#renouncement verse

[stiltonbasket]

may I ask for just a lil renouncement verse 🥺🥺 something with flowers and the comforting feeling of planting things maybe?? 🥺🥺🥺🥺

On a damp, dreary morning in the third autumn after Lan Wangji’s wedding, A-Lan trots into his office with a flowerpot and asks for a bowl of dried lotus seeds.

“A-Lan grows flowers,” his daughter pleads, holding up the flowerpot with her beautiful eyes wide in supplication. “Papa, help Lan-bao?”

Lan Wangji’s heart melts. “Of course, qian jin,” he tells her, leaning down to kiss the top of her tousled little head. “Give Papa a moment, and I will be right there.”

He washes his paintbrushes and carries A-Lan to the storehouse near Wei Ying’s Jishi, where his beloved keeps all the ingredients he uses in his workshop. Lan Wangji built the storehouse as a gift for Wei Ying after A-Lan was born, since his jars of powders and talismans were already beginning to spill off the rows of shelves in the Jishi; and though he never quite knows which boxes are safe to touch, the storehouse has a single wall devoted to harmless ingredients like herbs and different kinds of dust. The lotus seeds are on the fourth shelf, between a bottle of swan feathers and a sheet of brown paper covered with dried moss; so Lan Wangji holds A-Lan up to the jar and waits for her to choose the biggest seed of the batch, a buttery yellow one with a hint of spring green lingering beneath the outer membrane.

“This one is Lan-bao’s,” she chirps, delighted with her prize. “Papa, give kiss.”

He brushes his lips over Shuilan’s forehead. “Like this, my xiao xin?”

“No!” the baby protests, holding the seed up to his mouth. “Kiss Hua-bao.”

Lan Wangji bends down and kisses the seed, warming from head to toe at the determination in the little girl’s voice; and then, with their work done, he bundles A-Lan out of the storehouse and takes her back to the Jingshi.

“Now A-Lan will plant her,” Shuilan announces, the moment he sets her down on the porch. “I have soil for Hua-bao?”

“Not the soil in the garden, A-Lan. We need river clay, and sand—the kind of soil A-Niang has in the bottom of the lotus pond.”

“Papa bring clay for A-Lan? Please?”

“En, I will. After we have lunch.”

A-Lan nods and runs back into the nursery, cradling the lotus seed to her chest, and Lan Wangji goes into the kitchen and begins preparing lunch for five. Wei Ying will be home from the Jishi within the hour, since he refuses to miss sharing meals with their family even in the midst of his most enthralling experiments, and A-Yuan always eats in the Jingshi when Lan Jingyi is away from the Cloud Recesses.

He lays out five place settings, and ladles out five bowls of rice—three filled to the brim, and two half-full ones for Xiaohui and A-Lan—and fills a row of serving dishes with chicken and vegetables and soup.

“Lan Zhan, that looks delicious,” Wei Ying says fervently, slipping in through the kitchen door behind him. His robes smell of saltpeter and ice water, both sulphurous and fresh, and Lan Wangji leans down to kiss the apples of his cheeks before sending him to the washroom.

“Go bathe your face and hands, my love,” he chides. “And change your clothes, too. Saltpeter lingers in the air, and you know how you hate to smell unpleasant things while you eat.”

Wei Ying takes an appreciative sniff of the noodles and chicken soup before clapping a hand to his mouth.

“Oh, don’t I just,” his husband groans. “Tian ah, that cleared out my nose with a vengeance. Have I been smelling like this all morning?”

He gags and withdraws from the kitchen, grumbling, and hurries towards the washroom. Lan Wangji hears Xiao-Yu cry out from the other side of the wall, protesting at the pungent odor; and then, less than two minutes later, his second son totters in through the folding doors with Bee-shidi clutched in his arms, looking vaguely ill from the sudden assault on his nose.

“A-Niang will get sick if the Jishi smells like that,” A-Yu says anxiously, tugging at Lan Wangji’s skirts. “Papa, can I clean it?”

“No, dearheart, though it is very kind of you to ask,” Lan Wangji replies, handing A-Yu a bundle of clean chopsticks. “I will air it out this afternoon, if Wei Ying hasn’t already done it. Now go sit down and wait for A-Lan and Sizhui.”

Wei Ying reappears a minute later with A-Lan on his hip and Sizhui at his elbow, and then, after a soapy-smelling kiss and a hungry squeal from Shuilan, their little family finally sits down to eat.

None of them keep to the sect rules about refraining from speech during meals, though Lan Wangji was sometimes tempted to do so when Xiao-Yu was a toddler, out of fear that he might choke on his food. Instead, they talk about anything and everything under the sun: a new novel Lan Wangiji read this week with Wei Ying, Sizhui’s night-hunts and his upcoming master’s examinations in music and literature, Xiao-Yu’s misadventures in the Baoshi with his friend Lan Minghui, and even little A-Lan’s determination to grow her own lotus flower from seed. 

“Hua-bao will be all big for A-Lan’s birthday,” the baby announces, stirring blissful circles into her bowl of brown sauce and mushrooms. “But A-Lan needs clay first.”

“All big, sweetheart?” Wei Ying inquires, sending Lan Wangji a soft, smitten look that brings tears to the corners of his eyes. “Do you mean that she’ll flower by your birthday?”

A-Lan nods and beats on the table with her little spoon. “Mn!”

“Lotus flowers take a little longer than that to bloom, my Lan-bao. It probably won’t be ready by your next birthday, but it should flower by the time you turn four.”

“Too late!” Lan-bao frowns. “Hua-bao grows up fast. A-Niang will see!”

It’s Lan Wangji’s turn to send Wei Ying a soft look across the table then, this one signifying that they should infuse Shuilan’s lotus with spiritual energy as often as need be, in order to ensure that it blossoms by her third birthday.

“What’s special about A-Lan’s third birthday?” Xiao-Yu pipes up. “You already have lots of lotus flowers, remember? Yu-gege gave you one yesterday.”

“My Hua-bao’s different.”

And that, apparently, is the end of it. The meal comes to an end, and Sizhui clears the dishes away; and in the meanwhile, Wei Ying kisses Lan Wangji goodbye and goes back to the Jishi, trailing the scent of sweet lotus pudding and something uniquely Wei Ying.

Sizhui stays for an hour after luncheon, eager to discuss his latest qin compositions with Lan Wangji. But at last he too takes his leave, carrying a bundle of music books from his father’s study; and then, just before the sun truly begins its downward arc across the heavens, Lan Wangji brings his two youngest children to the lotus pond in the produce field. 

Though the foliage surrounding it has long since begun to brown, the pond is as lush as ever at this time of year. Plants tended by shidao cultivators can remain in their growing season year-round without withering, and Wei Ying hates to see the lotuses go to seed and die; it reminds him of his time in the Burial Mounds, where every bush and tree hovered somewhere between life and death.

The swaying lotuses delight Wei Ying, like light tea in the mornings and clean talisman paper and brushes that sit just right in his hands, and it was a simple matter for Lan Wangji to make certain that the pond was always overflowing with flowers; but today, he passes them by and digs up a bucket of sandy clay, which he pours into A-Lan’s red flowerpot with a basin of clear green water.

“This is Hua-bao’s home,” A-Lan sighs, wriggling in contentment as Lan Wangji leads the way back to the Jingshi. “My flower sleeps with A-Lan?”

“I don’t see why not,” Lan Wangji smiles. “Come along, both of you. It’s time you had a bath.”

From then on, the lotus plant lives in a corner of the bedroom Lan Wangji shares with Wei Ying. He gives it small bursts of spiritual energy whenever he remembers to, and watches it grow and flourish like a weed—and thus, like his children, who sometimes seem to grow in both body and mind by the hour.

“They’re growing up too quickly,” he whispers to Wei Ying one night, when the two of them are away from home on a night-hunt in Wujun. “I wish there was some way to catch their childhood and make it stay, sometimes.”

“I know, my Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying smiles back, tangling his fingers in Lan Wangji’s loose hair. “A-Lan outgrew another pair of socks last week, and I almost cried over them.”

Lan Wangji tries not to sniffle at the mere thought of it.

“Should we send the socks to Xiongzhang, then?” he wonders aloud, pulling Wei Ying a little closer. “Jueying must still be too small for them, but she will grow.”

Inexplicably, Wei Ying laughs and shakes his magnificent head.

“Not yet, my heart’s delight,” he says gravely, with the mirth in his eyes belying his voice. “Not yet.”

__

A-Lan’s lotus disappears from the bedroom by the time they return to the Cloud Recesses, secreted away in some hidden place that she refuses to tell her parents about. She refuses to say what happened to the plant, or why she decided to move it in the first place: but she appears to have some kind of plan for the flower’s future, which she shares with no one but her two older brothers.

There seems to be some kind of grand occasion involved, though Lan Wangji has not the slightest idea what; and by the time his forty-first birthday arrives, two months later, he has nearly forgotten about the whole business.

Birthdays are usually rather laid-back affairs in his household, save for Xiao-Yu’s and A-Lan’s. Sizhui likes to celebrate his birthday in town with Jingyi and Jin Ling and Ouyang Zizhen, reserving the private birthday dinners for his family; and Lan Wangji’s birthday banquet is no different, taking place on the Hanshi’s screened porch with a few sumptuous noodle dishes prepared by Wei Ying, and with no one beyond his family in attendance.

“That still makes ten of us,” Wei Ying reminded him, red-cheeked and glowing in the light of the glass lamps by the door. “My darling, you’re going to be drowning in presents.”

