#vex shrine

[convexicalcrow]

Been taking my mind off spending three days fixing, rebuilding, and then scrapping and building a totally different iron farm by doing some little jobs like finishing more of the Vex shrine. Haven’t decided on the walls or ceiling in the main room yet. I think I will need more quartz though. Maybe I will put a cursed dark oak tree there maybe.

Been reorganising my storage room too. This used to be my bulk storage but I’ve moved that to the iron farm build where there’s more room. I go to my wood chests so often I wanted to move them here where they’re more accessible. Also lol I had to go get acacia bc it was the only wood I didn’t have but there’s a savannah near the cherry grove village so it didn’t take too long.

I also made a cute lil potion room. The black cat is called Sabrina and the brown one is Shelby. Also in the process of setting this up I found a shitton of fire res I got off piglin bartering ages ago that I forgot I had so I may plan that trip to a fortress to get blaze rods sooner now that I have those at my disposal.

On the plus side I do have a working iron farm now. But the build around it is horrendous rn lol. The spawn-proofing is making it v tricky to design well but we’ll get there.

[burr-ell]

Sometimes Things That Shake Up the Status Quo are Worse

I keep seeing people insisting that Exandria "can't return to the status quo, which was bad", but rarely do they say anything in support of that argument beyond "the Primes pick and choose favorites!". And while I'm not confident the show itself won't try to make that claim, the reality is that it just isn't borne out mechanically or narratively. Laying aside that non-Divine Soul sorcerers exist (like, and I'm just spitballing here, Aberrant Mind Ruidusborn), the gods work primarily through the on-the-ground efforts of clerics and paladins—people who have actively and consistently put in the work to devote themselves to the divine. This is a setting where resurrection magic, which relies on divine power, has been intentionally made more difficult than it is in DnD rules-as-written. Even clerics only get access to Divine Intervention at level 10 (when they've already spent a long time devoting themselves to their deity) and up until level 20 the chances of it actually working are vanishingly small—and level 20 clerics are both hard to come by and ultimately still limited.

In the rare event that the Prime Deities choose to bless someone who isn't a cleric or paladin, it's someone who has a good reason to have gotten their attention. Vax offered his life during a divine ritual in the burial site of the Raven Queen's most devoted champion and then actively committed himself to her cause. Yasha was an aasimar being mind-controlled by a devil who wound up at a divine altar and chose to worship Kord after he freed her. Orym is the devoted widower of someone who is in Melora's realm and was present at a ritual in a temple associated with Melora, and one of his companions prayed at a shrine to Melora on his behalf. Vex was directly in front of Pelor, had taken a leadership position in one of his sacred cities, and had received a vision from him directly—and even then, she had to earn it. Scanlan also had to earn the right to Ioun's favor and complete a trial, and had previously shown qualities and values that she believed were fitting of her champion. Fjord was a companion of a devoted cleric of Melora who had sought her help in keeping Uk'otoa sealed and made requests of her on Fjord's behalf, and Fjord also chose to meditate and then became a paladin devoted to her.

And in Exandria, if you don't want to follow a god, you don't have to. Percy, Keyleth, Grog, Beau, Veth, Caleb, Essek, most of Bell's Hells, the average commoner in the various cities the parties have traveled to—whether they outright dislike the gods as a whole or just don't have an interest either way, they're all capable of thriving with or without them, and indeed their problems are almost entirely caused by mortals. It's especially egregious when you consider that cities like Avalir were around during the Age of Arcanum, when the Prime Deities physically walked Exandria, and people like Laerryn, Patia, Zerxus, and Lacrytia Hollow—openly disdainful of the gods or even trying to create feats of magic to get on their level—were continuing business as usual. The previous god of death not only willingly abdicated in favor of a mortal during this time, but outright helped her do the job!

The Prime Deities can't win. If they didn't give anyone any power at all, they'd be viewed as selfish. If they'd stayed on Exandria after the Calamity, they'd be foolish and reckless. They're simply not capable of intervening and helping everyone, so they're labeled capricious. If they leave Exandria, they're abandoning not only their refuge and home, but also the people who need and rely on them. You can argue that "no one should have that much power" all you want, but I think it's exceptionally silly to take an argument meant to criticize the wealthy and powerful of our world (whose only unique quality is ultimately that they got lucky) and apply it to fictional deities (beings who are powerful by their very nature) who, while flawed, also think they're too powerful. They tried to protect Exandria from themselves and the Betrayers while still using their power to do right by the people there, and for the most part it was working just fine.

The "status quo" from before all this was and still is the best compromise available. No one has managed to sell a better one that doesn't amount to "cater to my blorbos and my self-indulgent idea of revolutionary politics, which may or may not also ultimately circle back to my blorbos". I think that's pretty telling.

[yuoimia]

DAY 3: IT’S JUST THE TWO OF US ❅⋆⍋

summary: a cozy vacation spent in another nation

characters: neuvillette, xiao, baizhu, wanderer, ayato, kaeya, childe, lyney, albedo, zhongli, wriothesley, venti, diluc, alhaitham, kazuha.

notes: locations handpicked by me!! these are general days in another nation, you’re not really doing anything too exhilarating, total wc: 1.8k.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ dreamy december event masterlist

mondstadt, starfell lake - neuvillette, xiao, baizhu

Breezy and wide plains on the tops of jagged mountains, carrying a sweet breeze of berries and dandelions. Mondstadt, the nation of freedom, stole the hearts of numerous travelers, with its homely and cozy atmosphere, frolicking the winds all around Teyvat and coaxing the interest of many.

It was Mondstadt’s virtue that first drew him in. Freedom, peace, and comfort, the only things he has ever hoped, wished, yearned with every fibre of his being. Mondstadt sounded like a long-awaited exhalation of air, to finally breathe in a new breath of fresh opportunities and beginnings.

The earliest beams of sunshine crept through the sheer curtains.

If it were any other day, you’d let out a vexed groan before rolling to the other side. But today, today was another day in Mondstadt, and you’d be stupid to let any of the time go to waste.

Shoving the curtains aside, you observe in awe as Starfell Lakes glimmers like a pool of sapphire diamonds or like a flutter of fairies, their pixiedust sprinkling a bit of happiness into your day.

“It really is so beautiful here.”

The abrupt voice startles you for a split second. “Don’t creep up on me like that,” faux disappointment lacing your voice. He mutters a quiet apology before letting out a faint smile, interchangeably switching his gaze from you to the lake.

“Should we go outside?”

You nod in agreement, the excitement rejuvenating you even further. “If it’s this spectacular from afar, can you imagine how majestic it must be up close?”

“Very majestic,” he repeats, leading you both out the door.

liyue, jueyun karst - wanderer, ayato, kaeya

Dizzying peaks and swirling mists convey an atmosphere of grandeur and mystique, alluring visitors and their fascination towards the beauty of Jueyun Karst, rumoured to be the abode of the adepti, typically unreachable by mortals. Yet, there was always an abundance of people willing to test their luck and willpower, returning to tell dramatic tales of exaggerated perils and glory. Even so, there were still facts that none could deny about the quiet abode, namely, the distinctive tranquility fusing within its clouds.

It’s truly hard to believe that you weren’t a figure in a watercolor painting. Soft brushes of orange, yellow, and green leaves dance in the chilly breeze. The sound of approaching footsteps quickly snaps you out of your afternoon reverie as you turn your head towards a familiar face.

He greets you with an unsually innocent, lighthearted wave, accompanied with an intriguing wrapped basket. It doesn’t take much to piece together the pieces and present an overall message, not that he tried very hard to conceal it. Perhaps this vacation has muddled up parts of his cognitive functions.

“How are you feeling?” he inquires, the question evoking some sort of suspicion within you. “Hungry? Bored?” he continues, appearing oblivious to your raised eyebrows.

“…both?” you reply, a little confused and hesitant. “I won’t say no to some lunch.”

“Perfect, I found just the place.”

inazuma, chinju forest & grand narukami shrine - childe, lyney, albedo

Luminous flowers hidden deep in the forests, fragrant cherry blossoms lining the streets of Inazuma—the diverse variation of natural features that Inazuma beholds captivates the interest of those seeking something different, a thirst for something that simply cannot be found anywhere else.

Chinju forest, a secluded area of glowing streams and blooms, far enough from the attention of the city, and close enough to the allure of the grand shrines, a more than ideal option.

