#i did the chao garden he did halo!
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Me and my bf painted this weekend!
#it was fun we've only done mini canvases before so this was our biggest project#i did the chao garden he did halo!
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...I'm baaaack.
I mean, I made one post about Swap!PV and then got distracted for months, so I wouldn't really call this a comeback. The moment I did come back though, apparently a bunch of lore just fell from the sky! Beast Yeast is upon us and all of a sudden I remember making an alt. version of this goober.
Turns out there were a few things I wasn't satisfied with in the first one, so here I am with my Swap!Vanilla 2.0 human edition! Even after all this time I still don't have a name for him. There's more white in his design, he has four horns instead of two and they form a crown on his head(that might be a bit hard to see), he also has a halo, his staff changed drastically, and he lost his soul gem. Instead he has two new smaller gems on his "ribcage".
This time around I tried to invoke more death themes, hence the ribcage, more wrappings, the halo, and the burn marks from, y'know, being re-baked and essentially reborn. The halo also makes for a nice double meaning, showing his somewhat good intentions behind the violence and spreading chaos gig.
Speaking of intentions, I maybe or maybe not have mentioned the only swaps happening in this proposed AU are between PV and WL and [possibly] Black Raisin and Red Velvet. I say maybe because if I checked, all the writing would disappear and I would have to start over again. However, I have wondered if those two swapped, how would PV handled the kingdoms? Would it be the same as DE or would the fates of each kingdom end up being swapped as well? It's something I definitely need to think on and develop.
Anyways, ramble break, here's a few doodles I did for Swap!PV!
Yeah, I had a lot of fun doing this. SO! A few changes not mentioned prior. Eyes! There are more eyes, especially on his coat. I took a bit of inspiration from a certain blue jester and his realm of nightmares. It also plays nicely with the whole "truth revealed" theme. Why not give the holder of the light of truth a bunch of opened eyes to represent his awakening? Also they looked good and his cape-coat was too plain without it.
Fun Head Canons: He's always floating, even when he's relaxing his feet never touch the floor. This PV still has a lily garden, it's just hidden away because while he still misses WL despite everything, he refuses to show weakness in front of others. His coat can take the shape of angel wings when angry and multiple eyes can appear when furious or in distress. Speaking of eyes, the ones on his coat glow. Those gems on him are pieces of moonstone that got corrupted after saving him.
As for the story behind him, I had to make a few adjustments. For one, DE and WL are two halves of the same whole, and the only reason either of them exists is thanks to precautions taken by Elder Faerie. Which means Pure Vanilla somehow has to get the stuff from Lily, who came to Beast Yeast without saying much of anything to anyone beforehand. Secondly, it means the Pure Vanilla Kingdom can't be the last kingdom explored. Pre Beast Yeast, the order in which the kingdoms would be explored would change, where White Lily's area would be explored first instead and the Vanilla Kingdom would be last. I'll address the second issue on a different post related to White Lily, but first things first. Fair warning, I wrote quite a bit.
~~~
After forming the seal, White Lily falls ill due to the immense amount of power used. She's not used to using so much of her soul gem, much less creating a seal to lock away ancient evils. Seeing her faltering state, Elder Faerie takes her away to his palace to help her recover. During her time in the palace, White Lily becomes distressed because not only does she feel like she's being a burden, but she won't be able to continue her research on how cookies were made. That was the whole point of coming here, after all. She left her friends and home behind to find the truth and ended up sick and bed ridden instead. The least she could do to redeem herself was to find the truth.
Racked with guilt and regret, she asks Elder Faerie for two favors; she wishes to know the secret behind cookies' creation, and she requests a pen and paper to write with. Before long, White Lily gains a messenger(Silverbell) who gives her books from the library to read, and a way to reach the one other person she understands. Someone who should've known where she was most of all. Pure Vanilla Cookie.
From there the two keep exchanging letters as White Lily brushes up on fae and beast lore. But eventually White Lily would learn about the Night of the Witches in a similar enough way to canon, i.e. finding the book about it. While she's recovered enough, she's still not well enough to go, and Elder Faerie isn't risking her well being and safety for a banquet. She's devastated that her questions may never be answered. If only she could go, if only there was some way to witness it while being in the Fairy Kingdom. And then... she realizes something. Perhaps there is a way for her to know after all...
White Lily, in the discomfort of her hospital bed, writes a letter to Pure Vanilla and asks him to go to the Witch's Banquet in her place. She knows that this is a huge ask, and he has every reason to refuse the favor, but it would mean the world to her if he did. Elder Faerie hears about this and is rightfully worried, telling her about the dangers, and any cookie that goes doesn't come back the same, if at all. He sends his own letter to Pure Vanilla to warn him of the dangers that lie ahead. A few more letters come in from WL apologizing for her request, saying it was out of line and inappropriate. "What a selfish request," she thinks, "after leaving him in the dark for so long, I have the nerve to ask him for anything at all?"
However, despite everything, he eventually decides to go. He knows that this means everything to her, and a part of Pure Vanilla secretly wondered about it as well. White Lily searched heaven and earth to find the truth so she could help others. Why would he keep avoiding it for so long? If he knew the truth as well, perhaps he could use these secrets to help the people of Earthbread alongside her. Maybe now he would finally understand White Lily more.
He wrote a letter addressed to both WL and EF about his final decision. White Lily is surprised at his decision, and is eternally grateful, while Elder Faerie is more resigned and concerned, knowing that he won't be able to change his mind but still wanting to help. He asks her to help write her next letter, and the two send a package to Pure Vanilla. Inside was another letter with the faint smell of lilies, as well as a map to the location of the banquet and a moonstone from Elder Faerie as a show of goodwill and for protection. He in turn sends what would become his final letter to her, unbeknownst to the two reading. He expresses his gratefulness to both WL and EF and declares his determination to find answers both for her and for the sake of everyone, stating, "Let me be your hope when you have none, and you my guiding light in shadows..."
Pure Vanilla proceeds to head to the Witch's Banquet, discovers the bitter truth, and in his attempts to save the other cookies falls into the ultimate dough. The fleeting scent of lilies is the last thing he grasps in his final moments, and the faint glow of a moonstone ensures his survival. His soul gem shatters under the weight of the truth and is scattered across the world, longing to be made whole once again.
~~~
Well! I think I have said everything I can say about him for now. I'm sure I can come up with more things later, but if you read this far, thanks for reading! I did not know I was going to say this much, so yeah. Next post is for White Lily specifically, I hope. I'm also taking suggestions for ideas about the other kingdoms and ways this could go, so if you have anything to suggest, let me know. Y'all have a good evening!
#crk au#crk art#cookie run kingdom#pure vanilla cookie#white lily cookie#elder faerie cookie#cookie run fanart#pure vanilla crk#cookie run au#why did i make this so damn long#fadinglettersau
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Okay, let's start from afar. From those who made Charlie Magne :D
I wanted to give them a more serious, royalty-fitting look. Also, no more top hats, only cool sick horn-esque halo U:
AU lore info under cut
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So, what's the fuzz.
Lucifer in his angel days in this rewrite was way more of a trickster. When Sera and other angels were creating the World and its order, Luci caused a lot of mischief and disarray, but God (yes.) allowed it, for there needed to be a little piece of chaos in every system.