And he was, since even Jingyi brought him a covered basket filled with gifts. Shufu commissioned a new copy of Lan Wangji’s favorite book, and Xichen gave him a white-jade ring and pair of cream-colored hunting boots; and Wei Ying’s gift was a volume of candid portraits, no less than a hundred of them, which he completed in secret over the last year and a half without Lan Wangji being any the wiser.

“I will not sleep tonight until I have looked at them all,” he murmurs, when Wei Ying swoops down to kiss him under the pretense of wiping a smudge of dark sauce away from the corner of his mouth. “Thank you, xingan.”

“No, no!” A-Lan cries from Lan Xichen’s lap, struggling down to the ground with a noodle stuck to her collar. “Papa, no get up! A-Lan has another gift!”

“Ah?” Lan Wangji blinks, watching with some confusion as A-Lan drags Sizhui off his chair and scrambles into the Hanshi. “En, very well. I promise not to move, Lan-bao.”

So he waits, sitting patiently at Wei Ying’s side with one hand clasped in his husband’s. At length, A-Lan trots back outside with A-Yuan trailing behind her, carefully carrying the old red flowerpot that held her tiny lotus sprout—but the sprout has grown into a full-blown flower, with its lush pink petals standing almost a foot over Shuilan’s fluffy head.

“Papa, happy birthday!” she cries, as Sizhui sets the pot down at Lan Wangji’s place at the table. “Hua-bao’s your present.”

“Oh, A-Lan,” Lan Wangji chokes, gathering her up into his arms. “Baobao, are you sure you want to give your flower to me? You took care of her so well, sweetheart.”

“Hua-bao is for Papa,” the little girl insists. “She’s a gift from Lan-bao, and meimei.”

“Meimei?” Lan Wangji glances over at small Lan Jueying, fast asleep in her swaddle on Shufu’s back. “You mean from your Jueying-tangmei? That is very kind of you.”

“Not Ying-meimei! Papa didn’t listen to A-Lan!”

She squirms off his knee and toddles over to stand by Wei Ying, pressing her tiny palms to the front of the girdle wrapped around his waist.

“Not Ying-meimei,” she repeats, drawing her black brows together in a thunderous frown. “Not Qing-jiejie’s meimei. A-Lan’s meimei.”

And then, in answer to Lan Wangji’s look of utter bewilderment, she says:

“A-Lan’s meimei is here.”

Wei Ying gasps, one hand flying to his mouth; and across the table, Lan Xichen lets out a high-pitched squeak, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

“Ge, did you tell—”

“No! No, not a word,” Xiongzhang wheezes. “How could A-Lan have—”

Lan Wangji can’t quite tell if he’s still breathing.

“Wei Ying,” he pleads instead, throwing his heart and everything it holds into the two precious syllables of his beloved’s name. “Wei Ying, does Lan-bao mean that you—that we—”

Wei Ying looks up at him, his beautiful eyes shining with tears, and nods.

“I was going to tell you tonight, after Sizhui and the babies were in bed,” he chuckles, as the tears brim over and slide down his face. “Xichen-ge only noticed last week, but I suppose A-Lan must have been somewhere close by when he told me.”

“A-Lan wasn’t,” their daughter protests. “Meimei told Lan-bao she was coming, and then Papa helped plant my baby flower!”

In autumn? But it’s nearly the New Year now, Lan Wangji wonders, so overwhelmed that he wraps an arm around Wei Ying to keep himself upright. “Beloved, when do you expect the baby to arrive?”

“I thought late spring, or early summer,” Lan Xichen coughs, from the other side of the table. “So far, I’ve only taken his pulse and made sure the little one is healthy. A-Xian wanted to wait for you before seeing a healer practiced in midwifery.”

Lan Wangji presses a fervent kiss to Wei Ying’s brow.

“We will go tomorrow morning,” he vows, just as Sizhui finishes explaining the lotus flower’s significance to Xiao-Yu. “How do you feel, my love? You were sick so often during the first months with A-Lan, but if the child is due early this summer...”

“I haven’t been sick at all,” Wei Ying assures him. “Xichen-ge thinks I might have passed that stage completely, but I suppose we’ll find out after we visit Healer Liang.”

After that, the birthday banquet devolves into a storm of congratulations: and a storm in the nearly literal sense, because Sizhui spent nearly ten minutes sitting on Lan Jingyi to stop him from screeching in glee while Wangji and Wei Ying were talking, and now neither Jingyi and Xiao-Yu can be silenced any longer. A-Lan slurps up another bowl of noodles, seemingly satisfied with her work for the day, and falls fast asleep on Wei Ying’s shoulder; and after the plates are cleared away, Shufu comes over to embrace them both and ask after Wei Ying’s health.

“Ever since you entered this family, I have not gone a single day without thanking the heavens that you returned to life and married Wangji,” he says solemnly, while Wangji and Wei Ying are preparing to depart. “Bless you, child. Now go back home and rest.”

“Should I carry you, Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji asks gravely, as they begin the walk downhill. “Because I very much want to, at this moment.”

Wei Ying laughs and entwines their fingers together.

“Not yet, husband. After the little ones are asleep, my moon, you can do as you will.”

And then, so softly that Lan Wangji can scarcely hear it, he says:

“Your joy brings me all the happiness in the world, my Lan Zhan. Happy birthday.”

#wangxian #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #wangxian arranged marriage au #renouncement verse #my fic #this is over 2k words PLEASE reblog i am begging #morcai I am so sorry this prompt took so long #WELL over a year oh my god #but it's here now and I hope you like it!! #wei shuilan

[wraith-of-christmas-future]

Yoke of the Forsaken

      @vyrulent​

         Tyres rumbling friction across wet asphalt, hollowed into sounding more subdued than qualifying to the heavier model like the Rolls-Royce which emerged from it’s abyssal cast ; pitched effortlessly distinctive across a moonless night. It’s chrome accents were the first to draw contrast, with the Spirit of Ecstasy glistening in lead against dimming street lamps. It made the rest of her onyx body lustrously follow suit. Mimicking an organic similitude just beyond her clear and protective coats. When the vehicle approached the scene that no less had been forced in being played out in the alleyway. Dark and decrepit as it had been damp with trash scattered all about the narrowing path which spewed out into their end. Instinct had called the Wraith to this particular point , her driver too, and as such her lights immediately go from bald illumination to a spontaneous bright; a burn that lit up the entire alley and the figures afoot. Steam emitted from her grille in union with a hiss , as if to exhale a breath long since held in the aftermath of a hunt.

          Charles Manx remained within the comfort of his vehicle’s holding. Simply observing the commotion from the dividing windshield - outward at who once had been his own target, now disheveled with her flesh in ribbons. Here, in his stead, another rose to the occasion. Saving him the trouble of getting his hands dirty altogether. 

#Crossover●Merge ; 『 American Horror Story : Asylum | NOS4A2 ❅ 』 #Verse : Faces Only a Mother Could Renounce #Starter ;

[pirateborn-a]

Not me crying thinking how nice to would be if ghost roger kinda talked with his young son. Not me getting emotional over this

     No but like So true!!  Roger does try to stick with Ace,,, watches his son grow up hating him and being hated for behind his and unable do anything about it or comfort him??  And like     Roger loves Garp he trusts the man and knows he’s a good person but also worstie what the fuck-          he gets it, he’s known garp long enough to know how he thinks and he gets it and he never meant for garp to have guardianship over Ace but For the love of the Sea what is he doing to his son--

      But def whenever his ghost’s around Ace Roger would try to talk to him, tries to tell happy stories from his voyages, tries to talk about his crew, tries to talk about his mother and how wonderful Rouge was and how much she loves him, how much roger loves him            just,      i am very normal about roger seeing the consequences of his actions yet unable to do something about it,

#todoufuken #[ ooc ] ✧〖 bid farewell to weaver’s town 〗 #[ v. ghost ] ✧〖 our memories remain 〗 #[ head in hands i am Very normal about this man and his love for his loved ones #[ and how much he loves Ace (son) and how in any verse no matter how much ace despises/spit on/renounce him #[ roger's love would never flatter for a second #[ he just never meant to leave his son in such a mess but also he is So selfish and he was dying and did what he wanted..... #[ (applies to all sons) #[ just!! #[ he could've been a good dad in some life #[ sjkldsfjl rambles momence... head smooth today has been a Day (good but tiring) #[ but also how dm'ing me usually looks like fdsjklds #[ i can and will infodump i am So normal ab my muses fr

[thepixelelf]

For your idol + au thing! (If you're still accepting/looking) mirror verse where you wakeup in a parallel universe and somehow your archenemy seungcheol is in love with you in this world and you're not sure if this is all just an elaborate prank

wc: 1.8k

warnings: attempted assassinations, knives/swords, choking (not the kink like actually an attack bro)

notes: sorry-- I didn't incorporate the elaborate prank part at all but I hope you enjoy!!

[in another life] As your hand guides you through the unlit servant's hallway of the palace, brushing over the paper walls, you breathe as shallowly as your lungs allow. You cannot afford error— not tonight.

Whoever brings Prince Jeonghan's head to your master first will be named his true heir. The next generation's Moonlight Assassin. Whoever completes this final task for him will be left with his overwhelming wealth...along with his immeasurable debt of sin.

Despite the caveat, you simply must be faster than Choi Seungcheol. You understand that he's been training under the master since he was young, and he surely deserves the title of Moonlight Assassin over you, but while you know he wants it, you need it.

Your sister is dying.

Racked by terrible bouts of fever and haunted nightly by ominous visions, she is now too exhausted to even leave her bed. She's already lost her sight. The physician said her hearing would be next, and not long after that, her life.

You haven't told Seungcheol any of this, lest he use your one weakness against you, but there was a moment a year ago when you told him you didn't mean to steal his glory.

