#hemp heals

[cbd-store-india]

Growing Popularity of Hemp Cigarettes in India

In recent years, a new trend has been emerging in India's market – the rise of Hemp cigarettes. As the awareness around health and wellness continues to grow, individuals are seeking alternative options to traditional tobacco products.

Hemp cigarettes have stepped into the limelight as a potential solution, offering a unique blend of relaxation and wellness benefits without the psychoactive effects of THC. This shift towards hemp cigarettes is not only a testament to changing consumer preferences but also reflects the growing awareness of the potential health benefits offered by hemp-derived products.

As individuals explore these alternatives, we suggest seeking guidance from our medical professionals at CBD store India is a very important step in making informed decisions about their health and wellness.

Potential Health benefits:

Wellness Appeal: As more people prioritize health and wellness, Hemp has become a sought-after natural remedy for stress, anxiety, pain, and sleep disorders. Hemp cigarettes offer a convenient way to incorporate hemp into one's routine, providing a potentially safer alternative to traditional cigarettes.

Tobacco Alternatives: With the adverse health effects of traditional tobacco products widely acknowledged, many smokers are looking for less harmful alternatives. Hemp cigarettes provide a familiar smoking experience without the addictive nicotine content found in regular cigarettes.

Cultural Acceptance: India has a deep-rooted relationship with cannabis due to its historical and cultural significance. As hemp cigarettes contain negligible THC levels, they can be more easily accepted in society, tapping into the cultural openness towards cannabis while avoiding the legal and social stigma associated with traditional smoking.

Legal Considerations: While cannabis laws in India remain strict, there is a growing understanding of the distinction between THC-rich marijuana and low-THC hemp. As regulations evolve, hemp and CBD products are finding their way into the mainstream market, including the enticing realm of hemp cigarettes.

Economic Potential: The cultivation of hemp for CBD production presents an attractive economic opportunity for farmers. This potential for economic growth could further fuel the acceptance and availability of CBD products like hemp cigarettes.

Doctor Consultation at CBD Store India: A Responsible Approach

While the popularity of hemp cigarettes is on the rise, it's important for individuals to approach their usage responsibly. Consulting a medical professional before incorporating any new product into one's routine is a wise choice. CBD store that offers doctor consultation services play a crucial role in guiding consumers through this process. Here's why such consultations are essential:

Personalized Guidance: Every individual's health profile is unique. Consulting a doctor helps determine whether hemp cigarettes are suitable based on existing health conditions, medications, and individual needs.

Dosage and Usage Recommendations: Determining the right dosage of Hemp/CBD is essential for achieving desired effects. Medical professionals can provide guidance on dosage and frequency of use to ensure safe and effective consumption.

Preventing Interactions: Hemp has the potential to interact with certain medications. A doctor's consultation can identify potential interactions and help adjust medication regimens accordingly.

Monitoring Effects: Regular consultations allow individuals to discuss their experiences with Hemp cigarettes. If any adverse effects or concerns arise, the doctor can provide guidance and make necessary adjustments.

Conclusion

The rise of Hemp cigarettes in India signifies a shifting consumer preference towards healthier, more natural alternatives to traditional tobacco products, but smoking any substance can have negative health consequences, particularly for the respiratory system. As this trend continues, the significance of seeking expert medical advice cannot be understated. CBD store India offering doctor consultation services provides consumers with the knowledge and guidance needed to make informed decisions about incorporating hemp cigarettes into their lifestyles. By combining the potential benefits of hemp-derived products with responsible usage and expert consultation, individuals can take proactive steps towards enhancing their overall health and quality of life.

[dogcancerfoundation]

Dog Ear Infections and CBD

For centuries, Cannabis sativa has been used for medicinal purposes. Our society has only recently recognized the enormous benefits of cannabis, and as a result, ongoing research efforts are being undertaken to better understand the processes behind it. Scientists have made many impressive findings, but they have just scratched the surface of what this plant is capable of. Ear Infection in Dogs…

[hiteshmehtasuspire]

Pet Heal is your go-to solution for a happier, healthier pet. This natural supplement eases anxiety, travel sickness, and bad behavior. It even helps with pain, chronic discomfort, and even treatment of some cancers! Made with safe, plant-based CBD, Pet Heal supports a healthy immune system, digestion, and appetite. It's gentle on pets of all ages and helps them feel their best, naturally.

[teaboot]

One time, I had an English professor tell me I should stop using my inhaler because it was bad for the environment.

Yeah an if you dropped dead it would significantly reduce your carbon footprint too, huh. What if we ALL just stopped breathing. Can’t be throwing fistfuls of plastic fuckin straws directly into the South Pacific when you got a BPM of zilch, can you? What a fuckin innovator. Was he head of your nation’s EPA *directly* before he retired to become world’s youngest baseline edgelord 4chan ass 14 year old boy with tenure, or did he wait for his 3rd consecutive Nobel peace prize before giving someone else a chance? Ask him if his back hurts from carrying the weight of all the world’s most pressing concerns to and from Chuck E Cheese each night or if his tiny spiny propellor hat lightens the load a bit. Did his big red clown nose come standard with his tweed set or he spring for the premium model with the biodegradeable sustainable foam and the super-boosted honk-honk action? Are his size 23 clown bitch oxfords custom? Does he take one off to use as a canoe on his annual vacations to his summer home in the balmy and tropical shit fuck dumbass islands or does he just levitate everywhere he goes by the power of his unparalleled Xmen level intellect. Can you ask him if Magneto is gonna spare the human race to run laps in his hamster wheel electrical generator complex or if he’s just gonna wipe us all the fuck out for the carbon tax credit. Ask him if the weight of his gigantic balls dragging in the ground behind him everywhere he goes adds to the mileage on his Tesla. When he wipes his ass does he use single ply to save the trees or just a fistful of baby ducklings that he can then gently bathe by hand with water collected by the rain barrel in the endangered orchid garden by the solarium on the west side of his sprawling villa, the one he bought when he sold the patent for the perpetual motion motion machine he built out of toothpicks and marshmallows in third grade before the obvious intellectual gap between himself and the rest of us bumbling simpletons weighed him down and killed his passion to create. What other wisdom has he yet to share with the world? What other knowledge that only he and my reiki-healing essential-oil-drinking violet-aura neighbour know that may benefit us all? Holy shit, have I been drinking WATER my whole life? That shit that whales live in? Guess I’ll just go lay in a hole out back and wait for the compost heap to take me. Should I confess my sins to Captain Planet first, so he may redeem my wicked soul in the true Eco Catholic way, or was that recyclable soda can I threw in the trash downtown at last year’s garlic bread festival because there were no recycling bins provided the final straw that made me unworthy of glorious green salvation? BRB, gotta go strip naked and flagellate myself before the begonias so that they may know the depth of my remorse. Don’t worry, I only buy locally-sourced hemp lashes produced by small home businesses at the farmer’s market, they have a three-for-two sale on Sundays if you bring your own reusable bag. Christ on a fucking cupcake

[michael-j-dean]

Michael J Dean Mable Gray Professional Business 👞👞 👠👠 Woman Empowered Civil Rights Activist Psychic 🧠 Telepath Clairvoyant Scanner ©™®{P}

[ratedxrworld]

The Real Deal on Delta8

Courtesy of @cannacutie.xo www.instagram.com/p/CsjEJYTLtxi/ So what is Delta 8? We all who smoke faithfully knows THC is the psychoactive part that gets us high. 🍃 #ᴛʜᴄ Some people see Delta8 and think “synthetic or fake” but I think it’s far from synthetic because it is derived from hemp. And the isolates added in the process are natural terpenes and minor cannabinoids as well. The only…

[ccazimi]

To Be Human...

cw: kitsune reader x trueform sukuna, femreader, heian era childhood au, fluff, angst, mentions of blood/violence/death, non-sexual nudity, a little bit of smut (inappropriate usage of sukuna's stomach tongue)

wc: 8k

a/n: first time writing sth like this so im kinda nervous :P listened to zombie by the cranberries on repeat hehe

He’s only around ten or eleven when he finds you.

Your inky fur gleams in the pale light of the moon as you lay there, the bottom half of your body pinned under a large stone.

The lax tripwire attests to what has happened — you’ve been caught under a hunter’s deadfall trap. The leaves and dirt have been messily disarrayed around you, evidence you’d tried your best to escape until you’d given up.

Now you lay there, eyes glassy and chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as you await whatever fate has in store for you — likely a hunter coming in the morning to skin you and turn you into a pelt for nobles.

You don’t give any sign of acknowledgement as the four armed boy approaches you except for the slightest twitch of one of your ears, and Sukuna knows its bad based on your lack of reaction alone.

Sukuna kneels and looks at the state of your body under the rock. He can’t see much but he can smell the blood tinging the air.

Stupid creature, he thinks, it’s almost deserved for falling into such a dumb trap.

But still with a sigh he tries to move the rock.

It barely budges but that slight movement makes you whine faintly.

You’re lucky it only caught your hindlegs — anywhere else and you would’ve died on impact.

And so he stands, lifts his fingers, and—

“Dismantle.”

Instantly the large stone is diced and falls apart, a few falling on your body, but none large enough to do further damage.

It takes you a moment to realize the pressure pinning you down has been removed, and when you do, you try to move.

The most you can do is slightly drag your mangled lower body by pulling yourself along with your front paws, and even that much seems to be a struggle for you.

Sukuna thinks you look so pathetic like this that he steps forwards and crouches to lay his fingers on the fur matted with blood.

You flinch and look back, but there’s not much you can do in your current condition, even as a warmth begins to flow from his touch, spreading across your flesh and building till it feels like a searing burn.

He huffs and holds you down as you yelp in agony and begin to writhe about. “Just stay still, I’m trying to help you.”

And just as you’re about to bend back and bite him, the pain is gone.

All of it.

Tentatively you stand, confirming that all of your wounds have been healed, bone and flesh mended together.

Sukuna steps back, expecting you to run away now that you’re able to do so.

But instead you just stand, staring at him with those dark soulful eyes.

He frowns at you. “What? You can go now. Shoo.”

Sukuna feels a little agitated at the way you’re staring at him, possible even a little self-conscious as though he’s being stared at by another person.

Instead, you sit before laying down fully, resting your head on your paws as you look up at him.

