#this is from january i apologize greatly

[caffeiiine]

soda my child, infodump to me about my boy (akutagawa or 15chūya i don’t mind) fluff is appreciated but i will take whatever you throw at me

also how’s your day been kid? did you eat today? some water? go on a walk at all? anything good happen lately?

HELLO BLUE I FOUND THIS IN MY DRAFTS APOLOGIES <33 ANYWAYS WAVING!!! HELLO!! HOW ARE YOU? :D

okok akutagawa that thing runs around my brain 24/7 he makes me feel SO MANY THINGS he makes me so so sad so so ill so so happy everything ohugdqadjkns

his constant association with dogs and his dog motifs makes me utterly insane "i am the lowly dog of th eport mafia" he SEES hismelf that way i will choke on my TEARS bc dogs. dogs usually in literature or motif-wise are loyal. loyal. so so so fucking loyal man :( he bites and he kills and he does everything since its been introduced to him as a survival method, he had to survive on that. he /can/ chang ethough, he i scompletely capable of change. in beast he still uses the same-ish tactics bc they were what helped him survive but ugghhghghgghgh atsushi and akutagawa being narrative foils hwat if i died right here right now. atsushi and akutagawa in beast an din canon theyre in the opposite spaces but just. like. their. opposites. i really need to reread beast i love hoshikawas style.

eitehr way either way even in main he is SO CAPABLE OF CHANGE IT MAKES ME ILL he dies for atsushi in 88. he DIES. FOR ATSUSHI. i dont even ship sskk but ohhhh they make me ill. he put his LIFE on th eline. he used to kill and fight for survival and he goes out dying for another person. aaaaaaaugg im restating and going in so so many circles rn porbably but hes so everything i will cry

hes also SO PRETTY. HE HAS NO RIGHT TO BE. like uggghghh bones you massacred my boy im sorry. he has no right. my boy. even once the bsd obsession dies out eventually, i dont think i can ever go abck to th eway i was before. akutagawa will always be my little guy in my braina nd asagiri. asagiri bring my boy back alive pls pls pls pl spl spls psl splspsplpslpsslpsplxspl

im in a library as i typ ethis and i am so calm rn externally i am so proud of myself rn.

AND TO ANSWER YOUR OTHER QUESTIONS!!!

youve remidbned me i do in fact have a body and need to eat more than apples, i will get food at some point today trust anyways i dont have any on me rn actually. and day is good!! day is good :3 i got to write a bit and draw and ramble over akutagawa good day good day, plan on walking later <33, aand good things are happening sun is out keychains i ordered for my collection have shipped today, have been selected as a final candidate to my msa club board elections and i have a dress coming in th mail :3

[thesoulforgeorder]

Writing Update

Bad news everyone, I wanted to have part 1 of Chapter 2 out by the end of December but I greatly underestimated just how busy I would be during the festive season.

I barely had time to think about my IF let alone do some writing. I'm going to try my best to write when I can but currently I only see myself releasing an update in the middle of January.

Apologies for the delay. Things like work being far busier than I expected in the last week and my keyboard is giving out on me a bit caught me by surprise. Some of my keys have started to not work unless I repeatedly bash at them and I live pretty pay check to pay check so I'll only be able to replace it late next year.

But fear not! I can still write on it, it just makes me go a bit slower. And starting from Monday, I will have more free time than I did before. So keep an eye out here for further updates.

Stay safe and take care!

[deathwestern]

Howdy! I’m death, and this is my (poor) attempt at a pinned post.

I’m 29. I’m from Colorado. I am taken.

This blog is NOT a place for anyone racist, homophobic, or misogynistic. We love and respect everybody here.

For almost 12 years, I was underthesewesternskies until the tumblr police got me in the middle of the night in January of 2023. But I came crawling baxk hours later because tumblr truly feels like home despite all its flaws.

I love all things horror/spooky, so you’ll find a lot of that here, as well as lots of western stuff, memes, and plant things. And I really love bison.

I love metal, old school country, punk, and folk/bluegrass. There’s almost never a time I’m not listening to music, so there’ll be a lot of 0 note Spotify links. You’re welcome in advance.

DM’s and Asks are always open, but I am horrific at responding and I greatly apologize.

My backup blog in case the tumblr police get me again is (hold on I’ll make it I swear)

I have a sideblog but I don’t necessarily advertise it unless prompted. If you really wanted to find it, you probably could.

If you want to know anything else, just ask! I’m terrible at talking about myself unprompted.

My common tags will be below. Love you all! Be good to each other.

[srbachchan]

DAY 5810

Jalsa, Mumbai Jan 13, 2024 Sat 9:57 PM

🪔 ,

January 14 .. birthday wishes to Ef Aum Sohum .. greetings of the day and the festive .. ✨🙏🏻🚩

I leave after this wish to be with the recap of the JPP game .. an unexpected win .. and such a joy ..🕺 ..

I also return from an announcement photo shoot for ISPL .. and more of that in a while ..

I return .. soon .. till then ..

Well ..

in a while ..

AB

Jan 13/14, 2024 Sat/Sun 9:42 am

No I did not return in a while .. where I did return was the 🛌 .. just the elements of the 'nidra' overtook me and rather than fade out on the couch, chose to be horizontal ..

The ISPL , as has been promoted and delivered in adverts is well on its way to fructification and all the owners and the members that are involved , were needed to be in immortalised picture frames .. so yes , a photo cum meet shoot .. a very quick in and out between the evening hours .. with our friends and colleagues .. such a joy ..

Akshay one of the owners .. and an explanation to him about the surgery on my hand ..

Hrithik had done his shoot and had just left, to another engagement and we here were getting ready for ours, with yet another favourite, from the South - Suriya .. aah such a delight to have met him again .. and my extreme pleasure of sharing with him how greatly I admired that film song of his, on the film about Father and Son ..

Its a moment we shared on KBC, when we were having the Olympic Hockey Goalie on the 'garam kursi' .. PR Sreejesh .. and the winning moment when he saved the goal and won the medal, the KBC edit cut back to his Father, watching the game at home, simply exulted with the success .. and the song from Suriya's film .. AAHHHHHH .. played it a 100 times over and over again .. such an emotional moment .. and Suriya .. what an expression during that scene .. ufff .. can never get over it ..

The emotion of the real Father and Son relation and the moment in the game was simply incredible ..

PR Sreejesh as a kid had wanted to play Hockey, but because of his condition of lesser means never had a hockey stick .. he asked his Father to get him one .. but his Father could not buy even a hockey stick, because of their financial issues - did not have the money to buy it ..

So .. on Sreejesh 's insistence and wanting to give the Son what he wanted, his Father sold the only asset the family possessed - their cow .. the cow is considered a most sacred possession in most Hindu homes .. but the Father sold it to buy a hockey stick for his Son .. and his Son proves to all the World, what he was able to achieve, an Olympic medal .. and what a moment for his Father .. and that background song plays .. goodness .. tears in the eyes .. and a quivering heart .. !!

So Suriya .. before me and I narrate what I went through during that KBC moment .. and Akshay listening on .. and now disclosing to me that he is doing the remake in Hindi of that film ..

.. and the shoot for the pictures concludes with some fun and games

a few solo too ..

and the fun at another .. playing catch ..

Done .. home , dinner and 😴 .. with pleasant achievement of the Son , Abhishek , who's Kabaddi team wins an important and very tough game in Jaipur, against an opponent that had never lost so far in the tournament .. 🕺🕺🕺

and the laughter of success, but at the music Studio ..

And now to face the world again for another day

oh dear 😍.. this one has been long and filled with the pictorial ability of a follow camera .. apologies ..

But ..

My love ❤️

Amitabh Bachchan

[ryemackerel]

my argbur’s headcanons from my own personal headcanon! his entire backstory and lore is *still* work in progress, but i managed to come up with a TON of stuff i would love to share with you all :] FYI my argbur’s lore completely deviates from the original arg, do remember this is just a fan-interpretation of argbur!!

big brain dump incoming btw!! apologies if none of it makes sense or is completely disorganized, its just a way to dispense my ideas before i forget them :)

creepy/unsettling imagery for images below the cut! mainly 2nd, 3rd, and 4th images

(first image features doodles of the headcanons and some notes!)

i like to imagine arg is a test subject gone COMPLETELY wrong. what started as an experimental test *severely* devolved into a complete amalgamation. a vision with “good” intent turned into a nightmare.

these are my ideas for my “void argbur au” :)

in the beginning, an unnamed individual, beloved and known by many, was reported missing the first week of january 1996.

the news was taken as a devastating blow to their close friends and family. for years, police would search for the location of the missing person, however to no avail. missing posters, websites, and public television announcements would spread everywhere.

(concepts of the missing person and sites featuring old photographs. missing posters and images are everywhere. the image in the top right is a distorted copy of a photograph of the missing person. the copy’s quality has greatly diminished due to the original’s poorer quality.)

years later, the individual's body was discovered. it was mutilated beyond recognition.

[this part of arg's lore is still highly work in progress!!! but i like to think an attempt to bring this person back was made. if revival wasn't possible, then a physical clone that recreated the likes of the missing individual. by whom, i'm still not sure. WHY specifically this person, i do not know. we'll perhaps figure out as i continue to build onto arg's lore. :)]

traces of this individual's dna were sampled for the experiment. the dna was then fused with an unknown, malleable, liquid-like black matter. tests with the matter are still limited. the results could vary wildly. they were working with an unstable substance, though powerful, is highly dangerous.

maybe this substance was able to shape itself into whichever subject it desired? its experimenters were unsure of the potential the substance had. it seemed to have a consciousness of its own, and they needed a way to tame it.

fast-forward to the very creation of the subject, the experiment was successful, though with the substance used, it was *wildly* unstable. the subject broke through its containment cell.

its temperature fluctuated greatly, it was unusually extremely cold. it was given a human form, but under high-stress situations, it was unable to maintain its form. several of its limbs grew and clung onto the walls. it spread about the hallways, leaving trails of matter everywhere it went.