After the Garden of Eden was established, and the first humans - Adam and Lilith - emerged, Lucifer immediately fell in love with the latter. He tried to contact her, but Sera would not allow him, as there should've not been any divine interventions. They would feel each other tho, and Lilith heard Lucifer's calls.
Lucifer has gone full Hades and straight out kidnapped his beloved Lilith. They finally had a chance to talk, and Lilith expressed her desire to know more, do more, make a difference, and how she did not want to succumb to Adam as she didn't really love him.
Then, Eve appeared. (Eve and Adam's relationship is a story for another time) Lucifer and Lilith together decided to give Eve the Apple, and that's when they finally got caught by Sera, who banished them to the wasteland now known as Hell.
Lucifer had enough power to share it with Lilith and start shaping Hell into place where they could live their lives as they wanted - in constant motion and creation. The Pride ring was established, and the first souls appeared in it. Later, Lilith would keep expanding Hell as long as she had power.
Lucifer and Lilith ruled Hell for millennia and witnessed a lot of loss, pain and horror, but they got through that together. When the times became even darker, they decided to have a child, as they believed that would make a Change, and changes are what they were all about.
Seven years prior to Charlie's 21st birthday, Lilith disappears, and Heaven is somehow involved in this. Lucifer is now alone on the throne, thus extremely busy, and Charlie is the one to unveil this mystery.
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In this AU, Lucifer and Lilith never divorced. They got their ups and downs, they are thousands years old after all, and they definitely are not strictly monogamous, but they are devoted to each other and take their love through all those years. When Lilith disappeared, Lucifer got very depressed and buried himself in ruler's work. He tried to look for her, but he is banished from Heaven, so there was no way to ask. However, his daughter Charlie is not banished yet...
#artists on tumblr#digital art#hazbin hotel#lucifer morningstar#lucifer magne#lilith morningstar#lilith magne#hazbin hotel critical#hazbin hotel redesign#hazbin hotel rewrite#lust ring charlie au#alternate universe#a lot of words really i hope it's readable#this au feel like a dream to me#fuzzy and hard to compose into solid words but rly cool i swear
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Mr and Mrs Sunshine
Pairing : Kyle “ Gaz” Garrick x F!reader + 141 team and their families.
Summary: Your big chaotic extended family. And how Gaz survived Soap's wrath.
Part 5 and finale to Miss Sunshine series.
Warning: Mature theme.
Gaz route for my Mini MacTavish verse.
As always, Thanks to mother of my Mini MacTavish @saltofmercury for lending me the character “Mini” from her story. Go read her “The Favorite MacTavish” !
“Masterlist” for other stories to this Mini MacTavish expanded verse.
“Soap, hold your position. Gaz, watch his six. Ghost, do you have visuals?”
“ Negative Sir.”
“ Alright, keep moving.”
“Visual on enemy!! Fall back fall back!!”
“Shit I've been hit!” “ Soap!”
“ NO TIME TO GET HIM GET INTO THE HALO!”
“ Sorry Soap, you are on your own.”
“ Price. Gaz fell out of the helicopter.”
“ AGAIN?!!!”
“ HA serves you right for leaving me behind you bunch of boggin gommy!!”
“LANGUAGES JOHNNY!! Simon,watch where you are throwing that controller. Price… no cigar in the house. Told you before.” You slap your brother in the head as you bring them a plate of nibbles. The toddler sitting in Simon’s lap giggled as she saw you telling the men off.
“Six to one dads!!!!” One of the children yelled out the score, cheering and laughter coming from the family room on the other side of the kitchen.
Gaz shook his head in disbelief. Bunch of teenagers, led by his daughter Lily, totally kick a group of military men in first-person shooter.
Everyone is gathered at your parent’s farm in Scotland for the annual family meet up. It started off just your family plus Gaz after you two got married. And somehow Simon got dragged along, as your mother kept commenting “Poor Simon is all alone for holiday” Price and his partner got invited. Party grew even bigger as Johnny and Ghost got married and everyone started to popping children.
Occasionally you have odd guests joining in. König, Alejandro and Rudy. But the 141 boys and their family always make their appearances.
“Ghost what kind of sniper are you! Can’t even aim properly.” Gaz complained
“ You try to aim with the controller.”
“ Captain, you can’t even fly a ‘copter!”
“ I think you are the one that has problems staying in the halo, in-game or in real life.” Price smirked as he sip on his drink.
Head shaking, you pick up Simon’s daughter from his lap and leave the boys behind fighting in the living room, walking back into the kitchen.
‘Why did we marry those boys.” you heard Johnny’s partner commenting. And everyone mumbled in agreement. Boys will always be boys. Never grow up.
Lily came into the kitchen, flashing a brilliant toothy smile, just like her dad.
“How’s dad and uncles coping with their losses?”
“ Brilliantly, as you can hear. Had to get this poor bubby away from the chaos.” you rolled your eyes as you handed the toddler back to Simon’s wife. “....where are you going young lady?”
“Going to rub it into their face.”
Like father, like daughter.
Your mind wandered back to the day you announced the news of your pregnancy, along with marriage to Johnny, to your family.
Johnny came home to Scotland, finding you and Gaz cuddling together in the garden, getting a bit handsy with each other.
“Wait WHY IS HE HERE, GAZ why are you feeling up my sister like that!!!!” He screamed as he pulled Gaz away from you and threw him off from the seat, turning around, he pointed into the living room, where Simon is currently sitting in front of the fire, having a nice cup of tea with your parents, “ and why is Ghost here too?!!!”
“Johnny, my husband can do whatever he wants with me. It’s none of your business. And Ma invited Simon. Not me.”
“HUSBAND..HUSBAND?!!! SINCE WHEN DID YOU TWO .. WAIT, You two ELOPED.” Soap gasped. That’s all his brain registered.
“ WE didn’t elope. We decided to have… small ceremony. Just two of us.” “..... that is elopement.” “ JOHNNY, Ma and Da knew about it beforehand, so it’s not elopement!”
“ HOW COME YOU DIDN’T TELL ME FIRST!” Johnny raises his voice, sounding hurt.
“See? This is why I can’t tell you, because you always overreact! I am an ADULT Johnny, I don’t need to be coddled by you!” You shout back. Gaz pulls you back slightly, trying to sooth you. He knows both Soap and you are very hot headed people, and arguments can get out of hand.
“.... probably not the best time to tell you I am pregnant.”
“ YOU WHAT?! Is that why you eloped?!!!”
“ Soap, she’s kidding.” Gaz shot you a look , “You are kidding.. Right?”
You pouted. Refuse to give them the answer. You were going to keep it as a surprise until dinner time to make the announcement, but now the cat is out of the bag….
Took a while for Soap’s anger to subside, Soap worked both Gaz and Simon’s ass off around the farm for the rest of holiday, as a revenge.
You do feel a bit guilty not letting your brother in on it sooner. But the stubbornness in you refuses to admit it. Gaz ended up promising him to have a ceremony, so he felt participated.
“You can pay for my honeymoon.” you joked to him.
“ YOU aren’t going anywhere like that young woman.” Soap pointing at your growing belly.
Simon and him did end up paying for your baby shower though.
Gaz unfortunately had to be away a lot during your pregnancy for missions. But he still wants to be involved. Insisting you update your progress everyday, Planned out the perfect balanced meal plan for you. The perfect way of setting up the nursery. It’s so adorable to see him so serious about things. Too serious for his own good sometimes. But that's why you love him.