In the space of Chinju Forest, day was like night, and night was like day. There was really no hourglass here, where time ambled, the grains of sand dripping one at a time. It unlocked a rare sense of bliss, where no-one was obliged to be anything or do anything.

Despite the strong desire to explore the all-imposing Grand Narukami Shrine, the sheer amount of the flight of stairs that you needed to overcome was already giving you second thoughts.

“…Please don’t tell me…there’s more,” he groans, almost succumbing to his knees and screaming up at the sky. “How many stairs do you think we’ve walked up so far? I’ll say at least two hundred, maybe even two fifty.”

No words leave your mouth; there’s none in your head either; all you feel is a growing agonising pain in your calves and thighs. Short, tired pants take turns exiting your body, and you glance up at the new set of stairs—hopefully the last.

“Yeah, me too,” he replies, nodding understandingly as he recovers and hands you a bottle of chilled water. “Take your time, this is going to be a long one.”

After about ten minutes, you both set off again. To your utter confusion, he seems so energised, sprouting encouraging comments in the midst of silence. You’re thankful for the cheers of reassurance, but all that’s needed is a good night's rest under those glowing flowers and twinkling fireflies.

You don’t even realise for a good minute that you’ve reached the top. The sweat pooling along your clothes is an indicator of your mood—exhausted and sore all over.

Your name rings over the few other people gathered at the shrine as he eagerly hands you a fortune slip.

“Read it out loud; apparently it’s quite accurate.”

Modest Fortune: Clouds cover half the moon and the fog is thick.

Above you is the mood shrouded by cloud. Ahead of you, everything is engulfed by fog.

Though the way ahead seems unclear at the moment, all will become clear when the time comes.

Take this opportunity to improve yourself while waiting for the clouds to clear.

You’re not sure how to feel.

sumeru, port ormos - zhongli, wriothesley, venti

Port Ormos holds everything.

Marketing secrets, priceless treasures, and an aromatic scent of homemade dishes crafted with exotic spices and herbs, carrying through the refreshing winds of nearby seawater. It’s enticing—everything from the cultural architecture to the species of trees. Despite its prominence throughout Teyvat, it’s not as overcrowded as you originally thought it to be. Of course, it’s still busy, but everyone mostly keeps to themselves as they go on with their usual lives. At every new turn, you find yourself enamoured by the great variety of stores, keen to explore every inch of them, no matter how unrealistic that goal may appear.

Someone who’s probably more excited about being in the Port Ormos was probably the person trailing by your side. Out of the blue, he’d point and mutter an interesting fact, or occasionally go up to the store owner with a handful of questions, as you stood awkwardly behind him. It’s quite fine by you, though; the several friendships he’s established with owners have brought in handy discounts and bonuses.

“We should try out that new waterside restaurant,” he says one evening as you walk hand-in-hand by the docks, admiring the warm tones of a summer sunset blending together over the borders of clouds. “One of the vendors told me they have a special on Sundays.”

“Ah, a special,” you hum, amused. “Is that what caught your eye?”

“Special things always catch my eye,” he replies, a mischievous smile spreading on his face. “Would you like an example before we enter?”

You arrive at the entrance of the restaurant, and like mentioned, it boasts a stunning view of the clear and pristine waters, lapping at the edge.

There are floral garlands with small lights slithering across the corners of the ceilings, lit with blazing lamps, soft crackles of the flame add to the intimate atmosphere.

“If you insist, then sure,” you answer to his previous question. Your attention is more focused on searching the restaurant for a waiter to call.

“I think they might be standing right beside me.”

fontaine, elynas - diluc, alhaitham, kazuha

The cosmos present themselves in the elegant fashion of being subtle yet imperial, with millions of sparkling stars sprinkling all across Fontaine’s heavens, effortlessly illuminating the world underneath.

The pale streaks of moonlight gleam down onto the cascading waters and the array of flowers and shrubs, casting a magical afterglow that creates a bewitching sense of enchantment, like you were an illustration in an ancient storybook lost as the ages gone by.

Have you ever tried to paint at night? To become a midnight muse?

Cutting through the stillness were the delicate strokes of brushes on a canvas. It’s a smooth and soft sound, as the colours glide and complement each other.

You’re sitting opposite each other, one the muse of another.

With an air of finality, he looks up at you with a satisfied expression on his face as he begins to pack away the paintbrushes and palettes. Whether he’s content with his product is unknown. Nothing about his face or mannerisms convey an emotion, unless if you count the usual peaceful visage.

“Are you close to finishing?” he asks politely as he packs away the last of his equipment. “It’s alright if you haven't; those mountains aren’t exactly easy to get in the right shape.”

He’s right; the intricacies of Fontaine’s environment are undeniably striking and tedious to replicate, from the very details of the petals to the shade of grass.

You add the last few finishing touches before giving it one last, fleeting look.

“I’m finished.”

As you mutter those two words, something stirs in the air. The world suddenly feels so vastly beautiful, and this particular point in time feels so perfectly sacred that it couldn’t have been a mere coincidence, and you know it’s not.

You know that this very moment, this very vacation, this very night—you know that he must’ve planned this all along.

It was so sweet.

“Show me yours,” you suggest, crossing one leg over the other. Everything feels a thousand times more divine; everything feels so much more meaningful that it's imbedded into your head, in your guts; there's a doubt on whether it will ever leave.

“What’s got you so happy all of a sudden?” he asks lightheartedly. “Don’t raise your expectations too high; I can’t be an exception for everything.”

You’re just smiling, beaming up at the glittering stars, forever grateful for all the light they’ve bestowed upon you, because it’s been a while since you’ve last told them thank you.

Their splendour radiates down to your face; iridescent shimmers twinkle in the tears unknowingly sliding down your face.

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

Chiori and Yae with a reader that tries to slack off all the time

characters: Chiori / Yae Miko x gn!reader (separate)

a/n: Chiori is such an asshole and I absolutely adore her. She’s like if they gave Stannis Baratheon hair and a second sword.

(I wrote this like... 2 months ago and finally finished it. A total henry move to write 90% of smth and then let it rot in my WIP folder for months, if you ask me.)

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Chiori

While the two of you matched when it came to radiating calm energy, the way they came out in quite contrasting ways. Where the Seamstress worked hard at following her passions, you were easygoing, where she was direct and brutally honest, you were charming and always said what the other party wanted to hear. Where she was Chiori, you were you.

So when you once again found yourself in her Boutique, chatting away with customers and somehow managing to make them spend more than they had planned, only to up and vanish from one moment to the next, Chiori couldn’t help but feel like she had an inkling of an idea to as were she would find you.

“What are you doing here?”, Chiori’s voice suddenly rang out, waking you from your slumber as you slowly looked up at her, your eyes still half closed and yet still managing to make out the vexed look on her face.

“I was taking a small break. Do you need me for something, Chiori?” you asked in a completely innocent tone, an unwavering smile plastered on your face as she stared you down before signaling to the once locked door.

“And where did you get the keys for the room?”

“They were in the door, so I let myself in. Oh- Was I not supposed to go here?” You realized with widened eyes, glancing between her and the door before shooting her an apologetic smile.

“Yeah no, don’t do that again. The next time you want to take a nap, do it at home”, came her response almost immediately.

Putting the whole “sneaking off and going into a locked room to take a nap away from people” situation aside, what annoyed Chiori even more was how impossible to read you were. If she was sure you were lying to her, she’d have thrown you out long ago. Were you really clueless enough to let yourself into a room or were you simply playing dumb? 

“Ugh. If you want to stand around and do nothing, come with me. I’m in need of a model right now.”

Yae Miko

While you were certainly far from being as lethargic as a certain ninja-girl loitering around the shrine every so often, you had your moments of supreme languidness. And while there were times she felt the urge to help you out by giving you a bit of motivation to get your day started, more often than not, Yae found herself amused by the lengths you took to go unnoticed by your superiors.

“Oh my, you look exhausted. You must have been working hard to get all of this paperwork finished. I do hope I’m not being a nuisance right now”, Yae observed as she entered the room, her voice both soft in nature while masking her mischievous intentions, letting herself into your office only to see you half-slumped over your desk with finished paperwork surrounding you.

That being said, Yae had no doubt it didn’t take you as long as your dramatic rendition of an exhausted warrior would suggest, considering the clever ways you found to make your work easier. So often had you inadvertently impressed her with your way of working that she wouldn’t put it past you to reinvent the wheel if it could shave off a few seconds from your work.