(examples of “void arg” in his most extreme forms. 1st image is his last form, 2nd image is his various stages of forms he can undergo)

the subject was and continues to be missing. authorities continue to investigate the whereabouts of the subject.

for AGES (years?), arg has had to learn how to suppress his strongest emotions to maintain his human form. he felt that major stressful situations can result in unwanted consequences, for him and for others who might find out. this was, of course, harmful to his emotional wellbeing, but was the only way he figured how to cope with stress at the time.

he often hides in dark, secluded areas to prevent being recognized by onlookers, especially investigators or authorities.

[nightlyrayne]

TW: Lying, Manipulation, Cheating, Gabe Hicks

I have spent the last few days debating on whether or not I should speak up about my own past relationship and experience the TTRPG Gabe Hicks otherwise known by his handle as GabeJamesGames. I've decided to do so, in hopes that I may reach anyone that dated him and believed the were exclusive be given the same chance to know the truth as I have been given.

I'm going to cut this as short as I possibly can, mostly because everything is still very much scrambled in my head and trying to go through our past conversations has already been incredibly painful and difficult. I'm also sorry if this is a bit of a mess, or doesn't make sense anywhere. I tried to go back through our messages to be as accurate as possible, as I know I have a poor memory and an even worse sense of time.

Gabe and I started talking around late July of 2020 after I made a TikTok duetting him in his Matt from Dream Daddy cosplay. Things quickly become very flirtatious and suggestive between us. It did not take very long after that, somewhere between August and September we decided to be exclusive without labeling. I had firmly believed us to only be talking romantically and sexually with each other and expressed interest in becoming "officially" boyfriend and girlfriend when we met each other in person. Gabe agreed to this. Expressing he only had an interest in me and was more than happy to be exclusive.

In mid October I flew from Arizona back to my home state of Pennsylvania to meet him in person. He rented an Airbnb, though I did visit his home to meet his mom, one of his sisters, and his dog Leo. At one point during my stay, I was present for a live stream by his side as we carved pumpkins. I received no introduction when the stream began. Not my name, who I was, or what I was to him. I was simply there. And as a shy person who also has social anxiety, I said nothing because I was too nervous and didn't want to make things awkward. Though it felt awkward nonetheless. And immediately after the stream ended, he himself brought up the fact that he forgot to mention me. In the moment my only thought was "Well, at least he realized". And let it drop because I didn't want to have a fight.

Going home was extremely rough for me. I am the type of person that when I fall, I fall hard. I become very attached. And leaving was heartbreaking. The only thing that has helped was that he'd given me one of his shirts and had spoken about the possibility of moving in together down the road.

After that, things remained steady for a few more months. Though the issue of him wanting to remain completely private bothered me greatly. I brought up the fact multiple times, already apologizing while bringing it up because I felt like I was being too needy. In a way, I suppose I was gaslight myself, which made it all the easier for him. Especially when all I had ever asked was for him to put he was in a relationship on his social medias to help ease my anxiety. I expressed that my confidence in relationships came from having a partner who at least expressed that they were in a relationship. I didn't ask for my name nor my social media to be given. Though a part of me had definitely wanted that has well. I asked him for a compromise of just having "Taken" or "In a relationship" on his social medias. But every time I brought it up, he would claim he was already compromising by letting me meet his family and having his friends know about me. (Though whether his friends actually knew about me is unknown, as I don't remember having met or spoken to anyone of them.) At one point he even told me he had a stalker in the Netherlands and was worried about possibly upsetting her and having her come after him or I.

Things got harder after he got his new apartment February. Messages got less and less. By March hadn't received any 'I loves you's or 'I miss you's since January. I was getting more anxious about his growing number of followers and flirtatious behavior online, so I was being up being slightly public more and more. Around late May, early June, I could tell he just was no longer interested. He wasn't pointing in any effort. And while I had desperately wanted to make it work, I could tell he did not want to make it work. So I suggested stepping down from being romantic to just being friends. We never spoke after that, but we remained mutuals on TikTok and I would occasionally see him liking me stuff. Which, unfortunately, gave me more hope that I still want something to him than I would have liked.

I believed he had truly cared about me at some point during our relationship. But on Wednesday, my friend sent me a reddit post about him. I spent the whole day going through everything I could remember and wondering if he had been cheating on me as well. I posted my timeline of dating him on the Reddit post and was unfortunately informed that my timeline over lapped with TWO other people. One of them being the person he had claimed to me was a stalker.

I tell my story, though I was clueless until now, in hopes that anyone else who was hurt knowingly or unknowingly will find my story. That if they didn't know what kind of person Gabe was, they do now. And if they had already found out and haven't been in contact with any of his other exes, please know you are not alone. Please, please, please feel free to message me. And I am so sorry for the pain he has caused you, myself, and who knows how many others.

[topanakinobikinfest]

Hello everyone, this is Tori (head mod). 

I want to apologize for my disappearance. It’s completely unprofessional. 

But I want everyone to know that the fest is still on! Our first deadline is coming up next month. We will be releasing fics in batches from January 11 to February 15. Your fic must be submitted by January 10th at 4:50 am GMT.

The second deadline is March 22 to April 26. 

After that, you will be able to upload fics without moderation. 

While submitting prompts is close, you may continue claiming and writing for current prompts indefinitely. 

Again, I greatly apologize, but hope everyone is still excited!

[celestie0]

Ooof, sorry if come across rude or anything negative. Just saw your post ihm ex wife asks and how people were being rude or weirdly jealous. I hoped that my ask about knowing more about ihm ex wife, didn’t come off as being weird or rude person. ( I’m the that mention Lana del Rey)

It Seems at one point she’s going be added into the story? Correct me if I’m wrong but that’s really exciting!

Your whole au is my obsessed anyways apologize if came off ass weird/rude :(

hi love! mm yea, i think your ask did contribute to those feelings, mainly the part where you said you entirely block the ex wife part of the story out of your mind because you can’t imagine him w someone else other than reader

i don’t know, i have actually gotten similar asks for kickoff when i had a couple people tell me they skipped all of the scenes with kai in it bc they didn’t want to read about any other guy other than gojo

thing is, those are just things you don’t have to tell an author. if you do block things out or skip things, that’s fine. but just because you have access to communicate with a fanfic author doesn’t mean you should share those things with them. readers forget that we, fanfic authors, have a much more deeply invested personal interest in these stories as the creators of them, than a reader might have. it’s different from texting your friend “oh i dislike xyz ab this story”…because you’re literally sending those words to the person who put all their hard work n time into writing it lol

i try to put this into perspective, but for the whole kai thing for example: i spent a great deal of time planning those scenes out, spent a great deal of time writing & editing those scenes, n ultimately believe those scenes contribute greatly to the dynamics of the story. for people to straight up tell me they skipped those scenes, it’s odd and upsetting for sure.

i’m also like, what are you accomplishing by telling me that you skipped like half the chapter, or that you entirely dismiss parts of my story?…i have thought about this sooo much in trying to understand why tf i get asks like that, or why people think it’s appropriate to share those things with me, and the conclusion i can think of is that people are trying to subconsciously push me towards writing a story that THEY want by telling me the exact parts of my story that they entirely disregard/will disregard. and that makes me feel so icky, like i’m lowkey being manipulated into people pleasing people just cuz i post stuff for free. same goes for pressuring asks i get about writing more smut. those feel even more gross to me tbh, and it entirely kills my drive to write

i’m already struggling to find motivation to create stories among all the other insanity of things going on in my life. so yea words like that definitely do affect me, esp when it’s not just from one person, which i could probs write off as some internet troll, but from like 15+ different readers saying the same thing over n over n over again. and i KNOW i have so many wonderful readers n i’m endlessly grateful…but i’m starting to feel like chappell roan rn where i’m starting to realize maybe i’m just not cut out for this lmfaooo. it’s strange i’ve like literally seen people d** in real time but stan tumblr is what breaks me 💀💀 this shit is nottttt for the weak bahahah i see why so many authors leave

since i started posting here in january, i’ve dealt w people who would shame me for not posting updates at the time i said i would, i’ve dealt w people who would pressure me for updates, i’ve dealt w people who would pressure me for smut, i’ve dealt with people who have reduced my stories to nothing but smut, i’ve dealt with people who have made death threats against kickoff gojo for having commitment issues, i had a person straight up tell me they were “disappointed in the direction” of all of ch7 of kickoff, i had someone comment “he should’ve done ___ instead. will not be reading this fic anymore”, i’ve dealt w so many people belittle n disregard the whole ihm ex wife plotline. i’ve literally cried over some of these asks/comments, n i’ve felt embarrassed over some of them too. i’m just a person.

and i know i know i know i shouldnt focus on the negative interactions, i should just focus on the positive ones. but yknow how much mental real estate that takes to do? i’d consider myself to be a pretty mentally healthy person to be very honest, but even i have a hard time w doing that lmfao.

and then, to make things worse, i get scared that calling readers out for this kind of stuff will just make people fearful to interact with me in the future. and then im like damn i suck lol

in any case, i accept your apology. it’s not that deep at the end of the day i suppose, and i don’t want you to feel bad about it. there are bigger issues in this world rn than fanfiction on tumblr. also sorry i kinda used your ask to say all of this but i just wanted to share my perspective plus i’m pmsing so i’m emo lol i’m just waiting for my estrogen to rise at this point so i can feel human again n i might end up regretting posting this but anyways thanks xxx

[blueshistorysims]

Early January 1909, Willow Creek College, England

“How was your winter holiday?” Joel asked the moment Byron stepped into their dorm. 

“Horrible. I thought summer break was bad, but…” He sighed. “My poor sister.”

Upon returning home for the summer, Alexander and Byron learned of the argument Edeline had with their parents, and her refusal to even eat dinner with their mother. Byron pitied his sister greatly, and he felt anger at his mother for saying such horrible things. The summer only got worse since Alexander smartly decided to spend all his free time with his beau Edith so they could snog all day, leaving Byron to comfort his two sisters.