The amount of tears he spilled when he first held Lily Jane Garrick in his arm. And him keep on thanking you and how much he love you for bringing him a beautiful daughter, making his life complete, your heart bursts with happiness.
He dots on his daughter immensely. Their favourite father and daughter bonding time is playing video games together…. Which led to the situation today.
“ Well if you keep going on about how great your skills are, why don’t we have competition? US teenagers vs YOU older men.”
“ Who are you calling old men?” Gaz gave his daughter side eyes.
The teengers grouped up in the family room, talking different strategies while setting up, The Taskforce 141 boys was too cocky. Thinking this will be just walk in the park in comparison to what they do day to day,
“ Price. Just guide us through as usual.” Gaz commented as he passed one of the controllers to Price.
“... what do I press to jump?”
That's when the boys knew they were in trouble.
“Alright everyone! Dinner time!!!” Your Ma yelled out. All of sudden, everyone piled into the dining area, arguing away about the game.
You smiled at the chaos. Gaz came up beside you, giving you a kiss on the head.
You love your family. Your big extended family.
Life is beautiful.
They never going to let Gaz down about the helicopter incident. Ever.
Tag list
@deadbranch
@josephquinnswhore
@lia0-0
@voxyin
#kyle gaz garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick#gaz garrick#kyle gaz garrick x female reader#sergeant kyle gaz garrick#cod mw2#gaz need more love#gaz garrick x reader#task force 141
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Welcome in fellas let me tell you why q!Bad and Crowley are so similar because I want to and because they are and you can't stop me.
[undercut ↓]
Now, we'll start at the first episode of season 2, where we see Crowley before he fell. Before the Beginning. It seems that he is tasked with making the universe where Earth is going to be planted which is a big deal honestly. How does that fit with Bad? Well, we can only guess this but with a throne with angel wings behind it and a halo like chandelier above it we can assume Bad has a higher archy angel. Not exactly an archangel but close to it (or maybe a archangel who's to say but time). Now I'm not saying Crowley was one but being tasked with the creation of the universe where Earth was going to be? Pretty big deal that I would say only a higher archy angel would have. But that information is still to be confirmed.
Now the Garden of Eden, 4004 BC. Of course Bad isn't going to meet an angel at the wall that goes around the garden and he actually arrived in 960 BC, way before 4004 BC and blah blah blah. BUT I want to point out a few lines Crowley says to Aziraphale; "I can't see what's so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway" and "It'd be funny if we both got it wrong, if I did the good thing and you did the bad one". We've all mentioned how Bad chooses to be kind despite being a demon. That it's funny that he's doing good even though he's an entity that's defined as evil and dangerous. Which, yes, he is evil and dangerous but not always. The line is also supported by a good amount of actions Crowley does within the show; not killing the goats nor kids, helping Aziraphale, trying to help Maggie and Nina, etc. But he's not necessarily NICE. He only chooses to be nice from time to time. Especially with Aziraphale, someone he considers close. Just like Bad. He's only nice to those close to him and he choses to be kind to others if he wants to. He's literally known as the islands babysitter and someone you can trust. He has experienced almost everything that has happened on the island since the start.
Now let's go to Mesopotamia, 3004 BC. Noah's Arc before the flood. Crowley finds out that God had gotten angry and planned to wipe out most of the human population. Including the kids (actually one's + baby goats). Crowley, despite being an entity of evil and this being in his lots range, it's too much for even God to do. The Federation being as messed up as it is, them kidnapping their children, doing experiments on these babies, and everything else is something way out of Bad's demonic morals. He's a entity of chaos and even this is too much. For Heavens sake, even MOUSE, the Queen of Hell, finds it all too much. Too much for a demon. A war that'll end Earth. A Federation and an Island filled with horrors and chaos.
2008-ish, 11 years before the war between Heaven and Hell, the apocalypse, Crowley is assigned to deliver the antichrist. Himself. He's all for the war, but him delivering it and realizing that it's actually going to happen is another thing. Bad is all for chaos, pranks, spying, and lieing but when it comes to doing that stuff for the Federation that doesn't benefit the Island but just them, that's something else. That is something he doesn't want to do, ever. He checks every task he's given or others are given to make sure it's nothing.
And another thing. Atlantis. Bad, upon his arrival, was part of a historical event that we can confirm as the sinking of Atlantis. Killing off everyone he loved. He's haunted by it, a reason for his paranoia. Crowley was the one who had to deliver the antichrist, being the reason why Earth might've ended, a guilt throughout the years before the end times were to happen.
Now, the following will be during the week when Armageddon is to happen. The end of the world:
"I didn't mean to fall, I just hanged around the wrong people" WHEN I TELL YOU I LOVE THIS LINE. And it fits q!Bad soooooo well. "I didn't mean to fall" HE DIDN'T MEAN TO FALL. Many members have mentioned how nice Bad is, and within the story when you think about it, it shows that Bad is kind in his way. He didn't mean to be a demon. If anything, he tries to hide that fact and that he was extremely dangerous that he sunk a city once and killed everyone he ever loved. During and after the acceptance stage, Bad has given in into his messed morals and demonic nature a bit more. He had to ACCEPT his demonic nature after so long of holding that guilt of being something that killed everyone he cared for. While he still does hide the fact he's a demon, he acts more like it now. "I didn't mean to fall".
And I don't mean that q!Bad never loved having power of destruction, as if he wouldn't be gossiping with the witches during the salem witch trials knowing one of them is going to die and praying on one of their deaths. But he never destroyed, he never did anything BIG. It's only small pranks and he usually leaves a present after. He now, he's testing, he's becoming more risky, more dangerous. He didn't mean to fall but he certainly doesn't want to be an angel again if he can't have as much fun as he's having.
"But evil always contains the seeds of it's own destruction" No matter how well crafted Bad's disguise is, the seed of his destruction he made is marked on that universe. While this line isn't really directly about Crowley nor did he say it, it is directed to Hell as a whole. No matter how well made their plan for the apocalypse, for the antichrist to be delivered to the right person, to have Hell win, there's always going to be something against them. Something from their plan. And in this case, it's Bad against himself.
"I'm a demon, I'm not nice. I'm never nice, nice is a four letter word" Now, we know Bad is kind and from times admits it. But he most usually says he's hardcore, not nice. That he literally has bad in his name. However, as mentioned, the islanders see him as a nice guy despite the chaos he would sometimes cause. Crowley said the line because Aziraphale said that Crowley had some kindness deep down inside him and by God if that isn't Bad. Might've taken a bit during his first years but he's nice deep down, just more dangerous and crazy the deeper you go.
Also, 6 years before the world is supposed to end, Crowley dresses up as a Nani, and Bad's the Islands babysitter. I don't know how much more proof you need ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Okay thanks for reading o/
#I WANTED to add more but the post felt long enough soooooo if there's more from season 1 I'll add it through a reblog#and then I'll watch season 2 and see if I can get any other comparisons :P#also as always please correct me with anything (wording - character - etc.)#this took so long but it was worth it bye o/#qsmp#badboyhalo#qsmp badboyhalo#erm yeah nah I won't tag it but this is also about Crowley from Good Omens!! :D
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December Drabbles Day 6 - Under the First Snowfall
Read on AO3.