"I need the money," you'd said. "It isn't about the title for me."

You thought perhaps he'd take some pity on you then, but it only made him despise you more. He hated that you'd shown up from almost nowhere and somehow charmed the master into taking you in as an apprentice — hated you even more when you seemed to know enough about poisons to impress the master when he'd worked for years to do the same.

For a brief moment, you considered telling Seungcheol your true plan. You only wanted enough money to help your sister; likely a modicum of the master's wealth could cover it. All you needed was that much, and then you'd renounce yourself and cede the Moonlight Assassin title to Seungcheol voluntarily.

But you doubted the master would be happy to hear of your intentions, and you didn't trust Seungcheol enough to stay mum. He'd probably tattle just to get you disqualified before the task even began.

In the end, you kept quiet and let Choi Seungcheol despise you. It was easy when you let yourself despise him back.

His ego was appalling, really, and you truly hated that smug smirk of his whenever he bested you in melee training.

Upon reaching the bend you know is nearest to the honeymoon quarters, you hold in a chuckle. Seungcheol won't be able to smirk now— you'll have the Prince's head before the sun rises. And you'll do it without waking up his new bride, too.

A hand wraps around your throat. Another over your mouth.

Despite your surprise, you make not a sound, knowing just one shift too loud will ruin everything. Only a moment and a half of struggling goes by before the next sound you keep inside yourself is a groan. You know these hands. They've held you down and bruised you enough times for you to remember the shape of them imprinted into your flesh.

"Fool," he whispers in your ear, the sound harsh and demeaning. "You're so slow. I've been waiting for you for hours."

Using both hands, you tear his palm from your mouth, though you have a feeling he is the one who lets you do so. You keep your voice to a low hiss. "You've been here for— why wait for me? You could've killed him by now."

Seungcheol huffs, the quiet version of a haughty scoff. "I could kill a measly prince any day. Tonight is about beating you." He tightens the hand he has around your neck. "I'll enjoy putting you in your place."

"You braggadocios, bull-headed prick—" The insults don't flow from your lips, they come out choking. Your head starts to feel light. "You parading, pathetic narcissist—

Another huff. "If there is one thing I'll miss, it will be your colourful mouth."

Your eyes flutter, eyelids growing heavy. There is not enough air for you to say anything more.

"Goodnight," Seungcheol whispers, his smiling curving against the shell of your ear. "You'll see me well won when you wake."

The last thing you feel is him lowering you softly to the floor, his hand under your head— if only to make less noise than dropping your slack body like a sack of rice.

=

Your first instinct when your consciousness returns is to keep your eyes shut. There is an arm over your waist, and you are lying on your side atop something soft.

Heaven's threads— have you already been jailed? Is some prisoner using you for warmth?

But no, the softness under you feels too fine on your skin. The arm around you feels...tender. Loving. An embrace.

For a moment, you fall into an illusion of time gone backward. You picture yourself and your sister in the small home of your childhood, in the tiny bed you shared before her sickness took over.

This arm is not hers, though. It is much too thick, and — you slowly shift your hand to find the stranger's fingers that graze over your stomach — strong. A hand belonging to someone who developed this strength for years, who...

You freeze.

A hand that was just around your throat. You would recognize it anywhere.

Whipping around, you shove Seungcheol's shoulder so he lays flat, and you straddle his legs to keep them from moving. The knife you keep strapped to your leg is still there, despite everything else feeling so foreign. You hold his dominant arm down with one hand and bring your knife to his neck with the other.

You're shaking.

Slowly, groggily, Seungcheol opens his eyes. You expect him to break free and strike you back — at least try — but his eyes just widen.

"Love," he whispers. "What are you doing?"

"What are you doing?" you interrogate, head swimming. "Where are we? Why am I— why are we—"

His thick brows furrow. "Are you alright?" He doesn't seem to fear the knife at his throat. Doesn't seem to fear you, or the way you've started to struggle against your own breath. "Love, calm down." His hand reaches to push the knife away from his neck, and with his soothing tone of voice, you let him. He sits up and brushes the back of his fingers over your cheek. Gently, he squeezes your hand. "It's alright. You're safe here. I'm with you."

As soon as your breathing evens, you come back to yourself. You smack his hand away from your face. "What the hell has gotten into you? This looks like..." You turn left and right, taking in the room around you lit only by a sparse few candles. "...the palace. What happened? Where is the prince?"

Seungcheol pouts. You didn't know his lips could do that. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead, but you slap it away again. "Are you feeling feverish? Dizzy?"

"I'm confused. Why are you acting so strange?"

"Love--"

"That!" you exclaim. "That word-- 'love'. You keep saying it. I don't understand."

He squeezes your hand again, and for some reason, you don't pull away. "I thought you liked that one... You never liked honey, or blossom, or dewdrop--"

You scowl and shove his shoulder, which he only smiles and laughs at. The smile throws you off -- it isn't the smug, irritating one you are accustomed to -- it's wide and bright and warm. He cups your cheek, his smile softening but not going away.

"Love, I think you're tired. Let's go back to sleep."

"Let's?"

Seungcheol chuckles. "You must be exhausted after today. 'Where is the prince'? I'm right here, love."

For a few moments, you simply stare at him. This man, Choi Seungcheol, who once had to be ordered by the master to stop sparring, otherwise he'd break both of your legs -- this man is cradling your face like treasure, and claiming...

"Hah!" you can't help the disbelief that escapes your lips. "You, Seungcheol? A prince? What else are you going to tell me-- that I'm your starry-eyed marrier?"

He tilts his head. "I wouldn't say starry-eyed," he teases, but then his brow furrows again, and he studies your eyes. "You're truly starting to worry me. Should I call for the physician?" His eyes seem to finally adjust to the darkness of the room, and he curiously takes in the clothes you're wearing, the same ones he caught you in outside Prince Jeonghan's honeymoon quarters. "When did you change?" he asks, then lets his gaze dart over to the knife you'd abandoned on the other side of the bed. "And where did you find that?"

"You... you're actually the prince?"

Seungcheol wraps an arm around you, and the protectiveness in his eyes makes you take a sharp inhale. "Something is wrong. I'll call for the--"

"Shh!"

At the slightest sound of shuffling past the thin paper walls, you tackle Seungcheol down to the bed and cover his mouth with your palm. This is starting to feel familiar in a strange, mirror-like way.

You meet Seungcheol's eyes and whisper as quietly as possible. "You're the prince."

Despite his obvious confusion, he nods.

"And we were married yesterday?"

He nods again.

"Heaven's threads," you curse, then turn your head towards the noise outside. When you hold your breath, you're sure you hear the sounds of a quiet, restrained struggle, followed by a body being lowered to the floor.

Seungcheol pries your hand from his mouth. "Love, what's--?"

The door slides open, and a masked figure freezes in the opening, eyes wide as he registers that you're both awake. Still, his surprise doesn't last long. He pulls out his weapon, a short sword you recognize as Seungcheol's -- your Seungcheol, not the prince still holding you in his arms -- and moves so quickly you hardly have time to react.

Though Seungcheol attempts to pull you tighter into him and turn so he will take the brunt of the attack, you are just fast enough to slip from his hold. You grab your knife and send a kick straight into the intruder's chest. He falls to floor. Grabbing his wrist, you slam it against the wood and kick the sword he lets go of as far across the room as possible.

In the frenzy, you rip down the piece of cloth covering the lower half of his face, out of breath as you realize, "Prince Jeonghan?"

The man growls, but the sharp edge of your knife kissing his neck is enough to keep him still. "Who--"

You don't allow him to finish his sentence. Raising your hand, you slam the hilt of your knife into his temple, and he falls limp, eyes rolling back.

The room falls back into silence, left only with your heavy breathing and -- you look over at Seungcheol -- his, too. Through the open door, you spot the feet of whomever has taken your spot in this strange, backwards world.

"Love," Seungcheol says in a breathless exhale. "That..."

You place your hands on the floor and push yourself to your feet. Seungcheol meets you between the bed and the unconscious assassin on the floor. He wraps his arms around you.

"That was strangely the most beautiful thing I've ever--"

His words choke to a stop when he feels you press the tip of the knife into the back of his neck.

"Love," you say, voice shaking. "Take me to my sister."

#caratlibrary #.100 #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #svt scenarios #svt imagines #svt x reader #s.coups x reader #s.coups imagines #s.coups scenarios #scoups scenarios #scoups imagines #scoups x reader #seungcheol scenarios #choi seungcheol imagines #choi seungcheol scenarios #choi seungcheol x reader #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol imagines

[moodymisty]

Everyone wants Lorgar carnally until he says grace before giving head. Or when he recites verses that describe the world’s beauty while he gently caresses your body. Or when you’re having sex and he starts whimpering prayers upon prayers about how wonderful you are, how much he loves you, how he wants you so badly, how he’s utterly yours (he’s not even doing it deliberately, it’s like singing your praises is second nature to him). Or after you’ve finished, when he lies down on your bed and looks at you with complete and total reverence. You can see that in this moment, to him, you are the only thing that’s real. The lamp on his desk is illuminating you like a halo, or maybe it’s not even the lamp at all, maybe it’s just you. Lorgar wouldn’t even question it if that was the case, because who is he to question what true holiness is?

In his gaze there’s more than just a lovers adoration. To him you’re not a mere mortal. He looks at you as if you’re the sun itself, like you could fly up to the very heavens and rip the stars from their foundations. His trust placed in you so wholeheartedly that if you decided to smite him for the simple crime of existing, he would let you, he would even thank you for it.

