#imagine the broken and evil person whose heart holds such dark desires as these

[to2llynottoby]

HOW. How can someone blaze a post at me WHEN THEY HAVE ME BLOCKED. I have to see fucking RWBY on my dash and I can't even tell the person who paid money to force this on me to kill themselves. They of course have me blocked because they blazed RWBY at me before and I also told them to kill themselves then but that's beside the point

[folkloreguk]

❥ My Sweet Evil Heart (C.Chanhee)

A/N: I wrote this as part of an angel/demon collab for The Boyz! You can find the masterlist HERE. This was really fun to write and I got to live out my alternate universe dream in which I'm a detective...I hope you like it, I'm always welcome to any form of feedback!

genre: demon!Chanhee, detective!reader, angst, fluff, reader is constantly sleep deprived, Chanhee is the sweetest demon ever

synopsis: You, a highly respected detective in your department, are investigating a case of a very strange demon who seems hesitant to do evil...but can you trust someone who is supposed to be the personification of wickedness?

words: ~ 10.6k

Have you ever met someone deeply unhappy? Someone who seems to, at all times, be fighting a war inside of themselves? Have you ever felt empathy for somebody, even though they tested you, over and over, as if the worst part inside of them was trying to make them lose you on purpose? Did you hold on and never stop believing in them? Or did you say something to drive them away, making them think they would only hurt you in the process of you trying to make them see clearer?

This is the story of a demon, whose every cell demurred at his evil nature. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves and start with the basics.

Being one of the head detectives at the local police station was not an easy-going, nor an amusing job. Whilst working on serious cases, lacking proper sleep was not an uncommon occurrence for you, and in some instances, self-care came up short until the mystery had been solved and the guilty ones were locked away. Every case pulled you in and swallowed you whole, keeping you deeply invested for days and nights until your brain felt like it had turned to mush and your body worked on autopilot, until you functioned a little like a highly intelligent zombie. And yet, you couldn’t imagine yourself doing anything else in your life. The thrill was close to an obsession, and seeing justice being served thanks to your work was more addicting than any drug could ever be to you.

Most crimes in your world were committed by demons, of course. They were your worst enemies, the monsters you saw in your nightmares and the reason you never strolled down a street without a gun by your hip. It wasn’t forbidden for them to walk the earth, so long as they kept to themselves. Their evil nature made it almost impossible for them to uphold these terms, though. You wished you could lock them all away in some putrid prison cell, or better yet, send them back to where they crawled out from originally. But the law couldn’t convict beings before they had done anything wrong. So, it was on you to make sure you kept an eye on the sinister beings, figure out what they were up to and stop them before they could actually hurt somebody. Like that morning, when you were called to a liquor store to investigate a break-in.

“My name is Y/F/N Y/L/N, I am the lead investigator,” you greeted the store owner with a handshake upon arrival. “Can you tell me exactly what happened?”

“I came here this morning at around 7 to open up the store. When I got out of my car, I saw the broken glass of the window,” he explained.

“What was taken from inside the store?” you inquired further.

“That’s the weird thing. Nothing is missing from inside,” he said.

“We might just be dealing with vandalism,” you thought out loud. “Do you have security cameras?”

He did, and so you went along with him to the back of the store. It was true, the interior of the shop seemed completely untouched. You suspected whoever had done this had never even intentioned on entering. There was a college campus not too far from the store, and you recalled countless times you had witnessed careless vandalism done by some intoxicated students during a Friday night. It was a very human-like crime. Demons weren’t known to do things by halves. Their crimes were usually the go-big-or-go-home-type of crimes. But then, when you watched the security footage, you were stunned.

At precisely 3:29 am, a dark figure appeared in front of the window. They lifted their arms, swinging a baseball bat against the glass. And against your speculation, they did climb through the hole in the window. With no mask or disguise whatsoever, the demon man looked right into the camera in the corner of the room. The abyss of darkness in his pitch black eyes was unmistakable. He looked around, as if he was debating on whether he should have done more, but then, to your utter confusion, spun around on his heel and climbed right back out the window.

You assured the store owner you would be looking into this case. With nothing left to do, you headed back to the police station. You had taken the security footage with you, and the moment you arrived in your office, you played it on your computer screen. Over and over - only puzzling you more, with each rerun you saw. You worried this might only be a warning. Not seldom had you been a witness to demons playing with their prey, feeding off the fear of innocent souls. Was this one indulging in one of those little twisted games? Right away, you uploaded the demon’s face onto the database for criminals, even if vandalism didn’t compare to the serious allegations that stood against other faces on that list. While you turned your attention to other cases, his features wouldn’t leave your mind. Even when you left your office at night, he was still the most prominent person in your memory.

By the time you began your walk to your home, the sun had disappeared. You couldn’t help it, even if technically you could finish work earlier, your desire to solve your assigned cases was always higher. Had you just walked home at 5 pm, you were sure to end up on your computer at home, researching and digging around on the web to discover possible clues. This way, at least you had all resources you would need at your office at the police station.

Now, in the dark, the streets were rather abandoned, most shops had already closed, and the moon dimly cast light through the clouds. Those conditions were what made it a breeze for you to notice your shadow. The figure had been following you for 5 minutes now. Judging by how carelessly loud their steps sounded and by their not-so subtle choices of hiding spots, you could tell this wasn’t something they had practice in. Purposely, you didn’t turn around, so they wouldn’t realize you had caught on to them a while ago. Instead, only a minute or so from your home, you took a turn left into an abandoned alleyway. Your hand was on the gun in your belt.

Just as you had stepped into the alley, you turned. He was right behind you. With dark orbs glaring and teeth snarling he came at you, knife in hand. Your eyes widened – you recalled his face vividly – as you took in the situation in the blink of an eye. After all, you had watched the security tape of him breaking into the liquor store countless times only hours ago. But you had the upper hand from the very moment you had spun around. His build wasn’t particularly strong, but you knew you should never underestimate demons. You grabbed his shoulders and along with him, your body crashed against the red brick wall to your left. He struggled against your grip, but his determined and feisty expression was the by far the most intimidating part about him. His face was inches from yours but looking into the sort of darkness that were demon’s eyes did nothing to you. Your hand was around his wrist with the knife – which he was aggressively trying to bring down on you – but only at first.

Because suddenly, something uncommon occurred. So uncommon, in fact, that not a single cell in your body could believe it. He willingly dropped the blade. It hit the asphalt, the metallic sound echoing in your ears. He relaxed his arm in your iron grip. Demons never gave up. They fought until you had forcefully brought them to the ground or done worse to them. Their ironic god-complex and evilness didn’t allow them to step away from a fight – until this one had come along, apparently. And then, as if his behavior hadn’t already stunned you enough, he did the unthinkable.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Without a doubt you thought you had misheard him. Swiftly, you pulled your gun out of your belt and pointed it at his face. One thing you knew. You weren’t going to play along in his little games. In panic, he rose his hands, showing defeat.

“Quit playing games, devil’s son,” you hissed. “What is it you’re trying to achieve here? You’re sorry? For what?”

He was hesitant. With every second, your curiosity only grew. Either, he was a skilled actor or…you had no idea what else it could’ve been about him.

“I almost killed you. That’s what I’m sorry for,” he said. “Does that get me a prison sentence?”

Your eye twitched because this didn’t seem right at all.

“You broke into a shop and attacked me, but then stopped out of your free will,” you assessed the situation. “You’ll most likely get away with a fine and your name in our register.”

If you had been awaiting an evil grin or any sort of enjoyment in his face, you’d be waiting endlessly. If anything, he seemed to be…disappointed?

“But you’re a cop, right?” he said. “You can lock me up, can’t you?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? You won’t be locked up if you don’t commit a crime severe enough. As much as I hate it, considering you demons are running free, it’s the law,” you said.

“You don’t get it,” he said. And he was right, you really had no idea. “I should be locked up. You need to get me to jail before I hurt somebody.”

His face was dead serious, but you didn’t want to believe a single word. How could you, when your daily life consisted of hunting down his kind, because all they brought upon the earth was chaos and death?

“Give me one good reason why I should believe you,” you said, unimpressed.

“I will tell you anything you want to hear,” he said. “If you bring me to a police station. You guys have these lie detectors, don’t you? I will take a test if that’s what it takes for you to believe me.”

~

So, that was how half an hour later you still hadn’t returned at home, but rather found yourself back at the police station. Almost everyone had gone home by now, so you took the liberty to choose the biggest interrogation room available. A few minutes and he was sitting in front of you, hands in handcuffs and his body connected to the lie detector.

“Okay, here’s how this works. I’ll start by asking some simple questions, and then we’ll get to the bottom of whatever your intentions are,” you explained.

“Alright. Go ahead,” he said. This was your first time seeing a demon take this sort of test. Usually, you couldn’t be bothered because you knew all they did was lie whilst smiling you in the face.

“What’s your name?”

“Choi Chanhee.”

“Where were you born?”

“In hell.”

“Did you break into a liquor store last night?”

“Yes.”

“Did you intend on killing me tonight?”

“…Yes.”

“Is that your definite answer?”

“…No.”

“How come both of your last two answers are lies?” you asked. “You didn’t intend on killing me, but yes is your definite answer?”

“I can’t stop the evil in me but I’m trying,” he said. You were stunned. The answer was the most truthful of them all.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“I was never like the others since I came to earth. I’ve never felt a rush like they do, causing mischief and hurting humans. I don’t belong. It’s as if there was a demon inside of me, but it’s not controlling all of me, do you understand?” he said.

“I’m not sure, but go on,” you said.

“I don’t want to hurt anybody or destroy things. But on some days, I’m walking down the street and my body starts following the devil’s orders instead. I usually snap out of it quickly and stop myself. That’s why you’re still alive,” he explained.

“You’re telling me you’re some sort of good demon?” you asked. “Why don’t you go back to hell, if you’re struggling so much on earth?”

“I hate it there,” he said. “And either way, I’m banned from there forever.”

Your head raised as you stared at him.

“Banned?” you asked.

“I stopped a bunch of demons from killing a woman once,” he said. “Safe to say they weren’t happy to hear that, back at home. I couldn’t go back, even if I wanted to.”

“Can you tell me the name of the woman?” you asked. And he did. All this time, he really had been telling the truth. When you searched up the woman’s name in the computer, it only confirmed your suspicion. She really had been under attack when an unidentified person had interrupted and saved her life.

“I can tell you names of demons,” he said. “If you do me the favor of locking me up, I can sell out everyone I know about.”

You massaged the sides of your head and sighed. This guy really was one of a kind.

“I already told you, I can’t put you in jail for something you didn’t do,” you said. “That’s against the law, and then it’ll be me who ends up behind bars instead of you. I’ll have to let you go.”

“What if I mess up?” he said. The amounts of firsts you were experiencing in the timespan of an hour were giving you a headache. Never had you felt compassion for a demon before. But you were only human, and when you noticed the genuine concern and insecurity in his soft voice, you couldn’t stop yourself.

“How long have you been on earth for?” you asked.

“I don’t know, a few years, I guess?” he said.

“And in those few years, which of your deeds would you rate the most criminal out of all?” you asked. Any other demon would have been able to give you multiple answers, one more vicious than the other. He, on the other hand, took his time and even when he answered, he didn’t sound at all sure.

“I’ve broken into a house before, destroyed a car window and one time I stole a dog,” he confessed with his head tilted towards the floor.

“What happened to the dog?”

“I…gave it back,” he said. A laughter erupted from your throat against your will. In a friendly manner, you pat his shoulder before retrieving the keys to his handcuffs.

“Trust me, you’ll be just fine out there,” you said. “Whatever it is you’re doing to stop yourself from being evil, it’s working. I will let you go now."

Even though he wasn’t happy with your answer, he knew he had no choice but to comply. As you walked him through the hallways towards the exit of the station, you could only think of one thing: your beloved bed. Not only your body but especially your brain was drained from energy. You desperately needed a refill by getting a good night’s sleep.

“You’re the first person who’s been really kind to me,” he said, as you held the door open for him. The night air was cool, and you quickly zipped up your jacket to your chin.

“You gave me no reason not to be,” you replied.

“I almost stabbed you,” he said, bluntly.

“Almost.”

“For most people, me being a demon is reason enough to loathe me.”

“Well I guess I’m not most people,” you said. His smile was gentle, but his black eyes would always give him away. “I’ll be here at the station every day, if you have any concerns or need somebody to consult. But right now, all I want is my bed.”

“I understand,” he replied. “Thank you. Goodbye.”

“Good night,” you said, before you parted ways. Once more, you journeyed home. He remained on your mind until the moment you slipped off to dreamland that night.

~

The days passed without a trace of him. You followed your routine, but one thing you couldn’t help. You simply had to tell every person who worked with you about the changed demon you had met. No one really wanted to believe you. It was kind of understandable. Some thought you were testing their skills, seeing if they could figure out you were lying. Others went as far as to suspect your lack of sleep had given you hallucinations. But you didn’t let it go. And after all, you were a highly respected member of the police force. Some said they wanted to meet this demon gentleman, as they had renamed him.

But then you were called to a brand new homicide investigation and all of the jokes at the station were blown away by the intensity and buzz the case brought with it. You had a murder to solve. There was no place for sweet demon men in any part of your brain. Not for now. And as always, you slipped into old habits – staying up all night, living on coffee and quick meals – the toxic behavior was almost inescapable. Your fellow detectives tried their best to keep you healthy and most importantly, sane. They took you with them to get salad for lunch, invited you over for game nights (a futile attempt at giving you a break) and told you to go to sleep on time. After all, they needed your brain to function at full capacity for the case. You knew people were relying on your knowledge, and you weren’t doubting your capabilities. But a highly intelligent zombie was still a zombie. And so it happened that one Thursday night your boss sent you home. Not because you weren’t doing a good job – rather for of the opposite reason.

“You are allowed back at the station when you’ve caught a full night’s sleep. Do what it takes to take care of yourself,” your boss had said. Her tone displayed as much strictness as her eyes showed concern. Truth be told, you were too exhausted to even argue against her order. That’s when you knew. You really needed a rest. You dragged your body home.

“Hello sweetheart,” you greeted your pet bird, who chirped excitedly when you set foot into your apartment. “Guess what. I’m home early.”

As much as you wanted to drop into a slumber right away, your stomach growled. And you weren’t in the mood to wake up half-starved. As you prepared some left-overs from the fridge, you heard your bird call from the living room. “Peek-a-boo!” he sang. It caught your attention. He only played this game with you – when you were outside in your small garden and he was watching you through the window. So who exactly was he talking to, now?

You picked up a knife, because as a detective it was practically your job to be paranoid, and tiptoed into the living room. It would be harder for an intruder to spot you in the dark, so you pushed the light switch. Slowly, you advanced to the window and gently pulled the curtains aside. A shiver ran down your spine when you saw the figure standing between the trees. They didn’t seem to be hiding, if anything they were lazily resting their back against the garden fence. Maybe they weren’t aware you were watching them. Bold of them to assume they could intimidate you by acting so nonchalant. You cracked the window open slightly.

“If you don’t leave my property within the next ten seconds, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing,” you announced. The figure flinched. The moment he stepped into the moonlight and raised his arms, you remembered his face.

“Choi Chanhee?” You opened the terrasse door and stepped outside.

“Are you going to hurt me?” he asked, eyes glued to the knife in your hands. Quickly, you lowered your hand.

“What are you doing here?” you asked instead of answering his question.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he admitted.

“And so you thought creeping around in a police woman’s backyard was an appropriate thing to do? Wait…have you been stalking me?” you asked. You should have cut back on the sharp tone, but you felt half-asleep and this was the last thing you needed. Plus, the immanent realization hit you, that you had not noticed him at all. You had been so caught up in your work that you had not recognized a demon lingering around your home address, watching you. It hurt your pride a little – and could have ended very differently, had it been a more malovent demon than the one standing in front of you. This one looked terrified, kneading his hands nervously.

“I thought you wouldn’t be upset with me…that maybe you would understand. Because you’ve been the only one who’s listened to me. I’m just trying to find a purpose,” he said, “And my head tells me you’re the right direction.”

Demons. They’ve always had a fondness for the dramatic. But his words tore at your heart strings. His behavior resembled a child who had done wrong and was in the process of being scolded.

“Do you have no home?” you asked, softening your voice.

“I’ve lived with other demons. But they don’t want me there, anymore,” he said. For obvious reasons, you thought. Your head was racing. There was no way you could leave him standing there in the cold. But letting a demon into your home sounded like you must have had a death wish. It’s not like you didn’t have enough space, though. With an extra guest bedroom that nobody had ever used before, he would be just fine. There was no excuse. You cursed your parents for making you get a bigger apartment “In case you got married and had children soon.” You never know what could happen, they had said. And how wrong they had been, but how right they had been on that last part.

“Would you say you’re a tidy person?” you asked. A gigantic yawn came over you, and once again your stomach grumbled.

“What? I mean…I think so?” he said.

“Are you hungry?” You were in disbelief. Maybe it was the zombie in you that had a heart so soft, it took pity on a demon.

“I’m starving,” he said.

And that was how you came to have dinner with a demon. Spoiler alert: It wouldn’t be the last time. You ate quietly, trying hard to fight tiredness but it was no use. Afterwards, you showed him the room he could stay in.

“How do I make this up to you?” he asked.

“We’ll think about that another time, alright?” you said, “I need to sleep now. I’ve got an unsolved murder case waiting on me tomorrow.”

That night, you locked your bedroom door and slept with your gun on your nightstand. Just in case. Even though you were almost fully convinced the demon in the bedroom across the hall was more harmless than a five-year-old, he was still a demon.

~

When you woke up and saw your boss’ message on your phone, you couldn’t believe it. She wanted you to stay at home for the day. Apparently, you needed the rest and she had no interest in getting into trouble for overworking you (which she obviously wasn’t, you were the one doing this to yourself). When you walked down the stairs, you had almost forgotten about the previous night. It felt a little like it had all just been one wild fever dream – that was, until you spotted the demon sitting on your sofa, your pet bird on his shoulder.

“I let him out, I hope that was okay,” he said. You were dumbfounded. “Listen, I just wanted to say…thank you. Tell me whatever you need me to do and I’ll get it done for you.”

You wanted to go to work. But you knew he would be no help making that possible. Your mind was already wandering off to your case, the tips of your fingers burning with anticipation to search the internet for clues. Your grumbling belly interrupted your eagerness.

“Um…you could go to the grocery store for me?” you asked.

~

You went back to work the next day. Unsure of what to do, you decided to keep your demon housemate a secret for now. The other detectives would have probably written you off as insane, and you needed them to take you seriously. To be fair, maybe you were a little crazy. But he had been really good on the first day. Only one incident, which involved him dropping an egg on the kitchen floor, stood out to you. Of course, that could happen to anyone. But any other person would not have apologized in the way that he did. Normal people wouldn’t have acted so guilty, had it been an accident. But as long as his malice remained to that extent, you could live with it. You almost laughed at the idea of him purposely watching the egg roll off the counter and not doing anything.

He sure was strange. But little did you know, his egg-dropping shananigans were only the beginning of his uncontrollable little pranks he would pull on you.

Once he let your bird fly out the window. When you came home you discovered him outside, talking to your bird, begging him to come back inside. Little did he know, all it took was a whistle and a few treats and you had him sitting on your shoulder, ready to go back inside. One night you returned home to find him staring at the ceiling in the dining room, a kitchen towel in his hand. When you asked him what he was trying to achieve there, he told you there was a mosquito sitting above him.

“So, why don’t you kill it?” you asked. He looked shocked.

“Kill it?” he asked, “We should probably just shoo it outside.”

That’s when you knew. Choi Chanhee wouldn’t hurt a fly. Literally. All those times you had worried about leaving him home alone with your bird vanished in an instant as you laughed.

“You’re right. Killing is one of the worst sins. But sometimes, especially when it comes to mosquitoes, you don’t need to worry about any consequences. If anything, I’ll be grateful,” you assured him.

Another instance made you think maybe you had been too quick to judge him as harmless. When you walked into your bathroom in the morning, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you almost jumped out of your skin. A red substance stuck to your mirror in what seemed to be random shapes. On impulse, you called his name. On second look, you realized what he had done. The red was merely ketchup, and the random shapes weren’t so random, but they spelled “meeting at 2 pm”. When Chanhee appeared in the doorframe, he already wore his sorry expression.

“What did you think you were doing here?” you said. “You know where the post-it notes are!”

“I- He- The demon in me wanted to scare you…I’m so sorry,” he said. It was difficult to be mad at him when he was so sweet. You had, after all, told him to remind you of your meeting you had that day. He was so easy to forgive, too. Whenever he went to buy groceries, he returned with a bouquet of flowers, and after he had figured out your favorite candy, he made sure you never ran out of your supply. You liked being alone, but suddenly it felt nice to have someone waiting for you at home. A warm sensation filled your heart whenever he asked you about your day during dinner.

Even if after dinner you had to argue with him as if he was your son, because the demon in him had decided to take on the form of a teenage boy who was too lazy to take out the trash. You were still seated at the table, rolling your eyes at the demon’s horrible attempt at being evil.

“Don’t make me ask you one more time,” you threatened him, although you didn’t know what you would have done had he continued to argue against you. Only when he reached for the knife that he had already put down tidily on his plate, your eyes widened. His knuckles were white around the metal and you leaned back instinctively. Your gun was still in your belt – you had sat down for dinner straight after returning home – but you didn’t want to use it. Not on him.

“Chanhee,” you spoke in a calm tone. His face was unreadable. He wasn’t making eye contact. Instead, his gaze was glued onto the blade in his hand, staring blankly. His eyes blinked, almost robotically. Something changed in his demeanor then. There was a tremble in the hand that was clutching the knife. It grew more uneasy by each passing moment. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you kept your eyes trained on him, trusting your reflexes.

“Fine,” he suddenly said in a grumpy tone. Then he dropped the knife. The metallic sound rang in your ears for seconds afterward. You let out the breath you didn’t know you had been holding on to, as you watched him get up and retrieve the full trash bag from under the sink. You had been sleeping with your bedroom door unlocked for weeks. Even though it pained you, that night you locked your door again.

~

At 3:28 am you awoke to the sound of breaking glass. You allowed yourself to yawn and rub the sleep out of your eyes for just a moment, then you were on your feet. Gun in hand, you opened your door. Across the hall, the door to Chanhee’s room stood ajar. Light came from downstairs.

“Chanhee?” you called quietly. No answer. But your ears picked up shuffling and the sound of shards of glass being moved around. You approached slowly, trying not to give yourself away. Then you heard the quiet sobs. Your arm with the gun dropped to your side when you stepped into the kitchen.

He was sitting on the floor like he was one of the shattered pieces of glass himself. When he saw you, he flinched and tried to dry away his tears. But it was no use. They kept coming, and you had already seen them either way.

“I dropped it on purpose,” he said, referring to the broken glass. Another sob went through his body, making your chest ache at the sight of him. “I’m sorry.”

“I have nine more of those. It’s alright,” you assured him. Gently, you sat down by his side. You put your arms around his hunched frame. He stiffened at first but calmed his muscles after a moment and let you hold him.

“Shh, it’s okay,” you said. Whatever it was that was hurting him so much, you’d be here to fight it off for him.

“I can’t stop the evil in me,” he cried. His weeps seeped through your skin and tugged at your organs. It felt like a thousand tiny, sharp needles in your heart.

“It’s a part of you. It’ll never fully go away. But look at you, you’re doing such a good job holding it inside of you,” you whispered. He shuddered.

“I tried to kill you,” he stated. “I don’t deserve you. You’re so kind. You do all this for me, and I tried to kill you.”

“But you didn’t,” you said. “And that’s what counts. We all have urges inside of us…but it’s what we end up doing that truly counts and makes us who we are.”

“But it’s so hard,” he cried. His face was in the crook of your neck as he sniffled. The small teardrops that touched your skin felt like ice. “And all I do is bother you. I’m an inconvenience. Why don’t you just lock me up with the other demons? Why give me another chance every time I mess up?”

You couldn’t believe he would hate himself so much. Chanhee had more compassion than a lot of the humans you knew had. Some days he sat and pet your bird for hours just because it made him happy, he always had money on him to give to the homeless people in front of the grocery store and he almost cried thinking he forgot to pay for an item at the store (which you had obviously paid for).

“How could you even compare yourself to other demons?” you said. “If you want, I will take you in to work with me sometime. Then you’ll see the atrocities others commit. Even among humans, you’d still be sorted into the best of the best. I believe in you and that you will do good.”

He only sobbed harder at what you had said, and you felt the need to pull him in just a little tighter. You softly rocked your bodies in an attempt to calm him down.

“I would fall apart without you.” Between the hiccups and tears his words sounded like a broken confession, but that’s why they hit so hard.

“You’re not alone in this. I’m here for you,” you whispered, lips right by his ear. Your hands were in his hair, stroking his head as if you could pour all your emotions into this one gesture. What else could you do to show him you would never abandon him the way his demon people had? And it seemed to do the trick. His fists that had been clutching your shirt loosened up and his sorrowful crying turned into mellow breathing on your skin.

“Aren’t you sleepy?” you asked. “Let’s get you back to sleep. Tomorrow things will be better.”

“I haven’t been able to sleep well for three days,” he said. “But I need to clean this up first.”

He let go of you and started to pick up shards of glass. There was still a haggard expression on him, and his cheeks were painted red and tear stained. And yet he was determined.

“Let me do this,” you said, touching his arm. “You can’t even keep your eyes open. Go to bed, Chanhee.”

This time, he didn’t argue. But his good behavior didn’t stop the apologetic, almost battered look at you. He knew you would be by his side no matter what – but what he needed most was his own forgiveness. And you could tell by the way he spoke about himself that it would take a while until he was ready to accept himself as he was.

You heard his heavy steps on the stairs as he walked to his room. Quickly, you gathered the biggest shards of glass and then used a hand brush to collect the tiny pieces. This wasn’t what you had signed up for when you had taken him in. You thought you’d have to argue with him daily and that you’d miss having your personal space and privacy. You knew it would be new, living with another person after living alone for so long. But nothing could have prepared you for the way Chanhee had swept you off your feet with his adorable charms. You didn’t need to fake excitement when you came home to him, nor did you ever have to force yourself to tell him about your day or have any conversation with him, for that matter. He was truly enchanting with the way he made you care so much. Especially when you had assumed all demons were your sworn enemies.

When you finally dragged your tired body upstairs, you softly pushed open the door to his room, only to see him lying wide awake.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked. “Even though you’re so exhausted?”

“No,” he spoke. Even his voice made no attempt at hiding the sleepiness. His look was pleading. “Can you please stay with me…just for a little while?”

There was no way you could say no to his lovely gaze and messy hair and outstretched arms. So, you crawled in next to him under the covers. Your faces were inches apart. The last time you had been looking into a demon’s eyes this close-up he had been lying face-up and dead on the side of a road. Those eyes had been lifeless, and yet you felt like they had still held so much ferociousness, even in death. Now you only saw concern and genuine care in the black orbs across from you. You admired his softly sculpted face. It was one that seemed like it would much rather belong to an angel.

“You’ve been working so much,” he whispered. “You must be much more tired than me.”

“I’m used to it,” you said, “I enjoy my work because I’m doing it to help others.”

“You’re a good person,” he stated. There was something in his voice you couldn’t make out. Regret? Admiration?Maybe it was both.

“So are you, Chanhee,” you said. Without second thought, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his cheek. He didn’t flinch nor pull away. Instead, his pretty lips curled into a smile as he closed his eyes, ready to finally drift off to dreamland.

~

From that night on he seemed to improve a little, day by day. No more breaking things or having to argue about simple house chores. It occurred to you almost as if he had turned into something more human – so much that you dared to take him to work with you. People there had found the idea of your new demon friend strange, and you were sure some would take more than a little convincing to let down their guard around him. You couldn’t blame them for the prejudices – you had once been the same, after all. But Chanhee was okay with it, even when you had explained to him that some people might hate him, just because of his black eyes and what they meant to people. He had lived years of receiving that sort of treatment. Nonetheless, it pained you to think about how used he was to it. It took bravery and thick skin to walk into a police station the way he did that day. He was fascinated, looking behind the scenes. Perhaps you found it amusing how alarmed everyone was when they first laid eyes on him at the station. His ability to turn around their views of his species within twenty seconds or less was nothing but astonishing. He very willingly took it upon himself to walk down to the nearest coffee shop and order ten cups, also earning him the sympathy from the last few sceptics. When you were deep in conversation with another detective, discussing the possible whereabouts of a highly wanted demon, Chanhee suddenly interrupted you.

