#i drew this back in may but cannot for the life of me remember if i ever posted it anywhere

[ppeachbat]

we see you

[janus-cadet]

So, I've been watching Hazbin Hotel, and Helluva Boss.

Loved it. Therefore, obviously, to none of my friends' surprise, I added the fandom in that nonsensical tarot project of mine- and it starts with Lucifer, the short king himself, as the Five of Cups.

(The Devil was already taken, which both caused me immense amont of dismay, and just as much relief, because that version of Lucifer does NOT fit the Devil card as much as he could.)

Now, under the cut (only for the braves who can handle a long post spoken in broken english), the mandatory explanation for the choice of the card and the composition.

A joyous card, isn't it! Ahah? Totally. Let's get right into it.

The Five of Cups, Upright, often appears in a reading when a situation hasn't turned out the way you expected, leaving you sad, regretful and disappointed. I mean, you just gave one (1) apple to humanity, just to give them free will, and look what they did with it! What the hell, literally! You are blaming yourself, and instead of moving on with your life (despite the small inconvenience of being banished to an endless pit of evil and horror), you ar choosing to wallow in your self-pity. All you can focus on right now is what went wrong and how you failed. You're stuck in the past, and you can't let go; old wounds you never closed are keeping you from trying to create some positive changes. Which is why the card is here: to help you forgive. Forgiveness, to others and to yourself, is the only way you'll be able to release yourself from your sadness and disappointment. Remember that foresight and wisdom in the present moments comes from mistakes of the past: reflect on what led you to this point, and try to find something positive by reflecting on the lessons learned. You can rebuilt, you still can challenge an unfair system, despite everything! New possibilities are waiting for you, as shown by your daughter. You just have to be ready to accept it. Shift your mindset and focus on what can go right from this point forward.

Reversed, the card suggests that you might look at yourself specifically as a failure. You are stuck in a loop of self-loathing, and can't bring yourself to open up to others about those feelings. The reversed Five of Cups card is here to encourage you to open up: people around you may not see how much pain you're in right now, so don't be afraid to ask for help or talk to someone you trust.

You cannot undo the past, and just as Lucifer at the end of the first season, you are starting to accept that. You are slowly discovering how to be open to the new opportunities and ideas shown to you; you are finally starting to be more hopeful anout the future. You may not be fully okay again, you might still be in pain, but you are taking the first step: the card encourage you to keep doing so. Focus on the bright side. Not all is lost!

Lot of talks already, so I'll quickly go over those. The cups (that I spend too long on for such a small detail in the whole piece agh agh) are, as I drew them, a symbols of the regrets and the remorses felt. The regrets are the titled, broken cups: Lucifer's marriage, his relation with his daughter, and the dreams he had as an angel. Three things that feels like they are lost, damaged beyond repairs- but that are, in fact, still within reach. The content hasn't even spill yet. The remorses are the acts that can't be undone, and the effect on the vision he has of himself- the bitten apple, and the beastly devil that can't be trust. Those are te things he keeps blaming himself for, and the source of the self-loathing he's stuck into. But! He's turning his back on them, as a way to show he is not as linked to those things as he thinks he is. One is a thing of the past, the other is merely a shadow of who he is- what's important is what lays in front of him.

And that's it for today! You're still here? Dang, you're resilient. Thank you very much, hope you enjoyed this. And you're just in time for a little ending poll!

See, I started two other WIPs while drawing Lucifer. Therefore...

[brazenskald]

In my first year of university, I was going through a very tumultuous time. There was all the many new things that come from leaving home, some good, some bad. There were the difficulties of a demanding if rewarding job, and I first became acquainted with the not-so-fondly-remembered and not yet fully un-internalized “student lifestyle.” Terrible food, awful sleep schedule, and this omnipresent sense of impending doom that was, at least in my case in Fall 2019, surprisingly prescient. Throughout all of this, I was not prepared to be struck by the warmth and depth and resonant Truth that cut through the noise and spoke to me with a certain book I picked up, by happenstance, because of its pretty cover. That book was A Conspiracy of Truths by @ariaste. You may have heard of them. https://www.alexandrarowland.net/a-conspiracy-of-truths

Now, needless to say I devoured aCoT, and subsequently its excellent sequel A Choir of Lies. I was sorrowfully disappointed to find out after finishing the absolute rollercoaster of Choir that there was in fact, no further reading yet to do. And so, profoundly affected as I was by this (for now) duology, which I will doubtless craft a dedicated and appropriately lengthy treatise at some point in the future, I set the books in a prime place upon my shelf and turned to face the rest of the year buoyed in my hopes for the brightness of Spring and the long lusty laughter of Summer. Alas, they were all of them deceived for another global epidemic was to begin. One (or two) life-altering years in a pandemic later… I returned to university, fully prepared to enjoy the hell out of an actual honest-to-gods academic institution that didn’t begin and end with a computer screen. It hit like a truck. Same awful student lifestyle, more bad habits piling up, and a rapidly growing sense of my own undiagnosed issue rearing its ugly head. I made one decision that saved me, probably. I kept buying and reading phenomenal books. I kept looking for stories to motivate, enervate, and inspire. Somewhere deep in my subconscious, I remembered that fateful message spoken by a Chant on a page three years past. To loosely paraphrase, “Stories [are] people, and the way people are.” I chose to focus on resilience, made it my motto, and sure I still had lots of work to do, but it helped. It gave me the push I needed to keep going.

That last long Winter that seemed so dark that the sun was never going to come back? I went a-wandering, and lo, a new instalment from @ariaste ‘s Mithalgeard universe! Not a Chant sequel as such, but I couldn’t get my hands on it fast enough. It was an oasis. A respite from the grind and dreary routines. It was also gay as… well as gay as a rainbow covered in gold, let’s say. And I cannot recommend A Taste of Gold and Iron fiercely enough, because although in many ways I managed to end my degree on a high note, that book drew me out of the darkness of the coldest part of the year. It gave me the sense to smell the flowers, to bask in the green and golden glow of a soon-to-be-attained victory, long overdue.

Alex had by this point also published several shorter works, (and a whole library’s worth of content on AO3, naturally) which I leapt to read whenever they crossed my radar. It helped that I joined their discord community which was leaps and bounds more reliable in terms of getting updates and also just having the chance to share in mutual fandom gushing. If you’re even remotely interested in learning more about what I’ve talked about here, you should join in! https://discord.gg/XHJ9Uy5gef Everybody there is absolutely lovely. So why do I bring all this up? To summarize a preamble that is, to put it mildly, not short, Alex’s writing sings to my soul. I love it more deeply than my non-existent children, and their body of work continues to evolve and grow and deliver on the themes and core messages that hooked me with that first book.

But wait, there’s more! Life carries on, and with it comes new stories! Specifically, Running Close to the Wind! It’s Our Flag Means Death meets Mithalgeard, which if I haven’t convinced you to go and read those other instalments, well just trust me when I say that is a potent and persuasive pairing! It’s also going to be dropping at an important time for me, what with convocation, another big move in my life, and a whole whack of uncertainty. Much like Avra, Teveri, and Julian though, I’ll just have to brave the rocky waters and hold on to those nearest to me, and that’s what I’d like to focus on at the end of this post. A Conspiracy of Truth taught me that stories are people, A Choir of Lies showed how stories can change people, and A Taste of Gold and Iron drove home that stories we tell ourselves are the hardest to rewrite, but also the most rewarding when we take ownership of them. I anticipate that with Running Close to the Wind, Alex will likely show us (with ample amounts of pomp and queer circumstances) how the story of ourselves can only ever be written by interweaving the tales of those closest to us. Perhaps, we’ll even discover how to navigate the often stormy seas of uncertainty that seem omnipresent these days, whenever we deign to pull our noses out from whichever books we’re currently nestled within. I know that’s certainly something I’ll be looking out for, come this June, and now hopefully you will be too! (This last link does go to the webpage for Running Close to the Wind, Tumblr’s just being weird I guess.)

[deltastra]

Tower of God Season 2 (New Trailer with OP Theme) Thoughts

Hello everyone! I haven't done a pre-written post in a while (Did I ever?), so let me yap about the new Tower of God trailer! I wanna tell you guys my honest thoughts and initial reaction to certain scenes.

I waited so long for them to show literally anything else other than the same 12(?) scenes and even a sneak peak to the OP theme performed by NiziU. FINALLY! I will be yapping a lot so SPOILER ALERT FOR ANIME ONLIES

(Also if you guys like posts like this from me, I'll try my best to do this more often as opposed to pre-written reviews!)

Ok so first off I want to say, I was overwhelmed with emotions. I read this arc back in 2016...to see it finally animated, man. Not to mention, it has been like 4 YEARS since season 1. Time flies and a lot happened in my life in between that. I remember how I felt when the OP of the first season played and it hit me that the very first WEBTOON I have ever read, finally got an anime adaptation, which was something that felt impossible back then.

I AM HOPING THIS SCENE WITH ANDROSSI MEANS THAT THE NEW STUDIO WILL FOLLOW THE WEBTOON PROPERLY. Don't get me wrong, besides its flaws, I did love Season 1. However, I was upset with the needless changes they made and important scenes they removed. So I hope the new studio follows the webtoon. They should definitely re-establish how much Bam meant to Androssi.

Seeing Khun in season 2 artstyle is nice. Regarding the artstyle, this may sound weird but I liked season 1's a bit more. Season 1's artsyle felt more "unique" along with its vibrant colours. But, I'll admit, season 2's artsyle is definately more suitable for the long-run when considering how serious the story gets later down the road.

Okay, I'll admit. This scene felt a bit...stiff?? But that's not a big deal.

