#Partitionism

[dougielombax]

What’s up with Cork partitionists?

Are they just bitter?

Are they stupid?

(It’s probably both)

[helleanorlance]

So I have kind of made friends with this gay guy in his early 30s who is new in town. And he’s a lot and truth be told sometimes I have no idea what he is saying. But also I like him. But he REALLY wants to date and has like asked me about my preferences in guys and has NOT picked up that I’m a lesbian but I’m also not really out at work (which is how I know him) so I just do NOT know what to say.

[hotboiessek]

i fear this girl may be trying to wife me up...

went on a fun date last night AND it’s my last day with kids so everything is truly coming up julia

[vampemoqueen]

The Shadow and the Priest - a VtM Meet Cute Story

I also got to work with @worldofblueness for our meet cute story featuring my Lasombra Sylvia and Bleu's Tremere Edmund! Bleu made the lovely art while we co-wrote the Session 0 we did of their tense and mysterious meet up. It was a lot of fun to create the story through RP!

Here's the original event post. Special thanks to @worldofblueness for sharing their OC and to @crownedinmarigolds and @porcelainseashore for co-organizing the event with me! Also thanks to @diableriedoll for the banner.

Story under the break!

Sylvia Chastain emerges from the shadows in Vista Regalo, a sleepy isolated town in Southern California, to visit the town’s only chapel. 

As the Shadow Priestess of Montreal, she is a long way from home. She traveled vast distances across the abyss on the orders of Amici Noctis, the Friends of the Night, to investigate a lone Catholic church on a territory not owned by the Lasombra. The church of Vista Regalo is in a small and secluded town not far from Los Angeles. As small and insignificant as the chapel itself is, it still stands as a testament of the Lasombra’s failures to the Camarilla. 

The Friends, already disgraced by the Sabbat’s defeat on the West coast, are less than happy to learn that a Kindred-owned church exists outside of their control. And even worse, in the hands of the Tremere. 

Owned by a Tremere from outside the Pyramid, the Friends are adamant about taking what’s theirs– both the Church and the town. Sylvia has come alone to visit the chapel, uninvited and unprovoked, to assess the situation and judge the lone Tremere herself. 

It has been many years since Sylvia Chastain last stepped into a house of faith, especially one from a denomination that once imprisoned her. She parts the heavy doors with Ahriman’s arms before crossing the threshold. The soles of her bare feet burn as she walks across the holy ground, as if trying to dispel her wickedness from this place. 

But she takes it in stride. The pain pales in comparison to what she had experienced before – all of the painful conditioning and torture done in the name of God had hardened her for spirit. She carries on, dragging a long, unnatural shadow behind her down the aisle. She drapes a smoke filled shadow around her shoulders and chest while sauntering in a low-cut dress. The darkness she carries helps to cool the flames from within. 

Her blackened eyes lock onto a lone priest who stands by an altar with lit candles. She recognizes him as the Tremere she’s looking for. She approaches him slowly with no intent of confronting or ending him just yet. She simply wants to know why he's here. 

The priest, with the appearance of a young man with dark curly hair and tan skin, has his back turned tending to the altar. He stops what he’s doing as his whole body stiffens to her presence; even from afar he can sense the ominous danger she brings. A primed hunter’s instinct.

She finally sees his face when she is close enough to hear him speak. 

"You're a little early dear, 6am Mass doesn't begin for another four hours." He greets her merrily, as if she’s just another partitioner. "Unless you're here for a different reason?"  He puts on a warm smile, despite his indigo eyes growing cold and his body tensing to her impending darkness. He is aware of the danger she brings, and yet he stands his ground and remains planted by the altar with a weak, cursory smile. 

They lock eyes as she approaches, his indigo eyes tracking the inky black voids of her own intently. He’s youthful. Handsome. Perhaps naive.

She keeps her distance, pacing from left to right while keeping him in her sights. She observes him from head to toe, like an abbess judging a low ranking student. His polite demeanor and weak smile causes her to remain courteous, if only for curiosity sake. 

"It is late, preacher. Do you often receive visitors at this hour?" Her voice is elegant, feminine, and sweet, marked by a strong French accent. 

"Hm, Not among the living, no. Kindred, on the other hand? Plenty. They're not an unusual sight here in the least," He remarks thoughtfully in reply, hand delicately tracing over the armrest of the ornate wooden pews as he steps a little closer. His eyes crawl over her form– his gaze is scrutinising, conflicted as he tries to deduce her intentions.

"But... this is a very small town, I know most of my visitors well...so I know I haven't met you before, I'm Father Edmund Hargreeves, Keeper of the Elysium here in Vista Regalo." He introduces himself quaintly, extending a hand to greet her formally. 

Sylvia listens carefully to his cadence, monitoring him to judge his mood and state of mind. He seems calm and collected despite the situation. 

She stops to free her hand from her shawl and offers it to him. Her arms are coated in a slick, inky blackness from the elbows down that doesn’t transfer unless she wants it to. Edmund’s fingers shiver from the contact, though it doesn’t stop him from bending from the waist to give the back of her hand a polite kiss in greeting. His lips pucker to the ice cold sting before he pulls back and gives her a look of uncertainty.  

She tilts her head to this odd gesture. She is not used to men greeting her so chivalrously; priests even less so. It’s almost enough to change her frown into a smile.

Without a warning, she snaps her hand around to grab his wrist. She clutches it tightly, digging her blackened nails into his skin. His hand tenses as she pushes her claws against his tendons. Her grip is impossibly sharp and cold even for Kindred. The darkness keeps her from letting blood from a possibly dangerous adversary. 

"Can you feel that, Father? Does this give you a sense of what I am? I am Sylvia Chastian of Clan Lasombra. You may address me as Madam Chastain or simply Madam." She makes sure he can feel his skin freezing underneath the sleeve, her tight grip making it hard to escape.

He lets out a sharp exhale as her fingers dig into his wrist, the chill of her touch causing a shiver to run up his spine as his polite demeanour turns cold.

"....I see." He mutters grimly. "Well...I had you chalked up to either that or a Ventrue. Forgive me, Madame, I'm not quite as sharp at picking your kind out from the crowd as I once was." He remarks with an uncomfortable, stiff smile, his words laced with underlying threat as he not-so-subtly attempts to pry his hand free from her grip.

 "So... what's brought you to my humble sanctuary? The Elysium and the Church serve very similar functions. Maybe the Lord's grace has guided you here for reconciliation?"

She finds his attempt at resistance adorable, and she can't help but be amused. She finally breaks out of her cold, hard exterior to let out a single laugh, the corners of her lips rising to form a slight smirk.

"There is no place for the damned in the eyes of the Lord, Father. As you may already know, my clan uses the church for its own gain; to spread the word of Caine and remind the world of our eternal damnation. When I heard there was a lone Tremere presiding over a church in this part of the country, it made me wonder. What are your intentions here?"

She keeps her grip on his wrist tight even as she recites her words calmly. She continues to keep eye contact even as his gaze grows tense. 