Christmas had only multiplied the awkwardness. Edeline still refused to speak to their mama, and Rebecca refused to apologize. Byron honestly thought that Edeline was going to run away and never come back, and he wouldn’t blame her. He had never been more glad in his life to leave after New Year’s.

“Well, maybe they will make amends.”

“I pray to God that they do,” he muttered, sitting next to his friend. 

“I still can’t believe next year is your last.”

“I know,” Byron replied. “I’m turning 14 next month, and I’m already looking at universities.”

“Good luck.”

The friendship he had with Joel was far different from the friendship he had with Reggie. It was a different connection, a different feeling, and Byron didn’t know how to describe it. He was always happier when Joel was there, and sometimes, when they messed around, and Joel would touch him, his heart fluttered. 

He didn’t know what to make of his feelings, so he went to the one place he found refuge, the library. More often than not, he found himself reading Leaves of Grass by Walt Wittman, The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, among others, books that had been decried by Victorian society for their depictions of homosexuality, and yet, he couldn’t stop reading them. The words were comforting, relatable.

So perhaps it wasn’t surprising that it dawned on him, reading in the library late at night that reason why he connected with the words so much. The descriptions of the men and their relationships was how he felt about Joel. He was attracted to Joel. He was attracted to men.

The revelation shocked him, and if he hadn’t been in a library, he would have screamed. He liked men? That couldn’t be. He’d had crushes on girls in the past. He liked women. He was horrified by the thought. 

Unknowing what else to do, he went back to his room, close to tears, and to his relief, found it empty. He slammed the door shut and sat on the floor, leaning against his bed. “My god,” he whispered, tears spilling from his eyes.

So of course, five minutes later, the door opened, and Joel walked in, pointing at something. “Byron, are you  in t-what’s wrong?” He asked, surprised to see the state his friend was in. 

Byron looked up and wanted the scream. He was the last person he wanted to see. “...It-it’s nothing.”

Joel frowned and sat next to him. “I know we’ve only each other this year, but you can trust me. I consider you one of my closest friends.”

Byron wanted to scream. Instead, he wiped his face and shook his head. “...I couldn’t. I shan’t. Besides, isn’t it normal for us Englishmen to ignore our feelings and never speak of them?”

He laughed. “I am not like most Englishmen, Byron. I don’t think you are either.”

He turned to him, unsure of what to make of his words. “...What?”

Joel swallowed, his face growing pale. “I’ve seen what you’ve been reading lately,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m about to do something very stupid.”

Byron barely processed what his friend had said before Joel pressed his lips against his.

Byron blinked. Joel was kissing him. He was kissing Joel. He liked kissing Joel. After a second, he just closed his eyes and went with it, deciding for once not to care about the consequences. 

beginning/previous/next

[epersonae]

I have been trying to figure out how to even describe my latest fic, for the benefit of all the broken hearts, of which I've now posted 3 chapters of (out of 19). Which I love and I'm proud of; it's is a weird technical flex as a writer and the most work I've put into any writing in any genre in my entire life. And also, I'm way out on my niche bullshit: it's a fix-it for another fic, and it's sort of but not exactly RPF, and maybe it's original fiction but not quite?

And I'm prevaricating, writing all this, being afraid of -- well, something, some kind of reaction -- and that's interesting, too, in the same way as discovering my weird reaction to the choose your own adventure project.

It is, per the actual summary on AO3: A fix-it sequel to Water Flowing Underground, following Ed’s unnamed second wife as she pokes through the wreckage and kicks down doors, and maybe finds the universe four doors down.

I have been working on it for almost seven months, pretty exclusively since mid-January (my ongoing apologies to readers of Hungry for love in particular). It has become the obsession that I could never have predicted, into which I have thrown a variety of thoughts about varieties of love and the aftermath of tragedy, creativity and femininity and identity, a set of matryoshka dolls on the theme of what it's possible to know about anyone else, famous or intimate (or oneself).

Also it's entirely set to the Carly Rae Jepsen album The Loneliest Time, which I have had on repeat for much of the last seven months. And yes, the lower case song lyric title is from the first song on that album. (And also yes, if you have seen me or various associates tag things as "carlita coded", this story is what we're talking about.)

I have to give so much love and appreciation to @emi--rose, who gave me so many wild ideas and so much encouragement, to @veeagainsttheday, who read a very early draft and then was an excellent beta, and to @gaypiratebrainrot, who wrote the original that melted my brain and then betaed this -- all of you have pushed me to be a better writer and a better thinker. Thanks as well to several other friends who have listened to me expound at length on this story and related subjects, it is greatly appreciated.

[lumenflowered]

Hello. I apologize for blocking you. I was doing so out of a stupid emotional impulse to save you from myself. Thank you for still trying to trust me even after all that I've done. If you still harbor any sort of trust towards me, I would like to try and better our relationship. As such, I have unblocked you.

However, there is something that you should know. Jonathan Sims died on January 14th, 2024. I am The Archivist. I am unable to feel emotion. Despite this, I wish to build on previous relationships where I had them, as even though I cannot feel the emotions associated with them, these bonds have still impacted me in some way.

It would honor me greatly if you were to accept my offer of friendship. However, should you decline, there are (quite literally) no hard feelings

-The Archivist

(( @faller-fears ))

...Of all the things that I expected to see after Ho-oh was done doing... whatever it was they were doing on the internet... this was certainly not one of them.

Nevertheless. It is good to see that you are... less dead than you were. My condolences on the lack of emotion, though I suppose you must be incapable of feeling bad about that at the moment.

I... don't know how to feel about the fact that such a thing is familiar to me at all, though I suppose that I can relate more than I would like to. Moving on.

To be perfectly clear: I was quite angry with you for your actions. There is, however, a significant difference between being angry at someone and desiring their death. I certainly did not desire yours. Nor, do I suspect, did most people.

With that said, I will accept your offer, on the condition that you do not use your ability to Ask against me, under any circumstances, unless I specifically say that I want you to. Should you do this, I will not hesitate to block you.

I would advise turning off Pelipper Mail for the foreseeable future, if you have not done so already. I would also recommend obtaining something fireproof for you to wear, as well as anyone you care about and/or spend any amount of time in close physical proximity to. There could be side effects.

...If I am to be entirely honest, though, I am primarily relieved that you are back in any form. It is not your emotions that make you a person, and I would be hypocritical at best if I held a lack of them against you.

Take care of yourself, Archivist. I will endeavor to do the same.

[krazykariana]

Lost residence of my home and have to sell everything to my name, aside from necessities, art supplies and OC commissions. This includes items made from fellow artists and that breaks my heart the most. I even have to safely rehome my pets. Here is the link to all said items, including many Spyro, Crash Bandicoot, Disney, My Little Pony, and many more franchise related pieces. Many even being customs I've collected from other artists over the years, which hurts the most to let go of. https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1Tq8xZY8bARZjC9EnVikTXGZQBEAp4DYa To actually explain, this began late January, and it’s hit me like a fucking truck. I am not okay at all, I have no want to live but I have obligations I need to attend to, I hope I can thank myself for sticking it all out later. This all has nothing negative to do with my partner Stefano, he’s helping the best he can. I’m trying to stay strong and don’t ever make posts like this but you are looking to buy something I have it would be greatly appreciated. I am so fucking miserable, this is not me making a fast action post, its been over 20 days and I’m so tired. Please DM any questions about any item I’ve listed, I am open to international shipping. This all makes me at least glad I kept an online inventory of everything I have. If you want to help but don’t want an item per say but would like to help that would be greatly expected, though I don’t expect anyone to. My Kofi is https://ko-fi.com/karianakeyes and my PayPal is https://paypal.me/KarianaKeyes . I want to both thank and apologize to everyone, I’m not myself right now but hope to make it out better than before. I really feel like I’ve failed everyone in what I feel like I’m here to do, and I’m sorry.

[homemadefactory-1993]

30 January 2025

This week has been rather peaceful, despite some of the challenges at work especially Monday. I talked to my therapist on Friday, and expressed my concern about feeling like I'm landlocked at my position. As there is currently no room for advancement at my assigned work station. Even though it's been a little over a year, I honestly want more. I want the means of advancing further, alongside the money it pays out obviously. Then she brought up something very interesting.

She brought up the expression and meaning of growing too fast, and used sunflowers as a reference. Essentially if you germinate the sunflower too quickly. The stem basically grows up too fast, but does not have enough strength to support the head. Which entailed me to take things slow, and try to get as much information as I can now. I have also been working on my displacement, as I would sometimes come home with a negative mood. Which really seem to affect my wife greatly. So this week I have been doing a lot better, and I have been a much better and supportive husband.

Talking to my psychiatrist, who only checks up on me every 3 months and is not currently prescribing any medication. We talked and he pretty much said the same thing. He told me while it's going to take a bit to get to where I want. But the pros definitely outweigh the cons especially in this career.

I also got my ingrown toenail successfully removed, and I am so glad not to be required to constantly clip it out. Just for the same issue to recur another 3 weeks later with no end insight. Ironically, this is the fourth time I had an ingrown toenail removed. My wife was happy that I am teleworking today, because I woke up this morning and my toe was sore but not bleeding anymore like it was yesterday.

She also got upset, that I bought a magnifier for one of my weapons and did not alert her. But she will be getting some pad Thai, from a local restaurant. She seems to enjoy very much as an apology later today.

Below are some pictures of my view today working from home, cannot show my computer screen for security purposes but you get the idea. I hope you're doing well and everything is all right on your end.

[coffeewithcutcaffeine]

— in which Cătălina must confront the complicated nature of womanhood as matters of the heart unfold in her life.

word count: 5,810 words

warnings: suggestive themes; implied sexual content; explicit mentions of alcohol consumption; themes of emotional distress

a/n: Even though this work lacks Vlad’s appearance for once, I sincerely hope you will enjoy every second of this chapter. At first, I did not know where writing would carry me — as words poured onto the blank pages, it transformed into one of the works I am now most proud of. Wishing you all a nice reading experience, as nice as it was for me to craft this one. ❤️️ (My most sincere thanks goes to @spadesofgrass, to whom I want to dedicate this chapter. Mads has always encouraged and supported my writing adventures and has been an endless source of courage and inspiration. Her brilliant writing, characterisations, and exceptional detail even in the smallest details in her works have greatly motivated me to start crafting Voievod in its current form and challenge myself as a writer. You are the greatest teacher, my friend. ❤️)

➨ also available on AO3

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January 1450, Oltea’s residence, Suceava, Moldavia

Before the goblet could even graze her lips, the father’s hand seizes the girl and pulls her aside. Away from the crowd, away from the glances of others. Her cheeks blush with the faint pink of blood warming her skin. He needs her in the crisp winter air. Away from wine, away from shame.