Banner fan art by the amazing @sayuri-liu
For my darling @jafndaegur, my beloved Chaos Goblin. I adore you! 💖😘💕
Day 6 - Under the First Snowfall
The light had changed. It streamed into their room through the paper screens of the shouji partition brighter than it had the previous mornings. He caught the scent of it in the air; cold, clean and crystalline. Kagome’s warm breath puffed against his collarbone. Her tousled black hair tickled his chin as she slept on in his arms, oblivious.
He did not want to disturb her sleep. The heart-shattering combination of peacefulness and vulnerability did him in. Each night, it was a visceral reminder of the trust she felt towards him, a precious emotion he treasured above everything else. Well, almost.
And because love reigned victorious, Sesshoumaru gave his mate a gentle nudge.
Kagome groaned and burrowed closer to him, with an incoherent mumble of “Five more minutes.”
Sesshoumaru swallowed an amused laugh at his mate’s antics and bent to press a kiss on the top of her head.
“You ought to rise, my miko,” he murmured into her hair.
Her reply came out close to a whine. “Don’t wanna.”
“Trust me, Kagome. You will want to go and have a look outside.”
Bleary blue eyes glared at him for the briefest moment, before grumbling under her breath Kagome untangled herself from his embrace. She stole the blanket as she went, wearing it around her shoulders like a cape. She shuffled across the room and slid open the shouji screen.
He heard her sharp gasp. Could imagine the surprised awe dawning on her face. For a moment she simply stood there, in the gap of the opened screen, haloed by the light streaming from outside, where great white flakes were silently falling. Then, the blanket slid from her shoulders as she darted outside.
Sesshoumaru left the futon and followed his mate out into the garden. He stopped on the engawa, drinking in the sight of Kagome. Her face was tilted up towards the sky, glowing with the laughter that was filling the garden. Her eyes were closed, and her dark curls tumbled down her back as she twirled around, spinning like a giddy child.
Snow dotted her hair and glistened on her eyelashes as he crossed over to her. He picked her up and gathered her close in her arms.
“You ought to take more care, my miko. You were in such a hurry to greet the snow that you rushed out in bare feet.”
Kagome wiggled her toes and snuggled into him, her smile bright enough to rival the sun. “Worth it,” she declared, her eyes laughing at him. “Now give us a spin.”
Sesshoumaru obliged. Carrying her in his arms, they slowly spun around in the garden as the snowflakes danced all around them.
#sesskag#sesskag fic#sesskag fluff#sesskag fan fiction#sesskag fanfiction#chie writes#fic: sk#sesskag December Drabbles
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Arms May Be Wide Open, But The Brain Cells Aren’t There: #10
Bob: *mumbling in embarrassment* i-if I were a gardener, i would put our tulips together.
Birdie: Aw, babe!
Lucky: if I were a gardener you’d be my hoe.
Fanboy: …thanks
Whiskey: *visibly drunk* so, this is my boyfriend, Ron.
Slider: no.
Whiskey: scratch that he’s more like a special someone.
Slider: *glaring intensely at Whiskey*
Whiskey: okay… but we’re like more than friends… we’re super close.
Slider: *glaring intensifies*
Whiskey: I give up! What are we?
Slider: we’re married Jade!
Ice: okay, let’s go over this one more time… if you bite it and you die it’s poisonous. If it bites you and you die, it’s venomous. Got it?
Bob: I think so…
Fanboy: wait, I have a question! What if I bite it and it dies?
Payback: that means you’re poisonous.
Hangman: what if it bites itself and I die?
Phoenix: that’s voodoo.
Cinco: okay, but if it bites me and someone else dies?
Halo: *getting annoyed* that’s correlation, not causation.
Birdie: alright, and what if we bite each other and neither of us die?
Lucky: …that’s kinky.
Ice: don’t say a word.
Lucky:…
Lucky: fergalicious.
Ice: I said no words.
Lucky: oh I see. Two weeks ago at family game night it’s not a word. Now it’s suddenly a word because it’s convenient to you.
Hangman: from now on we’ll be using code names. You can address me as Big Daddy.
Hangman: mouse, code name smalls.
Hangman: cinco, code name future baby-mama.
Hangman: phoenix, RBF
Hangman: lucky, Chaos
Hangman: bob, BOB
Hangman: fanboy, Nerd Boy
Hangman: birdie, Tweety
Hangman: payback, Smooth
Hangman: rooster, Chicken
Hangman: coyote, Bestie
Hangman: ice, Iceberg Lettuce
Hangman: slider, Himbo
Hangman: spicy, Best Bradshaw
Hangman: dragon, Scary
Hangman: whiskey, Mama
Fanboy: *sneezes*
Lucky: …
Fanboy: you’re not even going to say ‘bless you’?
Lucky: *flips hair* I’m sitting here next to you. You’ve clearly been blessed.
Lieutenant: Whiskey, Slider would like to have a word with you.
Whiskey: bring the bitch in.
Lieutenant: right away ma’am!
Slider: *walks in* did you just call me a bitch?
Whiskey: they can’t know I like-like you.
Slider:
Slider:
Slider: Jade, we’re married???
Birdie: Bam, what would you say if I came home with five puppies?
Bob: what’s in the box?
Birdie: *silence*
Bob: Bird, what’s in the box?
Birdie: *more silence*
Birdie: I think you know.
Mouse: I can’t wait to see my best friend again! He’s the bestest anyone could ask for!
Rooster: I’m gonna tell her…
Phoenix: don’t you dare.
Slider: whiskey you have to stop.
Whiskey: I can’t, I can’t stop, Ron.
Slider: love, it’s not healthy, you can’t go on this way.
Whiskey: I know, I know! *sobs* it’s just so hard Ron! *throws herself into Slider’s arms*
Ice: what are they talking about?
Dragon: whiskey has a serious meddling problem. She just saw Bob kiss Birdie for the first time since they broke up.
Dragon’s Angels📻: @bayisdying @breadsquash @gracespicybradshaw @dragon-kazansky @mrsjaderogers @starlit-epiphany
🏷️ list: @luckyladycreator2
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An ancient tale of little meaning
To the artist both are an ancient tale of little meaning, though the words are strong. He who loves curios ’ is blind too often to the sunsets on the Campagna. And he who copies inscriptions is deaf to the music of the people in the Piazza Navona, or the evening Angelus rung out from a hundred steeples. All nations, all professions, all creeds jostle each other in Rome, as they did in the age of Horace and Juvenal; and they pass by on the other side with mutual contempt for each other’s interests and pursuits. But to the historical mind all have their interest, almost an equal interest, and their combination and contrasts form the most instructive lesson which Europe can present.
We have had whole libraries about Rome pictorial, Rome ecclesiastical, Rome artistic, Rome antiquarian; about classical, mediaeval, papal, cinque-cento, rococo, modern Rome. There is still room for a book about the city of Rome as a manual of history; about the infinite variety of the lessons graven on its stones and its soil; about its contrasts, its contradictions, its immensity, its continuity; the exquisite pathos, the appalling waste, folly, cruelty, recorded in that roll of memories and symbols. Such a book would gather up the thoughts which, as he strolls about the Eternal City, throng on the mind of every student of human nature, and of any historian who is willing to read as one tale the history of man from the Stone Age down to Pope Leo XM customized tour bulgaria.
