmond

Mae thinks they are both quite handsome...though Conner is definitely the more dapper of the two.

[maebarfield-blog]

TOUCH MEME

send a symbol for my muse to react to yours… (or add +reverse for my muse to touch yours)

VIOLENT 🔪 – stabbing them 👊 – punching them ✋ – slapping them in the face 👞 – kicking them 🎀 – pulling their hair

FLUFFY/FRIENDLY 🍭 – stroking their hair ��� – high fiving them 🤝 – holding their hand 👄– kissing them on their [place of choice] 👐 – hugging them 💅 – painting their [finger/toe] nails  🤧 – comforting them when crying 🤒 – caring for them when sick/injured 💃 – dancing with them 👗 – adjusting their clothes 👒 – brushing their hair

NSFW 👋 – spanking them on the booty 💋 – giving them an open mouth kiss 👅 – giving them a love bite on [place of choice] ✌️ – fingering them/jerking them off 💦 – eating them out 💫 – pulling their hair 🔥 – grinding against them 💧 – bathing them

[maebarfield-blog]

hey lets play how hot is that character

[maebarfield-blog]

Send my muse “👀 + a question” and they’ll have to answer with 100% honesty.

No deleting questions, either!

[maebarfield-blog]

👀 "what's being dead like?" (kidding, <3)

((No, no, this plays well into what’s coming))

“Is this death?” Mae asked tenderly, still swaddled tenderly by the forces that had heeded her plea for mercy, for a deliverance from such horrors as the masked sorcerer had bestowed upon her. There had been pain, a sundering of the mortal coil, but then...and odd warmth. Comforting, soothing. Maternal. 

“If this is death...then it’s not so bad...it’s like being asleep.”

@thalsianiii

[maebarfield-blog]

Dear Blizzard...

Please upgrade the hamsters.

Sincerely,

Everyone

[maebarfield-blog]

Send my muse “👀 + a question” and they’ll have to answer with 100% honesty.

No deleting questions, either!

[maebarfield-blog]

((Part two! And yes, this is canon, but he void works is mysterious ways, this will not be the last of sweet Mae.))

Birthed from Innocence, Part 2.

[Part One]

When Mae Barfield awoke, she’d find herself set down in the middle of a strange circle. Dark chains that seemed to emerge from the earth itself bound her ankles and wrists so that she couldn’t escape. Lording over her would be the warlock, An ornate sin'dorei dagger gripped tight in his palm as he whispered incantations aloud. He no longer donned the mask, so she could see the wizened old wizard for who he really was.

Keep reading

[maebarfield-blog]

((Shameless boosting because this was so much fun to write. Thank you so much for including me~))

Birthed from Innocence, Part 1.

The very presence of this masked individual would send shivers down the spines of anyone who caught sight of him. The stench of sulfur, the unnerving warmth of evil magics. He took great care to approach Mae from behind though. She would most certainly not recognize him as the same old man from before. He approached as close as he could before whispering into her ear,

“Don’t scream. Do as I say or I’ll raze this entire camp to the ground. Nod if you understand..”

Keep reading

[maebarfield-blog]

(Shameless boosting, not my writing)

“What is it, Mister Worthshire…?”

His father’s voice had always been cold, or at least he remembered it as such. Finely tailored down to each singular strand of his hair. Each bone in his body aligned to emulate the most refined of elegance.

Connor remembered watching him shave, regarding him with a sense of wonderment. Nothing was out of place.

Nothing was ever out of place.

Connor remembered clearing his throat, hands taut behind his back, wrapped with a concealed garrote as they sat by the stream. Finally after a moment of palpable silence, the tailor’s apprentice opened his mouth. “Do you love me, father?”

The question must have caught his father off guard, the man wincing as his hand snapped to his cheek where the straight razor had nicked him. Connor stiffened, eyes widening for a moment as Marcus tugged a handkerchief from his suit and dabbed his cheek lightly. There was another strenuous moment of silence.

“Of course I do. Why would I not?” He mumbled, as if it were an obvious notion. Connor, however stood silent. As Marcus looked up to him, his brow would raise. “Mister Worthshire you look as if you are about to cry.”

That was because he was. Stunned silence and masked shock gripped at the boy, his hands shook and he loosed the wire, it clattering to the stones of the brook. He brought his hands up, showing where the wires had cut into his fingers. He had pulled it so tight the blood poured down into his palms. “I’m so sorry father- I’m so sorry- I was going- I was going to-”

In an instant, Marcus had stood up, regarding the garrote, and then the boy that stood before him. A knowing smile pulled at his lips, and he was about to speak before a blur of tawny fur erupted from the treeline and barreled right into Marcus. Connor could hear bones snapping, his father’s garbled cry, and as if he had been whipped, he sprung forth from the rocks that he had poised himself upon and drew the pistol his father had rested on the embankment. He heard his father howling, the beast shrieking and snarling as the razor blade tore deep into the flesh of the creature’s neck even as Marcus was being mauled.