“Leave that wine be! Look at the state you are in.”

“But tată, I have barely—”

“No talking back! A young woman should not be seen with a face that red.”

As they move through the room, the man’s inebriated body wobbles through his own fog and collides with Cătălina. Her back slams against the pillar with a force that almost steals her breath. The girl gasps, half-formed apologies spilling from her lips. Her trembling hand reaches out towards Cătălina’s arm, then grasps the nobleman’s coat instead. The man staggers, his drunken weight almost pulling his daughter down with him. Then, in a blink, it is over. The father’s arm is around her again, and the night swallows them whole as he pulls the girl outside.

Cătălina smoothes the nonexistent creases on her blue skirt and sinks back into her spot in the shadows. From the alcove that shades her from the guests’ gazes, she studies the veiled countenances with fascination that teeters on obsession. Her eyes dart back and forth between the women’s faces, following the path of their glances as they look at the men seated next to them, mouths stuffed with chunks of meat, lard dripping into beards. The men wolf down their food; the women take as much as a small bite. They laugh at words they detest. The aggravation settles behind false smiles that never reach their eyes. Some of them — not the ladies from boyar families but the lesser ones like her, daughters of petty nobility, barely lambs among wolves — bear the weight of foreign hands creeping under the table, fingers pressing into thighs as they pour wine without so much as a flinch. Silent, practiced.

The men never notice. The women see it all. They always see.

Each of the faces shares something that binds them together with an invisible thread. Hunger. An unspoken fire that smoulders behind their eyes. Not for food — that would be too simple. This is the hunger that only another woman can recognise, the kind that flickers behind careful glances and stolen moments, too subtle for the men to ever grasp.

Each of them starves for something different. All of them starve in silence.

Hunger, they say, is a woman’s most unforgivable sin. Not the hunger of an empty stomach — though even that must be contained beneath the veil of humility — but the hunger that gnaws at the soul. A hunger for wisdom. For the warmth of another’s touch. For making decisions over the life that the Lord has blessed her with. For salvation, whatever salvation might signify.

A woman is not to seek these things. A woman ought to be a vessel, shaped and filled by hands not her own, waiting for the will of God and man alike. To hunger is to stray from the path set for her, to risk the temptations of the flesh and spirit alike. To desire is to invite sin. A woman’s yearning must be locked behind the thin walls of her ribs, like a caged beast that only occasionally dares breathe louder. When hunger rises, it defies the orderly structure of the world. To want is to betray the invisible pact that her mother and her mother’s mother learned to live with. But it is the expectation of absence that suffocates the most. How can the world expect her not to hunger? A soul, after all, is no different from a body. It craves. It pulses. It stretches against its restraints. Even in the cloister of her mind, far from the eyes of others, the hunger spreads — uncontrollable and unspoken, yet very much alive.

Even Cătălina feels the sin of hunger within her, but she does not wish to repent. She craves everything they have told her to starve herself of — bread that nourishes her, knowledge that strengthens her spirit, love that does not seek to confine. She will never be content to stand like a statue before others, admired but empty. She desires. She has tasted these forbidden longings, and they taste not of sin, but of the freedom God has granted her soul.

She is not a woman made to wither on scraps.

With a faint smile that tugs at the corners of her lips, she steps from the darkness and into the glow of the trembling candlelight. She takes her place at the table, fingers curling toward the honey cake waiting on the platter before her. Her teeth pierce the soft, golden dough with insistence, as though she has been famished for years. The taste melts on her tongue. It is not enough. It never will be.

The evening pulses with laughter, the air thick with the scent of roasted pork and the warmth of fine wine. The absence of the palace’s grandeur barely fazes the guests. Who even cares if Maria is not the voivode’s daughter? There is a thrill to be found in this, the slip into the corridors of his concubine Oltea’s haven, where the voivode sheds his title like a cloak at the doorstep and enters her home as a mere lover. Here, in the soft glow of candlelight, there is a comfort the palace never offers. Freedom. Laughter rolls heavier, voices roughen as the wine keeps flowing, cheeks flush above fur collars. The guests’ jests grow bawdier as two men by Cătălina’s side double over in laughter. The rhythm of the horă grows wilder as feet stomp harder.

Everyone seems merry — everyone but the couple. Their faces remain as grave and emotionless as they were when the priest blessed them both and prayed for their prosperous union. Maria’s hands, usually so animated, lie in her lap, the fabric of her gown twisting between fingers. Her betrothed sits rigidly beside her, his gaze fixed on some unseen point beyond the revelry, clutching his cup like a drowning man grasping for driftwood. His sips become deep and desperate, as though the sharp tinge of grapes might sweep him away from the certainty of his future.

Cătălina’s chest tightens, not for the dashing man sitting at the head of the table, nor for the crowd of guests surrounding the couple. Her heart bleeds for Maria sitting at the head of the table, her face drained of blood and silent like a relic. Their gazes meet across the room. A thread of sorrow pulls taut between them. She almost moves then, feet nearly pushing her body up to rise from her seat and cross the distance, to touch Maria’s hand, to offer a word or any small gesture to relieve that cold solitude amidst the sea of people. But something else intrudes, a presence lingering at her shoulder, quiet yet insistent.

She turns. Her eyes travel upward and fall first on the broad chest inches from her, then past the solid plane of muscle to meet a sharp jaw, a brutal line where the nose was broken once but somehow settled into place, giving his face a rugged humanity. Dracea smiles at her, and a row of white teeth flashes on his wide face. It is not the smile that catches her attention — it is the eyes, blue but deep, what the sea just before a storm must look like. His unruly hair the colour of honey frames his face in loose waves, softening the weight of his massive frame. He towers above her like a figure cut from stone, yet he carries himself with a strange grace, a disarming charm despite the sheer bulk of him.

Cătălina’s body stiffens, her thoughts of Maria abruptly severed. She knows — looking at him means surrendering any hope of escape, at least for now. So, she surrenders in her own way, tilting her chin up, her lips parting as she takes control of the moment.

“Are you enjoying the celebrations, my lord?” she asks, and her voice carries an involuntary edge that slices through her easy smile.

“They are lively enough, but your company is far more captivating.” His eyes linger on hers, and she thinks, perhaps, she catches a faint reddish hue spreading beneath his eyes, subtle but unmistakable, a touch of blood rushing to the surface that has nothing to do with the wine they have both been nursing tonight. A pause stretches, nearly suffocating him under the weight of anticipation before he leans closer. His voice softens and carries an unexpected edge of boyish nerves. “Perhaps you would care to join me outside? The air feels terribly stale here, it cannot be good for you.”

Her eyebrow lifts just so, amusement dancing along her features. “Are you so concerned for my well-being?”

“For both of ours. Besides, is it not cruel to keep all this pretence, under so many watchful eyes?”

“A bit of air, then.”

She takes his hand, lets herself be drawn up from her chair and led toward the doors. She lets it rest lightly in his, testing the weight of the gesture as if it were more fragile than it appears. She glances around, searching for her coat, but finds herself whisked away before she can locate it.

Outside, the courtyard is blanketed in snow, a stark brightness underfoot in the light of the torches — clean and soft, yet cold as judgment. The space is narrow, ringed by the imposing walls of Oltea’s residence. No matter where they turn, the shadows of the house press in, watching. He notices it, the way the courtyard imprisons them in its smallness, the restricting openness where even whispered words might be overheard. A few steps away, the faint outlines of another pair, a girl supporting the swaying frame of an older man, break the illusion of solitude. They begin to circle the courtyard slowly, bound by the snow and walls, the silent gaze of the house ever upon them, pushing down on the thin veneer of privacy he hoped for.

But he does not release her hand. Instead, he holds it with a kind of defiance, a silent refusal to surrender the moment. And in that tight circle, there is an unspoken promise in his grasp — a promise that, while delicate as the snow underfoot, he is unwilling to let go of.

The night presses coldly around them, but he feels none of it. He is wrapped in the simple thrill of her nearness, intoxicated by the desire for her skin, so soft and warm under his touch, enough to make him blind to the subtle shivers that run through her. He has taken the fur collar for himself, while she stands there only in her dress, exposed to the bite of the night. When she finally pulls her hand from his and clasps her arms around her chest, he sees it — she is cold, shivering, vulnerable in a way he has not seen her yet. Guilt slices through his pride, and he shrugs off his coat, draping it around her. She sinks into its folds, and the coat is so large on her frame that she cannot help but let out a laugh. She spins, flaring the long sleeves like the wings of some great bird. The sight thrills him, the only warmth in this night.

“I have barely seen you these days. Are you hiding from me?” The question carries a hint of longing, a touch too earnest for his own comfort, but he does not regret it when he sees the glimmer of surprise in her eyes.

“Hiding? From you?” she tilts her head, a coy smile lighting her face as though weighing the idea. “I may have been… otherwise engaged, my lord. A feast like this requires a hundred little preparations.”

“I would not know. I have never taken an interest in such things.”

“Besides, I am certain your companion keeps you well entertained.”

He chortles, and they fall into a silence. He waits, eager for her to speak, to bridge this gap between them, to reveal some hint of favour. But she only gazes at him, serene and unreadable, until the quiet begins to thrum in his veins, churning up a restless energy that stirs his fingers. Words come to him, but they are clumsy and he swallows them. He wants to say something clever instead, something that will match the sharpness of her own wit. Why must he always falter around her? It must be her beauty, he thinks, yet he knows it is more than that — she is unpredictable, and this unknown makes him ache to come closer as much as shrink back in fear.