"It was said in the book of Luke, 15:7: ‘I say unto you, that even so there shall be joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine righteous persons, who need no repentance’. Becoming a monster doesn't mean you're destined to bow to the crooked ideals of one, and even if you falter, you'll always be welcomed back. Whether or not creatures like us have any place here? It's simply not your call to make... And as for me, well, I like to think my intentions are as pure as any bastard child of Caine's can be." 

He mutters with a tone of indignation.

"Trinity community church is a historical relic of our city's founding... and I've been its custodian since before my first death. I couldn't possibly abandon it to rot, or worse, allow Sabbat cultists to swoop in and prey on my congregation, human OR kindred." 

He adds coldly, finally managing to yank his hand free from her grip after some struggling. He adjusts his crooked collar with an irritated clearing of his throat, indigo eyes glancing down to the small, crescent shaped markings left on his hand from her sharp nails. 

Sylvia lets him go and gets a sense of satisfaction seeing him stare at the marks she's left behind. She pulls her hand back into her shawl as if nothing had ever happened. 

"If you mean what you say Father, then you must know that there is no Heaven waiting for us after Final Death. There is only the Abyss, an unknowable dark void that pulls in all sinners and damned alike. People like you and me." She pulls her shawl tighter around her and holds herself, giving the appearance of vulnerability. 

"I have seen what lies beyond. It is dark and unforgiving. The Abyss does not care about performative acts such as these. Virtue and sin. Scripture and sermons. The moment Caine's curse touches us, we are doomed all the same." 

She's not sure why she's bothering to hold a conversation with this priest. But something about his genuine conviction makes her pity him. The way she wishes the Mother Superior would have pitied her in the past. 

"Father Hargreeves. Instead of lying to yourself and your followers, you should show them how to thrive in the dark. How to live in it and harness it, for when the night comes when we would inevitably perish, we would thrive in the Abyss instead of being consumed by it."

He interjects stubbornly. "I want to keep them safe. My ‘followers’ are barely fledglings. Even if I'd WANTED to mentor them in harnessing Oblivion, I wouldn't dare goad such inexperienced young kindred into flirting with the void, I've seen too many people be ruined by the hunger that sort of power creates." 

He abruptly steps away to continue preparing the communion altar for the next morning's mass, though the rough handling of the dishes and candlesticks seem to indicate an underlying irritation. 

After a few minutes of aggressive silent reorganising pass, he sighs, his wiry shoulders relaxing a little as he finally pipes up again. 

"Madame Chastain, I've always felt Obteneration... Oblivion... whatever you call it, and the True Faith compliment each other unusually well. One exists to conceal a monster, protect it from judgement, while the other strips it bare, forces you to open your eyes and see it for what it is. In your experience… would you say that's accurate?" He remarks curiously without turning back to face her. 

"That is an apt description, yes." She watches him from a fair distance as he tends to his altar. "Though you do not need the discipline itself to be able to see the truth, that this is a cruel and harsh existence." 

She is surprised to hear him attempt to concede their conflicting ideologies. Perhaps she was quick to underestimate him. "I too watch over fledgling Kindred, some of whom are my own childer. I am teaching them to be resilient and strong while keeping them alive. The Beast lingers in all of them, the same as your followers, but I wouldn't dare be as cruel as to hide them from the truth. They need strength, not comfort, in the face of oblivion. Human rituals such as these are distractions." She says regarding his church and his altar.

She keeps a calm state of mind. She's sympathetic and understanding, though she doesn't want to mince words and be indirect. She wants to get through to him. See him unravel.

"And in the meanwhile the Sabbat's Auctoritas Ritae rites are what exactly? Just a bit of good clean fun?" He lets out a sarcastic scoff, shooting her a challenging side-eye over his shoulder. His tone seems a little less uptight this time, as if he's getting a crumb of enjoyment out theological debate despite his profound distaste for the Sabbat.

The communion dishes clatter haphazardly against the tablecloth as he casts them aside and returns his attention to her, idly fidgeting with the small, simple gold ring around his finger as he leans back against the altar. 

"If it takes blood-feasts and getting buried half-alive in mass graves to truly harness your strengths, I'd prefer to just keep my beast deprived. You indulge that side of our ‘gift’ too often and the mangy thing just demands more and more bloodshed until you can't keep it satisfied anymore. I fell for it once; no way I'm falling for it again." He remarks with a stubborn shake of his head.

"Not all of us are uncivilized." She says simply, slowly approaching the altar to get closer to him. "While the rabble like to lose themselves in that madness, there are those of us who'd like to remain in control. Self-awareness is the first step in self-acceptance, after all." 

She loosens the shawl around her shoulders and lets it fall to her elbows. She's more calm now, more relaxed. Almost as if she feels right at home in this church, even with this priest here. 

"As you've pointed out, the Beast is a fickle thing. It craves blood and carnage yes, but it also wants its user to respond with power. Control. The strongest of Kindred can bend their Beast through sheer force of will. My Beast, she obeys me, gives me strength. In return, I let her indulge in the occasional pleasure before I must suppress her again. It is something I've learned to do from my time with the church." 

Edmund’s eyes glance over to acknowledge her presence beside him. 

"Well then, you're already a cut above 90% of your pack-mates on that alone. Can't say I can picture you're the type to be such a messy eater anyways. Those blood feasts? Downright nauseating." 

"You seem to be familiar with our rituals. Are you speaking from personal experience?" Sylvia returns the smirk and teases, amused by the exchange. 

He chuckles as he finally turns to face her again, a playful smirk on his face showing the slightest hint of his fangs. 

She stares at him and takes note of the ring on his finger. What a curious thing for a priest to branish. "You must know what it’s like to go outside the lines, given the ring on your finger. I thought priests couldn't be married."

"You're right, we can't get married, usually. But then again... I'm fairly sure we aren't supposed to be undead either, are we? If you were raised around it you'd especially know how the Catholic Church loves nothing more than to take advantage of loopholes in their own doctrine. I married Marigold, God rest her soul, three years before my ordination in 1885. There were some denominations that made it fine so long as I was never promoted to Bishop apparently." 

He recounts matter-of-factly with a dismissive gesture of his hand.

Sylvia tilts her head in amusement. If the Amici Noctis heard about this, they would twinge in their seats. "'Til death do us part', is the saying, isn't it? No need to hold onto old human artifacts this far into unlife. But I suppose it doesn't surprise me that you're this sentimental." She teases with a fanged smile, and a bit of a dark edge. "Being soft-hearted makes you vulnerable. Weak."

He furrows his eyebrows at her remark, seeming surprised by such a subtly threatening comment. That familiar dark aura so synonymous with the Sabbat finally seeming to come to the surface on the otherwise elegant, aristocratic woman. 

"What good is it to live forever if you can't be a bit sentimental? Surely even a stone-cold killer like yourself has a few fond memories in your however-many years on earth." 

"You can't be much older than me. So... Second French revolution?" He comments indeterminately with a vague nondescript gesture of his hand as he tries to pin her exact date of death.

“How astute. You are correct.” She nods, impressed by his educated guess. “The darkness has tainted my perception of age and time, but yes, I am still young in the greater scheme of things. I sometimes have to remind myself where I came from.” The smile disappears from her face as she recalls unpleasant thoughts. 