But you love him far too much to even think those thoughts. You cup the side of his face and feel as he leans into your touch. You don’t know it, but if in this very moment you told him to renounce his faith, renounce his loyalty to the emperor, and worship you and only you. He would, without a doubt, say yes.

… Well. I think I might’ve gotten a little too carried away here lmao

Oh hey thanks for the fucking feast, excuse me while I go apeshit with my religious undertones/trauma kink

also @thevoidscreams thanks for the inspo as well fam

Warnings: NSFW, Religious undertones, Body worship

The desert becomes so cold at night, the sand sometimes freezes with little sparkles of dew, reminding you of the snow of your distant home planet.

But despite the frigid air of a Colchis drowned in dark you couldn't feel hotter, skin aglow with the sheen of sweat- lips parted in a pant.

"Lorgar, Lorgar..."

Sometimes his name leaves your mouth as a whisper, sometimes a yell, but it seems as if he can hear neither. It's like he's in a trance, head between your legs for what's felt like and more than likely has been hours.

Your thighs are covered in lovebites, little scratches, redness where he's gripped too tight in his enthusiasm and you've had to pry at his hands and plead for him to stay gentle with you, remind him that you're fragile, as his eyes look at you with reverence.

Sometimes the way he looks at you is almost too much; Too much like worship, the way he lowers himself to press his head between your thighs and whisper so many sweet nothings. So much of it is incomprehensible, speaking in tongues as he presses you into the massive ocean of a bed meant for someone far larger.

You’ve never felt as bared as you have in these moments, like he’s taking every bit of you and some from somewhere beyond.

“By the gods, you look so beautiful… No art, writing or tapestry could ever hold a candle to you like this…”

He could do this for hours, sometimes he has, and while you know he has to in order to prepare you for what’s to come, he takes more than plenty of pleasure in it.

His creation didn’t consider something as frivolous of this; His body wasn’t meant for yours. But you’ve made it work nonetheless, forced it to.

He hears your pitiful whine and hoarse cry as you come against his mouth, desperately grabbing at his hand smothering your stomach and keeping you pressed down in place. He whispers and praises like you’re singing a song just for him, music to his ears.

You could stop here and be satisfied, more than so, but you know that he has so much more he wishes to give you. These moments are rare, but when you manage to steal them he indulges in you until the sun rises and you’re begging for rest. At least a days worth, usually no one sees much of you for a few days after such an evening.

His mouth pulls away from you, his body rises to hover over yours and the difference in your bodies has you swallowed in his shadow, though he only sees you surrounded in light. Your skin glows, lips parted and seemingly beckoning him in.

There’s been nothing more beautiful to him in his life than you, in this moment.

He doesn’t know why he resisted this for so long, though perhaps he should’ve, because now there’s nothing in the galaxy he wants more.

“My love, my little goddess, please, let me…”

You grit your teeth as he presses his way inside of you, a balance teetering just before true pain as you feel the threat of his body weight against your hips and thighs. There isn't much space for your legs to go, they can't truly part wide enough for someone as massive as Lorgar, and so they press into your stomach like he's going to fold you in half.

Throughout it all he speaks as if you’re his gift, as if you’re a beautiful star made manifest.

His whispers his prayers his pleading becomes more desperate until he finishes inside of you, feeling his hot skin against your own.

When his body lays beside yours, he’s looks upon your tired form with reverence. With the same shine in his eyes when he reads his gospel or writes a verse. You wonder if one day it will ever become too much, or if you’ll come crashing down from the pedestal he’s put you on.

“I love you, my dear. More than any other man that has spoken those words. I will pluck any star you desire out of the sky, conquer any planet, or bring anyone to heel just for you.”

You might wish to tell him not to, but the words don’t leave your lips. He kisses you, takes those words from you and leaves you breathless as his hand cups your jaw, and he begins to pray to you once more.

#Misty's book club #lorgar x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #primarch x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

[azaliyas]

Hello dear!

I would like to request an alhaitham x f!reader, wherein they're both burned out from work and had a big fight hehe but make it angst to comfort please 🥹

summary : as scholars and researchers, you and alhaitham had to deal with a lot of stress and pressure from deadlines, inhuman amounts of workload and tiredness. one evening, after another day of exhausting work, a simple argument turned into a huge fight with both of you throwing insults and yelling at each other. neither of you really meant any of that, and you both know that at the end of the day, comfort is where the other is.

word count : [ to be added later ]

genre : angst, hurt to comfort.

cw / tw : fem!reader, mentions of fighting and self-negligence, both character and reader are burned out, cursing and yelling.

characters : alhaitham.

note : aaaahhh! this is my first request! i'm pretty excited about it ngl ewe i hope it's what you kinda imagined and that it's of your liking, dear anon! <3

when, as a young and hopeful student, you entered the akademiya you knew you were going to deal with a lot, since the sumerian institution was worldly regarded as the best school existing. you knew stress and deadlines would have become your new best friends, but you were ready for all of that. you were passionate about history and social studies, the vahumana darshan was the obvious choice to satisfy your thirst for knowledge.

it was during those years that you met your boyfriend, alhaitham, a student of haravatat that was also well-versed in the topics of the other darshans. you would sometimes ask for his help and, surprisingly to others, he wouldn't complain about it one bit. many thought it was because you could offer something to him in exchange, but they were absolutely wrong. alhaitham always accepted to help you because he recognised your intelligence and pure love for knowledge, a love that made you aware of your limits as a human, and so respectful of not keep going on with your studies when the possible knowledge could harm you to a non returning point.

and from that, it was easy for him to fall in love with you, going against all logical thoughts because for him love was illogical, but loving you was not.

——————————————————————

alhaitham was tired. his mind felt numb, the more he read the book in front of him and the less he could understand the words printed on it. he knew it was pointless to continue reading if he wasn't registering any information, it was a waste of time he could have spent doing something more productive. yet there he was, closed in the four walls of his home office, trying to make heads and tails of the documents scattered all over his desk.

accepting nahida's offering as the acting grand sage, he thought, was the worst decision he could have taken in his whole life. even if it was momentarily until the lesser lord would have find the right people to take over as the sages, he was already tired of all the extra work he had to do, since he didn't renounce to his position as the akademiya's scribe. but now all of that was taking a toll on both his body and his mind, as well as his relationship with you.

when was the last time you two went on a date? or had at least spent some time together, doing one of the typical couples stuff he despised but you loved? or when was the last time he had held you in his arms, had a proper sleep, a proper meal, a proper anything? it had his blood boiling knowing that, after the commotion caused by the turmoil he and cyno and aether caused, he hadn't been able to enjoy the new freedom of sumeru with you. he knew you didn't mind it that much, because otherwise there wouldn't have been any peace in the nation at all, had the plan of the sages went well, nor did he regret do the right thing that was rescue the lesser lord.

but alhaitham missed you, all and everything about you. he missed your kind and pretty smile, he missed your lovely laughter. he missed your fingers gently playing with his hair, he missed your nails lightly scratching his scalp. he missed the warmth of your body, he missed the softness of your skin under his lips.

he missed his dear, precious lover, yet he couldn't do much about it, because even if you did manage to get some free time, you two were too tired to do anything that wasn't sleeping to finally get some energy back.

on the other hand, at the akademiya...

your office at the akademiya never felt so suffocating. it was big and spacious, lots of windows with a beautiful view on the city of wisdom and knowledge, but it was starting to being claustrophobic. how many hours had you spend there, trying to write your paper, you didn't know. day after day you would close yourself in, surrounded by books and old papers, trying to finish your research about the traditional celebrations of khaenri'ah, how they would celebrate important occasions such as the birthday of a member of the royal family or the coronation of a new king / queen, but sources were rare and your mental sanity was running thin. and yet, because you were so damn stubborn, you kept searching and searching, putting aside your well-being for this. the paper could have gotten you funds and a promotion as a full-time professor and you had all the intentions of getting both.

raising your head your eyes fell on the clock on your desk. almost 11pm. you sighed, hands ruffling your already messy hair. how long have it been since you had a proper shower, instead of a quick run so you could optimize your time and spend as much of it as possible on your research? you had no idea. another sigh left your lips and you decided you call it a day.

standing up, you took all the materials and put them aside, knowing you would be again in your office back tomorrow morning. your head felt like a hammer was hitting against your brain walls, an annoying whistle in your ears as you left your office, hand on forehead and another on the wall to support yourself. you felt so weak, when was the last time you ate a proper meal? puspa café's snacks were good, but they couldn't possibly be enough.

you left the akademiya, the gentle night breeze blowing on your warm skin. you shivered at the feeling, goosebumps arising on your arms, but it felt good. "i'm still alive", you thought, "this akademiya shit still hasn't gotten the better of me". a bitter laugh escaped at your own thoughts — how fucked up were you, actually?

dragging your feet in the silent city, you walked down to get home. alhaitham was probably already asleep, you imagined, because your boyfriend wasn't the type to stay up late to finish work, not even now that he was the acting grand sage, after the rebellion he planned and executed with the help of the general mahamatra cyno and the traveling hero aether to rescue lesser lord kusanali.

when you got home you expected anything but the sight of your boyfriend in the kitchen, brewing himself a cup of coffee. his eyebags were prominent, his hair a mess, his skin pale. all signs of exhaustion, just like yours.

«haitham, why are you still awake?» you asked stepping inside the kitchen. you heard him sighing, his beautiful teal-orange eyes burning your figure.

«the same as you: working my ass off for the akademiya.» his sharp tone had you flinch and frown, not expecting him to throw his tiredness on you.

«well, you should go get some rest. maybe it will help with that attitude of yours.» you bit back, and your boyfriend scoffed at your words.