I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE THEM AND THEIR FRIENDSHIP GROW ALL OVER AGAIN AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

AND THE OP THEME FINALLY PLAYS! Now here's the thing. I listened to a few songs by NiziU and I won't lie, as nice as the songs were, I was unsure whether they fit the Tower of God tone. But I kept an open mind as I knew nothing about STRAY KIDS back in season 1 and now I listen to TOP and SLUMP so often and associate it with Tower of God due to the lyrics.

As for the sneak peak of RISE UP by NiziU, I like the song. I'm not obsessed over it, maybe I need more of it to form a solid opinion. However, I think it's fine overall! (Hopefully the song isn't wasted in the OP by the use of black screens and credits lol)

I LOVE THIS SHOT SO MUCH. THE DETAIL ON THE SHINSU IS SO GOOD. The lighting as well!

I like how they drew Viole's eyes here. He looks tired which honestly fits well given what he faced during his time with FUG. I don't remember if he looked like that in the WEBTOON whenever his eyes were shown but if it's an anime-original detail, I love it!

(I hope we see his bright eyes during the scene with Wagnan and Viole on the rooftop! Can't wait to see that animated!)

OH I CANNOT WAIT TO SEE THIS FIGHT ANIMATED OMGGGG

Okay, this shot was kinda cool sorry guys I just wanted to say that.

AAAAND THATS ABOUT IT.

First of all, WAY BETTER TRAILER THAN WHATEVER THEY WERE SHOWING US BEFORE! Second, I feel a little more confident about season 2 now. It's alright. I feel like nowadays everyone expects MAPPA or UFOTABLE quality for every anime but this is fine. While I'll miss the season 1 artsyle that I grew to love, I look forward to see what the new studio has to offer.

ALSO KEVIN PENKIN RETURNING LETS GOOOOOO

I want to end things off by saying that when I first read this arc. I ADORED TEAM SWEET AND SOUR. I believe it was because they reminded me of Quinx Squad from Tokyo Ghoul :re...

I just love this team's dynamic and how well they play off eachother. It felt more like a found family. I understand people liked season 1's cast more but I have always been more partial to this team <3

I look forward to seeing them again in the anime cause I miss their early days so much. NOTHING BAD HAPPENS TO ANY OF THEM OKAY? HELL TRAIN ISN'T REAL </3 (SIU please bring back the active members please I beg of you. SHOW ME THEIR SEASON 3 LOOKS)

[medium-bloodcrafter-scion]

The Legendborn Cycle Theory Time!

So Tracy Deonn finally dropped us a delectable little breadcrumb for LB3 (6/6/23) via an Instagram post and I am now going to proceed to overanalyse the shit out of it because I cannot help myself.

So Ms Deonn is introducing a new magic system (exciting!) and she posted flowers 🌷🌷🌷🌷- fiery-looking tulips in the foreground. She also mentioned that the scene where Bree is introduced to this new system will involve some kind of emotional payoff. So, my theories:

Disclaimer: I just spitball when I make my theories, they are like 50% thinking and 50% intuition. In other words, I may or may not have a logical reason behind them, I'm just here to have fun.

1. Initially I thought it could be Morgaine magic, but Morgaines also use aether, just a different style of it, and I can't see the emotional ties there. May have to think more about it.

2. Fae magic was my second/related thought, but I cannot see the emotional link at this point. Also Fae haven't been (officially?) introduced in this series, though they are present in Arthuriana so it would make sense to have them.

3. Given how Sel mockingly suggests Bree's mom used magic to 'grow prettier flowers,' back in LB, I'm wondering whether this is a magic system that Faye created with Natasia (Sel's mommy). We've seen them blend magic together already for Bree's sake, so maybe out of love for their children and the realisation that they would be separated from them, they ended up devising something entirely new. Maybe the new magic is how Natasia was healed of demonia? We're definitely getting a Natasia story, where we'll probably learn more about Bree's mom via Nat's pov as she explains to Bree. Bree meeting her, learning more about Faye's secret life as a Rootcrafter/Bloodcrafter who befriended a Merlin will definitely be quite touching.

4. Back to a semi-theory /idea I made in a comment on someone's post... Could be possible we see the Shadowking follow through on his promise and drain Bree of his power, almost killing her in the process. Maybe more HC than theory, I can imagine Bree reconciling with Vera and all her mothers in the ancestral plane as she almost dies, and in the process learning from them that there is magic that is borne out of love, and not pain or bloodshed the way bloodcraft is. This 'higher' magic wouldn't come at the cost bargaining your life away or from theft.

Imagines the ancestral plane transformed into a field of tulips, Bree and her mothers all clothed in pretty white dresses... At very least I may turn this into a fic because 😭

5. Linking back to the previous point, tulips represent forgiveness and pure love, suggesting those elements could be at play in this new magic system. It hearkens back to Bree's ancestor - Jesse I think - who drew on her power by thinking about the love she had for her mom (? Can't remember specifics). Maybe she had the right idea, but wrong magic (bloodcrafted root).

6. There was an article where some of Tracy's favourite books were listed, and it was fun to refer to that list to find out where she may draw some of her inspiration. Of note was the Dark is Rising (DiR) sequence, a series of children's stories that is fantasy based in Arthurian legend. I skimmed through the Wiki for that series and noted lots of themes and ideas overlapping with Legendborn. Notably, the magic system of DiR features three types of magic - Old Magic, Wild Magic, and High Magic. Old Magic is elemental and reminds me of Aether as used by the Order in LBC (Sel explains how magic is physics and aether is an element), Wild Magic is drawn from nature and would be similar to Rootcraft in LBC, and then the third type in DiR is High Magic, - cosmic in origin, and more powerful than the other two. ALL THIS TO SAY I think the new system we'll be introduced to will be incredibly powerful, moreso than what we've seen, and possibly tied into higher principles like love, sacrificial love, forgiveness, truth, etc.

Anyways that's enough rambling for now. I'm actually most excited about seeing how Tracy uses the new system as part of Bree's healing journey. Honestly this series is just so impactful and I know that third book will make me cry (in a good way).

[tgarnsl]

hi! Fake Married for the wip game :)

This is for Flight of the Heron, where Keith saves Ewen's life after the Battle of Culloden by claiming they're married so Ewen can get medical treatment. Technically I also have another fake married (or fake engaged) story for Hornblower, but that's a whole modern au thing where Hornblower is the Prince of Wales.

—

It was pain that roused him. Bright, sharp pain, coursing through his body, drawing him to the surface, drawing him through its silver skin, and he cursed and raged and shook against the hands that held him down, but he could neither break free, nor retreat. Slowly, the world pieced itself together again, fragments fitting together like shattered pieces of a windowpane until at last he could see clearly. He lay in a bed, half propped up on pillows, gasping for air as a surgeon in a wiry grey wig tied off a bandage on his left thigh. Where was he? The white-washed room was small and warm, nothing like… His breath caught in his lungs and a great shudder rolled through him.

Presently — though he was not quite aware how presently — it was brought to his attention that the surgeon was speaking to someone. A redcoat officer stood before the fire, his back turned to where Ewen lay, but Ewen did not need to see the soldier’s face to recognise who it was. The man stood before him was none other than Keith Windham of the Royal Scots.

So he was to be interrogated then. There could be no other explanation for Windham’s presence in this room: the Elector’s generals sought to question Ewen, and believed that a man with whom he was already acquainted was the best one to conduct such an interrogation. His hands clutched at the bedsheets. He would not do it. No word would pass from his lips that he did not wish to give, not even if they flogged him, or put him back in that foetid cell with all the other wounded and dying. No, he would die before he broke faith. His lower lip was trembling and he bit it hard, shutting his eyes against the torrent of grief and despair that sought to drown him.

When he roused again, it was to an urgent voice in his ear calling his name and a rough hand on his cheek.

“Ardroy,” said the voice again. “Ewen!”

He groaned and opened his eyes. Keith Windham stood over him, peering at him with great concern.

“No,” he murmured through cracked lips. “Leave me be.”

“Ardroy, you must listen,” said Windham insistently, but Ewen ignored him, his eyes sliding shut as sleep drew him closer. “Ardroy, wake up!” A hand smacked his cheek lightly and he roused with a groan.

“Pòg mo thòin,” murmured Ewen, his head swimming from pain and thirst.

“I presume that was an insult,” said Windham sharply. “I may well deserve it, too. Ardroy, listen to me. I must know — did you wed Miss Grant?”

It was like being thrown from a carriage. “What?” asked Ewen, trying to clear his head. “Miss Grant — Alison?”

“Yes,” said Windham. “Did you wed her?”

Ewen shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, I — she left for France.” He could still see her standing proud at the side of the ship, one arm raised in farewell, as it took her away to safety. “I would not see her a widow before her time.”

Windham frowned. “Truly, Ardroy, I am sorry,” he said, glancing away. “I cannot tell if it makes what I say next better or worse.”

Fear gripped Ewen’s heart. “Alison, is she—” he gasped, struggling to sit up.

“No, no,” said Windham, laying a hand on Ewen’s shoulder. “I have no news of her, nor of anyone else. I…” He broke off, his frown deepening. “Do you recall how you came to be here? How I found you?”

Ewen bit his lip, struggling to recall. “The parade,” he said, and turned away. He could recall little in truth, ravaged as he had been by weakness and fever, but he remembered well enough the cruel laughter of the Hanoverian officers when he had fallen, unable to walk. “But how…?”

“I said you were my husband,” answered Keith Windham. His cheeks were flushed, and he would not meet Ewen’s eyes. “I am sorry. I could see no other way of saving your life.”

