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Prostrate Yourselves, Humans!
Lauren. 36. A blog for all my obsessions, but mostly anime and video games. Occasionally I write shit too.
Masterlists:
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I’m so tired why has my life become so fucking hard
Literally I am fucking miserable and nothing I do makes anything better, I’m so tired I’m so tired I’m so fucking tired
I’m so tired why has my life become so fucking hard
Found this Old God Sukuna x Fem Witch Reader in my drafts….. should I try to finish it, I’m tempted to try to finish it haha
Tw: blood, gore, cannibalism, ritual sacrifice, implied sexual content, implied self mutilation
—
Smoke curls slowly up into the moonlit sky, wisps dancing like faeries in the glowering dark. The fire in front of you crackles, the meat on the spit hisses, the blood in the pot bubbles. You crush and stir and murmur canticles, praises and prayers fusing with the feast you prepare before you.
Your master arrives but once every season when the moon is full, but it is the Hunter’s Moon that you prepare for this night. The Harvest of Flesh. The villagers slaughter animals, give thanks to their paltry gods for whatever they’ve managed to reap. But you, you do not concern yourself with such frivolity. For there is only one who provides for you.
Sukuna.
Lord of Curses, of Dark Magic, of Blood and Power. The only one you will bow to. The one who sustains you, grants you your gifts, opens your eyes to what you can achieve in his name. An ancient being moulded long before man took his first wobbling steps.
You worship him. You crave him. You desire to split yourself open and give him your beating heart as proof of your piety. You know you are blessed to receive his favour, to be handed knowledge of the Ancients. There are few left who can claim these honours.
Wind stirs the tendrils of your hair as you finish your preparations. This year’s offering was especially delectable, a soft, young thing of 20 winters, plump and ripe and untainted by hardship. Your mouth waters as you arrange her, guts and organs wreathed in the soft fatty meat your master adores. Mayhaps he shall even share with you if he’s in a charitable mood. You can only hope.
His arrival draws nigh. The platter is heaped high, blood glistening in a silver chalice. Some has been saved for you, painted in symbols and curses across your nude form. You admire the crimson that curves around your breasts, across your stomach, between your legs. A smile quirks your lips. The succulent meal before you won’t be the only thing your Master will dine on tonight. Your body, and everything within in, is his to use as he pleases.
You moan softly as you think of him, four arms pinning you down, teeth ripping at your breasts, your insides being rent apart for his pleasure. You’re very tempted to slide your hands down your body, to relieve the heat that flares within you, but suddenly, you feel it.
The wind stops. The forest falls silent. The moon seems to shudder in anticipation. Your heart gives a gleeful thump as you fall to your knees, head bowed low.
He is here.
“Master,” you breathe, face pressed into the dirt. “Master, your most faithful servant welcomes you. Hail Sukuna, Ancient and Powerful. King of Curses and Lord of Dark Magic. One who should never have been banished or forgotten, one who will rise again and lay waste to those who are against him. Please, come and feast on what you are owed.”
You tremble in anticipation as the firm thud of his footsteps approach. The scent of death and magic surround you, pressing you further into the damp soil. Like a worm on your belly, where you belong.
“Raise your head.”
You obey glady, rising quickly to sit back on your haunches. Tears spring to your eyes as you finally gaze upon him. Large, muscled body, riddled with tattoos that tell stories you cannot comprehend. Four arms to rend and rip, four eyes to stare down his enemies, teeth sharp as steel to sink into flesh. His dual manhood hidden between a loosely draped robe, the mouth slashed across his stomach curled in a sneer. Bones rattle around his neck, ankles, wrists and head.
He is Death Incarnate, and he is beautiful.
“And what have we here, witchling?” His deep voice rumbles across the cool air. “I smell pure, virgin flesh.”
You nod eagerly. “Yes Master, yes. A virgin only 20 winters, killed and processed in her prime. Fat off a life of luxury. The perfect offering, one that-“
“I will be the judge of that,” your lord cuts you off, and you fall silent immediately. His bulky frame folds gracefully as he seats himself in front of the platter. A large hand takes a chunk of meat, nostrils flaring as he takes in the scent. You lean forward in anticipation.
A small taste, a widening of red eyes, and then Sukuna feasts.
Like a lion tearing into a gazelle, your lord tears flesh from bone with fervour. Fat melts and runs down his chest, his second tongue lapping it up greedily. You squirm at the sound of his grunts and noises of enjoyment, heat making a slow trickle down your spine. Watching him enjoy what you offer has always been a source of your pleasure.