Then she turns, and the torchlight bathes her skin in warmth, catching the line of her jaw, the curve of her lips. He feels an urge to reach for her, to draw her closer. To be more than this moment’s companion, to explore that look in her eyes that dares him forward. She is unfathomable, this woman, an uncharted landscape whose borders he has barely grazed, and it is maddening, the way she eludes him even now, wrapped in his coat but beyond his reach. Yet the map to her heart is one only he may have the chance to trace.

“And what does a man have to do to entertain you, Cătălina? Or must I work harder?”

“Oh, but I would never want you to strain yourself.” Silence swells, binding the space between them as her eyes drift down to her feet, lashes casting faint shadows on her cheeks. She lets her breath out sharply, words falling in calculated increments. “I suppose I am guilty of expecting something… more than—”

This is it. This is the sign he has been waiting for. More. It tugs at his ambition, ignites that restless hunger beneath his composure. He leans in, closer than before, fingers finding the length of her braid, that dark river flowing over her shoulder. He glides his thumb over the silken strands. The end of it rests in his open palm. The bow tied at the tip tempts him. He could pull at it and let her hair spill free. He imagines what it might be like, to let it fall wild and tempting, veiling her bare skin until it is all that covers her, the only thing between him and the shape of her, his hands aching—

“You are a difficult woman to grasp. You slip through my fingers like…” he opens his hand, letting her braid fall, “like that.”

“I do not know what you mean by that, my lord.”

“You do. You make this harder than it need be because you enjoy watching me work for your favour.”

She almost smiles, the faintest flicker at the corner of her mouth as she tilts her head, watching him with an unreadable calm. “And if I do?”

“Then let me prove my determination to you,” he murmurs and gathers her hands within his own, his touch insistent. He can feel her rapid pulse under his fingers. “A woman like you deserves nothing less than devotion. I could be the one to give it.”

“Dracea, I—”

Before she can speak, the damned drunkard interrupts her — a staggering wreck of wine and arrogance. He stumbles, a useless husk of half-chewed words and flapping gestures, dragging the shocked young girl in his wake as if his very existence is an affront. The anger in Dracea’s eyes must blaze like hell loosed, but the old fool does not even notice, oblivious as he sways, shoving him closer to Cătălina by accident. Her fingers grip his arms to steady him — a touch that jolts him, exciting and sudden, grounding him in a moment that vanishes as fast as it arrives.

Gone. Stolen by the staggering wreck and his senseless intrusion.

She slips her coat from her shoulders in a smooth and practised movement and offers it with the faintest suggestion of formality. “Perhaps some things belong to another time. Too many watchful eyes here.”

“Cătălina, wait—”

But all pleas are in vain. She turns from him, head tilted away, stepping through the door. He watches her disappear into warmth and light, while he is left standing in the sharp bite of cold air. A muted frustration swells within him, restless and hollow. He kicks the stone beneath his feet in a weak rebellion before reluctantly stepping back inside, where light, laughter, and crowd draw him against his will.

Through the crowded hall, he catches sight of her at the other end, kneeling beside the bride-to-be, her touch seemingly gentle as she clasps the young woman’s hand. He contemplates moving toward her, thinks to press past the bodies that stand between them, yet a rustling interrupts him. Two men flank him from both sides like shadows with purpose.

“Not quite the romantic ending, eh?” comes a dry remark from one side. Dracea glances at the young man beside him, noting the glint in his eye. Ștefan stands there with a smug grin carved by amusement at his expense.

Dracea only mutters, “What?” The word might feel like a dismissal, but it betrays too much.

Ștefan laughs as Vlad slips a goblet into Dracea’s hand, clapping his back.

“It can’t be all bad,” Vlad says with a smirk. “Unless, of course, you have managed to offend every lady at the feast.”

Dracea lets out a dry laugh of his own, rolls his eyes but does not refuse the wine. He drinks deeply, feeling the burn in his throat, then wipes his lips on his sleeve. Just as quickly, he feels Vlad’s hand pulling him along.

“Now, wipe the sorrow from your face. There is someone here I want you to meet. They might prove… useful for our cause, shall we say.”

later that night

Darkness has consumed even the last scrap of light by the time Cătălina and Ilinca reach their door. They lingered until even the last revellers disappeared into the night. Only then, when all the laughter and colour had drained away, were they granted a chance to sit, to salvage a few crumbs from the night — a stale bite of cake here, a sip of wine left in an abandoned jar there. It was meagre, stripped of all ceremony, yet nourishing. When their dismissal came, it felt almost like an act of mercy.

They slip into the room like sleepwalkers, by memory alone, guided by the way the familiar door handle fits under their fingers. The maid lights a few candles, and they sputter to life in columns of flame, smearing warm yellow light across the chamber and casting shifting patterns on the walls. The two women wave her off with weary smiles, brush away the hint of assistance, refuse to let another hand undress them or peel off the weariness woven into every layer. At last, silence thickens around them and seals them in.

Cătălina lowers herself in front of a small mirror, fingers trailing over the table’s cool, rough surface. Her blurred reflection shimmers and shifts in the candlelight. Behind her, the bed groans as Ilinca lets herself fall into the embrace of the thick quilt. Her limbs sprawl over the goose down, her body giving in to the plush softness. She giggles when she imagines herself sinking slowly into the thickness of clouds, weightless and free.

“What a long, long night.”

“Mmm.” Cătălina meets her own gaze in the mirror — a glimmer is still awake even in weariness. “And we still have two more of the same.”

She studies her reflection in the mirror, tilting her face towards the faint light. The shadows splay across her skin, casting an ashen hue she is not certain belongs there. Pain knots through her limbs, warm, almost indulgent — a quiet ache burrowed in muscle, leaving a faint thrill as if threading into her bones with purpose. She would give anything to sink into warm water and let her body open like a flower, feel it rise around her neck, to float in it and let her mind drift with the steam’s unravelling tendrils…

Her hands lift and tug loose the ribbon that binds her braid. She tosses it onto the table where it falls coiled like a wisp of smoke. Her hair resists, though, still wound in its pattern, thick and stubborn. With a quick breath, she threads her fingers through the braid and works apart each strand. She shakes her head, and heavy waves spill down, falling around her shoulders and framing her face with a dark curtain. With a sharp tug, she unlaces her boots and lets them drop onto the floor with a thud as she sinks onto the quilt beside Ilinca, the fabric sighing beneath her.

“Maria is terrified,” she admits to her companion, eyes drawn to the warm flicker of the flame. Her hands lace together over her stomach, fingers tightening as if to catch something slipping through them. “I don’t know how she’ll endure two more days of this. All this merriment for something she thinks will bury her alive…”

“So was Sorea, and look at her now. Thriving, with a child stirring within her.”

Cătălina’s mind flickers to Oltea’s eldest daughter, whose hand glided proudly over her swelling belly this evening. She was glowing as if lit from within, her beauty sharpened with an almost otherworldly glow. The memory slips and dissolves back into the bride-to-be’s disheartened state, with red-rimmed eyes and shaking hands.

“She was inconsolable last night. She couldn’t stop crying,” Cătălina says softly. “She adores her mother. The thought of leaving her family… it undoes her.”

Ilinca stares upward, tracing patterns in the ceiling’s rough lines. She feels Cătălina’s gaze settle, dark and heavy, on her profile. She turns her face toward her and sees the intent gleam in Cătălina’s eyes — something is shifting there, an unvoiced question caught within them. Ilinca lets out a quiet sigh and turns to her side, letting her head drop into the palm of her hand.

“It will pass, Cătălina. This is the shape of our lives. Every woman learns to bear it. Soon, Maria will remember the tears and wonder why they ever came. Besides, Sorea is married, too, and she visits her family rather often, does she not?”

She wants to trust Ilinca, desperately wishes to cling to the comfort of it, but doubt holds tight to her throat. As Sorea’s lady-in-waiting, Ilinca must know of these things, must see the woman’s life from every side. Behind the curtain, beneath the silks, beyond the torchlight. She has retained this position longer than Cătălina. Surely, she can be trusted to know the shape of what is to come. But perhaps Maria will not learn to bear it. The thought slithers in and strikes out against Ilinca’s words. Why can’t I never trust comfort for long? Why do I always see the dark edge in everything?

“And what about you, hm?” a hint of slyness lightens Ilinca’s tone, pulling at Cătălina’s wandering thoughts. “What about that handsome man always trailing behind you?”

“What handsome man?”

“Cătălina. Do not play.”

Her thoughts blur like the haze of a morning field, shadows half-forming. As if drawn back by some unbidden instinct, there comes the memory of his face, blue eyes soft and steady, catching hers across the room. She rises from the bed and feels her expression shifting and hardening, her fingers drifting to the buttons on her coat. The cloth suddenly binds too close, stifling. The sensation that spreads through her is not fatigue. No, something else — the slow friction of annoyance, dragged out and thick. Her fingers begin to undo the buttons with a fierce, almost absent-minded urgency. She stares at them, her eyes a touch too fixed, too intent, revealing her restlessness.

“Oh. Dracea,” she says at last, her voice bare and hollowed by the effort of saying it.

“So you do remember him,” Ilinca’s grin twists sharp and daring. “Well? What is that about?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you enamoured by him?”

Her fingers freeze, the last button left untouched. A pause drops heavy between them. Ilinca props herself up, and Cătălina’s gaze meets hers. For a moment, her face betrays her in a quick, vivid flicker of shock, as if Ilinca pulled something raw and unformed into the light. She feels warmth rise in her veins, a faint treachery colouring her cheeks. Laughter tumbles from her, clumsy and rougher than she intends, almost choking her.

“What? Enamoured? Don’t be absurd. What even makes you think such a thing?”

“I don’t understand. You seemed quite inclined to his affections tonight.”

“Well, perhaps,” she bites the inside of her cheek, and her arms fall to her sides, the fabric slipping loose from her hands. “But enamoured seems a little excessive. It’s only curiosity, nothing more.”