«says you, looking like shit for neglecting your basic needs in favor of your academic research.» his coffee was long forgotten, his attention solely focused on your and your argument.

deep down alhaitham knew it wasn't fair of him to throw his exhaustion and tiredness on you, reversing in the same conditions as him, but he couldn't stand your lecture about self care when you were the first to not follow your own advice. he loved you and hated the state you were in because of work. and yet he threw all of his logical stuff shit out of the window the moment you retorted.

you, on the other hand, were left bewildered by his harsh words. he knew what you were going through, working your ass off to finally be acknowledged by the higher-ups and see your dreams realised. you felt your breath hitching in your throat and your eyes burning, but your pride stopped you from bursting out crying in front of your boyfriend. crying would have meant giving it up and you didn't want that, you wanted him to recognise your hard work.

«you're not better than me, alhaitham, otherwise you would be sleeping by now. say, how many cups of coffee did you gobble down?» your voice got higher than your usual tone, and he noticed it way too well. his hand itched to go up to his headphones and turn on the soundproof option, but he desisted. if you wanted a fight, he would have given you the fight of your lives.

«and when did this conversation slip on me when you are the one who has it worse?»

«i have it worse because i'm trying to fulfill my dreams, mister "i have it all easy-peasy lemon-squeezy"!»

«as if i have ever wanted to hold the position of acting grand sage. it's a pain in the ass dealing with all these stupid and arrogant scholars.»

«and there you go again with that awful attitude of yours! do you even hear yourself? they're working so hard and you don't even acknowledge it!»

«like you never got acknowledged for your efforts, pushing you to this point?»

that last sentence of his went over the invisible line neither of you ever had the courage to pass. if first your voices came to a yelling mess that could be heard through the whole city, now the house was dead silent. in that silence alhaitham's eyes widened when he registered what he had said, but it was too late to apologise. the tears you fought to hold back during the argument finally escaped, streaming down your warm cheeks. your lips trembled and before your lover could say something, you talked first.

«you're a bastard, alhaitham.» a sob interrupted you, but you didn't care. «you're an insensitive bastard that can't and doesn't want to go past his nose because who cares if others are struggling? i'm not, it's none of my problem.» you managed to retort even in the middle of your hiccups.

you gave your back to your boyfriend, who was standing still, frozen on the spot. you walked away, out of the house, while he could do nothing but watching your figure disappearin the late night.

his lips trembled, but bit them to stop. his head fell down.

the front door closed with a loud slam.

——————————————————————

you ran back to the akademiya, but instead of going to your office you went for the pavilion outside, the lower level of it where almost nobody ever went. it was quiet, facing the city outskirts, and it was away from the home you shared with alhaitham.

your cried all your tears on your way, your cheeks now dry and sticky. swallowing the annoying knot in your throat, you took a sit on the edge of the empty pavilion, legs casually swinging in the void beneath. luckily for you it was a somewhat warm night, so you didn't have to worry about getting a jacket (as if you didn't forget about it anyway).

your lips were still trembling, the whistle in your ears now replaced by the harsh words alhaitham threw at you. was it true that you never got acknowledged because you didn't work hard enough? or was it because you weren't smart enough? what did the akademiya consider you? average? mediocre? barely above the standard? but you surely had something, otherwise you would have been expelled long ago with the reason of dragging down the prestigious name of the sumeru akademiya.

you started feeling cold not from the night breeze, but from the painful realisation that, maybe, you weren't enough. your heart ached in your chest at the thought. did you just waste years and years of your youth for a dream that had no chance to become true from the beginning? were all of your efforts worth nothing in the akademiya's eyes?

you were so immersed in your thoughts that you didn't hear footsteps approaching from behind. you jumped on the spot when a piece of clothing was draped over your shoulders, covering your shaking figure. your head snapped up only to meet with alhaitham's gaze, one you had never seen in all of your years of dating him: a gaze filled with sorrow and remorse.

«can i take a sit?» his voice was low, gentle.

you nodded and he sat beside you, his legs joining yours in swinging over the edge. you pulled his cape tighter around you, now aware of the coldness that was taking over your exhausted body.

silence filled your surroundings for a while, only the gentle flow of a river in the distance occupying your ears. you didn't know what to say nor where to start, and alhaitham had never been good with words when it came to feelings and such. sure, he improved thanks to you, but his lack of experience was evident. it had been painfully evident in that fight of a couple of hours ago, too.

«you were right, i am indeed a bastard, but my inability to look over my nose, as you said, is the last reason for that. even if i acknowledged your struggles and had to watch you crumble under the amount of pressure and expectations the higher-ups have on you, instead of helping you and give you comfort, i hit you were you are most vulnerable. that indeed makes me a bastard, one that doesn't deserve someone as good as you in his life. but still, i do hope you can forgive me. is that selfish?»

you waited for alhaitham to finish his little speech before raising your gaze and look at him. you could read all the tiredness that got a hold of him and had the best of him and his usual calm self. his eyes were curved down, his brilliant teal-orange hue dulled by regret. his lips were pale and bitten, pressed in a thin line.

«i won't say you're not, but i also don't want you to think that those words i said are entirely true.» your voice was still hoarse from crying, so you cleared your throat before continuing. «i'm sorry for what i said, i wasn't in my right mind. it's just that... maybe you're right, i'm not good enough for the akademiya and that's why i never got acknowledged.» you sank your face in your hands, hiding from your boyfriend.

alhaitham, however, was having none of it. he took your hands in his and pushed them away, then grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him in the eyes.

«that's not true. you're one of the smartest women i've ever met, and they were really few. you have a way with words that's hard to describe, your passion for research admirable and an example for many. you know when to stop to be respectful of the limits that we, as humans, have. it's the akademiya that's made of arrogant and noisy scholars who can't recognise a gem when they're holding one, not you not being enough for an institution made of corruption and greed.»

his lips met your forehead, his words digging holes in your brain, putting roots in there. he was right, he was so goddamn right. you were smart, you were curious, you were knowledgeable, you were respectful. you had all the qualities of a proper scholar, so how the hell did you think you weren't enough? you were even too much, but it would have been a freezing day in sumeru city before you were going to give up on your dreams.

your body though, reminded you you have been way too self-neglecting to start a war with the higher-ups and fuck them over, for now at least.

your hands slipped away from alhaitham's to find themselves on his cheeks, cupping his handsome face. you pulled him down for a kiss, one that was much needed. his arms found rest around your waist, chests pressed together and foreheads touching.

you needed a vacation, and so did alhaitham. you two needed to destress away from the akademiya and spend some quality time together, in each other's arms after neglecting your needs and desires as a couple for too long. and you also needed to stand your grounds and show the akademiya who you were and what you were made of.

there would be time for that, though. for now, you only needed alhaitham, his gentle touch and his sweet kisses, his comfort and his reassurance that he would be there for you to help and support you, as much as he needed the same from you. he may be the almighty genius that saved sumeru and held a knowledge many would kill to have, but in your arms, he was nothing more than a man driven by love and devotion for you and your persona.

© azaliyas 2023 do not copy repost translate or feed to ai

#✧༄ཾ┊ azaliyas #✧༄ཾ┊ azaliya's paperwork #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin angst #genshin comfort #alhaitham x reader

[beevean]

Anyway I think I should watch Hazbin Hotel in Italian because I listened to some of the songs and holy shit what is this level of dubbing and adaptation???????? like?? it's actually really damn good???????? bro i am shook

I thought to translate some parts of my fave songs that made me go 👀 the most lol

(the videos have English subs up to Hell's Greatest Dad if you're interested)

Veleno (Poison)

Questa è la vita che mi piace Un altro amante e tante telecamere E l’illusione di scegliere

Translation:

This is the life I like Another lover and so many cameras And the illusion of choice

The last verse coupled with the visual of the actors hits much harder, IMO. I also like how we already start with Angel's denial that no, really, he loves this life!

Tu sei il mio veleno Dammi il tuo veleno Non posso farne a meno Mi scivola in gola e va giù Veleno, ne sono pieno Anche questa notte per me forse è l’ultima

Translation:

You are my poison Give me your poison I can't give up on it It goes down my throat Poison, I'm full of it This night as well might be the last one for me

In English, Angel is just saying that Valentino feeds him poison and he's addicted to it. In Italian, he's outright asking for it. Also, Angel is afraid every night that he might die for the abuse?????

Mentire è il mio mestiere So sempre quando quel che dico ti piacerà Rinuncio alla mia identità

E l’orgoglio che io ho Fino infondo ingoierò

Translation:

Lying is my job I always know when you'll like what I say I renounce to my identity

And I will swallow My own pride

It's one thing to get good at lying, and another to do it for a living.

Also I prefer the bridge in this version to the English one. We know he's swallowing poison by this point. It's more poignant to add that he's also swallowing his own pride and dignity.

(related to this, during his breakdown with Husk in the hotel, I adore that they translated "Do you know how much I'm worth?" with "Ma lo sai quanto costo?". To be worth in English could also refer to his general status, but in Italian, it can only be intended as his price as a prostitute. Man.)

Muoio, è troppo il veleno Anche se tu mi riempi non sono pieno Del veleno, così mi avveleno Questa notte spero soltanto che sia l’ultima

Translation:

I'm dying, the poison is too much Even if you fill me up I'm not full Of poison, I'm going to get poisoned I only wish this night will be my last one

... do I need to say anything? :( Riccardo Suarez is just. man. He's the perfect counterpart to Blake Roman.