“No, I just now finished my work”, you were quick to soothe her worries, and yet by the way you rubbed your eyes awake, the Kitsune couldn’t help but doubt your words.

As expected, you had learned from your mistakes. The last time you were caught finishing early, you got a few sentences of praise and an extra load of work, the way your self-satisfied smile turned into one barely holding on as you tried to mask whatever emotions washed over you on the inside, being exactly the kind of subtle reactions she loved to watch people go through.

“You should know that you are truly a commendable employee. So, to reward you for your hard work, I should give you a promotion”, Yae spoke before shooting you a small smile as if to praise you, and yet by the time her words registered in your brain, your mouth was left hanging wide open.

“Thank you, but that’s really not necessary. I can think of a dozen people more suited than me-”

“You’re selling yourself short. I’m confident you’re more than qualified for the position”, Yae quickly cut you off, her expression unchanging as she slowly turned around. “Or… Is it that you do not want more work?” She added as her smile grew wider, barely hiding her enjoyment anymore.

“No… thank you”, you responded with a meek sigh, realizing the futility of fighting it.

Once you’d take a closer look at your new privileges and responsibilities, you’d surely realize that she made sure most of your new workload wouldn’t take nearly as long as your current one if handled in an intelligent manner, and yet, when she saw your current reaction, a part of her found herself hoping you wouldn’t realize anytime soon.

By the time Yae reached the door however, she found herself halting in her tracks, quietly humming to herself as she seemed to think about something before finally turning to face you once again.

“I do suppose you did work well today. Take the rest of the day off.”

[unsoundedcomic]

Whumptober 2024 - 13 - "Team As A Family"

Quigley loathed the stink of Uaid. The great green albatross around his neck assaulted him from a myriad of directions: his mildewed mud flesh, the stagnant water sloshing in his bowels, the rotten table scraps wedged in all his crevices, and even the heap of dirty laundry that Matty had been supposed to wash before all their small world had gone even more to shit.

There it sat still in a moist lump, and Quigley could smell it with impossible acuity, suddenly. The laundry, the mildew, the rot. He could smell it. It hurt his eyes.

Then the fucking zombie came down from the cockpit and Quigley could smell him too. Would that he could rip free the entirety of his sinuses in one long, greasy strip.

"We add a pinch of sugar to you," Adelier said in his tinny voice with its pretentious academic accent that Quigley swore he played up even more around him, "Add the result to a cool pitcher of water, and you'd be a refreshing draught to market to the spectators outside a summer duelling ring."

Quigley didn't look up from his newspaper.

"What?"

Adelier was undeterred. "SOUR," he clarified, perching primly on Matty's travel trunk. How did the corpse sit properly without an ass? No way to know. He picked a beetle from inside his left glove, crushed it, and flicked it down into Uaid's lower levels. "You seem sour as a lemon. Sour as a lemon." His hood tilted away for a fraction of a fraction, as if in thought, then it was gone. "Reading something disastrous there in the daily decree? I understand not how a son of the Six Rings tolerates a Crescian periodical. It is all- all inked in the Queen's befouled bathwater. You'd find more truth in a Sharteshanian courtroom."

Quigley did look up now - just the barest slash of evil eyes between his white fringe and the top of the paper.

"What?"

Adelier went cross inside his hood. Quigley felt a little better.

"A sour parrot then!" the zombie said stiffly. "What what? What what?" He leaned closer to make out the headline. "Litriya Shrine? This year the Bitch-Queen Cannibal orders her Tirnasday take-away from Litriya Shrine, hm?"

"NO!" corrected Matty from below. Quigley heard him rattle the ladder as he began to climb. "That is not how you say it, Mr Adelier! You say it: The twin sacrifice this year will march in a beautiful procession from Litriya Shrine, and go to Queen Sonorie for Tirnasday, and the world will have good fortune until next feast day!"

Duane chortled drily. "Someone do report to the Silver Eel it is nearly out of time to menace the country; Cutter must not have a subscription."

"Providing the sacrifice to the Queen is a heck of an honour," said Jivi, following Matty up onto Uaid's central platform. He turned to rummage in his pack before realising, with a jolt: "Litriya Shrine! Isn't that where we're going?"

Matty gasped and grabbed his arm. "I wonder if we'll meet the twin!"

"Meet the meat!" mocked Duane. Quigley wondered if the man that had murdered him ever thought back on the deed fondly. "I hope that we do. I will speak God's words to the poor wretch and tell them there is another way."

"You will NOT," hissed the Plat, finally folding the paper. He put himself nose to nose with the bastard - or would have, if a nose were yet extant. "You will not embarrass me at this shrine. I need the facility there to mend Uaid and unless you would like me to press you into his broken fucking leg like a wad of fucking chewing gum, you will keep your rotten yawp well shut until it's done."

"SOUR!" barked Duane, not retracting a word nor an inch, "What cloud is this you shrink beneath this day, hethllot?"

Jivi blinked at the Alds, and offered: "That's just Quigley." Matty shook his head and plunked down on the floor.

"No, Papa is vexed 'beyond all light and life' because Uaid is dirty."

Giving the Plat a gentle shove that rocked him back into his seat, Duane stood magnanimously, spreading his fleshless arms. "I did not realise you were so particular! Let us have a harrowing out then. Put the brute over onto the bank for a scrubbing and a scouring. And I say, methinks our caravan far enough from civilisation that a large Core Leech of our more… fragrant passengers will not overly offend friend khert."

From the dark underneath, Sette wailed: "Don't Core Leech me, ya freaks!"

Jivi leaned over the railing. "He means the trash, you trash! I knew you knew that you stink! How do you even stand it when you have a magic smelling nose! Take a bath!"

"I'm assertin' dominence o'er the atmosphere. There ain't one inch of this construct that I ain't put me mark on."

Duane pressed his fingertips together with some concern. "Sette, have you urinated on the walls?"

Little girl cackling bounced around like bats in the blackness. "Figure it out, Materials Master!"

Matty laughed, and Quigley felt a little better. He liked when Matty laughed. But then the zombie slapped his knee, and between that undead contact and the thought of Sharteshanian piss on half his possessions, he wished suddenly and desperately to bathe. He had always been a tidy sort, sensitive to smells and clutter. Vienne had never called him neurotic to his face, but they had fought whenever her forge gubbins intruded upon the rest of the house. Matty knew that, too. He should have been keeping Uaid tidier.

Thinking about it, now Quigley was cross again. He looked away from Duane's questing gaze. The zombie didn't let him. "You must forgive me," he said, leaning into his field of view, "I, of course, can smell nothing. Do I, myself, offend also? Shall I also Core Leech my-"

"Aye," Quigley affirmed. Matty grabbed at the zombie's hands to stop him wiping himself from existence.

"No, Mr Adelier! Only your clothes! And maybe the old crusts and wrappers and fuzzy parts of Uaid's bum crack!"

Duane smiled at him kindly. "'Twould have to be only those, young master. The rest of me is well-warded and cannot possibly create an odour. But I do forget my clothing, and these have been strange days spent among strange - and apparently odoriferous - substances. With all humility, I apologise if I am the cause of anyone's distemper."

The zombie bowed his hooded head and Quigley could not dismiss the sincerity of the gesture.

It wasn't much, but he felt a little better. Matty threw his arms around his neck and wasn't immediately shrugged off.

"Papa, if we're going to stop, let's picnic! I'll make food and everyone can swim in the river while Mr Adelier cleans Uaid!" Matty dove for the sack of provisions Iori had gifted them in Ethelmik. "UAAAAID! <Find a grassy bank! No bugs!>"

Sette's brown and bedraggled mop popped up through the floor. "S'gonna be sammiches again? Why couldn't that large woman pack us any pies? Pies don't go stale but all the bread's gone hard as Jivi's head."

"Eat your putrid canned fish," Jivi shot back, "More for us. You don't friggin' know what hard is 'til you've had nothin' but hardtack for two weeks, landsman."

"I'd never be stoopid enough t'be in that situation," answered the Sharte with supreme smarm, "UAAAID! Find a stoppin' point near a town and I'll go nick us some proper food!"

"Like you robbed that chapel yesterday?" hissed Quigley, grabbing at her hair. He missed, of course, but then Sette turned and did the oddest thing. Deep into her voluminous britches she punched her right hand, and from the depths there she produced a small and sealed jar of pickled and peppered quail eggs.