“Dumb mongrel.” He mutters, deciding he’s done with this, and turns away ready to move on.

He continues walking along in the forest, but not even a minute later and he hears the softest noise behind him.

He stops and turns to find you silently following him.

Sukuna crosses both pairs of his arms. “Leave. I’m not your mother.”

You make no signs of doing so, so he gives up and continues along, choosing to simply ignore you following him.

Eventually he finds a suitable tree with a hollow and decides it’s good enough to sleep in for the night.

He settles down, opening the light hemp sack he’s carrying to take out some dried meat and nibble on it.

There’s not much left, but he’s used to the hunger.

You follow suit, laying down a few feet in front of him. Sukuna half expects you to beg for food but you don’t, just laying there.

He squints.

Even in this dim light he can make out the structure of your skeleton, poking through your gaunt frame.

You’re starving, just like him.

Fuck it.

Against his better judgement he tears the piece of meat he’s eating in half and throws a portion to you, where it lands by your nose.

The movement catches your eyes and you sniff it cautiously before inhaling the entire thing in one go.

When morning comes, you’re gone.

Sukuna isn’t surprised — you got what you needed from him and left when he had nothing more to offer. He would’ve done the same himself.

That day he searches unsuccessfully for some game, and when night comes there’s nothing to show for his efforts. So he settles back down to sleep so that he can conserve his energy, or at least to distract him from the constant pit in his stomach.

The next day his luck is the same, and like the night before he once again prepares to sleep with an empty stomach.

A bit later, he hears it — shuffling within the undergrowth.

He sits up, raising his hand, ready to attack whatever’s about to show itself.

But he isn’t prepared for what actually does come — a black fox holding a dead rabbit in its mouth.

Sukuna can hardly believe what’s happening as you come up to him and drop the carcass at his feet. It seems fresh.

He doesn’t say anything but when he cooks and hungrily eats the rabbit, he gives half of it to you.

Later that day he finds you playing with a small pearlescent white ball that you seemingly got from nowhere.

He knows then what you are — likely a rather young one judging by the fact that you didn’t seem so strong and couldn’t shapeshift yet, but a fox spirit nonetheless.

Weeks pass, and he grows accustomed to your presence. You follow him everywhere, shadowing his every move. Even when you vanish—sometimes for a few hours, sometimes for an entire day—you always return. Often with small game clenched between your teeth, a silent offering at his feet.

If he eats, you eat. If he doesn’t, you both endure the hunger together.

The first time you come back injured is after one of your longer disappearances. You limp into his sight, a chicken dangling from your jaws—an arrow lodged deep in your flank.

And still, you make it back to him, staggering but determined, dropping the bird at his feet before finally collapsing onto your good side.

Only then does he realize how you’ve been getting the livestock. You’ve been stealing from villages. A death sentence.

In times like these, even a starving thief would be hunted down without mercy.

“No more.” His voice is sharp as he presses a hand to your side, pinning you down. You yelp as he rips the arrow free. “They’ll kill you.”

The scent of your blood is sharp in the freezing air. But then his palm flares with heat, and in a single burst of power, the wound vanishes—sealed as if it had never been there.

Months pass. The air turns bitter, the trees skeletal, and game becomes harder than ever to find. Food dwindles. Even the smallest scraps are a battle to obtain.

And still, whenever there is something to eat, he shares it with you.

The nights grow relentlessly cold, and soon your arrangement shifts. You begin curling up beside him as he sleeps—sometimes pressed against him, sometimes sprawled on top of him, clinging to whatever warmth his body provides. He doesn’t push you away.

Starvation forces his hand. There is no choice but to move closer to civilization, to raid villages in search of food. You assist, of course—darting through the shadows, quick and unseen.

More than once, these raids end in blood. Villagers fight back. Some die. More than once, you and Sukuna barely escape with your own lives—sometimes without even a morsel to show for it, because the common folk are just as starved as you.

Yet still, you remain by his side.

Finally, winter passes, and the plum blossoms bloom to herald another year of survival.

It should be easier to find food now that the cold has receded, but early spring is the cruelest season—the time when game remains scarce, crops have yet to sprout, and the last of the winter rations have run out.

Even raiding villages yields little, and hunger begins to loom like a specter. You both find yourselves resorting to anything you can find—grubworms, grasshoppers, crickets—desperate scraps to stave off the gnawing emptiness.

Despite the harshness of this life, it’s easier to forget the hunger when you’re together. The small moments of shared mischief, the absurdity of it all, make the suffering feel distant, if only for a fleeting second.

He doesn’t understand the first time it happens, how, despite walking straight ahead, he ends up back at the very same tree he started from. He’s sure he’s not going in circles. Right?

Then the thought strikes him, and he glances at you—sitting innocently, looking up at him with wide eyes.

And he knows.

“You.”

His suspicion is confirmed when you burst into high-pitched laughter, your tail swishing with glee as his glare sharpens.

But it’s fine. He finds his own ways to bother you.

He quickly learns that you absolutely hate having your head patted, and the longer strokes of his hand along your fur are even worse—especially when he adds, “I think you might have fleas…”

When he tugs on one of your whiskers, you nip him in annoyance, your teeth flashing sharp in the dim light. He can’t help but laugh at the frustration you so clearly wear.

And Sukuna learns his lesson when you cackle throughout the night, refusing to let him sleep, your giddy laughter echoing in the still air.

During moments of quiet, he hones his cursed techniques, while you entertain yourself with that shiny little ball of yours. He finds it almost comical how obsessed you are with it.

But the real trouble starts when he snatches it from you and tosses it into a bush, teasing, “Fetch it like a dog.”

You retaliate instantly, a wave of vertigo crashing over him so violently that he crumples to the ground, unable to stand for minutes.

Sukuna grumbles under his breath, his head spinning, hating when you mess with his mind.

And still, the young boy harbors an intrinsic belief that he is your protector. It’s an instinct, perhaps, that keeps him tethered to the last vestiges of his humanity. Little does he know, it is you who considers yourself his guardian.

So when that fated day arrives, and you hear the band of sorcerers and their tracking dogs, the ones sent to hunt down the four-armed creature who’s been terrorizing the villages—stealing food, killing—you are flooded with panic. Not for yourself, but for him.

Lately, his presence has drawn more and more attention. The bounty on Sukuna’s head has put a target on him, and several groups of sorcerers are scouring the land for him. It’s only a matter of time before they catch up.

You feel their cursed energy before you see them, smell the dogs before you hear them. Instantly, you leap onto the sleeping boy, shaking him awake, flooding his mind with urgency, pushing him to move faster.

Sukuna is strong, unnaturally so for his age and circumstances, but he is still a malnourished child. You doubt he stands a chance against a group of sorcerers, specially trained and sent by the capital itself to hunt him down.

The cursed energy suffocates the air, thick and oppressive, and while Sukuna stirs beside you, one of the dogs finds your scent. Its bark shatters the silence, alerting the others to your location.

He scrambles to his feet, but something sharp slices through the air, embedding itself into the tree with a sickening thud, narrowly missing his head.

The cursed weapon’s affliction spreads like an ugly bruise across the trunk, and soon, the men emerge, bursting into the clearing with cold determination.

Sukuna runs instinctively, as do you, but more cursed projectiles whiz past you, and you know—there’s no way both of you will make it out.

Another hiss, and you feel it—agony in your hind leg. The curse digs into your flesh, poisoning it, embedding deep into your bone.

In your mind, you thank Sukuna for these last two years, for saving your life, for giving it meaning. Because now, you know without a doubt, it’s over.

Sukuna runs, believing you’re still right behind him. An illusion that you’ve spun.

You’ve stopped. He sprints ahead, his feet crackling over dead leaves, unaware of the fate that has already befallen you. You turn, facing the sorcerers. They see not the injured fox, but a weakened Sukuna, collapsed on the ground.

The years pass, and Ryomen Sukuna becomes the monster the world had declared him to be from the moment of his birth. His title as the strongest is solidified after he obliterates clans of the most powerful sorcerers in the land. Fear and awe grip the people, and they kneel before him—not out of reverence, but to avoid his wrath.

Sukuna feels no remorse. Not when he stands amidst the dead, surrounded by limp corpses and the stench of blood. Not when the pleading voices of his victims are cut short by a swift, merciless slash. Remorse is for humans, and it was decided long ago that he was not one of them.

Yet, in the midst of the carnage, there are moments—a fleeting sense that he is being watched, a slight unease that causes him to hesitate, just for a fraction of a second, before he cleaves through another innocent.

Sometimes, as he sets villages ablaze, he freezes, thinking he glimpsed the silhouette of a black fox slipping through the smoke, its movements graceful among the burning ruins. It vanishes as quickly as it appears.

Tricks of the mind, perhaps some remaining stain of his humanity.

Years later when he sleeps at night within the abandoned estate he’s settled in with Uraume, he occasionally dreams of a black fox playing with a small white ball.

They are the only dreams he ever has.

Then, one day, the woman appears at his estate, asking if she can stay. She tells him she’s been exiled from her village, with no place left to go, certain that she’ll starve if left to wander alone.

Sukuna eyes you with careful assessment. There’s something in your gaze—a quiet resilience, an unfamiliar comfort—and despite everything, he agrees.

It’s strange. Really, he should’ve killed you on the spot, or at the very least, kept you as a potential meal for later. But there’s something about the way you look at him, like you’re not a stranger but a distant echo of something he’s lost, something that feels almost like home.

But he’s still Sukuna, and you’re still a random woman. So he lets you stay, under the condition that you help around the estate—gathering firewood, tending to small chores, and foraging for food in the forest.

Over time, he gets used to your presence, though he doesn’t acknowledge it out loud.

Yet, there are strange things about you that he can’t ignore.

For one, you eat with no sense of decorum, devouring your food like you’ve been starved for days. And every time he eats something, you look at him with pleading eyes, asking for a taste of whatever it is.

Your reaction to his taste for human meat also stands out. Where others would be horrified, you remain unfazed, even uncomfortably comfortable with it, despite the fact that you won’t eat it yourself.

Something about you doesn’t seem quite right, but Sukuna can’t put his finger on it.

Then there are the little oddities—like how he starts losing things more often. Little things at first: a knife misplaced here, a thought forgotten there. He walks into a room and then forgets why he came. It’s disorienting, and the more he tries to track it, the more elusive it becomes.

