#hart lisa the hopeful

[chloride-antidote]

oh i have a tumblr blog

[lovely-123-i-like-ass]

Hart looks down on you

[666rollthedice]

💔VALENTINE'S DAY💔

Hhahahahahahahahahaahahaha

[jackisstupid]

mitosis

[bigshot-activities]

LISA RPG ZINE IS OUT!!!!

its been such a joyus time on there, id love for everyone to go check it out!!!!!

@lisadigitalzine

here r my main submissions but you can see the art i did scattered allll around :D

its so cool that I was a part of this, tysm for the hosts for doing this!!

[fluffy-moth]

this was a really fun lil fan remake of a fan game of a combination of lisa the joyful and lisa the hopeful featuring Terry Hintz.

TRY IT OUT!!!!!!

[wwads1800]

sorry Satan, but i can't do this evil on my own

[yablokoapplemanzana]

TW BLOOD N DRUGS? 🌈

I forgot to post

[nekstoer]

fuck you hart

[basofy]

i was thinking about bad people the other day, and i doodled hart ,,,,,

[nikakura]

Привет! Я варлорд бэкватер Олейта Харт, Белтбой и его друзья незаконно задержали меня и хотят убить моих милашек

Скиньте мне, пожалуйста, 1000 women🙍‍♀️. Тогда я смогу договориться с Родригезом и оформить побег

[chloride-antidote]

HEADLESS

twcw: gore . . . . .

[lovely-123-i-like-ass]

He's hot

[db-art]

💔 my piece for this year's lisa zine ! 💔

@lisadigitalzine

[timothyslucy]

GMW AESTHETICS - FUTURE LUCAYA

“ our profile on the abigail adams high school social network is who we are in high school and it'll follow us into college and into our careers and into my marriage and into your five. is one lucas? ”

[ricardian-werewolf]

The World Has Gone Insane!

Tagging @malkaleh, @tommi-art and @rmelster, @dreadbirate - my aforementioned Post Nuclear war Fae piece, a snippet:

Oh and our cast:

Bella Ramsey as Cecily-Anne

Harry Lloyd as Richard III

Emily Carey as Anne Neville, Lady of Middleham

Jude Hill as Edward of Middleham (the boy in the first half of the gif.)

Cameron Chapman as Henry Marchwood

With the air as cold as ever, Cecily drew the hood of her cloak up over her face and glared at the heavy cloud cover which cast a pallor over everything. She had hoped for some sun to-day, yet remembering the sight of so many workers bearing cataracts and malformations from the bright orb suspended in space, she dashed that hope. The heavy wolf’s fur of her cloak’s edge and lining kept the wind from biting too much at her exposed face. She reached for one of her ladies hands, and let herself be led up the worn and well-sanded wooden steps to her box. The path was familiar, and she was pleased that the steps leading not only to her box but to the lower benches had been swept clean. 

The tourney seats were packed. Even though this had been the fifth year in a row of such an event for Cecily, the people still clamoured for the courtly ceremonies of centuries past. Other boxes, made of fine woods embellished with the house sigils of the major northern houses, surrounded each side of the tourney’s field. The stands were arranged in a circle with two rounded gates at each end, which behind, the knights of the day’s fight waited. The suitors, numbering originally in the triple digits since it had been a country-wide call, had been shaved down to a scant 15. Cecily had discussed many with them already, but her gaze cast to the scoreboard that was set into the opposite wall from the royal box. Bearing the sigils of the major houses participating, a servant or the herald would remove the sigil card when one fell in the fights to come. 

Eventually, only one would remain. 

Cecily cast her gaze to her box’s detailing with its lattice wood screen and the curling woodwork above it, which displayed in delicate gold her sigil: The white Hart in rampart, its antlers stretching skywards. Below the golden hooves were the words: Sic Semper Tyrannis.

Thus Always to Tyrants.

Tugging back her hood, the crowd erupted in a mad frenzy of cheers and much delighted cries. The clapping of their hands and calls of Princess Cecily! Over and over made her pulse race. Not only did the tourney bring great pride (and admittedly frustration) to her father, it was also one of the instances where they were able to show off their wealth and ingenuity to the masses for who owed their fealty and existence to the house of Gloucester-Neville. Cecily curtsied to her parents in their box, and gave her brother Edward a wave. Above their heads was the Neville Bear with the Ragged Staff and the Whyte Boar in Gloucester, both in Rampart. Richard’s own motto was inscribed under the boar: Loyaulté Me Lie, and Anne’s, Alea Iacta Est:

Loyalty Binds Me, and The Die is Cast. 

