#WOTH

[e-vay]

Illustrations from one of my favorite chapters of “Wars of the Heart” by @midnightfire1222 and @dreamverie 💙💖🔥🌙

[intermet179]

That Man

[midnightfire1222]

Wars of the Heart Ch. 76

[queen-scribbles]

smooth sailing

25. Smooth (pre-WotR; Trinne backstory)

This part of the house was empty now, had been for a few months. Made it a good place to come and think, or just enjoy the quiet. Trinne needed that today. Her thoughts were still a tangle over recent familial developments and if she had to hide in her sister's old rooms to process them, so be it.

She meandered through the practice room, past the sheet-shrouded harp, her fingers trailing the smooth marble-top table by the balcony doors. A breeze ruffled her hair as she opened the doors and stepped out, leaning against the railing. She'd always envied the view Simone had from here, maybe once the weirdness of her being gone had worn off, she could--

"Already plotting to steal my room?"

Trinne flinched, barking her knuckles on the rail as she spun around. "Simone?!"

Her older sister grinned, arms crossed as she leaned against the doorframe, glint of gold and amethyst on her finger. "Miss me, sprout?"

Trinne rolled her eyes. "Told you not to call me that. An' you've barely been gone two months, that's not enough time to miss you."

(Yes, it was.)

"Ow." Simone was still grinning, despite the complaint. "Maybe you missed me a little?"

"Maybe a little," Trinne said, faux-grudging and shaking out her sore knuckles as she crossed to hug her sister. "Did you have a good honeymoon? See anything cool? Most important" --she smiled winningly, arms around Simone's waist-- "did you bring me anything?"

Simone rolled her eyes and laughed. "Funny, that was Vera's chief interest, too. But she's six. Little more understandable than when you're fourteen," she teased, mussing Trinne's hair.

Trinne yelped and ducked back. "Hey, I had other questions, too! It's not the only thing I care about."

"Well, then, in order: yes, I had a good honeymoon, and I don't think you want me to elaborate further, we did see several cool things, but I'd rather tell everyone at the same time. And..." she held out a small velvet pouch that had been curled in her hand until now, "we did get you something."

"Ooo!" Trinne just managed to not snatch the pouch in her excitement, loosening the drawstring to empty the contents, a necklace, into her palm. "It's so pretty!"

The pendent was a dark bluish-grey pebble, flat and polished glass-smooth, almost twice the size of her thumbnail. A delicate silver setting had been carefully mounted on one end to connect it to the chain.

"One of the islands we visited has tidal pools around most of the coast. The ocean coming in and out but being somewhat calmed by the pools wears all the rocks extremely smooth," Simone explained. "And because of the pools, the smaller ones don't always gets washed back out. The locals make them into jewelry. I thought you'd like that, since you enjoy traveling as much as I do."

"I love it, thank you!" Trinne effused, slipping on the necklace. She rubbed the pendent between her fingers, marveling at the silky smoothness, the thready white line that crawled through the center.

"You're welcome. It's supposedly lucky, too," Simone winked. "Safe travels and smooth sailing. Guess you'll have to convince Da to take you on one of his trips to test it out."

She grinned back. "Guess I will. So, how long're you visiting?"

"Rest of the day while our ship resupplies," Simone said, teasing glint in her eyes. "Might spend the night if my little sister doesn't have designs on my bedroom."

"Hey, you can watch the Wittens' peacocks from your balcony," Trinne defended, her neck warming. You caught me.

"You can also hear them from here," Simone deadpanned. "You want to deal with that racket in the barely-tolerable hours of the morning, you can tell Mum and Da to switch our rooms. You have my blessing, sprout."

Trinne bit down the instinctive protest of the nickname and hugged her sister again. "You're the best, Sim. Now," she let go and grabbed Simone's hand to start dragging her out of the room. "I wanna hear about where you went and what you saw, let's get everyone together!"

Once the family was gather, Trinne sat and listened with rapt attention to the recounting of everywhere Simone and her husband had gotten to see, fingers rubbing her new necklace as she hoped she'd get to do the same someday.