Of all places on earth, Rome is the city of contrasts and paradox. Nowhere else can we see memorials of such pomp alongside of such squalor. The insolence of wealth jostles disease, filth, and penury. Devoutness, which holds whole continents spell-bound, goes hand in hand with hypocrisy and corruption. What sublime piety, what tender charity, what ideal purity, what bigotry, what brutality, what grossness ! Over this convent garden pensive mysticism has thrown a halo of saintliness: it is overshadowed by a palace which has one black record of arrogance. There, some tomb breathes the very soul of spiritual art; beside it stands another which is a typical monument of ostentation. Here is a fragment worthy of Praxiteles, buried under costly masses of rococo inanity. Works that testify to stupendous concentration of power stand in a chaos which testifies to nothing but savagery and ruin. The very demon of destruction seems to have run riot over the spot that the very genius of beauty has chosen for his home.
Human civilisation
The eternal lesson of Rome is the war which each phase of human civilisation, each type of art, of manners, of religion, has waged against its immediate predecessor: — the fury with which it sought to blot out its very record. When Rome became Greek in thought, art, and habits, it destroyed almost every vestige of the old Italian civilisation which was the source of its own strength; and recent excavations alone have unearthed the massive walls, the pottery, bronze and gold work of the ages before Rome was, and also of the ages of Servius, Camillus, and Cincinnatus. Imperial Rome pillaged Greece, Asia, Africa, and heaped up between the Quirinal and the Vatican priceless treasures of an art which it only understood well enough to covet and to rob.
When the Gospel triumphed over Imperial Rome, it treated the palaces of the Caesars as dens of infamy, and their monuments as blasphemous idols and offences to God. When the Anti-Christian Revival was in all the heyday of its immoral rage after beauty, it treated the Catholicism of the Middle Ages as a barbarous superstition. Popes and cardinals destroyed more immortal works of beauty than the worst scourges of God; and the most terrible Goths and Vandals that the stones of Rome ever knew were sceptical priests and learned virtuosi. Nay, in twenty years the reformers of the Italian kingdom have wrought greater havoc in the aspect of Papal Rome than, in the four centuries since Julius II., popes and cardinals ever wrought on Classical and Mediaeval Rome.
0 notes
Photo
An ancient tale of little meaning
To the artist both are an ancient tale of little meaning, though the words are strong. He who loves curios ’ is blind too often to the sunsets on the Campagna. And he who copies inscriptions is deaf to the music of the people in the Piazza Navona, or the evening Angelus rung out from a hundred steeples. All nations, all professions, all creeds jostle each other in Rome, as they did in the age of Horace and Juvenal; and they pass by on the other side with mutual contempt for each other’s interests and pursuits. But to the historical mind all have their interest, almost an equal interest, and their combination and contrasts form the most instructive lesson which Europe can present.
We have had whole libraries about Rome pictorial, Rome ecclesiastical, Rome artistic, Rome antiquarian; about classical, mediaeval, papal, cinque-cento, rococo, modern Rome. There is still room for a book about the city of Rome as a manual of history; about the infinite variety of the lessons graven on its stones and its soil; about its contrasts, its contradictions, its immensity, its continuity; the exquisite pathos, the appalling waste, folly, cruelty, recorded in that roll of memories and symbols. Such a book would gather up the thoughts which, as he strolls about the Eternal City, throng on the mind of every student of human nature, and of any historian who is willing to read as one tale the history of man from the Stone Age down to Pope Leo XM customized tour bulgaria.
Of all places on earth, Rome is the city of contrasts and paradox. Nowhere else can we see memorials of such pomp alongside of such squalor. The insolence of wealth jostles disease, filth, and penury. Devoutness, which holds whole continents spell-bound, goes hand in hand with hypocrisy and corruption. What sublime piety, what tender charity, what ideal purity, what bigotry, what brutality, what grossness ! Over this convent garden pensive mysticism has thrown a halo of saintliness: it is overshadowed by a palace which has one black record of arrogance. There, some tomb breathes the very soul of spiritual art; beside it stands another which is a typical monument of ostentation. Here is a fragment worthy of Praxiteles, buried under costly masses of rococo inanity. Works that testify to stupendous concentration of power stand in a chaos which testifies to nothing but savagery and ruin. The very demon of destruction seems to have run riot over the spot that the very genius of beauty has chosen for his home.
Human civilisation
The eternal lesson of Rome is the war which each phase of human civilisation, each type of art, of manners, of religion, has waged against its immediate predecessor: — the fury with which it sought to blot out its very record. When Rome became Greek in thought, art, and habits, it destroyed almost every vestige of the old Italian civilisation which was the source of its own strength; and recent excavations alone have unearthed the massive walls, the pottery, bronze and gold work of the ages before Rome was, and also of the ages of Servius, Camillus, and Cincinnatus. Imperial Rome pillaged Greece, Asia, Africa, and heaped up between the Quirinal and the Vatican priceless treasures of an art which it only understood well enough to covet and to rob.
When the Gospel triumphed over Imperial Rome, it treated the palaces of the Caesars as dens of infamy, and their monuments as blasphemous idols and offences to God. When the Anti-Christian Revival was in all the heyday of its immoral rage after beauty, it treated the Catholicism of the Middle Ages as a barbarous superstition. Popes and cardinals destroyed more immortal works of beauty than the worst scourges of God; and the most terrible Goths and Vandals that the stones of Rome ever knew were sceptical priests and learned virtuosi. Nay, in twenty years the reformers of the Italian kingdom have wrought greater havoc in the aspect of Papal Rome than, in the four centuries since Julius II., popes and cardinals ever wrought on Classical and Mediaeval Rome.
0 notes
Photo
An ancient tale of little meaning
To the artist both are an ancient tale of little meaning, though the words are strong. He who loves curios ’ is blind too often to the sunsets on the Campagna. And he who copies inscriptions is deaf to the music of the people in the Piazza Navona, or the evening Angelus rung out from a hundred steeples. All nations, all professions, all creeds jostle each other in Rome, as they did in the age of Horace and Juvenal; and they pass by on the other side with mutual contempt for each other’s interests and pursuits. But to the historical mind all have their interest, almost an equal interest, and their combination and contrasts form the most instructive lesson which Europe can present.
We have had whole libraries about Rome pictorial, Rome ecclesiastical, Rome artistic, Rome antiquarian; about classical, mediaeval, papal, cinque-cento, rococo, modern Rome. There is still room for a book about the city of Rome as a manual of history; about the infinite variety of the lessons graven on its stones and its soil; about its contrasts, its contradictions, its immensity, its continuity; the exquisite pathos, the appalling waste, folly, cruelty, recorded in that roll of memories and symbols. Such a book would gather up the thoughts which, as he strolls about the Eternal City, throng on the mind of every student of human nature, and of any historian who is willing to read as one tale the history of man from the Stone Age down to Pope Leo XM customized tour bulgaria.
Of all places on earth, Rome is the city of contrasts and paradox. Nowhere else can we see memorials of such pomp alongside of such squalor. The insolence of wealth jostles disease, filth, and penury. Devoutness, which holds whole continents spell-bound, goes hand in hand with hypocrisy and corruption. What sublime piety, what tender charity, what ideal purity, what bigotry, what brutality, what grossness ! Over this convent garden pensive mysticism has thrown a halo of saintliness: it is overshadowed by a palace which has one black record of arrogance. There, some tomb breathes the very soul of spiritual art; beside it stands another which is a typical monument of ostentation. Here is a fragment worthy of Praxiteles, buried under costly masses of rococo inanity. Works that testify to stupendous concentration of power stand in a chaos which testifies to nothing but savagery and ruin. The very demon of destruction seems to have run riot over the spot that the very genius of beauty has chosen for his home.