Not much to point out about Fai Schifo, Baby, except that Husk says "Baby, I like you this way" and Angel Dust calls him "love" :) a bit more seriously, "fare schifo" sounds much harsher to me than "you suck", which would be the closer translation - it more literally means "to be disgusting". I really hope the Italian fandom is not as discourse-happy as the English one :^)

(also "passivello da bordello" cracks me up just as much as "power bottom at rock bottom" dhsjfhsdk it literally means "a little bottom from a brothel" but it sounds good 😭)

Il Papà Migliore Dell'Inferno (Hell's Greatest Dad)

Lucifer calls Alastor "sguattero" which is a pretty dispregiative word for "busboy" lmao, more like "scullion".

Chi è che da sempre c'è? Chi da sempre ha fede in te? Chi trasforma tutto in cabaret? L'assistente alla regia? Proprio io, il demone Che ha dato il nome all'Hazbin Hotel Inoltre ti ho sturato la toilette Proprio oggi, grazie tante

Translation:

Who has always been here? Who has always believed in you? Who turns everything into a cabaret? The assistant director? That's right, it's me, the demon Who named the Hazbin Hotel Also I unclogged your toilet Just today, thank you so much

Very interesting that now Alastor's nun cosplay directly refers to his faith in Charlie, and not just his loyalty to the hotel :)

Also nice touch that he once again gives himself credit for the name of the hotel lol, he really hated that Lucifer didn't like it

And personally I love the effect of his voice - it's different from the og dub, and it reminds me of the earliest Disney movies Italian dubs, it's nostalgic <3

Quindi Non Sai (You Didn't Know)

Tutto qui, Sera? Charlie, non esagerare No! Vuoi di più, Sera? Non vedi che un demone può amare? Se è così salvate un'anima Che altrimenti sempre brucerà

Translation:

Is that all, Sera? Charlie, don't go overboard No! Do you want more, Sera? Don't you see that a demon can love? If that's so save a soul That otherwise will burn forever

I just like a lot more how this comes across :) it's more accusatory and also it straight up says that a demon can not only improve, but love.

Another miscellaneous lines that I prefer are "Ora la bimba lo sa!" ("Now the girlie knows!") over "Now the cat's out of the bag", because Lute is an asshole; "È questo quello che mi disgusta!" ("This is what disgusts me!") over "That's what the fuck I've been saying!" because it's a more elegant emphasis; and "Come mai nascondi che tu hai le ali come noi?" ("Why do you hide that you have wings just like us?") because it's more evocative and even more cruel since Vaggie actually got her wings ripped out.

Finale

Trascino fin qui Quel resta di me Ma la morte so che Mi voleva per se Se pensano che sarei morto da eroe Mi dispiace, ma no, sono tutte bugie Io bramo soltanto la mia libertà Dal contratto che storpia la mia volontà E quando le ali io dispiegherò Finalmente il mondo piegherò

translation:

I drag here What's left of me But I know that death Wanted me for itself If they think I would die as a hero I'm sorry but they're all lies I only long for my freedom From the contract that distorts my will And when I'll unfold my wings Finally I will bend the world

First of all, Nanni Baldini is slaying just as much as Riccardo Suez in the emotional department bro what is that voice. But most importantly, "From the contract that distorts my will". This is much more poignant than the English version, and it paints Alastor as not only a puppet, but really as if part of him is acting against his own will. man.

#hazbin hotel #long post #angel dust #alastor hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #hints of huskerdust and charlastor if you squint #i really urge you guys to check all songs because the voice actors are all wonderful #fabrizio vidale as lucifer in particular is destroying me #as well as riccardo suarez ofc he's the best one #also yeah you can tell that i still adore poison

[goodmiffy]

i do align with radical feminism and I’d like to think I’m quite well versed in it bc over the last 4 years I’ve devoured a fair bit of 2nd wave and radical feminist writing. but ultimately i think I’m too miserable and pessimistic and hateful to actually be considered a radical feminist. mostly because honestly i do think things have gotten so bad re misogyny because of women AND men. i think women en masse have given up and are embracing their subjugation kind of intentionally. and are actively encouraging younger girls into it too which i cant ignore. it’s women who have come up with and perpetuate all these millions of microtrends and YES overarchingly it’s still pink capitalism by the design of males running industry, and YES it’s socialisation from the moment they’re born. and women perpetuating is not the same as men creating and enforcing misogyny. but I’m honestly too annoyed at most women for not seeing through it/fighting against it. i feel like no matter how i reach out to other girls and women no matter how tame and placating, they only ever get as far as understanding and agreeing but NEVER changing their behaviour. not ever. i can actually get women to agree with me that xyz practises are harmful and sexist (though even this is hard) but none of those women have ever renounced those practises. they just sorta shrug and say “yeah sucks but obviously i cant change or stop doing it bc i don’t wanna be fuck ugly and disgusting??? (like you)” and now, with how bad things are online being completely overwhelming and inescapable. I don’t have hope. and i think you need hope to be a radical feminist

[androgynealienfemme]

"The main justification for invalidating butch-femme is that its an imitation of heterosexual roles and, therefore, not a genuine lesbian model. One is tempted to react by saying "So what?" but the charge encompasses more than betrayal of an assumed fixed and "true" lesbian culture. Implicit in the accusation is the denial of cultural agency to lesbians, of the ability to shape and reshape symbols into new meanings of identification. Plagiarism, as the adage goes, is basic to all culture.

In the real of cultural identity, that some of the markers of a minority culture's boundaries originate in an oppressing culture is neither unusual nor particularly significant. For instance, in the United States certain kind of bead- and ribbon work are immediately recogniziable as specific to Native American cultures, wherein they serve artistic and ceremonial functions. Yet beads, trinkets, ribbons, and even certain "indian" blanket patterns were brought by Europeans, who traded them as cheap goods for land. No one argues that Indians out to give up beadwork or blanket weaving, thus ridding themselves of the oppressors symbols, because those things took on a radically different cultural meaning in the hands of Native Americans. Or consider Yiddish, one of the jewish languages. Although Yiddish is written in Hebrew characters and has its own idioms and nuances, its vocabulary is predominantly German. Those who speak German can understand Yiddish. Genocidal Germanic anti-Semitism dates back to at least the eleventh century. Yet East European Jews spoke "the oppressors language," developing in it a distinctive literary and theatrical tradition. Why is it so inconceivable that lesbians could take elements of heterosexual sex roles and remake them?

*

It is June 1987, and I am sitting in a workshop on "Lesbians and Gender Roles" at the annual National Women's Studies Conference. It is one of surprisingly few workshops on lesbian issues, particularly since, at a plenary session two mornings later, two thirds of the conference attendees will stand up as lesbians. Meanwhile, in this workshop the first speaker is spending half an hour on what she calls "Feminism 101," a description of heterosexual sex roles. Her point in doing this, she says, is to remind us of the origin of roles, "which are called butch and femme when lesbians engage in them." She tells us the purpose of her talk will be to prove, from her own experience, that "these roles are not fulfilling" for lesbians. She tells us that the second speaker will use lesbian novels from the 1950s to demonstrate the same thesis. And, indeed, the second speaker has a small stack of 1950s "pulp paperbacks" with her, many of them the titles that, when I discovered them in the mind-1970s, resonated for me in a way that the feminist books published by Daughters and Diana Press did not.

I consider for several minutes. I'm well versed in lesbian literature, particularly in the fifties novels, and don't doubt my ability to adequately argue an opposing view with the second presenter. I am curious to see if she will use the publisher-imposed "unhappy ending" to prove that roles make for misery. I also decide I'm willing to offer my own experience to challenge the first presenters conclusions- though I'd much rather sit with her over coffee and talk. She is in her midforties and, although she claims to have renounced it, still looks butch. Even if she speaks of roles negatively, she has been there and I want to hear her story. Then I look around me. Everyone is under thirty. There are a few vaguely butch-looking women present who'd very likely consider themselves to be as androgynous as everyone else, and not a single, even remotely femme-looking women besides myself. I recall Alice Walker's advice to "never be the only one in the room." Quietly, I get up and walk out. I go to no other lesbian presentations at the conference."

“Recollecting History, Renaming Lives: Femme Stigma and the feminist seventies and eighties" by Lyndall MacCowan, The Persistent Desire, (edited by Joan Nestle) (1992)

#the persistent desire #Lyndall MacCowan #Joan nestle #lesbian #lesbianism #butch and femme #butchfemme #butch and femme history #butch lesbian #femme lesbian #butch history #femme history #lesbian history #lesbian culture #lesbian feminism #lesbian feminist history #lgbt history #queer history

[catty-words]

wallsocket thought of the day: there exists an entire thesis in the first verse of "good luck final girl".

see, the album as a whole is very concerned with material comfort. the opener contains pointed disdain for the way institutions absorb your wealth after death, but it's very sardonic about the character taking advantage of the money for personal gain (when's the last time you saw someone with a ski mask and a gun, get on the inside / you gotta do it, gotta do it, gotta do it like me).

the intro of "locals (girls like us)" stringing together phrases like golden arches and pearly gates and private property and armsbodylegsfleshskinbonesinew kicks off the song on a very cynical note about the state of society. you're owned by the consumerism. doesn't your own body feel like a product being consumed sometimes? good luck!

everyone here is a poor kid right outta high school and the only option being to sell off your body to a greater cause that has already let you down and will stunt the course of your life in "shoot to kill, kill your darlings" and put my stuff on the curb whether or not you sell the estate and the horrific numbness of having to live in a ravaged world, might as well give it all up in "horror movie soundtrack" and positioning privileged people as the enemy while also feeling profound spite for them losing something worth having in the first place in "old money bitch".

all this culminates in a feeling that the people of wallsocket (and middle america more broadly) are doomed. it's morally bankrupt to reclaim the wealth of the few for yourself and it's laughably sad to renounce what wealth you do have and what are you gonna use 'your' money to buy anyway? crystal [meth]? your own body? well, in the first verse of "good luck final girl", our narrator chooses to use her money to buy a stranger breakfast. it's a futile gesture, ultimately - the stranger stops being around to accept the care - but. it does set our narrator off on her journey. whether or not it was worth taking is up for you to decide. no one's gonna do your job for you.

bleak, sure. but the music moved you. didn't it?