[late2000shistoricalreenactment]

And thats what you missed on Season 1

Song: carry on wayward son by kansas

[caring-scared]

Been playing a lot of Way of the Hunter. Got my first melanistic.

[ochre-brainrot]

Below is an excerpt from Warmth of the Hearth. This is also technically a first draft I think, although definitely more edited and more polished than the Foul Moon one I posted earlier. This is set in Minuan of the year 5 (C. 20,570-2), making it present-day with the campaigns of Poison and Starvation. This particular project I have been working on a while now. please enjoy.

Two men walked abreast in a soon-to-be graveyard. Around them, a battle raged. A small army was laying siege to what appeared to be a family farm. In the center of this battlefield, the family’s home had been set alight, and the flames were quickly spreading to other buildings as ash snowed from the sky. People shouted and yelled as steel met wood and flesh. Yet the two men continued their stroll, untouched by the chaos. A slight breeze seemed to follow them around, and the dust kicked up by the battle stopped about a foot away from their figures; a hint at the magic barrier protecting them from the outside.

The taller of the two, an imposing elven man with strong features and ornate red-and-gold robes, gestured at the conflict as they passed. “See now, Reuel, how effective your troops have become at rooting out the demon scourge. I must say, I am incredibly impressed.”

The shorter man, Reuel, with short-cropped white hair reflecting the orange light of the fire, said nothing in return. He was sweating heavily, and slightly out of breath from the stress of the walk. As they toured the farm, he paid only half-attention to his companion; the other half was dedicated to their surroundings. Objectively, he knew he was safe in the magic sphere his companion had created, and tried his best to appear unfazed. But his hand still twitched restlessly by the hilt of his sword, and more than once he found himself walking in a warrior’s stance, tense and ready to defend himself at the slightest provocation. Before him, a soldier fell down, having been mauled by one of the many hellhounds roaming the grounds. The young soldier gasped and heaved, reaching out towards Reuel for help as the blood from his open throat began to paint the stones lining the two mens path. Reuel stepped carefully over his outstretched hand, keeping pace with the taller man as they continued to walk. Finally, he found the words to speak.

“Hm. I’m impressed with their mettle, too. We came here for blood, and we’re damn well going to get it.”

The taller figure let out a short exhale, a laugh half-formed, as they continued. Reuel wondered what about that statement was funny, but let the question die well before it reached his lips. This was not a man you questioned, if you valued your station. Still, his companion cast him a sidelong glance, as though reading that very question from his thoughts.

“You must suspect I invited you out here for more than a simple walk through the park and pat on the back, though,” the man said. “After all, this is the third successful raid these past two months that your people have executed. The others are lucky if they get one in the same time frame.”

“Can’t take all the credit for that, sir,” Reuel said quickly. “Part of it is just the area. Absolutely rife with demon-agents, it is.”

“No more so than Kivingston, or Jubilee. No, that is not what makes your troops so effective.” The man lazily waved his hand, and the part of the collapsing barn wall that was destined for where the two men stood instead crashed down behind them. Reuel flinched, despite his best efforts, and glanced back at the wreckage. When he returned his attention frontward, in his peripheral he saw his companion’s judgmental stare locked on his face. He kept as steady as possible, fixing his gaze straight ahead. After a moment, the taller man turned back towards the path in front of them as well.

A brief period of awkward silence followed, before Reuel gathered the courage to speak. “What does, then, sir?”

“Your leadership,” the taller man said simply. “Your scouts root out so many demon agents because you provide them the necessary mix of autonomy and oversight. You yourself are a ruthlessly effective soldier, but you do not let this pride cloud your judgment. You lead by example, and the respect you inspire is evident in your people’s actions and… fervor for battle.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“It is for this reason I invited you on this walk. A position has recently made itself available on my board - an advisor. You are my first choice for this role. It will come with greater responsibility, greater command, and - of course - greater pay.”

Reuel felt his heart speed up. He kept his gaze steadily forward. As he opened his mouth to reply, however, the taller man continued.