Human civilisation
The eternal lesson of Rome is the war which each phase of human civilisation, each type of art, of manners, of religion, has waged against its immediate predecessor: — the fury with which it sought to blot out its very record. When Rome became Greek in thought, art, and habits, it destroyed almost every vestige of the old Italian civilisation which was the source of its own strength; and recent excavations alone have unearthed the massive walls, the pottery, bronze and gold work of the ages before Rome was, and also of the ages of Servius, Camillus, and Cincinnatus. Imperial Rome pillaged Greece, Asia, Africa, and heaped up between the Quirinal and the Vatican priceless treasures of an art which it only understood well enough to covet and to rob.
When the Gospel triumphed over Imperial Rome, it treated the palaces of the Caesars as dens of infamy, and their monuments as blasphemous idols and offences to God. When the Anti-Christian Revival was in all the heyday of its immoral rage after beauty, it treated the Catholicism of the Middle Ages as a barbarous superstition. Popes and cardinals destroyed more immortal works of beauty than the worst scourges of God; and the most terrible Goths and Vandals that the stones of Rome ever knew were sceptical priests and learned virtuosi. Nay, in twenty years the reformers of the Italian kingdom have wrought greater havoc in the aspect of Papal Rome than, in the four centuries since Julius II., popes and cardinals ever wrought on Classical and Mediaeval Rome.
0 notes
Photo
An ancient tale of little meaning
To the artist both are an ancient tale of little meaning, though the words are strong. He who loves curios ’ is blind too often to the sunsets on the Campagna. And he who copies inscriptions is deaf to the music of the people in the Piazza Navona, or the evening Angelus rung out from a hundred steeples. All nations, all professions, all creeds jostle each other in Rome, as they did in the age of Horace and Juvenal; and they pass by on the other side with mutual contempt for each other’s interests and pursuits. But to the historical mind all have their interest, almost an equal interest, and their combination and contrasts form the most instructive lesson which Europe can present.
We have had whole libraries about Rome pictorial, Rome ecclesiastical, Rome artistic, Rome antiquarian; about classical, mediaeval, papal, cinque-cento, rococo, modern Rome. There is still room for a book about the city of Rome as a manual of history; about the infinite variety of the lessons graven on its stones and its soil; about its contrasts, its contradictions, its immensity, its continuity; the exquisite pathos, the appalling waste, folly, cruelty, recorded in that roll of memories and symbols. Such a book would gather up the thoughts which, as he strolls about the Eternal City, throng on the mind of every student of human nature, and of any historian who is willing to read as one tale the history of man from the Stone Age down to Pope Leo XM customized tour bulgaria.
Of all places on earth, Rome is the city of contrasts and paradox. Nowhere else can we see memorials of such pomp alongside of such squalor. The insolence of wealth jostles disease, filth, and penury. Devoutness, which holds whole continents spell-bound, goes hand in hand with hypocrisy and corruption. What sublime piety, what tender charity, what ideal purity, what bigotry, what brutality, what grossness ! Over this convent garden pensive mysticism has thrown a halo of saintliness: it is overshadowed by a palace which has one black record of arrogance. There, some tomb breathes the very soul of spiritual art; beside it stands another which is a typical monument of ostentation. Here is a fragment worthy of Praxiteles, buried under costly masses of rococo inanity. Works that testify to stupendous concentration of power stand in a chaos which testifies to nothing but savagery and ruin. The very demon of destruction seems to have run riot over the spot that the very genius of beauty has chosen for his home.
Human civilisation
The eternal lesson of Rome is the war which each phase of human civilisation, each type of art, of manners, of religion, has waged against its immediate predecessor: — the fury with which it sought to blot out its very record. When Rome became Greek in thought, art, and habits, it destroyed almost every vestige of the old Italian civilisation which was the source of its own strength; and recent excavations alone have unearthed the massive walls, the pottery, bronze and gold work of the ages before Rome was, and also of the ages of Servius, Camillus, and Cincinnatus. Imperial Rome pillaged Greece, Asia, Africa, and heaped up between the Quirinal and the Vatican priceless treasures of an art which it only understood well enough to covet and to rob.
When the Gospel triumphed over Imperial Rome, it treated the palaces of the Caesars as dens of infamy, and their monuments as blasphemous idols and offences to God. When the Anti-Christian Revival was in all the heyday of its immoral rage after beauty, it treated the Catholicism of the Middle Ages as a barbarous superstition. Popes and cardinals destroyed more immortal works of beauty than the worst scourges of God; and the most terrible Goths and Vandals that the stones of Rome ever knew were sceptical priests and learned virtuosi. Nay, in twenty years the reformers of the Italian kingdom have wrought greater havoc in the aspect of Papal Rome than, in the four centuries since Julius II., popes and cardinals ever wrought on Classical and Mediaeval Rome.
0 notes
Photo
An ancient tale of little meaning
To the artist both are an ancient tale of little meaning, though the words are strong. He who loves curios ’ is blind too often to the sunsets on the Campagna. And he who copies inscriptions is deaf to the music of the people in the Piazza Navona, or the evening Angelus rung out from a hundred steeples. All nations, all professions, all creeds jostle each other in Rome, as they did in the age of Horace and Juvenal; and they pass by on the other side with mutual contempt for each other’s interests and pursuits. But to the historical mind all have their interest, almost an equal interest, and their combination and contrasts form the most instructive lesson which Europe can present.
We have had whole libraries about Rome pictorial, Rome ecclesiastical, Rome artistic, Rome antiquarian; about classical, mediaeval, papal, cinque-cento, rococo, modern Rome. There is still room for a book about the city of Rome as a manual of history; about the infinite variety of the lessons graven on its stones and its soil; about its contrasts, its contradictions, its immensity, its continuity; the exquisite pathos, the appalling waste, folly, cruelty, recorded in that roll of memories and symbols. Such a book would gather up the thoughts which, as he strolls about the Eternal City, throng on the mind of every student of human nature, and of any historian who is willing to read as one tale the history of man from the Stone Age down to Pope Leo XM customized tour bulgaria.
Of all places on earth, Rome is the city of contrasts and paradox. Nowhere else can we see memorials of such pomp alongside of such squalor. The insolence of wealth jostles disease, filth, and penury. Devoutness, which holds whole continents spell-bound, goes hand in hand with hypocrisy and corruption. What sublime piety, what tender charity, what ideal purity, what bigotry, what brutality, what grossness ! Over this convent garden pensive mysticism has thrown a halo of saintliness: it is overshadowed by a palace which has one black record of arrogance. There, some tomb breathes the very soul of spiritual art; beside it stands another which is a typical monument of ostentation. Here is a fragment worthy of Praxiteles, buried under costly masses of rococo inanity. Works that testify to stupendous concentration of power stand in a chaos which testifies to nothing but savagery and ruin. The very demon of destruction seems to have run riot over the spot that the very genius of beauty has chosen for his home.
Human civilisation
The eternal lesson of Rome is the war which each phase of human civilisation, each type of art, of manners, of religion, has waged against its immediate predecessor: — the fury with which it sought to blot out its very record. When Rome became Greek in thought, art, and habits, it destroyed almost every vestige of the old Italian civilisation which was the source of its own strength; and recent excavations alone have unearthed the massive walls, the pottery, bronze and gold work of the ages before Rome was, and also of the ages of Servius, Camillus, and Cincinnatus. Imperial Rome pillaged Greece, Asia, Africa, and heaped up between the Quirinal and the Vatican priceless treasures of an art which it only understood well enough to covet and to rob.