[feiandart]

Posting 'em here again just to boost a bit my motivation today. I made 'em back in december, one of the first drawing I have ever made for myself only.

Will talk 'bout myself and my past from here, can skip it if you don't want my oversharing shit.

So. I used to work as a commission artist for years (5-6 if I'm not wrong), drew bit of anything you could think of and mainly sticked to NSFW art for most of my, uh, let me call that "carreer" even if it's probably the wrong term to use for it. Well, it paid my bills and rent for years, so we may stick to it anyway.

Thing is, I stopped drawing when I was eighteen. People, family first, always told me talent in art was all, practice would never have made it better and I should have kept it as a hobby rather than something to do as a job. Apart from my closest friends, no one encouraged me to practice and study and put real effort on it. I went to an art-based highschool (only because I couldn't focus on studying any subject, and art school is considered one in which you don't actually study at all here, so my parents thought it better to put me there as I wanted "so you can still graduate"), but I couldn't go ahead with art studies in professional comic schools, academies or any artistic department in university. No support on that front. Something like "be Caravaggio or be nobody" mindset was stuck into my head and I started actually believing that it was true. And since I was, and am not, Caravaggio, then what was the point? So I dropped the pencil and just forgot how to draw a fuckin' line for literal years.

Then I turned 22. I moved to another city for my studies. After completing 'em, my parents said me to come back home and I said no. They stopped paying anything for me since that moment, so I had to make things works on my own. Hopefully my rent was really low, so I could afford it with minimum effort, but had to buy groceries with coupons (not a common thing in Italy) and eat a lot less to make 'em last as much as possible. I found a job in a call-center, I cleaned houses and handed flyiers to people. And that's when I found out I cannot really be in social context for too long.

In the end I burned out, left all jobs and was stuck in bed for a month. I was barely 24, without a job, holding tight the little bit of freedom I ever got. I felt helpless and hopeless. I don't remember if my bestfriend or my housemate, but one of 'em said me to come back at drawing and givin' it a shot. What harm could that do afterall, could have been pocket money for a bit if it couldn't stick to something better.

I started from pencil. Then went to digital in a couple months. I practiced, started quite immediately taking commissions and honest to God I don't have the slightest clue of how someone whould spend money on some shit I drew without basic anathomy knowledge and after that much time without drawing. Still have no idea. So I drew. I made some quick animations, never did much there thought. Grew a little fanbase, went on with it for years. I even moved with my bestfriend, living with her alone for two years, got a cat I love that it's my actually support companion right now.

I felt happy for a bit, I believe. Imposter syndrome is always watching me afterall, that never stopped. It's just like there's another person in the room with me all day, whispering me I should do more 'cause I don't deserve any attention. Ugh.

However. I went on with that until 2023. I had to come back to my parent's house in 2022 and got stuck in here since then. Nightmare years. Still a nightmare period, but I'm managing. Thing is, past year I burned out so much I completed all my left commissions in a rush and actually dropped my tablet for months. I used it as a third screen, took away the pen and the glove and swore I would never ever be back at drawing again. Will not go into details of what triggered that burnout, but you got the point, I didn't want to draw again in my life at that time.

This is pretty much when Good Omens entered the room. It was late September, I saw a lot of videos on tiktok and since I watched S1 years ago, I decided to give it a shot to S2 too. It was an istant hyperfocus. Watched all over for weeks, both in italian, in english, in english with italian subs and english with english subs. Never done anything like that in my life before. By the end of October I came back at writing. So I started to arrange things for Up&Down, my first fic after uhm, like 15 years or so. And it felt so good! I went through 42 days of deep writing, posting a chapter a day just for myself. 'cause I wanted to write something I liked for the sole purpose of liking it. And it felt so liberating!

Then I thought: will this apply to drawing too, maybe?

Answer is YES. It did. I was inspired from the fandom, from MrGhostRat's art and Gleafer's, and started drawing again. I dug into english fanfictions, fandom artists I love, and the list just gets longer day by day. I started writing Sugar, and with it I started drawing illustrations for it.

I went from the image to the left to the one to the right in two months. Guys, I'll repeat it: TWO MONTHS. I never had such a quick improvement in years, practicing every fuckin' day, drawing my hands out of my bloody body. I drew for 5-6 years and never got to improve this much. I did now. And you know why?

'cause I started drawing for myself. I'm doing something I love. And I'm getting better at it.

And you know what? I'm quite angry now. 'cause if I didn't stop years ago, who knows where I could have been now. If I didn't listen to people saying me "be Caravaggio or be nobody", I could have done so much more by now. Maybe I could have been able to draw fuckin' furnitures by now. Maybe I would have started being able to draw the same face two times in a row years ago insted of now.

Maybe I could have been the comic artist I wanted to be. Maybe not the best in the world, but I don't fuckin' care of being the best one, I want to be one I'm proud of. I didn't get the chance 'cause out there is full of people without a dream who's only purpose in life is destroying other people hopes.

And you know what? I'm done with that. I'm done with people saying me I'm not a gifted child. I'm done with people coming at me saying I cannot do shit I love 'cause they have reason to make me do something different. People thinks to know what's good for me but I'm fuckin' 30 and I think I know it pretty well already, thank you very much.

I'm managing how to get hold of my choices and things I love now that I'm an adult, but dear Lord I keep on thinking of my young self and I want to hug that poor thing so much I can't explain. I'd love to say her everything's going to be hard, but good in some way. That things are difficult, but they will change. That people are shit, but she should be strong and fight back. 'cause I did it too late and I regret now, but she deserved better.

You deserves better. And I'm talking to anyone who's reading this. I don't know if you went all the way 'til here, but if you did: don't make my same mistakes. You know better than me. Don't let people spoil the things you love, don't give 'em power to destroy your will and put you in a closet for the time being. You don't deserve that.

Don't miss your chance 'cause people doesn't want to see you happy to be yourself. Don't do that. They don't deserve that power over you.

Love yourself more than I loved myself. I'm starting just now and it's hell. You can do better, I promise.

[jefarawol]

Thancred and I took to the streets, ensure that order was still maintained among the people, and to tend to anyone who may have been hurt in the panic. Finding no one in need of intervention we headed back to the tavern where Lucia and Artoirel had just returned too.

My apologies, Jefara. I bear full responsibility for this...debacle.

There will be time for that later. I, for one, am more concerned about picking up the pieces. What do we know?

According to initial reports, the protest was orchestrated by the young woman whom Lord Emmanellain ordered shot. She and her conspirators infiltrated Falcon's Nest posing as servants and guests. Several were taken alive. Others resisted and were struck down.

Still others took their own lives. Our forces suffered casualties as well, but by the grace of the Fury, no civilians were seriously injured. Still more remarkably, the ringleader yet lives─for the time being, at least. The chirurgeons are doing what they can for her, but she may not live through the night.

Given their impeccable timing, it is like that the Convictors who drew us away from the hamlet were in league with the protesters. Accordingly, we have detained them for questioning.

I'll be sworn that these villains spent as much effort plotting the failure of this peace conference as we did its success.

Well, if the mood of the hamlet is any indication, theirs have been the more fruitful labors. In the wake of the protest, the people seem disillusioned.

You spoke with them, then?

To make sure tensions had calmed somewhat.

I see... Ser Aymeric placed his trust in me. It will be difficult to explain what has happened here.

Remember how far we have come, First Commander. The people's faith may be shaken, but we convinced them before, and will do so again. If we can but find a means to remind them─to show them once more the promise that change holds for all─then this tragedy too shall pass into the past.

We must pray that you are right. Nevertheless, for the time being, I have no choice but to suspend the peace conference, pending Ser Aymeric's final decision. Under the circumstances, I cannot leave Falcon's Nest. Jefara, will you deliver my report to the lord commander in my stead?

Of course.

Get up, Emmanellain. You're going with her.

Go on without me.

...I was not asking. You will answer for your actions. In person. Is that clear?

...Yes, my lord. Come, Honoroit.

Your manservant is not here. In fact, I have not seen him for some time...

Honoroit...? Honoroit! I could have sworn he was...

Emmanellain was swift on his feet at the thought of Honoroit missing, taking to the streets in a dither, Thancred and I followed but it was me who found the boy first, beaten to within an inch of his life.

Honoroit! No, no! What have they done to you!? Honoroit! Honoroit!

Is that you, my lord? You...you seem rather flustered.

Because of you, you imbecile! What in the seven hells happened to you!?

My...my apologies... Some few of the guests expressed a wish to leave...and I implored them to stay. It would seem they took issue with my request.

Gods forgive me... If I had only been more careful with my words!

D-Do not blame yourself, my lord... I know... I know that you and your brother have Ishgard's best interests at heart. That poor woman... She lives in the past, clinging to the memories of the lost. But the future holds so much promise. So much joy. And you...you know that better than any...

Honoroit!?

[xgoldxnhour]

don't look back

[x] continued from here

Eloise never considered herself a reckless person despite one to claim a heart of dramatics. She was cautious, thoughtful and steadfast and perhaps that's what drew the two together. Stubborn and firm in beliefs that could result in survival in this world. But whatever fool fell abandon at the entrance Rick Grimes had in her life. The very sight of him leaves her heart beating at a rate much faster than even walkers assume. She has fallen head over heels and rushed at the sight of comfort, desire and humanity. A vulnerability that only two people share ever so closely at the mere touch of a whisper. But now the look leaves her to sit in the guilt of loving someone who cannot love back. There is no blame per se, but it cannot take away her hurt or anger.