“I know an underground club where they like to go after…committing crimes,” he said. “Every demon in this city knows about it.”

At that moment you realized his full potential and what good he could really do. That was, if he was ready to sacrifice his people. But he just had – without even blinking. He could be an immense help to you.

“Young man I can see you have a bright future, should you ever decide to join the police force,” said your boss from across the room. Seemed like she had the same idea as you. Chanhee only smiled shyly but couldn’t hide the glint of pride in his eyes.

~

The following days you instantly made arrangements to get Chanhee an interview with the head of the station. He had been scared, at first.

“What if the other people there hate me?” he suspected.

“They might make assumptions about you in their heads, you know, because you’re a demon. They only know demons to be evil. But the moment they realize how good of a person you are, I promise they’ll change their mind,” you said. “You’ll be precious to us, and if you want to do good, the police is where you can be the most helpful. You’ll change lives, maybe even save people.”

“Yes, I want to help,” he said. “I’m done with my kind.”

“I’ll talk to my boss tomorrow,” you assured him. “If you’re too anxious to come in to the station, maybe she’ll allow you to work from home, from my office here. This is just a try, okay? If you really enjoy this work, you’ll have to learn and earn your badge.”

The way he looked at you filled you with so much pride. He seemed to have found some hope. Like he could finally spend his time in a productive and truly good manner. You couldn’t wait to see how he would do.

~

A tiring day and many discussions with higher-ups at workplace later, you returned at your home, late at always. Your fingers tingled with excitement and you wanted to yell for Chanhee the moment you walked through your door. You had managed to score an internship for him at your station. He was allowed to start as early as the following week. As you walked up the stairs, following the shuffling noise you heard, you imagined his face when you told him the news. You knew he’d be ecstatic. His smile would make you so happy, and you almost grinned at the mere thought of it. The noises were coming out of your office.

“Hi, Chanhee. Guess what my boss-,” you started. Then you fell speechless. Paper was scattered all over the floor. Drawers stood wide open. The orderly sorted piles of case files you had been working on were dispersed into every corner of the small room. Photos and pieces of paper were falling out of the folders. And in midst of it all stood Chanhee.

“Y/N- I’m so-,” he said, helpless.

“Don’t,” you said. Every ounce of excitement was gone from your voice, replaced by an ice cold tone you didn’t know you had in you. He flinched, but you couldn’t keep in what you had to say. “You’re impossible. I can’t fucking believe this! These are real cases, Chanhee! I’m trying to save real people here! This isn’t some broken mirror or a spilled cup of water. I can look past a shattered glass, but this is too much…I honestly thought you were getting better…”

Somewhere you knew you were being too harsh. But your job was your entire reason for existing. This was your life mission, laid out in front of you as if a hurricane had rampaged through the room. It would take days for you to rearrange the files. You weren’t even sure if you’d be able to find the correct places for each piece of paper.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking because he was about to cry.

“I don’t want to see you right now. Please get out. I need to clean this up and you can’t help me with this,” you said, trying hard not to scream out of frustration. Your eyes were already scanning the floor. You had no idea where to even start. With low-hanging shoulders and teary eyes that were threatening to spill over, Chanhee slipped past you. He granted you one more look before he scurried out of the office like a frightened animal.

Even though your stomach was grumbling from starvation and you could barely stay awake – as always – you needed to get some of the cleaning done. Now. Or you would go insane. Plus, you needed time away from Chanhee. While you collected the paper from every inch of the wooden floor, guilt slowly started to nag at you. You had never raised your voice at him to this extent. And he was sensitive. It wasn’t his fault, that’s what you always told him when he blamed himself for messing things up. He knew that. You cursed at yourself. How could you be so impulsive? All too well you knew how he felt about his demon half. You were supposed to be there for him, to tell him he was doing a good job and to make sure he didn’t beat himself up. Now you had achieved the complete opposite. A dull ache in your chest accompanied your hungry stomach.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. In a haze, you stepped down the stairs and to the door. You needed to apologize to Chanhee. When you opened the door, a delivery girl from your favorite restaurant stood there, handing you an order. You were puzzled.

“Already payed for,” she checked with a beaming smile, “Enjoy your meal!”

“Thank you,” you said, voice numb. Before you knew it, she had turned on her heel and was on the way back to the car.

“Chanhee! Your food is here,” you shouted, assuming he was the one who had made the order. You got no answer. When you set the bag down on the kitchen table, you saw a note, addressed to you.

Y/N,

Words can’t express how sorry I am about what I’ve done. All my life I only wanted someone to love me. In you, I thought I might have found what I had been searching for all this time. But I messed up. I always do. I drove you away from what we had. I’ve wondered why I always end up disappointing people. Now I know it’s because it’s the only thing I’m truly good at. You deserve someone you can trust blindly, someone who will walk through fire for you, someone who will take a bullet for you. I can’t give you that. I can’t even trust myself. Thank you for giving me a home and for being the most generous person I have ever met. You will always be in my sweet evil heart. Don’t worry about me too much. I will find my way and you will find yours. Who knows, our paths may cross again. I ordered your favorite food. I know you’re always starving when you get home from work. Enjoy it and don’t let it go cold. Make sure you get enough sleep tonight, and don’t forget to take your water bottle with you tomorrow, you left it here this morning.

I’ll hold you in my happiest thoughts forever,

Chanhee

You only snapped out of your motionless state when one single tear dropped down your cheek and onto the note. A heavy blanket of sorrow and regret sunk into your whole body. The emotions seeped through your skin and before you knew it, you were a sobbing mess on the kitchen floor. You wanted to take him in your arms and tell him you forgave him. Hell, you had forgiven him minutes after you had yelled at him. You should have gone to him then. Had you only apologized quickly enough, perhaps he’d still be here. Then he’d be eating dinner with you, and although you’d be frustrated, you both wouldn’t be alone.

Your tears fell into your food while you ate it, unable to control your sadness and frustration you had against yourself. They mixed with the shower water as you stood in silence under the hot stream, overthinking everything. Your pillow was wet from the crying as you struggled to fall asleep. Like a broken-hearted zombie you trudged across the hall and into his room. Chanhee’s covers still smelled like him and you hugged them tightly, as if you could hold a piece of him and bring him back that way. But there was nothing you could have done. He had left, and it was alone your fault.

~

The next day passed like a vivid fever dream. While you were sat in your meeting, you couldn’t possibly focus on the case your team was discussing. Instead, you pondered whether your makeup was able to conceal your puffy face and the dark circles under your eyes. If it was obvious, at least people didn’t seem to point it out. Maybe they were so used to seeing you tired that it would take a lot more than some tiredness and lack of concentration to arise concern. It was the first time in years you really wanted to go home after work. In fact, you couldn’t stand the laughter and good mood at the police station for one more second. All you wanted to do was scream and cry, and seeing people joke around without any idea about your feelings only intensified your desire. Of course, you could have confided in somebody. But you were afraid they would tell you Serves you right or I told you. You don’t think you’d be able to handle those blatant assumptions and the mocking.

Your plan for the night was set: You’d sit in the bathtub for half an hour, then you’d wrap yourself into a human burrito in a blanket and fill your brain with some brutal movie that would make your life seem like it was mere child’s play. But as most things in your life lately, nothing went as planned. Because after only five minutes in the hot tub, your phone rang on the other side of the room. The first time you ignored it. You really tried. But then it rang again, and you looked up to see the caller ID. It was your boss.

You groaned and quickly stood up, not giving up on the prospects of a peaceful night just yet. But then you heard her message – a break-in at a bank, one dead bank employee, five hostages, a possible shoot out. They were calling for back up. And when there was a chance to throw bad guys behind bars, the most inviting bath or an exciting movie suddenly turned dull.

Not fifteen minutes later you had jumped out the bath, gotten dressed in your uniform, taken your gun and ammunition, and were pulling up at the scene your boss had ordered you to. The bank was in the city center, close to the main square. The police team was stationed in a side street. Some of the team had already been sent to the front of the bank, where the police was attempting to make contact with the robbers.

“They’re holding four hostages in the back of the bank. One of them is at the front, right by the glass doors for us to see. The robbers have guns to their heads. If we come closer, they’ll shoot them,” your colleague informed you.

“Demons?” you asked. Against your will, Chanhee appeared in your mind. You wondered how he was doing. Was he hiding out in somebody else’s garden right now? Had he found a bed to sleep in? Then you quickly shook your head. This was not the time for heavy emotions of any kind.

“Yes. Five of them,” your colleague added. You huffed.

“What do they want us to do? Are they demanding anything?” you asked.

“They want us to let them leave with the money,” she said. You grinned bitterly and nodded.

“What about the back entrance?” you asked. You knew the layout of this bank and had been there multiple times in the past.

“That’s our route. Besides the one at the front, the other demons are inside the bank. The entrance isn’t guarded. A team of four will go to the back and try to sneak up on them. When we have a clear line of fire on all the robbers, we’ll take them out at the same time,” she explained.

“Alright,” you nodded, fixing your bulletproof vest around your upper body. You were ready for this. To others, missions like these would have been nerve-wrecking, and you would have been lying if you said you were completely calm. But the adrenaline was already rushing through your body, and fear was something you hadn’t felt since your very first operation.

“All ready?” your colleague asked the other two members of the team who would go into the bank. You received nods and professional expressions. You had all trained together and were used to functioning like one unit. Sticking close together, you rounded the bank, using a side street so the demons wouldn’t see you approaching. In your ear, the voice of your boss was giving orders and checking in on you. The street was dark and devoid of any life except for your team. Multiple of the surrounding streets had been evacuated and shut off to the public. The scene had something straight out of a heist movie. Except this time, the robbers weren’t going to pull of the perfect theft and get away. You would make sure of it.

“We’re almost there,” you said. “Twenty meters to the entrance. Awaiting permission to go inside.”

“You have permission,” your boss spoke over your earpiece. One last look at your teammates, and you were on the move. Sneaking inside soundlessly was easy. The backrooms were all empty. As you passed abandoned offices, you saw knocked over office equipment and paper scattered on the floors. Lamps had been left on and you heard the faint buzzing of a running computer that was most certainly unoccupied. Moving swiftly, you walked along the corridors, guns pointed ahead at all times. Your teamwork was untouchable. One of you made sure the path was clear, then the rest followed.

“You are one room away from the entry hall,” your boss said.

“Understood,” you answered and slowed down your steps. A cat wouldn’t have been able to walk more silently than you did. Now your ears picked up voices. Somebody was crying. There was shuffling of feet on marble.

“Shut up!” a male voice yelled. The crying faded out into muteness. In the dark, you could make out figures. A few countertops and a good distance separated you and your team from the demons and the hostages. You nodded to your colleagues and they understood. The four of you parted ways, moving into the room and taking shelter behind the bank counters. Once again, you checked the situation. Close to you, four hostages sat on the floor. A woman was still crying, and you could tell she was struggling to keep herself quiet. Around them, four demons stood, dressed in black. Their ski masks kept their faces hidden, but their body languages told you enough. They were not to be messed with. By the far entrance, the fifth demon was positioned with the remaining hostage, and you could spot the police cars outside in the town square. From behind your hiding spots, each of your teammates had a clear line of fire on the demons. The fifth one would be taken out from police outside the bank. You were just about to send a signal to your boss to let her know you were in position. Suddenly, the scraping of feet on the floor alarmed you.

“What was that?” one of the demons barked. The noise had come from your colleague beside you, who was now flinching. You had no time to think. No time to complain about her mistake. If you didn’t act now, they were going to close in on you.

You jumped up, pointing your gun at the closest demon. Right away, the remaining demons had their guns aimed at the hostages’ heads. Your colleagues had done as you, guns held towards the demons. Now you got a proper look at them. They were towering over the hostages, who were crouched on the floor in intimidation. The one in front of you only chuckled. Humans didn’t laugh like this. It was pure malice and recklessness displayed in front of you.

“I thought we told you to stay away,” he began. The only thing you could truly note about him was his mouth. The rest was covered by his mask and where the white of eyes should have been, two orbs of darkness sat, eying you like prey.

“Let the hostages go and we won’t shoot you,” you ordered, with a surprisingly calm voice.

“And why would we do that when we can just kill them?” he asked. His gaze momentarily focused on his fellow demons, as if he was a stand-up comedian and he had just delivered the funniest punch line.

“You will die if you harm even one of the hostages,” you stated.

“Oh, is that so? Humans never learn, do they?” he said. This monster was completely insane. And suicidal too, it seemed. “Go on, shoot.”

First, you thought he was urging your team to shoot. Then you realized, he was looking at the demon closest to you. The very demon you had your gun pointed at. He was asking the other demon to shoot at the hostages. You were preparing to pull the trigger.

But then your mind started racing. You stared at him intensely as your heartbeat quickened uncontrollably in your chest. The dark eyes. The soft lips. His skinny frame and gentle hands. You knew exactly who this demon was. You’d be able to pick him out of any crowd. What the hell was he doing here?

“Shoot!” the bigger demon shouted again, but Chanhee didn’t budge.

“I told you he was goddamn useless,” one of the others said. “Get rid of him.”

“You don’t deserve any of this money,” the bigger demon snarled, and his hand went to his belt. You knew there were human lives on the line. What you were about to do could be considered not only stupid, but wildly imprudent. Emotions were supposed to be left out of police operations. But how could you not have been blind with shock? You were going to let your heart control your body over your mind, and if it was deadly so be it. The bigger demon was now raising his arm at Chanhee.

Before you knew it, you had jumped out from behind the counter. You mirrored the demon’s actions and you pointed at him, pulling the trigger. At the same time, his gun went off. Just in time, you had pushed your body between the two demons.

“Y/N!” Chanhee shouted.

The bullet hit your shoulder and you fell backwards. Burning heat spread through your insides as you stumbled and reached for anything, anyone to hold on to. You could only think of Chanhee, and how your bullet had pierced through the big demon’s skull perfectly. Then, your colleagues opened the gunfire. The shots sounded almost muffled through the intense amount of adrenaline in your blood and the initial effect of being hit. Your body fell to the ground with a heavy thud, and a wave of agony spread through you. You grimaced at the excruciating pain, hands grasping at your shoulder. All you could see was white, before you sank onto your back and the world went dark.

~approximately 18 months later~

“Y/N,” Chanhee said, for the sixth time within the last ten minutes. You pressed your phone harder against your ear, holding it up with your shoulder. Your hands were too busy writing a police report on your laptop.

“Chanhee, I promise I’m writing the last few sentences already,” you assured him. He liked it when you came home early, leaving enough time to relax on the couch with him, instead of falling into bed like a corpse. Today, he was especially insistent, urging you to stay on the phone with him until you had finally packed up your things and left the police department. You guessed he was just trying to make sure you couldn’t stop somewhere along the way and start working on something new. And maybe that fear wasn’t so far off the truth.

“I’m done,” you said. “Status report: I’m switching off the laptop. Now I’m taking my bag. I’m getting up. I’m locking my office behind me. I’ll be home in twenty minutes or less.”

His laughter on the other side of the line made you smile. You couldn’t wait to see his face and get to hug him.

“Alright. I can’t wait,” he said. “I’ll see you.”

The walk home was calm. A soft breeze went through your hair and in the distance, you heard sirens of an ambulance. Promptly you were catapulted back to your memories and into the vehicle after you had been shot. Going in and out of consciousness, you kept repeating one name: Chanhee. When you woke up in the hospital bed, you half-expected him to be sitting there, waiting for you to wake up. But of course that was not the case. He had committed a crime – or at least tried to commit one. The prosecution was in his favor. They acknowledged his compliance with the police and his hesitation to hurt the hostage. Plus, he sold out the other demons and showed no resistance at any point. His regret and sorrow was apparent, nonetheless his mistake caused him 11 months in prison – by far less than the other robbers got.

People had called you insane for standing by him. Others thought you brave and newspapers named him the first good demon in the world. Every week you visited him in prison, often more than once. You made the most of your short time to talk, and with your kindest words you let him know that you were still here for him. Every visit you learned a bit more about how he had ended up in that bank.

After he had walked out on you, he had nowhere to go. So, after strolling the street mazes for days he found himself in the very demon night club he had once warned you about. Most unsavory figures twisted his mind into thinking doing good was no use. They made him believe he would never be able to escape the demon in him, and he might as well embrace the malice. They more or less pulled him along to the robbery, while he overthought the whole thing. It hurt you, seeing him cry as he recounted how scared he was when he saw the hostages. Some of them ended up injured, but all survived. You knew he would have never forgiven himself, had one of them died.

The day you picked him up from prison was a day you’d never forget. Holding each other in your arms felt so right, and you had missed it tremendously. His months at the prison hadn’t been easy, but you made sure he felt loved and cared for when he finally returned. He almost refused to believe that you would open your doors to him again. It was no question to you. You’d always be here for him. Even when he insisted you keep your office at home locked at all times. You trusted him almost a hundred percent by now. His demon only came out rarely, especially in times of stress or intense negative emotions. But you only treated him with kindness, and he gave back just as much of it.

“Chanhee I’m home!” you shouted as you entered your home.

“I’m up here,” he spoke. You ran up the stairs, excited to see him. Your eyes fell onto the open door of your office. For a moment, your heartbeat quickened as you approached it. You must have forgotten to lock the door that morning. Slowly, you pushed it open.

“Hello,” he grinned. You only chuckled as you watched him, sitting by your desk, a book in his hands. “I hope you don’t mind me being in here. This chair is so comfortable.”

“It’s all good,” you said. “Do you know what day it is today?”

“Umm…Friday?” he asked.

“It’s been exactly two years since you first started living here,” you said. “I think we should get some take out and celebrate, what do you say?”

“I can’t believe it’s been two years,” he said. “I’d love that. And you know what? I think I’m ready to start the internship at the police station.”

You smiled proudly. He had put his book down and was getting up.

“You’re going to do good things,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. He finally had found his place. His home. And you were never going to give up on him.

[pokemon-ninjago-world]

Headcanon/Pokéninjago version of Lloyd’s identity crisis during season 5 of Ninjago

Got ab 12 likes on the announcement post so here we are: This is an essay-sorta-thing about something I thought and wrote some six years ago. It’s been so long since I wrote this I feel cringy reading it, but it’s tenable in Pokéninjago lore. It’s kind of a mix between my headcanon for the show, and canon of my AU, which is why there is mentions of “evolving” and Pokémon types.

Things to take into account:

Idk if there should be content warnings, but depression mention at least. Otherwise, this is pretty much as intense as season 5 went, just a little more angsty I suppose.

I must say that my version of Lloyd and his identity crisis were inspired by a certain artist’s version of him and by a comic they made about the Child’s Play episode’s aftermath. I don’t dare name the artist, since they don’t wish to be linked with the Ninjago fandom anymore, but some of you might know who I’m referring to. 

I do not know how psychology stuff actually works, all of this was made on grounds of a couple of high school psychology courses and a lot of imagination `:D

I wrote this originally in Finnish and let Word translate it, so this might be v clumsy at points.

Most of the text is under the cut!

                                                  ~***~

When Lloyd was just a small cub, closer to three years, his mother had left him in his father's care. Misako knew the boy would become the Green Ninja and Garmadon would become the Dark Lord. That is why she went looking for any ancient knowledge to avoid the final confrontation. Although her heart was torn since she had to leave her loved ones, she knew that she couldn’t just sit on her hands, and that perhaps she was the only one that could prevent the decisive battle between good and evil. It was also her wish that the father and the son could spend as much time together as possible. Thus, Lloyd's earliest childhood memories are about his father, and his recollections of his mother are blurry, obscure, and fading away as he grows up, or mixing with other memories.

            Dad meant everything to little Lloyd. Although they lived in the same monastery with Lloyd’s uncle as well, whom he also liked, his own father was still the greatest. Garmadon also loved his child deeply and wanted him to have a happy life. Although the poison in his veins was starting to get a hold of him and he was increasingly drawn to the Golden Weapons, his love for Lloyd and the desire to be with him in anticipation of Misako's return kept him away from them for much longer than if the boy had never existed.

                    When Lloyd "evolved," he lost some important years of his life, during which a youngster usually developes a picture of himself and his changing body. Lloyd's body changed in a single moment and even though his mind also changed to some degree, it was still mostly on the same level as before, since artificial aging did not bring him the years of experience that growing up normally would. From that moment on, he had to form himself a new image of himself. Frankly, he was facing a fierce identity crisis.

                     After the episode Child's Play, Lloyd adopted an identity whose foundation was flimsy and unstable. It consisted of a few simple pillars that supported his image of himself. Some emotions, thoughts, and memories that he could not, wasn’t able to or didn’t dare to deal with, secretly and slowly gnawed at those pillars like erosion. They grew into doubt that settled into the cracks like rockfoil.

                     That flimsy foundation for his self-image, consisted of these elements: I am the Green Ninja. I'm the strongest ninja of all. I’m the son of  sensei Garmadon. I’m the grandson of The First Spinjitzu Master. I'm one of the Elemental Masters. I'm a student of Sensei Wu. I'm one of the five elemental ninjas. It's my destiny to protect the world from evil.

                     This made it easy for Morro to destabilize and crush Lloyd’s self-esteem. Morro proved himself to be stronger and more independent than Lloyd, and that he could win him over and over again, no matter how hard Lloyd tried to fight back. Lloyd felt weak and desperate. Two pillars of his self-image collapsed to the ground and the masked emotions and doubts that chipped away at the other columns began to grow and intensify: He was not the strongest ninja and was therefore unable to protect the world from this evil.

                     This also affected his view of him as the Green Ninja. Although logically he still was just that – the Golden Weapons and his powers had proven it – he could not help but think that maybe Morro really was supposed to be the Chosen One. His identity was cracking, which ate away at his strength and self-esteem. Being a Psychic Type, his greatest strength resided in his psyche, and whenever his mind was in an unstable and vulnerable state, he couldn’t do his best, even if he had used everything he had learned. Losing his father fairly recently had already struck a dangerous notch in his mental stability.

                     Even though Lloyd was still his father's son, it didn't feel the same when he was no longer with him. Finally, he was only driven forward by his relationship with his other loved ones. He had to do everything he could to stop Morro from harming his friends. By protecting them he was also protecting the last intact remnants of his Self.

                     Lloyd did everything he could to resist Morro's possession. From time to time a memory of his friends and the will to keep them safe increased his "self-control," weakening the ghost's hold on him. However, a long, grueling time in constant motion, without water and nourishment, poisoned by a cold, vindictive spirit, steadily filled his mind with anguish and despair. Doubts penetrated deep into the tears of his self-image, breaking everything old until he no longer knew who he was. Only with the last bits of his mental strength could he interfere with Morro's possession so that he failed to clear the other ninjas out of his way.

                     Then, when Morro broke away from Lloyd's body, the Espeon felt like nothing more than an empty, broken shell floating aimlessly in the dark, beachless sea. He was unable to live up to any of the expectations and goals that had been set for him. Now, he was used as a trade-in item in the market of the world’s destiny. He longer had the strength or power to save even his best friends. He was as helpless as a newborn pup and all he could do was to stand by and apologize when he was traded for Realm Crystal.

                      Somewhere from his past, he dug up one last spark of strength. Already as a child, he had been left alone with unfriendly people, who then had ignited that stubborn flame in him: the desire to fight the cruel, unjust and repressive world. His body still had more strength than his mind, and this momentary burst of grit made him kick the Crystal out of Morro's hand. This, however, caused him to end up in the freezing stream, all his energy used up. There was not much left but a primitive desire to survive and a little strength to keep his head afloat before the cold numbed his muscles.

                     Lloyd's mind was in shambles. Images, memories, shattered fragments of his adopted identity… they all churned in his tired, blurred consciousness. Unintentionally, he began to go through the feelings of uncertainty, fear and inadequacy that he had denied from himself for years. The present seemed more surreal than the memories. He relived moments that had had a revolutionary impact on his life: When the golden weapons pointed him out as a Green Ninja; when he grew up under the influence of Tomorrow's Tea; when he met his mother and became to know her; when he unleashed the Golden Dragon in the Temple of Light; how he fought the Overlord who was possessing his father; how he harnessed his True Potential; got his father back; lost Zane; reunited his friends again and felt great togetherness with the other Elemental Masters. When he lost his father again. And when Morro possessed him.

                     Lloyd was lost. If it wasn’t for his friends and their care, he would have sunk deep into depression (and, on the other hand, drowned or, at the very least, died of hypothermia). When Kai carried him out of the FSM’s tomb, it triggered a very clear memory of the day when the Master of Fire had fulfilled his potential and Lloyd had been identified as the Chosen One. That day, Kai had come to save him from an erupting volcano and carried him to safety. Now, Lloyd felt like he was that little scared cub again, who had for a moment thought he was going to burn to the ground in the boiling lava of the volcano. He remembered how Kai's closeness had brought a feeling of immediate security around him. Even though the mountain had raged and wanted to kill them both, Lloyd had known he didn’t have to be afraid. Kai was there. He'd protect Lloyd. There was no reason to fight the fear anymore, he didn't have to pretend like he was tough. He was carried by someone older and stronger, whom to rely on.

                     The feeling was so intense, the memory so vivid that Lloyd was overwhelmed by an inexplicable, immense grief. The sadness of being forced to give up a carefree childhood so early on, to take on an enormous responsibility and assume a role that seemed too demanding for such a small boy to perform. He had had to grow up way too soon. He started shaking from holding back the tears. He didn’t mind since he thought Kai was probably assuming that he was shivering from the cold. But when Kai said quietly and understandingly: "Shh... It's okay... Don't worry about it," the last wall of pride and fear fell, and Lloyd could no longer repress his weeping.

                     At this point, he slowly began to build a new identity on the ruins of the wrecked one. He understood that even though he was the Green Ninja, it didn’t make him greater or more important than the others. He had more magical power than anyone else, but he was still only a person just like them. He could hesitate, too, and fail. There was no way for him to do anything more than what he was capable of, mentally, physically, and skill-wise. That’s all there was to offer, and if it wasn't enough, there were others whom he could rely on. Others, who would catch him when he ran out of strength. He wasn't the last link to hold the whole structure together.

                     These ideas developed slowly in Lloyd's exhausted mind. Slowly, he got stitched back up from the fragments of his previous self-image. This time, however, his new identity was not something that was given to him from the outside, in which he would have had to fit himself, but it was a solid, authentic self-image created as a result of self-reflection. It was still obscure, uncertain and seeking its form, and its growth was overshadowed by fear. But the conversation with his father drove away that last fear. The fear that Morro was supposed to be the Green Ninja instead of Lloyd. His father assured that Lloyd’s qi had no influence on how he should live and act. He should live the way his heart told him to.

                     In the end, although Morro managed to beat Lloyd one last time, this time he did not break down. He was more intact now, he had more inner strength, and he knew for sure he wouldn't be abandoned. That the fate of the world wasn't really up to him. He may have been part of the story, but after all, he wasn't the protagonist, at least not the only one of them.

[rockislandadultreads]

New Adult Fiction ft. Ace Characters 

Ultraviolet by R.J. Anderson

Once upon a time there was a girl who was special. This is not her story. Unless you count the part where I killed her. Sixteen-year-old Alison has been sectioned in a mental institute for teens, having murdered the most perfect and popular girl at school. But the case is a mystery: no body has been found, and Alison's condition is proving difficult to diagnose. Alison herself can't explain what happened: one minute she was fighting with Tori -- the next she disintegrated. Into nothing. But that's impossible. Right? When Alison meets Dr Faraday, a visiting psychologist, she feels an instant connection. More, he believes her story. But there's more to Faraday than Alison can possibly imagine ... and the answers he will give her are ... extraordinary...

Vicious by V.E. Schwab

A masterful tale of ambition, jealousy, desire, and superpowers.