#wallsocket (2023) #underscores

[stiltonbasket]

hello! i was wondering if you still wrote for the sect shuffle au 🥺 i loved your first snippet it was a really cool concept and i have always been on the lookout for more of it 🥹

I am definitely still open to writing for the sect swap verse! But if you want to see more of a certain AU, the best way is to send in prompts for it every now and then. ❤️

#asks #reminder once again that ALL aus are open for prompts except for the ones that have been marked complete on AO3 #aka soulmate au and renouncement verse #everything else is fair game lol #also re: prompts throw in all the details you can #it really helps with the writing process!

[ndbookstudy]

ashtavakra gita, ch. 5 & 6.

Chapter 5: Ashtavakra does not disagree, but in a terse four verses points to the next step—dissolution.

Chapter 6: Janaka says “I know that already,” matching him in style and number of verses.

read ch. 4

Ashtavakra said: You are immaculate, touched by nothing. What is there to renounce? The mind is complex—let it go. Know the peace of dissolution.

The universe arises from you like foam from the sea. Know yourself as One. Enter the peace of dissolution. Like an imagined snake in a rope the universe appears to exist in the immaculate Self but does not. Seeing this you know: “There is nothing to dissolve.”

You are perfect, changeless, through misery and happiness, hope and despair, life and death. This is the state of dissolution.

Janaka said:

I am infinite space; the universe is a jar. This I know. No need to renounce, accept or destroy. I am a shoreless ocean; the universe makes waves. This I know. No need to renounce, accept or destroy.

I am mother-of–pearl; the universe is the illusion of silver. This I know. No need to renounce, accept or destroy.

I am in all beings; all beings are in me. This I know. No need to renounce, accept or destroy.

#ashtavakra gita #non dualism #nondualism

[atticsandwich]

Exploring how Obey Me!'s portrayal of the Celestial Realm mirrors that of the how the Christian heaven is used as propaganda, and how Simeon, Luke, and Raphael tie-in with real-life people's experiences of the Christian faith.

-

to preface: I was born Christian and was raised as such, but renounced my religion when I was around 18. Experiences vary in different parts of the world of course, however, I will also be tying in things I see from online conversations about Christianity. Admittedly a lot of my insight comes from my experience (and by extension, my family and friends) of Christianity in my area of the world (southeast asia).

Additionally, this post is purely for fun and speculation, and my fascination with subversive portrayals of religion, particularly of Christianity. Please note that I will use the word "religion" as a whole, but this post will specifically go into Christianity, and by proxy, its branches.

As this post is a spur-of-the-moment thing, it is not proofread, so I apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors!

‼️This post will contain spoilers‼️

To start, let's lay out the things we know about the Celestial Realm from the story.

The Celestial Realm is home of the angels, and in contrast to the Devildom, it is a realm of permanent daylight.

Michael acts as its authority, however, we know that its most supreme being is the Father, who we can presume created the realm and its angels. Unlike the sleeping Demon Lord, we are at least aware that Father is still active, although presumably leaves the governing to Michael.

Similar to real-life angelology, the Celestial Realm also divides its angels by ranks. The current known ranks are Seraphim, Throne, Cherubim, Principality, Dominion, and Archangel.

Key observations:

Angels can either fall to become demons (demon brothers) or be stripped of their blessing and become human (Simeon).

Luke's current angel rank is unknown. We can assume this is from inexperience, as despite being implied to be at least a thousand years old, he acts and behaves like a typical ten year old.

Although "falling" can be a punishment by acting out of defiance against its virtues, we know that angels can still be morally grey, and in some cases, dubious, and still not be stripped of their blessing.

Now to the bulk of this analysis.

I. Christianity as a tool for propaganda and colonization

This is pretty basic history - western colonizers have used religion as a basis of conquering "new worlds" in the name of spreading their faith and belief systems. The effects of this still persist until today - racism, homophobia, etc. in general can be traced back to the colonial era. In more present-day scenarios, religion is also used as a leverage for morality and what people deem as "right or wrong". For some parts, it aligns with basic humanity, however, we know very well that it can also be used to spread bigotry and false moral high grounds as a justification for mistreatment of people.

In many countries, politics and religion go hand in hand. Many politicians will use their beliefs as a basis for bills and laws, and it trickles down to the justice system, where judges can display religous bias (whether consciously or not) in favor of their personal beliefs. As such, many politicians will use religion to forward their name and agenda, in the pretense of being a devout practicioner, in order to garner relatability and bias from people of the same faith. In Christianity, for example, many politicians will use the term "Lord's servant" as a subtext for people to latch onto.

In a societal context, we are very familiar with the phrase "Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve" as a rebuttal for homosexual relationships, and in general, relationships that bigoted Christians believe do not follow in their God's text. Cherry-picking bible verses and anecdotes to further their justification for acting the way they do is also a very common occurence, even though that very same Bible they read also emphasize the value of spreading love, with hate having no place in heaven.

-

II. How it ties to the Celestial Realm

Behind its perma-daylight nature, we learn that the Celestial Realm is a place of strict rule and order, and an angel can easily get demoted, as was the previous case for Simeon, who we know was originally a Seraphim, and in some cases, even falling to demonhood, like the brothers. This walking-on-eggshells type of ordinance is very tricky, as the reasoning for being casted out of the realm can get very blurry. In Lilith's case, it was her act of using Celestial Realm medicine in order to heal a human she loved; this then led to Lucifer questioning why her act was tantamount to falling, as he always believed love to be a precious thing. This doubt and questioning, however, then led to his own falling, which led to the rest of the brothers siding with him and Lilith, resulting in the Great Celestial War.

We can then paint a picture of the Celestial Realm as a false/disillusioned utopia - externally, it is very lavish, warm, and golden, but taking a closer look reveals its suffocating, anti-freedom, gray nature, where one wrong move could spell your last day. Simeon is very much aware of this, and has, on multiple occassions, openly expressed disdain on how the realm operates.

It is then a matter of Self vs. Governance; at what point does the Celestial Realm draw the line between individual autonomy and total subjugation of its angels? If Lucifer, once one of its most prominent, respected, and powerful angels, gets casted due to defiance for asking a very valid question regarding a value that is taught and propagated within the realm, as he believes Lilith's punishment directly goes against that value, then what of the lesser angels who wish to ask the same? If standing up for those you hold dear is tantamount to unholiness, then why teach the value of love and family in the first place?

I hope you can see where I'm going here - the teaching of these values in the Celestial Realm being the same ones that can get you ostracized VS. using these values to advance a real-world political agenda and cherry-picked beliefs is intrinsically linked.

People that use religion as a means to justify cruelty or feign moral superiority despite the main point of their religion being to "love everyone equally, as you do yourself" are setting a status quo that they built for themselves and their hivemind - if you don't follow these specific rules and beliefs, you are not a true devout. If you question or point out inaccuracies on the beliefs that we want you to follow, you are a deviant.

Sound familiar yet?

-

III. The three main angels

Excluding Michael and the demon brothers pre-fall, there are three other angels the story focuses on: Luke, Simeon, and Raphael. Despite all three being angels, they cannot be any more similar from each other. One is a brash, tempermental, and an overexcited youth with a sweet tooth; one freely lies and openly involves themselves in un-angelic deeds; and the other is a quiet, stoic, and blunt individual with a questionable taste in cuisine. These three angels encapsulate, almost perfectly, a religous pipeline.

IIIA. Luke

Luke represents the first entry to a religion (I'd use the word indoctrination, but I don't want to unknowingly portray it negatively as some people are born into a religion by default). He is young, inexperienced, idolizes a high-ranking angel who he follows with no question, and above all, naive. We know that he does not know the full reason of why the brothers fell, nor does he know of Lilith. Similarly, children and young people in religion often follow their parents/guardians blindly without question, their understanding of faith being minimal and surface level, something easily digestible for a young, developing mind.

IIIB. Raphael

Raphael is compliance. He knows and understand the ins-and-outs, the ifs-and-whys of the realm, yet continues to follow its order. Although he did not side with Lucifer, we eventually learn that he wishes he did (most recently in NB), yet unlike Simeon, does not actively wallow in his choice and continues to fulfill his duty as a Seraph. Whether we see a development with this in Nightbringer, time will tell. In a similar vein, many people will silently comply with their own faith, regardless of doubt. In my experience, this compliance, either out of familial pressure or feeling indebted to a religion, starts to happen during major developmental stages, either as a late teen or early adulthood, when you can freely do your own research and start to understand the deeper intricacies of a particular religion.

IIIC. Simeon

Simeon is representative of actively going against the status quo. He is an angel that has, on numerous occassions, displayed manipulative and wrathful tendencies, and has admitted to freely partake in lies and deceit. He has also stated that his biggest regret in life was not siding with Lucifer during the war, which is why he actively tries to help him and the brothers as much as he can, not caring if his action could be deemed as heresy. Although we see bits and pieces of it in the original game, Nightbringer Simeon fully procalims this, as asking him to ally with the brothers will result to him in saying that he always will be on their side. In real life, people have their own breaking point that leads them to this path, no matter how personal or educated the reasoning may be. Denouncing one's faith, especially one that was given to you by birth, can be considered an act of both defiance, and in the case of Christianity, becoming unholy, or impure.