"AYE. Like I robbed that chapel yesterday and came up with these pickled abominotions I know Plats love. Here."

Quigley caught the sparkling wee jar deftly. Ooh, Main Noire brand, from Valyne. He hadn't even seen the brand in years, with its gold foil label and curling vliegeng logo. Shrewd eyes darted to the Sharte. "What's the catch?"

"Givin' me flesh protector and me a ride, ain'tcha? Just stop castin' murder looks at everyone; makes me homesick."

Jivi gave the jar a once-over, then jutted his chin out.

"Whatcha brought me?"

"Look here-" Sette reached into her shirt and Jivi crowded forward to see. He was thrown off-balance when she suddenly hooked a naked foot into the back of his knee and shoved him hard in the chest. Arms wheeling for purchase, he fell back, towards the edge of the platform, but found nothing to grab but his attacker. Sette called him everything but a gentleman and they both toppled down into darkness. A splash reported their landing, then the sputtering jabber of a Crescian and a Sharte trying to outcurse each other.

"How much of that is piss down there?" asked Quigley, popping the seal on the eggs and laughing and laughing. Matty ooh'd and reached for one. Quigley felt a little better.

[tima7fa]

On A Colder Night Of The Year

Sukuna is doing a shitty job at parenting, at least he's trying ig. + Sukuna is bad at feelings. + Yuji deserves the world.

This is basically a part 2 of the story, I advice to read the first part to understand what exactly is happening and why it's happening.

_______________________________________

"Your bath is prepared, my lord." Uraume murmured while bowing reverently.

"Good." the cursed entity huffed as he strode through the corridor, the blood that stained his form dripping onto the tatami floor, leaving a trail in his wake. "As much as I relish the taste of mortal blood, the sensation of it upon my skin is a most unpleasant one." He wiped a smear of crimson from his cheek, his brow furrowed in distaste. The ever-attentive maids immediately set to work, swiftly cleaning the scarlet splatters from the floor.

Sukuna removed his garments without delay upon entering the bath, a contented sigh escaping him as he felt his muscles unwind in the warmth of the water. The blood that had clung to his form began to dissipate, mixing with the liquid. He rested his elbow upon the tub's edge, his cheek cradled in his palm as he contemplated the scene before him.

His thoughts drifted to Yuji's arrival at his shrine, a full month having passed since the boy's introduction. "Come to think of it, I haven't been seeing the brat as often as of late." he grumbled, leaning his head back to gaze up at the ceiling.

Sukuna had tasked the kid with simple chores, such as dusting the furniture, where the bloodstains he so often brought with him would not be a concern. He wondered if he should have assigned Yuji the role of massaging his head, for the boy's nimble fingers had proven most adept at the task on that initial day.

He let out a heavy sigh, taking up the bowl to scoop up some of the water and pour it over his head, using his fingers to work out the knots in his hair. Why should he care whether he sees the boy or not? Why was this troubling him so? It's not as if he held any true affection for the wretched brat - the boy could perish, for all Sukuna cared.

Perhaps not just yet, though.

Groaning, he began to cleanse his body with the damp towel. "You're so infuriatingly vexing, brat." he muttered under his breath.

Once he had completed his bathing, Sukuna donned his kimono and set out to wander the halls of his shrine, searching for any sign of the young man. Yet, the brat was nowhere to be found. Where in the world had the insolent child run off to?

"Are you searching for something, my lord?" Uraume's voice broke the silence, and Sukuna was momentarily taken aback. He had not sensed the servant's approach, which was most unusual. Had his thoughts truly consumed him so thoroughly?

"What are you talking about?" Sukuna responded, brow furrowed.

Uraume hummed contemplatively. "You've now passed through this area twice." Had he truly traversed this path twice without realizing it? "I was merely ensuring the servants have done a thorough job with the cleaning, nothing more. Dont get it twisted." The curse ran a finger along the surface of a vase, inspecting the pristine finish. This is the sort of detail the boy should have seen to, Sukuna hummed, and it shines as if freshly polished.

"The brat clearly cannot even perform the simple task of cleaning properly. Bring him to me at once, that he may be suitably punished." Sukuna declared, rubbing his thumb against his forefinger as if inspecting for some speck of dust. Uraume raised a delicate brow - they knew full well the vase was immaculately clean, having checked it themselves after the boy had tended to it. And if Sukuna wished to mete out punishment, he was not one to make excuses.

"I do not like to repeat myself, Uraume." the cursed entity growled.

Uraume was drawn from their musings. "My apologies, my lord. However, Yuji is currently in the kitchen, preparing your meal."

Sukuna whirled to face his servant, a scowl twisting his features. "You are allowing the brat to cook for me? I did not assign him to such a task."

"Indeed not, but the boy has been most persistent in his desire to learn how to prepare the dishes you favor, and has been training diligently for the past two weeks." Uraume replied, their tone unwavering.

Sukuna's features softened somewhat at this revelation. Ah, so that explained why the boy had not been bringing his customary tea of late. "If this displeases you, my lord, I shall assign a chef to attend to your meal preparation." the servant offered.

"I did not say that." Sukuna cut in swiftly. "Merely ensure the brat does not make some foolish mistake, like burning himself. I've no desire to deal with his whimpering." With that, the cursed entity turned and strode down the corridor once more.

"And the punishment, my lord?" Uraume called after him.

"I have reconsidered." Sukuna replied simply, not breaking his pace.

___________________________________________

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Three precise knocks, no more and no less - a rhythm Yuji had become well accustomed to. He dutifully waited, poised at the threshold, for Sukuna's granting of permission to enter. Yet, no reply came.

Yuji's legs ached from his prolonged kneeling before the fusuma, the tray of food laid out before him. Perhaps Sukuna was sleeping? This was most unusual, as the cursed entity rarely rested. Uncertain, Yuji contemplated his next course of action.

Should he dare to knock once more, despite the established protocol of three knocks only? Nay, to do so would risk Sukuna's wrath. Nor could he simply leave, for that would mean failing to fulfill his assigned task, a transgression that was sure to invite dire consequences.

The safest path, then, was to remain and wait patiently. With great care, Yuji removed his haori and draped it over the tray, hoping to preserve the warmth of the meal. As a chill breeze swept through the corridor, he shivered slightly, now bereft of the garment's protection.

"Yuji?"

Yuji flinched as a voice sounded behind him. "Uraume!" The youth turned to face the white-haired individual.

"What are you doing?" Uraume inquired, their brow arched.

"Uh, I knocked three times, but Lord Sukuna did not answer, so I have been waiting." Yuji replied, his gaze returning to the tray before him.

Uraume let out a soft chuckle. "Child, if you have knocked three times and received no reply, you should simply enter if you are bringing food or tea. Lord Sukuna does not like to partake of his sustenance later than he has arranged."

"Oh..." Yuji realized the gravity of his error. He had been waiting for at least an hour. Biting his lip, he glanced up at Uraume.

"Just go in. I'm sure Lord Sukuna will not punish you." Uraume said, their lips curled in a slight grin as they turned and walked away.

"But... I made a mistake—" Yuji murmured, his voice barely audible as he watched Uraume depart.

Sighing, the youth donned his haori once more and, taking a deep breath, slid the fusuma open. The room was dimly lit by the light from outside. Carefully, Yuji stepped inside, setting the tray down and closing the panel behind him.

Sukuna sat on the tatami floor, the kyoto draped about him, leaning against a low table. Yuji could only see the man's back, his gaze drawn to the slow descent of snow beyond the window. The chill in the air caused Yuji to shiver involuntarily.

"Took you long enough, brat."

Yuji flinched at the harsh tone of the man's voice, so long absent. Quickly, he lifted the tray and moved towards Sukuna, setting it down before the cursed entity. Settling to the ground, Yuji's aching legs protested the prolonged kneeling he had endured. He kept his head bowed, his hands folded in his lap, eyes fixed upon the tatami.

Yuji's gaze wandered to the food, doubtful that it had remained piping hot after his lengthy wait. As Sukuna shifted, the youth's eyes snapped back to his hands, bandaged from his work in the kitchen.

"Raise your head." Sukuna commanded, and Yuji obliged, meeting the cursed spirit's four eyes. Sukuna extended a hand towards the boy.

"Your hands." he demanded.

Yuji complied in silence, a frown upon his brow, placing his hands within Sukuna's grasp. The curse closed his fingers around the child's, his thumb caressing Yuji's skin. Yuji watched the motion, perplexed, but felt no pain.