And your sleeping habits… They’re just as strange. You nap at odd hours, usually finding yourself curled up in places he wouldn’t expect—on the rooftop, in the middle of the moya, even once right in the doorway, where he nearly trips over you.

Though you’ve been harmless enough, there’s something unsettling about you—or perhaps it’s the way you make him feel. It’s like he knows you, even though he’s certain he’s never seen you before the day you showed up on his doorstep.

One day, while you’re gone foraging in the forest, Sukuna finds himself walking into the eastern pavilion that’s become your chamber. He’s not sure what he’s searching for, but as he looks around, he discovers some dried fish, likely the ones Uraume had been searching for a few days ago, and a set of scrolls of his that had gone missing without his notice.

A thief, it seems. Nothing too surprising; it’s a small problem, but it’s one he’ll have to deal with.

He’s about to leave when something catches his eye—a flash of white, glimmering from within the folds of your bedding. Curiosity pricks at him as he steps closer. There, nestled among the fabric, is a small ball.

And suddenly, everything clicks into place.

You finally return in the late afternoon, laying out your haul—persimmons, chestnuts, a few ginkgo nuts, acorns, matsutake mushrooms, and lotus root.

Sukuna watches, humming thoughtfully before asking, “Anything you wish to tell me?”

You pause, meeting his gaze with a playful smile. “Anything you wish to hear?”

He simply stares at you, making you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. After a long moment, you finally relent. “Okay, fine! I took some of the dried ayu—I just get hungry at night sometimes…”

“Anything else?”

You huff. “I took a few of your scrolls too. I was bored. And yes, I drank some of your sake, but it was just a small taste, I swear!”

Sukuna frowns, the realization dawning on him. That’s why he’d been running out of sake so quickly—he thought he’d developed a drinking problem. He shakes his head in exasperation but holds out a small white ball to you.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for that!” Your eyes light up, and you lunge to snatch it from his hand, but he raises it just out of reach.

“Are you serious? Do you have nothing to say for yourself, fox?”

You look up at him, the playful glimmer in your eyes. In that instant, Sukuna realizes what you’ve been doing—playing a game all along, waiting for him to figure out who you were.

“Do you think this is funny?”

You grin, and Sukuna finds himself wanting to be angry. But the truth is, there’s something else bubbling inside him—something he can’t shake. He wants answers more than anything else.

“How are you not dead?” he asks, his voice softer now, and a flicker of old memories rises to the surface. Memories of you, the fox who had saved his life, who had stayed loyal when others would have abandoned him. Compassion, something he had rarely received from anyone.

It stirs something in him—a weakness he thought buried, a lingering part of his humanity he had long tried to abandon. But that thought is fleeting, buried again beneath his frustration.

“A magician can’t reveal their secrets now, can they?”

Sukuna fixes you with a stern look, his expression hardening again. “Fine, keep your secrets. But you won’t be getting your stupid little ball back.”

“Hey!” You glare at him in indignation. “What if I tell you whatever else you want?”

He agrees, and so you begin to explain. You tell him of your desire to live as a human, about how, when you learned to shapeshift, you sought out a life within the villages.

But no matter how hard you tried, no matter how you fit yourself into their world, kitsune are not human, and the forces of nature demand that they keep moving—transitory, untouchable. It is not in a kitsune’s nature to stay in one place for long, especially amidst human society. So, one way or another, you were always forced to leave, wandering from village to village, never able to stay.

Sukuna listens, but there’s a strange disconnection in his gaze. He doesn’t understand your desire to be human. He scoffs when he learns that kitsune see humans as the superior form, and he can’t help but mock your longing.

You, however, simply smile, not bothering to argue. You know him—his rejection of his humanity, his dismissal of what makes him human. While you don’t share his sentiment, you understand it in a way he may never realize.

You don’t say anything, just smile softly when he mocks your desire to be human, a soft acceptance in your eyes.

Sukuna begins to regret taking in a nocturnal creature, for you become restless at night. Eventually, you decide that it will be him who bears the burden of your boredom.

So, there you are in the dead of night, sneaking into Sukuna’s room, which—unfortunately for him—is warmer than your own. You crouch beside him, leaning in close.

This might just be the worst trick you’ve played on him, though you’d never admit it. There are no limitations in the realm of dreams, after all. And even more unfortunate for Sukuna? Your creativity knows no bounds.

You have no idea whether he was dreaming before, but as of right now, Sukuna’s been shrunk down to the size of a caterpillar, trapped in a jar by you, and shaken vigorously until his eyes shoot open and he wakes abruptly.

He stares at you, sitting innocently by his body, a sweet smile on your face. And he immediately knows exactly what’s happening.

“Bad dreams?”

Sukuna’s glare is sharp as a blade. “I should’ve killed you the night I found you pinned under that stupid rock.”

You grin, completely unbothered. “I’m taking that as a yes.”

He glowers, exasperated. “What the hell do you want, mongrel?”

“I’m bored.”

Sukuna groans in frustration. “Go and chop the vegetables for breakfast or something.”

The next morning, Sukuna is less than pleased when Uraume nervously informs him that all the vegetables have been minced so finely they’re practically paste.

After a few nights of this, Sukuna gives up trying to come up with things for you to do. Whenever you wake him in the middle of the night, he knows what’s coming—your malicious compliance.

So the next time you go to wake him, he shifts over, leaving an empty space on his bedding. “Get in and sleep.”

“I’m not sleepy.”

“I know. Just get in and try.”

Sukuna hopes that having another warm body beside you will somehow help lull you into sleep. But you just huff, reluctantly crawling in next to him on the silk-lined shitone that smells faintly of smoke and musk—his scent. It stirs something in you, but you push it aside, focusing on trying to sleep, wondering if he’s asleep.

Sukuna thinks he’s finally found a way to subdue you, but then he feels it—a gentle touch, your fingers tracing his face, brushing against the markings on his skin.

You’ve always been too comfortable with him, touching him out of curiosity, with nothing better to do. He tries to ignore it, but when your fingers trace the edges of his mask, he growls, his hand shooting out to grip your wrist and yank it away.

“Do you mind? Go to sleep, brat.”

But it’s too late. Now, your curiosity has been piqued, and the questions begin.

“Does that side of your face hurt?”

“No.”

“What about your tattoos?”

“What about them?”

“Did they hurt?”

“No.”

Your curiosity doesn’t let up. “What happens if you eat two different things, one with your normal mouth and the other with your stomach mouth? Do the flavors blend together?”

Sukuna makes a noise of frustration, more exasperated than ever. “I liked you better as a fox, you know? Less talking.”

Living with you is certainly not easy. You torment him at every opportunity, badger him for his food, lie about completely nonsensical things for no reason at all. Sukuna’s caught you more than once trying to convince Uraume to team up against him, and let’s not forget the time you made Uraume cry by telling him Sukuna planned to eat the young boy.

Sukuna had to step in, reassuring Uraume with a dry smirk that if he were going to eat anyone, it would be you.

You try to show your apologies in your own way—by leaving piles of dead bodies at the front of the estate the next morning. These are wandering travelers you lured into the forest, then deceived into stabbing each other to death.

It’s almost comical to Sukuna. Here you are, aspiring to be human, yet your moral framework is... questionable at best. It doesn’t take him long to piece together why you’ve been repeatedly exiled from the villages you’ve stayed in.

Take, for example, the time you tried to prank him with a tea made from aconite tubers. At first, he thinks it’s an assassination attempt. Then, he realizes you honestly didn’t see the danger in it. You were “pretty sure” it wouldn’t fully kill him.

Almost… pretty sure.

There are also times when you just vanish randomly from the estate, only to return with “gifts” — though most of them are, at best, bizarre, and at worst, useless. Rare herbs, a finely crafted knife, a silk sash… all of these Sukuna assumes you stole from some village. However, it’s not long before he checks back on these “gifts” only to find that many times they were just illusions—turning out to be nothing more than piles of dead leaves.

More often than not, though, you don’t even try to hide the absurdity of the “presents.” He’ll wake up to find fishbones scattered in front of his door, a single slipper that isn’t his, or even a live bird flapping around in his room like some sort of wild, unnecessary spectacle.

Then there was that time you appeared out of nowhere, holding a rock with the most solemn expression.

“For you,” you said, handing it to him with careful deliberation.

Sukuna stares at it. A rock. Just an ordinary, dusty gray rock. He looks at you, deadpan. “Why would I want this?”

You beam brightly. “It reminded me of you.”

Sukuna stares back at the rock in his hand. No unique markings, no rare qualities. Just a mundane rock. Your thought process is a complete mystery to him.

He yells at you to get lost but when you sneak into Sukuna’s room later to snoop through his stuff you find the rock stored in his cabinet.

Dinner time begins as usual with you, Sukuna, and Uraume each settling into your respective meals. You’re always the first to finish—no surprise there.

As soon as your bowl is empty, your eyes immediately lock onto Sukuna’s. He glares at you, bringing his bowl closer to his mouth. “No.”

You put on your best pleading face, batting your lashes with exaggerated sweetness. “Just one bite, please?”

Sukuna eyes you suspiciously. “It’s human.”

“No, it’s not,” you argue, “I asked Uraume, and he said it’s deer.”

Uraume chokes on his food, eyes widening in panic as Sukuna turns his gaze to him. Uraume quickly looks away, hoping to avoid the wrath he knows is coming.

Sukuna turns back to you, glaring. “Stop begging, like a greedy mongrel.”

Uraume keeps his gaze to the ground, shrinking back in preparation for what’s coming next, as it always does.

“Don’t CALL ME THAT.”

“Then quit acting like it.” To further annoy you, Sukuna casually sets his chopsticks down, then proceeds to dump the entire contents of his bowl into the maw on his abdomen, swallowing it whole.

You stare, your mouth hanging open in disbelief. “What the hell? You can’t do that, it’s cheating.”

He grins, the kind of grin that says he’s enjoying every second of this. “Mad, mutt?”

In your anger, you lunge at him tackling him to the ground while he just laughs at you. And the great Ryomen Sukuna, known for destroying villages and massacring innocents, lets you, fighting back with maybe five percent of his power just to let you have your fun.