“I have no good memories from my time as a mortal. I was born in poverty in a village north of France. When I came of age, I was made to work as a lady of the night in Paris to pay for my family’s debts. I did not enjoy the work, and most of my nights were filled with numbing despair. My… clients were cruel and unrelenting.” 

She looks up towards the ceiling of the church and sighs. She recalls the days she wandered into various churches to give her confessions and ask for forgiveness, only to be turned away with utter disdain by the clergy upon recognition. She worked them along with the other classes of men, and out in public they discarded her all the same. Just another dirty secret to keep in the dark.

She compares Edmund to the priests back in those days, and she gets the feeling he would be different. That he would be one the rare ones to show her true kindness if they were to ever meet in life. That he wouldn’t use or hide her.

He gives her a solemn nod of acknowledgment. "Ah... my condolences... if it's worth anything I respect your resilience. Not an easy time, and certainly not an easy profession, saw more than enough of it back in the frontier days to know that much." He remarks curtly.

"Is that what brought you to America? We had a lot of people coming in around the turn of the century, looking for a fresh start from whatever they left behind back home." He adds with a curious tilt of his head.

"You are too kind." She tilts her head back down to view him without a smile, her voice flat and emotionless. Despite the icy tone, she means what she says. 

"I moved across the Atlantic after the death of my sire, to Quebec. It is a pale shadow of France, possessing only a fraction of its beauty. But like the American settlers I suppose, I was in search of opportunity." 

She turns to face the long aisle stretching toward the church entrance, lifting her gaze to study the stained glass windows. "I am looking to expand again. Your quaint little church would be an adequate... meeting ground for my followers."

"Mh, I'm sure it would be. Unfortunately this chapel, its grounds and this entire street are already spoken for. I'm indebted to the Camarilla, so I have no intention of giving this place up so easily." He remarks flatly, quickly shutting down the slightest flickers of her proposal. 

"I'm terribly sorry to disappoint you since you came such a long way and all... If you didn't want to simply go back home to Canada empty handed, perhaps you'd have more luck in Louisiana?" He remarks, crossing his arms, finally glancing up to lock eyes with the Lasombra. 

He'd remained cordial, as the rules of the Elysium dictated he must be, but it was clear the woman's shadowy, lingering presence was beginning to make him somewhat uneasy.

"I do not need to seek your permission." 

Her shadowy eyes grow darker as she bares her fangs. The air around them both becomes colder. 

"Don't worry about your pretty little head, Father. I am only here to visit. Soon I will disappear into the night as if nothing had happened, and you will have your moment of peace for a little while longer. I will need time to decide what I will do with you and the denizens of this town." 

"You’ve made a positive impression on me, Edmund. It would be a shame to lose your kindness and generosity. If you were ever looking to escape the useless monotony of the Camarilla, I can offer you a place in my organization. Imagine it, Father, you will feel less restrained and will be able to do more for yourself and your followers. I would even allow you to keep your chapel." She breaks into a serene yet eerie smile. Her features, once delicate and soft, morph into something dark and sinister, with black veins beginning to show across her pale pallor. 

Edmund’s face contorts into a sneer, the slightest hint of fang visible beneath his lips as an abrupt snap of his fingers causes the dark room to become bathed in a flickering ominous glow as an unnatural, violet plume of hellfire bursts from the palm of his hand. 

"Don't mistake my hospitality for weakness. If you or any of your packmates come back, I won't be half as merciful as I've been tonight." He growls harshly, leaning in close for emphasis, the flickering flame highlighting the Tremere's cold, stern gaze as he meets her sinister change in appearance with a look of equal intensity. A fiery Tenacity that tried to glow bright enough to dissipate the suffocating darkness enveloping it. 

"This chapel is precious to me... but I'd sooner burn it and everyone inside down to embers before I'd let it be taken and used for such wicked sacrilege." 

The moment the flames ignite before her, she recoils with a sharp hiss, shielding her face. The hellfire that he had summoned is no ordinary flame. The fire emanates from his hand with a powerful heat akin to an explosion or a sudden blast with a blinding light to match. It blinds her, shocks her in both surprise and danger. In her mind, she damns him and his clan profusely for their cursed magic.  

The shadows cloaking the chapel retreat into her body, and the shawl draped over her shoulders vanishes. The inky black stain that once covered her hands and upper arms dissolves, revealing bare, almost paper-thin translucent skin. Her eyes remain tightly shut, her fangs and rows of jagged teeth fully bared. Her composed facade gone, the monster within is fully revealed. In that instant, every effort to mask the Beast beneath a woman's form collapses. 

"Now!... Shall I walk you to the door, Madame Chastain?, I think it's time you headed home." He switches his tone abruptly, speaking with a clearly forced smile and an insistent tone of finality, snuffing out the ominous fire as quickly as it had been lit from nothing, though the light dissipates, the thinly veiled threat still looms heavy in the air.

When Edmund extinguishes the flame, it takes her a moment longer to lower her hands and open her eyes. Though still permanently black, they are now threaded with red veins, evidence of her distress. Her expression shifts slowly, the angry expression and unabashed fury giving way to an eerie calm. 

She's pleased—even impressed. She had expected weakness, inexperienced yet he showed neither. He is much more capable than she originally thought. Folding her arms across her chest to hide her exposed skin, she gathers herself once more. 

“If you would be so kind. Thank you,” she says with a strained, chilling smile. She falls into step beside him as he escorts her out , silent and composed. “You have made a believer out of me, Father. You are no weakling.”

"Mhm, I'll be sure to give you a proper welcome whenever you or your friends decide to grace us with your presence again." He's careful to keep her in the corner of his sight as he walks over to the giant, heavy oak doors. The hinges creaking in protest as he pulls it open, the cold chill of night seeping into the warm, dimly lit sanctuary. 

"You have yourself a good night, Miss Chastain." He adds stiffly with a reluctant, polite smile, finally meeting her gaze again before his attention returns to the vacant doorway.

The cold wind cuts through her skin as soon as the doors open. She shivers, feeling exposed for the first time in a long time. The chill almost threatens to stop her in her tracks and petrify her. But it's a good kind of hurt, one that builds character. In her eyes; it's humbling and reminds her that she's not invincible. She will bear the wounds with pride. She was starting to feel complacent and bored. Now she has a greater goal to focus on, and a clear target. 

She holds herself tightly, appearing small and fragile as she turns and smiles. Her teeth are no longer sharpened, her fangs retracted. To him, she's back to looking like a sickly and pale, barely dressed woman. 

"Have a good night, Father Hargreeves. May we meet again." 

She then turns away and walks down the road, letting him watch her as she disappears into the darkness.

[thoughtwhimsi]

intro post ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 🦌 ✧˚🌿⋆

welcome to my paganblr / witchblr ! i am a irish-american pagan and nature veneration witch. i have been a practicing pagan for 5+ years now but i still consider myself an avid novice — i am a tarot reader and most of the magic and witchcraft i practice is folk related and divination ! i am a safe place for ‘ babywitches ’ and new pagans , so watch your step and welcome in :)

about me ✩ ☕️‧₊˚✨

— my name is harvey , i often answer to harv and hans as well!

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— i am sixteen (08) so please refrain from weird comments + non-minor blogs proceed with caution.