Sukuna released Yuji's hands, and the youth returned them to his lap. The curse picked up the chopsticks, and Yuji held his breath, anxiously awaiting the verdict on the quality of the meal. As Sukuna began to partake, Yuji watched intently, his gaze unwavering.

"Not bad," Sukuna mused, and Yuji let out a breath of relief, unaware he had been holding it. A smile blossomed on the youth's face, his eyes brightening.

"Could be better." Sukuna added, and just as swiftly, Yuji's happy expression vanished, not escaping the cursed spirit's notice.

"Your arms are still as skinny as before. Have my servants been starving you?" Sukuna inquired, his gaze fixed upon the boy.

Yuji looked down, his muscles tensing, and remained silent.

"I don't like repeating myself, brat." Sukuna growled. Come to think of it, this was the second time today the curse had warned someone. "If you don't speak, I'll eat you right now."

Yuji flinched, his body trembling in fear, yet still he kept his mouth shut, which seemed to further agitate Sukuna.

"I'll kill all the servants if you don't speak." the curse threatened.

"No!" Yuji yelled, the sudden outburst widening Sukuna's eyes, before the curse's gaze narrowed menacingly upon the boy's face.

"I'm sorry... please don't kill anyone." Yuji pleaded, his voice lowered, acknowledging that he had overstepped his bounds.

"Then speak." Sukuna commanded.

Yuji took a deep breath, his eyes lowering to the tatami floor. "I eat well, the servants take good care of me. It's not their fault..." The boy fell silent again, as if reconsidering his words.

"Continue," Sukuna grumbled, reaching a hand towards the boy and raising his chin. "And don't lower your head."

"I've been making myself throw up the food after eating it." Yuji sighed, and Sukuna's brows knitted together. "Is the food not to your liking?" the curse muttered, his fingers tightening around the child's chin, though not enough to hurt him.

"No... it's just... you said I have time to prove my usefulness to you, and that is until I get meat on my bones. Until now, I haven't proven anything to you, so-"

"So you started throwing up the food, ruining your health so you don't gain weight, which means I won't eat you and you will still have time to prove yourself?" Sukuna continued for him, releasing Yuji's chin. "Who gave you the right to decide what I find useful or not? Since when were you the one to make decisions for me, brat?"

"I'm sorry-"

"Stop fucking apologizing." Sukuna interrupted.

Yuji fell silent, trembling in fear, as he lowered his head. Sukuna went quiet as well, staring at the child who quivered, realizing he had made the situation worse. For some reason, he felt a tight knot in his chest as he saw the transparent substance fall to the child's hands. He had made a child cry, and he hated how bad he felt about it.

It was annoying that this child was making him feel this way. Sukuna had never felt empathy for anyone before. Even when they cowered and sobbed in fear, even when they begged, he had only felt satisfaction. It was twisted, he knew, but it didn't matter. Until now.

Ryomen Sukuna does as he pleases, without feeling the need to justify his actions to anyone.

But right here and now, he doesn't want to see this child cry, nor does he want the child to fear him. It's annoying.

"Yuji." the curse uttered the boy's name for the second time. The child desperately tried to wipe away his tears and muffle his sniffles. Sukuna sighed and pulled the boy towards him, enveloping him in a warm embrace.

Sukuna doesn't make the effort to remember his servants' names, or rather, he doesn't bother to do so. The only name he ever says is 'Uraume.' his faithful servant. But for some reason, he remembers the annoying brat's name.

Yuji yelped, just as he had the first time Sukuna pulled him close. The child's eyes were wide as he looked up at the curse. "...Lord-" "Quiet." Sukuna interrupted.

Yuji fell silent once more, but he buried his face in the curse's chest, his small hands gripping the fabric tightly, as if afraid Sukuna would leave him. The curse let out a small hum, running his hand through the soft, peach-colored hair. Perhaps the reason he didn't cut the child's hair is that he found the fluffy locks to be quite cute on the brat.

But Sukuna would never admit that.

"I won't eat you." You have grown on me too much to do so.

"Cook me a meal again."

___________________________________________

Bonus:

"Uraume, Lord Sukuna can do magic!" Yuji chirped, his eyes shining with wonder.

"Why do you think so?" Uraume hummed, a grin spreading across their face.

"Yesterday, when I was cooking, I cut myself all over. But when Lord Sukuna held my hands, I didn't feel any pain anymore. And when I opened my bandages, my hands didn't have a single wound on them!" Yuji rambled excitedly.

Uraume chuckled and ruffled the child's hair. "Yeah, Lord Sukuna is quite the magician."

"Like a magical girl!" Yuji exclaimed.

"Magical girl?" Uraume inquired.

"Granny used to tell me about magical girls. I think Lord Sukuna is an undercover magical girl." the boy said, his expression serious.

Uraume laughed. "Yeah, a pinky undercover magical girl."

"But shh, don't tell anyone, Yuji."

"I won't! I promise." Yuji said, his eyes sparkling with delight.

《 @midgetpottermills 》

[aylish91]

Hey, if your ask game about your WIPs is still going on- can I ask about the Death god one?? 👀👀👀 you have grabbed my attention and strapped it down. I am feral at your gates for that rn. 😳 I loveeee your writing SO MUCH so scraps like these are AWESOME!! 💖💖💖

Thank you so much lylia!!! You chose a good one, this one also has multiple stories/ideas in it~ Hope you enjoy!!

The first is about how our dear reader has just lost their grandmother and older brother. Following one of their last requests, you travel to your grandmother's old village to give prayer at "the old gods shrines". However, you can't give a meaningful prayer, if the shrine is in disrepair, so you promise to fix that which is broken first.

Interesting things begin to happen from there~

The Second is "To Deal With Death". It begins with the near death of Reader. On the verge of dying, however, they try to barter with death. Not to let them live, but to allow them a couple more days, maybe a week at most to make sure things are alright with their loved ones.

Death at first, reassures you that everything will be fine, and that your time has come. Everything changes, however, once you manage to throw yourself into his embrace in your anguished pleading...

The last is "Death and Fate". You are Fate, a god who just want's to be left alone to your own devises. Death has made a sudden discovery of your presence by the way of Life. You are not sure you are too pleased by this. He has made it perfectly clear that he is unwilling to leave you alone.