At some point, you’ve decided that anything of his is yours too—his food, his space, and especially his bed. It’s become a nightly ritual for you to “move in” to his room, claiming your room is too cold to sleep in. Sukuna knows better than to argue, especially since he’s aware that you barely sleep anyway.

“Get out,” he mutters, his voice laced with exhaustion. “I know you’re just going to bother me instead of actually sleeping.”

“I won’t! See how sleepy I look?” you counter, feigning tiredness with an exaggerated yawn and wide, glassy eyes.

Sukuna eyes you, the expression on your face a far cry from the exhaustion you’re pretending to have. With a resigned sigh, he shifts over to make room for you, though the action seems more reluctant than welcoming. Perhaps a part of him, deep down, enjoys the warmth of your presence—your body pressed against his while he tries to sleep, even if it means enduring your never-ending stream of nonsensical chatter.

And, as predicted, the moment you settle in, you begin—

“Your body would be the perfect meat farm, did you know that?”

There it is. Sukuna exhales sharply, already dreading where this is going. “What? Actually, don’t elaborate—“

“I’d cut chunks out of you whenever you’re hungry since you’d just heal up again, right?” You’re practically gleaming at the thought, unfazed by his annoyance.

Sukuna, desperately trying to ignore your incessant ramblings, stays silent, hoping it will dissuade you. It doesn’t.

“Oh, and that big juicy tongue down there... you can grow that back too, right? Because I think that would be my favorite part of you, slow-cooked and simmered in some br—”

Sukuna’s patience snaps. “Enough. Keep talking and I’ll cut out your tongue and eat it myself.”

You only grin wider. “Oh, what, so it’s only okay when you cannibalize people?”

Weeks turn into months, and somewhere along the way, the nights spent in Sukuna’s bed become something more. Each time, you find yourself sleeping closer to him, your limbs winding around his, your head resting against his chest, your nails softly tracing the surface of his scalp in the dark. It happens without words, but the comfort of it feels so natural, so undeniable.

But as soon as the sun rises, the two of you fall back into your usual roles. The playful tormenting, the biting remarks, the petty battles. Not a single word is spoken about the closeness shared in the night—there's a mutual, unspoken agreement between you both to pretend it doesn’t happen.

It’s as if it never existed, just another fleeting moment in the chaos of your lives.

Sukuna swears he doesn’t care about you—no matter how many nights you stay gone from the estate, no matter how many times he finds himself checking the door for your return. He tells himself he doesn’t care, not even when he finally leaves the estate to search nearby villages, convinced that you’ve gotten yourself caught stealing again.

And of course, he finds you, tied up in the center of a village, your face smeared with ash as a mark of your supposed crime. He doesn’t hesitate for a moment, razing the entire village to the ground in a fiery, brutal display of wrath.

You watch through it all, your gaze steady and knowing. You don’t beg for mercy, nor do you cheer him on as he tears the place apart. You’re indifferent, unfazed by his fury as if you’ve seen it all before, and perhaps in some twisted way, you have.

He drags you back to the estate, more irritated than anything, and when he finally reaches the safety of his home, he grabs you by the arm, his voice low and stern. “You’re not running away again, got it? No more stealing from villages.”

He expects you to throw a snarky comment back at him, to tease or mock him, as you always do. But this time, there’s nothing. You’re silent, your eyes fixed on him, an unreadable look on your face, like you’re studying him, trying to understand the contradictions that make him who he is.

It’s a gaze he knows all too well, the same kind of observance that followed him during all his years of killing and maiming, of playing the role of the monster.

He crosses his arms, fingers tapping impatiently as he narrows his gaze at you, expecting something—anything—from you. “Speak, fox.”

You tilt your head slightly.

“It’s rather curious... when you act like the monster they say you are… I see something so undeniably human in you.”

Sukuna’s expression tightens, and he clicks his tongue in frustration, dismissing you with his usual indifference. “I’m not in the mood for your riddles. Next time, I’ll just leave you to rot.”

But despite his words, something shifts in the air between you. His eyes linger on yours for a moment too long, and for the briefest of moments, the monster he tries so hard to be seems less certain, less absolute.

But he won’t admit it.

Not to you. Not to himself.

Later that night, Sukuna jolts awake to a warm weight pressing against his chest. His vision clears, sleep fading fast, and he finds you straddling him, keen eyes peering down at him. He meets your stare with a glare of his own.

"Can I help you?"

You don’t answer.

Because how do you tell him that despite his name being spoken like a curse, despite the terror that follows him like a shadow, he looks more human in sleep than those who recoil at the mere mention of him?

With the brazier’s dim glow casting flickering light over his face, the xyloid mask embedded in his skin, and the dark ink slashing across his jaw, he should look like the monster they say he is.

But he doesn’t.

So instead, you grin from above him. “No. I’m sleeping here tonight. You’re quite comfortable.”

Sukuna clicks his tongue. "Tch. I could be carved from stone, and you’d still say that."

Yet two of his hands find your hips—not forceful, just firm enough to keep you there.

You sigh, sinking down, the soft curves of your body molding against the solid planes of his. The steady heat of him seeps into you, his scent—smoke and something distinctly him—wrapping around you like a soothing weight.

For a moment, neither of you speak. Then, another one of his hands lift, fingers brushing through your hair, tucking away a stray lock behind your ear. His touch lingers a moment longer than necessary.

"Tsk. Stupid thing. You got lucky today that they didn’t just kill you outright."

"I’m sure they wouldn’t have. It was only petty thievery."

"You underestimate the cruelty of humans," he murmurs. "What were you even trying to steal?"

"Red bean rice."

You don’t add that it wasn’t just for you. That you had gone to steal sake for him, knowing he was running low.

Sukuna clicks his tongue in disapproval. "Red bean rice? Really? You could’ve just asked, and I would’ve gotten it for you."

"You would’ve burned down the whole village trying to do so."

"I did that anyway. Could’ve at least gotten the rice."

"Well—"

A hand clamps over your mouth. "Just keep quiet if you won’t even admit your mistake."

You only huff against his palm, nuzzling closer as his grip shifts, fingertips trailing absently down your spine.

The silence between you is fragile, the kind neither of you wants to break—not when his touch is this soft, not when his breaths are this deep, rising and falling beneath you.

You’re warm all over—your cheeks, your ears, your blood, your lips. And they only grow hotter when his fingers ghost over the front panel of your kosode, slipping into the lining but going no further.

They wait.

A silent bid for permission.

You swallow, reaching up to curl your fingers around his, tugging at the fabric in quiet invitation. Neither of you looks at the other as he slowly peels the garment from your shoulders.

It falls away, exposing the bare plane of your sternum. The night air whispers over your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth between you.

Then, his hands find you—not lewdly, but reverently.

His touch is slow, unhurried, mapping you with a careful kind of curiosity, gliding over your curves, lingering at the swell of your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples in a teasing caress, making them stiffen under his touch and pulling the breath from your lungs.

Drowsiness creeps at the edges of your mind, weighing down on your eyelids, but before sleep can take you, your fingers drift lower, tracing the band of his hakama. You tug—just slightly, a wordless request.

He obliges.

One set of arms holds you close as the others tug the fabric away, leaving nothing between you but heat and skin.

His hands roam lower, fingers pressing into the soft curve of your hips.

You breathe him in, letting the moment fold around you, silent and unspoken, like something neither of you dare name.

And, wrapped in his warmth, you finally slip into sleep.

The nights have settled into a quiet routine—skin pressed against skin, a shared warmth beneath the covers. It’s a delicate kind of intimacy, one that exists only in the dark, when the teasing and bickering of the day give way to something softer, quieter.

Lately, though, you’ve found a new way to amuse yourself— your teeth.

During the day, you nip at any exposed inch of his skin before scampering away, reveling in the way his irritation simmers beneath the surface. A graze along his forearm, a sharp bite to his shoulder—it’s a game, one you always win.

But tonight, your mischief doesn’t settle even when both of you are undressed, bodies relaxed into the familiar comfort of each other. Instead, you straddle his torso, fingers tracing idle patterns along his chest as his eyes drift shut.

And because you’re you, you lean down and nip his cheek.

Sukuna’s lower eyes crack open, glowing faintly in the dim light of the brazier. He exhales sharply, clearly unimpressed.

“Cut that shit out, brat. You’re fucking insufferable.”

You hum, unbothered. The restless energy in your limbs doesn’t fade, and the only thing that seems to relieve it is the press of your teeth against his skin. So you bite him again.

A low growl rumbles from his throat. His fingers twitch against the sheets. **“**Do that again and see what happens.”

There’s a challenge in his voice, the kind that sends something electric down your spine. You grin. And then you do it again.

The response is immediate—before you can pull back, two of his hands shoot out, one tangling into your hair, the other pressing firmly against the nape of your neck, holding you in place.

The last two grip your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh there, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you still.

“Sukuna—” you start, but you don’t get to finish.

He shifts beneath you, tilting his head, and then—warm lips press against yours, firm and deliberate.

You freeze.

And then you melt.

Your breath hitches as his mouth moves against yours, slow at first, testing, tasting. He parts your lips with ease, his tongue sweeping into warm wet cavern of your mouth, claiming every inch, every sound you make. His grip on you tightens as you kiss him back, heat curling low in your stomach.

It’s almost infuriating, how easily he turns the tables, how effortlessly he steals the air from your lungs. But you can’t bring yourself to care, not when you’re tangled in him like this, not when his hands are on your body like you belong to him.

And maybe in some way, you do, the same way he belongs to you.

You savor the taste of him, making out sloppily until amidst the heat you feel skin opening up from beneath where your core is pressed against his abdomen.

Before you can process what’s happening, something hot and dripping presses against your damp slit, and you buck your hips in surprise, yelping into his mouth.

You feel his lips stretch into a grin against yours, refusing to let you pull back for air as the large tongue languidly strokes your clit in teasing licks that send electric sparks shooting up your spine.

He takes the chance when you pant and moan softly to slide his tongue deeper into your open mouth, tangling your tongue with his as the one below parts your drenched folds and slips in, slithering into your tight channel before rubbing harshly against that one spongey area that makes your mind blank and whimper needily into his mouth.

He’s everywhere— invading your mouth, shoving his tongue so far down your throat you think he’s trying to taste your lungs while the muscle in your cunt pushes up even deeper till it’s nudging, lapping at the fleshy wall of your cervix.