No words come in response, and so Cătălina continues her nightly ritual. Her coat slips off her shoulders, and it lands on the chair, warm yet lifeless. She unfastens her dress, drawing it down like skin she no longer wants to wear. As her body releases the day, her thoughts tighten around a persistent question, probing the corners of her mind for the tangled roots of her restlessness.

Once, enamoured might have named her feelings well. It would have explained the thrill and spark she had felt during those first looks exchanged with Dracea, and how she found herself drawn to him before she could name why. Only a week ago, she was almost certain. This could have been the start of a future, a foundation laid brick by brick. Few ever stumble upon such a spark, and fewer still find it willing to bloom. A boyish kindness radiates beneath his fierce bearing, and the generosity of spirit unrestrained by power awakened something sweet, something hopeful. She remembers the early glances, the exhilaration of Dracea’s gaze like a hand on her shoulder. What woman does not relish the delight of a man’s unwavering admiration, of feeling, if only briefly, as if the world fell silent just to watch her? Her glances and curiosity were honest, too.

Yet excitement turns, as all things do. What began as a rush, a thrill in her heart, has cooled, bit by bit, into disappointment. The first stirrings, the excitement of pursuit were stimulating, intoxicating, even. She would never say it aloud, though she does not mind confessing it to herself — to be desired so boldly, to see a man almost grovel with need, is a heady kind of power to possess. A single glance from her, a tilt of her head was enough to see his breath quicken, turn his pulse erratic. But when it became apparent that his talk was more hollow than honeyed, when every conversation turned to be empty praise rather than revealing anything truer or deeper, her interest began to waver, then wane. For what good is desire when it silences everything else?

Can he not see that his game wears thin?

In all his glances, he has yet to see her. Admiration is easy. Any man can muster that for a woman he finds beautiful. But every time she urged the conversation toward some hidden part of himself, he began to deflect and corner her with empty charm until she felt pinned, like a creature under glass. I was so close to telling him tonight, she thinks, fingers trailing over the fabric of her dress. If only he had paused, if only he had listened…

Even now, looking back on her own breathless excitement, she feels the bitterness of it. Was she so naïve, so foolish to think she could bring herself to such hope? Like a moth that hovers too near the fire, with wings singed.

He looks at me but does not see me…

She is only an achievement — a beautiful thing he has fixed in his sights, a conquest to savour. Desire, admiration, these are not enough. She wishes to be seen, to have her mind touched as if it, too, were made of skin. Did God grant her thoughts only to bury them under the weight of what her beauty demanded? Is that to be her only legacy? Beauty, that fleeting thing… What will it mean, fifteen, twenty years from now, after children have been born, after time’s touch has rounded her where she now curves taut? After lines have etched themselves onto her face, marked by sun and laughter and worry, and her hair has greyed under the weight of life. What then? Beauty will be a ghostly residue, a memory drifting from the past, and memory does not return what the body will have surrendered to time.

Marriage, of course, asks for no such thing as love. The roles are clear, the obligations plain as stone. She could simply fall into place like every other woman and let herself settle. So why reach for what cannot be touched? Why strain for something precarious, something not promised? Yet the heart insists on its claim. She feels it, like the urge of a climber for the highest branch. Is it so wrong to seek what lies beyond? She has this freedom, this rare privilege, this gift of choosing. She can choose. And perhaps in that choice lies the only true vision of herself she has ever glimpsed.

Cătălina’s tongue loosens as she settles back on the bed and sinks into the worn but familiar folds of the quilt. She tugs its warmth over her bare legs like an afterthought. She has left her nightdress somewhere, too weary to care, and only the thin fabric of her shift clings to her against the edges of the chill. A long sigh escapes her, as if it might float above her and linger in the dim air.

“My brother has ideas,” she begins, words spilling with caution. She tilts her head, eyes fixing on Ilinca who watches her intently. “Ideas he is convinced will see me properly betrothed. He wants me to be settled, spare me hardship. I know he cares, but—”

“But you’ve seen his taste?”

A quick laugh escapes Cătălina’s lips. “What I am trying to say is that I’d rather be the one with open eyes. Maybe if— But then, perhaps not…”

She falls silent, her teeth chewing at the corner of her lip. The candlelight flickers, restless, and she wills it to stay dim, to hide the blood rising to her cheeks like a confession painted across her skin. She has been caught. She must have been. Surely Ilinca notices it, hears it in the hesitation that lingers in her words. The implication is too sharp, too bold to be misunderstood. Her chest tightens with the weight of it, this baring of ambition dressed as innocence. Does Ilinca see her as a schemer now? Her feelings for Dracea were honest once; her heart holds that truth. But is it a sin to let her mind take the reins? It is not a crime, is it? To hope for a life with softened edges, with joys she can claim. To wish for that, to plan it if she must — does that make her wicked?

“And that handsome stranger of yours… Isn’t he close with the Wallachian pretender?”

“Yes. And I hope to return home. One day.”

“But the throne seems to elude him.”

“Yes, considering the situation,” Cătălina admits, her voice quieter now, mind carefully searching for the right words. “They could be exiled for years, maybe longer.”

Now it is Ilinca who pushes herself up from the bed. She unties her boots and tosses them in the corner, and the cold seizes her skin the moment her feet meet the floor. She moves quickly, peeling her clothes away with trembling fingers as the frigid air bites at her skin. The candles flicker, their light too frail to push back the cold. She pulls her nightdress over her head and presses her hands to her shoulders, chasing the little warmth she can as she scurries back to bed. Her body folds into the goose down beside Cătălina like a shadow seeking refuge.

“And you would marry him despite all that? If he asked your brother for your hand?”

“I did find Dracea intriguing at first. But now… I am not quite certain anymore.”

“If that’s how you feel, why do you keep tempting that man?”

The question strikes Cătălina harder than it should, the weight of it punching the breath from her chest. The silence swells between them, heavy as damp wool, until she finally manages to speak, “I am not tempting him*—*”

“You know how quickly gossip spills from vicious tongues. One wrong word, one gesture out of place…”

“I know.”

“You are so dear to me, Cătălina.” Ilinca’s hand finds hers beneath the quilt’s heaviness and squeezes reassuringly. “Since the day we met, I have thought of you as a good friend. And I would hate — truly hate — for others to see you as something you are not. To call you a… jezebel.”

Cătălina’s frown deepens on her face, eyes drawn upward to the wooden beams above. Her thoughts turn restless, folding in on themselves. Jezebel? For what? For curiosity? For daring to wonder? But the words tangle in her throat, and she swallows their sharpness back down.

“I know,” she murmurs instead.

“If you no longer want him, let him go. It will be easier. And who knows, your brother might find someone more fitting for you.”

Cătălina’s fingers curl and uncurl beneath the quilt, restless against Ilinca’s encouraging grip. Her gaze darts down to the candlelight as if the answer might be hiding there, tucked away in the dancing flames. Her lips part, a breath escaping, but no words follow. Instead, her hand reaches to adjust the edge of the quilt, smoothing the thick fabric with deliberate strokes.

“Well. Perhaps Maria will ask me to stay in her service after her marriage. That could be a path.”

Ilinca sits up, the flame of the last candle whispering out as her breath brushes against it. Darkness pours into the room like a tide. “There’s time. So much time still. Don’t weigh yourself down with it tonight.”

She sinks back into the bed, pulling Cătălina into her arms as if trying to calm a distressed child. Despite the intentions, it smothers more than it soothes. Her lips brush against her forehead in a gesture that feels too much like pity.

If you get to this part, I want to thank you wholeheartedly for reading this long work! Surprisingly, you may find little ramblings about facts and sources in these “footnotes”, nonetheless, let me quickly dedicate a few words to what is going on in this chapter:

Even though all of us might carry a certain idea of what life in the Middle Ages looked like, this era spans a vast timeframe and encompasses many regions across the world. Our typical understanding often reflects Western European experiences of those times, yet Eastern European states developed distinctly different patterns present in day-to-day life, societal rules and constrictions, behaviours, and customs. While patriarchal norms undoubtedly dominated Wallachian and Moldavian society as well, the legal system and societal structures provided women with a degree of agency not universally found in Western Europe at the time because of various factors, such as a different political environment and even religion. I strive to capture all of this complexity in Cătălina’s life, and this chapter specifically delves into both the negatives and the positives of a woman’s life.

I also apologise for Dracea in this chapter — I love him so much, he is such a dear character, but that does not mean he cannot have his flaws or mess up colossally in certain aspects. Things will get better with him (and for him) eventually, I promise you that.

[devout-of-the-elder-scrolls]

Azura Quick Start Guide

LAST UPDATED: January 01, 2025

A guide for beginning with Azura, intended to help you begin your practice, but not to serve as the only information you use.

Keep in mind most of this post is UPG versus just based on the fictional canon, based on my personal experiences with this entity. It may directly contrast fictional canon and the experiences of others. I suggest, as always, at least reading over Her UESP lore page.

(banners by saradika-graphics)

AZURA

azure-ahh aka. Azurah prns. she domain. Moonshadow date. Hogithum, March 21st

Azura is a mostly benevolent Daedric Prince, herald of the Dawn and Dusk. She is a Mother of the Prophets, blessing humans with divinatory power, to help them help themselves – though at times, She does it for Her own reasons.

Azura protects all of Her children very strongly, wanting to soothe all of their pains and sorrows and griefs. She encourages growth and progress, facing oneself and coming out stronger for it.

Azura is very wise, and while She does not want Her children to suffer, Azura is not at all against letting Her children learn the hard way, or letting them go through hardship that will lead the way for a better tomorrow – Leaving Her to sometimes be called “cruel, but wise”. 

Within Dunmeri myth, Azura is one of the Three “Good Daedra”, being the “true way” for Dunmeri to worship and work.  She is also the one who cursed the Chimer to become Dunmer, after they chose the gods of the ALMSIVI, the Tribunal Temple.