“However, this position also requires a great deal of trust between the two of us. Should you accept, I will need you to undertake a small… ritual for me. Something to prove your loyalty.”

Reuel waited, but the taller man did not elaborate further. His hand crept up his chest and laid gently on the symbol pinned to his uniform. Arcc, the Arcane Teacher of War. Carefully, he replied, “I would be honored, sir. Anything you need from me, I will do.”

“Good.” The man suddenly stopped walking, and Reuel followed suit. Looking around, he realized their path had taken them in one large circle, and they were back at the start. The burning family home. In the kitchen were piled four bodies: the homeowners and their eldest children, the first victims of the raid. The first demon agents to fall. They denied it until the end, but Reuel trusted his scouts; and his commander, who had given him the final go-ahead to purge the farm. Also in this pile were two canine bodies: hellhounds that had revealed themselves and leapt at the soldiers when their masters fell. As Reuel stood in this kitchen, he marveled at their design. So similar to real farm dogs, even in death. Only a very trained eye would be able to tell the difference. Reuel turned, about to ask a question, when his commander gestured at the pile.

“Drink,” the man said.

Reuel felt his stomach drop through the floor. Despite the flames licking up the wall, he suddenly felt very cold. Slowly, unsteadily, he turned to look at the pile of bodies. One of the older two females - one of the homeowners - stared back at him with lifeless eyes. He found himself unable to look away.

“Sir…?” he said, uncertain.

“Did you not hear me, Reuel? This is the ritual. The test of loyalty. I need to know that you will follow orders when given.” The man stepped forward, swiftly, and Reuel felt his hair be seized. He gasped in pain as the man stepped again, then pushed, forcing Reuel down to his hands and knees. He was now inches away from the pile of corpses, inches away from the eyes of the homeowner. He resisted, briefly, and the hand on his head tightened its grip.

“You said you came here for blood, did you not?” The man pushed forward, and Reuel closed his eyes tightly as he felt the still-warm flesh of these demon agents against his own skin. He nodded, and the man let go of his hair, taking a step back.

“Then drink.”

Reuel pulled himself back for a moment, staring at the bodies in front of him. Then, he lowered his head to the floor. Holding back a retch, and screwing his eyes shut to hide the forming tears, he slowly stuck out his tongue. It met the floor, becoming coated in the red sap that flowed forth from the pile. The heat of the burning room had congealed the blood into a consistency that somewhat resembled a poorly-made custard. This thought pushed Reuel’s stomach over the edge, and he vomited, reeling backwards. As he coughed, he heard the man behind him laugh.

“Good. Good. I think that’s more than adequate. You may take the time you need for recovery.”  There was a heavy clink of metal meeting stone. “When you are ready to ascend to your new position, activate this medallion. It will take you to the meeting room. The other advisors are already awaiting your arrival.”

As Reuel gathered himself, he heard the man behind him begin to walk away, before pausing. There was a beat of silence, before he continued.

“I’m placing a great deal of trust in you, Reuel. Do not disappoint me.”

Another beat.

“And… you should consider ducking.”

Without a second thought, Reuel ducked his head. Just at that moment, one of the hellhounds infesting the farm leapt from the shadows. It sailed harmlessly over his head, landing poised to strike just feet away. Reuel drew his sword. With an expert thrust, he caught the beast in between its ribs as it came back around, dispatching it almost effortlessly. By the time he wiped the blood off of his blade and turned around, his superior officer was already gone. A fine layer of silver dust mixed with the air, the only sign left of his magic.

Reuel fell into a coughing fit again, partially from the smoke and partially from the illness this sick test had caused him.

“Damn elf,” he muttered to himself, wiping the corner of his mouth.

He strode forward and picked the heavy medallion up off of the floor. It was solid iron, plated with gold to make it safe for fey creatures to touch. Inlaid in its center were pieces of colored glass, meant to stand-in for the gemstones typically required for the magic it held. This was it. The next stage of his career. It was what he had been working towards for years, ever since he was a child. And, with Arcc as his witness, he was not going to stumble now. As the battle was beginning to wane around him, the cries of his soldiers growing distant in the background, Reuel straightened his uniform, took a deep breath, and followed orders.