Victor and Eli started out as college roommates—brilliant, arrogant, lonely boys who recognized the same sharpness and ambition in each other. In their senior year, a shared research interest in adrenaline, near-death experiences, and seemingly supernatural events reveals an intriguing possibility: that under the right conditions, someone could develop extraordinary abilities. But when their thesis moves from the academic to the experimental, things go horribly wrong. Ten years later, Victor breaks out of prison, determined to catch up to his old friend (now foe), aided by a young girl whose reserved nature obscures a stunning ability. Meanwhile, Eli is on a mission to eradicate every other super-powered person that he can find—aside from his sidekick, an enigmatic woman with an unbreakable will. Armed with terrible power on both sides, driven by the memory of betrayal and loss, the archnemeses have set a course for revenge—but who will be left alive at the end?

Jane Steele by Lyndsay Faye

A reimagining of Jane Eyre as a gutsy, heroic serial killer. A sensitive orphan, Jane Steele suffers first at the hands of her spiteful aunt and predatory cousin, then at a grim school where she fights for her very life until escaping to London, leaving the corpses of her tormentors behind her. After years of hiding from the law while penning macabre “last confessions” of the recently hanged, Jane thrills at discovering an advertisement.  Her aunt has died and her childhood home has a new master: Mr. Charles Thornfield, who seeks a governess. Burning to know whether she is in fact the rightful heir, Jane takes the position incognito, and learns that Highgate House is full of marvelously strange new residents—the fascinating but caustic Mr. Thornfield, an army doctor returned from the Sikh Wars, and the gracious Sikh butler Mr. Sardar Singh, whose history with Mr. Thornfield appears far deeper and darker than they pretend. As Jane catches ominous glimpses of the pair’s violent history and falls in love with the gruffly tragic Mr. Thornfield, she faces a terrible dilemma: can she possess him—body, soul, and secrets—without revealing her own murderous past? A satirical romance about identity, guilt, goodness, and the nature of lies.

Beyond the Black Door by A.M. Strickland (Pseudonym), AdriAnne Strickland

Kamai was warned never to open the black door, but she didn't listen ... Everyone has a soul. Some are beautiful gardens, others are frightening dungeons. Soulwalkers―like Kamai and her mother―can journey into other people's souls while they sleep. But no matter where Kamai visits, she sees the black door. It follows her into every soul, and her mother has told her to never, ever open it. When Kamai touches the door, it is warm and beating, like it has a pulse. When she puts her ear to it, she hears her own name whispered from the other side. And when tragedy strikes, Kamai does the unthinkable: she opens the door. A.M. Strickland's imaginative dark fantasy features court intrigue and romance, a main character coming to terms with her asexuality, and twists and turns as a seductive mystery unfolds that endangers not just Kamai's own soul, but the entire kingdom ...

The Foxhole Court by Nora Sakavic

Neil Josten is the newest addition to the Palmetto State University Exy team. He's short, he's fast, he's got a ton of potential—and he's the runaway son of the murderous crime lord known as The Butcher. Signing a contract with the PSU Foxes is the last thing a guy like Neil should do. The team is high profile and he doesn't need sports crews broadcasting pictures of his face around the nation. His lies will hold up only so long under this kind of scrutiny and the truth will get him killed. But Neil's not the only one with secrets on the team. One of Neil's new teammates is a friend from his old life, and Neil can't walk away from him a second time. Neil has survived the last eight years by running. Maybe he's finally found someone and something worth fighting for

Sawkill Girls by Claire Legrand

Beware of the woods and the dark, dank deep. He’ll follow you home, and he won’t let you sleep. Who are the Sawkill Girls? Marion: the new girl. Awkward and plain, steady and dependable. Weighed down by tragedy and hungry for love she’s sure she’ll never find. Zoey: the pariah. Luckless and lonely, hurting but hiding it. Aching with grief and dreaming of vanished girls. Maybe she’s broken—or maybe everyone else is. Val: the queen bee. Gorgeous and privileged, ruthless and regal. Words like silk and eyes like knives, a heart made of secrets and a mouth full of lies. Their stories come together on the island of Sawkill Rock, where gleaming horses graze in rolling pastures and cold waves crash against black cliffs. Where kids whisper the legend of an insidious monster at parties and around campfires. Where girls have been disappearing for decades, stolen away by a ravenous evil no one has dared to fight… until now

Books pulled from Asexuals in Fiction list on goodreads.com

[sleepmusicland-1]

Gone chapter 3

Masterlist Gone

Ella POV:

I learned that I had a rare talent, I was paranormally gifted and had the ability to heal, but the most absurd was that I was supposed to be an alleged angel. An earth angel, a creature that had not existed for hundreds of years. Therefore, the ancestors, this witch circle had given the necessary magic to find such a creature, so that the supernatural world would not be destroyed, any threats whose name no one knew, was the reason why I was here.

An average woman who happened to speak several languages and was now supposed to be an exceptionally powerful being? That sounded like a fairy tale to my ears.

"Now you know why you're here", Isabella concluded and waved her left hand to follow her from these catacombs, which I did. I also didn't really have a choice, even though I wasn't the being she thought I was, I couldn't really say no.

She was, after all, a witch who had magic and I knew that the chief witches were very powerful in a circle.

"This is understandably a lot of information, but I will answer all your questions", Isabella promised me, although I actually only had one question, would I ever be able to go back to my own world?

But before I could even start trying to formulate the question, Isabella informed me that there was no way back for me. Her words stuck in the air, in the middle of the exit to the cemetery, in the light, I stopped and looked at her silently.

My life as I knew it was over, I would never see my family again, not my pets, I would not witness a single birthday. Everything I had had in my life, the people I had known, were all gone. Unattainable and the only thing the witch could think of a few steps in front of me in the sunlight was sorry?

But before I could reciprocate, my feelings that were racing through my innermost being, could create words and could put into words what I was holding from the witch in front of my nose, my senses were flooded with emotions, thoughts and coldness.

Fuzzy figures were on the cobblestones that lay on the ground and served as a path, between the mausoleum and tombs of Layafette Cemetery.

They were deceased souls, I could hear them speaking in various languages, pleading, crying and all seemed to have one thing in common, they were trapped here in the cemetery forever. Did the witches draw their magic from it? Not only from their ancestors but also the deceased souls?

Before I could think more about it, a new presence pushed into focus. It was a strong presence and my neck hair lined up, whether this new presence was good or evil, I could not say, but one thing I knew for sure, my intuition, my gut feeling was nothing compared to what I felt now, what my senses were telling me now. Isabella seemed to be right, I seemed to have a gift that I had just never known anything about.

I turned to the entrance, the entrance that led back to the catacombs where I had woken up, or was I still dreaming?

The entrance was different from what I had seen so far, most catacombs, mausoleums and tombs I had seen in movies and series, but never stones carved bones, skulls and signs that were embedded exactly in the middle of the arch. What did these signs mean? Was that the reason why I could only now hear the spirits, because the signs suppressed it? Where was I? And, above all, why?

"Miss de La Crux, I thought we had an agreement that the witches of New Orleans may hold small rituals and ceremonies, but there is nothing in the agreement that they may hold a ritual that requires a lot of strength", a well-known voice tore me out of my thoughts, I had a clue and this idea was confirmed by the dark-haired vampire in a branded suit. Almost 10 meters away from Isabelle and me stood Elijah Mikaelson, with his right hand in his trouser pocket, wide-legged he stood between two mausoleums and looked at Isabella and me. I didn't like his look, apart from the fact that I was now sure that I had landed in a TV series and unfortunately knew a little too much, Elijah was unsympathetic to me from the first moment.

His arrogant attitude and his face radiated that he felt superior to the people, where was the vampire who wanted to protect people? Just as he was more than gracious to Elena in Mystic Falls. This vampire was very different from what I remembered from the show.

"Mister Mikaelson, the agreement is that once a year we may perform a ritual in favor of our ancestors, that's what I did, that it requires more magic than a simple tracking attempt, should be clear to them," Isabella replied to him and was absolutely not impressed by him, something that seemed to irritate him.

"They are aware that they first need approval for a ritual as they have just vaguely described and we have to give them first," he replied to her and I realized that the reality here had nothing to do with the series. A lot had changed and perhaps it also explained why he seemed different, more arrogant, as if he had forgotten that it had once been important to him not to hurt people unnecessarily, as Klaus had once said. But this person in front of me wasn't the person I knew from the show and if I was honest, I didn't want to know that person at all. But at that time I had no idea in what way the paths would still cross and bring me too close to a vampire.

"One thing should be clear to them Mister Mikaelson, just because Marcel Gerad has ceded the say over the supernatural community to their family, does not mean that everyone will dance to their noses! " clarified Isabella and I wondered if Marcel had given up his position voluntarily, or rather involuntarily, the tensions that prevailed between Isabella and Elijah was more than just dislike. In front of my inner eye, scenes appeared of the two of them tearing their clothes off, I closed my eyes for a short moment and took a deep breath. When I opened my eyes again, I encountered the inquiring gaze of Elijah, had he noticed something in my heartbeat? I didn't know where the vision had come from, I was just relieved not to have seennwhen a shirt that was torn apart and exposed a male upper body.

"And they are?" he wanted to know from me, the tone with which he treated me irritated me immeasurably and I tilted my head to the left side as I looked at it, as if I only noticed him now. "No one of interest, since they didn't imagine either" I answered slightly annoyed and was just glad that my heartbeat was calm, my heart did not reveal in any way, was for awhirlwind of feelings just raging in me.

"Excuse my manners, I am Elijah Mikaelson", Elijah introduced himself and came closer, I stepped every step he took forward, backwards.

"Ella von Els" I answered him and concealed directly that I used the short form of my name, I did not like to hang oneveryone's nose, that I did not really like my full name. "Dutchwoman?" he hooked up, whereupon I looked at him suspiciously, no one I knew would link my last name to my nationality.

"Why is this important?" I hooked up and felt Isabella's gaze on me, she had already told me that Icould nevergetback to my oldlife, even if it was just receding into the background because I had to deal with a vampire questioning my nationality. "I like to know who's in New Orleans and who's in a cemetery with a witch, especially if that personis apparently not an Americancitizen," Elijah replied. "I can be an American citizen just because my last name sounds Dutch, do you directly conclude that I can't be an American?" I hooked up and didn't even try to banish the irritations from my voice.

"What exactly do they want Mister Mikaelson? May I no longer show anyone the cemetery? " Isabella interfered, whereupon he turned to the woman with which he was most likely having an affair. I didn't hear his answer anymore because my attention was drawn to a grave. It was a grave in thewall, with a very well-known name on it. Manuela Isabelle van Elsen was written on the inscription, the person whose name I also partly bore had died 3 years ago. She had just turned 25 years old.

I heard footsteps behind me, Isabella stepped to the grave and seemed composed, but also sad, had she known the person buried here?

Elijah POV:

Isabella hid something, I could see it to her, above all she had broken the contract together with her circle, but why? And who was the woman who had stood with her?

I had been able to hear from her pronunciation that she was not from NewOrleans, but why had Isabella been here with her, at thebonemausoleum. I had only learned of the existence of this particular mausoleum when Isabella and I were together months ago.

This particular mausoleum was used by the witches only for very special rituals or sayings and to find them there, with a woman unknown to me, whom I had never seen before and apparently had no bond with the witches. Her excuse is that the woman who had introduced herself as Ella von Els, although you couldn't really imagine it, since she clearly had no desire to give me any information.

She didn't seem to know who she had talked to so disrespectfully or she didn't care. The short conversation I had had with her had given me more questions than answers.

Why had Isabella brought her here? Especially to this mausoleum,which I knew was only used for very special and important rituals. Did the presence of the unknown woman, the shift in power?

That this encounter was the beginning of a mystery, I did not suspect at that time

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, HAYLEY! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF LUCA RICHE.

Admin Cas: Hayley, Hayley, Hayley. Your application felt, in a word, magical. You drew every one of us in to the romantic, rose-tinted world of Luca Riche, and I’m not sure any of us ever want to leave it. Luca is so good, so pure, so foolish, and evidence of that bled through your every word. And yet, your interpretation made him so much more than his love. He’s a hero, he’s a warrior — and for all his light, there’s darkness in him, too. The way you scattered quotes throughout your application really gave us insight into who Luca is beneath the surface. I’m so excited to leave our lovely, golden himbo in your hands, and I can’t wait to have my heart broken by him. Your faceclaim change to Daniel Sharman has been approved. Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Hayley

Age | 24 

Personal Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | Well currently I’m unemployed so I have all the time in the world to just flood the dash with writing! This may change in January/February where I’ll likely be on a few hours per day in the evenings and more active on the weekends (I may also need a hiatus to move/settle in if I have to move to a new state just a heads up!!).

Timezone | EST

Triggers | REMOVED

How did you find the group?  | I would follow Rosey and her brilliant ideas to the ends of this earth

IN CHARACTER

Character | Luca Riche (FC change to Daniel Sharman? I can be flexible with alts depending on Jasper’s faceclaim as well!)

What drew you to this character? | Honestly what DIDN’T drive me to this character. Literally like everyone else I can’t help but love him the second I laid my eyes on him. He’s magnetic and just so, so good. Like pure and good and I’ll be honest I’m not quite used to playing characters who possess the literal light of the sun within them but that’s what drew me to him like he was a beacon asking me to challenge myself in the new year.

There is something just so incessantly good about Luca, which is perhaps rare amongst humans. The world has a way of finding light and corrupting it, and yet Luca remains nearly untouched. I think he’s not entirely blind to the evils of the world, having willingly taken on his role as a knight with the knowledge that he may have to and since has shed blood, but I think he still sees it and its potential as inherently good, which makes it all the more difficult to see the bad in things. That’s not to say he is entirely blind to it, but there are many things he does not see as suspicious or just willfully ignores, especially when it comes to his brother (more on them later). Of course, some things will clearly indicate to him that he should be wary, things in the vein of Samael’s entire presence, but in most cases, he is willing to give the benefit of the doubt.

I also love seeing a character who is so magnetic and who embraces that magnetism, yet hasn’t let it go to his head completely. I can imagine Luca as somewhat caught up in that reputation, as he knows the sacrifices he is encouraged and nearly obligated at this point to make, and yet he still does it willingly, not because it is expected of him, but because he wants to. He does it for love, for the love of humanity and this world and peace. He will set himself on fire to keep others warm, and yet does not boast of his flammability. Perhaps this savior complex has, in some instances, gone to his head, but overall, Luca doesn’t appear cocky or full of too much pride.

He sees himself as a hero, after all, and he knows what ends heroes may meet. Glory is but a small reward to receive while living, but as long as he lives, he will do all that he can, do all that heroes are meant to receive. Luca is well aware peace may only be sustained once he has given all there is to give of himself, his aching muscles and his still-beating heart, and that is why he will give and give, knowing what it does to him, until there is nothing left. He is so selfless in almost all regards, and yet the tinge of selfish desire to uncover the dreams he’s been having linger like a fog at the edges of his vision.

I’ll be honest in saying I haven’t written a character whose heart is full of as much love and light as Luca’s, but I also think it’s impossible for anyone to ever have as much love contained within them as Luca does. It’s as abundant as sunlight within him and he seems to give it out just as freely as the sun spreads her rays about the Earth. He is Helios, pulling the sun through the sky, ignoring any burn that may come to his flesh, for the people he loves receive its light, and for that, he is happy, he is whole.

And don’t even get me STARTED on the Riche brothers. I love their dynamic, the balance they bring, the sun and moon. The sun longs so much to be with his moon, and yet while they are destined to coexist together, the moon is so rarely willing to share his skies with the sun. That doesn’t stop Luca from trying, of course. I was so drawn to Luca in part because of the dynamic he shares with Jasper, because I just love foils and I love how intertwined their stories are, much to Luca’s pleasure and Jasper’s chagrin. A father Luca never knew and Jasper knew all too well being the reason they were brought together, so close yet so distant. Luca doesn’t know when to give up, especially when it comes to his brother, and that might just be the death of him, for, unbeknownst to him, it once was.

What future plots do you have in mind for the character? | 

ONE. A cheering crowd. Sunlight glinting off his armor. Dust settling to reveal a beautifully colored dawn. A smile brighter than all of it. I want to explore the lengths Luca will go to in order to maintain peace across this land and bring some form of salvation to the people within it. They look to him for this, for him to uphold the values of these peaceful times and ensure that this land remains prosperous and happy, and he gladly shoulders the weight of this responsibility. I want to see the things they demand of him, and how increasingly challenging they may be. How much weight can one man withstand? What tasks in the pursuit of peace and salvation and justice may lead him to make tough, impossible, potentially immoral decisions? How much can one man sacrifice before he leaves himself too vulnerable, too spent, too weak to do all that they revere him for?

TWO. A cold sweat upon the back of his neck. Blurry faces. Shadowed intentions. A dagger. Waking up with a start. I’d love to see Luca discover more about his past life and explore how he would react to the truth. He’s already longing for answers after every brief glimpse his post-encounters with Samael bring him, but I want to explore what those answers look like and what he thinks of them, especially when he finally realizes who he is and how his story once ended. I think this will be a long-term plot, with brief glimpses and memories becoming clearer, where he may grapple with immense confusion and some denial before actually accepting the truth of his past. In this, I also want to see how far he may go for the truth, since this is the only thing Luca seems to be doing primarily for himself and his own gain. So used to being selfless, he finally finds one cause he cannot stay away from that is wholly his own — if he’s so used to sacrificing for others, what might he sacrifice to give himself a moment’s satisfaction?

To get there, Luca knows this requires spending more time with Samael, so I’d be really excited to plot that out and see the fallout! Luca does not like what he must do, and yet feels this pull to do it, and I can imagine it will take more of a toll on him than just these visions.

THREE. A hand rejected. Something just out of reach. Brows set in determination. Ignoring the warning signs. I so badly want to explore the dynamic of Luca and Jasper. There’s rich history between these two, not only in this life but the last. The shared loss of a father brought them together when the loss of Abel’s life had torn them from one another in the last life, and I want to see what elements of that life remain now, and what elements might be made clearer from the dreams and memories Luca has been unearthing as of late. He knows his brother opposes him in so many ways, and yet he sees the necessity in the balance they hold together. I want to explore how his view of his brother and love of his brother may change, if at all, once he learns the truth of what his old fate was. I’d love to see how he reacts, if there is any difference in the way he would see or treat Jasper, and what he might do to ensure the course of history does not repeat itself (that is, if he even imagines that as a possible threat now), if anything at all. This is stuff that would be plotted ooc! I know this one is a bit vague and leaves many directions open, but I want to ensure flexibility on my part to allow the story and other characters to also have their effects on Luca!

FOUR. Whispers in the streets. Learning from the past. Nature overtaking ruins. Second chances. I hope to see Luca encounter what is left of the Heretics, be it any hidden surviving members or relics from their rule. I think it could be a great moment of balancing the still-remaining grief from his father with the acknowledgement of the things he’s done — Luca has been able to keep that balance now at the Table, but that’s because he has nothing but the post-Heretic world to reference. I would love to see him challenged and forced to face the things his father has done head-on, and I want to see what lengths he might go to in order to rectify that. Perhaps he will lend so much of himself out of guilt and his naive desire for peace that he accidentally gives the Heretics (or a resurgence/birth or something similar to the Heretics) too much power and legitimacy, or perhaps he will learn that the past must be buried for a reason.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Did Cain murder Abel? Yes. The answer to both is yes I love to hurt

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation | 

“The sun never truly sets, Luca. Not when you’re here.” Peace. Love. The bright sun of a new tomorrow. Luca holds so much love in his heart for this world, but even more for the world he knows it can become if peace and prosperity are ushered in. He wants to maintain the peace that others worked so hard to establish in this new world, and he wants to ensure the happiness and prosperity of the people who inhabit it now. It’s almost a quiet expectation that was laid upon him since birth; Luca was swaddled in stories of heroism and hope as much as he was swaddled in cloth blankets when the sun set. That energy has stuck with him all his life, virtue as abundant in his veins as sunlight, and thus he wants to keep this world peaceful, keep it pleasant, and help to usher in justice and prosperity and build a utopia for the people who look to him. After all, he sees humanity as good at its core, and thus wishes to help or save all he can.

“You may share his blood, but you do not share his heart. Yours is ten times bigger and wrapped in gold — yours is a treasure to behold.” There’s also this father-sized weight upon his shoulders that he could not ignore. At first, his knees buckled in grief when he tried to carry it, but now he lifts it upon strong shoulders, years of practice strengthening the muscle. He wants to usher in a different legacy for the Riche name because he knows so well the mixed reactions that had preceded him. He grew up hearing the whispers that followed his surname’s reputation when others thought the child could not hear. While they beamed at Luca, and some uttered words of pride for his legacy, others would whisper curses at his father, despite the adoration they felt for the spawn just within earshot. He wants people to hear his name and smile, to think of the peace he brought and the good he’s done, and hopefully the good his descendants will continue to do.

“What wills you to bear your soul, fleshy and vulnerable, to the hungriest of vultures?” Answers also drive Luca, in a sense, but mostly in the reason he spends time with Samael. He cannot help the curiosity and longing that his vivid dreams inject into his veins, he cannot help the pull of the river of this mysterious blood. He longs to see where it lasts, and if he has spent his life being so selfless, why should he not have one thing of his own? He seeks so little, he thinks, so surely he can justify his actions. He gives so much and yet looks for only one thing for himself, so despite the means in which he achieves it, it cannot be so bad, can it?

Character Traits | OPTIONAL. Please list 3 positive traits and 3 negative traits that you identify in the character you’re applying for. 

+: selfless, brave, charismatic

-: too trustful, ignorant, doesn’t know when to quit

In-Character Para Sample | 

When the sun finally kissed Luca goodnight with magnificent shades of orange and pink in its wake and the moon promised her glow would keep him alight until the sun’s valiant return, he fell asleep readily, trusting the safety she sang of. Once, as a child, he’d been afraid of the dark, begging his mom to keep a candle beside him as if she could will the fire’s intentions or even pull the sun out of hiding for her boy. Back then, it wasn’t until she reminded him that he shone brighter than any star in the night sky, that he was her guiding light when the sun could not be, that he settled, determined to illuminate this home even in his dreams. When he dreamt back then, he dreamt of heroes, of daring rescues and brave knights and the whispers of legends passed down through generations. Shining armor and great adventure and triumphant endings held a young Luca’s mind during the night.

Tonight, there were no heroes behind his eyes.

He awoke in a field unfamiliar. The grasses were tall and beginning to yellow with the dry heat of the summer, which beamed down upon Luca from a sun that seemed much harsher than the one he had loved. Already, sweat began to bead upon his forehead, and as he sat up and wiped the moisture away, he realized his hands were tanner than they typically were. Perhaps the summer sun had been extra brutal this year. Dirt caked under his nails mixed with the sweat from his palm as he wiped them on an unfamiliar tunic. This world he awoke in was not the one he’d fallen asleep in, and for a moment, he wondered if his body was even the one he’d left in slumber, as well.

Standing up, the grass tickled his calves, a greeting from nature he had been familiar with as a child. Luca looked around for some semblance of where he was, but the world offered no kind clues. Even the sun could not help her favorite child here with a helpful, guiding ray. The field was vast, nearly as far as the eye could see, though when turning around, Luca noticed the beginning trees of a forest — no, a garden. The trees looked strangely like those that greeted him whenever he visited the Garden of Eden, and yet he could not fathom that a possibility, for this land looked nothing like the Holy Land he’d called home for some years, now. Perhaps his mind just ached for even a touch of something familiar, he believed. The slightest similarity to soothe a confused ache in his mind.

A shuffle in the grass caused Luca to turn around and face its source, and while he knew he should have been filled with some sort of nervousness, some sort of wariness upon facing the unknown, he could only feel calm, as if he knew what he was about to encounter. Thankfully, he did not need to feel fear as he looked down at his new companion, a round sheep lazily approaching him through the grass, newly sheared for summer. A soft, pleased sigh escaped him, and his hand reached out to pet the dark head of the bleating creature, who leaned in expectedly to Luca’s touch.

When he pulled back from the creature, red stained his hand. Shocked, he sucked in a sharp breath as the world around him began to blur. The field felt an illusion out of focus, even the garden on its outskirts felt too far to have ever been real. The only thing that remained real, the only thing anchoring him to this place was the sheep, who, upon taking a step back from Luca, revealed a slowly growing red stain upon his neck. Blood’s crimson stain grew and grew about the sheep’s neck, and the color of the grass beneath it began to change to follow suit. Beside him grew a feeling Luca could not shake: though he could only see himself and the sheep, they were not alone. And whoever this presence was, He was satisfied.

Luca awoke with a start, his breathing desperate and ragged. His hands, clean and pale with the winter’s early nights, reached to wipe the cold sweat that spotted his forehead. He stayed upright in his bed for what felt like hours, unable to succumb to sleep again, until the sun arose and painted the sky with soft, apologetic clouds for abandoning him for so long. A dream, it had only been, and yet the feelings it brought did not pass, churning in his stomach and sticking to its walls like the sweetest of honeys or the thickest of bloods. Something about it felt much more real than the other fleeting escapes his mind entertained under the moon’s watchful gaze. The dream lingered on the tip of his tongue, evasive and then out of reach, and with it, a single word.

Sacrifice.

It was the first, and it would not be the last.

Extras | Pinterest

Luca said himbo rights (he is emotionally intelligent but not near as intelligent in the classical sense as Jasper!!!) and I support him.

HEADCANONS:

Scars. Being a knight, and seeing and training in combat, Luca has not been able to walk away unscathed. Due to the armor he’s worn in battle, most of his scars come from training, and many are from his early days when he still had much to learn. The most notable one runs along the back of his left arm above his elbow, from when he was shoved into a wall during a sparring match and met a nail that was sticking out of the wood. [Also, this one would depend on Jasper’s mun, but I think it would be interesting for Luca to have a scar that his brother gave to him. It could be they were sparring with swords and Jasper won with the tip of his blade to Luca’s neck. While he would not have killed his brother that day, it could have left a small scar beneath his chin. I just like the idea of it serving as an omen that Luca ignores in favor of noting that his brother was in a position of power over him but chose to do nothing to harm him.]

Religion. Luca believes in the Hundred Eyed God and can often be seen attending ceremonies at the church. He also spends time there volunteering with whatever they may need him to do.

Style. Luca’s style varies from his armor as a knight, which has some gold plating to it to signify his gilded status, to his everyday wear, which often consists of lighter earth tones and whatever cuts of clothing are most stylish. Sometimes, he will wear a vest of chainmail over his tunic, more for style reasons than practical ones. Accessories include a sword (in knightwear it is a longsword with a leather hilt and gold accents, and more casually he carries a shortsword with an intricate golden hilt), a small leather satchel, and a necklace containing a pendant of an eye.

Weapons. Luca has two primary swords (described above) which are his preferred weapons. However, he has also trained and is skilled with a bow and arrow and daggers, though these weapons are not always on his person. CHARACTER:

MBTI. ENFJ, The Protagonist

Enneagram. 2w3

Alignment. Lawful/Neutral Good (he’s on the cusp due to the fact that he does not show unwavering blind loyalty he is loyal instead to causes that are right and just — also literally lawful and neutral differed by one point when I took the test)

Temperament. Sanguine

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

The unfazed. Someone who isn’t charmed by Luca’s reputation. This person could have their reasons for not believing in the same things he does, or they could just be a contrarian who doesn’t see the big deal with him. It’s something that’s rare for Luca to encounter, and sometimes he doesn’t quite know what to do to get certain people on his side, but he will certainly try his hardest.

The grateful. Someone who Luca has helped in the past. This could go in many different directions depending on the character, who may feel indebted, or simply believe in the legend surrounding him even harder. A friendship could have even spawned out of this, and Luca will make it a point to check in on this person if they don’t already see each other often.

The argumentative. Someone who Luca doesn’t quite see eye to eye with. Different from the unfazed in the sense that they may share the same goals with Luca or agree with him on certain things, but the two just can’t seem to agree on how to approach a situation. Maybe one wishes to rush in while the other wants to take their time, or they just completely have opposite plans to solve a certain problem or prioritize involving different risks. There’s much banter that comes from this, and the political bickering may not end when the meeting is over.