So, she attempts distraction in a rushed break upstairs with notably little regard for possible dangers to be hand. It's stupid and perhaps it goes deeper in the harsh weakness she carries with trust. Something that was taken away and dwindled for a long time since Terminus but was found and resurrected in her time with Rick. Tears threaten to burn quickly turns into an empty bedroom and searches for that very distraction in a closet. If she had declined his help or left earlier, perhaps they wouldn't be in this mess. But then there's the reality if she were alone, trapped and snowed in for who knows how long. And if no one knew where she was or any promise of a return. Would the group just write it off as a mistake and wait it out or forget altogether. This isn't a world that graces the right to be remembered.

But, it's those footsteps, ones she could recognize in a crowd, and the voice searching for that nearly causes her to hunch over in defeat. 'There you are' as if he was truly looking for, as if he sought for her, worried about her, or even cared. The flux of anger returns as she does as she's told, dropping the blanket and standing up to face him--look him in the eyes. "Like this? Is this what you want?" The look he is met is one of heartbreak, fighting back tears and a quivering lip. "I didn't ask you to come. I didn't ask for this. But I'm just a fucking fool, right?" Her arms rise and fall, hitting her thighs. "It's actually too painful...to look at you. Especially like that...I don't want your pity. I don't want us to be like this? But, I can't...turn off the way that I feel about you. But I also can't look at the man who knows that I love him but doesn't love me back. Not after all we've done."

And if she were brutally honest, she was planning to leave. Without much of a word or goodbye. There'd be a note left at his bedside but that's it. She wanted to rid of him of his burden. To longer be forced to deal with whatever weakness she may have been for him. It wasn't fair for either of him, so this was supposed be their way out. But then he found her leaving, asked where she was going and when she said a supply run, he insisted on coming with. And now, they were trapped once again. Did he know what he was stopping?

"You should've let me go. So, I could rid you of this burden."

@wrathfulmercy

[super-ion]

Apple & Spindle

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Briar was awoken by the sound of crunching leaves and a twig snapping. He scrambled to his feet and drew the sword he had been clutching to his chest and he found himself leveling his blade at Rose's stepmother, the witch.

She blinked in surprise, caught off guard for a moment. Then she rolled her eyes and waved her hand dismissively. Briar felt the hilt of his sword squirming in his hand as it became a writhing snake.

With a cry of alarm, he dropped the blade and it clattered to the ground, restored to its true form as it left his hand.

"Do you really think I would try to speak with you if I meant you harm?" she demanded.

"I… uh…"

It was a trick, it had to be.

He drew a dagger from his belt and brandished it at her. In response, she rolled her eyes and threw up her hands with an exasperated sigh.

"Spirits grant me patience," she muttered.

Then, to his surprise she knelt on the ground before him, staining her dress in the mud as her mouth twisted in displeasure.

"I swear on my life and the magic in my veins," she intoned, "that I shall protect the Prince Briar from harm and that I shall serve him to the best of my ability for the rest of my days."

The words carried the weight of distant thunder and the acrid scent of magic filled the air. The oath was clearly backed by magic, but it was the choice of words that made him blink at her in surprise.

Briar. Prince. Him.

No adult of any station had ever referred to him as such.

"There!" she snapped, souring the mood somewhat. "Satisfied?"

He reluctantly sheathed his dagger and she rose to her feet. With a wave of her hand, the mud at her knees dried and flaked away without a trace.

"What… uh… what exactly is your business out here?" he asked as she inspected her skirts for any remaining grime.

She leveled a stern glare in his direction.

"Among other things, to seek you out," she replied. "My stepdaughter came to me with some interesting revelations last night. I was delayed somewhat by extenuating circumstances, but when I awoke, the first thing I discovered was that the prince was nowhere to be found in the palace. Tell me, do you have a plan or were you simply going to rush blind into the lair of the arch-fae that tried to curse you as a baby?"

His stomach twisted with abashment. His plan had consisted of finding Rose. It was... somewhat light on detail otherwise.

"I'm not going back," he deflected. "Not without Rose. You can't make me."

"Can't I?" she replied with a raised eyebrow. "Remember that my oath is to protect you first and serve you second."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she forestalled him with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"It is not my intent to escort you back to the palace. Not alone, at least. I am bound by a stronger oath than the one I have just sworn to you. Our interests align and your royal blood is a potentially valuable asset in this endeavor."

He swallowed, unsure if her words were meant to reassure him.

"And what of my parents?" he asked. "They must know I'm gone by now. Won't they send someone?"

She shook her head.

"I had to resort to enchanting them to prevent them from sending any riders after you. As far as they are aware, you and I are on a retreat so that I may begin your royal education in dealing with magic… which is not strictly untrue.

"And for your awareness," she continued, "it is in fact an arch-fae we shall be facing. He is both ancient and wicked. We, the three of us, will face great peril. I cannot in good conscience endanger any others."

Briar nodded. He, himself had come to the same conclusion the day before.

He still wasn't entirely convinced he could trust the witch, but it did seem that they had the same goal.

*

Rose entered her stepmother's dream and was surprised to find herself in the forest. The night air cool against her skin in a way that was too real to be just a dream. A campfire crackled lowly, casting warmth and flickering shadows across the campsite. Hilde was seated on a log, watching her with a slightly bemused expression, but her eyes were for Briar alone. He laid on a bedroll, snoring softly. It was him, in the flesh somehow. She almost believed she could reach out and touch him if she wasn't aware of the sensations in her physical body, miles away.

"What…?" she gasped. "Is this real?"

"In a manner of speaking," Hilde told her.

"But can you be awake and dreaming at the same time?"

Hilde's lips quirked in a tiny smile.

"Advanced topics in oneiromancy," she replied cryptically. "Although, you might be able to master it faster than most, given your experience with dream magic."

Hilde sighed and leaned back.

"I need to speak with you," she said, averting her gaze. "About the curse."

That was enough to tear Rose's gaze away from Briar's sleeping form. Rose joined her where she sat staring at the campfire.

"When the king and queen first hired me, I had a theory," she explained. "I knew they would never go along with it, so I dismissed it immediately. To say it is dangerous world be an understatement."

Rose eyed her warily.

"What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Well, it's simple, really - we kill you"

"What??" Rose shouted, jumping to her feet.

"You'll never wake up as long as you're asleep, so we need another state of being to get around the curse."

"Okay, but how am I supposed to wake up if I'm dead?"

"There are poisons that will stop your heart and can be counteracted if we act quickly enough. Of course, it's incredibly risky. If we get the poison wrong, you could die. If we get the antidote wrong, you could die. If-"

"Okay, I get it," Rose muttered as she sat down once more.

Hilde wrung her hands. It was such a strange gesture coming from her. Rose's stepmother had been a monolith of haughty self-assuredness for as long as she had known her. To see this uncertainty, this vulnerability, was unnerving.

"Rosamund," she said softly, "just know that we won't take any action either way without your explicit consent. I will abide by whichever path you choose to follow."

Rose considered this for a long moment.

"Do you believe it will work?"

Hilde pursed her lips.

"It is our best and probably only chance to break the curse," Hilde said. It wasn't an answer.

Rose nodded, understanding. She had spent the better part of four years contemplating how to break the curse. Hilde had spent nearly two decades working the same task with no success, and she was a fully trained witch.

"You made a promise," she said quietly, "to keep me safe?"

Hilde flinched but forced herself to look at Rose, making eye contact for the first time since she had broached the subject of poison.

Rose tentatively reached across and took Hilde's hand in hers. It was strange, the most intimate contact they had ever shared, even considering Rose's current incorporeal state.

"I have faith in you," Rose admitted. "I have faith in the promise you made to my mother."

Hilde made a sad smile and brushed a lock off Rose's hair from her face.

"You really are your mother's daughter," she replied, causing Rose's heart to flutter.

For all her flaws and the strained relationship between them, her stepmother had always seemed to accept that Rose was a girl as a matter of fact.

"Can… can I ask you something?" Rose said. "When did you know? That I was a girl, I mean?"

Her stepmother made another of her sly, knowing smiles.

"When you fell through the wards into the Prince's chambers."

"You knew about that?" Rose blurted, aghast.

"Who do you think set those wards in the first place?"

*

Briar dreamt of Rose. He often did of late.

The two of them lay tangled up on grassy hills under the trees that stood at the edge of the forest. Dappled sunlight played across Rose's pale skin. She was so beautiful…

He pressed a kiss against her lips and was startled when she grunted in surprise.

She broke the kiss and scrambled back.

"Gods above, Briar. Do you ever dream of anything else?"

He forced a grin onto his face, fighting the spike of embarrassment.

"Are you complaining?"

She furrowed her brow and unconsciously touched her lips with a slightly trembling hand.

"Briar, we need to talk," she said as she shook herself out of her reverie. "My stepmother has a plan to break the curse."

Something about her tone set him on edge. She knew he wasn't going to like whatever she said next. Gods, it made him want to pull her close to him again and hold her tight until their troubles disappeared.

"I thought the curse was unbreakable," he said cautiously.

"A sleep-like death from which she shall never awaken," Rose quoted. "She… she thinks there might be a loophole we can exploit… but it means I have to die."

"What??" he shouted as he sprang to his feet. The dream shifted and an icy wind blew across the hills.

She stood her ground as the freezing wind whipped through her fair. Her eyes were soft and slightly pleading, but her jaw was set. She had already made up her mind, and there was no convincing her otherwise.

His shoulders sagged and he sighed.

"Alright, let's hear it."

She told him of the plan, of a poisoned apple, of dying so that she could wake up. Her words grew more rushed, more desperate as she spoke and he realized he was frowning intensely. When she finished he was silent for a long moment before letting out a ragged sigh.