“Drink, my master,” you take the silver chalice in both hands, shuffling closer. “Quench your thirst.”
The goblet is ripped out of your hands, crimson streaks trailing down his chin and throat as you watch him drink deeply. A soft moan slips past your lips unbidden.
Sukuna notices, of course. He sets down the cup with a thump, a sneer on his ruby lips.
“And what are you squirming and whining over, witchling? Do you think you deserve to join me at my table tonight?”
You shake your head. “No, Master. You offer me more than I deserve already. Your gifts, your power, the privilege of being your devoted servant.” And, because you can’t help yourself, you add “and the pleasure of knowing how a god feels inside of me.”
Sukuna hums, taking a small piece of flesh off the platter. “And what would you do for more? There is much I can still give, if you can pay the price.”
You don’t even need to think. “Anything, Master. I will do anything. I will gouge out my eyes and feed them to you by my own hand. I will slit my throat and let your cup overflow. I will give you my body to use for any purpose, let you rip me apart again and again. Everything I am is for you. Whatever you gove, I will take. Whatever you want, I will offer.”
“Truly my most faithful,” your master coos, fingers squeezing around your throat. You choke and sputter, eyes rolling back as the heat in your belly flares hotter. “My witchling whore, always ready and eager to please. I shall reward you tonight. Come, eat with me.”
—-
Dragon Age: Origins (2009) dev. Bioware
Found this Old God Sukuna x Fem Witch Reader in my drafts….. should I try to finish it, I’m tempted to try to finish it haha
Tw: blood, gore, cannibalism, ritual sacrifice, implied sexual content, implied self mutilation
—
Smoke curls slowly up into the moonlit sky, wisps dancing like faeries in the glowering dark. The fire in front of you crackles, the meat on the spit hisses, the blood in the pot bubbles. You crush and stir and murmur canticles, praises and prayers fusing with the feast you prepare before you.
Your master arrives but once every season when the moon is full, but it is the Hunter’s Moon that you prepare for this night. The Harvest of Flesh. The villagers slaughter animals, give thanks to their paltry gods for whatever they’ve managed to reap. But you, you do not concern yourself with such frivolity. For there is only one who provides for you.
Sukuna.
Lord of Curses, of Dark Magic, of Blood and Power. The only one you will bow to. The one who sustains you, grants you your gifts, opens your eyes to what you can achieve in his name. An ancient being moulded long before man took his first wobbling steps.
You worship him. You crave him. You desire to split yourself open and give him your beating heart as proof of your piety. You know you are blessed to receive his favour, to be handed knowledge of the Ancients. There are few left who can claim these honours.
Wind stirs the tendrils of your hair as you finish your preparations. This year’s offering was especially delectable, a soft, young thing of 20 winters, plump and ripe and untainted by hardship. Your mouth waters as you arrange her, guts and organs wreathed in the soft fatty meat your master adores. Mayhaps he shall even share with you if he’s in a charitable mood. You can only hope.
His arrival draws nigh. The platter is heaped high, blood glistening in a silver chalice. Some has been saved for you, painted in symbols and curses across your nude form. You admire the crimson that curves around your breasts, across your stomach, between your legs. A smile quirks your lips. The succulent meal before you won’t be the only thing your Master will dine on tonight. Your body, and everything within in, is his to use as he pleases.
You moan softly as you think of him, four arms pinning you down, teeth ripping at your breasts, your insides being rent apart for his pleasure. You’re very tempted to slide your hands down your body, to relieve the heat that flares within you, but suddenly, you feel it.
The wind stops. The forest falls silent. The moon seems to shudder in anticipation. Your heart gives a gleeful thump as you fall to your knees, head bowed low.
He is here.
“Master,” you breathe, face pressed into the dirt. “Master, your most faithful servant welcomes you. Hail Sukuna, Ancient and Powerful. King of Curses and Lord of Dark Magic. One who should never have been banished or forgotten, one who will rise again and lay waste to those who are against him. Please, come and feast on what you are owed.”
You tremble in anticipation as the firm thud of his footsteps approach. The scent of death and magic surround you, pressing you further into the damp soil. Like a worm on your belly, where you belong.
“Raise your head.”
You obey glady, rising quickly to sit back on your haunches. Tears spring to your eyes as you finally gaze upon him. Large, muscled body, riddled with tattoos that tell stories you cannot comprehend. Four arms to rend and rip, four eyes to stare down his enemies, teeth sharp as steel to sink into flesh. His dual manhood hidden between a loosely draped robe, the mouth slashed across his stomach curled in a sneer. Bones rattle around his neck, ankles, wrists and head.