The guilt-trip. Someone who Luca feels guilty looking upon. Perhaps this was someone he could not help for whatever reason, or someone (or the family of someone) he came to the aid of when it was too late. Losing anything, even if it’s just a small battle, takes its toll on Luca, who isn’t quite used to failure, and the sight of this person weighs heavy on his heart. Perhaps they resent him for this, or maybe they don’t, but Luca feels an obligation to make it up to them regardless. A fun little exploration in what failure looks like on Luca.

The sparring partner. Someone Luca turns to when Jasper denies his requests to spar (or anything, really). While not someone who turns to violence as a first resort, Luca knows he must keep his performance at a certain level as a knight, and so he practices with this person often. He finds them a pleasant and formidable challenge, regardless of the amount of formal training they have. I think the intricacies and what each person gets out of this really depends on the other character as well!

MORE RAMBLING:

I just wanted to ramble a little about the rest of Luca’s connections!! I already rambled about the Riche brothers who I love so much and I wanted to just go off on how much I love the other dynamics he’s involved in as well. I didn’t wanna make his app all about connections because it’s about him!!! So here’s where the rest of my love for those connections is gonna go:

Romilda. Romilda and Luca just. Ugh they make my heart sing!!! I think there is the potential for someone like Luca, someone so good, to feel lonely at the top when others are just simply not like him or don’t see the world the way he does. But Romilda has always kept him from feeling alone — she is his guiding light and his favorite star in the sky!! I think having someone like them who understands and who just. gets him so intensely is so good for him and helps him feel stronger. Romilda is truly one of the people he cares for the most and I really think he would do just about anything for them and finds himself easily justifying any cause they have. Romilda is truly the person Luca trusts the most and the person he would tell anything to. She would likely be the first person to hear about his dreams (though, I’ll admit he’ll probably try and tell Jasper, but I doubt Jasper will listen, so Romilda is the first person to truly hear about what’s going through his head). I think the age difference between them has also made Luca sometimes see himself as a protector over Romilda. Though he knows she does not need saving now, strong and brilliant in her burning light, he does still look out for her, in spite of any darkness she may not notice encroaching.

Caphriel. This connection just really pulls me in so well! She is his Lorelei, that beautiful mirage upon the rocks. Actually, Lorelei is pretty fitting, though I don’t pretend to control or speak for Caphriel — this beautiful maiden who lost her lover and threw herself to sea, now singing to draw this sailor in — only in this case the sailor is also her lover reincarnated. What they have is nothing short of beautiful. She is, among many things, a selfish desire of a selfless man, and it is in part that reason that Luca finds himself seeking clarity. He cannot know if this love is a blessing or a test from the Hundred Eyed God if he is so completely blinded by it, and as much as it pains him, as impossible as it seems (and it is, for truly Luca cannot resist the cries of anyone who utters his name), he must take that space, he must breathe in air that is not fully saturated with the sweet scent of Caphriel. He also worries he is not the only human she sets her sights upon, because while they both share a love of humanity, he can imagine how deep that love runs within her veins. He wants to know she feels for Luca in every part, not just his mortality. He does not know she has felt for him before.

Jasper. I already talked about the Riche brothers so this is just my little space to say I love Jasper so so much. I want to give him a kiss on the forehead and give him a book. It might be a therapy book but it’s a book and a gift nonetheless.

Samael. I touched on Samael’s role to Luca a little bit but there’s more to it than just the dreams Luca is cursed (or blessed, Luca is definitely not sure which at this time) with. Samael, like Caphriel, is a means to a selfish desire of a selfless man, and I love that there is an angel and a demon Luca has some sort of selfish means towards. Samael is, perhaps, the only one who holds answers, and despite the contempt Luca feels towards him, he doesn’t much desire playing trial and error with the other demons when he knows Samael may be all but dangling the key he seeks in front of his face. I also just love the idea of someone who gets under Luca’s skin when he’s a fairly positive person who values peace over his temper. He tells himself that it is worth it, that he will only receive his answers and then leave the demon alone forever, but even these encounters possibly leave open the tiniest cracks for corruption. After all, his longing for answers suggests a selfish desire, and how can that be ignored in the face of a demon? ANOTHER PARA SAMPLE:

Sun-kissed skin has been drained of its glow. Bright eyes had dimmed in the sadness. The only thing that remained of Luca at this funeral were the rosy shade that blanketed his cheeks, but even they were a false image. The youthful rush of blood to his cheeks was replaced by the heavy pulse of life beneath the skin as the boy cried all the day long. What light the sun could provide behind dark clouds only served to illuminate the tears that ran down his face. He’d long since stopped reaching to wipe them, and the hearts of strangers could not bear to look upon his sadness for too long.

On this day, the day of his father’s funeral, the light had been drained from Luca, a boy born swaddled in the sun, all because of a man he’d barely even known. His father, who had rarely come to visit, had encapsulated the boy’s heart in just those few times that ten-year-old Luca still felt the crushing weight of grief bearing down upon him. Stories of what they would do when he visited next would remain just that, stories. “Your father was a great man,” strangers would say to them as they brushed his limp curls out of his face. Luca nodded, for even if he hadn’t known the man long, he truly believed that. His mother loved him. He loved him. But when Luca felt his mother’s hand squeezing his shoulder, there was something else in her eyes, something else joining the sadness that had plagued her demeanor ever since she hoarsely broke the news to Luca.

“Your father had another son,” she said quietly, bile coating the words she could not even bring herself to sugarcoat, not even for her sweet child. Luca looked up at her quizzically, but she did not meet his gaze for once, her stare looking across the room as her grip tightened upon his shoulder. “He’s going to be living with us.” Luca had never seen his mother not as bright and abundant as the flowers that grew in the garden, and yet, everything in her withered when she spoke of this news. He imagined it was grief, and nothing more, that brought this out as his mother was swallowed up again by the mourning crowd, leaving him alone with just those words for comfort.

Another son. Luca had a brother. It was the type of shocking news that could make any grieving child break on a day like this. To know one’s father was not faithful to their mother. To know there was another receiving the affections meant for them. And yet, this news was what brought the sun out from behind the storm clouds that hid it away. Luca had a brother, another boy just like him, and he could not help but smile softly to himself. He would have someone to walk through this life with, to help him shoulder this grief and tell him stories of their father and be his friend and partner through whatever life decided to throw their way. If Luca was the sun, then his brother must have been a star just as bright. He couldn’t wait to meet him.

Making his way through the crowd, following the direction his mother had once stared so bitterly in, Luca finally believed he spotted him. The boy couldn’t have been much older than he, though the shadows of the tree he stood beneath hid the true answer from Luca. He stood alone, arms over his chest, sniffling as he quietly gazed in the direction of the pyre. Luca wandered over towards him, taking his hand in his own warm grip before the other boy had a chance to react. “It’s okay,” he said, his own voice wavering with the hoarseness that crying brings. “We are brothers in harmony. We’ll do this together.”

______

No brighter could Luca’s smile glow as than it did upon his arrival to the Holy Land. The land was more beautiful than he had ever imagined it would be, lush meadows tickling his grazing fingers in greeting with a river that seemed to babble hello. He could have stayed among this natural beauty for the rest of his days, but then he would have missed the marvels that beckoned to him in the distance. It was practically a utopia, the buildings rising to welcome him as if the city had outstretched arms to embrace him. And if the buildings could not hold him close and whisper welcome home, then the people would, for their heads turned and their eyes sparkled with an eager desire to welcome this man who seemed to bring the sun to their land. 

Luca was not yet the gilded knight of bedtime stories and yearning aspirations, but he certainly held himself like one as he took his time walking through the Holy Land. He wanted to memorize the way each stone felt beneath his feet, the smell of every bakery he passed and the sight of all the different fading colors of brick on each building. He wanted this moment to last. He wanted to know his new home as well as his home already seemed to know him. But he could not stay within its tempting embrace for too long, for training began today, and he would arrive eager and ready and hopefully on time, if he had not spent too long lingering already. 

His steps began to hasten, nearly getting caught up in a loose vine that had lingered in the street, intent on holding him here to enjoy the moment, but he continued on despite it. Luca’s limbs were eager to do what they seemed destined for, running and fighting and pushing himself further than he ever thought his humble life had destined for. But it was more than just what he would get to do when he arrived that drove him forward with a buoyant breeze in his step, it was who he would get to do all of it with.

Jasper stood just as Luca remembers when he first met him. His back rested against a tree though he stood up straight, his stern gaze straight ahead and his arms crossed about his chest. The younger Riche couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his older brother, even if he hadn’t yet noticed his presence in return. There was something about that expression on Jasper’s face that Luca loved about his brother, the constant contemplation so intriguing. Just once, he wished to know what was at work inside that brilliant mind, though he’d long since learned that simply asking would get him nowhere.

“Brother!” Luca called cheerfully, approaching Jasper. The other finally turned to face his brother, and though his expression certainly didn’t look amused (no, it rather resembled a cross between shock and annoyance and fury, in fact), Luca didn’t seem to mind.

“What are you doing here?” Jasper asked, having not been informed of Luca’s decision to come.

“We are brothers in harmony, are we not?” Luca responded, paying no mind to the rolling of Jasper’s eyes in response. It was all the answer he needed to give. He was here to train, just as Jasper was. “Come, let’s do this together.” His hand outstretched towards Jasper, waiting for the other man’s hand to fit into his.

Instead, Jasper simply walked into the crowd of other hopeful fighters. Luca’s hand dropped to his side, and with a shrug, he followed along, as he always would. CHARACTER INSPIRATION

Abel from biblical lore (duh)

Luke Skywalker from Star Wars

Princess Anna from Frozen

Prince Audric from the Empirium trilogy

Captain America from various Marvel iterations

[therovingstar]

Like Flowers Aflame

Summary: “I took your kill.” He almost starts when she calls to him, turns her head, and meets his gaze across the distance between them, still poised as he is on the wide steps. He questions which strikes him first: her dark eyes, ringed by a fire all their own, or the mild smile playing about her lips. She shrugs a shoulder. “Sorry.” 

Hien x WoL (pre-relationship), <2700 words, fluff and feels, mild descriptions of blood.

@ffxiv-writers

AO3 Link

It is pandemonium, still, throughout the city and beyond its walls. Soldiers, leaders, resistance volunteers; dozens cross his path without him once being able to put a name to a mien. ‘Tis little surprise; he and his are the foreigners here, and there is no one who would recognize his face anymore than he would theirs. There are exceptions, of course, in a precious few, but they are justifiably occupied with the small matter of their nation’s new freedom.

He knows the feeling well. He should be with his own, miles away across the seas. And yet…

Lyse was a beacon in red, waving them down in the crowd. “I saw her earlier,”she said, “helping the other healers. Then I heard she went up top.” The young woman pointed above her head, and he followed her finger to the top levels of the Ala Mhigan palace, gleaming white and smoky gray against the blue, early evening sky.  

“For what reason?” Yugiri asked. Lyse shrugged.

“Something about sussing out the aether in the atmosphere? Making sure that primal doesn’t show back up, presumably. We’ve already removed Zenos’ body. Guess it’s a precaution.”

That was all he needed to hear.

“My lord, where are you going?” Yugiri called to his back. Hien looked back over his shoulder, offering a bracing grin.

“To retrieve our hero, of course.” And before anyone could respond, he rallied himself and disappeared back into the bedlam.

He should be with his people now, or at least crossing those great waters to return to them. And he will be, come the definitive end to this day of revolution. But first…

The Gyr Abanian sun begins its descent in earnest as he traverses the residents’ quarters and approaches the palace. It paints everything in shades of orange and gold, from the stone buildings to the cargo wagons to the dented armor of Garlean machina and the torn uniforms of Alliance soldiers. For a moment, one can almost ignore the carnage of the day, so effective the dusk is at casting it all in gilded hues. It makes him yearn for the sight of the Ruby Sea at such a time, when the waters are burnished with a fire to rival Hell’s Lid.

How surprised he is, then, when he enters the palace under cover of chaos, climbs the staircase, and steps foot onto the shore of another kind of sea entirely.

There is a garden aflame. Hundreds, thousands of them, pink and red and white blossoms swaying as if from the tips of candle wicks under a breeze that teases his cheeks and the white fur lining his collar. Water gleams in golden pools bordered by white marble and teeming with green leaves and lotus.

It is beautiful, a landscape painting turned reality, and made a portrait by the lone Raen woman standing at its center, still as a sculpture.

But first, I wish to find her. See her, speak with her. Just for a moment.

What a ruler he is.

“I took your kill.” He almost starts when she calls to him, turns her head, and meets his gaze across the distance between them, still poised as he is on the wide steps. He questions which strikes him first: her dark eyes, ringed by a pink fire all their own, or the mild smile playing about her lips. Odzaya shrugs a shoulder. “Sorry.”

Hien blinks once, perhaps twice, before he bursts with a laugh.

“Aye! I suppose you did!” He approaches, his steps light, and stops several fulms away from where she stands bracketed by blossoms. “‘Tis fitting, I think.”

She looks surprised. “Truly?” Skepticism coats her gaze and tone as she turns in his direction.

“Truly,” Hien confirms, and crosses his arms, considering. “Zenos yae Galvus took much from me, certainly, but I am hardly the only one. Every Doman, every Ala Mhigan, every person who lost a home or a loved one or a livelihood to the Empire’s greed and his supposed ennui…they all deserved a chance at his head.” His gaze finds the place where the man in question’s body fell; his spattered blood still shines unnaturally jewel-like under the evening sun on the marble, as well as the petals of nearby flowers. Beautiful in the most morbid of ways. He grins suddenly, and looks at her. “My heart warms knowing that you thought of me, however.”

“A brief thought as he attempted to eat me, yes,” she admits, half sarcastic. Hien chuckles.

“Conqueror of Bardam’s Mettle and proud samurai I may be, but I know well that my skills paled in comparison to the man who felled my father, renowned swordsman that he was.” His grin widens. “I could not have hoped to defeat Zenos with my blade any more than a farmer with her hoe or a merchant with his silver tongue.”

“Give yourself a touch more credit, ‘Fire Walker’,” Odzaya replies, a thick purple brow lifting as she smirks. “You would at least do better than the merchant.” Hien guffaws, and her expression turns curious. “Speaking of silver tongues, whose was it that convinced you to come all the way up here?”

“I looking for you,” he answers easily, “of my own volition. Lyse mentioned something about your doing aether surveillance.”

Odzaya shakes her head. “Nothing so pedantic; I’ve not the tools on hand, nor the patience to use them. I was merely satisfying my own paranoia, more than anything.” She shifts back to her previous position of facing the far end of the gardens, and Hien follows without thinking, unwilling to resist his own curiosity. Soon, they both stand on the site of the Garleans’ last stand, where Zenos’ primal – Shinryu, he overheard it called – was previously bound. “Here is where it is most concentrated,” she tells him. “Feel it?”

He does, slightly. Sees it, as well. A strange thickness to the golden air as it enters his nostrils, barely visible undulations of sickly green at the edges of his periphery. A taste on the back of his tongue, just this side of bitter. He cannot hone in on any of it, distant sensations that they are and try as he might, but it makes his skin itch, his lungs reluctant to expand for what they may suck in. He looks beside him to find Odzaya’s eyes closed, her nose lightly wrinkled. Little doubt she senses more, for better or worse. “I will say,” he begins, crossing his arms, “I am glad we have not to compete with such creatures in Yanxia.”

“Mm,” Odzaya hums in agreement. “Be glad they’ve taken so much to these lands, instead.”

Hien thinks, then grins. “Ah, but then we have no Warrior of Light, either. Perhaps it would be a fair trade to deal with the occasional evil being knocking down our doors, to have one such as yourself in our regular company.”

She snorts once, and her smile, having disappeared beneath her concentration, returns. “Selfish.”

“At times,” he replies, and grins wider at her profile. “As we all are.”

They share silence, then, but for the wind through the blossoms and the gentle trickle of water. If he strains, he can hear the din down below, but up here, they seem separated from it all. It reminds him of the Azim Steppe’s plains, where malms of grasses stretch into infinity. Where one could seemingly chase the horizon forever and never encounter a soul.

He misses it. Here, however, with her, it feels as if a small fragment of the feeling has returned to him, even on this foreign soil located on the other side of the world. A power she gained as khagun, her connection to the land allowing her to carry its essence with her? Or merely a power she has all her own and over him, to conjure fond recollections of those days that were as fraught as they were halcyon?

“On the Steppe,” Odzaya begins suddenly. Hien mildly startles, thinking for one impossible moment that she read his mind. Then she continues. “There is a belief, that to interrupt a hunt is to interrupt fate. It is a sacred bond, that of two souls opposed. Predator and prey, seeker and sought. A matter to be left to the gods and the gods alone.” She opens her eyes and shrugs lightly. “A silly thing to consider perhaps, given what soil we are on and my extensive record of solving others’ problems. But…”

“But?” he encourages.

“But unlike those others, who gave me their blessing to act in their stead,” she says, and looks up at him, her sun-red gaze keen beneath the clean cut of her braided bangs, “you did not. And I recognized the desire in your eyes when we fought together in the Naadam and in Doma. To meet blades with those to stole so much from you. Regardless of your chance at victory.”

I see. So that is her quandary, then, and why she has brought it back to the fore, despite his assurances. Hien sighs, thoughtful, and absently rests a hand on the hilt of his katana. “You are not wrong,” he answers honestly. “A large part of me longed to meet the man on the battlefield. Partly for my father, as well as my countrymen. But also for the sake of my own pride.” He huffs once in amusement at his own foolery, and his thumb plays with the catch, teasing a release of the blade. “Would I be able to hold my own against the warrior no other has? T’was a question I could not help but ask myself, however ridiculous.”

“I took away your opportunity to find out,” Odzaya says, her gaze somewhat regretful. Hien laughs aloud.

“Fret not, my friend! Regardless of our blades never meeting, I received my answer well from the ‘hunt’ I witnessed between the two of you.” He takes his gaze to the palace’s tower and surrounding spires, a broken beacon still smoking in the aftermath of their duel. “I could scarce imagine besting the man, let alone a beast of the magnitude he became.” He sobers, and his smile gentles. “No, I am content to have had you there in my stead, and the stead of all those who suffered from his deeds.” He faces her fully, then, and makes a show of bowing low. “Just as it was my honor to have you at my side during my country’s liberation, so it is my honor to have had my personal hopes met by your hand.” When he straightens, only to be met with her widened gaze, he grins broadly once more. “I daresay you are performing your role well. ‘Tis a khagun’s duty to fulfill the wishes of her people, no? And from what I’ve gathered since arriving here, you have many outside of the Steppe.”

To his surprise, the woman scoffs lightly. “As if they would know the title.”

“I am here, yes? And Lyse, as well as a contingent of the Xaela who chose to take the journey here in your name.” He thumps a fist to his armored chest in a warrior’s gesture. “We will inform them.”

Odzaya shakes her head emphatically. “Keep the knowledge to yourselves, if you please. The last thing I need is more unnecessary ceremony. They already make too large a matter of me on this side of the world.”

“Can you blame them?”

“Yes,” she replies bluntly. “And you and Lyse for making it worse if you talk.” When he merely shrugs in answer, she narrows her eyes and angles herself toward him once more, her mouth pursed. He notes the medic’s uniform she wears, identical to the one worn by others he saw about the field but for the extra padding about her torso and arms, her armored boots, and the white and red cloak clasped at her neck. An attempt to make her abilities known, perhaps, while still blending in. Frankly, it fails. She still stands out like a lone lantern in the dark, not just for her scales or the vibrancy of her hair, but for the understated grace and power with which she carries herself. Like the blooms around them, he reckons, his eyes absently finding them; far hardier than they look, for all the epic battle that just took place here put them through. Even the ones that bore the brunt of Zenos’ bloody collapse have sprung back up in a way the warlord definitely did not, bruised but otherwise unscathed, and no less beautiful.

His gaze returns to her, and his smile, for a moment, turns inward. “Fitting,” he says again, this time as a murmur to himself.

“You said that,” Odzaya replies. He forgets about those keen horns sometimes; even Yugiri still blindsides him with all she manages to hear. “Still thinking about it?” she inquires.

“Just wondering what it is like to face a dragon in combat,” he says, in effort to cover his momentary daydreaming. To his surprise, she answers immediately.

“Hot and messy,” she states with all confidence, as if it is a knowledge she is intimately acquainted with. “And terrible-tasting. The blood gets everywhere.” She absently licks at the thick width of her bottom lip, and Hien splutters before he can control himself.

For every substantial thing he learns about her, like her gift for healing or her war-torn past or her casually rubbing shoulders with some of the most prominent figures on either continent, it is the smaller things – the fact that she sharpens the decorative edges of her staves and adores children and has apparently tasted dragon’s blood – that set his heart racing for reasons he is not quite yet willing to ponder.

“I suppose we’re done here. You did come to retrieve me, yes?” Odzaya makes the first move for the rooftop’s exit, her cloak billowing briefly outward with the abrupt spin of her heels. Hien comes back to himself with a small shake of the head, and she lifts a brow. “Are you alright?”

“Aye,” he says, pasting an easygoing smile on his lips. “Perhaps it is the aether, along with the hectic events of the day. My attentions seem to be scattering themselves.”

“You did come a long way,” she replies, and pauses, turning to face him once more. When next she speaks, her voice is softer. “Thank you, for the record. For doing that. Coming.” Hien’s smile widens.

“I said I would come,” he says with gentle conviction. “T’was a promise, yes?” Odzaya shrugs.

“Crossing an ocean is a long way for a promise, especially for a king with a country.”

“I could not well leave my khagun to do battle alone,” he half-jests. “A small difference we ultimately made, but it was a difference, still. And it was the least I could do for what you did for me and mine. And what you have done now.”

It is practically nothing, for all that she has done for him. A hundred years he could spend in attempt to repay her, and he fears he would still fall short. It says something, he thinks, that he still wishes to try.

“Well, you have my gratitude,” Odzaya says, and lifts herself briefly onto her toes, her head lowered just enough for her locced bangs to cover her eyes. A gesture of shyness, he inexplicably recognizes, having seen it last on the Steppe, when her family made such a fuss over her return to their midst. The realization brings that earlier inward smile to his face in full, blatant force before he can stop it.

“As you have mine,” he returns. Their gazes find one another again, and when she returns his smile, it is warmer than the sun on his face.

He dares to think he would cross another ten oceans, just to bask in its heat as he is now.

A hundred years. Ten oceans.

Small prices to pay for her eyes upon him.

[for-peace-war]

art by @idrawbuffgirls

This is the final part to the Great Winged One series I did.  Last night the heroes entered the mountain and after defeating the sleipnir Vanjir and the valkyrie Aesera, may have allowed an ancient evil back into the world, but... also prevented an apocalyptic joining of worlds.  It was a lot!  So again, I want to thank: @lordcaliginous, @i-am-guinevere, @scowlet, @perfectperfidy, @diermina and @that-green-nut for sticking through my attempt at pathfinder/conaning a story out of thin air.

Also thanks @mcsars for introducing me to the setting and giving such a good place to start with an AU.  So again, thanks to everyone and when I start my next series up I’ll get back to these hour writes! Cheers.

OH and @idrawbuffgirls FOR THIS ART. YOU ROCK!

THE GREAT WINGED ONE.

Follows Part I.

Follows Part II.

Follows Part III

Follows Part IV.

Follows Part V.

Follows Part VI.

Finale.

CHLORIS THE CORINTHIAN quietly collected the clothing of those convalescing within the chilled cabin.  A gentle fire warded what cold it dared from the interior, but from the shivers that ran along the men about her there was little doubt in it—the wintry frost had found its way into them, and only the strongest of those gathered would survive. That sentiment, one of strength and those that possessed it in its zenith, followed her as she moved sightlessly from one of her convalescents to the next.  How had she come to safeguard so many, she wondered, when only days before she had not been able to protect even herself?

Mindful as she was of her condition, it was the lack of her hand rather than the absence of her sight that dogged her in those waking moments.  She could still feel the phantasmal pain of the arrow piercing the white raven she had imbued with her sight—still feel that arrow lance through her eyes and cast to the ground crimson tears that she would never see. The magicks she had been expected to use were old and dark, and though her better judgment would have warned her against them, there were few things that could motivate a decision more rapidly than the ire of a Ymirish lord.  Even more so, the ire of the Jarl Grimtor, whose barbarity was second only to the delight he drew from the cries of his victims.  Sightless or not, she would never be able to forget what she had seen within captivity—she would never forget what it meant, truly, to be without power.

But sight—sight was something taken for granted.  She could hear those she tended to and through that, knew where they were. The smell of their wounds had not yet soured and so she could see those as well; she knew the number of them, had patched and bandaged them to the best of her ability.  In the absence of sight her senses had gained a preternatural edge, compensating in ways that no human would have been capable of were they not blessed by The Great Mother and the secrets that the woods whispered when frosts melted and spring’s breath was fresh within the air.  It was within the northern climes of the Pictish Wildlands, not the decaying fyli of the Karpasha Mountains, that she had learned the most important lessons of magic—true, terrifying magic.

The Pictish Wildlands were a savage wasteland to some, yet the very ground that had been seeded in the blood of generations spoke with such fervent admonishment of mankind and expectation for that which would follow, that she knew far better than to consider any part of it a waste.  The very skies above hungered there, and that hunger bred within its bowels such true and raw power that even a woman blinded such as she, could yet see the beauty manifested within the awakening might that was come of its mounting urges.  Yet for all of this, she had not been captured for her knowledge of those untamed wilds—and she had not been named for them, either.

She was but Chloris the Corinthian. And she wasn’t even from Corinthia.

Had she ever truly seen, though?  The eyes were deceptive and the faces that she had known did little to tell her of what she saw when a person was before her.  It was not until they were freed to show what was beneath the mask of their existence that the truth was known and by then, was it not always too late?  She had scars to remind her of that—upon her back, and forever straining against her heart where her trust should have been. Even before she was without sight, she realized, she was sightless. Had she ever seen anyone?  Could anyone?

A cough came from the man to her left, whose body she had found curled up beneath a tree and nearing a death that would take him from the lands of his ancestors, into the frozen hell that swirled about them.  Even had she not, with the white raven, seen their lot emerge from the snow then she still would have known he was a Zingaran: she could smell the salt of the sea in their blood and hear the crashing of waves when they breathed.  The man’s cough was stronger than it had been the day before, and promised to discharge some of that which coated his lungs and forced his ragged breathing to hasten.

“Where am I?” The man asked.  She had not expected him to awaken so suddenly.  His voice was weak, yet there was the virile lust for life within it that the swarthy men of the Zingaran coast braced life with. “You—”

“You are safe,” Chloris answered.  She felt her way from where she stood, to the table nearest them, and from there moved with a warmed cup of broth to offer him something to drink.  His breathing resounded throughout the air for her; his motions became faint lines that were traced in her mind a thousand times.  No, she could not see the dusky Zingarana, but she could feel him—she knew where he was, even if he did not.

From the opposite corner in the room, another voice rose. “Marioso, yer aliv-ed. Gods be damned, I tho’ I were due fer’a promotin’.”

“Darmino, you live?”

“Yer damn’t right I is.”

“Ah, what good news. The captain—”

“The witch’rn’t sayin’ nothin’a the cap’n.”

“The witch? Madam—”

She began to speak. “My name is—”

“It dern’t matter what she am say ‘a her name, Marioso.  She be a witch’r frost’n fell magicks, cullin’ yer ‘fore ya’ spake ill’r her dark gods.”

The man, whose name must have been Marioso, took in a quiet breath.  Chloris could feel his patience returning to him, like a hound that had been long without its master.  Once he had wrestled it into submission, she supposed, he might be free to speak more earnestly.  Until then, she remained quiet—and the other spoke in her place.

“Have you offended our hostess in some way, Darmino?”

“Gods damn’t truth ain’ done a thing t’er!” His protest caused her to wince, though she tried her best to conceal it.  Loud voices—anger, were things she had learned to avoid or endure.  Perhaps her attempt to conceal that had not been as successful as she wished though, for the man that had been harassing her—Darmino—found a somewhat softer tone.  “When I wok-ed up and she’s there with’r crow teats all in me face, I tol’t her true—‘I’ma man’a fair haired asternations, I din want any a wha’ yer offerin’,’ and she said—”

“I am shocked she said anything to you after that, you cantankerous scab. Where are your manners, Mr. Marachino?”