Within Khajiiti myth, Azurah is a core part of their passage into the afterlife, and knows the names of all Khajiit that live and will ever live – and as such is often the first step Khajiit take on their spiritual path. She also has a triple aspect, in that She has three forms – Khajiit, Mer, and Human. She’s said to be more beautiful than any spirit, save for Nirni. She has Khenarthi as Her messenger, who ferries the dead Khajiiti souls to Her for judgement. Azura tends to lanterns lit by Khenarthi in the eyes of Jone and Jode, their stillborn brothers, when they burn low. After the rise of Riddle’Thar, she fell in prominence somewhat, and is seen as a “distant mother”.

Azura is a great Prince to start with, as She is calm, collected, and cares deeply about the happiness of followers. She is hard to slight, and is likely to forgive quickly with a proper apology.

🜚 terms of respect . . .

Term – Prince • Goddess • Deity Prefix – Lady • Queen • Ma’am • Madam • Divine • Shining • Bright Titles – Azura of the Crimson Gate • Queen of Dawn and Dusk • the Mother Soul • Moonshadow • Mother of the Rose • Queen of the Night Sky • Twilight Queen • the Rim of all Holes • the Cosmic Severer • She Who Sits at the Precipice • Favored Daughter of Fadomai

🜲 rulerships . . .

dusk • dawn • twilight • stars • transition • change • the cycle of the days • mystery • magic • fate • prophecy • vanity • egotism • beauty • roses • knowledge • guidance • astrology • death, esp the “good” things that come of it • mourning • soothing of physical pain • bringing peace . . . HELPS WITH . . . the craft and power of prophecy and premonition • understanding prophetic dreams • delivering prophetic dreams • the practice of divination • the art and knowledge of astrology

🝰 commandments . . . This part especially is bound to be different from person to person.

Know the Sun, Moons, Planets, and Stars. Learn astrology and learn it well. You needn’t be super good at it, just knowing of how astrology works.

Love oneself greatly.

Pursue your own self and self-love.

Accept prophetic visions. You can, and often will be asked to, change the prophecy. But you should never deny it.

Use your prophetic eyes to improve your life.

Know the true power of divination, and utilize it.

⛯ main tarot cards & other signs and associations . . .

Citadel Oracle Card — 

The Astronomer

Tarot Cards — 

II the High Priestess • IX the Hermit • XVII the Star • XVIII the Moon

IV of Cups • VII of Cups • X of Cups

Ace of Swords • VI of Swords • X of Swords

VIII of Pentacles • X of Pentacles

II of Wands • VII of Wands • X of Wands

Other Signs & Associations — 

moon and star symbols • falling tears in art

very vibrant colors

anise • rose • owl

❂ devotional acts . . .

regularly do divination

veil, esp if you cover the face. all veils count

keep a dream journal of dreams you feel have meaning, or conversely, all dreams you have if you want

keep a journal in general

wear Azura’s symbols

wear butterfly symbols

invite Azura to provide Her input / visions / etc during divination sessions, esp for meditative things

provide your prophetic and divinatory power to others

speak to Her when shuffling decks, esp if you’re inviting Her to the session

self care, and otherwise take care of yourself

cleanse your divination tools in Her name

dedicate a divination session to Azura

involve Her in the “awakening” of a new divination tool

vent out all of your feelings at Her shrine or in prayer to Her

stargaze

wake up at dawn to greet Her and do some divination

study western astrology

perform planetary magic

keep track of your horoscope (I suggest cafeastrology because it actually considers a lot of stuff)

meditate to a burning candle / melting wax

travel to beautiful places

soothe your overstimulation

uncover mysteries

perform magic with Her

try and find peace in yourself

work on changing into new things gracefully

do glamor magic

perform an emotion releasing ritual

perform self-love spells like a confidence spell

add your natal chart to your book of shadows

perform magic in line with the zodiac signs active at the time

perform rituals to welcome new zodiacal seasons

perform divination with your natal chart

. . . offerings ❦

↘ natural ; 

colorful bouquets

anise

beech trees

bistort

agathosma / buchu

willow trees

aloe vera

↘ foodstuff ; 

sugary foods and candies

fig

pomegranate

lettuce

starfruit

yam

hershey’s krackle

milk

rice

↘ items ; 

art with vibrant colors

azure colored things

newly obtained divination tools

lots of candles and wax melts

star and moon figurines

things related to the zodiac

silver mirrors

silver jewelry

silver anything

↘ music ; 

melodic music

emotional songs

↘ etc ; 

emotional letters

blue candles

things associated with the planet Venus

Note: Azura seems to prefers devotional acts over offerings for the most part. She does love having Her playlist played during devotionals, though.

🜾 altar building . . .

This is all suggestions. Please build it however you can, if a physical altar is even possible.

As always, you can use offering items to build an altar.

by a window where the sun and moon rising can be seen

plenty of candle space

a moon symbol and a sun symbol

a space for a dream journal

🝊 identity . . .

Azura is a very understanding Daedric Prince, being much more lenient than others might be. She is caring and just, and wants the very best for all Her devout. She sees our hardships and feels empathy, sympathy, and compassion for what we endure. Even when She sends hardship our way, or when She must let us endure it to become better – She weeps for our pains and desires our soothing and happiness. 

She is very gentle, and takes upon a soft guide and guardian feel – Though like with all Daedroth, She can be very cruel and harsh should She feel it is necessary. 

Azura seeks to herald change and growth, providing knowledge and guidance all along the way. Unlike many others, Azura does not often use Her own hand to paint the new picture, but instead provides Her followers the tools and capabilities to create such better things.

Azura mostly appears as a Dunmer, a Dark Elf, or as a Chimer, a golden skinned elf, with long pale azure and/or pink hair (depends on the day), and bright golden eyes that shine within the darkness. She’s often dressed in elaborate, beautiful dresses, usually with earrings – The right ear a moon, the left ear a star/sun, depending on how you want to view it.

Azura has an medium pitched, strong and powerful, but sweet at the center. She hardly speaks at loud volumes, though is known to raise Her voice purely to be noticed.

☉ domain . . .

Azura’s domain is known as Moonshadow, which is a very bright and colorful land, filled with pink trees, flowers, waterfalls, and contains a city of silver. It is said to hold “too much” beauty, so much that it can render mortal visitors “half-blind”. 

Azura herself resides in a rose palace. She is always welcoming to mortal visitors.

According to the Khajiit people, Moonshadow is where Azurah tends the Gates of Crossing, the bridge between Nrni and the afterlife. It’s here that they are guided to the Sands Behind the Stars if worthy.

⛮ working with . . .

Azura is treated mostly like a teacher.

She is not often pampered, but is not against being treated that way.

To love Azura and yet hate yourself brings Her great sorrow, as She is a Goddess who deeply loves and cares for Her followers.

Working with Azura is heavily shaped by the follower in question, as Azura more just lets you do as you wish, as long as you still invite Her and work with Her, and let your emotions be at the front of worship – Be them positive, neutral, negative, and any colored blends of them.

She teaches many things in relation to divination and astrology, and guides to self-love and adoration.

She also often bestows prophetic dreams upon followers. While not all prophetic dreams might be from Azura, some very well might be, and so followers should learn how to tell when Azura’s influence is present within.

Azura isn’t easy to slight, and is likely to forgive immediately if just apologized to.

Things that slight Azura:

not much… I can’t think of any! /lh a testament to how gentle Azura is

Much like in the canon of the Elder Scrolls, Azura sometimes gives visions / prophetic signs / etc that might not necessarily bring peace to their mind. Sometimes, She simply chooses you to bear a burden, though She tries to be kind and provide for you to apologize for that.

. . . benefits ]

Azura warns followers of hardships coming their way with Her prophetic gifts. She teaches divination and astrology for the sake of goodness for oneself.

Azura teaches intensely to love oneself.

. . . risks ]

There’s very few, next to none risks of working with Azura. Even if slighted and offended, She’s more likely to scold you than punish you, and if it’s bad enough, She’s most likely to just leave and return once you’ve righted your wrong.

⚜ holidays & festivals . . .

Azura’s summoning day is March 21st, which I practice as a day to honor Azura.

♡ prayers . . .

⛤ 01 . . . Great, beloved Azura, Queen of Moonshadow Herald of the Dusk and of the Dawn With Your kindness and grace that You send down upon me,  With Your love for me and the adoration within Your heart,  Please hear my prayer on this day,  and know deeply of my love for You.

⛤ 02 . . . Divine Azura, blesser of mortals with the gift of prophecy,  I seek to know more of my fate.  With this offering I leave at Your altar,  I humbly request your aid.  Be it with a dream, or be it with cards or a crystal, or any other tool,  I graciously accept your gift of prophecy.

⛤ 03 . . . Azura of the Crimson Gate, Queen of Dawn and Dusk, I leave upon You this offering, with all of my love within it. I hope that You enjoy it well.

⛤ 04 . . . O Lady Azura, I call upon You now. I seek Your audience, I seek Your time.

⛤ 05 . . . Prince Azura, Bright Moon and Star, You who deliver prophecy and knowledge upon mortality, I worship You, I revere You.

⚿ evoking, invoking, summoning . . .

EVOKATION &&° 

wear gray make-up, nail polish

veil

wear sun and moon symbology

wear flower crowns

— ☆ — 

Things in [] are for making it a summoning.

WHY AND WHEN &&° 

when you wish to receive a prophetic dream

when you wish to do a major divinatory session

on March 21st

INGREDIENTS AND OTHER TOOLS &&° 

some mixed scent candle or wax melt. [two candles, one dressed with a simple sun, the other a moon OR carve the sun and moon into the wax melt]

[rose petals]

IDEALS &&° 

Time – dusk or dawn

Location – in a safe place

STEPS &&° 

If using tools, prepare your divination tools, and cleanse them.

[Burn a rose petal in the candle and let the ashes sit at the bottom of the candles for the wax to melt into/onto. OR Layer rose petals around the wax melter.]

Light the candle or turn on the wax melt and call upon Azura [and ask Her to come to you as the candles burn.]

Offer upon Her an offering. 

Invite Her to either provide the dream or sway your hands in a divination reading.

Snuff or blow out the candle after it is done.

NOTES &&° 

Azura is often invoked just by calling for Her. You don’t need to invoke Her for small bits of divination, as She’s likely to be there and present regardless. But if you want to do something big, feel free to invoke.