Your powers are quite interesting after all~

~~~

1.

As you wondered through, the darkening sky forced you to rest for the night. The obvious choice would have been to stay in either Life’s or The King’s shrines, those being the biggest and in the best shape. Instead, you found yourself curling up in a smaller humbler shrine in the most disrepair. It’s black marble steps and alter had lost its shine, the roof on the verge of caving in. What few pots and idols had long since broken as the webs and dust from decades clung to the shabby space. But it was dry enough, and a small fire in the one remaining brazier gave you enough warmth to last the night. Giving prayer, you gave thanks for the sanctuary and promised to fix that which was broken, quickly settling in for sleep. You tried not to dwell on how the shadows seemed to shift and settle during the night

2.

You were “suppose to go”. “It was time”. “You had done your part...” But you couldn’t. Not yet. Even as Death, in all his mysterious glory, stood before your hospital bed you plead for just a little more time. Not much, you knew it was selfish to even ask, but a few more days. A couple weeks tops. Just enough to make sure. Make sure your sister would be okay.

3.

“It’s you.” “My Goddess, you wound me. Do you think so poorly of me that my presence alone would cause such impolite greeting?” Death, slunk into a chair across from you as you worked at your table, placing his head in his hand to watch you. It was a bold move. You both knew it. You were already vexed with him over the incident regarding the fate of a new hero. If you hadn’t interfered directly, you weren’t sure if Lord Death would have left the mortal alone, balancing the soul between life and death as he had. It was even more frustrating for you by the fact he shouldn’t have been there to begin with. The hero was never meant to die. Death merely wanted to tease you, forcing you to interact instead of merely observe. You took a deep breath and sighed, putting your unfinished threads away and out of sight.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Lady Isolt, heir apparent of the Duke of Loyret, looked silently out of the window of the carriage rattling swiftly away from the city gates of Dolar, back towards tranquil Ylen. Her mother required no conversational response as she lamented her failures and celebrated her successes in acquiring her purchases.

“Can you believe there was not a single alchemist with eternal candles on hand? And I sanctioned Holt to pay thrice the usual if need be! Your father will be vexed.”

That should please him then, it would spare him the trouble of having to find an excuse on his own.

“Ugly thoughts make ugly faces, young lady,” the Duchess scolded and Isolt listened wearily to a repetition of her fears, demands and wishes concerning her behaviour. In the distance the first trees began to announce the woodlands separating Ylen from the capital.

“When you are a little older and a little wiser,” her mother concluded. “Your father will teach you how to run the estate, and you shall have a clear purpose again.”

“I have been of age these two years mother, nothing prevents me from inheriting but father’s threat of disowning me,” Isolt responded rashly. This was a mistake.

The look in the Duchess ’ warm brown eyes, so very like her own, cooled to a sharp chill. “Do not be vulgar, dearest, we do not inherit, we succeed.”

Isolt held her tongue and her mother looked unhappy.

“Or perhaps you will marry,” she said, after a short silence. “You might even move away. It is not at all disreputable, you know, to let one's marriage take one abroad. Lady Helm's youngest son was very lately married to a baron from Kanne and she shall certainly not see him for a twelve month.”

“How fortunate for the happy couple,” Isolt said evenly. “I rejoice at their freedom to leave.”

“If you were to cede your place...” The Duchess smiled knowingly. “You may have a sibling yet.”

“We both know that will not happen, Mama.”

Her mother, still every bit the dark, slender beauty she was in the portraits painted thirty years ago, looked stricken. Isolt hastened to add:

"Whom could I marry? I do not have your talents for directing my affections."

It was a poor deflection, but her mother grasped at it. “Well, Fates ordaining, you will learn . Honestly Isolt, the way you run on, if I had done as you do, my father would have sent me to serve at one of the shrines. ”

If she had been in her mother ’s position, she would have gone, gladly.

“You are so disagreeable.” Her mother turned away from her. “What a way to celebrate our first outing in months. Next time you must come with me to the salon, instead of charging off on your own. I could have had need of Holt myself, you know.”

Isolt bowed her head and turned back to the window. Poor Holt. He had been so distressed at losing sight of her. At least he would never dare to tell her parents.

Not until it no longer mattered.

[Read the rest of The Heiress and the Rogue on AO3!]

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

I have a HC that Vax appeared at Velora’s wedding like he did at Vex’s, but it was a small private moment for them. Like she was getting ready and she just sees him in the mirror with a smile on his face. Before Vex comes to get her and he leaves he just whispers to her “if they hurt you, I’ll fucking kill them” 😂

Also, at the moment of writing this, I’m waiting to hear if I’m going to be working as a preK teacher!!

I'll keep my fingers crossed for you on the job!!!

I love that hc so much oh my godddd. And like Velora would see that as confirmation that even though she didn't know him as well as she wanted to, he still sees her like a sister. And when she hears when she says, she just bursts into laughter. When Vex walks in, she asks her what's so funny.

Velora tells her, "Our brother is threatening my partner from another plane."

And Vex laughs and says that that very much sounds like him. When they get back to Whitestone, she goes to the shrine and thanks him for being there for their little sister.

[convexicalcrow]

aww yeah we got it finished lads. the perfect environment for any Vex to feel at home in. i have the Vex elytra pack from vanilla tweaks and used that to give the littol smol Vexes some wings using armour stand magic. tho i haven't figured out how to rotate armour stands yet, but i will continue practicing! :D

also yeah they're dark oak leaves, i have the different colouration pack from vanilla tweaks for that too bc i think it's a much prettier colour. <3

gonna make a separate room off to the right of this one from the corridor for the cursed dark oak tree, but that will require planning first.

[burr-ell]

Genuine question bc i always psyche myself out of writing due to this exact fear, how do we differentiate and avoid Shallow Angst when we pursue writing character studies? Situational angst seems straight forward where it's like oh no character got Hurt and now needs to be Comforted (the "plot" seems out to get this dude hurt and everyone centers on said dude with little other exploration), but say we did want to look at canon grief, using Vex as the example; what is the good way and what is the bad way to explore it? When do we go too far into excluding the rest of the story?

So I had conversations with @blorbologist and @essayofthoughts about this very thing, and what it basically boils down to is this: are you looking at these emotions realistically, taking into consideration the massive spectrum of how these characters interact with them and attempting to push past your own limited perspective of how feelings work, or are you just using them as a vessel to convey how you feel about something or what you think should happen?

Because there are plenty of very good fanworks that involve angst! Angst is, in simple terms, the examination of anxiety, dread, and sadness, and that absolutely has a place in the creation of art. Well-written angst attempts to find the character's voice in it all—it considers how they've dealt with emotions like that in canon, it asks what real-life expressions of grief or sorrow make sense for that character to convey based on their personality and past history, and as all good fanworks (and original works) do, it comes from a desire to understand someone who is not like you.

Take the example of Vex:

How would Vex deal with the loss of Vax? Based on what we know about her, I think it's safe to say that yes, she would be leaning a lot on Percy and Trinket, burying herself in her work some days to avoid the worst of it, but there are also days she'd be avoiding Percy, and maybe even Trinket, to go off on her own. I think she'd hold resentment toward the Raven Queen, even as I think she'd also want to keep the shrine standing in Vax's memory and actively push herself to forgive her. It would be complicated even further by her pregnancy, and all of the hormonal imbalances and physical complications that would entail. It would be complicated even further by the fact that she and Syldor canonically attempt to reconcile specifically in the wake of Vax's death; while I doubt they'd see much of each other in the first year or two, I think they would both be making incredibly awkward and loaded overtures that would be emotionally complicated and draining.

There are times she would lash out and times she would be hollow, and there's a lot she probably wouldn't be able to talk about because she just can't, because grief isn't something you can often put into words. There's a lot she'd also laugh and joke and smile about, because coping with loss means letting the wound scab over. There are times she'd be able to connect to Percy and Keyleth over the loss and times she couldn't, because the loss of a loving-but-complicated family and the loss of a lover don't feel quite the same as the loss of a twin who was all you had for over a decade.

There are a lot of ways to convey all that! There's no "right" answer; this is up for interpretation. But I do think "Vex will never braid her hair again cause Vax used to do that!" is definitely a wrong one.

Vex and Vax were codependent, but I think people tend to overstate the degree, and tend to ignore their canonical relationship development and Vex's characterization. I think it's important to note that Vex actually handles being separated from Vax during the Trial of the Take arc much better than Vax handles it; she makes fast friends with Zahra and generally seems to be enjoying herself and having a good time. Vex closes herself off a lot, but I think an underrated part of her speech at Percy's resurrection is how it recontextualizes the titling in Syngorn—he made her a part of something precious to him, and by the end of the campaign her stated goal is "make Whitestone the tits". Vex didn't just like, wind up as a city figurehead by marriage and shrug and decide to make the best of it; she was offered a chance and made it her bitch. The Raven Queen took part of Vex away when she took Vax, not all of her.