“Ain’ never held ‘rm.”

“Mitra be praised,” Marioso said.  At long last he seemed to remember that she was standing there, for he reached for the broth and drank of it steadily with a shaking hand. “Forgive my companion his indelicacies, madam. We are indebted to you—and men of the Cavallo repay their debts, on our captain’s honor.”

“Maybe if yer the cap’n there’s honor,” Darmino said. “If Valensi’s dead, anyroad.”

“If he has died in pursuit of—”

Chloris interjected. “ He hasn’t.”

“Hasn’t?”

“He hasn’t died.”  She drew her arm back and set the emptied cup down, then felt her way to the wall and removed the poker from it.  The fire had to be tended once more, for of the three men she had retrieved only two had awakened—and the third trembled now more than ever.  The smell of death was upon him, but she had seen it turned back before.  She had seen it turned back, many, many times before.

From both men, sounds of joined relief flooded the erstwhile tense cabin.  “Oh, what joyous news,” Marioso said. “It was a damnably bold plan he had, and when our trap failed! Oh, but we have prevailed. I—ah, my ribs.”

“You are much wounded,” Chloris said. “Please, do not move.”  She wished she had her other hand then, so that she might move her hair from her face as she tended the fire, but the stub wiped at ineffectively, and her hold on the poker felt suddenly hollowed for that reminder. Was she not much wounded?  And yet, she could not stop moving—if she did, then they were all ended that evening when the cold came and the darkness with it.

“What of the battle, then?” Marioso asked her.  She could imagine his eyes, seafoam green and sweltering with delight, cast upon a body that had been broken and beaten more times than there were days to the year.  She felt flustered by that attention, and continued to stir the fire for whatever traces of warmth it might have provided. “How did we come to be here—how did any of it come to pass?”

At that, she spoke a single word. “Treachery.”

“Madam?”

“The girl—of the Wolflands,” Chloris went on to say.  She had seen Caethe through the eyes of the white raven, and done all she might to alert her that she had.  Jarl Grimtor was no great thinker and by saying she used the snow to alert him to where she was, she also gave the girl a chance to flee—which she had. The Zingarans had done their good service, certainly, but the girl and her wolves had been considerable in setting into motion the events that followed.  Even as she thought of them, they seemed too fantastic—it all seemed too unreal.

“Caethe,” Marioso said.  “We occasioned upon her on the way up.  As I recall, the captain had a desire to see her informed of our plan to aid her, but the Stygian—Tsekani, was it? She said it would be a better ploy if she did not know. That a cornered wolf fought thrice as hard as one that knew it could escape.”

Chloris believed she concealed her revulsion at the mention of the Stygian’s tactics.  It was true, a cornered animal did fight to the end, but the Pict was a member of a pack—and the presence of her friends, she had seen, was what pressed her beyond the point others would have endured alone.  As Marioso made no mention of her response, she assumed her deception had prevailed.

Or else, the Zingaran was merely too nice to show otherwise.

Outside of the cabin, stalking about it protectively, the dire wolf that had shattered her arm so that she might slip free Jarl Grimtor’s chain, howled but once.  He had found something. Chloris had taken to calling him Vigo, and he responded kindly to it—never so much as to seem tamed but answer her if she needed him at any moment. Had the Child of Wolves known that she had not meant to harm her? Was Vigo’s presence a reminder that their shared blood mattered more than the sides they had been on in the battle?  She did not know.  But she knew that she could vividly imagine what he must have been feeling then, rushing about the snowy battlefield and consuming whatever had not yet been taken by the elements or the wild.

She could feel in her blood—the blood that had dripped down her cheeks after the white raven fell—that she was as free as he.

Marioso politely clearing his throat called her back to the present.

“You spoke of treachery, madam?”

“After the Wolfchild—Caethe—was rescued by her companions upon the winged wyvern and Vigo had pulled me to safety—”

“I’m sorry, madam.  Vigo?”

“It be thar devil wolf she is nightly fuck’t by in the shade of—”

“Mr. Marachino!”

“Well, I ain’t tellin’ a fib!”

“I am certain that whatever relationship our hostess has with this creature is a consensual endeavor in husbandry.”  As he worked through that sentence, Marioso seemed to stumble more than his companion had when he tried to stand.

Despite herself, Chloris could not but bashfully smile and blush.

“I do not couple with the wolf,” she said.

Marioso’s relief was audible. “Oh, well.  If you had—and I do not mean to imply that you had—but had that been the case, no gentleman of the sea ought inquire or conspire against you on that account, madam. I assure you—”

“Oi! ‘m well glad yer nay be our cap’n, Mariosi! Y’r talkin’ more’n a preddy har what know’t I wan’r somethin’ bad.”

“I’ll never understand your turns of phrase, Mr. Marachino.”

“Aye, well, anyroad—go back to talkin’ wi’ yer lady.”

Marioso, as if given leave to actually speak, went on. “My lady, please do continue.”

“You do not need to call me that,” Chloris said, but went on. “After we were safe, the others realized that Jarl Grimtor was injured.  Ymirish lords are not loyal—they respect strength because they fear pain. Two of them—Joratun the Mighty and Thoramun Blooddrinker, broke away from the offensive and pressed in upon Jarl Grimtor.  I believe they felt that in his weakened state they could fell him.”

Joratun, Son of Brator, had been as close to a right hand as Jarl Grimtor may have known, excepting his son—who he had, in a stroke of genius motivated by her entrapment—seen sent to the interior of Glacimar itself.  With Grimthor Jarlblood no longer at his father’s side, Joratun and Thoramun made their move—and discovered why the jarl stood where he did.

“Scurrilous dogs,” Marioso breathed under his breath.  “Have these creatures no honor?”

“Not them,” she concluded. “But another.”  At that, she was reminded of what had been lost to that point and spoke more directly.  “Jarl Grimtor struck both down, but his injuries forced him from the field.  They say that the Nordheimers were able to defeat the lone Ymirish lord, Morfund the Breaker, and that—well, the mountains now call for a new thane. They say this woman, Aesileif the Aesir, will conquer the mountain and that her brother, Torman the Vanir, who was slain in felling the Great Winged One Aesera will be the hero to ordain her ascent.”

She understood very little of how Nordheimer culture operated, though the title seemed to imply that one person would bestride both Vanaheim and Asgard, joining them together and uniting a legacy of hatred under one fist.  A hero would be needed to preside over the joining of the mountains, and if they had indeed slain a Valkyrie then a great deed had been accomplished to merit their challenge to the heavens.  It seemed that a new thane may come of the savages of the north, as dangerous a thought as that may have been.

But she also knew that so long as Jarl Grimtor lived, that title would be a meaningless one.

“I cannot believe we prevailed,” Marioso said. “I mean—I knew we would, but what luck.  What honor—oh, how can we repay you, indeed?”

He may have meant it as a general courtesy, but she took him at it.  “There is a man among the captured, Grimthor Jarlblood. He and I were as one for a time, and I would see him granted the freedom he was promised.”

She did not mean to seem desperate, but she knew her words left her with more alacrity than civility mandated.  These were not the words of Chloris of Corinthia, she knew.  They were of the woman that had bandaged that poor half-giant, and seen him back to strength countless times.  They were the words of a woman that knew what love meant, and knew that the only reason he had not died was because of it.  Not carnal love and its brutality, but something more resplendent—something that did not take, but only gave and surrendered willingly to the strength of the moment.

“I do not know what it will take to see such done, but I will give my all for that endeavor.”

“An’ me,” Darmino said. “Since yer hair too dark fer a proper thank-fuck, least I can’der is see this Grimthorn soaks’s sword back in yer. If ol’ Garibaldi don’ go dyin’ on us, I’m speakin’ fer’m too.”  The sickly man’s cough could have been an assent—or his soul leaving him.

Chloris thought to speak more of the matter, but the howl that she had heard before was joined by a sudden growling.  Outside, Vigo had found something indeed—and that something had found them. “Stay here,” she told them, and without considering how defenseless she was against the world without, she ventured into it.

The snow as cold under her bare feet and yet it did not stop her stride as she moved in the direction of Vigo’s growling.  Under it she could hear a voice calmly speaking, and for the time being preventing him from advancing from his place.  What was she doing? Why?  Even if she were to summon any spells in the cold, what chance did she have of defeating someone that she couldn’t see? And to what end?  To protect Zingaran sailors that surely were as false as everyone else? Logic, reason—sheer self-preservation told her to trust for once in something other than the good of the world, and to take back to her own path as she had denied herself for so long.

But she was not a solitary creature, she knew.

A crow would always need its murder.

She allowed her feet to see for her—to guide her, until finally she felt Vigo’s back, bristling with raised fur, against her hand.  The chilled air was heavy upon her, but she knew that she had within her enough strength to forge from the prevailing winds a blade to severe the limbs of any monster daring to challenge her friend—or those she protected under her wing.  Yet when she looked to the one that had so agitated Vigo and threatened her home, she was dumbfounded.

She could not see him—and yet she could.

For the briefest moment, a golden light illuminated the darkness that had become her world.  This man was wounded—injured in a battle she could not comprehend, and yet the force of his existence fluctuated with a radiance that faded with each palpitation.

“I do not wish to kill your companion,” the man said. “But I must go to Jokullgard.”

“He will not harm you,” she said. “If you do not harm him.”

The man was quiet. The light upon him faded further until it was but a whisper—though no longer did Vigo growl.

“I am Keleos the Kothian,” he said. “You have my word that no harm will come to you.”

For but a moment, Chloris thought of saying what she had always had—that she was Chloris the Corinthian, a scholar of ancient texts that had been abducted by Jarl Grimtor and forced into service.  There was truth in that lie—more truth, in fact, than lie.  But that which had bound her to it; that which had for so long shackled her into place, was no longer there.  She was free—as free as the savage lands from which she had come.

“I am Qali the Crow,” she said. “It is good to see you.”

[networkingdefinition]

Ornaments Quotes

Official Website: Ornaments Quotes

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• A collection of bad love songs, tattered from overuse, has to touch us like a cemetery or a village. So what if the houses have no style, if the graves are vanishing under tasteless ornaments and inscriptions? Before an imagination sympathetic and respectful enough to conceal momentarily its aesthetic disdain, that dust may release a flock of souls, their beaks holding the still verdant dreams that gave them an inkling of the next world and let them rejoice or weep in this world.- Marcel Proust • A country whose buildings are of wood, can never increase in its improvements to any considerable degree…. Whereas when buildings are of durable materials, every new edifice is an actual and permanent acquisition to the state, adding to its value as well as to its ornament. – Thomas Jefferson • A fine thought in fine language is a most precious jewel, and should not be hid away, but be exposed for use and ornament. – Arthur Conan Doyle • A good youth ought to have a fear of God, to be subject to his parents, to give honor to his elders, to preserve his purity; he ought not to despise humility, but should love forbearance and modesty. All these are an ornament to youthful years. – Ambrose • A lady I will be, but a man’s accessory, his handbag, no thank you. I will not be someone’s ornament. I will not just be someone’s honey, baby, sweetheart. – Deb Caletti • A metaphor is not an ornament. It is an organ of perception. Through metaphors, we see the world as one thing or another. – Neil Postman • A minute analysis of life at once destroys that splendor which dazzles the imagination. Whatsoever grandeur can display, or luxury enjoy, is procured by offices of which the mind shrinks from the contemplation. All the delicacies of the table may be traced back to the shambles and the dunghill; all magnificence of building was hewn from the quarry, and all the pomp of ornament dug from among the damps and darkness of the mine. – Samuel Johnson • A nation which lives a pastoral and innocent life never decorates the shepherd’s staff or the plough-handle; but races who live by depredation and slaughter nearly always bestow exquisite ornaments on the quiver, the helmet, and the spear. – John Ruskin • A political action committee trying to raise money for a 2016 Hillary Clinton campaign is selling “Ready for Hillary” champagne glasses and Christmas ornaments. Because if one thing improves the holidays, it’s drinking mixed with politics. – Jimmy Fallon • A pretty woman is a Christmas tree,’ my mother told me in the airport. This fella is hanging things on my branches as his gaze sweeps from my face all the way down my body to my hips and then back to my face. Ideas fly from his widened eyes and land on me like teeny, decorative burdens. He is giving me shyness, maybe, some book smarts, and a certain yielding sweetness in bed. The oil-slick eyes get me, and I find myself hanging a few ornaments myself, giving him deft hands and a sense of humor. – Joshilyn Jackson • A right mind and generous affection hath more beauty and charms than all other symmetries in the world besides; and a grain of honesty and native worth is of more value than all the adventitious ornaments, estates, or preferments; for the sake of which some of the better sort so oft turn knaves. – Anthony Ashley-Cooper, 7th Earl of Shaftesbury • A simple garb is the proper costume of the vulgar; it is cut for them, and exactly suits their measure, but it is an ornament for those who have filled up their lives with great deeds. I liken them to beauty in dishabille, but more bewitching on that account. – Jean de la Bruyere • A work of art is a world in itself reflecting senses and emotions of the artist’s world. Just as a flower, by virtue of its existence as a complete organism is both ornamental and self-sufficient as to color, form, and texture, so art, because of its singular existence is more than mere ornament. – Hans Hofmann • Acquire knowledge. It enables its possessor to distinguish right from wrong; it lights the way to Heaven; it is our friend in the desert, our society in solitude, our companion when friendless; it guides us to happiness; it sustains us in misery; it is an ornament among our friends and an armor against enemies. – Elijah Muhammad • All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme. – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow • All art is erotic. The first ornament to have been invented, the cross, was of erotic origin. It was the first work of art. A horizontal stroke: the woman lying down. A vertical stroke: the male who penetrates her. – Adolf Loos • All the manifested world of things and beings are projected by imagination upon the substratum which is the Eternal All-pervading Vishnu, whose nature is Existence-Intelligence; just as the different ornaments are all made out of the same gold. – Adi Shankara • All the revision in the world will not save a bad first draft: for the architecture of the thing comes, or fails to come, in the first conception, and revision only affects the detail and ornament, alas! – T. E. Lawrence • An alliterative prefix served as an ornament of oratory. – Oscar Wilde • An archer competing for a clay vessel shoots effortlessly, his or her skill and concentration unimpeded. If the prize is changed to a brass ornament, the hands begin to shake. If it is changed to gold, he or she squints as if going blind. The abilities do not deteriorate, but belief in them does, as he or she allows the supposed value of an external reward to cloud the vision. – Zhuangzi • Another of the strange and evil tendencies of the present day is the decoration of the railroad station… There was never more flagrant nor impertinent folly than the smallest portion of ornament in anything connected with the railroads… Railroad architecture has or would have a dignity of its own if it were only left to its work. – John Ruskin • Anyone may have diamonds: an heirloom is an ornament of quite a different kind. – Elizabeth Aston • Architecture has its political Use; publick Buildings being the Ornament of a Country; it establishes a Nation, draws People and Commerce; makes the People love their native Country, which Passion is the Original of all great Actions in a Common-wealth…. Architecture aims at Eternity. – Christopher Wren • Arms are my ornaments, warfare my repose. – Miguel de Cervantes • Art matters not merely because it is the most magnificent ornament and the most nearly unfailing occupation of our lives, but because it is life itself. – Randall Jarrell • Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem’st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting ‘I dare not’ wait upon ‘I would,’ Like the poor cat i’ the adage? – William Shakespeare • artists were intended to be an ornament to society. As a society in themselves they are unthinkable. – Elizabeth Bowen • As by some might be saide of me: that here I have but gathered a nosegay of strange floures, and have put nothing of mine unto it, but the thred to binde them. Certes, I have given unto publike opinion, that these borrowed ornaments accompany me; but I meane not they should cover or hide me. – Michel de Montaigne • As I passed along the side walls of Westminster Abbey, I hardly saw any thing but marble monuments of great admirals, but which were all too much loaded with finery and ornaments, to make on me at least, the intended impression. – Karl Philipp Moritz • As not every instance of similitude can be considered as a proof of imitation, so not every imitation ought to be stigmatised as plagiarism. The adoption of a noble sentiment, or the insertion of a borrowed ornament, may sometimes display so much judgment as will almost compensate for invention; and an inferior genius may, without any imputation of servility, pursue the paths of the ancients, provided he declines to tread in their footsteps. – Samuel Johnson • As the vine which has long twined its graceful foliage about the oak and been lifted by it into sunshine, will, when the hardy plant is rifted by the thunderbolt, cling round it with its caressing tendrils and bind up its shattered boughs, so is it beautifully ordered by Providence that woman, who is the mere dependent and ornament of man in his happier hours, should be his stay and solace when smitten with sudden calamity, winding herself into the rugged recesses of his nature, tenderly supporting the drooping head, and binding up the broken heart. – Washington Irving • At most, the greatest persons are but great wens, and excrescences; men of wit and delightful conversation, but as morals for ornament, except they be so incorporated into the body of the world that they contribute something to the sustentation of the whole. – John Donne

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Ornament', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_ornament').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_ornament img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Bad conduct soils the finest ornament more than filth. – Plautus • Bashfulness is an ornament to youth, but a reproach to old age. – Aristotle • Be neat, Philothea; let nothing be negligent about you. It is a kind of contempt of those with whom we converse, to frequent their company in uncomely apparel; but, at the same time, avoid all affectation, vanity, curiosity, or levity in your dress. Keep yourself always, as much as possible, on the side of plainness and modesty, which, without doubt, is the greatest ornament of beauty, and the best excuse for the want of it. – Saint Francis de Sales • Beautify your tongues, O people, with truthfulness, and adorn your souls with the ornament of honesty. Beware, O people, that ye deal not treacherously with any one. – Bahá’u’lláh • Beauty doesn’t need ornaments. Softness can’t bear the weight of ornaments. – Munshi Premchand • beauty is the projection of ugliness and by developing certain monstrosities we obtain the purest ornaments. – Jean Genet • Beside all the moral benefit which we may expect from the farmer’s profession, when a man enters it considerately, this promised the conquering of the soil, plenty, and beyond this, the adorning of the country with every advantage and ornament which labor, ingenuity, and affection for a man’s home, could suggest. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • But now sustainability is such a political category that it’s getting more and more difficult to think about it in a serious way. Sustainability has become an ornament. – Rem Koolhaas • But the building’s identity resided in the ornament. – Louis Sullivan • But the greatest error of all the rest is the mistaking or misplacing of the last or farthest end of knowledge: for men have entered into a desire of learning and knowledge, sometimes upon a natural curiosity and inquisitive appetite; sometimes to entertain their minds with variety and delight; sometimes for ornament and reputation; and sometimes to enable them to victory of wit and contradiction; and most times for lucre and profession; and seldom sincerely to give a true account of their gift of reason, to the benefit and use of men. – Francis Bacon • By the word simplicity, is not always meant folly or ignorance; but often, pure and upright Nature, free from artifice, craft or deceitful ornament. – Benjamin Franklin