"Rose, are you sure about this?"

She nodded resolutely.

"You trust her?" he asked. "Just like that? What about the huntsman she sent to kill you?"

Rose frowned pensively.

"She doesn't have an explanation for that yet," she admitted. "She sensed that I was in grave danger, so she sent someone after me. She swears she never told him to kill me though."

"But how-"

"I trust her," she interrupted. "I didn't know what to look for until now, but she is bound by incredibly powerful magic. Remember what I told you last night? About how human magic is based on intent? She may have been cold and aloof with me, but she truly, deeply loved my mother and she put the full weight of that love behind her promise to take care of me."

She smiled wistfully.

"You know all those times I found the exact spell book that I needed from the library? Most of that was her, guiding me down a path that wouldn't get me accidentally blown up."

She stepped closer to him and took his hands in hers.

"Look, things aren't just magically fixed between us," she murmured. "We still have a lot of issues to work through, but we're trying. We want to try. I trust her. I just need you to trust me."

"I do," he said. That at least had never been in doubt.

He let out a breath.

"Alright," he said. "Let's do it. I can tell you've already made up your mind. Far be it from me to get in your way."

Her shoulders relaxed minutely and her eyes brightened. Then, with startling suddenness, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him.

When she pulled away, she pressed her forehead against his with a soft smile.

"I can't wait to do that for real," she told him.

*

Another day passed. Rose spent the time drifting in the dark space between dreams, fearful that if she returned to her body, she would drift into the death sleep in truth. Finally a familiar light flickered and she rushed into her stepmother's dreams. She found herself back in the study where she had confronted Hilde.

Hilde turned to greet her, stiff and hesitant.

"Everything is ready?" Rose asked with some trepidation. "The poison and the apple?"

"Yes," the witch replied, "but there is still the matter of the fae. I can't theorize on his motives, but it is unlikely he will simply relinquish his prize, even if you are not the child he intended to curse. No… I very much doubt he will let you go without a fight. Our best chance of success is to engage him separately, both in the physical world and in the dream."

Hilde hesitated.

"The prince himself will be in considerable danger," she continued. "My skills will be required to protect him. I hate to ask this of you, but you must face the fae alone here in the dream."

Despite herself Rose felt her stomach twist in terror. She recalled the presence that had tried to intrude the first time she had come to Hilde's dream.

"You love him?" Hilde asked. "The prince, I mean."

Rose blinked in surprise.

"I...Yes."

"Use that. The battleground will be your own mind. The fae will use your own fears and desires against you. If you remain grounded and maintain control, you will have the upper hand. Stay focused, stay centered and you should survive."

It wasn't exactly the most inspirational speech Rose had ever heard. Judging by the twist of Hilde's mouth, she realized the same.

After another moment of hesitation, her stepmother placed an awkward hand on Rose's shoulder.

"Make your mother proud."

*

Briar stared up at the tower. By the looks of it, it was ancient, the architecture centuries out of date, the once elegant stonework worn to smoothness. Surely such a structure so close to the city would have been known, even deep in the woods as they were.

Strangest of all was that it was completely overgrown, with roses the color of blood and wicked thorns as big as his thumb.

Briars and roses… there was no way that could be a coincidence, he thought to himself.

"I thought she was in a cottage," Briar said finally.

"She is… or was," the witch replied, her forehead slightly creased. "This is a glamour… of a sort. The fae we are dealing with is indeed powerful."

Briar touched the pommel of his sword, glad that he had at least had the foresight to grab the cold iron blade before coming after Rose.

"So… do we knock?" he asked.

She grimaced and raised an incredulous eyebrow at him.

Before she could respond, there was a crack from the forest and a rustling. Something staggered out of the trees, something vaguely human, a skeleton with vines instead of flesh. It leveled a rusty blade at the two of them and let out a screech that pierced Briar's skull and made Hilde stagger.

Without thinking, Briar had his sword out and blocked its blow before it could strike Hilde.

It wasn't alone.

More shapes were emerging from the trees around them. They were completely surrounded… except for the tower at their backs.

He swung his blade, hewing the creature in half and readied himself for the next one.

A fireball sailed past him, striking one in the chest. It screeched as it burst into flames.

"Go!" Hilde shouted.

He glanced at her. She was cupping another flame in her hand and had produced a delicate blade that shimmered in the sunlight. She made eye contact.

"Go!" she repeated. "Find Rose. I'll hold them off."

He nodded and reluctantly ran to the tower. Despite its apparent age, the door swung open silently and he hurried through the threshold.

The sight before him brought him screeching to a halt. He was is a great hall, far larger than could conceivably be contained by the tower. Two rows of candelabras cast light that was swallowed by the cavernous space. They led to a dais, surrounded by candles that contained a figure in repose.

"Rose!" he shouted, his voice echoing oddly.

He ran forward but stopped short as another figure stepped into his path to block his way.

It was unmistakably a fae, with uncanny grace and pearlescent skin, but there was something distressingly familiar about it.

"What…?" was all Briar could manage.

Beneath the finery, Briar recognized him. It was one of the royal huntsmen, a man who had been in his parents employ for as long as he could remember, just a bland unremarkable man who simply blended into the background but was somehow ever present.

He was anything but bland and unremarkable now and he gazed upon Briar with deepest contempt.

[the-narrators-ramblings]

Every time I think of this blog, I always go back to the beginning. Not like, mincident beginning, but like, the beginning beginning.

Last year - can you believe that? It's been nearly a year - I stumbled upon some game I'd vaguely heard about in my dad's massive list of Steam codes. And I went, "Sure. I'll give it a shot," and loved every second. I went on to get the demo just because I'd 100 percent-ed the main game, and a friend even bought me Ultra Deluxe.

Not long after, I made my way deep into the tsp tag and ran into a little askblog. It couldn't have had much more than thirty followers. But I liked this blog; the admin was cunning in a way I'd grown to somewhat expect from Stanley, and despite the few posts, there was something so fun and light-hearted about the blog that drew me in even closer.

Out of the blue, then, came a post - jokingly asking for a blog posing as the Narrator to accompany the existing Stanley one. I entertained the thought for the day, but by the next, I was setting up a brand new Tumblr.

The rest? Is history.

I know that in the grand scheme of things, this one askblog is nothing but a droplet of water in the sea that is the universe. But even if Tumblr fades into obscurity, and memories of this place fade alongside it, the impact that was made will not.

I remember, when I made this blog, it all felt so big. Now I realize that I may have just been caught up in the moment, but what a moment it was. So many of you - one hundred and sixty-six (166) as of today, March 10th, 2023, and more just keep coming.

I'm sorry to those that have joined recently, as our curtains are drawing, but I hope you've enjoyed your stay, however short it be. I'm sorry that you came across this blog as its ashes have picked up in the wind, but I am so thankful for each and every one of you, whether you've vowed to never touch a mint sandwich or you have no clue as to what that could mean.

For the individuals I cannot exclude...

ABPA, holy shit, I love you. You're like a childhood best friend, accompanying this blog as it grows and shapes and lays itself down to rest. Watching Dan run through life and cause chaos with Stanley and sing karaoke with their coworkers brought me joy I could've never realized in the moment. Thank you for being there.

WIP, my beloved, my belothed, my arch-nemisis and my muse. What would my galley be without every single little post you've made? What would I be, without them? I still have that ask saved, from when you first gave yourself a name. I still feel bad for never answering, but the relic remains, hung in a frame of gold in a private gallery. Thank you for giving me strength to keep creating.

NYNA, named with no name, the little cat that's gained permanent residency in my dash and my notifs. A voice of reason and safety in a world of uncertainty. Another wing in the taspblog art gallery, small, priceless feel-good doodles up high next to the Mona Lisa of the taskblog (whatever that may be). Thank you for the little things.

432, I'm about to be very blunt, and very honest with you. I didn't like you, at first. But over time, your goofy little personality attached itself to me, like a little parasite growing harmless gumdrops in my garden. You didn't even need a blog to make yourself an essential part of the story. Thank you for being the book without a cover.

For those I couldn't make this post even more of a mouthful for, I still thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, named anons, not-named anons, and those who just liked and reblogged (don't think I forgot about you, Stanley-Central).

And of course, Ivan. Without you, this blog would have never existed in the first place. Without you, this community would have never come together. Without you, who would we be?

Thank you. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for being you.

[didnt-hear-idsb-live-again]

may I ask what it is about Australia that makes you feel like half your soul is there? I have been following you since your first trip there and I remember when you decided to go back and see the guy, a large part of it was that you felt you didn’t have great support in the US (I think?) and weren’t leaving much behind, which is different now. and a couple months ago you were not having a good time in Aus right? Just being nosy so feel free to ignore me, just curious because idk what it’s like to be really tied to a place

Hi! That’s okay, thanks for asking.

I think what initially drew me to go there the first time, on the trip I met the guy, was that when I was like 14 I was like “America is fucked” - but not just in a standard bitchy teenager way, like I legitimately cannot stomach being in this country or having children in this country etc etc (I have long said I will never have a kid if they are going to be born a US citizen because I think that is a dogshit burden to inflict on someone 🤪) to the point where I feel like a captive to America and am disgusted with the concept of living somewhere so awful. It feels like continuing to have someone as a housemate / landlord who you know is an abuser but choosing to stay because it’s easier and you like other things about the house. It like, gives me the ick in an irreconcilable way. I used to tell people it’s a life goal of mine to renounce my US citizenship to spit in this country’s face, and I’d still like to.