He is Death Incarnate, and he is beautiful.
“And what have we here, witchling?” His deep voice rumbles across the cool air. “I smell pure, virgin flesh.”
You nod eagerly. “Yes Master, yes. A virgin only 20 winters, killed and processed in her prime. Fat off a life of luxury. The perfect offering, one that-“
“I will be the judge of that,” your lord cuts you off, and you fall silent immediately. His bulky frame folds gracefully as he seats himself in front of the platter. A large hand takes a chunk of meat, nostrils flaring as he takes in the scent. You lean forward in anticipation.
A small taste, a widening of red eyes, and then Sukuna feasts.
Like a lion tearing into a gazelle, your lord tears flesh from bone with fervour. Fat melts and runs down his chest, his second tongue lapping it up greedily. You squirm at the sound of his grunts and noises of enjoyment, heat making a slow trickle down your spine. Watching him enjoy what you offer has always been a source of your pleasure.
“Drink, my master,” you take the silver chalice in both hands, shuffling closer. “Quench your thirst.”
The goblet is ripped out of your hands, crimson streaks trailing down his chin and throat as you watch him drink deeply. A soft moan slips past your lips unbidden.
Sukuna notices, of course. He sets down the cup with a thump, a sneer on his ruby lips.
“And what are you squirming and whining over, witchling? Do you think you deserve to join me at my table tonight?”
You shake your head. “No, Master. You offer me more than I deserve already. Your gifts, your power, the privilege of being your devoted servant.” And, because you can’t help yourself, you add “and the pleasure of knowing how a god feels inside of me.”
Sukuna hums, taking a small piece of flesh off the platter. “And what would you do for more? There is much I can still give, if you can pay the price.”
You don’t even need to think. “Anything, Master. I will do anything. I will gouge out my eyes and feed them to you by my own hand. I will slit my throat and let your cup overflow. I will give you my body to use for any purpose, let you rip me apart again and again. Everything I am is for you. Whatever you gove, I will take. Whatever you want, I will offer.”
“Truly my most faithful,” your master coos, fingers squeezing around your throat. You choke and sputter, eyes rolling back as the heat in your belly flares hotter. “My witchling whore, always ready and eager to please. I shall reward you tonight. Come, eat with me.”
—-
Found this Old God Sukuna x Fem Witch Reader in my drafts….. should I try to finish it, I’m tempted to try to finish it haha
Tw: blood, gore, cannibalism, ritual sacrifice, implied sexual content, implied self mutilation
—
Smoke curls slowly up into the moonlit sky, wisps dancing like faeries in the glowering dark. The fire in front of you crackles, the meat on the spit hisses, the blood in the pot bubbles. You crush and stir and murmur canticles, praises and prayers fusing with the feast you prepare before you.
Your master arrives but once every season when the moon is full, but it is the Hunter’s Moon that you prepare for this night. The Harvest of Flesh. The villagers slaughter animals, give thanks to their paltry gods for whatever they’ve managed to reap. But you, you do not concern yourself with such frivolity. For there is only one who provides for you.
Sukuna.
Lord of Curses, of Dark Magic, of Blood and Power. The only one you will bow to. The one who sustains you, grants you your gifts, opens your eyes to what you can achieve in his name. An ancient being moulded long before man took his first wobbling steps.
You worship him. You crave him. You desire to split yourself open and give him your beating heart as proof of your piety. You know you are blessed to receive his favour, to be handed knowledge of the Ancients. There are few left who can claim these honours.
Wind stirs the tendrils of your hair as you finish your preparations. This year’s offering was especially delectable, a soft, young thing of 20 winters, plump and ripe and untainted by hardship. Your mouth waters as you arrange her, guts and organs wreathed in the soft fatty meat your master adores. Mayhaps he shall even share with you if he’s in a charitable mood. You can only hope.
His arrival draws nigh. The platter is heaped high, blood glistening in a silver chalice. Some has been saved for you, painted in symbols and curses across your nude form. You admire the crimson that curves around your breasts, across your stomach, between your legs. A smile quirks your lips. The succulent meal before you won’t be the only thing your Master will dine on tonight. Your body, and everything within in, is his to use as he pleases.
You moan softly as you think of him, four arms pinning you down, teeth ripping at your breasts, your insides being rent apart for his pleasure. You’re very tempted to slide your hands down your body, to relieve the heat that flares within you, but suddenly, you feel it.