[heavymead0w]

Forever finding new holes in my mom's favorite sweater

[goopytay]

FIRE IN THE HOLE 🔥🔥🔥

WATER ON THEHILL 💧 💧💧

[cybertron-after-dark]

Every day I am in complete and utter awe at how deeply ingrained into transformers as a franchise robotfucking is. G1 had two different episodes about cybertronian x human pairings. At least one dude on the beast wars animation team wanted to fuck dinobot enough to lovingly render him posing with his spike out, blackarachnia's design was based off a stripper, and they wrote rattrap as a shameless pervert. RiD 2001 had Sideburn and his only personality trait was being horny all the fucking time. TFA Blackarachnia was somehow hornier than the original and it felt like Some Gay Shit happened about every 20 minutes in that show. The entire team for TFP agreed knockout was the sexiest robot they'd ever fucking seen and decided to let him try to seduce half the cast, and then casually canonize the word "interfacing" as slang for sex, AND THEN steve blum decided to play starscream like its the porn parody of the actual show. Half of rescue bots feels like slow burn human x cybertronian gay fanfic. IDW not only knows you want to fuck those robots but actively encourages you to fuck those robots because Alex Milne keeps dropping softcore robot porn zines at cons. I haven't finished earthspark but I know that dad wanted bumblebee's dick like crazy and the only reason he hasn't pursued it is because he's happily married.

Literally the only tf show I've seen that ISNT that horny is cyberverse, and that show is still ASTOUNDINGLY gay.

I'll be reading valveplug fics, and any and all shame I would usually feel at sexualizing cartoon robots is evaporated when i remember that a nonzero amount of people working for hasbro are sexualizing the robots too. They're hot by design, your honor.

[e-vay]

Hi! I’m the anon who recommend War of Hearts among a few other fics to you, and I just wanna say I’m so happy you’ve become just as obsessed with it as I am. - 🌕

I love you.

ALWAYS SEND ME FIC RECOMMENDATIONS, PEOPLE!

I will always check them out, even if you don't see me directly respond to your message. I don't necessarily like everything I've ever read but I'm almost always willing to give a story a shot. I'm always looking for more fics (especially sonamy. i am physically incapable of having enough sonamy. give them all to me).

(Anon is talking about “Wars of the Heart” by @midnightfire1222 and @dreamverie )

[intermet179]

Arch-Illager Meronus Martigetis - Supreme King of the Illager Empire, wielder of powerful magicks and an End-borne Orb, possessor of the legendary Totem of Undying, and the Strongest Sorcerer of Today. Normal and Awakened [2 versions of the awakened cloak] forms below.

See the void under his feet in his awakened state? He can control and attack with that void.

[midnightfire1222]

I need to redo some of these, like Amy and Sonic cuz I wanna change them a bit, and Tails cuz I've lost the flat color version and can't make a new one right now. For now though, these are the most accurate ones I have. I also don't have one for Shadow, as an outfit hasn't been settled on for him yet. Also, for Ursula's tail, it's hard to tell, but the end is split like a nekomata. Just look at Espeon's tail from pokemon. It's split like that.

Gareth here is a special case. He's been mentioned in Wars of the Heart but hasn't been introduced. The reason for this is, as it's mentioned above, is that he's deceased. He's not part of the main cast; I'd just wanted to draw him.

Oh yeah; Amy has this alt outfit too, for when she's chillin'.

[alastair-1205]

You know what's kinda funny about the Ithaca Saga though? Telemachus and Odysseus never have that reunion before they kill the suitors that they do in the text, so that means that Telemachus saw some random motherfucker slaughtering the assholes that have been giving him hell for years like its nothing and was like "welp, I better capitalize on this and start stabbing while i have plausible denialbility." Which is lowkey hilarious man.

[late2000shistoricalreenactment]

i press the button that means you make me a little moodboard to request lesbian leek [of the oliver variety]

You requested this.

[caring-scared]