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— i am diagnosed with audhd and bipolar ; my neurodivergence in prevalence to my practice is talked about often on this blog.

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— i am a eclectic pagan who considers myself very laidback in practice , not in research. majority of my work is through tarot alongside folk magic / practices in day to day life. i don’t do ceremonial or ‘high’ forms of magic - just not for me!

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- i am a third generational irish-american who comes from a strict line of irish catholic culture and tradition. i’m heavily connected to my ethnic culture (even though it is the christianized version. and no i don’t claim that this makes me pagan via bloodline lol).

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— i don’t do dogma and i don’t stand for a hierarchy within online pagan spaces. no one does their practice better than someone else. period. (this excludes obvious cultural appropriation and closed religion).

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— i am not a wiccan or apart of trad wicca; i don’t dislike those who’s practice, just the practice itself.

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— i’m heavily political (demsoc) and very feministic and will be open about it.

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— most of my posts are for the babywitch practitioner / new pagans so please feel free to ask questions and be curious around here !!

beliefs / practice ✩ ⋆⁺ ✩

above all else, i am a nature lover, respecter, and mother nature worshiper. nature is at the core of my practice and the trees are my temples. some would call me a ‘ green witch ’ and i don’t denounce that label, but it’s not a core box i fit - as it also feels wiccanate. i tend to call myself a nature veneration-ist instead.

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eclectic online spaces hold a lot of UPG and overall a lack of deep research (which is not bad, but it can be damaging to new partitioners) so i tend to mutual / reblog / follow people who have humility around their practice and always leave room for growth and understanding in historical research. this is a personal preference, pop culture-based paganism and new age rituals are just not my cup of tea!

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my ancestry and ethnicity is primarily irish and english. all of my folk practices and rituals reside in celtic reconstructionist beliefs of practice. my eclectic status as a practitioner refers to my wide range of practices; however, my rituals and core beliefs fall in the celtic pantheon.

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i am a polytheist and take appreciation and respect to every pantheon of practice. this does not mean i worship or engage with every pantheon as i believe pagans and witches should work with pantheons they connect to, but spirits and gods alike are real beings worthy of respect and honor.

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updated — 05 / 10 / 25

[thesouthernsuccubus]

Sitting between a priest’s legs during confession, on your knees. Giving him slow, gentle head while he absolves his partitioners, one by one — and finally, taking his seed down your throat, and letting him absolve you too. We are all filthy sinners after all, aren’t we, Father?

[kit-williams]

Sacrament of Sin

tw: Yandere, Religious kink, Corruption kink, Word Bearer, Dollification (or rather the desire to dollifiy), Lolita darling

The Demon in his mind saw his Lamb first. In the crowd of partitioners in the cathedral. Dedicated to a smaller warp god that could be easily brought into the fold. Jihias Kinreaver enjoyed bringing worlds in via peaceful means he enjoyed preaching much like his father had and while he was far from like his long dead brother Argel Tal in his union with his neverborn... He had felt its presence pull away from him during his sermon as he watch the Lamb shiver from the touch of the beyond.

She looked like a child... she reminded him of dolls his long gone grandmother would collect with their dresses so pressed with layers and frills and lace. The lace on the collar hidden under the white bow and the lace of the veil pinned into her hair as she sat in a pew listening with a frown on her face. Did his lamb not enjoy his speech? No he would learn it was the gods that he was bringing to the planet she did not find herself fond of.

It was the commotion after the Midnight Mass that caused him to leave his quarters and find one of his priests and his Lamb engaged in a debate. A large white bow clipped on the back of her head and another pulling on her waist resting perfectly crisp just above her rear. Her legs were covered in white stockings with shiny black shoes. He watched his Lamb fold her arms over her chest as a deeper frown formed on her face. "You're not answering me you're just repeating what your lord said! How are they suppose to help me? It sounds like they are gods for warriors."

He hardly paid attention to what the priest had said till he tried to slap the Lamb and was pleasently surprised as she instead grabbed his wrist and slapped him back. "You little-"

"Oh I'm sorry is that not how I'm supposed to worship the Blood god?" She hissed back. She tried to pull away but her eyes suddenly fell upon Jihias. And Jihias... did not feel like a shephard in that moment as his own golden eyes rushed over her form... Jihias felt like a wolf as he had to refrain from licking his lips at the way her eyes looked at him.

"Now what commotion do we have at this late hour. " He purred out as he walked over, his robes making him look slightly smaller... less imposing... less like a weapon of war and give him a far friendlier appearence.

"I was," She speaks up and pulls her arm away from his priest as she pushes the wrinkles in her skirt away, "I was trying to learn more. I don't see how these new gods are any better than the deity we already worship." Jihias looked to his the Lamb giving her his full attention as she spoke with her heart. Of course there were always members of a flock who were stubborn and required far more hands on help to get them in line. "You said that they were still fine to worship."

"That I did little one." He watched the way her eyes flicked over his form for a moment as he could feel the way his neverborn slunk into her shadow and practically pressed itself into her back... if the veil was thinner perhaps it would have manifested as well. it smells so sweet... its soul so refreshing... l̸̙͇̗͚͚͠ḙ̶͊̌̍̇͜͝t̶̛͈̩́̅̊ ̸̨͎̓̿̉̚̚͜ů̶͜s̵̞͔̭͊ ̸͓̮̞̂̈́̾̂̕t̴̳̒a̸̰̼̹̲͇̓̿̓͊s̷̛̰̤͗̒͒͋t̶͈̜͐̈͝ę̸̛̛͔̻̦̀̀ͅ ̷̫̈́̍͆i̸̮̱̍́̓̚͜t̶̡̖̾̓̚��̡

Jihias smiles warmly as he places a hand on her shoulder feeling the way she tenses as the hairs on the back of her neck raise with each lick the neverborn does. She slides a hand over the back of her neck feeling the phantom tickles of a tongue that isnt there. "I just... don't see how they benefit me. They feel very intense and far more for warriors and if there isn't any harm in continuing to worship my deity then I will keep doing so."

"Of course little Lamb." He replies so sweetly as he would happily be there to scoop her up and save her from her own foolish mistakes. "But I can easily explain to you how they can help you."

"I wouldn't want to bother you my Lord... you are a space marine after all... I figured-"

"That you could get it from a far more human source?" He finishes her thought and relishes the flicker of fear in her eyes. His fingers flexing to make sure she can't just slip away like she did the other. "Of course, I understand your reasoning." He says turning slightly, his large hand spreading out across her upper back as he pushes her toward his loaned study. He can feel the way she tenses up... the way she gets jumpy... she can see the predator in his eyes.

A shephard doesn't just tend a flock for no reward now does he? What is the point of tending all the ewes and rams? To enjoy the fruits of his labors... to get the milk from the ewes and wool yes but sometimes he enjoyed the tender meat of lambs. Though she was hardly a lamb anymore right? More close to a maiden ewe... he could feel his neverborn press against her... test her... feel her flesh just teasingly behind the veil of reality.

"What do you think of the Blood Lord?" He coos out softly deciding to start there.

"A warrior god. I have no desire to cave in the skulls of others as that is left for the warriors." His Lamb replied as he could tell she was uncomfortable and very much hesitant to enter the room alone with him trying to take a step back.