When the Gospel triumphed over Imperial Rome, it treated the palaces of the Caesars as dens of infamy, and their monuments as blasphemous idols and offences to God. When the Anti-Christian Revival was in all the heyday of its immoral rage after beauty, it treated the Catholicism of the Middle Ages as a barbarous superstition. Popes and cardinals destroyed more immortal works of beauty than the worst scourges of God; and the most terrible Goths and Vandals that the stones of Rome ever knew were sceptical priests and learned virtuosi. Nay, in twenty years the reformers of the Italian kingdom have wrought greater havoc in the aspect of Papal Rome than, in the four centuries since Julius II., popes and cardinals ever wrought on Classical and Mediaeval Rome.
0 notes
Photo
An ancient tale of little meaning
To the artist both are an ancient tale of little meaning, though the words are strong. He who loves curios ’ is blind too often to the sunsets on the Campagna. And he who copies inscriptions is deaf to the music of the people in the Piazza Navona, or the evening Angelus rung out from a hundred steeples. All nations, all professions, all creeds jostle each other in Rome, as they did in the age of Horace and Juvenal; and they pass by on the other side with mutual contempt for each other’s interests and pursuits. But to the historical mind all have their interest, almost an equal interest, and their combination and contrasts form the most instructive lesson which Europe can present.
We have had whole libraries about Rome pictorial, Rome ecclesiastical, Rome artistic, Rome antiquarian; about classical, mediaeval, papal, cinque-cento, rococo, modern Rome. There is still room for a book about the city of Rome as a manual of history; about the infinite variety of the lessons graven on its stones and its soil; about its contrasts, its contradictions, its immensity, its continuity; the exquisite pathos, the appalling waste, folly, cruelty, recorded in that roll of memories and symbols. Such a book would gather up the thoughts which, as he strolls about the Eternal City, throng on the mind of every student of human nature, and of any historian who is willing to read as one tale the history of man from the Stone Age down to Pope Leo XM customized tour bulgaria.
Of all places on earth, Rome is the city of contrasts and paradox. Nowhere else can we see memorials of such pomp alongside of such squalor. The insolence of wealth jostles disease, filth, and penury. Devoutness, which holds whole continents spell-bound, goes hand in hand with hypocrisy and corruption. What sublime piety, what tender charity, what ideal purity, what bigotry, what brutality, what grossness ! Over this convent garden pensive mysticism has thrown a halo of saintliness: it is overshadowed by a palace which has one black record of arrogance. There, some tomb breathes the very soul of spiritual art; beside it stands another which is a typical monument of ostentation. Here is a fragment worthy of Praxiteles, buried under costly masses of rococo inanity. Works that testify to stupendous concentration of power stand in a chaos which testifies to nothing but savagery and ruin. The very demon of destruction seems to have run riot over the spot that the very genius of beauty has chosen for his home.
Human civilisation
The eternal lesson of Rome is the war which each phase of human civilisation, each type of art, of manners, of religion, has waged against its immediate predecessor: — the fury with which it sought to blot out its very record. When Rome became Greek in thought, art, and habits, it destroyed almost every vestige of the old Italian civilisation which was the source of its own strength; and recent excavations alone have unearthed the massive walls, the pottery, bronze and gold work of the ages before Rome was, and also of the ages of Servius, Camillus, and Cincinnatus. Imperial Rome pillaged Greece, Asia, Africa, and heaped up between the Quirinal and the Vatican priceless treasures of an art which it only understood well enough to covet and to rob.
When the Gospel triumphed over Imperial Rome, it treated the palaces of the Caesars as dens of infamy, and their monuments as blasphemous idols and offences to God. When the Anti-Christian Revival was in all the heyday of its immoral rage after beauty, it treated the Catholicism of the Middle Ages as a barbarous superstition. Popes and cardinals destroyed more immortal works of beauty than the worst scourges of God; and the most terrible Goths and Vandals that the stones of Rome ever knew were sceptical priests and learned virtuosi. Nay, in twenty years the reformers of the Italian kingdom have wrought greater havoc in the aspect of Papal Rome than, in the four centuries since Julius II., popes and cardinals ever wrought on Classical and Mediaeval Rome.
0 notes
Photo
An ancient tale of little meaning
To the artist both are an ancient tale of little meaning, though the words are strong. He who loves curios ’ is blind too often to the sunsets on the Campagna. And he who copies inscriptions is deaf to the music of the people in the Piazza Navona, or the evening Angelus rung out from a hundred steeples. All nations, all professions, all creeds jostle each other in Rome, as they did in the age of Horace and Juvenal; and they pass by on the other side with mutual contempt for each other’s interests and pursuits. But to the historical mind all have their interest, almost an equal interest, and their combination and contrasts form the most instructive lesson which Europe can present.
We have had whole libraries about Rome pictorial, Rome ecclesiastical, Rome artistic, Rome antiquarian; about classical, mediaeval, papal, cinque-cento, rococo, modern Rome. There is still room for a book about the city of Rome as a manual of history; about the infinite variety of the lessons graven on its stones and its soil; about its contrasts, its contradictions, its immensity, its continuity; the exquisite pathos, the appalling waste, folly, cruelty, recorded in that roll of memories and symbols. Such a book would gather up the thoughts which, as he strolls about the Eternal City, throng on the mind of every student of human nature, and of any historian who is willing to read as one tale the history of man from the Stone Age down to Pope Leo XM customized tour bulgaria.
Of all places on earth, Rome is the city of contrasts and paradox. Nowhere else can we see memorials of such pomp alongside of such squalor. The insolence of wealth jostles disease, filth, and penury. Devoutness, which holds whole continents spell-bound, goes hand in hand with hypocrisy and corruption. What sublime piety, what tender charity, what ideal purity, what bigotry, what brutality, what grossness ! Over this convent garden pensive mysticism has thrown a halo of saintliness: it is overshadowed by a palace which has one black record of arrogance. There, some tomb breathes the very soul of spiritual art; beside it stands another which is a typical monument of ostentation. Here is a fragment worthy of Praxiteles, buried under costly masses of rococo inanity. Works that testify to stupendous concentration of power stand in a chaos which testifies to nothing but savagery and ruin. The very demon of destruction seems to have run riot over the spot that the very genius of beauty has chosen for his home.
Human civilisation
The eternal lesson of Rome is the war which each phase of human civilisation, each type of art, of manners, of religion, has waged against its immediate predecessor: — the fury with which it sought to blot out its very record. When Rome became Greek in thought, art, and habits, it destroyed almost every vestige of the old Italian civilisation which was the source of its own strength; and recent excavations alone have unearthed the massive walls, the pottery, bronze and gold work of the ages before Rome was, and also of the ages of Servius, Camillus, and Cincinnatus. Imperial Rome pillaged Greece, Asia, Africa, and heaped up between the Quirinal and the Vatican priceless treasures of an art which it only understood well enough to covet and to rob.