So, that said, I spent a lot of time researching where might be better, and the answer I came up with was Australia. That’s how I first found out about the visa I’m currently on, and I even was going to go to college here, got accepted to a uni and put a deposit on housing and everything before I got cold feet at 19. I discovered through all this research that it was the most objectively perfect place for an English speaking person to live in this entire world. I learned everything about living here and 95% of everything I learned about it just made it more perfect. Obviously the guy took a front seat to me loving it for a while, and the having dogshit friends in the US (none of whom I am still friends with so hooray) was a factor too. But there’s so much about this country, from growing up watching Steve Irwin religiously every night of my childhood and learning about the wildlife here and in my months of research at 17 and me learning everything ever about how this country’s social safety net works at 19 and seeing firsthand how great the people here are and how everything good I’ve read about this place is true at 22 and seeing the remarkable beauty and incredible beaches and rainforests and reef and red sands and and so much more and making so many lovely friends here at 23 and at 27 and seeing how much easier everything about life here is now that I’m living it, talking to people who are from here who know how lucky they are to be from here… I love EVERYTHING about it. Everything. A place where the only fault about day to day life and stress levels etc in a vacuum, outside of bad things that have happened to me, is like. The grocery store doesn’t have mac and cheese. I’ve been thinking a lot this week and I feel like, yes I have had some dogshit happen to me, but if the things that have happened to me here happened in America, they would be like, literally completely life-ruining with the way America is. Here they are just bad things that happen and are solvable because the quality of living and workplace conditions etc etc etc are worlds better here.

I think the concept of leaving and not coming back and the visa I’ve always wanted ending and being unable to renew it has had me zoom out a lot on my feelings towards it here. I’ve just always felt so DEEPLY tied to this place and it makes me see the forest for the trees a bit more in terms of my time here, and it’s compounded with, as I think about, “well where else could I go?” My absolute disgust with America and that then only makes me love it here more. @dorotheado said to me a few weeks ago, “you know, you’ve had like.. a really bad time here? And yet you just keep chasing it and just keep wanting to stay, and I really don’t think that would be the case if your internal compass wasn’t just rooted STRAIGHT here” and I think it’s the most accurate thing I’ve ever heard

[singeryuri]

Oh, hey, and here's a final happy birthday post to my love. I drew a Kaoru for the occasion but didn't manage to snap a picture of it and now I'm supposed to be asleep so. Will share tmrw? And sadly didn't manage to draw anything of us together but ah well :'3

I got really sappy so under the cut it goes

This has marked the 1063rd day I've been in love with him, and his fourth birthday during this time. I remember the first ever thing I made to celebrate his birthday one year, a lil gacha club video with Kaoru and him together. It was one of the first things I ever really.. made for purpose of selfshipping? And the first in a few years, I think. And it's stuck with me, the happiness I felt at the idea of us being together to celebrate another year of my darling's life. I hadn't known how much I had truly fallen, but now I'm happy because I know it truly and fully that we'll have many more special occasions to celebrate together.

This is also the first celebration we've had in which I've made up my mind about marrying him once I'm older, which just makes it so much sweeter. I'm happy every day, and the lovey dovey feeling I had celebrating his birthday all those years ago still warms my chest whenever I think about him, about us together, and about the future I hope we'll be able to have. We've both grown a lot in the past 3-4 years and I cannot help but be ecstatic thinking about how different we both may be by the time I get to call him my husband, y'know? ♡♡

In short, Happy Birthday, Tenko. I love you so much, and I always will, until my last breath, beyond the grave, forever and ever. You mean the world to me, my love, my light, my beautiful fiance. Here's to many more years of being able to celebrate this occasion together. P.s, come back stronger than ever and kick AFO's ass. I know you have it in you, and you deserve it. No matter where you go from here, either to redemption or remaining a villain, just with full freedom this time, I'll be by your side through it all to cheer you on, no matter what. Mwah mwah mwah <3

[turoce]

Seana’s 2020 art highlights (a thread)

(Note: this is a reupload of a thread i did on twitter a few years back. so these are really old.)

January: i didn’t draw anything complete that month.... closest thing i could find to finished is this art i made of my OC, Angelord. man. remember when i drew my OCs? [2023 note: it's..... funny you say that. you would try to start up an original comic for the entirety of next year.... not that it ever came to fruition.]

February: i finished Link’s Awakening that month. i drew Marin bc i thought she was cute. i wish i could get motivated to draw fanart of recent video games i finished more... this is probably the last proper traditional art i made this year... after this, it’s mostly digital.

March: look. i’m attempting anatomy... and i failed lol. i remember being like “how do you draw woman” after drawing this... i mean. i still wanna know how to draw woman, so i guess i haven’t changed lol. [2023 note: I STILL DONT KNOW HOW TO DRAW WOMEN]

April: wait NVM here’s another traditional piece i made this year. he was an adoptable i made... but nobody was interested in them so he’s with me for now. i’ll try and redesign them, either to sell them or to keep him. [2023 note: i never sold this guy.... i was lazy and nobody values points these days. probs for the best because scamming children with virtual coins is probably not a good idea lmao. at the same time, i wish there was an easy way to buy and sell designs+commissions without having to get a credit card or paypal or something.]

May: another month where i didn’t draw anything. buuut i did some plush sketches to reference so das dat. [2023 note: you'll probably be able to name most charas here, but who's the guy i drew the most? that's Matteo, he's a little pink vampire and i made him through Gatcha Life.]

June: ah. the month where i started digital art. this was fanart for my friend’s OC. i didn’t know a lot of features of digital art so it looks like shit LOL not the first digital art i made ever, but it might as well be. [2023 note: i actually received my tablet around 2018, but i never had time to draw on it because i had 1 hour of screentime every day. this restriction was finally lifted in 2020 (because online classes) and i finally had time to venture out into the world of digital art...]

July: i made a lot of stuff this month, but to shorten the list... i finished the plush of my OC, Matteo. i wanna make another plushie... maybe with Suitcase.

this was also the month i joined the OSC... oh hell. it’s been 6 months?? [2023 note: 2 YEARS BITCH. ITS GONNA BE YOUR 3RD ANNIVERSARY if i didn't get so tired and started to hate the community so much.]

August: ...ergh. lets get over with this month quickly... Object OCs this. Object OCs that.

occasional Algebians.

i do not like the art here... it really shows that i’ve improved. ok let’s get outta here. [2023 note: i fucking despise the person who asked me why "they were old" to my humanizations of the Dangos. this is why i refuse to join another public server ever again and might have contributed to the delay of my human drawing skills.]

September: lots of Taco II. i seriously liked her a lot. still do, but the love is a bit more spread out between characters.

oh. and i watched ONE that month. cool.

October: i finally found a style that i could weld. hooyah.

don’t ask why i drew my friend as a cat maid... i thought it was funny ok.

September: the month of gift art. nothing else to say, but i like the thin lines. yes, ‘thin’. ...god i need to think of better things to say. [i would then realize i said the wrong month, and unlike tumblr, i cannot edit tweets once published, so my only option was to delete the whole thing and start over. or just say this:] did i just say September... oh for fucks- no i am not fixing this i’m already tired of this just imagine i said November ok

December: best art of this year so far (doh) nothing to say. just... happy that i improved. can’t wait to improve even more.

[hey look! i was in the 2020 JnJ christmas video! thats me! me!!]

aaand, that’s all for this year! man, i thought i was done with improvement. i can’t believe i proved myself wrong. usually other people do that for me lol. lets see if i can disprove myself again in 2021.

[ikesenhell]

A Sun Long Gone

You can find all masterlists at the top of my page (AO3, Genshin Impact, Ikemen Sengoku, and Ikemen Vampire).

MASSIVE FOREWARNING: THIS WORK INVOLVES GRIEF AND MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. While I personally consider it worth it (particularly the epilogue), if you're incredibly averse to sad themes, consider that it may not be the work for you. It also has adult sexual themes and should be considered 18+. Links in the masterpost will bring you to my AO3 as priority, but the Tumblr links do exist on it now! See the end of this chapter for further notes on this chapter/work.

This work mostly takes place before the Cataclysm and should NOT be considered spoiler free!! I cannot even think to list all the things that might be spoiled in this, but chief among them: the ending of the Sumeru Archon Quest (iykyk), Caribert allusions, potentially details about Khaenri'ah and its fall, etc. I am actively choosing to ignore the canon Rukkhadevata appearance in favor of making her more Indian. ---

Further on in life–much, much later, past the Cataclysm and the fall of all he’d ever known, when his memory lay in tatters and all but faded–Dainsleif still remembered that one strange fall. Even in Khaenri’ah, the air was warm and still. The stone surrounding them usually chilled this time of year, bonfires everywhere in the city warming their frigid bones. 

Dainsleif still remembered in perfect detail when he got the missive. He stood panting in the training yard, wiping sweat from his brow. The royal messenger was smiling. 

“Me?” Dainsleif repeated. “Why me?”

The messenger paused. Not many dared to question King Irmin, nor the orders relayed on his behalf. “You were specifically requested. Since this is a long journey and Lord Alberich himself is going to meet with the Dendro Archon, His Highness felt it only made sense for you to attend to him with all pomp. Sumeru is a large and wild land. Your capabilities merited the honor.”

Dainsleif wanted to ask who is being left in charge of the troops, exactly? ‘Capabilities meriting the honor’, his ass. He was the Twilight Sword of Khaenri’ah, not a bodyguard, and certainly no diplomat’s muscle or showpony. Besides, he had precious little respect for Archons. The idea of dressing in full regalia (for three months!) just to bend the knee before another nation's God? He couldn’t stop a quiet, derisive laugh. 