"What of the Lord of Change?" He allowed her to resist entering the study.

"I don't have any magic and I have a very tarnished silver tongue so it hardly helps me." She countered back.

"What about the great Grandfather?"

"I don't see how causing people to become sickly and die helps?" She says with a whimper as she is finally brought into his study. He watches her take a seat in one of the chairs that is much too big for her looking like a children's toy left behind. Let us play with the doll His neverborn purred and he could feel the excitement rush through him as he knew his neverborn wouldn't handle this dolly gently.

Jihias handed her a cup of something warm just to help keep those tired eyes of her's open.

"And what of the Prince of Pleasure?" He asked clicking his tongue looking over at her shift uncomfortably.

"I don't very much like pain..." She says hoping that it would be enough for him.

"Understandable but what about his other side?"

She sighs as it's clear she is tired and perhaps a bit more crude than she was meaning to say, "I haven't had sex yet. Haven't found the right one yet so maybe if I find the right one then maybe the Prince might apply to me? I guess." She says before sipping the drink.

Jihias hid his predatory grin rather well. "Of course perhaps the prince could help you with that. It doesn't have to go to the extremes... I know your deity espoused moderation but perhaps with the other three that might... but alright but with the Prince it's all about feeling good and comfortable." His tongue clicked as he walked around the chair she was in. He could feel the Prince's influence as he thought back to the memory of dealing with the Drukhari and just how some of their victims were trapped in their own skin... helpless dolls. She looked pretty enough to be one. Oh his mind raced with what he could do while that poison was flowing through her system.

"Perhaps we could have this conversation another time? It's rather late." His little lamb brayed as his neverborn continued to lick at the untouched woman thought the veil of reality. She had enough of the strange feeling that Brother Jihias brought her... ever since the sermon she had felt watched and touched.

"Of course Lamb." He spoke with his warmest voice as he looked down at her, "I forget at times how necessary rest is for you mortals. But if you have any questions feel free to seek me out, won't you?" He and his neverborn channeled the seed into the back of her mind... the counterintuitive desire to seek him out for promises of something more.

He watched her delicate throat swallow air as she nodded. "Of- of course. Thank you for entertaining my thoughts." He watched her curtsy as she walked over to the door and quietly left. He could hear the way she took off running after a few moments and his eyes fluttered with pleasure as the predator was fully out now as she made the little mistake of r̸̟̘͎̲̒̇́͒u̵̜̮̣̹̘͐̔n̷̡̧̹̻͠n̶̪͕̒͒̔̀͝i̸̗̖̳̊͠͝n̵̺̲̍͝g̸̡̟̙̯͉̿̒̏̚͘

He was going to thoroughly enjoy r̵̘̥̻̠̃̕u̵̡͎͊̈́͑̉̎i̴̹̪͂̓̔̂̕n̶̛̻̋̂̕͘i̵̱̯̳͐̍͒̐͜ṇ̴̭̒g̶̲̗͑̒͐̕ her. The flock wouldn't notice one little ewe missing? She still played like she was a lamb who couldn't get in trouble... so would that make him the wolf or the ram? He chuckled darkly to himself as he unabashedly started to relive the ache between his legs. Oh he was certainly going to have fun.

[cherienymphe]

I love being a witch (hoodoo partitioner) it makes me feel so connected to my roots and heritage. It’s so funny that on my maternal side, it’s mostly women and a lot of them were given gifts including my mother, sister, and grandmother. Though it’s only me and my mom who acknowledge our hoodoo roots and actively practice, I hope we can move my grandma away from the “ overtly pro Christian/ voodoo and hoodoo is evil” pipeline, but you know how that goes . Anytime I see you talk about similar things it just brings me joy!

I feel like it was inevitable that I'd start consciously practicing hoodoo one day because I was brought up in a Christian household where some hoodoo practices were done without me even realizing it and while I have many opinions on a lot of Christians and churches today, hoodoo and the community itself reminds of the kind of churches and environment I was brought up in

It's just very natural and comforting for me

[erzherzog-von-edelstein]

Do you want Feliks to have a complicated (romantic) relationship with a partitioner?

If only there were one who had a dynastic tradition of marrying Jagellonian dynasty and developing close ties:

If only there was one who owed their ability to resist invasion at a key point in their life to Polish intervention (the Siege of Vienna, 1683)

If only there was a partitioning power who was hesitant to join the partitions and sat out the second one entirely. Who was conflicted about dismembering a co-religious state, and revived the historical title of the Kingdom of Galicia and Lodomeria to assuage that guilt.

If only there was one who defended Poland at the Congress of Vienna (for selfish reasons):

If only there was one where their imperial structure allowed for a flourishing of Polish culture (and Polish nationalism):

If only.....

I'm not saying that they'd have a healthy relationship with each other. Not in the slightest. But, it is deliciously complicated.

[shimmerbeasts]

🔴 - Swain is always very careful with what he shares with Leblanc, not that it entirely matters, like him, the witch has her own little nosing spies and ways of procuring secrets and unsaid things. Such is the nature of enemies, never give- or say anything valuable for free. Even if on paper the two were co-ruling Noxus. The Grand General cants his head to the side, a dry smile to match her saccharine mockery. "Oh you missed the raucous crow cawing.. What a sordid shame, and I don't have the will to do any more." "What's on your mind~?"

Sometimes, her relationship with Swain reminded her of a waltz. A formal and elegant dance, which looked pretty from the sidelines, but which required utmost concentration from its partitioners. One wrong misstep would throw the whole image of balance. And that was what they were like. Always in sync with each other, which also itching to be one step ahead.

Swain had done his hardest to ruin over ten centuries of work. But LeBlanc had not clawed her way out from Mordekaiser's iron boot and protected a fledgling nation from the perils of the Rune Wars to let herself be stooped by a silver-haired, ageing general with ambitions. If she were honest, there was something thrilling and frustrating in knowing Swain matched her wit. It happened rarely that the half-demon found someone she couldn't outthink.

"Did I now?", LeBlanc whispered as she looked at the corvid, which had settled on Swain's shoulders, "What a shame indeed." Her tone of voice made it hard to tell whether she truly regretted this or whether she was being sarcastic. At the question, LeBlanc simply countered with one of her own:

"What are your thoughts on that little escapade of the Merdarda clan?"

@carmencxgni cont. from here.

[dougielombax]

Could someone tell Simon Harris that he doesn’t have the final say on reunification.

“Not my priority.”

Yeah it’s literally NOT your decision to make you spineless, craven partitionist!

Away and shite!

[lasagnadenoodles]

Chapter 1

Zion felt that he had underestimated the summer  heat of Louisiana, but then again, he didn't think much about it before moving. He was sent out on a mission back up north; he knew he should just be happy to be here now. Not just happy. honored in fact. Little old town in the Deep South where good and faithful men and woman live; glory, glory to God. 

Everyone was excited for the new priest to come to town since the death of Father Louis. He seemed to roll into town like tumbleweed overnight, that Yankee. Of course, some were reluctant at first. But the young man's got an old soul, they said. They loved his preaching, his devotion to the gospel, and his old school teachings. It was hard to question him and exactly what his intentions were. 