When the Gospel triumphed over Imperial Rome, it treated the palaces of the Caesars as dens of infamy, and their monuments as blasphemous idols and offences to God. When the Anti-Christian Revival was in all the heyday of its immoral rage after beauty, it treated the Catholicism of the Middle Ages as a barbarous superstition. Popes and cardinals destroyed more immortal works of beauty than the worst scourges of God; and the most terrible Goths and Vandals that the stones of Rome ever knew were sceptical priests and learned virtuosi. Nay, in twenty years the reformers of the Italian kingdom have wrought greater havoc in the aspect of Papal Rome than, in the four centuries since Julius II., popes and cardinals ever wrought on Classical and Mediaeval Rome.
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An ancient tale of little meaning
To the artist both are an ancient tale of little meaning, though the words are strong. He who loves curios ’ is blind too often to the sunsets on the Campagna. And he who copies inscriptions is deaf to the music of the people in the Piazza Navona, or the evening Angelus rung out from a hundred steeples. All nations, all professions, all creeds jostle each other in Rome, as they did in the age of Horace and Juvenal; and they pass by on the other side with mutual contempt for each other’s interests and pursuits. But to the historical mind all have their interest, almost an equal interest, and their combination and contrasts form the most instructive lesson which Europe can present.
We have had whole libraries about Rome pictorial, Rome ecclesiastical, Rome artistic, Rome antiquarian; about classical, mediaeval, papal, cinque-cento, rococo, modern Rome. There is still room for a book about the city of Rome as a manual of history; about the infinite variety of the lessons graven on its stones and its soil; about its contrasts, its contradictions, its immensity, its continuity; the exquisite pathos, the appalling waste, folly, cruelty, recorded in that roll of memories and symbols. Such a book would gather up the thoughts which, as he strolls about the Eternal City, throng on the mind of every student of human nature, and of any historian who is willing to read as one tale the history of man from the Stone Age down to Pope Leo XM customized tour bulgaria.
Of all places on earth, Rome is the city of contrasts and paradox. Nowhere else can we see memorials of such pomp alongside of such squalor. The insolence of wealth jostles disease, filth, and penury. Devoutness, which holds whole continents spell-bound, goes hand in hand with hypocrisy and corruption. What sublime piety, what tender charity, what ideal purity, what bigotry, what brutality, what grossness ! Over this convent garden pensive mysticism has thrown a halo of saintliness: it is overshadowed by a palace which has one black record of arrogance. There, some tomb breathes the very soul of spiritual art; beside it stands another which is a typical monument of ostentation. Here is a fragment worthy of Praxiteles, buried under costly masses of rococo inanity. Works that testify to stupendous concentration of power stand in a chaos which testifies to nothing but savagery and ruin. The very demon of destruction seems to have run riot over the spot that the very genius of beauty has chosen for his home.
Human civilisation
The eternal lesson of Rome is the war which each phase of human civilisation, each type of art, of manners, of religion, has waged against its immediate predecessor: — the fury with which it sought to blot out its very record. When Rome became Greek in thought, art, and habits, it destroyed almost every vestige of the old Italian civilisation which was the source of its own strength; and recent excavations alone have unearthed the massive walls, the pottery, bronze and gold work of the ages before Rome was, and also of the ages of Servius, Camillus, and Cincinnatus. Imperial Rome pillaged Greece, Asia, Africa, and heaped up between the Quirinal and the Vatican priceless treasures of an art which it only understood well enough to covet and to rob.
When the Gospel triumphed over Imperial Rome, it treated the palaces of the Caesars as dens of infamy, and their monuments as blasphemous idols and offences to God. When the Anti-Christian Revival was in all the heyday of its immoral rage after beauty, it treated the Catholicism of the Middle Ages as a barbarous superstition. Popes and cardinals destroyed more immortal works of beauty than the worst scourges of God; and the most terrible Goths and Vandals that the stones of Rome ever knew were sceptical priests and learned virtuosi. Nay, in twenty years the reformers of the Italian kingdom have wrought greater havoc in the aspect of Papal Rome than, in the four centuries since Julius II., popes and cardinals ever wrought on Classical and Mediaeval Rome.
0 notes
Photo
An ancient tale of little meaning
To the artist both are an ancient tale of little meaning, though the words are strong. He who loves curios ’ is blind too often to the sunsets on the Campagna. And he who copies inscriptions is deaf to the music of the people in the Piazza Navona, or the evening Angelus rung out from a hundred steeples. All nations, all professions, all creeds jostle each other in Rome, as they did in the age of Horace and Juvenal; and they pass by on the other side with mutual contempt for each other’s interests and pursuits. But to the historical mind all have their interest, almost an equal interest, and their combination and contrasts form the most instructive lesson which Europe can present.
We have had whole libraries about Rome pictorial, Rome ecclesiastical, Rome artistic, Rome antiquarian; about classical, mediaeval, papal, cinque-cento, rococo, modern Rome. There is still room for a book about the city of Rome as a manual of history; about the infinite variety of the lessons graven on its stones and its soil; about its contrasts, its contradictions, its immensity, its continuity; the exquisite pathos, the appalling waste, folly, cruelty, recorded in that roll of memories and symbols. Such a book would gather up the thoughts which, as he strolls about the Eternal City, throng on the mind of every student of human nature, and of any historian who is willing to read as one tale the history of man from the Stone Age down to Pope Leo XM customized tour bulgaria.
Of all places on earth, Rome is the city of contrasts and paradox. Nowhere else can we see memorials of such pomp alongside of such squalor. The insolence of wealth jostles disease, filth, and penury. Devoutness, which holds whole continents spell-bound, goes hand in hand with hypocrisy and corruption. What sublime piety, what tender charity, what ideal purity, what bigotry, what brutality, what grossness ! Over this convent garden pensive mysticism has thrown a halo of saintliness: it is overshadowed by a palace which has one black record of arrogance. There, some tomb breathes the very soul of spiritual art; beside it stands another which is a typical monument of ostentation. Here is a fragment worthy of Praxiteles, buried under costly masses of rococo inanity. Works that testify to stupendous concentration of power stand in a chaos which testifies to nothing but savagery and ruin. The very demon of destruction seems to have run riot over the spot that the very genius of beauty has chosen for his home.
Human civilisation
The eternal lesson of Rome is the war which each phase of human civilisation, each type of art, of manners, of religion, has waged against its immediate predecessor: — the fury with which it sought to blot out its very record. When Rome became Greek in thought, art, and habits, it destroyed almost every vestige of the old Italian civilisation which was the source of its own strength; and recent excavations alone have unearthed the massive walls, the pottery, bronze and gold work of the ages before Rome was, and also of the ages of Servius, Camillus, and Cincinnatus. Imperial Rome pillaged Greece, Asia, Africa, and heaped up between the Quirinal and the Vatican priceless treasures of an art which it only understood well enough to covet and to rob.
When the Gospel triumphed over Imperial Rome, it treated the palaces of the Caesars as dens of infamy, and their monuments as blasphemous idols and offences to God. When the Anti-Christian Revival was in all the heyday of its immoral rage after beauty, it treated the Catholicism of the Middle Ages as a barbarous superstition. Popes and cardinals destroyed more immortal works of beauty than the worst scourges of God; and the most terrible Goths and Vandals that the stones of Rome ever knew were sceptical priests and learned virtuosi. Nay, in twenty years the reformers of the Italian kingdom have wrought greater havoc in the aspect of Papal Rome than, in the four centuries since Julius II., popes and cardinals ever wrought on Classical and Mediaeval Rome.
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