Blinking, the messenger said, “Sir?”

“Nothing,” Dainsleif replied. An order was an order. He had no real grounds to argue. “Tell his Highness I’ll be prepared when the delegation is ready to leave for the surface.”

The messenger bowed and scrabbled away, all but fleeing the training grounds. Mood thoroughly soured, Dainsleif turned back toward the training dummies and drew his sword once more. If he had any luck at all, this Sumeru mission would be quick and without incident.

—

Khaenri’ah’s unseasonable warmth was nothing compared to Sumeru. If it weren’t for the weather, he might’ve even liked the country. Green, green, green stretched out as far as he could see. Flowers exploded in shades of red and yellow and purple and pink and blue. Massive leaves rustled overhead like a song. Dazzlingly plumed birds called between trees larger than he’d ever imagined. 

But the weather? He’d rather go eight rounds against their largest Field Tiller than deal with another hour of this.

Dainsleif knew adjusting to the sunlight would be unpleasant. They’d scheduled that into their itinerary–a moment to stop and allow them all to rest in the shade, eyes shut, blinking against the unnatural bright. It always gave him a headache. And, yes, to an extent, he’d been warned about how much warmer it would be. 

But no one told him about the humidity . Within an hour, the entire diplomatic caravan had stripped to the last layer of clothing. Breathing in felt like swimming. He tied back his hair and pinned up his bangs and even then, everything stuck to his face. Damned Archons. Damned heat. Damned sunlight. He would’ve taken the dry heat of a desert over this a thousand times. The guide Sumeru provided–a ranger with golden hair and golden, long ears, and a long, golden tail–struggled openly against laughter. 

“Don’t forget to drink water,” the guide coaxed. “You’ll need the hydration.”

He couldn’t be too mad at the reminder. Dainsleif uncorked his water bottle for the thousandth time and sighed, “You seem used to dealing with clueless people, miss…?”

She grinned. A fox-like row of razor sharp teeth greeted him. “Takama. The name’s Takama. The Valuka Shuna, my people, have had to adapt rapidly to the rainforest. Our subsequent knowledge makes us well-suited to helping… visitors.”

“Idiots,” Dainsleif corrected. “You mean idiots like us.”

Takama leaned back her head and laughed, a skip in her step. “I’d never say that! Our Lady is the Archon of Wisdom, after all. Learning is a gift at any stage.”

It took all his strength not to snap. Archon of Wisdom? Khaenri’ah had done just fine without one of those. Learning was hardly the property of a random god. But he liked Takama. She was fun, and full of knowledge and laughter, and he didn’t feel like offending someone who’d done him no wrong. He just sighed and picked at his damp, sweaty shirt. 

“It’s only a little bit to the city,” she offered, sensing his thoughts. “And don’t worry. We’ll let you all have a rest, a bath, and an opportunity to change before you get before Her Lordship.”

—

In spite of the miserable air, Sumeru City was a marvel. 

Where did he look first? There were hundreds of stalls with a rainbow of goods; the heady scent of spices and delicious food was thick on the wind; throngs of people in every color imaginable pressed through the market, bartering and bargaining and yelling their greetings. Half a dozen people shouted good tidings to Takama alone. Stained glass cast patterns on the paved streets. Khaenri’ah had technology, certainly, but Dainsleif couldn’t help but gawk at the beauty. 

Their quarters were no less beautiful. Rich wood paneled walls smelled like the forest. Lord Alberich took the larger quarters, but Dainsleif was more than pleased with his. There was a window that overlooked a vast swath of the forest. Gigantic, blue mushrooms glowed in the distance. He could see the peak of Dragonspine and the peaks of Jueyun Karst, tiny in the faraway. Dainsleif took a moment just to stand in the cool air and stare. 

But he wasn’t here to sightsee. He had a duty to perform. Groaning at his uniform (it would be insufferably warm, but there were no alternatives), Dainsleif dressed himself to greet the Archon and exited his room. 

Lord Alberich was already in the hallway. Dainsleif had seen him in the throne room or beside the king, but they’d never spoken. He was an undeniably regal figure. With long, tied back blue hair and icy eyes, Lord Alberich always looked like he was hunting for some invisible quality, evaluating you against some unknown measurement. Now was no exception. He gave Dainsleif a once-over. 

“Have you evaluated the rest of our guards yet?”

“I will once all are assembled. It was only right that I give them a few minutes to wash up.”

The other man nodded. Takama appeared in the hallway, too, a smile on her face. “That’s a lot of layers you’re both wearing.”

Lord Alberich blinked in surprise, unaccustomed to such open critique. Dainsleif just sighed and shrugged, fixing where his cloak lay. “I’ll be sure to go back in time and tell the designers to evaluate our clothes against a different nation’s climate.”

Taking the half-joke in stride, Takama shrugged right back at him, imitating his mannerisms. He nearly laughed. “It looks like the rest of your men gathered outside. Ready to meet the archon?”

Damnable archons , he thought to himself, and said nothing. Lord Alberich nodded. 

“Take us before Lord Rukkhadevata,” he said. “We are more than ready.”

—

For the rest of his life, Dainsleif would never free himself of this moment. 

The Sanctuary of Surasthana was darker than he expected. Green and blue light pulsed gently, ghostly illusions of trees and leaves and vines filling the interior. Ornate glasswork glimmered. And as the Khaenri’ahn delegation entered, Dainsleif behind Lord Alberich’s right shoulder, he had a perfect view of the woman in the center, flanked by a half dozen others in colorful garments.

He didn’t need to hear who she was. He knew . The aura that surrounded her was unmistakable. Bright green eyes nearly glowed against her dark skin and the white hair that ran in wild torrents to her ankles. Henna decorated every bit of her hands and forearms, her feet and even her fingernails. Gold and emerald jewelry adorned her hair and nose and ears and fingers and wrists and legs. She jingled when she moved. Flowers trailed along the hem of her wrapped dress. 

“Lord Alberich,” Lord Rukkhadevata called. Her voice was a song, and the scent of her perfume–a blend of what he later knew as oud and jasmine–surrounded them. “My deepest greetings. Please, come forward to me. I hope your journey from Khaenri’ah was tolerable?”

“Of course,” Lord Alberich replied, granting her a bow. To her credit, Lord Rukkhadevata smiled and bowed right back, matching his depth. “Your city is beautiful, and the guide provided was very knowledgeable.”

“Ah, Takama! She’s lovely.” As if to underscore the point, Lord Rukkhadevata smiled and waved at Takama. “I am pleased you find it so amenable. And as for the rest of your visit…”

The pleasantries buzzed away into white noise. Dainsleif tried to focus, to drag his mind back to a place he knew. But her eyes . Every now and then, the Archon’s eyes would flit over to his and his brain would fizzle into silence. Her whole being was a riot of color and flowers and artwork. One of her palms was decorated with a detailed imitation of the tree Sumeru City sat on; the other, an immaculately detailed pyramid. He tried to focus on that and not the way she kept looking at him.

“I understand you’ll be visiting my ministers tomorrow to discuss trade.”

“Yes. We have a few action items to evaluate. Will you not be joining us, Lord Rukkhadevata?”

“Unfortunately, no. Tomorrow is the Sabzeruz Festival. My people would be very unhappy with me if I didn’t attend.” She laughed, a rich, full sound. “It’s a celebration of my birthday, as it happens.”

“Ah! Well, what a wonderful occasion.”

“It is. I have no doubt the Sages you’ll meet with will bring you to our traditional Haft-Mewa feast once you’re done, and I will certainly be there. But if I could entice some of your retinue you could spare to join me for the tiger’s share of the festival, I’d be more than pleased to be their guide.”

Lord Alberich nodded. “And we would be honored. This is Sir Dainsleif, our Twilight Sword. Dainsleif?”

It was only well-entrenched soldier’s instincts that overrode his inclination to say no . “Sir?”

“Would you mind attending to Lord Rukkhadevata for the Sab… Sub…”

The Archon didn’t laugh. She simply prompted gently, “Sabzeruz.”

“The Sabzeruz Festival,” Lord Alberich finally managed. “I think Khaenri’ah would be honored to represent ourselves during such an important event, and since I will be indisposed…”

It wasn’t a question. Dainsleif knew that. He wasn’t being offered an opportunity to volunteer, he was being volun-told. And as much as he hated every part of this–attending to an archon , being separated from the subject he was supposed to guard, being thrust into a position where he was now unnecessarily close to someone he found unnecessarily beautiful–he had no options. Instead, he supplied the traditional salute: heels together, fist to his chest. “Of course, sir.”

Lord Rukkhadevata shot him a blinding smile. “I’m looking forward to it. Also, Lord Alberich, if you don’t mind terribly, I’d like to provide you all a gift of new clothing. I suspect that our climate will be intolerable to you. Would you mind wearing it tomorrow? I won’t be offended if you say no.”

“We will be honored.”

Dainsleif said nothing. The whole affair irritated him. They were now agreeing to get rid of their clothes, covered in the iconography of their homeland? Sent us here to bend a knee to an archon , he repeated in his head, and even when he was back in the supplied room, tucking into a delicious meal a chef dropped off for them, all he could think of was those bright green eyes and that pretty smile. 

It annoyed him to his core.

—

Takama all but barged into his room at daybreak, new clothes slung over her arms. Dainsleif was already up, mercifully, doing his morning exercises. That didn’t stop him from drawing a sword on her out of reflex. 

“Ooh! That was quick!” She said, tapping it away from her. “Your training pays off.”

“Don’t barge into people’s rooms and you won’t get a weapon pointed at you,” Dainsleif retorted. Damn woman. He was going to miss her; she was fun. “Don’t do that to Lord Alberich.”