Yes, the loss is incredibly tragic and the end of Campaign 1 is bittersweet, but there are ways to portray Vex dealing with it that don't involve the general tenor of "ALRIGHT EVERYONE, DAILY REMINDER TO BE SAD ABOUT VAX". Like, I don't think Vex's first thought when she saw Laudna's body was "she looks just like Vax :( time for my daily Two Minutes Sad". (My issue with that isn't even whether the thought might occur to her—it absolutely could! But after thirty years, I doubt it would have been anywhere near the same level as "this innocent young woman was horribly killed for looking like me and I have to help her however I can; also if Delilah comes back I can should must and will tear her a new asshole". Like, the Vax thing might have come up long in the aftermath of her and Percy's inevitable late-night alcohol-induced therapy railing, but probably not before.)

A lot of the shallow angst you see in fandom generally has the same voice—not necessarily because it's written by the same people (although you do see many of the same people purveying it), but because the trending popular angst has to trend and be popular somehow, and it does so by channeling thoughts and emotional expressions that are broadly approved and accepted by the community, whatever that community happens to be. The characters in these fanworks behave the way that they do regardless of whether or not it makes sense in the narrative because shallow angst isn't about the narrative—it's about making your audience sad in the specific, narrow way that you are sad. It's about projecting yourself and your own emotions and how you would deal with them onto a character instead of trying to really understand someone who's different from you.

In our discussion, Blorb described fanworks in a way that really resonated with me—they're conversations with canon. Good, effective conversations are real attempts to communicate with people, trying to understand where they're coming from and connecting with who they are. Shallow conversations are one or multiple parties only thinking of the other person as a reflection of themselves, getting out their own thoughts and feelings with little interest in trying to figure out who other people actually are. And it's not that I think people who make these kinds of works are ontologically bad; it's that I think they're stifling their own creativity and growth. Everyone deserves better than to be limited to themselves.

[mariacallous]

The Vatican formally approved pilgrimages to the Marian shrine of Medjugorje in the southwest of Bosnia and Herzegovina on Thursday. 

The Note by the Church’s Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith maintains a reserved stance towards the “alleged” apparitions of the Virgin Mary but recognises the “abundant spiritual fruits” coming from pilgrimages to Medjugorje, which now have “Nulla Osta” [No impediment] status granted by Pope Francis. 

“The positive fruits are most evident in the promotion of a healthy practice of a life of faith, in accordance with the tradition of the Church,” reads the Note.

[But] “evaluating the abundant and widespread fruits, which are so beautiful and positive, does not imply that the alleged supernatural events are declared authentic,” it added. 

“It only highlights that the Holy Spirit is acting fruitfully for the good of the faithful ‘in the midst’ of this spiritual phenomenon of Medjugorje. For this reason, all are invited to appreciate and share the pastoral value of this spiritual proposal,” it continued. 

The Note cautioned that its assessment that most of the messages of Medjugorje are edifying does not imply they have a supernatural origin, and that “one should always bear in mind that they are alleged messages”.

The status of the shrine has vexed the Catholic Church ever since June 1981, when six youngsters from Medjugorje reported visions of the Virgin Mary, and claimed she spoke to them.

The story spread quickly and Medjugorje became one of the most popular pilgrimage sites in Europe, attracting millions of visitors each year. 

However, the local Catholic Bishop of Mostar denied the authenticity of the visions, denouncing the youngsters as liars.

Pope Francis in 2017 also doubted the seers’ claims to have daily visions of the Virgin as highly improbable and as “without value”.

“I prefer the Madonna as mother, our mother, and not a Madonna who is the head of a telegraph office, who every day sends a message at such-and-such an hour. This is not the Mother of Jesus,” the Pope said.

In the meantime, the remote, poor village became one of the best developed and richest small towns in the country.

The latest status given to Medjugorje ends a 15-year-long probe by the Vatican.

[waltwhitmansbeard]

Percy + Vex prompt

"What have you done to my heart?"

i couldn't find a specific ask meme that this corresponded with, so here's just a lil thing!

It's the way he lets his glasses get so smudged he has to squint to see through them. It's the way he forgets to come down for dinner three nights in a row, but when Cassandra asks him what Oliver's stuffed rabbit's name was, he says "Mr. Flopperkins" without a moment's hesitation. It's the way she keeps finding the tiniest clock parts in his clothes and on their closet floor and in her shoes.

It's the way he gets Keyleth to laugh when she hasn't smiled in days. It's the way he directed the groundskeepers of Castle Whitestone to take care of the shrine to the Raven Queen, just as a part of their normal duties. It's the way he constructs roosts for the ravens that now flock to Whitestone, places for them to rest, to watch.

It's the way he disappears with Vesper down into his workshop, his favorite laboratory assistant. It's the way he is the only one who can rock her back to sleep when the whistling winds of the Alabaster Sierras startle her awake. It's the way his hands look when lifting her into the air, as if showing the Dawnfather himself his most remarkable creation.

It's the way his nose wrinkles when she kisses him, slow and lazy on a winter's morning, with the covers pulled up to their chins and no intention of getting out of bed. It's the way he hums, satisfied, when she whispers, "What have you done to my heart?" It's the way he whispers back, "Only taking what's mine, dear."

[deathfavor]

@diivineray said: come inside. have a drink. // Hua cheng @ he Xuan

city of last chances

There's no need for the dead to breathe; He Xuan does so only so it won't draw more attention to Puqi Shrine. Not that many are out ; winter has settled in and snow lays heavy upon the ground. The wind feels like ice shards and the few people who are out have their heads bowed against the wind, rushing towards their destinations with little regard to the world around them. None spare the other hooded figure at the shrine a second glance. That is fine by him ; favorable even. He'll leave the repayment and go without and problems -

It can never go that simply, can it?

He Xuan was about to drop the heavy bag of money into the donation box when the door opens. ( Admittedly, the bag holds more than truly necessary - he doubts Xie Lian would charge him anything for the soup he devoured the day of Puqi's rebuilding, but he still feels obligated to repay for both that and the inconvenience. ) Instead ; he stares in surprise when he's hit with the warmth from inside the shrine and sees Hua Cheng. It's both nice and VEXING, which often occurs when Hua Cheng is factored into situations with him. But if the surprise on the other king is anything to go buy, it seemed this wasn't a scheme or trap. Just unlucky. ( He Xuan almost wants to laugh ; even in death he can't escape misfortune. ) Except he's eaten the ghost responsible so he's not actually sure if that holds true beyond his hunger or not.

" I don't wish to intrude. " It's the first thing He Xuan can think to say at the invitation. He's not sure if that's proper manners or his age-old instinct to retreat. The heat is a sharp contrast to the cold he stands in, but he can't feel it. Not the cold at least. He's silent before he decides to push the bag towards Hua Cheng instead. " For Xie Lian, not you. " He adds with a bit more of his usual tone before Hua Cheng can tease him about his debt. " Although you I'm sure are more likely to accept it. It's for the inconvenience of the meals I had when Puqi shrine had opened. " He visited, as he had promised, but hadn't dared to approach anyone and remained wrapped in a disguise until he'd slipped away. And then he'd slept - deep in the ocean without expectations of the future. Yet here he was.

His head bows slightly, more to avoid staring than anything else as he takes a step backwards further into the cold. " I apologize for the delay. I only recently woke up again. Give him my regards. " He's going to retreat back into his black waters.

[dragonbanexxi]

The Dragon Queen

Not Canon Compliant!!!

Jaehaera Targaryen x Aegon III Targaryen

Chapter 14: Viserys

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun was setting and leaving a pretty painting of orange and pink hues of ending light. It was a rare thing for the city of Meeren to be so silent. Not a soul lingering through solemn streets, no vendor out to sell a thing, no brothel open to entertain. Viserys has never enjoyed silence, has never grown to appreciate the mute void of nothingness.

Moments like these were vexing to him. His mind running wild in fields of anxiety, bouts of fear and overflowing sadness. He often forgets that he’s barely ten and six years old. A man in the eyes of the law. Still apart of him still longs for his childhood. For his fathers large taut hands patting his head. For his mothers warm embrace and gentle songs. Evenings on Dragonstone just lazing around with his siblings around the large fireplace. He yearns for his late brothers. Those memories feel so foreign to him now. Viserys had only ever confessed this his sister Rhaena, but for the life of him; Viserys cannot remember what his parents looked like. Through tearful sobs and a drunken stupor he let out all his burdens to Rhaena. Loving, gentle Rhaena who held him tightly and began to cry alongside him.

“Oh sweet boy, they loved you very much.” She soothed him tenderly. “I love them, I miss them all of them, but we must move forward dear. Rhaenyra and father would want that for us.”

Viserys attempts to listened to his sister, yet the pain still lingers. No matter how hard he tries move forward. How he wishes to be like his remaining siblings. They all seem to cope with their loss valiantly. Baela and Rhaena have both been massive help in that. Being his and Aegon’s rocks for these past ten years. Guilt sways in his chest when he begins to wonder who is they’re rock in all this loss and misery?

A swift knock was heard from the door interrupting his thoughts. “Come in” he croaked unmanly like attempting to keep his emotions in line.