⛼ history . . .

. . . mythos ]

Note that most of this is... generally copy/pasted and very mildly edited from UESP. Look, I can't thin it all down, I tried. Please support UESP forever!

( KHAJIITI MYTHOLOGY )

Azurah was born from the third litter of Ahnurr and Fadomai, after the twin Moons and their Motions, and Nirni. Nirni and Azurah immediately began fighting for their mother's favor, but soon an angry Ahnurr struck Fadomai, and she fled into the Great Darkness with her children for protection. There, a dying Fadomai birthed her youngest, Lorkhaj, and bestowed gifts upon the rest. One by one the children received their gifts and departed, until only Azurah and her mother remained. Fadomai then left Azurah her greatest gift, three secrets—instructions on how to create the Khajiit.

Much of what comes after are known in pre-ri'Datta Khajiiti stories. They state that Azurah wept as her dying mother told stories of love, war, and undreamed dreams; the names of all gates and thresholds, of all the spirits, and of all the Khajiit that would ever live. Azurah wept so much that the moonlight reflecting off her tears "became one with the Lattice" as Fadomai died. Azura remained within the Great Darkness for some time, consumed by her grief.

Sometime later, Nirni needed a place to bear children. Lorkhaj tricked his siblings into creating the World to satisfy her desire, and many of Fadomai's children died in its creation. The survivors killed Lorkhaj and tore out his heart. Or so they believed, for the Great Darkness in his blood filled the hole where his heart had been. He sought out Azurah for help. Meanwhile, Azurah remained within the Great Darkness, mourning Fadomai's death. In time, the light from her tears and the Lunar Lattice dispersed the darkness, and she found herself in a "place of moonlight and shadow". Azurah then tried to return to her mother's side, but her tears had created a great sea, and beyond it stood a black gate that opened into darkness. And there stood Lorkhaj, his chest gaping, a shadowy imitation of his heart beating steadily, dripping black blood. But Azurah knew the names of all of the spirits, so she recognized the Great Darkness for what it was. Azurah was able to rip the Dark Heart—and all the Darkness—out of her brother before it could consume him. She cast it beyond the sea, into the Void, where it became the Moon Beast, the first of the dro-m'Athra, and Lorkhaj perished within Azurah's embrace. Azurah made a funeral pyre for her brother before the gate, and lit it with the Twin Lanterns of Jone and Jode. Her tears fell upon the pyre and the ashes scattered across the Lattice. As a result, it is said Azurah (and Khenarthi) can call upon the "true spirit" of Lorkhaj to appear.

The spirit Noctra was born from the black blood of Lorkhaj at the steps of the Void Gate. Boethra was able to defeat the spirit and took her to Azurah for judgment. Azurah was merciful, and allowed Noctra to live if she agreed to serve Azurah and the Lunar Lattice. But Noctra stole one of Azurah's keys and fled into the Void. So Azurah summoned the true spirit of Lorkhaj after her, and now Noctra aids the Khajiit when she is called upon.

Because of Lorkhaj, Nirni could now make children. But she was sad because the forest people, her favorites, were "torn between man and beast" and did not know their shape. So Azurah came to Nirni and tricked her into allowing the creation of the Khajiit, offering a "gift" of new people. She spoke Fadomai's First Secret, and the Moons parted for her. She took some of the forest people and made them many shapes, for every purpose, called them the Khajiit, and put them in the best forests and deserts on Nirni. Azura told them the Second Secret and made them Nirni's secret defenders, and bound them to the Lunar Lattice. And she spoke the Third Secret, and "the Moons shone down on the marshes and their light became sugar".

However, Y'ffer overheard Azurah speak the First Secret and told Nirni what Azurah had done. So Nirni made the lands of the Khajiit inhospitable, and allowed Y'ffer to change the forest people into elves—the Bosmer. And Y'ffer shouted the First Secret across the heavens so all the original spirits could cross the Lattice, but Azurah ensured that neither Ahnurr nor Lorkhaj could hear the Secret. Y'ffer was corrupted by the Namiira sometime after Lorkhaj's death, and murdered Nirni. Hircine, Azurah and Khenarthi slew him in retaliation for the deed, then built a cairn for Nirni using his bones.

Sometime before the Khajiiti people's "first memory", Azurah, knowing that the false Lorkhaj, the Moon Beast, would one day covet her children, used the Twin Lanterns to summon Lorkhaj's true spirit to be a sky-guardian. As the third moon, Lorkhaj shined his light upon the Khajiit, choosing the purest of heart to be part of the "Litter of the Hidden Moon", to learn the way of the Moonlight Blade. And from then on, on nights of the Ghost Moon, Azurah opens the Void Gate, and the Moon Beast will challenge mortals until banished. Modern Khajiit have fallen away from this belief, instead interpreting the Ghost Moon as the corpse of Lorkhaj which was flung to the moons after Convention, and forced to follow Jone and Jode forever as punishment.

It is said that Magrus serves as a reminder of Azurah's wrath. The Sun God once fought Boethra and Lorkhaj, and Boethra plucked out one of his eyes. Half-blinded, Magrus fell into the Moonshadow, where Azurah judged him too fearful to rule a sphere, and tore out his other eye (though other stories say he gave Azurah the eye willingly). Azurah took the eye and fashioned it into the Aether Prism, a stone that reflects the Varliance Gate, and opens from Dawn to Dusk.

( FIRST ERA )

Many years after the Alessian Slave Rebellion, tensions between the descendants of enslaved Nedes and remaining Ayleids grew. Culanwe, one of the most beloved servants of Azura, sought to broker peace between the Nedes and the Ayleids. An Ayleid messenger was mysteriously murdered during this, causing suspicions between the two forces to grow, until an outsider Nede and Ayleid discovered that a servant of Molag Bal was responsible, seeking to sabotage Azura's will. United against a common foe, the Ayleids and Nedes made peace, though Culanwe sought to stop Molag Bal's plots for good. She would later be captured at Laeloria and imprisoned in Coldharbour, tortured by Molag Bal for millennia, much to Azura's dismay.

The disaster caused by Molag Bal at Gil-Var-Delle was the catalyst that sparked the conception of the Coldharbour Compact between the 3rd and 5th of Rain's Hand, 1E 2920. It was an agreement between Tribunal god Sotha Sil and eight powerful Daedric Princes: Azura, Boethia, Hermaeus Mora, Hircine, Malacath, Mehrunes Dagon, Molag Bal, and Sheogorath. Little is known about the Compact, but it is theorized that it prevents the Princes from directly manifesting on Nirn. It is also speculated that, in order to secure the agreement of the Princes, Sotha Sil either made a credible threat to them or presented a significant offer in exchange.

( SECOND ERA )

In 2E 582, Azura asked the Vestige to help free the soul of one of her servants from the clutches of Molag Bal, and to free her Oracles from pocket realms of Oblivion.

Azura involved herself in the affairs of mortals once more when a plot concocted by Barbas threatened to destroy the island of Vvardenfell. She assisted the Vestige and her new champion Seryn in defeating the false Nerevarine and brother of Seryn, Chodala, and begrudgingly helped return Lord Vivec's power so that he could stave off the meteor Baar Dau's collision.

( THIRD ERA )

Some time around 3E 405, Azura charged an agent of the Blades with killing a monk who had offended her. The Blade was given Azura's Star for completing the task.

In 3E 427, Azura took notice of a prisoner sent from the Imperial City to Morrowind in the hopes of being a prophesied hero, the Nerevarine, the reincarnation of Azura's First Era champion, Lord Indoril Nerevar. She helped guide the prisoner into fulfilling the prophecy, becoming the Nerevarine, and freeing Morrowind from the threat of Dagoth Ur. The Nerevarine was also given Azura's Star, as a reward for helping her win a bet with Sheogorath.

In 3E 433, the Hero of Kvatch received the Star for putting down some of Azura's worshippers who had inadvertently been turned into vampires while in her service.

( FOURTH ERA )

Faithful priests of Azura were given a vision that led them away from Vvardenfell before the eruption, and the Dunmer built the shrine of Azura in Skyrim after the Red Year as their thanks to her, so that none would forget that she watches over them all. Azura's further visions tested the faith of the priests, who gradually left the shrine afterward as they were afraid to know their own future.

By 4E 201, Azura's Star was in Skyrim, in the hands of a dying mage. He had corrupted the artifact, allowing it to trap black souls and placing his own inside it. Azura sent the Last Dragonborn to retrieve the artifact, though when found, it was broken. The Dragonborn entered the Star and destroyed the mage's soul, though whether or not this was done with Azura's help is unclear.

𝌁 other vettable information . . .

When meditating on Her presence and name, Azura brings:

visions of: moon and star clusters

feelings of: night chill

❡ notes . . .

Azura has a major goal of Her followers loving themselves as much as they love Her.

Azura teaches astrology a lot. Specifically Western Astrology.

Azura also teaches a lot of magic about changing the future itself. 

Azura adores any decks/tools related to astrology and/or proper divination.

[automatismoateo]

Advice for dying athiests via /r/atheism

Advice for dying athiests Apologies if this is the wrong group to post this. I am hoping to get some advice, particularly from older athiests, as to how to help my dad. He is an athiest, has been his entire 77 years, and is now facing a terminal illness. While he played it cool for the sake of me and my siblings, I know he is scared (he admitted it one night when we were drinking). He is terrified of non-existence and that unknown. Previously, he took heart in an idea called "Indisposable Soma", which is basically the belief that you cqn attain a fragment of immortality by your genes living on after your death. But, neither myself nor my siblings are having children, so it will end here. I shouldn't need to say this, but we won't be having kids just to give him comfort in his final days, I won't put that expectation on a child. I am religious (I come in peace, I just want to help my Dad) so the things that give me comfort have no effect on him. I'm not going to preach to him as he dies and I don't know how to help. Any advice would be greatly appreciated. Submitted January 24, 2024 at 02:27PM by Throwitoutnowson1 (From Reddit https://ift.tt/6wHUT2c)