You mewl, squirming and bucking your hips, feeling so impossibly full of his tongue, and he groans into your mouth as well at the taste of you all over — the flavor of your mouth along with the way he can feel your walls clenching around him below as he tongues the entrance to your cervix faster and more intensely like he’s trying to eat you from the inside.

Another hand grips one of your breasts somewhere along the way, squeezing and massaging the pliant flesh, rolling your nipple between his fingers, as he sinks his teeth into your lower lip and suddenly it’s all too much—

Your orgasm crashes over you, flooding your senses with ecstasy and the maw on his abdomen with a warm gush of your liquid seeping out of your walls as he continues to juice you, pushing against that sensitive spot and making the fluids continue to drip into his large mouth as he sucks on your tongue, hungrily swallowing all your moans and cries of pleasure.

And finally you still and his hold on you loosens, letting you break away with only a gossamer strand of saliva connecting your mouths that snaps as you look down at him with flushed cheeks, trying to come back to your senses.

He smirks deviously at your disarrayed state as one of his hands caresses your backside softly. “Who knew that was how to shut you up this entire time?”

You huff but lean back down, wrapping your arms around his neck as you press delicate, loving kisses into his skin, eventually falling asleep.

He holds you, trying not to let his hard-ons poke into you, content enough for now to simply embrace your satiated body and feel the warmth of your skin that seems to seep through the cracks within hardened muscle and flesh into his own heart.

The first dream comes that night.

You stand beneath an endless night sky, the cool air brushing against your skin. In the distance, a snow-white fox watches you, its fur glowing silver under the moonlight. It does not speak. It does not move. But its gaze is knowing—waiting.

Then, it turns and walks ahead, leaving behind a trail of faintly glowing pawprints. An unspoken invitation.

You do not follow.

The fox stops, blinking once—slow, understanding—before vanishing into the mist.

You wake with the certainty of what has happened.

You have wandered the mortal realm long enough, and finally Inari has found you.

The goddess calls you home, offers you ascension, a chance to become a true kitsune. A way to escape death—whatever fate awaits spirits who linger too long in the world of men.

But you don’t take it.

And the dreams continue.

Torii gates, endless in number, stretching into the mist, each a door to the path you refuse to take. A golden rice field under the full moon, shimmering—until the stalks wither beneath your touch. The chime of a shrine bell, growing louder as you step forward—then fading the moment you turn away.

Every night, the same quiet plea. And every night, you deny it.

Because no divine warmth, no promise of something greater, could ever compare to him.

To the way his hands rest on your hips. The way his lips ghost over your skin. The playful bickering, the teasing—things reserved for you alone. The flicker of something softer in his crimson eyes, fleeting but real.

Of course, he knows nothing of these dreams.

Nothing of the choice you’ve been given, and chosen to ignore.

Because you were never Inari’s to claim; you were bound to Sukuna since that day he found you as children.

You spend four years by his side, yet they slip through your fingers like grains of sand. You see him in his violence, in his carnage—just as you do in his quiet, in his stillness.

And soon, the whole country speaks his name in fear, his apotheosis complete—a cursed plague upon mankind.

Sukuna welcomes the title. He renounces his humanity, denies it so fervently that even you begin to wonder if he truly believes it.

"You’re human," you tell him once.

He scoffs.

Could a human kill like he does? Maim like he does? Look like him? No—there is nothing human about him. So he thinks.

But the universe disagrees. It still calls him human. And because he is human, you tempt fate by daring to stay.

You defy your own nature, forsaking it in exchange for something fleeting—a life with him. A human life, a simple life. One where mornings are filled with your teasing remarks, your relentless chatter as you wipe the blood from his skin, scolding him like he’s anything less than the calamity the world sees him as.

Sukuna doesn’t acknowledge it, not explicitly. But sometimes, in the quiet, he looks at you like you are something unknowable. Like you have seen a future he refuses to believe in.

He’s right.

You know your time with him is limited. You know the universe will not tolerate your defiance forever. You know, with certainty, that this life you have chosen will end in tragedy.

And yet, to you, it is worth it.

Even as the years pass, even as four beautiful years slip through your hands like water, you never regret it.

Not even when the universe finally comes to collect.

You wander out from the estate that day, but you return later than usual.

Sukuna waits. Then waits some more.

When night falls, he exhales sharply, annoyed, and finally resigns himself to search for you.

There’s a weighted feeling in his chest. A whisper in his bones. It unsettles him, but he shoves it down, replaces it with irritation. Focuses instead on how he’ll admonish you when he finds you.

Probably off doing something stupid, unaware of how late it’s gotten.

The night stretches on. He pushes through the forest, frustration mounting—until suddenly, it is gone.

Because finally, he finds it.

At the base of a towering cliff, a massive boulder sits still, unmoving. And beneath it—a pair of legs stick out.

The sharp, metallic scent of blood floods his senses, sinking deep into his marrow, making his own pulse hammer against his skull. A feeling he hasn’t known in years swells inside him.

Fear.

"DISMANTLE."

The boulder shatters into dust.

And the feeling in his gut—the one he’s been ignoring all day, all night, all his life—finally takes him under.

Your body lies there. Mangled. Crushed beyond recognition.

But he knows. Even if his mind refuses, even if he does not want to believe it—he knows the scent of your blood. Whether you are fox or human, you have always bled the same blood.

Still, he refuses to accept it.

This cannot be you.

Because whoever this corpse is—they are dead.

And you?

You are not dead.

You cannot be dead.

Yet the body lies still. The air smells faintly of urine. The muscles, emptied of life, have already gone limp.

But it isn’t you. It can’t be you.

So he tells himself it must be someone else. Some other poor soul.

Then, his gaze catches on something small—glistening under the moonlight, peeking through the dust and blood.

A small, white ball.

@onwinedarkseas i finally finished this!!

[theambitiouswoman]

Clothing has frequencies

Clothing, like everything in the universe, carries frequencies that affect your energy. Different materials, colors & production methods influence your mood & your well being.

High vibrational fabrics:

1. Silk: (10,000+ Hz)

Known for its luxurious feel, silk is considered one of the highest vibrational fabrics. It helps keep spiritual & emotional balance, while also being breathable and moisture absorbing.

2. Linen: (5,000 Hz)

Linen is known for its healing & grounding properties. It regulates energy flow and enhance your overall well being making it one of the most beneficial fabrics to wear.

3. Hemp: (5,000 Hz)

Hemp, a strong natural fiber, known for grounding and durability. It vibrates at a frequency similar to linen, enhancing stability & balance.

4. Wool: (5,000 Hz)

Wool is valued for its warmth and grounding energy. It has a protective frequency, which helps to maintain balance, particularly in colder climates.

5. Cotton: (100-500 Hz)

While not as high as silk or linen, cotton is still considered a high vibrational fabric. It promotes comfort and balance. Organic cotton is has an even higher frequency due to its natural cultivation.

6. Cashmere: (5,000 Hz)

Like wool, cashmere is known for warmth and luxury, offering a high vibration associated with comfort & peace.

Low vibrational fabrics:

1. Polyester: (15-70 Hz)

Polyester, being synthetic, is believed to have a very low vibrational frequency, which can block the natural flow of energy through the body. It causes emotional or physical discomfort over time and its production involves harsh chemicals contributing to low vibrational energy.

2. Acrylic: (15-70 Hz)

Another synthetic material that is associated with a low frequency that may lead to feelings of disconnection or imbalance.

3. Nylon: (30-70 Hz)

Often found in activewear, nylon has a low vibrational frequency and feels out of sync with the body’s natural energy flow.

4. Rayon: (30-70 Hz)

Rayon is also considered low vibrational because of the chemicals used in its production. It doesn’t offer the same energetic benefits as natural fibers.

How low vibrational clothing affects energy:

Blocks natural energy Flow: Synthetics like polyester can trap heat, moisture, and energy, blocking the natural flow through your body, which may lead to imbalance or discomfort.

Negative manufacturing practices: The production of low-vibrational fabrics often involves environmental harm and poor working conditions, which may carry negative energy that can affect the wearer.

Disrupts skin earth connection: Natural fibers like linen and cotton are thought to maintain a connection with the Earth’s energy, while synthetics can disrupt this connection, leading to a sense of disconnection.

Holds onto energies: Synthetic fabrics don’t breathe well and can hold onto negative energy from the environment or wearer, making you feel energetically weighed down over time.

Choosing high vibrational, natural fabrics can help improve your mood & energy flow, while low vibration synthetics will lead to you feeling disconnected and imbalanced.

[hexb0nes]

Hallowed Be Thy Name

word count: 4.2k

pairing: machine herald!viktor x cultist!reader

contains: cults, ritual sacrifice, blood, hematophagy (consumption of another's blood), kidnapping/being held hostage, mass murder, arson, virgin!reader, viktor fucks reader in his final evolution form, monster fucking?, sexy time with an eldritch horror, marking (viktor burns a sigil into reader), cunnilingus, monster cock, tummy bulge, fucking on an altar, dacryphilia, tongue fucking, mating press, cervix bruising, praise, getting fucked dumb, aphrodisiacs, somewhat psychedelic and ritualistic sex, rough sex, there's a happy ending (sorta)

summary: your commune worships the machine herald, your god. yet, his power and ability to aid the commune has begun to diminish. only you, a virginal sacrifice, can replenish his divinity.

a/n: this is probably my most graphic fic to this date, it borders into dark content territory so scroll away if you don't wanna interact with this!

You’re their sacrifice.

Your small commune relies on the gratitude and care from an old forgotten God, one made of machine with the divinity to heal. They call him the Machine Herald, praising him for his divine interventions. Nearly all of the commune has been infused with the Machine Herald’s healing machine, gold and white swirls on past injuries and disorders. 

It’s only with the recent generation–your generation–that the Machine Herald’s power has dwindled. Otherworldly forces have tampered with his divinity, threatening him into extinction. Through the body of the commune’s medium, the Machine Herald proposes a solution to regain his power and aid the commune; he demands a vessel, a body untainted by his influence, he requires the vessel to be pure and able to withstand the transfer of his divinity onto them.

You’re the daughter of the commune’s apothecary, an obedient sweetheart who always helps her parents. Whether they need a new herb from across the river or assistance with grinding up a powder for a new concoction, you do without command. The commune hails you as a valued member, a gift to their community.