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling] • Charity is the perfection and ornament of religion. – Joseph Addison • Christmas garland and a rock?” he said, a smile in his voice.”Why not an ornament?” “Wolves aren’t fragile,” I told him. “And they’re… stubbon and hard to move – Patricia Briggs • Christmas is a box of tree ornaments that have become part of the family. – Charles M. Schulz • Clearness is the ornament of deep thought. – Luc de Clapiers • Clearness ornaments profound thoughts. – Luc de Clapiers • Coordinating there Events and objects with remote events And vanished objects. Making ornaments Of accidents and possibilities. – Vladimir Nabokov • Culture is not just an ornament; it is the expression of a nation’s character, and at the same time it is a powerful instrument to mould character. The end of culture is right living. – W. Somerset Maugham • Don’t let your heart depend on things That ornament life in a fleeting way! He who possesses, let him learn to lose, He who is fortunate, let him learn pain. – Friedrich Schiller • Education gives sobriety to the young, comfort to the old, riches to the poor and is an ornament to the rich. – Diogenes • Education is a companion which no misfortune can depress, no crime can destroy, no enemy can alienate, no despotism can enslave. At home, a friend, abroad, an introduction, in solitude a solace and in society an ornament. It chastens vice, it guides virtue, it gives at once grace and government to genius. Without it, what is man? A splendid slave, a reasoning savage. – Joseph Addison • Education is an ornament in prosperity and a refuge in adversity. – Aristotle • Education is the food of youth, the delight of old age, the ornament of prosperity, the refuge and comfort of adversity, and the provocation to grace in the soul. – Saint Augustine • Elegance is not an ornament worthy of man. – Seneca the Younger • Even in the scorched and frozen world of the dead after the holocaust The wheel as it turns goes on accreting ornaments. – Robert Pinsky • Fierce Determination and Gentle Humility are the ornaments which make one attractive in the eyes of the Lord. – Radhanath Swami • Friendship is like a glass ornament, once it is broken it can rarely be put back together exactly the same way. – Charles Kingsley • Gardening is a luxury occupation: an ornament, not a necessity, of life…. Fortunate gardener, who may preoccupy himself solely with beauty in these difficult and ugly days! He is one of the few people left in this distressful world to carry on the tradition of elegance and charm. A useless member of society, considered in terms of economics, he must not be denied his rightful place. He deserves to share it, however humbly, with the painter and poet. – Vita Sackville-West • God help us! it is a foolish little thing, this human life, at the best; and it is half ridiculous and half pitiful to see what importance we ascribe to it, and to its little ornaments and distinctions. – Francis Jeffrey, Lord Jeffrey • Greatness of Soul seems therefore to be as it were a crowning ornament of the virtues; it enhances their greatness, and it cannot exist without them. Hence it is hard to be truly great-souled, for greatness of soul is impossible without moral nobility. – Aristotle • He might have proved a useful adjunct, if not an ornament to society. – Charles Lamb • He removes the greatest ornament of friendship who takes away from it respect. – Marcus Tullius Cicero • He takes the greatest ornament from friendship, who takes modesty from it. [Lat., Maximum ornamentum amicitiae tollit, qui ex ea tollit verecudiam.] – Marcus Tullius Cicero • Heaven grant me that I may thus rejoice in my children, thus see them ornaments to their Country, and blessings to their parents. – Abigail Adams • Honesty needs no disguise nor ornament; be plain. – Thomas Otway • Hopes are like hair ornaments. Girls want to wear too many of them. When they become old women they look silly wearing even one. – Arthur Golden • Hostility towards Microsoft is not difficult to find on the Net, and it blends two strains: resentful people who feel Microsoft is too powerful, and disdainful people who think it’s tacky. This is all strongly reminiscent of the heyday of Communism and Socialism, when the bourgeoisie were hated from both ends: by the proles, because they had all the money, and by the intelligentsia, because of their tendency to spend it on lawn ornaments. Microsoft is the very embodiment of modern high-tech prosperity – it is, in a word, bourgeois – and so it attracts all of the same gripes. – Neal Stephenson • How much more doth beauty beauteous seem by that sweet ornament which truth doth give! – William Shakespeare • Humility is an ornament which attracts Krishna’s heart. Beginning of all knowledge comes from humility. – Radhanath Swami • Hypocrisy itself does great honor, or rather justice, to religion, and tacitly acknowledges it to be an ornament to human nature. The hypocrite would not be at so much pains to put on the appearance of virtue, if he did not know it was the most proper and effectual means to gain the love and esteem of mankind. – Joseph Addison • I am a pretty, useless ornament who always believed she’d have a man to take care of her. – Virginia C. Andrews • I am glad that the life of pandas is so dull by human standards, for our efforts at conservation have little moral value if we preserve creatures only as human ornaments; I shall be impressed when we show solicitude for warty toads and slithering worms. – Stephen Jay Gould • I believe that organized religion is an ornament to the truth, and that aesthetics are part of its power. – Andrew Solomon • I believe the right question to ask, respecting all ornament, is simply this; was it done with enjoyment, was the carver happy while he was about it? – John Ruskin • I cannot however help repeating Piety, because I think it indispensible. Religion in a Family is at once its brightest Ornament & its best Security. – Samuel Adams • I foresee the time when the painter will paint that scene, no longer going to Rome for a subject; the poet will sing it; the historian record it; and, with the Landing of the Pilgrims and the Declaration of Independence, it will be the ornament of some future national gallery, when at least the present form of slavery shall be no more here. We shall then be at liberty to weep for Captain Brown. Then, and not till then, we will take our revenge. – Henry David Thoreau • I had hardly expected so dolichocephalic a skull or such well-marked supra-orbital development. Would you have any objection to my running my finger along your parietal fissure? A cast of your skull, sir, until the original is available, would be an ornament to any anthropological museum. It is not my intention to be fulsome, but I confess that I covet your skull. – Arthur Conan Doyle • I have emerged victorious from my thirty years of struggle. I have freed mankind from superfluous ornament. – Adolf Loos • I hold every man a debtor to his profession; from the which as men of course do seek to receive countenance and profit, so ought they of duty to endeavor themselves, by way of amends, to be a help and ornament thereunto. – Francis Bacon • I like ornament at the right time, but I don’t want a poem to be made out of decoration … When I read the poems that matter to me, it stuns me how much the presence of the heart-in all its forms-is endlessly available there. To experience ourselves in an important way just knocks me out. It puzzles me why people have given that up for cleverness. Some of them are ingenious, more ingenious than I am, but so many of them aren’t any good at being alive. – Jack Gilbert • I look for myself but find no one. I belong to the chrysanthemum hour of bright flowers placed in tall vases. I should make an ornament of my soul. – Fernando Pessoa • I love art, and I love history, but it is living art and living history that I love. It is in the interest of living art and living history that I oppose so-called restoration. What history can there be in a building bedaubed with ornament, which cannot at the best be anything but a hopeless and lifeless imitation of the hope and vigor of the earlier world? – William Morris • I never rebel so much against France as not to regard Paris with a friendly eye; she has had my heart since my childhood… I love her tenderly, even to her warts and her spots. I am French only by this great city: the glory of France, and one of the noblest ornaments of the world. – Michel de Montaigne • I read the newspapers with lively interest. It is seldom that they are absolutely, point-blank wrong. That is the popular belief, but those who are in the know can usually discern an embryo of truth, a little grit of fact, like the core of a pearl, round which have been deposited the delicate layers of ornament. – Evelyn Waugh • I repeat, sir, that in whatever position you place a woman she is an ornament to society and a treasure to the world. As a sweetheart, she has few equals and no superiors; as a cousin, she is convenient; as a wealthy grandmother with an incurable distemper, she is precious; as a wet-nurse, she has no equal among men. What, sir, would the people of the earth be without woman? They would be scarce, sir, almighty scarce. – Mark Twain • I see my body as an instrument, rather than an ornament. – Alanis Morissette • I think that ‘Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance’ was mentally taxing, if only because I had to go to a Christmas party shortly after I had wrapped photography in Romania at two in the morning as the Ghost Rider. The invitation had a Christmas ornament on it with Ghost Rider’s face on it as a tree. – Nicolas Cage • I think that the new models of Chevrolet should have Barney Frank as a hood ornament. – Sean Hannity • I think there is no better way to invite a human being to view their body differently than by inviting them to be an athlete, by revering one’s body as an instrument rather than just an ornament. – Alanis Morissette • I try to teach my students style, but always as a part of life, not as ornament. Style has to come out of communicating coherent thought, not in sticking little flowers on speeches. Style and substance and a sense of life are the things literature is composed of. One must use one’s own personality in relationship to life and language, of course, and everyone has such a relationship. Some people find it, some don’t find it, but it’s there. – Marguerite Young • I want to try to come away from that one directional, clear rectangular form. It’s not used because it’s the most beautiful form; it’s just the practical thing. That’s why our TVs are rectangles. Even in modern architecture, they want us to believe, “That’s the nicest, most beautiful thing.” I love modern architecture, but actually it’s that they cannot afford amorphous shapes or ornaments. – Pipilotti Rist • I write abundantly. And then my next step is to struggle to reduce the ornament, to reduce the abundance-to prune the book, in other words, the way one prunes a tree-so it can grow. This is my idea of a book. – James Wright • If the bees which seek the liquid oozing from the head of a lust-intoxicated elephant are driven away by the flapping of his ears, then the elephant has lost only the ornament of his head. The bees are quite happy in the lotus filled lake. – Chanakya • If the next car passed is blue, Violet will be okay, she thought. If it’s red, A will do something horrible to her. She heard a growl of an engine and shut her eyes, afraid to see what the future might hold. She’d never cared so much about anything in her life. Just as the car was passing, she opened her eyes and saw a Mercedes hood ornament. She let out a long sigh, tears coming to her eyes once more. The car was blue. – Sara Shepard • If those millions squandered on designing missionaries had been deposited in funds for the support of yourselves, when old age, misfortune, or sickness (from which none are exempt,) overtakes you, or for the distressed of your race, what a heaven of happiness you would have created on earth: ye would now be an ornament to your sex, and ages to come would call you blessed. But it is in vain to try – a priest-ridden female is lost to reason. Why? because she has surrendered her reason to the … missionaries … the orthodox; they are the grand deceivers. – Anne Royall • I’m a disorganized mess. My purse is gross: I once found a shoulder pad, string cheese, and a Christmas ornament in it! – Hoda Kotb • In 1979, postmodernism lost its understanding of the meaning of ornament. It degenerated into kitsch applique. – Charles Jencks • In railway halls, on pavements near the traffic, They beg, their eyes made big by empty staring And only measuring Time , like the blank clock. No, I shall weave no tracery of pen-ornament To make them birds upon my singing tree: Time merely drives these lives which do not live As tides push rotten stuff along the shore. – Stephen Spender • In religion, What damned error but some sober brow Will bless it, and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? – William Shakespeare • In religions which have lost their creative spark, the gods eventually become no more than poetic motifs or ornaments for decorating human solitude and walls. – Nikos Kazantzakis • In violence there is often the quality of yearning – the yearning for completion. For closure. For that which is absent and would if present bring to fulfillment. For the body without which the wing is a useless frozen ornament. (“A Short Guide To The City”) – Peter Straub • Indeed the river is a perpetual gala, and boasts each month a new ornament. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • Is not disease the rule of existence? There is not a lily pad floating on the river but has been riddled by insects. Almost every shrub and tree has its gall, oftentimes esteemed its chief ornament and hardly to be distinguished from the fruit. If misery loves company, misery has company enough. Now, at midsummer, find me a perfect leaf or fruit. – Henry David Thoreau • It isn’t money itself that causes the trouble, but the use of money as votive offering and pagan ornament. – Lewis H. Lapham • It takes talent to please the people in a sermon by a flowery style, a cheerful ethic, brilliant sallies and lively descriptions; but such a talent is inadequate. A better sort of talent neglects these extraneous ornaments, unworthy to be used in the service of the Gospel: such a preacher’s sermon will be simple, strong and Christian. – Jean de la Bruyere • Jewelry and profuse ornaments are unmistakable evidences of vulgarity. – Edward Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton • Learning maketh young men temperate, is the comfort of old age, standing for wealth with poverty, and serving as an ornament to riches. – Marcus Tullius Cicero • Let us give today first the vital things of life and all the grace and ornaments of life will follow. – Mahatma Gandhi • Libel actions, when we look at them in perspective, are an ornament of a civilized society. They have replaced, after all, at least in most cases, a resort to weapons in defense of a reputation. – Henry Anatole Grunwald • Man doth seek a triple perfection: first a sensual, consisting in those things which very life itself requireth either as necessary supplements, or as beauties and ornaments thereof; then an intellectual, consisting in those things which none underneath man is either capable of or acquainted with; lastly a spiritual and divine, consisting in those things whereunto we tend by supernatural means here, but cannot here attain unto them. – Richard Hooker • Mannerism is not character, and affectation is the avowed enemy of grace. Every dancer ought to regard his laborious art as a link in the chain of beauty, as a useful ornament for the stage, and this, in turn, as an important element in the spiritual development of nations. – August Bournonville • Manners are the ornament of action. – Samuel Smiles • Men subsequently put whatever is newly learned or experienced to use as a plowshare, perhaps even as a weapon: but women immediately include it among their ornaments. – Friedrich Nietzsche • Men use a new lesson or experience later on as a ploughshare or perhaps also as a weapon; women at once make it into an ornament. – Friedrich Nietzsche • Modernism, rebelling against the ornament of the 19th century, limited the vocabulary of the designer. Modernism emphasized straight lines, eliminating the expressive S curve. This made it harder to communicate emotions through design. – Eva Zeisel • Modesty is not only an ornament, but also a guard to virtue. – Joseph Addison • Modesty is the richest ornament of a woman … the want of it is her greatest deformity. – Charles Caleb Colton • Money can help you to get medicines but not health. Money can help you to get soft pillows, but not sound sleep. Money can help you to get material comforts, but not eternal bliss. Money can help you to get ornaments, but not beauty. Money will help you to get an electric earphone, but not natural hearing. Attain the supreme wealth, wisdom; you will have everything. – Sivananda • Moral excellence is an ornament for personal beauty; righteous conduct, for high birth; success for learning; and proper spending for wealth. – Chanakya • More than any gift or toy, ornament of tree, let us resolve that this Christmas shall be, like that first Christmas, a celebration of interior treasures. – Ronald Reagan • Most works are most beautiful without ornament. – Walt Whitman • My precept to all who build, is, that the owner should be an ornament to the house, and not the house to the owner. – Marcus Tullius Cicero • Nine times out of ten, I’m trying to meet someone else’s expectations, whether it’s the director or the writer or the animator, when I go back in to re-record a line. I’m the icing on the cake, but the cake is the thing. I’m really just a hood ornament on a very solid vehicle. – Adrian Pasdar • No one has ever been accused for not providing ornaments, but for those who neglect their neighbour a hell awaits with an inextinguishable fire and torment in the company of the demons. Do not, therefore, adorn the church and ignore your afflicted brother, for he is the most precious temple of all. – Saint John Chrysostom • No ornament of a house can compare with books; they are constant company in a room, even when you are not reading them. – Harriet Beecher Stowe • Nobility is a graceful ornament to the civil order. It is the Corinthian capital of polished society. – Edmund Burke • Non -violence is infinitely superior to violence , forgiveness is more manly than punishment. Forgiveness is the ornament. – Mahatma Gandhi • Nor do apophthegms only serve for ornament and delight, but also for action and civil use, as being the edge-tools of speech which cut and penetrate the knots of business and affairs: for occasions have their revolutions, and what has once been advantageously used may be so again, either as an old thing or a new one. – Francis Bacon • Nor do we accept, as genuine the person not characterized by this blushing bashfulness, this youthfulness of heart, this sensibility to the sentiment of suavity and self-respect. Modesty is bred of self-reverence. Fine manners are the mantle of fair minds. None are truly great without this ornament. – Amos Bronson Alcott • O vanity, how little is thy force acknowledged or thy operations discerned! How wantonly dost thou deceive mankind under different disguises! Sometimes thou dost wear the face of pity; sometimes of generosity; nay, thou hast the assurance to put on those glorious ornaments which belong only to heroic virtue. – Henry Fielding • Of chastity, the ornaments are chaste. – William Shakespeare • Of course, it does depend on the people, but sometimes I’m invited places to kind of brighten up a dinner table like a musician who’ll play the piano after dinner, and I know you’re not really invited for yourself. You’re just an ornament. – Marilyn Monroe • On the meeting point of two worlds, the ornament of Turkish homeland, the treasure of Turkish history, the city cherished by the Turkish nation, İstanbul, has its place in the hearts of all citizens. – Mustafa Kemal Ataturk • One of the first principles of decorative art is that in all manufactures ornament must hold a place subordinate to that of utility; and when, by its exuberance, ornament interferes with utility, it is misplaced and vulgar. – George Mason • One of the things I’ve always loved about New York is there is so much precedent for ornament on industrial buildings. – Annabelle Selldorf • Opinions: men’s thoughts about great subjects. Taste: their thoughts about small ones: dress, behavior, amusements, ornaments. – George Eliot • Ornament is but the guiled shore to a most dangerous sea. – William Shakespeare • Ornaments were invented by modesty. – Joseph Joubert • Our notion of the perfect society embraces the family as its center and ornament, and this paradise is not secure until children appear to animate and complete the picture. – Amos Bronson Alcott • Patience ornaments the woman and proves the man. – Tertullian • Plato defines melody to consist of harmony, number and words: harmony naked of itself, words the ornament of harmony, number the common friend and uniter of them both. – John Dowland • Plutarch has a fine expression, with regard to some woman of learning, humility, and virtue;–that her ornaments were such as might be purchased without money, and would render any woman’s life both glorious and happy. – Laurence Sterne • Poets like painters, thus unskilled to trace The naked nature and the living grace, With gold and jewels cover ev’ry part, And hide with ornaments their want of art. True wit is Nature to advantage dressed, What oft was thought, but ne’er so well expressed. – Alexander Pope • Poverty was an ornament on a learned man like a red ribbon on a white horse. – Anzia Yezierska • Presently he rose and approached the case before which she stood. Its glass shelves were crowded with small broken objects —hardly recognisable domestic utensils, ornaments and personal trifles — made of glass, of clay, of discoloured bronze and other time-blurred substances. ‘It seems cruel,’ she said, ‘that after a while nothing matters… any more than these little things, that used to be necessary and important to forgotten people, and now have to be guessed at under a magnifying glass and labeled: “Use unknown”.’ – Edith Wharton • Pretty conceptions, fine metaphors, glittering expressions, and something of a neat cast of verse are properly the dress, gems, or loose ornaments of poetry. – Alexander Pope • Real art, like the wife of an affectionate husband, needs no ornaments. But counterfeit art, like a prostitute, must always be decked out. The cause of production of real art is the artist’s inner need to express a feeling that has accumulated…The cause of counterfeit art, as of prostitution, is gain. The consequence of true art is the introduction of a new feeling into the intercourse of life… The consequences of counterfeit art are the perversion of man, pleasure which never satisfies, and the weakening of man’s spiritual strength. – Leo Tolstoy • Rhime being no necessary Adjunct or true Ornament of Poem or good Verse, in longer Works especially, but the Invention of a barbarous Age, to set off wretched matter and lame Meeter…the troublesom and modern bondage of Rimeing. – John Milton • Rich people don’t have to have a life-and-death relationship with the truth and its questions; they can ignore the truth and still thrive materially. I am not surprised many of them understand literature only as an ornament. Life is an ornament to them, relationships are ornaments, their “work” is but a flimsy, pretty ornament meant to momentarily thrill and capture attention. Why didn’t I reread my F. Scott Fitzgerald sooner? I might have saved myself some time. – Sergio Troncoso • Right on to the New Period vineyard arbors were the centre and chief ornament of all gardens. – Marie-Luise Gothein • Sensible men show their sense by saying much in few words. If noble actions are the substance of life, good sayings are its ornament and guide. – Charles Simmons • Sentiment is a disgrace, instead of an ornament, unless it lead us to good actions. – Ann Radcliffe • Shame is an ornament to the young; a disgrace to the old. – Aristotle • She had a bracelet on one taper arm, which would fall down over her round wrist. Mr. Thornton watched the replacing of this troublesome ornament with far more attention than he listened to her father. It seemed as if it fascinated him to see her push it up impatiently, until it tightened her soft flesh; and then to mark the loosening—the fall. He could almost have exclaimed—’There it goes, again! – Elizabeth Gaskell • She was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight, A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment’s ornament; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair, Like twilights too her dusky hair, But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn. – William Wordsworth • Silence is an ornament for women. – Sophocles • Simplicity is not about making something without ornament, but rather about making something very complex, then slicing elements away, until you reveal the very essence. – Christoph Niemann • So may the outward shows be least themselves: The world is still deceived with ornament. In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, But, being seasoned with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil? In religion, What damned error, but some sober brow Will bless it and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? There is no vice so simple but assumes Some mark of virtue on his outward parts. – William Shakespeare • So may the outward shows be least themselves; The world is still deceived with ornament. – William Shakespeare • Some Christmas tree ornaments do more than glitter and glow, they represent a gift of love given a long time ago – Tom Baker • Some men covet knowledge out of a natural curiosity and inquisitive temper; some to entertain the mind with variety and delight; some for ornament and reputation; some for victory and contention; many for lucre and a livelihood; and but few for employing the Divine gift of reason to the use and benefit of mankind. – Francis Bacon • Studies are the food of youth, the delight of old age; the ornament of prosperity, the refuge and comfort of adversity; a delight at home, and no hindrance abroad; they are companions by night, and in travel, and in the country. – Marcus Tullius Cicero • Sustainability has become an ornament. – Rem Koolhaas • That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, For slander’s mark was ever yet the fair; The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven’s sweetest air. – William Shakespeare • The ancients, who in these matters were not perhaps such blockheads as some may conceive, considered poetical quotation as one of the requisite ornaments of oratory. – Isaac D’Israeli • The art of decoration requires the most sophisticated and self-indulgent skills. Its aim has always been to sate the senses as gloriously as possible. … ornament is not only a source of sensuous pleasure; it supplies a necessary kind of magic to people and places that lack it. More than just a dread of empty spaces has led to the urge to decorate; it is the fear of empty selves. – Ada Louise Huxtable • The arts alone give direct access to experience. To eliminate them from education – or worse, to tolerate them as cultural ornaments – is antieducational obscurantism. It is foisted on us by the pedants and snobs of Hellenistic Greece who considered artistic performance fit only for slaves. – Peter Drucker • The Arts and Sciences, essential to the prosperity of the State and to the ornament of human life, have a primary claim to the encouragement of every lover of his country and mankind. – George Washington • The brightest ornaments in the crown of the blessed in heaven are the sufferings which they have borne patiently on earth. – Alphonsus Liguori • The Church knew what the psalmist knew: Music praises God. Music is well or better able to praise him than the building of the church and all its decoration; it is the Church’s greatest ornament. – Igor Stravinsky • The connoisseur of art must be able to appreciate what is simply beautiful, but the common run of people is satisfied with ornament. – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe • The Cross isn’t an ornament, mere symbol. It’s the mystery of God’s love, that He died for our sins. – Pope Francis • The Earth reminded us of a Christmas tree ornament hanging in the blackness of space. As we got farther and farther away it diminished in size. Finally it shrank to the size of a marble, the most beautiful marble you can imagine. – James Irwin • The economy is still substantially that of the fur trade, still based on the same general kinds of commercial items: technology, weapons, ornaments, novelties, and drugs. The one great difference is that by now the revolution has deprived the mass of consumers of any independent access to the staples of life: clothing, shelter, food, even water. Air access remains the only necessity that the average user can still get for himself, and the revolution has imposed a heavy tax on that by way of pollution. Commercial conquest is far more thorough and final than military defeat. – Wendell Berry • The farmer and the gardener are both busy, the gardener perhaps the more excitable of the two, for he is more of the amateur, concerned with the creation of beauty rather than with the providing of food. Gardening is a luxury occupation; an ornament, not a necessity, of life. – Vita Sackville-West • The feel of the place was deep, the prehistoric heartbeat of the rocks complicating the music, the people bright, all different kinds of dancers, smilers, swayers, swirlers, smokers, beer-drinking boppers, tripsters, spinners. I looked back at the crowd…and saw the show for a moment as a jewel…like a gem in a bracelet: an ornament on the body of the country, glittering in the coming darkness. – Jason Burke • The great end of prudence is to give cheerfulness to those hours which splendour cannot gild, and acclamation cannot exhilarate; those soft intervals of unbended amusement, in which a man shrinks to his natural dimensions, and throws aside the ornaments or disguises which he feels in privacy to be useless incumbrances, and to lose all effect when they become familiar. To be happy at home is the ultimate result of all ambition, the end to which every enterprise and labour tends, and of which every desire prompts the prosecution. – Samuel Johnson • The greatest ornament of an illustrious life is modesty and humility, which go a great way in the character even of the most exalted princes. – Napoleon Bonaparte • The grossest form of this injury of the body to ornament it, is in tattooing. Next, the piercing the ear all around its rim, piercing the nose and the lips to introduce rings or bars of jewelry. – Julia McNair Wright • The hair is the finest ornament women have. Of old, virgins used to wear it loose, except when they were in mourning. – Martin Luther • The hair is the richest ornament of women. – Martin Luther • The heroic soul does not sell its justice and its nobleness. It does not ask to dine nicely and to sleep warm. The essence of greatness is the perception that virtue is enough. Poverty is its ornament. It does not need plenty, and can very well abide its loss. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • The history of most women is hidden either by silence, or by flourishes and ornaments that amount to silence. – Virginia Woolf • The knowledge of the past times and of the places of the earth is both an ornament and nutriment to the human mind. – Leonardo da Vinci • The ‘leisured’ wife was a badge of achievement, the ornament to hard work and virtue for families on the way up. – Hilda Scott • The modern majesty consists in work. What a man can do is his greatest ornament, and he always consults his dignity by doing it. – Thomas Carlyle • The modern university does not exist to teach alone…It exists also to serve the democracy of which it is a product and an ornament…The university rests on the public will and on public appreciation. – Nicholas Murray Butler • The music, and the banquet, and the wine– The garlands, the rose odors, and the flowers, The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments– The white arms and the raven hair–the braids, And bracelets; swan-like bosoms, and the necklace, An India in itself, yet dazzling not. – Lord Byron • The only really Christian art is that which, like St. Francis, does not fear being wedded to poverty. This rises far above art-as-ornament. – Andre Gide • The ornament of a house is the friends who frequent it. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • The ornament of beauty, Shakespeare wrote, is suspect. And he was right. But beauty itself, unadorned and unaffected, is sacred, I think, worthy of our awe and our loyalty. – Dennis Lehane • The ornaments of our homes are the friends that visit it – Ralph Waldo Emerson • The peoples of the old world have their cities built for times gone by, when railroads and gunpowder were unknown. We can have cities for the new age that has come, adopted to its better conditions of use and ornament. We want, therefore, a city planning profession. – Horace Bushnell • The pictures placed for ornament and use, The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose. – Oliver Goldsmith • The quasi-peaceable gentleman of leisure, then, not only consumes of the staff of life beyond the minimum required for subsistence and physical efficiency, but his consumption also undergoes a specialisation as regards the quality of the goods consumed. He consumes freely and of the best, in food, drink, narcotics, shelter, services, ornaments, apparel, weapons and accoutrements, amusements, amulets, and idols or divinities. – Thorstein Veblen • The real ornament of woman is her character, her purity. – Mahatma Gandhi • The real Rose Hovick was seriously mentally disturbed; June Havoc called her a beautiful little ornament that was damaged. – Karen Abbott • The royal navy of England hath ever been its greatest defence and ornament; it is its ancient and natural strength, – the floating bulwark of our island. – William Blackstone • The very design of the gospel doth tend to self-abasing; and the work of grace is begun and carried on in humiliation. Humility is not a mere ornament of a Christian, but an essential part of the new creature: it is a contradiction to be a sanctified man, or a true Christian, and not humble. – Richard Baxter • The weak shows his strength and hides his weaknesses; the magnificent exhibits his weaknesses like ornaments. – Nassim Nicholas Taleb • The whole of heraldry and of chivalry is in courtesy. A man of fine manners shall pronounce your name with all the ornament that titles of nobility could ever add. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • The world would be astonished if it knew how great a proportion of its brightest ornaments, of those distinguished even in popular estimation for wisdom and virtue, are complete sceptics in religion. – John Stuart Mill • The world, which the Greeks called Beauty, has been made such by being gradually divested of every ornament which was not fitted to endure. – Henry David Thoreau • Then I feel, Harry, that I have given away my whole soul to someone who treats it as if it were a flower to put in his coat, a bit of decoration to charm his vanity, an ornament for a summer’s day. – Oscar Wilde • There are elements of intrinsic beauty in the simplification of a house built on the log cabin idea. First, there is the bare beauty of the logs themselves with their long lines and firm curves. Then there is the open charm felt of the structural features which are not hidden under plaster and ornament, but are clearly revealed, a charm felt in Japanese architecture….The quiet rhythmic monotone of the wall of logs fills one with the rustic peace of a secluded nook in the woods. – Gustav Stickley • There is a city in which you find everything you desire-handsome people, pleasures, ornaments of every kind-all that the natural person craves. However, you cannot find a single wise person there. – Rumi • There is material enough in a single flower for the ornament of a score of cathedrals. – John Ruskin • There is no doubt that Greek and Latin are great and handsome ornaments, but we buy them too dear. – Michel de Montaigne • There was very little about her face and figure that was in any way remarkable, but it was the sort of face which, when animated by conversation or laughter, is completely transformed. She had a lovely disposition, a quick mind and a fondness for the comical. She was always very ready to smile and, since a smile is the most becoming ornament that any lady can wear, she had been known upon occasion to outshine women who were acknowledged beauties in three countries. – Susanna Clarke • There were details like clothing, hair styles and the fragile objects that hardly ever survive for the archaeologist-musical instruments, bows and arrows, and body ornaments depicted as they were worn… No amounts of stone and bone could yield the kinds of information that the paintings gave so freely – Mary Leakey • Therefore, I bind these lies and slanderous accusations to my person as an ornament; it belongs to my Christian profession to be vilified, slandered, reproached and reviled, and since all this is nothing but that, as God and my conscience testify, I rejoice in being reproached for Christ’s sake. – John Bunyan • These studies are a spur to the young, a delight to the old: an ornament in prosperity, a consoling refuge in adversity; they are pleasure for us at home, and no burden abroad; they stay up with us at night, they accompany us when we travel, they are with us in our country visits. – Marcus Tullius Cicero • They are done merely for ornament. … the common people regard them as supernatural. – Xunzi • Think it a vile habit to alter works of good composers, to omit parts of them, or to insert new-fashioned ornaments. This is the greatest insult you can offer to Art. – Robert Schumann • To be apt in quotation is a splendid and dangerous gift. Splendid, because it ornaments a man’s speech with other men’s jewels; dangerous, for the same reason. – Robertson Davies • to become aware of the ineffable is to part company with words…the tangent to the curve of human experience lies beyond the limits of language. the world of things we perceive is but a veil. It’s flutter is music, its ornament science, but what it conceals is inscrutable. It’s silence remains unbroken; no words can carry it away. Sometimes we wish the world could cry and tell us about that which made it pregnant with fear–filling grandeur. Sometimes we wish our own heart would speak of that which made it heavy with wonder. – Abraham Joshua Heschel • To Forget Venice is a tour de force of ventriloquism. Elegant, contemporary, and wry, the voice at its center is also capable of disarming flights of imagination as it enters and inhabits other lives across time and gender. The glittering, fetid city emerges as a complex metaphor for the human heart’s simultaneous tenderness and capacity for cruelty, its ‘silver glow / a local specialty: filth / disguised as ornament.’ This Venice is unforgettable. – Chase Twichell • To spend too much time in studies is sloth; to use them too much for ornament is affection; to make judgment wholly by their rules is the humor of a scholar. • Tragedy was foresworn, in ritual denial of the ripe knowledge that we are drawing away from one another, that we share only one thing, share the fear of belonging to another, or to others, or to God; love or money, tender equated in advertising and the world, where only money is currency, and under dead trees and brittle ornaments prehensile hands exchange forgeries of what the heart dare not surrender. – William Gaddis • True ornament is not a matter of prettifying externals. It is organic with the structure it adorns, whether a person, a building, or a park. At its best it is an emphasis of structure, a realization in graceful terms of the nature of that which is ornamented – Frank Lloyd Wright • True, there are architects so called in this country, and I have heard of one at least possessed with the idea of making architectural ornaments have a core of truth, a necessity, and hence a beauty, as if it were a revelation to him. All very well perhaps from his point of view, but only a little better than the common dilettantism. – Henry David Thoreau • Truth is not only a man’s ornament but his instrument; it is the great man’s glory, and the poor man’s stock: a man’s truth is his livelihood, his recommendation, his letters of credit. – Benjamin Whichcote • We all originally came from the woods! it is hard to eradicate from any of us the old taste for the tattoo and the war-paint; and the moment that money gets into our pockets, it somehow or another breaks out in ornaments on our person, without always giving refinement to our manners. – Edwin Percy Whipple • We are made aware that magnitude of material things is relative, and all objects shrink and expand to serve the passion of the poet. Thus, in his sonnets, the lays of birds, the scents and dyes of flowers, he finds to be the shadow of his beloved; time, which keeps her from him, is his chest; the suspicion she has awakened, is her ornament – Ralph Waldo Emerson • We are often struck by the force and precision of style to which hard-working men, unpracticed in writing, easily attain when required to make the effort. As if plainness and vigor and sincerity, the ornaments of style, were better learned on the farm and in the workshop than in the schools. The sentences written by such rude hands are nervous and tough, like hardened thongs, the sinews of the deer, or the roots of the pine. – Henry David Thoreau • We hew and saw and plane facts to make them dovetail with our prejudices, so that they become mere ornaments with which to parade our objectivity. – Paul Eldridge • We know much of a writer by his style. An open and imperious disposition is shown in short sentences, direct and energetic. A secretive and proud mind is cold and obscure in style. An affectionate and imaginative nature pours out luxuriantly, and blossoms all over with ornament. – Henry Ward Beecher • We love to see any redness in the vegetation of the temperate zone. It is the color of colors. This plant speaks to our blood….What a perfect maturity it arrives at! It is the emblem of a successful life concluded by a death not premature, which is an ornament to Nature. What if we were to mature as perfectly, root and branch, glowing in the midst of our decay, like the poke! – Henry David Thoreau • We meet With few utterly dull and stupid souls: the sublime and transcendent are still fewer; the generality of mankind stand between these two extremes: the interval is filled with multitudes of ordinary geniuses, but all very useful, and the ornaments and supports of the commonwealth. – Jean de la Bruyere • We no longer dare to believe in beauty and we make of it a mere appearance in order the more easily to dispose of it. Our situation today shows that beauty demands for itself at least as much courage and decision as do truth and goodness, and she will not allow herself to be separated and banned from her two sisters without taking them along with herself in an act of mysterious vengeance. We can be sure that whoever sneers at her name as if she were the ornament of a bourgeois past — whether he admits it or not — can no longer pray and soon will no longer be able to love. – Hans Urs von Balthasar • We tend to treat our knowledge as personal property to be protected and defended. It is an ornament that allows us to rise in the pecking order. […] We take what we know a little too seriously. – Nassim Nicholas Taleb • What an ornament and safeguard is humor! Far better than wit for a poet and writer. It is a genius itself, and so defends from the insanities. – Walter Scott • What greater ornament to a son than a father’s glory, or to a father than a son’s honorable conduct? – Sophocles • What I resist is techniques. I find techniques very problematic. So when critics talk about my work in those terms, I find that they miss the condition. I am comfortable with the notion of pattern and ornament as a system of organization, [but] for me it acts as a textile. So it’s not about pattern, but the notion of architecture through the lens of textile, rather than architecture through the lens of brick and mortar. – David Adjaye • What on earth is modern exegesis up to? Oh, little lazy one! Some red wine and up! Off you go, brandishing your fork, stripped of Ophelia’s useless ornaments, fire in your large nostrils, out to rake the muck of metaphors. – Louis Aragon • When a rainbow appears vividly in the sky, you can see its beautiful colors, yet you could not wear as clothing or put it on as an ornament. It arises through the conjunction of various factors, but there is nothing about it that can be grasped. Likewise, thoughts that arise in the mind have no tangible existence or intrinsic solidity. There is no logical reason why thoughts, which have no substance, should have so much power over you, nor is there any reason why you should become their slave. – Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche • When a slave begins to take pride in his fetters and hugs them like precious ornaments, the triumph of the slave-owner is complete. – Mahatma Gandhi • Where virtue is, sensibility is the ornament and becoming attire of virtue. On certain occasions it may almost be said to become virtue. But sensibility and all the amiable qualities may likewise become, and too often have become, the panders of vice and the instruments of seduction. – Samuel Taylor Coleridge • Why would you want to keep the bluebird houses mounted in a place that you now know is unsafe for them? Bluebirds are not ornaments for pictures, they are living things that deserve your best effort if you are going to be a landlord to them. There is no magic spell that will protect those bluebirds–they have to depend on you or they are doomed. – Kathy Griffin • Wine is a part of society because it provides a basis not only for a morality but also for an environment; it is an ornament in the slightest ceremonials of French daily life, from the snack to the feast, from the conversation at the local cafT to the speech at a formal dinner. – Roland Barthes • Wise sayings are not only for ornament, but for action and business, having a point or edge, whereby knots in business are pierced and discovered. – Francis Bacon • Woman is the heart of humanity … its grace, ornament, and solace. – Samuel Smiles • Woman, to women silence is the best ornament. – Sophocles • You see the Earth as a bright blue and white Christmas tree ornament in the black sky. It’s so small and so fragile – you realize that on that small spot is everything that means everything to you; all of history and art and death and birth and love. – Rusty Schweickart • You see, for me [art]’s not one of life’s ornaments, rococo relaxation to be greeted affably after a day of hard work; I’m inverted on this : for me it’s my very breath, the one thing necessary, and all else is excretion and a latrine. – Arno Hintjens • You talk to me in parables. You may have known that I’m no wordy man, Fine speeches are the instruments of knaves Or fools that use them, when they want good sense; But honesty Needs no disguise nor ornament: be plain. – Thomas Otway • You’ll see everything from gold teeth to hood ornaments. It’s almost like Halloween during August. – David Carson