Fitting words for the two people wholly responsible for the saving of the North from the horrors of this endless winter. Cecily shook her head and swept into the box. She stripped off her cloak, since there was a brazier already burning hot and she would rather be warm than shivering. She took her seat on a finely cushioned chair and turned her head to a maidservant standing quietly in the shadows. At her side, Lisa and her kin sat in a flutter of their richly adorned skirts and furs, casting aside their own cloaks and veils. Sweating through their fine garments did nothing favourable to their image.

“Are your husbands here to-day?” Cecily asked Lillian and Anise, who nodded. 

“Alfred is with your lord father’s retinue-” Anise pointed to her husband who stood amongst the brightly adorned knights of Richard’s household guard. He wore the white with the black lions of  William Catesby, while Lillian’s husband wore the wolf of Francis Lovell. Despite being part of Richard’s retinue, they were really in the service of Lovell and Catesby for the winter period. It allowed them time away from Middleham and to be in service in more desperate regions of England. Yet, they still wore upon their cloaks the Whyte Boar.

The sound of the herald blasting the horn beginning the start of the tourney rang out, and the maidservants present hastened to pull back the heavy velvet drapes that covered the side of the box closest to Richard and Anne’s. Turning her head, Cecily reached for her goblet of wine and smirked.

“My Lords and Ladies,” Richard got to his feet. Age had given her father strength and many gray hairs, but it had not made him weak in any sense. His health had not failed at all alarmingly, something that could not be said for the noble lords and ladies who crowded the other boxes to regard their Lord. Some were gormless with excess or sins, while others were nothing more than ghosts in clothes that hung limply on their forms. The sinful nature of the darkness that had blotted their sun from the sky and swept the world with fire took more than waistlines and eyesight.

It killed in masses. Cecily sipped her wine again. She knew her father’s tale by heart, for it had been the same at every tourney these past five years. 40 years ere this one, men had been driven to warfare with weapons no person of Cecily’s generation could imagine being wielded. They had brought about tongues of fire and the ash from those world-ending flames had travelled upwards past the heavens until the very sun had become blotted out. The first few years had been a groping darkness filled with discontent and madness. Millions died of hunger and petty illnesses left untreatable. Her teachers of nuns and priests called the world-ending event The Fourteen Days of Fire. However, even though histories had said that the days of fire had been maybe a mere two, the old pamphlets had advised in the event of an attack to stay indoors for fourteen days maximum. One year had turned into two, and then ten and suddenly, men began to finally organise into bands, then tribes, and finally reclaim the wreckage of their villages. Their histories had been destroyed in the fires, so once these villages began to cease killing one another for resources, they banded together once more to create towns. 

Within these towns, priests and nuns who had survived the cataclysmic event crept from their houses of worship, and with the knowledge of God they had sustained through the fires, began to work to educate the masses. Some wealthier nobles who could afford to prepare their homes against the fires emerged around this time - they became the first leaders of towns that often took their old place names and adjusted them for a dialect that had slid from discernable English toward Middle once more.

As Richard finished his speech, the knights clad in their heraldic tunics rode out onto the field and Cecily searched vainly for this supposed Henry Marchwood. She spotted him finally amongst a pack of lesser knights, and her heart shuddered in her chest.

The lattice screen of her box allowed her to see out but no knight to see in and view her until she was presented to the victor. But Sir Marchwood’s gaze cut from her father’s herald, past her parents, and locked right onto her stiff, wide-eyed gaze. His eyes were a deep, mesmerising shade of emerald, and Cecily’s fingers tightened around her goblet hard enough to dig the metal into her fingers.

She winced, and Henry’s gaze swung back to be upon her father.

“My lords, I know you fight for splendour and for the hand of my daughter. 5 years worth of men have come before you, who have stood in your places and fallen before. Some of you have returned, eager once more.” Richard’s gaze shifted to one of the men up near the scoreboard who held a red and green flag in one hand each. He opened his mouth again and Cecily noted the maids ready to drop her box’s heavy curtains.

“May the best man win!”

With a swoosh, Cecily’s box’s curtains dropped and the room darkened. Whistle blasts sounded as the man by the scoreboard dropped the green flag and the crowd let out a resounding, teeth -grinding cheer of joy. 

With Luck, I’ll have a husband by teatime.

She took another sip of wine and settled back in her seat.