The perfect sacrifice their God desires.

You stand before the altar in the commune’s holy center, candles lit around the pews in the shape of the Machine Herald’s sigil. Dressed in flowing white silk, you adorn a golden crown made of broken off machinery from loved ones long past. You keep your hands clasped together in prayer, as the rest of the commune awaits for the ceremony to start. 

Cassandra, the commune medium, approaches the altar and steps behind it. She sets down a series of offerings to the God; a bottle of wine, two pomegranates, and a golden bowl. Cassandra extends her hands out and the commune members rise from their seats, “Esteemed loved ones, those blessed by The Herald and those awaiting His touch, your presence today will be historical.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, ready to spill down your rosy cheeks. Cassandra directs the commune to sit back down and once settled, she barnishes a knife and sets it down on the altar, “For the first time since our home’s founding, one of our own will make full contact with The Herald!” gasps and cheers erupt through the holy center, “To become His vessel, to become one with His Glory!’

You attempt to plead for your freedom, but the excited shouts and yells from the commune drown out your voice. While kneeling at the altar, your feet are bound with hemp rope, preventing your escape. Although you are an obedient girl like all say, you couldn’t do this; you cannot lose your mind and body to a higher being like so. This isn’t your choice.

“Let us begin,” you peer up at the medium while she speaks. Cassandra picks up the knife and slices her hand open, crimson blood leaking from the wound. With the blood, she draws The Herald’s sigil on the canvass behind her. She then moves back to the altar and holds her bleeding hand over the golden bowl, filling it up with blood. 

“Here,” she hands the bowl of blood to you, “Drink up and summon Our Glorious Herald.”

Your hands shake and nearly drop the bowl. You debate what would happen if you did, but you have a feeling it would only end poorly. With tears rolling down your cheeks, you hold up the bowl to Cassandra and whimper, “Pl- Please, don’t make me- me do this!”

Cassandra squats to your level and wipes away the tears from your cheeks, “Oh, sweet child, it’s okay,” she reassures you, “I did the same ceremony before, when I became The Herald’s Voice. You will be okay,” she takes the bowl and presses the rim to your lips, “You will be okay, sweet child.”

You take the bowl from her hands and part your lips, slowly and painfully drinking the blood. Its metallic taste makes you want to vomit, but Cassandra prevents you from so, steadying the bowl with her hands. Once finished, you rip your mouth off the bowl and cough up some of the blood; it rolls down your chin and drips onto your chest. 

“You’ve done excellently, sweet child,” the commune medium praises you. She returns to the altar and grabs the wine, “To cleanse your pallet,” she hums, handing you the bottle. You eagerly drink it all up, desperate to rid your mouth from the taste of blood. Your skin suddenly heats up, your face burning and your core throbbing. You whine softly at the sensation and clench your thighs together, “What’s… happening…” you find yourself slurring words, as your vision blurs.

“We’re almost done, sweet child,” you hear Cassandra’s voice call out to you. Someone approaches you from behind and swoops you up from the stairs of the altar. They walk up to the altar and gently set you down in the center, “I’m sorry, honey.”

You recognize that voice, your father’s

“Daddy!” you cry out to him, “Please, don’t let them do this! This will kill me, Daddy!”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes back a sob, “It’s what The Glorious One demands.”

You try to yell, but Cassandra shoves one of the pomegranates into your mouth, your teeth digging into its skin. In addition to your bound feet, someone binds your hands together and ties your waist around the altar. Cassandra places the final pomegranate in your bound hands and exclaims, “Behold, Our Glorious Herald, may He bless you with His Divinity!”

The holy center rumbles, the echoes of a thunderstorm rattling the foundation. Cassandra’s mouth suddenly hinks open, her jaw snapping off its joints and unleashing a blinding light. Screams of terror and panic pierce throughout the holy center, as you regain clearer sight. 

Cassandra turns to face you, her eyes pure black and leaking bloody tears. A permanent smile is fixed on her face, her teeth unnaturally sharp and pointy. Your wails are muffled by the pomegranate in your mouth, as the creature descends onto you. Puppetering Cassandra’s body, the unholy creature hovers over your face, saliva and blood dripping onto your face.

“A… good… choice…” the creature speaks through Cassandra’s voice, pitched low and fuzzy like radio static, “I… will… cherish… you…” the creature grabs at your neck and pins you down, rendering you incompletely immobile, “Let’s… go… home.”

The holy center suddenly explodes, burning away the pews and the people inside. You, however, are witnessing this through a different realm, horrified. Helpless, you can only watch, as the fire from the holy center ravages through the entire commune, burning down buildings and scorching the bodies of commune members. In the aftermath of the fires, the remains of the commune reek of death and despair.

You fall to your knees and sob into your hands, “God, why… Why, why, why…”

“Divine punishment,” an accented voice speaks to you. Turning around, you’re able to take in your surroundings, a cosmos of stardust. You look at your body, an astral projection of yourself merging with the realm. There’s a sofa floating in the air above you and a man with sharp cheekbones and ruffled hair peers over, “Hello.”

Your body tells you to scream, but an odd sense of peace washes over you at the sight of the beautiful man. He snaps his fingers and the sofa vanishes before he floats down to your level, “Your medium betrayed your community,” he states.

“What?” your stomach–or whatever organ you have in this astral plane–churns.

The man floats closer to you, his white hair glowing with a blue tint. He has thick eyebrows, a few moles scattered about his face, and a hooked nose. His eyes shine a sweet honey amber hue. When he speaks, his voice vibrates through your rib cage and squeezes your heart with an unfamiliar feeling, “She failed to follow my instructions, she forced you to drink her blood in an effort to join in our union.”

Nausea bubbles up and you gag, covering your mouth with your hand. The man hovers around you, swimming aimlessly through the waves of the cosmos, “There was no way to prevent the fires when she signed the agreement; her failure to adhere to the contract triggered this.”

“Is everyone dead?” you ask, your voice meek as a mouse.

“Only those manipulated by my intervention,” the strange man answers, “Your generation was spared, they shouldn’t have to suffer because of the selfishness of the older generation,” his eyes shift through a kaleidoscope of colors, “May they rebuild a better community from the ashes.”

The gears in your mind click together, “You’re The Herald.”

“Indeed,” he hums, extending a hand out to you, “But my human name was Viktor.”

“Viktor,” you say his name, it rolls off your tongue effortlessly, “Pretty name,” you add on when you accept his hand. He smiles at you, affection twinkling in his eyes, “Pretty like you.”

Your cheeks turn a shade of pink, hiding your flustered state now unavoidable. Viktor chuckles at your state and tugs on your hand, “Allow me to show you around,” you allow Viktor to guide through the endless abyss of stardust. The heartbeat of the cosmos calls out to you, thumping and thumping. You’re awestruck by the astral plane, “This is amazing.”

“I agree,” Viktor chimes in. With his free hand, he snatches up some stardust and manipulates its form, producing a rose. He hands you the rose with a small smile, timid and sweet like a schoolboy asking his crush out, “For you, my dear.”

“T- Thank you,” you stammer and happily take the rose. You admire it between your fingers, an otherworldly creation. The rose slips from your fingers and returns to the cosmos as stardust, “Can we leave here?” 

“Yes,” answers Viktor. He lets go of your hand and an unusual sadness washes over you, the brightness of your astral form dimming, “I’ve remained in this realm for far too long, but we can leave whenever you desire.”

“Do I still have a body?” your eyes wide with panic.

“Yes, yes!” Viktor reassures you, “It lays dormant on the altar, untouched.”

“What about you? Where’s your body?” you inquire. 

Viktor’s cheeks tint pink at your questioning, “I do,” he answers, “But it’s not human.”

“Oh,” you frown, “What happened to your human body?”

“I shed it for the sake of evolution,” he intertwines a bony finger with a strand of your hair, playing with it mindlessly, “Yet, the only human part left of me remains trapped in the astral plane,” he drapes his free hand over your shoulder “I hope to regain access to it, hence my request for a vessel.”

You narrow your eyes at Viktor, “Are you gonna take my body?”

“No!” he retorts, “I need to connect myself to a vessel to absorb enough human essence to reform my human body,” the pink in his cheeks darkens, “I prefer not to possess your body for this process. I have a different method in mind.”

You blink at Viktor, curiosity evident in your doe-like eyes. The god’s cheeks redden and his eyes shift from amber to light pink, “Absorption through intercourse, the physical connection of two bodies as one, the most human way.”

You pull back from Viktor, your astral form glowing with various hues of red and pink, “Oh!” you’re unable to come up with a response, the idea of losing your virginity to such a pretty man–no, he’s a divine being, for fuck’s sake–makes you shudder with anticipation. You take a few moments to calm down, your astral form returning to its bluish white hue, and float back to Viktor.

“Is your true form scary?” you bit your bottom lip with nerves. Viktor offers you a reassuring pat on the cheek, “Likely, but I promise that I will not hurt you,” he touches his forehead against yours, “Will you do me this honor?”

“I- I-” your pulse quickens at his request. You could say no, you could, but you can’t. Something comes over you, a painful need for his touch. Viktor’s words have you in a trance, your mind going fuzzy and warm. You want to please him, to please your God, anyway you could.

“Yes, My Herald,” the desire to submit and devote yourself wholeheartedly shoves any logic, reason, and fear out of your mind. 

“Good girl.”

No longer are you in the astral plane, but back on the altar; your gown is stained in blood with a few scorch marks and you’re no longer bound to the table by rope. You sit up and spit out the pomegranate from your mouth, some of its juice staining your mouth and chin. The holy center is burnt to a crisp, ash and debris covers the ground; there’s no sign of life. 

“My dear.”

A deep, transcendental voice booms through the destroyed holy center. You swing your legs over the altar and scan your surroundings for the voice. Your eyes land on the center of the aisle, as a massive being walks down it. 

The creature holds a spiral staff, a shiny blue orb pulsating with each contact the staff makes against the ground. Its skin is a deep shade of purple with golden tendrils wrapped around different sections of the body. The creature has a flowing blue cape with red accents covering its shoulder, the only attire it possesses. A  third appendage sticks out of its back, resembling a claw. 