To root out all the sin, of course. 

Can't argue with that. Everyone accepted him with open arms and attended his church every Sunday, singing his praises afterwards. 

Except the little lamb, Rosemary LaRoux. 

The young woman who was rumored to be the 'town witch", which is what they whispered in hush-hush tones to Zion between sermons. Caught collecting animal bones, stuffing Spanish moss into jars, seducing and luring good and honest men into the woods to sacrifice, and hex anyone who said a word about it. She, the lamb who was so far strayed. 

His partitioners complained how her presence in town made them uncomfortable. How her wicked demeanor was unsettling. Why couldn't she just go to church like all the other good girls here? She was unwedded at her age, no children, didn't give her life to God, and was worshiping the devil? That just won't fly here. Something must be done about it, and they turned to their wonderful new Father for help. 

There was a special teaching at the commune for lambs who lost their way home. Zion knows it all too well; he's used it on many of his followers, and his superiors once used it on him when he too lost his way. It looked like he would have to use it on this young lady causing such a ruckus here. Perhaps that was why he was called down to this little town. Zion will have to teach the witch who's in charge now. 

Zion feet scrapped against the gravel road, feeling beats of sweat forming on his forehead, his attire heavy and the darkness soaking up the sun like a blackhole. It had dawned on him in that moment he had never met a witch before. He was always told that they worshiped the devil, they succubi on earth here to tempt holy men like him. He was a confident man though, a woman such as that could never lead him astray, no matter the temptation.

  He turned the corner, going up to the address he was looking for. The house was small and weathered, the white paint chipping and a few old rocking chairs sitting on the porch. But it looked well-kept otherwise, the lawn neat and a white picket fence separating the backyard. He furrowed his brows as he looked up at the house, walking up the porch steps, pulling back the screen door and knocked. A moment or two later, a young woman answered. 

"Can I help you?" She asked, her voice more of a Southern Belle rather than a wicked old witch. Zion's gaze studied her for a moment, his brows twitching as he held back his disgust. She was pretty in that little black dress of hers, but it was no excuse to flaunt her figure and skin in such a way. 

"Good afternoon. I've been sent here by a few...concerned citizens of the town that attend my church. They believe you may be in need of spiritual guidance, and it's my duty to provide it to you. Do you have a moment to talk about your faith?" His voice was smooth, a smile cracked over his thin lips. The question hung in the air as he studied her face. She was rather beautiful, in an innocent way for someone rumored to be wicked.  

Rosemary gave him a polite smile and shook her head. "I'm not interested, thank you." she said softly as she began to close the door. Zion's smile faltered as he held the door with his hand. His touch was silent but firm as he held it from her closing it any further.

"I don't think you got the message, little lamb." He said, his voice like velvet but his emerald eyes gazing harshly down at her "I don't want these nasty rumors to continue about you, do you? I think we could put an end to all of them, you and me. I cannot tolerate straying sheep in this town." 

He may be lean, but he carries himself like the leader he is. The air crackles with an oppressive tension. Rosemary's gaze on him was unwavering, keeping her eyes locked on his. 

"I apologize. I'm not sure I follow, Father...?" 

"Father Zion. Please, don't play dumb with me. You know why I'm here." He gave her a harsh glare, his charming facade dropping fast "I've heard stories about you-that you dabble in witchcraft. I've decided to either cleanse you and the filth your sins have left on your soul, or rid of the evil that stands before me." 

"Oh, well Father. I hate to tell you but I'm afraid your efforts will be in vain. I don't plan on accepting Jesus as my Lord and savior anytime soon. Nor do I plan on moving out of the town I was born and raised in." She informed in, keeping that sweet smile across her ruby red lips "But I do appreciate the thought. You're most kind."

Her honey coated words were only an annoyance to Zion. She was more stubborn than he imagined, but he did enjoy a challenge. He wasn't the type of man to take "no" simply. 

"I'm not giving you a choice in the matter, little lamb. You are tainted with sin. Sin that must be cleansed." His eyes narrowed onto her, and he seemed to be studying her, as if he could see all the black marks on her soul. Rosemary kept her deep-sea grey eyes on him, letting him look down at her like she was the scum on his shoe. She said nothing to this at first, just letting out a little breath. 

"It's awfully hot out here. You wanna come inside and discuss this over some iced tea?" She sighed, placing a hand on her hip.

Zion took a small step away from her, releasing the door. He blinked at her, and for a moment there's a flicker of something different behind his eyes. A weakness, a confusion even. This meeting wasn't going as he expected. He thought she'd be more defensive, put up a fight even. Instead, she just invited him inside for some iced tea...

He quickly regains control of himself after a moment, his expression is once again cold. "I'm not thirsty." he said flatly.

"Sure you are, Father. Seems like you walked all this way under the hot sun, all in this black priest robes. Come, I won't turn you into a sacrifice or nothing." She teased with a grin "We can discuss more inside on how my soul is damned and whatnot all you want." 

That small flicker of curiosity sparks in Zion's eyes again hearing her offer. The way one could almost see his guard lower, just for a moment before his heavy walls are built right back up. He hated to admit it, but he was scorching in this weather. He stares at her for a moment before finally speaking. 

"I suppose some tea couldn't hurt. Perhaps a few moments of hearing me out in a more comfortable setting will open your eyes better."

"I'm sure, Father." Rosemary grinned, stepping aside and lead him inside. It was a bit cooler inside, but anything was better than what laid outside. The house smelled of burnt sage and incense. It was cluttered, almost overwhelming for Zion. He wasn't quite sure where to settle his eyes on. The walls were covered in dark oil paintings, old photographs, dried flowers wrapped in a bundle with twine, and some animal skulls. Books, half-melted candles, jars full of mysteries and other trinkets were scattered around the rooms. It was clear that every object in this house had a story to it, or perhaps a spirit tied to it. It was only right before Rosemary led him towards the back and into the kitchen, he noticed a black cat snoozing by the windowsill, soaking in the sunrays that poured in through the lace curtains. 

He turned his attention back to Rosemary. He felt that this house was as soiled as her and could only imagine how many spirits she had summoned to keep her company in her devil's paradise. 

Rosemary gestured for the priest to sit at the little wooden table in the kitchen while she went to the cabinet and grabbed two glasses. 

"So, Father, what brought you into town anyway? This isn't exactly the most popular corner of the south." She said as she set the glasses on the table. Zion sat down, keeping a sharp eye on her. 

"I felt called by the Lord to come here and cleanse the soul of the lost lambs. It's the ones who don't get enough attention that need it most." He said, watching her every movement as she went to the fridge to retrieve a glass pitcher of iced tea. "The congregation has informed me that you are the most trouble among them. So, it falls upon me to set you on the path of righteousness. And I will see that you follow it." 

Zion's tone is direct, leaving no room for compromise. His expression remains steady, his green eyes drilled onto her as if he was waiting for her to unleash any sudden movements as she poured him some iced tea.

"I didn't know they cared so much about me. Usually, they whisper nasty things about me to each other whenever I pass by them in town. I assume they've told you all the rumors about me?" She smiled at him as she took a seat across from him. 