The wind stops. The forest falls silent. The moon seems to shudder in anticipation. Your heart gives a gleeful thump as you fall to your knees, head bowed low.
He is here.
“Master,” you breathe, face pressed into the dirt. “Master, your most faithful servant welcomes you. Hail Sukuna, Ancient and Powerful. King of Curses and Lord of Dark Magic. One who should never have been banished or forgotten, one who will rise again and lay waste to those who are against him. Please, come and feast on what you are owed.”
You tremble in anticipation as the firm thud of his footsteps approach. The scent of death and magic surround you, pressing you further into the damp soil. Like a worm on your belly, where you belong.
“Raise your head.”
You obey glady, rising quickly to sit back on your haunches. Tears spring to your eyes as you finally gaze upon him. Large, muscled body, riddled with tattoos that tell stories you cannot comprehend. Four arms to rend and rip, four eyes to stare down his enemies, teeth sharp as steel to sink into flesh. His dual manhood hidden between a loosely draped robe, the mouth slashed across his stomach curled in a sneer. Bones rattle around his neck, ankles, wrists and head.
He is Death Incarnate, and he is beautiful.
“And what have we here, witchling?” His deep voice rumbles across the cool air. “I smell pure, virgin flesh.”
You nod eagerly. “Yes Master, yes. A virgin only 20 winters, killed and processed in her prime. Fat off a life of luxury. The perfect offering, one that-“
“I will be the judge of that,” your lord cuts you off, and you fall silent immediately. His bulky frame folds gracefully as he seats himself in front of the platter. A large hand takes a chunk of meat, nostrils flaring as he takes in the scent. You lean forward in anticipation.
A small taste, a widening of red eyes, and then Sukuna feasts.
Like a lion tearing into a gazelle, your lord tears flesh from bone with fervour. Fat melts and runs down his chest, his second tongue lapping it up greedily. You squirm at the sound of his grunts and noises of enjoyment, heat making a slow trickle down your spine. Watching him enjoy what you offer has always been a source of your pleasure.
“Drink, my master,” you take the silver chalice in both hands, shuffling closer. “Quench your thirst.”
The goblet is ripped out of your hands, crimson streaks trailing down his chin and throat as you watch him drink deeply. A soft moan slips past your lips unbidden.
Sukuna notices, of course. He sets down the cup with a thump, a sneer on his ruby lips.
“And what are you squirming and whining over, witchling? Do you think you deserve to join me at my table tonight?”
You shake your head. “No, Master. You offer me more than I deserve already. Your gifts, your power, the privilege of being your devoted servant.” And, because you can’t help yourself, you add “and the pleasure of knowing how a god feels inside of me.”
Sukuna hums, taking a small piece of flesh off the platter. “And what would you do for more? There is much I can still give, if you can pay the price.”
You don’t even need to think. “Anything, Master. I will do anything. I will gouge out my eyes and feed them to you by my own hand. I will slit my throat and let your cup overflow. I will give you my body to use for any purpose, let you rip me apart again and again. Everything I am is for you. Whatever you gove, I will take. Whatever you want, I will offer.”
“Truly my most faithful,” your master coos, fingers squeezing around your throat. You choke and sputter, eyes rolling back as the heat in your belly flares hotter. “My witchling whore, always ready and eager to please. I shall reward you tonight. Come, eat with me.”
—-
your f/o talking your native language with a little accent. you understand
‘i chose to stay silent’
the face i stay silent with
recently saw ppl discuss whether they put their medicines in a kitchen cabinet or a bathroom cabinet and i was shocked by the fact that many ppl said kitchen cabinet. so now i need you to reblog this and say where you keep yours
Okay but the way that Giyuu is the only one that kind of caught my eye out of all of Demon Slayer 😅
He’s so baby girl 🥰 just a sad quiet boy who I want to shower with so much love and affection!!!
assign prev one of your f/os and send them on a date for a day! how does that go?
Stoppppp kageyama trying to take me on a romcom type date he saw in a movie is so cute tho
He’s totally pulling the yawn/arm around your shoulder trick 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 and probably some horrible pickup lines
The way I melteddddddd 🥹 Aki reading to me??? That cozy date sounds so perfect!
He would love quiet cozy dates like that! Where he can forget all his troubles and just be present with you 🥰 it’s his favourite time of the week.
assign prev one of your f/os and send them on a date for a day! how does that go?
assign prev one of your f/os and send them on a date for a day! how does that go?
assign prev one of your f/os and send them on a date for a day! how does that go?