-

IV. The Celestial Realm as a commentary of how religion, particularly Christianity, is used in real life as a tool to further a cherry-picked, propaganda-ridden agenda, despite it being a contradiction to its teachings.

It is no secret that a lot of societal problems nowadays regarding bigotry, refusal of understanding, and unacceptance of others outside your status quo can be traced back to religous conservatives. This is a walking contradiction, of course, as Christian teachings always puts love above all, yet bringing this up as a rebuttal will elicit anger, not reflection. The Celestial Realm is the same, as its blurry definition of defiance goes against its importance of love and familial relationships, so much so that in its eyes, an angel trying to elicit defiance by acting un-angel-like is ultimately a lot more angelic than one who dares question why its teachings are being used as a leverage of defiance.

Of course, a lot of this can be chalked up to mere coincidence, and some might even say that I'm stretching a lot here, but it's still very interesting that a portrayal of heaven is morally ambigous at best. In some ways, the Devildom, or what's supposed to be hell, feels like the better place to live in out of the two.

Anyways, if you made it this far, thank you for reading my random spat-out ramble that i started writing out of nowhere and I fixated on finishing 💀 Share your thoughts with me too, if you'd like. I'd love to hear what you guys think.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me theory #obey me analysis #obey me simeon #obey me raphael #obey me luke #obey me lore

[magnusbae]

@brieflyinfatuated

@cuubism @mayhemspreadingguy @magnusbae is there a silly rabbit pastry chef au?

@cuubism

#i like how silly rabbit has aus of aus now XD#closest thing in that verse would be morpheus deciding 'yeah i can create stuff surely a twelve layer cake is within my abilities 🙄 how#hard can it be'#turns out you can't force baking soda to do your bidding morpheus#morpheus in beginners home ec class is the funniest thing i can think of#meanwhile hob is an expert at baking bread. doesn't even have to try at it at this point in life#silly rabbit au#adjacent XD

HAVE I BEEN SUMMONED— Silly Rabbit AU //is// AUs plural!!!

Every story Silly Rabbit tells is a story of it's own. If he would decide to be a pastry chef, he WILL be one. Baking Soda be damned. If he has to tear a hole in the fabric of reality and pull out the most divine cake out of the most renounced chef's dream—he will.

And yet, where's the challenge in that? He shall master the kitchen and be Hob's house wifey au. He watched 1 (one) video of husband meal preps and now he wishes to live out that high.

In his mind, he can see the students asking Hob where he got such amazing lunch boxes, and Hob slightly red cheeked would glance at him AND THEY'LL KNOW.

That would make for such a satisfying story / rumor. That he, the local scandal goth / student / lover / ???? is also Hob's malewife.

Also yes for MORE aus for this au???

#Suppose one could remember that there's that one dark mirror au -COUGHS- #god it's way past morning and I didn't sleep a wink #also hello guys this is a silly rabbit au exclusive discussion now why yes we had separated from the main ship #buns.txt #cuubism #brieflyinfatuated #mayhemspreadingguy #look you're part of the unhinged list #silly rabbit au

[fyregrayfong]

overall thoughts on tdp??? Now that you’re done watching, which season/story-line/character (besides our iconic queen General and Aunt Amaya 👑) was your fave? Any moments throughout that you really felt or really spoke to you?

The dynamic of characters in this show is so interesting. The theme throughout the whole show is something that resonates with me because it's how I live my life. Despite what you hear about a certain group of people you should have an open mind. This is just some of my thoughts and opinions on some of the characters. There might be spoilers so read at your own risk.

I love Seasons 1-3 and if it wasn’t for the wedding preparations and scenes with Amaya. I wouldn’t have watched season 4. I felt like the whole season was complete filler. The series could’ve ended at the 3rd season and be solid. Season 4 didn’t really get my attention compared to the previous seasons. I hope the story picks up in season 5. I just need more Amaya 😭 lol

Callum starting as a kid who doesn't know where he belongs because he isn't a fighter or have anything useful to help the kingdom. He is the stepson of the king. Turns out he is a mage and he instantly knows that he wants to be a good light mage and nothing like what his former crush, Claudia is. Speaks on his character and reminds me a lot of his mom.

Ezran, such a baby doll, is quirky and awkward. Has a difficulty talking to people and has a special connection with animals. He has a kind heart and sees the good in people. He doesn't allow outside comments deter his judgement on a person. He reminds me so much of Antonio from Encanto. He is a fave for sure. He is a type of King that I would love to see in the real world.One that rules with kind and compassion instead with a drive for power or holier than thou.

Rayla being a moonshadow assassin. While Rayla claims to despise humans, on the inside she doesn't truly hate them. She doesn't see them as lesser beings than herself, unlike the rest of the elves. It causes this inner turmoil on her belief as a moon shadow assassin verses her morals. She constantly checking her morals and doing better. Willing to put her life on the line to do the right thing.

Claudia, her development was scary, I know there's some good but she continues down this dark path, that its sad. I was so hoping that she would run away with Soren. I really hope there is some way she can redeem herself in the upcoming season but I feel like she's so far down the rabbit hole that it's too deep a hole for her to come out of. The reason why I say Claudia's development is scary s because she knows she is becoming darker. Each season she is at a point where she pushes that morality further. She crosses that limit and instead of realizing ok that's enough. She knows it's bad and accepts it with no regret. Only to surpass it again the next time. There is nothing that will stop her to get what she wants.

Soren, at first I didn't care about him because he was this jerk who constantly picked on Callum, but Soren definitely grew. The first season I feel like the creators wanted us to see Soren as this idiot jock that heavily relies on his physical strength. It also didn't help that Viren and Claudia also treated him as such. As the series goes on he is so much more than that. His development throughout the series is one of the best, imo. He has this emotional intelligence that came to a surprise. He does have silly moments where he acts first but then he realizes his mistakes and changes. When Soren realized how he was manipulated by his dad. He went against his dad. This is so hard to do. He loves his dad and his sister so for him to renounce his loyalty from his family and follow the crown. Then on top of that having to go to war and the person you're fighting is your own father and sister. That hits the heart in more ways than one. His redemption arc is honestly chef's kiss. Soren is a good boi.

Amaya, my my my Amaya. She is wife. Once she appeared on the screen I had heart eyes immediately. Like I was already shopping for rings! I think I have a thing for strong stoic types who are really big softies. She's both an immovable object and an unstoppable force in battle. Amaya is thoughtful, honorable, compassionate and smart. Brutal, driven and capable. Pragmatic and adaptable. Her character design and fight choreography is stylish af. I could watch her fight it's like watching a dance. Her shield is honestly really cool and interesting design. Even though she's a tough person that flips switches so fast once she's with her nephews. She turns into this big softy that is so adorable and honestly is why I fell hard for her. She has a heart of gold and isn't afraid to jump into the line of fire to protect the people she loves. Her nephews, Gren, Janai, her soldiers, her kingdom. I could go on about Amaya.

Bait, Bait is the best. I can't get over him. He has a range of emotions and is the bestest boi. He deserves all the tarts.

Bonus:

I can't get over the fact that Amaya threw Bait in a perfect spiral throw. Bait is beauty. Bait is grace.

#tdp #callum #callum tdp #tdp ezran #ezran #claudia tdp #soren #tdp soren #tdp rayla #tdp claudia #tdp amaya #tdp bait #general amaya #Amaya #the dragon prince

[women-throughout-history]

Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz

Born in 1648, Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz demonstrated a remarkable aptitude from a young age, displaying an insatiable curiosity for learning. By the age of fifteen, Sor Juana had already distinguished herself as a prodigy, captivating the court with her profound understanding of diverse subjects ranging from physics to philosophy, theology, and mathematics. Her family’s influential status gave her the position of lady-in-waiting at the colonial viceroy’s court.

Despite societal expectations for women of her time to pursue marriage along with numerous proposals, Sor Juana opted for a different path, choosing instead to dedicate herself to a life of religious contemplation and intellectual pursuit. In 1667, she entered the Carmelite convent, seeking a space where she could explore her passion for learning freely. However, it was not until she joined the Jeronymite order in 1669 that Sor Juana found the intellectual freedom she craved. Within the confines of the convent, she was able to host intellectual gatherings and engage in scholarly pursuits without constraint.

Sor Juana's commitment to learning did not go unnoticed, and she soon found herself entangled in ministerial debate and discussions. In 1690, she became involved in a dispute between bishops, defending her right as a woman writer to engage in intellectual discourse through her famous work "The Answer." Despite her eloquent defence, the Church, influenced by patriarchal norms of the time, ultimately forced Sor Juana to relinquish her literary pursuits and renounce her extensive library. Her decision to sell her cherished books and instruments and sign a document in her own blood, writing "Yo, la Peor de Todas" ("I, the worst of all women"), which stands as a poignant symbol of her defiance in the face of censorship and oppression.

Even in the midst of adversity, Sor Juana remained committed to her principles and to serving others. During an epidemic, she cared for the sick and infirm, demonstrating compassion and selflessness until her own health deteriorated. Sor Juana's legacy as "The Nun of Mexico" and "The Tenth Muse" endures through her extensive body of work, which encompasses classical drama, comedy, satirical poetry, and sacred and profane verse. Her writings continue to inspire generations of scholars, artists, and feminists, embodying the enduring power of intellect, courage, and resilience in the pursuit of knowledge and truth.

https://public.websites.umich.edu/~dfrye/SORJUANA.html https://www.philamuseum.org/collection/object/39031

#sor juana inés de la cruz #sor juana #mexico #spanish golden age #women in history #colonialism #history #jeronymite #sor juana ines de la cruz