"Indeed I have. Your deeds aren't exactly discreet from the sounds of it. You don't hide your practice, and you're known for hexing people and collecting animal bones, and other oddities I've been told. I'm sure your little rituals are very occult."

He leans back as he crosses his long legs, never taking his gaze off her. Rosemary lets out a little sigh, pouring herself a glass. 

"I try and be secretive about it. But people can be so nosey, aren't they? Especially when they're bored."

"If it's all true, it sounds awfully demonic. It attracts demons, doesn't it? Dark spirits that possess and corrupts the souls of mortals."

"Oh no, you're mistaken Father. There's no devil in my craft. No demons or nothing of the sorts." She gave him that sweet little smile that made Zion's eyebrow twitch. "I'm not looking to possess or corrupt any souls in this lifetime, so you have no need to worry about that." 

Zion's gaze deepened, his eyes narrowing at the witch who sat before him holding a glass of iced tea. Despite her hospitality and sweetness, he didn't feel swayed in the slightest by her. And frankly, he was getting annoyed with how coy she was being. 

"So, what do you do then? You haven't denied that you've hexed people here. I can only assume this is true?"

"Oh, goodness me, that was only twice." She sighed and rolled her eyes, but then let out a chuckle before taking a sip of her tea. He arched a dark brow, clearly unamused. 

"So you are hexing people?"

"It was only on an ex who cheated on me, and the girl he was sleeping with." She shrugged "Word only got out when he got chlamydia and yet they still pointed a finger at me. Now, I can only hope it was because of my hex, but somedays I think that was just because the girl he was sleeping with was no better than him." she added with a sly smirk.

For a moment Zion was unsure of what to say. She was clearly an open book. Maybe a little too open, but at least he felt the comfort of knowing she would be truthful with him. Or was this just a trick to gain his trust? 

"What about the animal bones?" He pressed on, not really caring to hear more about a silly old ex-boyfriend. He was certain she's casted other spells on people, and over time she would confess to it. She was just playing the victim now. 

"The bones are true; I like collecting them." She nodded with an eager grin "They made nice decor and sit nicely on my alter. I believe the animal's spirit is still tied to them, and I like to honor their spirit by bringing them into my home." 

"You are at least aware how macabre this all looks, right? It's scaring people here." 

"People are only afraid of what they do not understand, Father." 

"You've made it perfectly clear to me what you do, little lamb. And its not pretty." 

Zion pressed his lips together, his gaze darkening as he glared at her. Yet her expression was unwavering, smiling at him as she sipped her tea. "I was also informed that you seduce men and lure them into the woods."

"Now what did they say about that? That I force them into an orgy with the devil, or that I use them as a sacrifice?" She grinned widely at the priest. Zion scowled deeply at her.

"You tell me, witch." 

"I wish I had the ability to seduce men in this town, but they avoid me like the plague since that little chlamydia-hex two years ago." She let out a laugh "I can't even ask a man on the street for the time, let alone take them to the woods all alone." 

Zion said nothing, only processing her words. He felt a little confused, she would deny these accusations, and yet there was still some truth to it that she was still confident enough to admit. 

"How old are you?" he asked, as if he was even suspicious of that. 

"I'm twenty-five. How old are you, Father?"

"Old enough to have authority over you." He answered as if he was speaking down to a child. He was only twenty-eight.

Zion opened his mouth to speak again, but Rosemary quickly cut him off. 

"How's your tea, Father? Any good? It's a recipe the women in my family have passed down for years now."

"I-the tea is fine!" He snapped. Zion was getting agitaed here. He was trying to keep his temper under control, but this girl kept throwing him off course. He had to admit, this was the first time he had delt with a witch before. He had only seen his superiors knock sense into wicked woman like her, but it didn't take long before they were crying and begging for forgiveness. He feels as if she was undermining his power with her relaxed demeanor, and he was finding it intolerable. 

"The women in your family were witches, I take it. Another sin to stack atop of your long list of blasphemes, huh?"

"Oh, they were. My mother, my grandmother, and her mother were all witches. My grandmother was what you'd call a kitchen witch. I've got loads of delicious recipes from her. I'll have to make you something from her cookbook sometime." She smiled brightly at him

"Well, isn't that cute?" Zion's expression tightened, his jaw clenching. What a line of wicked women. All of them so steeped into witchcraft that they couldn't even see the depravity of their sins and passed it onto their own children. And yet what made him the maddest was how...nice she was being. She can't be this innocent. "But I'll have to decline. I would not dare put something so pagan into my body. You are an unholy woman, anything you make would be tainted with sin."

"Mmhm, but it tastes so delicious." She leaned forward, grinning at him "Where are you from anyway, Father? You've got a northern accent." She observed, folding her hands into a hammock and resting her chin on it. 

"I..." Zion pauses. She threw him off with this question. Of all the things she could ask, she asks about his origin. But he does not want to be distracted again, throwing all these off-topic questions about him. "Where I'm from doesn't matter."

"Lemme guess..." She trailed off, studying his face. This made him shift uncomfortably in his seat. He opened his mouth to cut her off, but she beat him to it "Somewhere in New England, right? New York, maybe Vermont? You seem like a small town, country boy yourself."

Zion stares back at her with a scowl, and it was clear his patience was running out. He uncrosses his legs and leans forward a bit, his bright green eyes locked on her. 

"Why do you insist on asking so many questions about me? My past is not relevant to you; only my status as a priest of the Lord and the cleansing of your sins." 

"I'd like to get to know you, if you're gonna get to know me." She answered simply with a shrug of her shoulders, that smile across her damn lips never falling.

She was being too friendly with him, her charm too potent. "The only thing that matters is for me to cleanse your soul. There is nothing to know. Nothing else about me matters to you."

"Sure it does." She insisted with a wave of her hand, "It's not every day I get company. And you were sweet enough to come and pay me a visit."

Zion was speechless now. He couldn't tell if this was a form of manipulation to charm her way out of the situation, or she was just extremely oblivious. He was unsure who the biggest fool sitting here was now. 

"Now, I hate to be a bad hostess, but I do have a few errands to run. I hope you understand, Father. But it has been a delight having you over." She said as she stood from the table and began to pick up the glasses. 

"And how do you get your daily sustenance? Do you just steal food from people's home, or is the devil so generous as to drop off groceries at your door?" 

Rosemary burst into laughter as she set the glasses into the sink. Her sudden fit of laughter made Zion jump a bit, but then felt his face grow hot with anger.

"You crack me up, Father! That would be mighty generous of him, wouldn't it? But just like you, I go to the grocery store. Only I ride my broom over." she added, throwing a wink at him over her shoulder. Her sense of humor was wicked, and she only mocked him. He stood to his feet, the chair scrapping against the wooden floor loudly. 

"I think it's time you stop acting like a sweet little girl. I know was lurks beneath that mask of yours. I know your true intentions. I'm not a fool to fall for your feminine charms." 

Rosemary blatantly ignored him, stepping over to a tall cabinet and began to rummage around. Zion's eyebrows knitted together, his head cocking to the side as he watched her. 

"What are you doing now?" 