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Ornaments Quotes

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• A collection of bad love songs, tattered from overuse, has to touch us like a cemetery or a village. So what if the houses have no style, if the graves are vanishing under tasteless ornaments and inscriptions? Before an imagination sympathetic and respectful enough to conceal momentarily its aesthetic disdain, that dust may release a flock of souls, their beaks holding the still verdant dreams that gave them an inkling of the next world and let them rejoice or weep in this world.- Marcel Proust • A country whose buildings are of wood, can never increase in its improvements to any considerable degree…. Whereas when buildings are of durable materials, every new edifice is an actual and permanent acquisition to the state, adding to its value as well as to its ornament. – Thomas Jefferson • A fine thought in fine language is a most precious jewel, and should not be hid away, but be exposed for use and ornament. – Arthur Conan Doyle • A good youth ought to have a fear of God, to be subject to his parents, to give honor to his elders, to preserve his purity; he ought not to despise humility, but should love forbearance and modesty. All these are an ornament to youthful years. – Ambrose • A lady I will be, but a man’s accessory, his handbag, no thank you. I will not be someone’s ornament. I will not just be someone’s honey, baby, sweetheart. – Deb Caletti • A metaphor is not an ornament. It is an organ of perception. Through metaphors, we see the world as one thing or another. – Neil Postman • A minute analysis of life at once destroys that splendor which dazzles the imagination. Whatsoever grandeur can display, or luxury enjoy, is procured by offices of which the mind shrinks from the contemplation. All the delicacies of the table may be traced back to the shambles and the dunghill; all magnificence of building was hewn from the quarry, and all the pomp of ornament dug from among the damps and darkness of the mine. – Samuel Johnson • A nation which lives a pastoral and innocent life never decorates the shepherd’s staff or the plough-handle; but races who live by depredation and slaughter nearly always bestow exquisite ornaments on the quiver, the helmet, and the spear. – John Ruskin • A political action committee trying to raise money for a 2016 Hillary Clinton campaign is selling “Ready for Hillary” champagne glasses and Christmas ornaments. Because if one thing improves the holidays, it’s drinking mixed with politics. – Jimmy Fallon • A pretty woman is a Christmas tree,’ my mother told me in the airport. This fella is hanging things on my branches as his gaze sweeps from my face all the way down my body to my hips and then back to my face. Ideas fly from his widened eyes and land on me like teeny, decorative burdens. He is giving me shyness, maybe, some book smarts, and a certain yielding sweetness in bed. The oil-slick eyes get me, and I find myself hanging a few ornaments myself, giving him deft hands and a sense of humor. – Joshilyn Jackson • A right mind and generous affection hath more beauty and charms than all other symmetries in the world besides; and a grain of honesty and native worth is of more value than all the adventitious ornaments, estates, or preferments; for the sake of which some of the better sort so oft turn knaves. – Anthony Ashley-Cooper, 7th Earl of Shaftesbury • A simple garb is the proper costume of the vulgar; it is cut for them, and exactly suits their measure, but it is an ornament for those who have filled up their lives with great deeds. I liken them to beauty in dishabille, but more bewitching on that account. – Jean de la Bruyere • A work of art is a world in itself reflecting senses and emotions of the artist’s world. Just as a flower, by virtue of its existence as a complete organism is both ornamental and self-sufficient as to color, form, and texture, so art, because of its singular existence is more than mere ornament. – Hans Hofmann • Acquire knowledge. It enables its possessor to distinguish right from wrong; it lights the way to Heaven; it is our friend in the desert, our society in solitude, our companion when friendless; it guides us to happiness; it sustains us in misery; it is an ornament among our friends and an armor against enemies. – Elijah Muhammad • All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme. – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow • All art is erotic. The first ornament to have been invented, the cross, was of erotic origin. It was the first work of art. A horizontal stroke: the woman lying down. A vertical stroke: the male who penetrates her. – Adolf Loos • All the manifested world of things and beings are projected by imagination upon the substratum which is the Eternal All-pervading Vishnu, whose nature is Existence-Intelligence; just as the different ornaments are all made out of the same gold. – Adi Shankara • All the revision in the world will not save a bad first draft: for the architecture of the thing comes, or fails to come, in the first conception, and revision only affects the detail and ornament, alas! – T. E. Lawrence • An alliterative prefix served as an ornament of oratory. – Oscar Wilde • An archer competing for a clay vessel shoots effortlessly, his or her skill and concentration unimpeded. If the prize is changed to a brass ornament, the hands begin to shake. If it is changed to gold, he or she squints as if going blind. The abilities do not deteriorate, but belief in them does, as he or she allows the supposed value of an external reward to cloud the vision. – Zhuangzi • Another of the strange and evil tendencies of the present day is the decoration of the railroad station… There was never more flagrant nor impertinent folly than the smallest portion of ornament in anything connected with the railroads… Railroad architecture has or would have a dignity of its own if it were only left to its work. – John Ruskin • Anyone may have diamonds: an heirloom is an ornament of quite a different kind. – Elizabeth Aston • Architecture has its political Use; publick Buildings being the Ornament of a Country; it establishes a Nation, draws People and Commerce; makes the People love their native Country, which Passion is the Original of all great Actions in a Common-wealth…. Architecture aims at Eternity. – Christopher Wren • Arms are my ornaments, warfare my repose. – Miguel de Cervantes • Art matters not merely because it is the most magnificent ornament and the most nearly unfailing occupation of our lives, but because it is life itself. – Randall Jarrell • Art thou afeard To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that Which thou esteem’st the ornament of life, And live a coward in thine own esteem, Letting ‘I dare not’ wait upon ‘I would,’ Like the poor cat i’ the adage? – William Shakespeare • artists were intended to be an ornament to society. As a society in themselves they are unthinkable. – Elizabeth Bowen • As by some might be saide of me: that here I have but gathered a nosegay of strange floures, and have put nothing of mine unto it, but the thred to binde them. Certes, I have given unto publike opinion, that these borrowed ornaments accompany me; but I meane not they should cover or hide me. – Michel de Montaigne • As I passed along the side walls of Westminster Abbey, I hardly saw any thing but marble monuments of great admirals, but which were all too much loaded with finery and ornaments, to make on me at least, the intended impression. – Karl Philipp Moritz • As not every instance of similitude can be considered as a proof of imitation, so not every imitation ought to be stigmatised as plagiarism. The adoption of a noble sentiment, or the insertion of a borrowed ornament, may sometimes display so much judgment as will almost compensate for invention; and an inferior genius may, without any imputation of servility, pursue the paths of the ancients, provided he declines to tread in their footsteps. – Samuel Johnson • As the vine which has long twined its graceful foliage about the oak and been lifted by it into sunshine, will, when the hardy plant is rifted by the thunderbolt, cling round it with its caressing tendrils and bind up its shattered boughs, so is it beautifully ordered by Providence that woman, who is the mere dependent and ornament of man in his happier hours, should be his stay and solace when smitten with sudden calamity, winding herself into the rugged recesses of his nature, tenderly supporting the drooping head, and binding up the broken heart. – Washington Irving • At most, the greatest persons are but great wens, and excrescences; men of wit and delightful conversation, but as morals for ornament, except they be so incorporated into the body of the world that they contribute something to the sustentation of the whole. – John Donne

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Ornament', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_ornament').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_ornament img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Bad conduct soils the finest ornament more than filth. – Plautus • Bashfulness is an ornament to youth, but a reproach to old age. – Aristotle • Be neat, Philothea; let nothing be negligent about you. It is a kind of contempt of those with whom we converse, to frequent their company in uncomely apparel; but, at the same time, avoid all affectation, vanity, curiosity, or levity in your dress. Keep yourself always, as much as possible, on the side of plainness and modesty, which, without doubt, is the greatest ornament of beauty, and the best excuse for the want of it. – Saint Francis de Sales • Beautify your tongues, O people, with truthfulness, and adorn your souls with the ornament of honesty. Beware, O people, that ye deal not treacherously with any one. – Bahá’u’lláh • Beauty doesn’t need ornaments. Softness can’t bear the weight of ornaments. – Munshi Premchand • beauty is the projection of ugliness and by developing certain monstrosities we obtain the purest ornaments. – Jean Genet • Beside all the moral benefit which we may expect from the farmer’s profession, when a man enters it considerately, this promised the conquering of the soil, plenty, and beyond this, the adorning of the country with every advantage and ornament which labor, ingenuity, and affection for a man’s home, could suggest. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • But now sustainability is such a political category that it’s getting more and more difficult to think about it in a serious way. Sustainability has become an ornament. – Rem Koolhaas • But the building’s identity resided in the ornament. – Louis Sullivan • But the greatest error of all the rest is the mistaking or misplacing of the last or farthest end of knowledge: for men have entered into a desire of learning and knowledge, sometimes upon a natural curiosity and inquisitive appetite; sometimes to entertain their minds with variety and delight; sometimes for ornament and reputation; and sometimes to enable them to victory of wit and contradiction; and most times for lucre and profession; and seldom sincerely to give a true account of their gift of reason, to the benefit and use of men. – Francis Bacon • By the word simplicity, is not always meant folly or ignorance; but often, pure and upright Nature, free from artifice, craft or deceitful ornament. – Benjamin Franklin