Jaehaera’s platinum curls made their way through his door. Offering a small smile. “Prince Viserys” her hands clasped together elegantly “I’m here to invite you to supper. Just you and I.”

The Prince’s arrogance returning once more. “Well how can I refuse such beauty?” He offers his arm. She accepts it rolling her eyes.

“You know it’s quite a convincing facade you put on” she drawls at him.

“Oh?” He asks simply. Not knowing exactly what she means. She doesn’t respond however, walking the rest of the way to her chambers in silence.

He’s been to her private quarters only once before. Of course the watchful eyes of Ser Robert Oakhart were there. Patrolling the prince like a hawk. Ready to shoot him down at any moment.

This time it was only he and his cousin. The air felt different now. Peacefully really. The large chamber was beautiful filled with gilded gold decorations of what seemed to be cattle.

“The Meerenese really like cows huh?” He asks jovially. Receiving a an equally jovial smile from Jaehaera.

“The cows are a symbol of Fertility and prosperity for the Meerenese.” She gives a little factoid. “On the day of the summer and winter solstice, the people of Meeren, Yunkai and Astapor get together and sacrifice a cow to the sun in gratitude.”

“Poor cow” the man muses. They share a laugh. There is an odd easiness to their dynamic. A familiarity that had been severed due to time and distance, yet seemed to pick up once more at their reunion.

“The religions on this side of the Narrow Sea have so many Gods” he pours Jaehaera some cherry wine. “Yet where are the Gods of tits and wine?”

The princess lets out a disappointed sigh at her cousin. “There’s more to life than lust and gluttony Prince Viserys” she teases.

“Perhaps” he quips “the next time I visit a brothel remind me to make a shrine for myself” He leans back into his chair crossing his legs regally. “I’ll be the God of tits and wine!”

Jaehaera chokes on her wine but laughs it off. “Will the women have to sacrifice a virgin on the solstice for you, my prince?”

The smile he bares at her playful “Aye but I wouldn’t kill her, I’d bend her over an-“

“You don’t have to go into detail!” She interrupts.

He’s still grinning at her playfully, but he listens to her nonetheless. “Very well”

“I actually wanted to introduce you to my dragon.”

He notes that she says dragon not dragons. Singular. He doesn’t ask her about it though. In the six months he’s been here she hadn’t showed them to him at all. Which disappointed him truly, but he understood her silent reasoning. Viserys came into her territory as a stranger. She didn’t know his true purpose of sailing all the way to Essos to find her. Jaehaera had no reason to trust him, for all she knew; Viserys Targaryen probably came to finish the war once and for all under his brothers orders. So now if Jaehaera found it in herself to trust her estranged cousin the tiniest bit. Viserys wouldn’t jeopardize it.

He watched her enter another room connected to her living quarters. He hears screeches and wings flapping. The temptation to walk over to where she was at strong. He ignores it however. Waiting patiently for her to come out. His blood was pumping fierce, anticipation eating him alive.

The only other dragon he has been near to was Morning, Rhaena’s mount. Beautiful beast, a pale pink with black veins. Beautiful but sickly. Rhaena had confessed it before he had left for Essos that the dragon was not healing as she had expected. A sad thing to think about how long his dear sister had waited to have a dragon of her own, to only have it be a sickly one.

His thoughts were broken as he heard Jaehaera’s light footsteps walking towards him.

“Prince Viserys I would like you to meet my dear Morghul” On cue her little dragon hissed at the prince. Viserys notes that it’s no bigger than a full sized house cat. The beast crawled up from her arms and perched itself on her shoulders. Morghul was all emerald scales with golden veins and horns.

“By the Gods” he says to himself. A curios hand reaches out to pet the baby dragon but quickly moves it out the way in regret. The little beast draw fire at him to repel him away.

“Shit!” Viserys says frighten. His face filled with childlike wonder.

“Morghul Likiri” Jaehaera says to her little creature. “Dohaeris” she commands. It stayed put. Nuzzling it’s tiny head against hers.

“I’m sorry about that. They’re really protective.”

“He’s beautiful” Viserys eyes never leaving Morghul.

It seem to have a strong connection to Jaehaera, as it listened obediently to her and snuggled closely to her breast. Jaehaera caresses it’s back with gentle strokes. Like how a mother would soothed a sleeping baby.

“Your brother” she begins offhandedly. Her lilac eyes locking with his amethyst ones. “He wants me to return to King’s Landing…” he swallows his spit nervously. “So that my dragons can be monitored… correct?”

“Well there’s another reason however Aegon wants to tell you it himself.”

Lilac eyes turning shrewd, making him uncomfortable.

“I hear your eldest sister has taken up the duties of managing the keep.” The duties that a queen would be expected to fulfill. The words left unsaid. He nods in response.

“Like my sisters late grandmother Rhaenys Targaryen, the queen who never was; Baela has gotten her own nickname by the people. The queen who almost was.”

Jaehaera nods her head slowly, and her emerald beast hisses out. Perhaps feeling it’s mothers discomfort. Her caresses don’t halt however. Instead she gives it a quick peck on the head.

“Your brother hopes to bind my dragons to realm through marriage, I presume?”

Panic struck his face. His heart racing more, feeling his stomach rise to his chest. Sweat forming among the silver strands of his forehead.

“Cousin-“

“it’s a yes or no question Viserys” she interjects with a commanding voice. She sat in her chair regally with a poised brow, reading him through and through like the silly boy he is.

“Jae- uhh… yes” he confesses.

Her pretty face harshens, and her eyes blaze with fury.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sorry for the long wait! I’m trying out new meds and I’m still getting used to the side effects 🫠

[chikoyama]

A year after Chiyori loses control of her cursed technique and slaughters her adoptive parents, she reunites with the sorcerer clan she was born into originally. It’s the first time she experiences first-hand how truly conservative and abusive members of the Jujutsu community can be.

Chiyori learns that she has siblings, that she is tied to three brothers by blood — two older and one younger. Her biological mother passed away about three years after she gave birth to the youngest. Her biological father is very much alive still. He married a new wife a few years ago. No children, yet.

Chiyori is 22 the first time experiences what it’s like to get physically abused by a supposed family member. It's a startling experience, initially. It feels so cruel it makes her question their true bond; if there existed any to begin with, besides their blood relation, of course. The first time it happens — not long after her arrival — she receives a slap straight across the face for what is apparently considered back talking to her father.

However, during her time with the clan, it's not the only form of abuse that Chiyori is subjected to. For going outside without an escort or permission, she gets locked in her room for hours at a time without access to food or water. Sometimes she gets pushed and pinched for not acting lady-like enough. For behaving what they deem as inappropriate, she’s forced to stay outside the whole night, in front of the statue placed by the family shrine. In the cold, she has to recite apologies over and over again.

Albeit none the less ruthless, Chiyori has found that her father’s punishments are more predictable, usually leaning more toward the traditional side. Those that her step-mother comes up with, however, can be of more creative nature. Sometimes she has to balance a bucket of water above her head for an hour or two. It’s heavy, and her weakened arms tire easily. She’s instructed to remain entirely passive. If she lowers her arms or spills, further punishment await. Other times she has to consume some nasty-tasting mixture that’s supposed to help her reconsider. It makes her body retch and throw up.

It’s the old-school thoughts that consumes their minds and drive their behaviours, Chiyori notes. And she’s too old to be castigated like that, really, but they treat her like that regardless… like a child. Because she still acts like one, they tell her. Like they can still reverse her somehow after all the years she’s been gone, and raised by her adoptive parents.

Essentially, they’re trying to recondition her into what they perceive as the ideal woman. They’re desperate, because they want to marry her off into a family of strong sorcerers eventually. Chiyori looks young — still is, and sometimes it crosses her that maybe, just maybe she should rethink the values and principles she's lived by all her life. If not for what is morally right, then for herself. So that she can survive. In this environment, this household, this world.

One time, her father slaps her so hard, the force of the impact causes her face to turn away from him, a drop of blood trailing down her cheek from where his nail scratched her skin. There’s a red mark blossoming on her cheek like ink soaking through the thin sheet of paper. Chiyori hisses, because it stings like a proper burn, and she shoots her father a vexed glare, though doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t fight back, because what can she say? It’s he who rules these grounds and this household. She has no other places to stay essentially. On these grounds, it’s she who is the intruder.

Even if Chiyori did try to retaliate, she's all too aware that they’re stronger than her. She was only strong when she had curses in her possession, (and even then she wouldn’t call herself strong). She lost them all back when... when the incident happened. Her physical strength is no longer how it used to be either. She didn’t maintain her shape during her time of self-isolation.

Regardless, she decides that resorting to physical violence is not the answer. That’d only lead to more trouble in the end. It’d just be an endless cycle — they're all just as much victims as she is, she realizes; still tightly chained to the conservative values and principles that carried from generation to generation.

Not to mention, a part of her still fears herself and her potential — what she is capable of if she were to regain her strength. Even then, Chiyori wouldn't be able withstand them, not all by herself. Her technique is the exact of her dead mother’s, only that she had more trouble keeping it under control than Chiyori. They learned how to keep it under tight ropes, and maybe that’s why Chiyori continues to stay with them despite their ill treatment of her. At least, that’s what she tells herself for the longest of time. It’s what she wants, what she needs.