It was only when the hammer was brought down did the beast whip it’s head up and swivel that deadly gaze to Connor.

Lightning. The creature was like lightning. In an instant Connor felt the searing pain of his back and his leg, knifelike teeth tearing into the flesh of his inner thigh as the feral monstrosity aimed to tear him up the embankment and into the trees. Connor, as spry as he was, however, wedged himself between an old stump and an sharp, jagged boulder, inhibiting the worgen’s desire and angle to get at the boy’s throat. He felt the blossom of blood on his side from a snapped rib, felt the soaking of his pantsleg from fear and blood alike, and as he looked down to the beast who clamped down all the tighter, he fumbled with the pistol.

He wasn’t making a noise. At least, he couldn’t hear himself making a noise. It was only when the barrel finally found itself snug against the worgen’s temple did he pull the trigger. Again. Again. Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

The beast was dead by the third, the other three were for good measure. When the revolver shot no more, it took ten lackluster clicks for Connor to come to that realization, before he wiggled himself out from under the bleeding corpse. His eyesight was bowing, his vision darkening, however as he took a few steady breaths, he began to drag himself to the bloody pile that was his father.

He saw Marcus’ chest heaving. He heard the burgled moan of agony, and as he finally reached the man, he took a shaking breath to steady the wave of sick.

“Connor.”

His breathing halted for but a moment, and his gaze locked with the wild blue eyes that pierced through a sea of red. The wound was serious, his coat and suit already soaked both from the water and the deep, goring swaths that ripped open Marcus’ stomach.

“You- you called me by my first name…”

Why was he focusing upon that of all things? Here he was, bleeding profusely, looking at his father’s mauled body and the first thing that caught his attention was the fact he was called his first name?

“Now is hardly the time for formalities,” his father’s voice was ragged, pained, although there was a small sense of amused antipathy for the situation at hand. “I want you to do two very important things. I would like to not waste time repeating myself.” Connor’s lip quivered, although he nodded, thinning his lips tightly to avoid grimacing in agony. Marcus regarded his son, nodding slowly.

“Kill me, and then yourself.” His words were pointed, even through the pain as he looked down to his stomach. “I’ll not suffer a Worthshire becoming a mindless animal.” Connor stared at him, jaw slack, before he opened his mouth.

“But-”

“What did I just say, Mister Worthshire?” He hissed. Connor swayed onto his knees, looking about as if still stunned, although the glimmer in the water caught his eye. As he fought to stand, he loped drunkenly to where his garrote dropped into the water, fishing it out with a small whimpering hum. Wincing as it finally popped free from the rocks, he dragged himself back to where his father laid.

No words were passed between the two, the intimacy of the moment relished in silence. Each moment Connor blinked, his father’s face changed a different color. Each time his eyes opened, he saw his father staring him dead in the eye. His hands wrapped instinctively around his son’s throat, squeezing tight as the boy committed to the order given to him.

Blood blossomed in Marcus’ sclera, and the grip around Connor’s own throat began to wane. It was only when his father’s body remained still for a minute, did the tailor’s apprentice finally loose the wire that aided him. Staring down at the bloodied body, his hands retracted.

It was only when he felt a pair of strong hands jerk him back, did Connor realize he had been screaming the entire time. His body was pulled away from his father’s, he felt hands clamp around the wound on his leg, and as the Gilneas tabard pushed against his face- his vision darkened.

[maebarfield-blog]

-Mood-

[maebarfield-blog]

nonsexual acts of intimacy --- select from the following for my muse to respond to:

♔ : Finding your muse wearing their clothes ♕ : Holding hands ♖ : Having their hair washed by your muse ♗ : Your muse falling asleep with their head in my muse’s lap. ♘ : Cuddling in a blanket fort ♙ : Sharing a bed ♚ : Head scratches ♛ : Sharing a dessert ♜ : Shoulder rubs ♝ : Reading a book together ♞ : Caring for each other while ill (specify which party is which) ♟ : Patching up a wound ♤ : Taking a bath together ♧ : Your muse playing with their hair ♡ : Accidentally falling asleep together ♢ : Forehead or cheek kisses ♠ : Your muse adjusting their jewelry/neck tie/ etc. ♣ : Back scratches ♥ : Your muse crying about something ♦ : Slow dancing

[maebarfield-blog]

Send “Rumour has it...” and a rumour about my muse in my ask!

My muse will then react to it being spread.