As it gets closer to the altar, you can make out its face. It’s simply a mask with vibrant golden sclera, the remnants of its face peeled out like a husk, and accompanied by wiry strands of black hair. A halo encases its head, made of oscillating runes of a long forgotten society. 

“Be not afraid,” the creature’s voice reverberates through the holy center. 

“Viktor,” his name escapes your lips, your body frozen in place, “Oh, Viktor.”

“My dear,” he stands before the altar, “Does this form scare you?”

“No,” never in your life had it been so easy to say the truth, “You’re beautiful.”

If Viktor still had human flesh for cheeks, he would be blushing. Instead, the halo above him fluctuates to a light hue of pink, “You grace me with such kindness. The love you possess in your heart is more radiant than a thousand suns.”

You open your mouth to speak, only to feel a dull throb in your pelvis. The effects of the wine Cassandra provided you have resumed, now that you’re back in your physical body. A large hand caresses your stomach, “That wine helps your essence circulate better through your body. I assure you that the effects are temporary.”

“My…” you stifle back a moan, wetness dripping from your cunt and onto the table, “My Herald, I pray for your guidance,” you shut your eyes tight and let out a pitiful whimper, “M- My Herald, I offer my purity to you!”

Viktor moves his hand from your stomach and down your pelvis, spreading your folds open. His hands are too big, he rubs a finger against your entrance and pulls back to examine your arousal, “A needy girl,” the runes in the halo shift red, “I shall tend to the needs of my devoted.” 

He’s so huge, at least two or three feet taller than you. Towering over you, Your Herald pins you down to the altar and the thinnest part of his mask protrudes open, revealing a long neon purple tongue. He kisses you eagerly, his tongue exploring the wet carven of your mouth. You’re getting drunk off a single kiss, as you embrace Viktor as best as you could. 

He pulls back from your face and his tongue slithers out of your mouth, a lewd ‘pop!’ followed after it. You peer up at the divine being through your eyelashes, “Need you…” you whimper to The Machine Herald, “Please…”

“Allow me the honor of tasting you more,” Viktor lifts up your legs and positions your pelvis towards his face. He unhinges his mask once more to expose his tongue and licks your pussy, prompting a restrained moan from you. 

“No need to quiet yourself,” your God informs you, “Let me hear you sing,” his tongue circles around your clit, wrapping around it and stroking it. You cry out from the sensation and vehemently chant Viktor’s title, as he tests the waters of your soaked cunt. His tongue dives inside your pussy, his masked face frigid against the throbbing warmth of your cunt. The Machine Herald tongue-fucks you without remorse and relishes the nectar of your pussy, pleased to see how easy it is for you to unravel.

“My- My Herald, I’m- I’m gonna-” words stumble from your lips, but fail to form a proper sentence, as you climax. You drench Viktor’s face in your juices, your body shuddering from the intense orgasm. The Machine Herald rubs circles on your thighs, as he withdraws his tongue out of your womb. He laps up the slick from your cunt and hums aloud, “You taste like the Heavens themself.”

“You spoil me, My Herald,” you giggle. Viktor places your legs back down on the altar and cups one of your cheeks, stroking it as gently as he could, “No, it is you who spoils me,” he touches his forehead against yours, “I have yearned for eons to embrace another,” a bit of his natural voice from the astral realm cracks through the surface, “I’ve waited for you to come to fruition, to be reunited with your soul.”

You don’t quite grasp what Viktor is referring to, your mind too consumed by arousal and desperation to question it. Nonetheless, you pull away and tap your forehead against his, a gesture of affection exchanged, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

The Machine Herald’s halo shifts to a hue of sunshine yellow, “Excellent… Now, lásko, let us become one,” you nod in agreement and remove your gown, displaying your nude body to Viktor. His hands trail down your body, mapping each dip and freckle, and rests you once more against the altar, “I must warn you, my cock is not that of a human’s. It may hurt.”

“I can handle it,” you promise Viktor. He nods and snaps his fingers, “Let us begin.”

A purplish light suddenly radiates from his pelvis and an otherworldly cock emerges. It’s thick, long, and ribbed; you salivate at the thought of it inside you. Despite your virginal status, you’re no stranger to pleasure yourself with toys that you’ve snuck in from visits to the mainland for supplies. 

The claw on The Herald’s back seizes your hands, slamming them above your head to hold you in place. Like a faithful discipline, you’ve already spread your legs open for Viktor. He shrinks his height to a more manageable size and joins you on the altar, lining his beastly cock to your entrance.

“I offer my purity to you,” you proclaim to The Machine Herald, “Take me as yours.”

“I offer my dedication to you,” he utters back, “Take me as yours.”

Viktor’s cock enters your pussy and you hiss at the intrusion, your cunt too small for his size. You feel the inner threads of your womb snap in two, as The Herald deflowers you. You take deep breaths while Viktor sheathes his entire length and girth inside you, a visible bulge poking out of your lower abdomen. 

“What a marvel you are,” he coos, caressing the bulge. You whine at his touch, tears rolling down your cheeks from the desperate need to be fucked, you can’t wait any longer–

Viktor suddenly shoves his hand against your stomach and heat shoots through your body. You bite back a pained sob, as Viktor traces his sigil onto your skin, scorching your once untainted flesh. The Herald wipes away your tears with his free hand, the other massaging the fresh burn, “You’re my mine, now and eternity, my goddess.”

You squirm against the claw around your hands, “Please, Viktor, let me touch you.”

“Alright, my dear,” he detaches the claw arm from your hands. You beckon him to lean closer and he does so, his cock hitting a new but pleasurable angle within your cunt. Shaking off the lust clouding your thoughts, you place your hands on The Machine Herald’s face. You’re quiet while you analyze his features, a being beyond normal human comprehension. 

“You’re magnificent,” you breathe out, nothing but pure admiration on your face.

The halo of runes deepend to a blood red and gold accents that snake around The Herald’s body pulsate. Viktor taps his forehead against yours, “I have missed your praise, lásko. You fill this body of mine with a foreign sense…” he chuckles, “Perhaps, I’m regaining the ability to feel, to emote,” he pulls away and asks you, “May I indulge myself in a long-forgotten delight of humanity? Intertwine myself with you, commensurate our union before the eyes of the universe?”

“Yes,” you consent, his prose as entrancing as his voice. The Machine Herald adjusts himself on the altar and you whimper with each poke of his cock. Once satisfied, Viktor places his hands between your waist and his halo morphs to a deep pink, “Ready, lásko?”

“Ready,” you confirm.

Viktor pulls out of your cunt just a bit before thrusting back inside. You gasp at the motion, the walls of your pussy contracting on instinct. Viktor chortles to you, “My, my. Your womb knows me well,” he thrusts once more, the tip of his monstrous cock kissing your cervix, “I can feel your essence, how vibrant your soul is.”

“Viktor…” you purr, trying to suppress a moan, “I don’t… All of this… So familiar.”

“Indeed,” he whispers back, “Enjoy yourself, I will take care of you.”

You offer a small smile, enamored. The Machine Herald resumes his thrusting, the ribbed texture of his cock rubbing up against your walls. You feel so full with Viktor’s cock inside your cunt, you fear the emptiness that would later follow.

“Fuck!” Viktor grunts, picking up speed with his thrusts. His dick assaults your poor cervix, beating it to a pulp, but you relish in the feeling. Use me. I’m yours. The sound of squelching and pants echo throughout the holy center, as Viktor has his way with you. With glee, you watch as the bulge in your stomach shrinks and grows with each thrust. 

“Lásko!” The Machine Herald calls out to you, “You feel- You feel so divine around my cock!” He lifts up your legs and folds you in half, your feet dangling close to your head, “I need to claim your very being.

His mask unsheathes his tongue and kisses you, battling your tongue with his for dominance. You can’t think straight, your body is like dough for Viktor to mold. He slams his dick deeper into your cunt, reaching depths unknown to you. Your eyes suddenly light up gold, consuming your sclera and irises. Viktor angles his dick at your sweet spot and hits it; you utter a lewd whine and the intensity of the gold in your eyes grows.

“Almost there, almost there,” The Machine Herald growls, pounding you mercilessly without care. The knock in your stomach begins to unravel, as your orgasm approaches, “My- My Herald!” you moan, “Gonna cum!”

“Yes, cum for me, my goddess!” he commands you, his cock thumping around the walls of your pussy. Like the obedient girl you are, you do as you’re told; the knock in your stomach pops and ecstasy waves over you, “Viktor!” you cry out, as golden light beams out from your eyes.

The Herald groans profoundly while you orgasm, the walls of your cunt fluttering around his cock and squeezing it like a vice. Not waiting until you finish your orgasm, Viktor resumes his pounding, his own orgasm only moments away.

“My goddess…” he murmurs, his hand snaking down and resting on your chest, “Thank- Thank you for this,” Viktor struggles to hold back from his climax. 

You place your hand on top of Viktor’s, tiny in comparison. With your hands connected over your heart, you flash Viktor one last smile, “Anything for My Herald.”

Viktor crumbles at your words, unleashing his orgasm. The Herald shoots hot white cum deep inside your cunt, bypassing your cervix and filling you up with his seed. The light from your eyes travels towards Viktor and his body absorbs it, his halo morphing to the same shade of gold. 

You’re motionless, unable to move a muscle. An odd sense of power engulfs you, your skin emitting a dull glow of gold. Above you, Viktor’s body begins to convulse, sparks and wheezes echoing from him. In a flash, the entity loses its eldritch form and a familiar brunette man collapses on top of you.

“Viktor,” you exhale, “We did it?”

“We did,” he informs you, a grin on his face, “I shift back to human again,” he embraces you and peppers your neck with kisses, “We did it.”

You kiss his neck sweetly, hands entangling his chocolate waves, “You’re back,” a vision flickers across your eyes. You see yourself in a mirror, but the reflection is of a tanned man with broad shoulders and a pearly white smile. The vision vanishes and you close your eyes, exhausted from the day’s activities.

Viktor holds you as firmly as he could, a rush of emotion crashing over him.

I have you back… Jayce.