"I don't like my guest to leave empty handed." She said as she took out a small tin box, stepping over and handing it to him. He examined the box. It looked hand painted, a navy-blue box with yellow moons and stars on it. "It's tea I've made from my herbal garden, chamomile and lavender. It helps you sleep and have good dreams." 

Zion frowned, opening the box and smelling it. "I bet you're trying to poison me." he muttered as he put the lid back on.

Rosemary laughed "If that's what you think, you don't have to accept my gift. Not to be rude, but I couldn't help but notice the dark circles under your eyes." She pointed a finger to the purple circles that made the green in his eyes stand out more "I get those too when I haven't been sleeping well. But I swear that tea will get you caught up on your sleep in no time." 

The priest felt his cheeks go hot with embarrassment at the witch for pointing out his fatigue. But he couldn't deny that he had not had a good night's sleep in years. Of course, he would not admit this to her. However, he was not sure what to say now. 

"Now, I best get ready to head out. But feel free to drop by whenever you please, and we can talk more about my impure soul and whatnot." She grinned at him, placing her hand on his elbow and led him to the front door. 

Zion blinked, unable to believe what was happening right now. Not only was she dismissing him after he told her just how vile her sin is, but she was inviting him back into her home as if this was the most normal thing to do. She was treating him like any priest that came to your home would.

"I-"

He was truly flabbergasted. 

"Alright. But you're not out of the woods yet. I'm far from done dealing with your soul, witch."

"Sounds good to me, Father." She nodded and opened the door for him, gently pushing him out "Now, you come back anytime. Keep me and my tainted soul in your prayers now. Bye-bye now."

Zion said nothing as he stumbled onto her porch and down the steps, watching as she waved him on before closing the door. He walked angrily off into the streets, replaying their who encounter in his head. He felt the angriest at himself. How on earth did he just let her dismiss him like that? Nobody had ever been so defiant with him. And she was so...nice to him, even after everything he said about her. He looked down at the tin box full of handmade tea bags she gave him. He scoffed to himself, his pace quickening as he headed back to his church.

[ourstoriedinsight]

My First Ever Audio Drama Sunday!

Alright, I did a quick bit of research for etiquette, though of course solid chance I get something wrong but this week has been a great week podcast wise! Hopefully I don't err on anything major in my attempt to praise!

First off my weekly edge of my seat listens!

@innbetween Launched their next episode Wednesday for Patrons and I don't think it's out yet for everybody else so probably I shouldn't share spoilers but I will say HOLY SAP. There's something about this episode that made me go back and listen to season 5 again from the beginning in that way that a really good reveal does? Like you know that there was some foreshadowing that you missed and you have to walk back to admire it? You guys are in for a treat when it drops!

Thursday is of course Magnus Protocol Day. It's so hard waiting each week for a new hit of that stuff. All I want is for someone to pop something conversational into that search function bar that doesn't work and figure out if archivist.exe will reply! Hasn't happened yet but holding out hope. Like everybody else I am going mad at the slow burn of tantalizing bits dropped like bread crumbs in front of a starving man. I scream for more bread but I know the trail is more important than my instant gratification. As much as I feel like I'm strained under the pressure I can only hope that the pace is maintained and that I am not given everything I want too soon.

As for my binge quotient I am working my way through Spirit box Radio. I'm still in the first season but have already recommended it to about three people. I don't know if I've ever encountered an adorable horror pod before? I feel like that requires explanation because yes I've definitely encountered aspects of a horror podcast that made me go "aww cute!" but that was aspects. This is kind of more like the whole thing is adorable and the horror is there, sure , but playing second back up fiddle to the adorable. It's also doing that thing where it's dripping a overarching mystery into my ear little bits at a time which I am beginning to realize how very weak I am to. It's the paper to my rock, I am overwhelmed.

And that's been my week! I've been spending a lot of time with headphones on and in front of microphones and things for editing our episode 13. I don't know if this is a vibe among other editors but I find myself going "I wish I could really just listen to a podcast while I'm making this podcast" the way I do at my regular job when I need to sort a warehouse or something. Sadly sound and brains just don't work like that. What I wouldn't give for a fully partitionable brain.

Looking forward to another week full of delicious ear candy!

[goldammerchen]

it has happened a few times that i'm not sure if a fanart exist or if i vividly imagined it, to the point i can't remember the original one if ever existed (most likely not, or it was different). one consists in an angry and/or grimacing hws poland limping to the right, smearing blood on a wall with his hand, part of his face and clothes stained in blood as well, likely injured. there is three painted portraits hanged over or near his head (or, semi floating around poland). from left to right, prussia smirking, austria serious, russia smiling, aka the partitioners (alternatively, russia on the middle, taller than the other two). they are in XVIII military clothing, or next century at most...

[sunlit-arrow]

Marry meet!

So i guess i should start by introducing myself.

Hi, I go by Jules (She/They). It is a name I gave myself to interact in english speaking spaces and that ended up being very dear to me. I got so close to it that my personal friends now call me by it sometimes too. Anyways, it is not my real name but it sounds similar so it gets the job done.

I will not get into the specifics of what I study or what I do because I don't feel like it belongs here particularly. This is a space for me to discover myself and to bond with sides of me that I have buried and forgotten.

What i would like to share is that I am a "baby witch" (if you'd like to call it that way), I consider myself a beginner practitioner of witchcraft and paganism. I hold very close to my heart the energies of Apollon and Artemis. I am a solo partitioner and connect with the divine mainly through dreams, tarot cards and intuition. Music, dancing and drawing in general are the main ways in which I practice magick.

I do not practice any kind of rituals nor I have altars. I find myself very reluctant to "discipline" my practice but I do believe there is power in commitment. Still, I have yet to learn a way that allings with my path.

Also I was raised catholic and although I do not practice it, I still have much respect for what I was taught by my family and elders. So if things start getting a little eclectic now you know.

Anyways, that is all I have for now.

May we marry part and marry meet once again. Blessed be!

[agonizedembrace]

[ swipe ] (totally platonic moment between two gal pals) (also high noon maybe)

[ swipe ] sender notices a smudge of something on receiver's face and gently wipes it off

it had been a long 'day'.

normally days at the crossroads saloon were rather simple ; evelynn lures in unsuspecting victims for gragas, she performs a little show on stage and then serves several drinks to whoever happens to come up to the bar. 'today' skipped part one, and instead of even getting to sing and look hot ( as she always does ), apparently she was meant to serve drink after drink.

frankly, evelynn thinks she more than deserves the little murder she did to the one partitioner that gave her too much of a stare to her chest. too much of a grab to her behind.

" the usual, hon? " is what evelynn asks qiyana when she slides onto one of the bar seats. she doesn't wait for a response, claws clanking against bottles before pouring her signature drink into the glass. sliding the drink over, her brows furrow as qiyana leans forward.

physical touch and the devil wasn't uncommon ; oft it is her means to an end, how she feeds. however when it comes to those she'd consider ... friends, she often finds herself uncomfortable with the idea -- least if it isn't her initiating the process. so when the woman's touch reaches her cheek, likely wiping away remnants of the poor fellow she'd had murdered previously.

a gentle ' oh ' escapes her lips at the gesture, confusion flickering in her gaze before appreciation takes hold. " 'preciate you, dalrin'. this one's on t'house. "