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling] • Charity is the perfection and ornament of religion. – Joseph Addison • Christmas garland and a rock?” he said, a smile in his voice.”Why not an ornament?” “Wolves aren’t fragile,” I told him. “And they’re… stubbon and hard to move – Patricia Briggs • Christmas is a box of tree ornaments that have become part of the family. – Charles M. Schulz • Clearness is the ornament of deep thought. – Luc de Clapiers • Clearness ornaments profound thoughts. – Luc de Clapiers • Coordinating there Events and objects with remote events And vanished objects. Making ornaments Of accidents and possibilities. – Vladimir Nabokov • Culture is not just an ornament; it is the expression of a nation’s character, and at the same time it is a powerful instrument to mould character. The end of culture is right living. – W. Somerset Maugham • Don’t let your heart depend on things That ornament life in a fleeting way! He who possesses, let him learn to lose, He who is fortunate, let him learn pain. – Friedrich Schiller • Education gives sobriety to the young, comfort to the old, riches to the poor and is an ornament to the rich. – Diogenes • Education is a companion which no misfortune can depress, no crime can destroy, no enemy can alienate, no despotism can enslave. At home, a friend, abroad, an introduction, in solitude a solace and in society an ornament. It chastens vice, it guides virtue, it gives at once grace and government to genius. Without it, what is man? A splendid slave, a reasoning savage. – Joseph Addison • Education is an ornament in prosperity and a refuge in adversity. – Aristotle • Education is the food of youth, the delight of old age, the ornament of prosperity, the refuge and comfort of adversity, and the provocation to grace in the soul. – Saint Augustine • Elegance is not an ornament worthy of man. – Seneca the Younger • Even in the scorched and frozen world of the dead after the holocaust The wheel as it turns goes on accreting ornaments. – Robert Pinsky • Fierce Determination and Gentle Humility are the ornaments which make one attractive in the eyes of the Lord. – Radhanath Swami • Friendship is like a glass ornament, once it is broken it can rarely be put back together exactly the same way. – Charles Kingsley • Gardening is a luxury occupation: an ornament, not a necessity, of life…. Fortunate gardener, who may preoccupy himself solely with beauty in these difficult and ugly days! He is one of the few people left in this distressful world to carry on the tradition of elegance and charm. A useless member of society, considered in terms of economics, he must not be denied his rightful place. He deserves to share it, however humbly, with the painter and poet. – Vita Sackville-West • God help us! it is a foolish little thing, this human life, at the best; and it is half ridiculous and half pitiful to see what importance we ascribe to it, and to its little ornaments and distinctions. – Francis Jeffrey, Lord Jeffrey • Greatness of Soul seems therefore to be as it were a crowning ornament of the virtues; it enhances their greatness, and it cannot exist without them. Hence it is hard to be truly great-souled, for greatness of soul is impossible without moral nobility. – Aristotle • He might have proved a useful adjunct, if not an ornament to society. – Charles Lamb • He removes the greatest ornament of friendship who takes away from it respect. – Marcus Tullius Cicero • He takes the greatest ornament from friendship, who takes modesty from it. [Lat., Maximum ornamentum amicitiae tollit, qui ex ea tollit verecudiam.] – Marcus Tullius Cicero • Heaven grant me that I may thus rejoice in my children, thus see them ornaments to their Country, and blessings to their parents. – Abigail Adams • Honesty needs no disguise nor ornament; be plain. – Thomas Otway • Hopes are like hair ornaments. Girls want to wear too many of them. When they become old women they look silly wearing even one. – Arthur Golden • Hostility towards Microsoft is not difficult to find on the Net, and it blends two strains: resentful people who feel Microsoft is too powerful, and disdainful people who think it’s tacky. This is all strongly reminiscent of the heyday of Communism and Socialism, when the bourgeoisie were hated from both ends: by the proles, because they had all the money, and by the intelligentsia, because of their tendency to spend it on lawn ornaments. Microsoft is the very embodiment of modern high-tech prosperity – it is, in a word, bourgeois – and so it attracts all of the same gripes. – Neal Stephenson • How much more doth beauty beauteous seem by that sweet ornament which truth doth give! – William Shakespeare • Humility is an ornament which attracts Krishna’s heart. Beginning of all knowledge comes from humility. – Radhanath Swami • Hypocrisy itself does great honor, or rather justice, to religion, and tacitly acknowledges it to be an ornament to human nature. The hypocrite would not be at so much pains to put on the appearance of virtue, if he did not know it was the most proper and effectual means to gain the love and esteem of mankind. – Joseph Addison • I am a pretty, useless ornament who always believed she’d have a man to take care of her. – Virginia C. Andrews • I am glad that the life of pandas is so dull by human standards, for our efforts at conservation have little moral value if we preserve creatures only as human ornaments; I shall be impressed when we show solicitude for warty toads and slithering worms. – Stephen Jay Gould • I believe that organized religion is an ornament to the truth, and that aesthetics are part of its power. – Andrew Solomon • I believe the right question to ask, respecting all ornament, is simply this; was it done with enjoyment, was the carver happy while he was about it? – John Ruskin • I cannot however help repeating Piety, because I think it indispensible. Religion in a Family is at once its brightest Ornament & its best Security. – Samuel Adams • I foresee the time when the painter will paint that scene, no longer going to Rome for a subject; the poet will sing it; the historian record it; and, with the Landing of the Pilgrims and the Declaration of Independence, it will be the ornament of some future national gallery, when at least the present form of slavery shall be no more here. We shall then be at liberty to weep for Captain Brown. Then, and not till then, we will take our revenge. – Henry David Thoreau • I had hardly expected so dolichocephalic a skull or such well-marked supra-orbital development. Would you have any objection to my running my finger along your parietal fissure? A cast of your skull, sir, until the original is available, would be an ornament to any anthropological museum. It is not my intention to be fulsome, but I confess that I covet your skull. – Arthur Conan Doyle • I have emerged victorious from my thirty years of struggle. I have freed mankind from superfluous ornament. – Adolf Loos • I hold every man a debtor to his profession; from the which as men of course do seek to receive countenance and profit, so ought they of duty to endeavor themselves, by way of amends, to be a help and ornament thereunto. – Francis Bacon • I like ornament at the right time, but I don’t want a poem to be made out of decoration … When I read the poems that matter to me, it stuns me how much the presence of the heart-in all its forms-is endlessly available there. To experience ourselves in an important way just knocks me out. It puzzles me why people have given that up for cleverness. Some of them are ingenious, more ingenious than I am, but so many of them aren’t any good at being alive. – Jack Gilbert • I look for myself but find no one. I belong to the chrysanthemum hour of bright flowers placed in tall vases. I should make an ornament of my soul. – Fernando Pessoa • I love art, and I love history, but it is living art and living history that I love. It is in the interest of living art and living history that I oppose so-called restoration. What history can there be in a building bedaubed with ornament, which cannot at the best be anything but a hopeless and lifeless imitation of the hope and vigor of the earlier world? – William Morris • I never rebel so much against France as not to regard Paris with a friendly eye; she has had my heart since my childhood… I love her tenderly, even to her warts and her spots. I am French only by this great city: the glory of France, and one of the noblest ornaments of the world. – Michel de Montaigne • I read the newspapers with lively interest. It is seldom that they are absolutely, point-blank wrong. That is the popular belief, but those who are in the know can usually discern an embryo of truth, a little grit of fact, like the core of a pearl, round which have been deposited the delicate layers of ornament. – Evelyn Waugh • I repeat, sir, that in whatever position you place a woman she is an ornament to society and a treasure to the world. As a sweetheart, she has few equals and no superiors; as a cousin, she is convenient; as a wealthy grandmother with an incurable distemper, she is precious; as a wet-nurse, she has no equal among men. What, sir, would the people of the earth be without woman? They would be scarce, sir, almighty scarce. – Mark Twain • I see my body as an instrument, rather than an ornament. – Alanis Morissette • I think that ‘Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance’ was mentally taxing, if only because I had to go to a Christmas party shortly after I had wrapped photography in Romania at two in the morning as the Ghost Rider. The invitation had a Christmas ornament on it with Ghost Rider’s face on it as a tree. – Nicolas Cage • I think that the new models of Chevrolet should have Barney Frank as a hood ornament. – Sean Hannity • I think there is no better way to invite a human being to view their body differently than by inviting them to be an athlete, by revering one’s body as an instrument rather than just an ornament. – Alanis Morissette • I try to teach my students style, but always as a part of life, not as ornament. Style has to come out of communicating coherent thought, not in sticking little flowers on speeches. Style and substance and a sense of life are the things literature is composed of. One must use one’s own personality in relationship to life and language, of course, and everyone has such a relationship. Some people find it, some don’t find it, but it’s there. – Marguerite Young • I want to try to come away from that one directional, clear rectangular form. It’s not used because it’s the most beautiful form; it’s just the practical thing. That’s why our TVs are rectangles. Even in modern architecture, they want us to believe, “That’s the nicest, most beautiful thing.” I love modern architecture, but actually it’s that they cannot afford amorphous shapes or ornaments. – Pipilotti Rist • I write abundantly. And then my next step is to struggle to reduce the ornament, to reduce the abundance-to prune the book, in other words, the way one prunes a tree-so it can grow. This is my idea of a book. – James Wright • If the bees which seek the liquid oozing from the head of a lust-intoxicated elephant are driven away by the flapping of his ears, then the elephant has lost only the ornament of his head. The bees are quite happy in the lotus filled lake. – Chanakya • If the next car passed is blue, Violet will be okay, she thought. If it’s red, A will do something horrible to her. She heard a growl of an engine and shut her eyes, afraid to see what the future might hold. She’d never cared so much about anything in her life. Just as the car was passing, she opened her eyes and saw a Mercedes hood ornament. She let out a long sigh, tears coming to her eyes once more. The car was blue. – Sara Shepard • If those millions squandered on designing missionaries had been deposited in funds for the support of yourselves, when old age, misfortune, or sickness (from which none are exempt,) overtakes you, or for the distressed of your race, what a heaven of happiness you would have created on earth: ye would now be an ornament to your sex, and ages to come would call you blessed. But it is in vain to try – a priest-ridden female is lost to reason. Why? because she has surrendered her reason to the … missionaries … the orthodox; they are the grand deceivers. – Anne Royall • I’m a disorganized mess. My purse is gross: I once found a shoulder pad, string cheese, and a Christmas ornament in it! – Hoda Kotb • In 1979, postmodernism lost its understanding of the meaning of ornament. It degenerated into kitsch applique. – Charles Jencks • In railway halls, on pavements near the traffic, They beg, their eyes made big by empty staring And only measuring Time , like the blank clock. No, I shall weave no tracery of pen-ornament To make them birds upon my singing tree: Time merely drives these lives which do not live As tides push rotten stuff along the shore. – Stephen Spender • In religion, What damned error but some sober brow Will bless it, and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? – William Shakespeare • In religions which have lost their creative spark, the gods eventually become no more than poetic motifs or ornaments for decorating human solitude and walls. – Nikos Kazantzakis • In violence there is often the quality of yearning – the yearning for completion. For closure. For that which is absent and would if present bring to fulfillment. For the body without which the wing is a useless frozen ornament. (“A Short Guide To The City”) – Peter Straub • Indeed the river is a perpetual gala, and boasts each month a new ornament. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • Is not disease the rule of existence? There is not a lily pad floating on the river but has been riddled by insects. Almost every shrub and tree has its gall, oftentimes esteemed its chief ornament and hardly to be distinguished from the fruit. If misery loves company, misery has company enough. Now, at midsummer, find me a perfect leaf or fruit. – Henry David Thoreau • It isn’t money itself that causes the trouble, but the use of money as votive offering and pagan ornament. – Lewis H. Lapham • It takes talent to please the people in a sermon by a flowery style, a cheerful ethic, brilliant sallies and lively descriptions; but such a talent is inadequate. A better sort of talent neglects these extraneous ornaments, unworthy to be used in the service of the Gospel: such a preacher’s sermon will be simple, strong and Christian. – Jean de la Bruyere • Jewelry and profuse ornaments are unmistakable evidences of vulgarity. – Edward Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton • Learning maketh young men temperate, is the comfort of old age, standing for wealth with poverty, and serving as an ornament to riches. – Marcus Tullius Cicero • Let us give today first the vital things of life and all the grace and ornaments of life will follow. – Mahatma Gandhi • Libel actions, when we look at them in perspective, are an ornament of a civilized society. They have replaced, after all, at least in most cases, a resort to weapons in defense of a reputation. – Henry Anatole Grunwald • Man doth seek a triple perfection: first a sensual, consisting in those things which very life itself requireth either as necessary supplements, or as beauties and ornaments thereof; then an intellectual, consisting in those things which none underneath man is either capable of or acquainted with; lastly a spiritual and divine, consisting in those things whereunto we tend by supernatural means here, but cannot here attain unto them. – Richard Hooker • Mannerism is not character, and affectation is the avowed enemy of grace. Every dancer ought to regard his laborious art as a link in the chain of beauty, as a useful ornament for the stage, and this, in turn, as an important element in the spiritual development of nations. – August Bournonville • Manners are the ornament of action. – Samuel Smiles • Men subsequently put whatever is newly learned or experienced to use as a plowshare, perhaps even as a weapon: but women immediately include it among their ornaments. – Friedrich Nietzsche • Men use a new lesson or experience later on as a ploughshare or perhaps also as a weapon; women at once make it into an ornament. – Friedrich Nietzsche • Modernism, rebelling against the ornament of the 19th century, limited the vocabulary of the designer. Modernism emphasized straight lines, eliminating the expressive S curve. This made it harder to communicate emotions through design. – Eva Zeisel • Modesty is not only an ornament, but also a guard to virtue. – Joseph Addison • Modesty is the richest ornament of a woman … the want of it is her greatest deformity. – Charles Caleb Colton • Money can help you to get medicines but not health. Money can help you to get soft pillows, but not sound sleep. Money can help you to get material comforts, but not eternal bliss. Money can help you to get ornaments, but not beauty. Money will help you to get an electric earphone, but not natural hearing. Attain the supreme wealth, wisdom; you will have everything. – Sivananda • Moral excellence is an ornament for personal beauty; righteous conduct, for high birth; success for learning; and proper spending for wealth. – Chanakya • More than any gift or toy, ornament of tree, let us resolve that this Christmas shall be, like that first Christmas, a celebration of interior treasures. – Ronald Reagan • Most works are most beautiful without ornament. – Walt Whitman • My precept to all who build, is, that the owner should be an ornament to the house, and not the house to the owner. – Marcus Tullius Cicero • Nine times out of ten, I’m trying to meet someone else’s expectations, whether it’s the director or the writer or the animator, when I go back in to re-record a line. I’m the icing on the cake, but the cake is the thing. I’m really just a hood ornament on a very solid vehicle. – Adrian Pasdar • No one has ever been accused for not providing ornaments, but for those who neglect their neighbour a hell awaits with an inextinguishable fire and torment in the company of the demons. Do not, therefore, adorn the church and ignore your afflicted brother, for he is the most precious temple of all. – Saint John Chrysostom • No ornament of a house can compare with books; they are constant company in a room, even when you are not reading them. – Harriet Beecher Stowe • Nobility is a graceful ornament to the civil order. It is the Corinthian capital of polished society. – Edmund Burke • Non -violence is infinitely superior to violence , forgiveness is more manly than punishment. Forgiveness is the ornament. – Mahatma Gandhi • Nor do apophthegms only serve for ornament and delight, but also for action and civil use, as being the edge-tools of speech which cut and penetrate the knots of business and affairs: for occasions have their revolutions, and what has once been advantageously used may be so again, either as an old thing or a new one. – Francis Bacon • Nor do we accept, as genuine the person not characterized by this blushing bashfulness, this youthfulness of heart, this sensibility to the sentiment of suavity and self-respect. Modesty is bred of self-reverence. Fine manners are the mantle of fair minds. None are truly great without this ornament. – Amos Bronson Alcott • O vanity, how little is thy force acknowledged or thy operations discerned! How wantonly dost thou deceive mankind under different disguises! Sometimes thou dost wear the face of pity; sometimes of generosity; nay, thou hast the assurance to put on those glorious ornaments which belong only to heroic virtue. – Henry Fielding • Of chastity, the ornaments are chaste. – William Shakespeare • Of course, it does depend on the people, but sometimes I’m invited places to kind of brighten up a dinner table like a musician who’ll play the piano after dinner, and I know you’re not really invited for yourself. You’re just an ornament. – Marilyn Monroe • On the meeting point of two worlds, the ornament of Turkish homeland, the treasure of Turkish history, the city cherished by the Turkish nation, İstanbul, has its place in the hearts of all citizens. – Mustafa Kemal Ataturk • One of the first principles of decorative art is that in all manufactures ornament must hold a place subordinate to that of utility; and when, by its exuberance, ornament interferes with utility, it is misplaced and vulgar. – George Mason • One of the things I’ve always loved about New York is there is so much precedent for ornament on industrial buildings. – Annabelle Selldorf • Opinions: men’s thoughts about great subjects. Taste: their thoughts about small ones: dress, behavior, amusements, ornaments. – George Eliot • Ornament is but the guiled shore to a most dangerous sea. – William Shakespeare • Ornaments were invented by modesty. – Joseph Joubert • Our notion of the perfect society embraces the family as its center and ornament, and this paradise is not secure until children appear to animate and complete the picture. – Amos Bronson Alcott • Patience ornaments the woman and proves the man. – Tertullian • Plato defines melody to consist of harmony, number and words: harmony naked of itself, words the ornament of harmony, number the common friend and uniter of them both. – John Dowland • Plutarch has a fine expression, with regard to some woman of learning, humility, and virtue;–that her ornaments were such as might be purchased without money, and would render any woman’s life both glorious and happy. – Laurence Sterne • Poets like painters, thus unskilled to trace The naked nature and the living grace, With gold and jewels cover ev’ry part, And hide with ornaments their want of art. True wit is Nature to advantage dressed, What oft was thought, but ne’er so well expressed. – Alexander Pope • Poverty was an ornament on a learned man like a red ribbon on a white horse. – Anzia Yezierska • Presently he rose and approached the case before which she stood. Its glass shelves were crowded with small broken objects —hardly recognisable domestic utensils, ornaments and personal trifles — made of glass, of clay, of discoloured bronze and other time-blurred substances. ‘It seems cruel,’ she said, ‘that after a while nothing matters… any more than these little things, that used to be necessary and important to forgotten people, and now have to be guessed at under a magnifying glass and labeled: “Use unknown”.’ – Edith Wharton • Pretty conceptions, fine metaphors, glittering expressions, and something of a neat cast of verse are properly the dress, gems, or loose ornaments of poetry. – Alexander Pope • Real art, like the wife of an affectionate husband, needs no ornaments. But counterfeit art, like a prostitute, must always be decked out. The cause of production of real art is the artist’s inner need to express a feeling that has accumulated…The cause of counterfeit art, as of prostitution, is gain. The consequence of true art is the introduction of a new feeling into the intercourse of life… The consequences of counterfeit art are the perversion of man, pleasure which never satisfies, and the weakening of man’s spiritual strength. – Leo Tolstoy • Rhime being no necessary Adjunct or true Ornament of Poem or good Verse, in longer Works especially, but the Invention of a barbarous Age, to set off wretched matter and lame Meeter…the troublesom and modern bondage of Rimeing. – John Milton • Rich people don’t have to have a life-and-death relationship with the truth and its questions; they can ignore the truth and still thrive materially. I am not surprised many of them understand literature only as an ornament. Life is an ornament to them, relationships are ornaments, their “work” is but a flimsy, pretty ornament meant to momentarily thrill and capture attention. Why didn’t I reread my F. Scott Fitzgerald sooner? I might have saved myself some time. – Sergio Troncoso • Right on to the New Period vineyard arbors were the centre and chief ornament of all gardens. – Marie-Luise Gothein • Sensible men show their sense by saying much in few words. If noble actions are the substance of life, good sayings are its ornament and guide. – Charles Simmons • Sentiment is a disgrace, instead of an ornament, unless it lead us to good actions. – Ann Radcliffe • Shame is an ornament to the young; a disgrace to the old. – Aristotle • She had a bracelet on one taper arm, which would fall down over her round wrist. Mr. Thornton watched the replacing of this troublesome ornament with far more attention than he listened to her father. It seemed as if it fascinated him to see her push it up impatiently, until it tightened her soft flesh; and then to mark the loosening—the fall. He could almost have exclaimed—’There it goes, again! – Elizabeth Gaskell • She was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight, A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment’s ornament; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair, Like twilights too her dusky hair, But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn. – William Wordsworth • Silence is an ornament for women. – Sophocles • Simplicity is not about making something without ornament, but rather about making something very complex, then slicing elements away, until you reveal the very essence. – Christoph Niemann • So may the outward shows be least themselves: The world is still deceived with ornament. In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, But, being seasoned with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil? In religion, What damned error, but some sober brow Will bless it and approve it with a text, Hiding the grossness with fair ornament? There is no vice so simple but assumes Some mark of virtue on his outward parts. – William Shakespeare • So may the outward shows be least themselves; The world is still deceived with ornament. – William Shakespeare • Some Christmas tree ornaments do more than glitter and glow, they represent a gift of love given a long time ago – Tom Baker • Some men covet knowledge out of a natural curiosity and inquisitive temper; some to entertain the mind with variety and delight; some for ornament and reputation; some for victory and contention; many for lucre and a livelihood; and but few for employing the Divine gift of reason to the use and benefit of mankind. – Francis Bacon • Studies are the food of youth, the delight of old age; the ornament of prosperity, the refuge and comfort of adversity; a delight at home, and no hindrance abroad; they are companions by night, and in travel, and in the country. – Marcus Tullius Cicero • Sustainability has become an ornament. – Rem Koolhaas • That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, For slander’s mark was ever yet the fair; The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven’s sweetest air. – William Shakespeare • The ancients, who in these matters were not perhaps such blockheads as some may conceive, considered poetical quotation as one of the requisite ornaments of oratory. – Isaac D’Israeli • The art of decoration requires the most sophisticated and self-indulgent skills. Its aim has always been to sate the senses as gloriously as possible. … ornament is not only a source of sensuous pleasure; it supplies a necessary kind of magic to people and places that lack it. More than just a dread of empty spaces has led to the urge to decorate; it is the fear of empty selves. – Ada Louise Huxtable • The arts alone give direct access to experience. To eliminate them from education – or worse, to tolerate them as cultural ornaments – is antieducational obscurantism. It is foisted on us by the pedants and snobs of Hellenistic Greece who considered artistic performance fit only for slaves. – Peter Drucker • The Arts and Sciences, essential to the prosperity of the State and to the ornament of human life, have a primary claim to the encouragement of every lover of his country and mankind. – George Washington • The brightest ornaments in the crown of the blessed in heaven are the sufferings which they have borne patiently on earth. – Alphonsus Liguori • The Church knew what the psalmist knew: Music praises God. Music is well or better able to praise him than the building of the church and all its decoration; it is the Church’s greatest ornament. – Igor Stravinsky • The connoisseur of art must be able to appreciate what is simply beautiful, but the common run of people is satisfied with ornament. – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe • The Cross isn’t an ornament, mere symbol. It’s the mystery of God’s love, that He died for our sins. – Pope Francis • The Earth reminded us of a Christmas tree ornament hanging in the blackness of space. As we got farther and farther away it diminished in size. Finally it shrank to the size of a marble, the most beautiful marble you can imagine. – James Irwin • The economy is still substantially that of the fur trade, still based on the same general kinds of commercial items: technology, weapons, ornaments, novelties, and drugs. The one great difference is that by now the revolution has deprived the mass of consumers of any independent access to the staples of life: clothing, shelter, food, even water. Air access remains the only necessity that the average user can still get for himself, and the revolution has imposed a heavy tax on that by way of pollution. Commercial conquest is far more thorough and final than military defeat. – Wendell Berry • The farmer and the gardener are both busy, the gardener perhaps the more excitable of the two, for he is more of the amateur, concerned with the creation of beauty rather than with the providing of food. Gardening is a luxury occupation; an ornament, not a necessity, of life. – Vita Sackville-West • The feel of the place was deep, the prehistoric heartbeat of the rocks complicating the music, the people bright, all different kinds of dancers, smilers, swayers, swirlers, smokers, beer-drinking boppers, tripsters, spinners. I looked back at the crowd…and saw the show for a moment as a jewel…like a gem in a bracelet: an ornament on the body of the country, glittering in the coming darkness. – Jason Burke • The great end of prudence is to give cheerfulness to those hours which splendour cannot gild, and acclamation cannot exhilarate; those soft intervals of unbended amusement, in which a man shrinks to his natural dimensions, and throws aside the ornaments or disguises which he feels in privacy to be useless incumbrances, and to lose all effect when they become familiar. To be happy at home is the ultimate result of all ambition, the end to which every enterprise and labour tends, and of which every desire prompts the prosecution. – Samuel Johnson • The greatest ornament of an illustrious life is modesty and humility, which go a great way in the character even of the most exalted princes. – Napoleon Bonaparte • The grossest form of this injury of the body to ornament it, is in tattooing. Next, the piercing the ear all around its rim, piercing the nose and the lips to introduce rings or bars of jewelry. – Julia McNair Wright • The hair is the finest ornament women have. Of old, virgins used to wear it loose, except when they were in mourning. – Martin Luther • The hair is the richest ornament of women. – Martin Luther • The heroic soul does not sell its justice and its nobleness. It does not ask to dine nicely and to sleep warm. The essence of greatness is the perception that virtue is enough. Poverty is its ornament. It does not need plenty, and can very well abide its loss. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • The history of most women is hidden either by silence, or by flourishes and ornaments that amount to silence. – Virginia Woolf • The knowledge of the past times and of the places of the earth is both an ornament and nutriment to the human mind. – Leonardo da Vinci • The ‘leisured’ wife was a badge of achievement, the ornament to hard work and virtue for families on the way up. – Hilda Scott • The modern majesty consists in work. What a man can do is his greatest ornament, and he always consults his dignity by doing it. – Thomas Carlyle • The modern university does not exist to teach alone…It exists also to serve the democracy of which it is a product and an ornament…The university rests on the public will and on public appreciation. – Nicholas Murray Butler • The music, and the banquet, and the wine– The garlands, the rose odors, and the flowers, The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments– The white arms and the raven hair–the braids, And bracelets; swan-like bosoms, and the necklace, An India in itself, yet dazzling not. – Lord Byron • The only really Christian art is that which, like St. Francis, does not fear being wedded to poverty. This rises far above art-as-ornament. – Andre Gide • The ornament of a house is the friends who frequent it. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • The ornament of beauty, Shakespeare wrote, is suspect. And he was right. But beauty itself, unadorned and unaffected, is sacred, I think, worthy of our awe and our loyalty. – Dennis Lehane • The ornaments of our homes are the friends that visit it – Ralph Waldo Emerson • The peoples of the old world have their cities built for times gone by, when railroads and gunpowder were unknown. We can have cities for the new age that has come, adopted to its better conditions of use and ornament. We want, therefore, a city planning profession. – Horace Bushnell • The pictures placed for ornament and use, The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose. – Oliver Goldsmith • The quasi-peaceable gentleman of leisure, then, not only consumes of the staff of life beyond the minimum required for subsistence and physical efficiency, but his consumption also undergoes a specialisation as regards the quality of the goods consumed. He consumes freely and of the best, in food, drink, narcotics, shelter, services, ornaments, apparel, weapons and accoutrements, amusements, amulets, and idols or divinities. – Thorstein Veblen • The real ornament of woman is her character, her purity. – Mahatma Gandhi • The real Rose Hovick was seriously mentally disturbed; June Havoc called her a beautiful little ornament that was damaged. – Karen Abbott • The royal navy of England hath ever been its greatest defence and ornament; it is its ancient and natural strength, – the floating bulwark of our island. – William Blackstone • The very design of the gospel doth tend to self-abasing; and the work of grace is begun and carried on in humiliation. Humility is not a mere ornament of a Christian, but an essential part of the new creature: it is a contradiction to be a sanctified man, or a true Christian, and not humble. – Richard Baxter • The weak shows his strength and hides his weaknesses; the magnificent exhibits his weaknesses like ornaments. – Nassim Nicholas Taleb • The whole of heraldry and of chivalry is in courtesy. A man of fine manners shall pronounce your name with all the ornament that titles of nobility could ever add. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • The world would be astonished if it knew how great a proportion of its brightest ornaments, of those distinguished even in popular estimation for wisdom and virtue, are complete sceptics in religion. – John Stuart Mill • The world, which the Greeks called Beauty, has been made such by being gradually divested of every ornament which was not fitted to endure. – Henry David Thoreau • Then I feel, Harry, that I have given away my whole soul to someone who treats it as if it were a flower to put in his coat, a bit of decoration to charm his vanity, an ornament for a summer’s day. – Oscar Wilde • There are elements of intrinsic beauty in the simplification of a house built on the log cabin idea. First, there is the bare beauty of the logs themselves with their long lines and firm curves. Then there is the open charm felt of the structural features which are not hidden under plaster and ornament, but are clearly revealed, a charm felt in Japanese architecture….The quiet rhythmic monotone of the wall of logs fills one with the rustic peace of a secluded nook in the woods. – Gustav Stickley • There is a city in which you find everything you desire-handsome people, pleasures, ornaments of every kind-all that the natural person craves. However, you cannot find a single wise person there. – Rumi • There is material enough in a single flower for the ornament of a score of cathedrals. – John Ruskin • There is no doubt that Greek and Latin are great and handsome ornaments, but we buy them too dear. – Michel de Montaigne • There was very little about her face and figure that was in any way remarkable, but it was the sort of face which, when animated by conversation or laughter, is completely transformed. She had a lovely disposition, a quick mind and a fondness for the comical. She was always very ready to smile and, since a smile is the most becoming ornament that any lady can wear, she had been known upon occasion to outshine women who were acknowledged beauties in three countries. – Susanna Clarke • There were details like clothing, hair styles and the fragile objects that hardly ever survive for the archaeologist-musical instruments, bows and arrows, and body ornaments depicted as they were worn… No amounts of stone and bone could yield the kinds of information that the paintings gave so freely – Mary Leakey • Therefore, I bind these lies and slanderous accusations to my person as an ornament; it belongs to my Christian profession to be vilified, slandered, reproached and reviled, and since all this is nothing but that, as God and my conscience testify, I rejoice in being reproached for Christ’s sake. – John Bunyan • These studies are a spur to the young, a delight to the old: an ornament in prosperity, a consoling refuge in adversity; they are pleasure for us at home, and no burden abroad; they stay up with us at night, they accompany us when we travel, they are with us in our country visits. – Marcus Tullius Cicero • They are done merely for ornament. … the common people regard them as supernatural. – Xunzi • Think it a vile habit to alter works of good composers, to omit parts of them, or to insert new-fashioned ornaments. This is the greatest insult you can offer to Art. – Robert Schumann • To be apt in quotation is a splendid and dangerous gift. Splendid, because it ornaments a man’s speech with other men’s jewels; dangerous, for the same reason. – Robertson Davies • to become aware of the ineffable is to part company with words…the tangent to the curve of human experience lies beyond the limits of language. the world of things we perceive is but a veil. It’s flutter is music, its ornament science, but what it conceals is inscrutable. It’s silence remains unbroken; no words can carry it away. Sometimes we wish the world could cry and tell us about that which made it pregnant with fear–filling grandeur. Sometimes we wish our own heart would speak of that which made it heavy with wonder. – Abraham Joshua Heschel • To Forget Venice is a tour de force of ventriloquism. Elegant, contemporary, and wry, the voice at its center is also capable of disarming flights of imagination as it enters and inhabits other lives across time and gender. The glittering, fetid city emerges as a complex metaphor for the human heart’s simultaneous tenderness and capacity for cruelty, its ‘silver glow / a local specialty: filth / disguised as ornament.’ This Venice is unforgettable. – Chase Twichell • To spend too much time in studies is sloth; to use them too much for ornament is affection; to make judgment wholly by their rules is the humor of a scholar. • Tragedy was foresworn, in ritual denial of the ripe knowledge that we are drawing away from one another, that we share only one thing, share the fear of belonging to another, or to others, or to God; love or money, tender equated in advertising and the world, where only money is currency, and under dead trees and brittle ornaments prehensile hands exchange forgeries of what the heart dare not surrender. – William Gaddis • True ornament is not a matter of prettifying externals. It is organic with the structure it adorns, whether a person, a building, or a park. At its best it is an emphasis of structure, a realization in graceful terms of the nature of that which is ornamented – Frank Lloyd Wright • True, there are architects so called in this country, and I have heard of one at least possessed with the idea of making architectural ornaments have a core of truth, a necessity, and hence a beauty, as if it were a revelation to him. All very well perhaps from his point of view, but only a little better than the common dilettantism. – Henry David Thoreau • Truth is not only a man’s ornament but his instrument; it is the great man’s glory, and the poor man’s stock: a man’s truth is his livelihood, his recommendation, his letters of credit. – Benjamin Whichcote • We all originally came from the woods! it is hard to eradicate from any of us the old taste for the tattoo and the war-paint; and the moment that money gets into our pockets, it somehow or another breaks out in ornaments on our person, without always giving refinement to our manners. – Edwin Percy Whipple • We are made aware that magnitude of material things is relative, and all objects shrink and expand to serve the passion of the poet. Thus, in his sonnets, the lays of birds, the scents and dyes of flowers, he finds to be the shadow of his beloved; time, which keeps her from him, is his chest; the suspicion she has awakened, is her ornament – Ralph Waldo Emerson • We are often struck by the force and precision of style to which hard-working men, unpracticed in writing, easily attain when required to make the effort. As if plainness and vigor and sincerity, the ornaments of style, were better learned on the farm and in the workshop than in the schools. The sentences written by such rude hands are nervous and tough, like hardened thongs, the sinews of the deer, or the roots of the pine. – Henry David Thoreau • We hew and saw and plane facts to make them dovetail with our prejudices, so that they become mere ornaments with which to parade our objectivity. – Paul Eldridge • We know much of a writer by his style. An open and imperious disposition is shown in short sentences, direct and energetic. A secretive and proud mind is cold and obscure in style. An affectionate and imaginative nature pours out luxuriantly, and blossoms all over with ornament. – Henry Ward Beecher • We love to see any redness in the vegetation of the temperate zone. It is the color of colors. This plant speaks to our blood….What a perfect maturity it arrives at! It is the emblem of a successful life concluded by a death not premature, which is an ornament to Nature. What if we were to mature as perfectly, root and branch, glowing in the midst of our decay, like the poke! – Henry David Thoreau • We meet With few utterly dull and stupid souls: the sublime and transcendent are still fewer; the generality of mankind stand between these two extremes: the interval is filled with multitudes of ordinary geniuses, but all very useful, and the ornaments and supports of the commonwealth. – Jean de la Bruyere • We no longer dare to believe in beauty and we make of it a mere appearance in order the more easily to dispose of it. Our situation today shows that beauty demands for itself at least as much courage and decision as do truth and goodness, and she will not allow herself to be separated and banned from her two sisters without taking them along with herself in an act of mysterious vengeance. We can be sure that whoever sneers at her name as if she were the ornament of a bourgeois past — whether he admits it or not — can no longer pray and soon will no longer be able to love. – Hans Urs von Balthasar • We tend to treat our knowledge as personal property to be protected and defended. It is an ornament that allows us to rise in the pecking order. […] We take what we know a little too seriously. – Nassim Nicholas Taleb • What an ornament and safeguard is humor! Far better than wit for a poet and writer. It is a genius itself, and so defends from the insanities. – Walter Scott • What greater ornament to a son than a father’s glory, or to a father than a son’s honorable conduct? – Sophocles • What I resist is techniques. I find techniques very problematic. So when critics talk about my work in those terms, I find that they miss the condition. I am comfortable with the notion of pattern and ornament as a system of organization, [but] for me it acts as a textile. So it’s not about pattern, but the notion of architecture through the lens of textile, rather than architecture through the lens of brick and mortar. – David Adjaye • What on earth is modern exegesis up to? Oh, little lazy one! Some red wine and up! Off you go, brandishing your fork, stripped of Ophelia’s useless ornaments, fire in your large nostrils, out to rake the muck of metaphors. – Louis Aragon • When a rainbow appears vividly in the sky, you can see its beautiful colors, yet you could not wear as clothing or put it on as an ornament. It arises through the conjunction of various factors, but there is nothing about it that can be grasped. Likewise, thoughts that arise in the mind have no tangible existence or intrinsic solidity. There is no logical reason why thoughts, which have no substance, should have so much power over you, nor is there any reason why you should become their slave. – Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche • When a slave begins to take pride in his fetters and hugs them like precious ornaments, the triumph of the slave-owner is complete. – Mahatma Gandhi • Where virtue is, sensibility is the ornament and becoming attire of virtue. On certain occasions it may almost be said to become virtue. But sensibility and all the amiable qualities may likewise become, and too often have become, the panders of vice and the instruments of seduction. – Samuel Taylor Coleridge • Why would you want to keep the bluebird houses mounted in a place that you now know is unsafe for them? Bluebirds are not ornaments for pictures, they are living things that deserve your best effort if you are going to be a landlord to them. There is no magic spell that will protect those bluebirds–they have to depend on you or they are doomed. – Kathy Griffin • Wine is a part of society because it provides a basis not only for a morality but also for an environment; it is an ornament in the slightest ceremonials of French daily life, from the snack to the feast, from the conversation at the local cafT to the speech at a formal dinner. – Roland Barthes • Wise sayings are not only for ornament, but for action and business, having a point or edge, whereby knots in business are pierced and discovered. – Francis Bacon • Woman is the heart of humanity … its grace, ornament, and solace. – Samuel Smiles • Woman, to women silence is the best ornament. – Sophocles • You see the Earth as a bright blue and white Christmas tree ornament in the black sky. It’s so small and so fragile – you realize that on that small spot is everything that means everything to you; all of history and art and death and birth and love. – Rusty Schweickart • You see, for me [art]’s not one of life’s ornaments, rococo relaxation to be greeted affably after a day of hard work; I’m inverted on this : for me it’s my very breath, the one thing necessary, and all else is excretion and a latrine. – Arno Hintjens • You talk to me in parables. You may have known that I’m no wordy man, Fine speeches are the instruments of knaves Or fools that use them, when they want good sense; But honesty Needs no disguise nor ornament: be plain. – Thomas Otway • You’ll see everything from gold teeth to hood ornaments. It’s almost like Halloween during August. – David Carson

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[heroesoftherepublic-blog]

Crash Course

The Third Class Princess woke up coughing, surrounded by wet mist and toxic smoke. Around her the ship crumbled to pieces; covering her mouth and staring at the nearest monitor, she was quick to accept the inevitable.

The ship had endured more than eighty years of voyage, twenty more than they expected it to survive. As a transport vessel its days were over, but what a wonderful pyre it would be. The Princess speed in her search, knowing that to die as Second Class she would have to play an active role in her own end.

She opened a side panel, in which against the protests of her companion she had smuggled various weapons, as well as additional internal sensors that answered only to her. The only active life-signs were hers and the shaky movements of another being.

Confident that an assault would not be an immediate risk, she ran towards the prow of the ship. The majority of the systems she found destroyed beyond repair, the culprit laying down in the middle of the chaos, the resting projectile of a fire-thrower of the Hegemony.

The Princess approached, sweating comets. If one of these were to blow inside the hull would be enough to reduce the entire ship to dust. A cable moved, making her turn and point a weapon in that direction. The figure of a lean mean of long fingers emerged from the darkness, narrowing his eyes in disapproval, finally giving a side glance towards the engine of destruction.

“Do not worry about this.” Slave-Scientists had no grades or classes, and even if they had, not a single category could encompass all of Prodótis unique genius. “I disarmed it. The damage has been done but at least we will not be claimed by fire.”

“There is still time for that to change. How did the Hegemony find us? So many years traveling, through the furthest routes and uncharted systems to avoid interception.” The Princess lifted her head, haughty towards Fates. “All to end in the cold void that birthed us. So be it, but let it not be said that Iphigenia left reality shivering in a corner.” 

“Probe-Escapeboats.” The Slave-Scientist choose to ignore the more fatalistic words of the woman, focusing in different levels of the issue at hand than those that worried the Princess. She was paying attention to his tired eyes and weakened limbs; he had not been roused by the conflict, clearly wandering for a long-time before performing repairs. The mystery of the integrity of the ship was not a mystery any longer. “They patrol between the systems of captivity worlds, aiming for even the weakest life-signs they detect, all to prevent any escape. Treacherous nasty things but nothing compared to the great ships that pursue us.”

“At least I get to bid your farewell.” The Princess held his shriveled form within her arms. “My dearest accomplice, who will carry the torch of rebellion now?”

“You will.” Something groaned behind Iphigenia, the woman feeling a painful twinge in her neck before she could turn around. Her eyes rolled, Prodótis stuffing her mouth with a torn rag just in case she would bite her own tongue. “I was hoping to not have to proceed with this plan, unfortunately there is no other way. Relax, Princess, try to remember everything you are, for all of that must be sent.”

Lights blinked, Iphigenia almost falling unconscious. The Slave-Scientist had fully mapped her ego, all in order to send her across the starts to accomplish their mission.

“What will be of you?”

He averted his gaze, measuring how many lies he could tolerate to bear.

“There is not enough time or energy to send another complete copy. I had some older backups, out of date but trustworthy. I can slice some personality of, pick my knowledge apart and assemble it into something somehow resembling intellect.

“A horrible man until the end.” Iphigenia coughed, holding Prodótis’ hand. “I forbid you from send me. If only one can go, it must be you. You are the one that can craft all those beautiful things that offered the glimpse of a universe beyond want and the evil it spews forth.”

“Cruelty still reigns over the world that is your destination, Iphigenia. I would not survive alone in such savagery. It must be you, there are no alternatives worth discussing.” The Slave-Engineer kissed her with more despair than passion. “No matter how broken I am, find me. No matter what it takes, promise me you will never give up looking for me. We already lost too much time, I cannot stand another life without you.”

She closed her mouth, trying to form the right words. Her eyes shut for the last time, promises unsaid.

 *

 Orcus felt the Sun burning their face, rising his end to protect their large eyes. She felt blindly for their hat, failing to find it. Bored and with little patience left, they forced themselves to open their eyes, letting only the bare minimum light slip between their fingers.

They caught the glimpse of something just as golden and bright.

Lidia stood on top of them, hers long loose hairs, hood lowered as she tried on their rustic hat.

“Does it fit me as well as it fits you?” She asked, adjusting it slightly. “A bit too large for my empty head.”

It could not be real. It must be some more of the Greek’s trickery. Orcus’ heart betrayed them, for a moment forcing them to share the memory of blond child, dilapidated and snotty, also holding their hat.

Them dared to believe that even immortal giants could have their dreams come true. They pushed her aside and got up, looking around to their sheep, grazing or resting under that shadow of the few trees atop the rolling hills of Etruria. They were not imagining things, that woman was really there. Lidia embraced them, all of their considerable girth, crying unabashed by any of the dignity expected of an adult woman. Pure, unrestrained emotion.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry! All that happened has been my fault, Orcus.” Lidia refused to release them. “If I had stayed here, the others would still be alive. I could have protected them.”

Orcus did not project any in response to that. They had escaped whatever had destroyed the previous group by severing the tenuous ties they shared with them. Wars and departures had changed the tone of the Corvii into something they could no longer call family.

Finally, Lidia let them loose.

“My actions since my return let much to be desired. I am yet to take the reins in a way that my responsabilidades demand. I was so convicted that I would restore the Nest, offer New Corvus to Rome.

While the giant was happy to once again see Lidia, they had no patience for those weak of confidence and lacking in conviction, preferring to turn their attentions to the cattle instead. In a gesture of gentle affection, they send to Lidia an image of herself, glorious while leading a small legion of Triumphants.

“An army?” Lidia covered her mouth, chuckling. “I would be happy with five.”

The good humour quickly vanished once the woman finally noticed the burns across Orcus’ arm. Without waiting for permission, she grabbed the limb and got her face closer to it, eyes bulging and gaping mouth.

“Impossible, how did someone manage to hurt you?” Aeneid touched Orcus’ gray skin with her nose and took a deep breath. “You have not been bathing in the Styx, not that would change much for you. And the wound is a quite fresh one. Who could have done this? Goats never had strong elementarists, Phoenix had that Dido Felix or what was her name, and she died without a replacement during the Punic War. No faction in this corner of the world should have someone this powerful.”

Orcus pulled their arm against their chest, gently massaging it. To ease Lidia’s speculations, they presented her with a recolection of the events that had transpired, a young woman rushing across portals and corridors underneath Etruscan catacombs. She did not seem to be there willingly, fearful of every shadow, her face twisted by terror; something jumped towards her, forcing her to call down a pillar flames.

“That garb does not leave much space for doubt. That was a Vestalis.” Lidia crossed her arms, describing circles around Orcus. “There are at least four temples of Vesta whose communities still support the old priest oder. It might not be much but limits my search to less than thirty people, that is already something.”

She stared at Orcus, her eyebrows arching in a pronounced manner.

“If you know something, you must tell me, Orcus. The wrong people cannot get to her before I do. Rome needs her. I need her.”

Nothing.

Lidia adjusted her aim.

“Who is Quirinus, Orcus.”

One of the sheep bleated.

“Who is Quirinus, Orcus.”

Orcus looked to Aeneid top to bottom. They put one of their enormous hands over the tall woman’s shoulder.

“There is no way he could be one of us, right? I am ready to do all that I need, but I can’t raise my hand against one of us.

Instead of a reply, Orcus grabbed Lidia as if she was not heavier than a child, holding her in theirarms and walking away with heavy steps. As their living beard caressed the woman’s face, they showed her a vision of the Nest. Not the ruin, the true nest.

“Alright, enough talk. Let’s go home.”