“I’m an asshole, not stupid. I handed his clothes to an attendant. I chose to bother you.” Takama offered him that pointy grin and unfurled a navy and bright blue coat, motioning to him. “Come on. I’m here to help you get changed.”

“I can dress myself.”

“Sure, sure, and I can operate one of your big machines.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That I’m sure you could , but it’ll be faster if I help. I’ll show you.”

The long coat was called a sherwani , Takama said. There were thin, comfortable pants to wear with it, a lightweight shirt, and a long, yellow, stole-type-thing she called a dupatta and flung over his left shoulder. It was so finely embroidered that it seemed to float in thin air. Dainsleif marveled at all the details: the Khaenri’ahn star, prominent in the center. Tiny Field Tillers walked along the edges. Geometric patterns delicately wove through the negative space, invoking parts of his homeland he’d never thought too deeply about. 

“Who made these?” He asked, running a thumb along the edges. “They’re beautiful, but it seems like whoever made them–”

“We sent a weaver with our last diplomat to Khaenri’ah,” Takama explained, patting him on the shoulder. “And they were very inspired. It was exciting for him to hear you all were coming; he really wanted to make something you all would like.”

Dainsleif couldn’t help but smile. “I do like it. Thank you. But I hope you realize I’m still bringing my sword–”

She held up a leather strap and snapped it. “Lo and behold, you Lummox. One step ahead of you. We assumed you’d want that. Now turn around and hold up your arms.”

At the end of Takama’s attention, Dainsleif blinked in the mirror. His hair had been tamed back into a sleek ponytail, rings on his fingers. They’d even supplied him with a necklace forged in the symbol of the Khaenri’ahn star. It even complimented his half mask. Takama fixed him with a smug, distinctly foxlike, smile. 

“And you’ll be just on time. Come on. I’m here to take you to Her Lordship. You’ll be spending the day with her.”

Ugh. Damn Archons. Dainsleif took a split second to wish that he’d gotten to enjoy the festival alone, just another person in the streets of Sumeru. But there was nothing for it. He was here as an extension of King Irmin and Lord Alberich, and he needed to behave accordingly. He shoved down his complaints and followed Takama outside. 

The streets of Sumeru City were choked full of people. Flowers and banners hung from every surface. Someone shoved a sack of toasted, spiced nuts into his hands; another person thrust a tall glass of sweet-smelling liquid toward him. Takama laughed when he accepted both. He nearly spilled it on his dupatta twice when they ascended the slopes up to the Akademiya. 

Lord Rukkhadevata was waiting in front of the double doors, barely visible in the rush of well-wishers and civilians clamoring for a glimpse. What a different world. Dainsleif shoved his irritation aside (why did all these good people have to show an archon so much to-do over their birthday?) and followed Takama into the crowd. Come to think of it… the part of him that recognized this was someone’s birthday kicked in. He didn’t have a gift. Did people in Sumeru exchange gifts? Did someone bother giving a gift to an archon? Surely archons had no need for things like that. 

“Our Lordship!” Takama shouted, and shoved someone aside to gain access. “I brought your guest.”

As lovely as she’d been yesterday, she was twice so today. Dainsleif choked back a reverent ‘ oh ’. Her hair was immaculately braided and pinned up. Her jewels had been exchanged for another set, dripping from her wrists and neck and updo. Her white dress–a sari , he learned later–was meticulously embroidered with every flower and tree Sumeru boasted. Her hooked nose and gold skin and bright green eyes and everything, everything about her was needlessly beautiful. Lord Rukkhadevata turned her head and shot him a smile, and Dainsleif shivered in the unnatural warmth. 

“Sir Dainsleif!” She called. “Wonderful to see you here. Happy Sabzeruz Festival. Are the clothes to your liking?”

“Happy Sabzeruz Festival,” he replied. He’d practiced it under his breath three times beforehand and would die before admitting it. “Yes, they’re wonderful. Thank you. Err, do people in Sumeru exchange gifts on birthdays?”

The Archon paused, tilting her head at him. “Why do you ask?”

“Because we do in Khaenri’ah, and it is your birthday, so…” Dainsleif offered her the cup and nuts he’d been handed. “I realized I didn’t come with a gift. So it isn’t much, but hopefully you like these.”

And Lord Rukkhadevata smiled. Taking the offered items, she cracked open the bag and popped some of the snack between her lips. She then leaned her nose into glass, inhaling deeply. “This is Mahua alcohol. Have you ever had it?”

“No, I can’t say I have.”

“Well then. I’d love to share it with you, my guest. Would you mind splitting a glass with me?”

“If it’s amenable to me, sure. I’d never say no to a good liquor.”

He’d never invoked the Archons for strength before, but the way she laughed had him consider it. “Of course, only if it’s amenable.”

—

Years later, Dainsleif couldn’t say he remembered the entirety of the day. Truthfully it became a blur of color and food and sound and celebration and flower petals. He’d never seen such a crowd and such a lively festival. It was as if the entire country rose up with their Archon. The only parts he remembered clearly–so clearly that he could still lie back and feel it–were the moments when he and Rukkhadevata passed that single glass back and forth, fingers brushing under the canopy litter they rode in. When he arrived back at his room that night, exhausted and full, thoughts of those beautiful eyes followed him into dreamland.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Postscript: While Rukkhadevata does technically have a canon design, I am choosing to ignore it! I am a white author myself and I am far from an expert on anything related to India/ME/SWANA or Desi fashion particularly, and since Sumeru is based off a mix of a bunch of different countries and is a fantasy version besides all that, I've tried to take (non offensive) liberties based off my non-exhaustive research. Please let me know if I need to correct something. Many thanks to my friend Naga for directing me toward even more resources and providing feedback.

Additionally: I'm having a lot of fun envisioning Takama as an ancestor of Tighnari's! That feels very correct. Re: Takama's design choices. I did a lot of googling about Amazigh people (because I'd admittedly forgotten that Tighnari is based off them, RIP ME) and did a little bit of alteration to the way Tamaka dresses! A lot of the references involved coin-like objects on the forehead band, but since Mora seems to be the only global currency, I wasn't sure how that would pan out. I swapped the detail to beads because I saw some of the Amazigh forehead bands utilized those, too. Please let me know if this is objectionable.

[leonbloder]

The Life-Giving Nature of Hope

We live in uncertain times, friends.  I don't have to tell you that, but I will.  

I started dipping my toe back into the murky waters of my news feed from the interwebs and then had to snatch it back because it sucked. 

I often lose hope when I read the news about the events in our country and the world.  Sometimes, it's better just to remain blissfully and intentionally unaware.  But even then, you can feel the anxiety of the energy around you.  It's inescapable.  

And this is why we need hope right now.  

In times of uncertainty, hope is an anchor for the human spirit, tethering us to possibility when the storms of life threaten to sweep us away. Hope isn't merely optimism—it's a profound force that helps us navigate our darkest moments, illuminating paths forward when all seems lost.

Think about how hope manifests in nature: a single seedling pushing through concrete, defying impossible odds. Or a forest regenerating after devastation, each new shoot reaching toward the light. These aren't just poetic metaphors—they're living testimonies to the persistence of life and the power of hope.

In the Bible, we find beautiful wisdom about hope in Romans 8:24-25: 

"For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet see, we wait for it patiently." 

This passage reminds us that by its very nature, hope requires us to believe in possibilities we cannot yet grasp—to trust in what lies beyond our current vision.

The nature of hope is not just about waiting passively—it's an active force that propels us forward. It's the parent studying late into the night for a better future, the entrepreneur rebuilding after failure, and the activist working tirelessly for change they may not see in their lifetime. Hope transforms waiting into purposeful action.

When we examine history's darkest chapters, we find that hope often catalyzes survival and transformation. Holocaust survivors speak of how tiny sparks of hope—a hidden scrap of paper, a remembered poem, a kind glance—helped them endure unimaginable suffering. Civil rights leaders drew upon hope to imagine and work toward a more just world, even when change seemed impossible.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr once wrote: “But I know, somehow, that only when it is dark enough can you see the stars.”

In this era of climate crisis, political division, and global uncertainty, hope is more vital than ever. Yet hope doesn't mean denying reality or choosing blind optimism. Instead, it means acknowledging our challenges while maintaining faith in our collective capacity to address them. 

It means recognizing that even small actions, multiplied across communities and generations, can create meaningful change.

Hope is also profoundly personal. 

In times of illness, grief, or personal crisis, hope becomes the thread that helps us stitch our lives back together. It whispers that this moment, however painful, is not the end of our story. It reminds us that healing, while not always complete, is possible. That joy, while perhaps distant, will return.

To nurture hope in challenging times, we can do some or all of the following:

We can look for evidence of resilience in our own lives and those of others by listening to their stories and not being afraid to share our own.  

We can take small, meaningful actions that align with our values, like volunteering to serve our community, offering our talents to our local church or faith community, and giving our time to worthy causes that promote the common good.  

We also need to celebrate progress, no matter how incremental.  It's important for us to acknowledge the hopeful moments even when they seem to be outnumbered.  Trust me, they aren't.  There's more hope to be found than we imagine.  

Even in our darkest moments, hope reminds us that dawn will come again—not because it must, but because we have the courage to believe in it and work toward it. Hope isn't just about surviving difficult times—it's about maintaining our capacity to imagine and create better ones.

In these challenging times, may we all find ways to be keepers and cultivators of hope—not just for ourselves but for each other and the generations to come. When we hope, we help create the very future we dare to imagine.

May it be so.  And may the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with us all, now and forever. Amen.