[astra-ravana]

Working With Baba Yaga

The Bone Mother

Other names: Baba Jaga, Yegi Baba, Jaga Yagishna, Babaroga, Little Grandmother

Colors: White, black, green, purple, red

Herbs: Patchouli, birch, sandalwood, geranium, chaga, motherwort, sage, rosemary, holy basil (tulsi), lilac, clove, poppy, juniper, hemp, garlic, thistle, fern, nettle, aspen, mint, wormwood, spruce, mugwort, marshmallow, nightshade, trillium, tobacco, pokeweed, wheat, thyme, bergamot black rose

Crystals: Garnet, smokey quartz, tourmaline, amethyst, bloodstone, red jasper, stichtite, obsidian, nuummite, charoite, hematite, seraphinite, jade, phenacite, black moonstone, petrified wood, vivianite, iolite, aegerine, ruby, opal (especially black), spinel, emerald, peridot

Element: Water, Earth

Planet: The Moon, Saturn, Pluto

Zodiac: Cancer (Scorpio)

Metal: Iron, copper

Tarot: The Hermit, The High Priestess

Direction: North

Date: January 20th

Day: Saturday

Animals: Snakes, cats, chickens, foxes, crows

Domains: Hedge witchcraft, herbalism, baneful magick, astral travel, shadow work, cleansing/banishing, prosperity, abundance, necromancy, green/nature magick, healing, wildcrafting, foraging, advice, guidance

Offerings: Beeswax candles, bones, skulls, chicken feet, eggs, bread and salt, vodka, soil and stone, mortar and pestle, spindle and fiber, water, handmafe items, artwork of her house

Symbols:

[soberscientistlife]

Hemp is an alternative. We need to save our tress so the earth can heal

[sophelisticated]

(Edited 1/7/25, changed from “Grand Librarian” to “Divine Astro” (aka Divine Astrologist)) (Also added more details on how the Moth Colony works!! 🤍)

Little moth oc! Her name is Mothi!

This is an insert for The Rehabilitation of Death/my own au called Cult Of The Stars

In my cotl au, some species has its own colony. ____________________________________

Moth Colony’s Backstory

Moths had their own colony, and were sworn enemies with butterflies. butterflies worshiped the sun, and moths worshiped the moon.

Moths were famous for making the most beautiful clothing and accessories, anything with silk. They were one of the richer colonies for this reason. (Silk comes out of moth’s stomach scales and wrists, easier to use while sewing.)

They had an infamous reputation for their love of books and history, along with their clothes making. For these reasons, the leaders of Moth Colonies were Divine Astro’s (Divine Astrologist) and Supreme Seamstresses. Divine Astros were always male and Supreme Seamstresses were always female.

Ordinary commoner males have one primary job they usually work as;

Astronomer

Ordinary commoner females have one primary job they usually work as;

Tailors

Being crowned a Divine Astro or a Supreme Seamstress doesn’t mean king and queen. Both the Astro and the Seamstress do not have to be wed or in a relationship to rule together.

Additionally, being crowned alters the hormones and dna in the system of the moth, which makes the moth gain many positive attributes to their physical properties.

Traits and physical changes + their role in the colony include:

Supreme Seamstress:

Able to produce 10x more silk

Faster sewing rate

More creative clothing ideas

Oversees all clothing being made that isn’t being made by her

Produces eggs 4x the amount

Basically a queen ant or a queen bee

Extremely slower growth rate, longer life

Divine Astrosologists:

Able to produce 10x more silk

Makes silk paper 10x faster for books

An Astrologist, Astronomer, and Diviner

Binds books with own special threads to make them extremely strong

Oversees all astrological books being made

Oversees all astrological books in library

Able to tweak the details in the books as they see fit

Extremely slower growth rate, longer life

Divine Astro & Supreme Seamstress’s responsibilities:

Divine Astrologist:

Astrologist, Astronomer, Diviner.

Creates star maps.

Leads most Constellation Worship Congregations.

Manages shipments from other colonies.

In charge of punishing dissenters and problematic behavior.

In charge of money, trading, finance, construction.

Leads sacrificial worship. (A very rare practice that moths only use when the colony is at its lowest.)

Crowns new Supreme Seamstresses or Divine Astros

Predicts the past, present, and future using the stars and divination

Supreme Seamstress:

Creates and sews luscious star-themed clothing.

Leads some Constellation Worship Congregations.

In charge of wedding, death, and birth Ceremonies.

Blesses newborns, elderly, and sickly.

Sometimes cooks heavenly dinnertime meals on very rare occasion. (An ancient recipe, somehow able to heal almost all viruses from a moth’s body…)

Helps needlewomen with better ideas for sewing

In charge of leading military attacks. (89% success rate compared to Divine Astrologist’s 45%)

Crowns new Supreme Seamstresses or Divine Astros

Works, trades, and deals with other colonies to get sheep wool, web, hemp, cotton, bamboo, camel wool, alpaca wool, cork, leather, flax, ramie, etc. etc.

Moths worked with the lambs the most, combining wool and silk to make lush and higher quality clothing to sell and wear. And the moths helped try to evacuate the lambs when the mass murder was occurring, and sadly, that’s how Mothi’s mother, a Supreme Seamstress, lost her life. With no father to account for, Mothi was now orphaned.

____________________________________

Mothi’s Backstory

At a young age (4 years normally, 12 in moth years (since moths have a shorter lifespan when ordinary and not a Supreme Seamstress or a Divine Astro. Kinda like how a queen bee lives longer than regular bees)), Mothi was crowned a Supreme Seamstress. Too young to make eggs to expand the colony, a Supreme Seamstress from another colony made a deal to supply eggs for both colonys until Mothi reached a mature age to safely make eggs of her own.

Sadly, 3 years later, both colonies were hit with a surprise attack from a large Butterfly Colony. This killed thousands in both Moth Colonies, killing both the Divine Astros from the 2 Colonies and the Supreme Seamstress that helped provide to both Moth Colonies. Mothi fled with her life.

Because Mothi was crowned a Supreme Seamstress, had a slower growth rate. For the next 35 years, she lived on her own. Unable to find another Moth Colony to join. She was now 14.

She had found a beautiful gold necklace once during her journey, dropped by a pony who was traveling back to an odd looking colony that had many different species. Stealing it, Mothi ran off with it around her neck, unaware that she had now stopped aging from the necklace.

Thousands upon thousands of years pass.

At one point, the necklace was stolen from her from a very rude starfish. But Mothi couldn’t catch them again. So she got older without the necklace, her growth rate still slowed from her being crowned Supreme Seamstress all those millennia ago.

At one point, another hundred and five years later, at the age of 17, gets caught by cultists who store her in a house, planning to kill her for an old bishop named Kallimar. She remembers that name from the history books she used to read during the day, when everyone else was asleep, because of their nocturnal nature.

Building collapsing, broken ribs, fainting. Gentle words and fluffy wool. Mothi hadn’t remembered the last time she had felt wool, but it felt magnificent.

And a familiar face. A black cat with three eyes. The moths were fond of Death long ago. And Mothi could never forget that face.

____________________________________

Mothi eventually becomes a seamstress for The Lamb, finally finding a ‘colony’. The Lamb does have to do many quests for Mothi to find how to make a medicine to help Mothi’s abundant silk production. The silk can be used for clothes, but because she was technically still a Supreme Seamstress, the amount that Mothi made was too much.

In the years between the ages 17 to 18–about 17.5 years for Mothi’s slow Supreme Seamstress growth—there is a period where young Supreme Seamstresses’s and Grand Librarian’s hormones go wild, and make too much silk for their body to handle. Kinda like a menstrual cycle? But it’s for silk.

(Again, silk comes out of the stomach scales and the wrists!!)

(Sickos /jk)

ME WHEN… ME WHWN THE VOICES THE VOICES

You can find the writing I did for Lamb and Narinder from The Rehabilitation of Death by @bamsara meeting Mothi rightttt

HERE

[vegantinatalist]

Red meat has proven to heal and slow aging. Don't get me wrong I love animals to but we as humans deserve to live just as much as they do. Plus you do realize animals kill each other aswell right? Should they be shamed for being not only meat eaters but cannibals?

Please think critically for a minute for those of us who just want to lead healthy lives. You can't get protein from celery or cabbage. If I could get all the necessary vitamins i need from vegetables I'd never eat meat or dairy again but that's just not reality unfortunately....

Please have a heart and remember your human aswell 🩷

red meat is a group 2a carcinogen, mainly connected to colorectal, pancreatic, and prostate cancer.

you are the one who needs to think critically. red meat is not the most nutrient dense food by calorie or gram. several plant foods beat it, i recommend lifting vegan logics video on this

no, you dont get protein from celery my dear idiot. legumes nuts seeds peas quinoa lentils soy hemp fortified foods etc etc are where you go for that. it is quite easy to meet your protein needs on a plant based diet.

Hell if you want to make certain you are entirely nutritionally complete down to every micronutrient as a vegan, switch to a huel diet like i did. nutritionally complete vegan meal shake, you can live on it and eat nothing else even, i did for medical reasons and felt great. youd never eat meat or dairy again? ok, put your money where your mouth is. get huel.

[galacticnikki]

A Baby Witch's First Grimoire

Grimoire Entry 15 - Healing Herbs

A-M:

Adder's Tongue

Allspice

Amaranth

Angelica

Apple

Balm, Lemon

Balm of Gilead

Barley

Bay laurel

Bayberry

Blackberry

Bracken

Burdock

Calamus

Carnation

Cedar

Cinnamon

Citron

Cowslip

Dandelion

Deadnettle

Dock

Elder

Eucalyptus

Fennel

Figwort

Flax

Gardenia

Garlic

Ginseng

Goat's Rue

Golden Seal

Groundsel

Heliotrope

Hemp

Henna

Hops

Horehound

Horse Chestnut

Ivy

Job's Tears

Life-Everlasting

Lime

Mesquite

Myrrh

Mouse Ear

N-Z:

Nettle

Oak

Olive

Onion

Peppermint

Pepper Tree

Persimmon

Pine

Plantain

Plum, Wild

Potato

Rose

Rosemary

Rowan

Rue

Saffron

Sandalwood

Sorrel, Wood

Spearmint

Thistle

Thyme

Ti

Toothwort

Vervain

Willow

Wintergreen

Yerba Santa

Feel free to check out my master post for more information!

[ratedxrworld]

Botanical Mocktails v.s. Cocktails: Could this be the cure to alcoholism??

I was just settling into work this morning when I noticed a post from The Active Herb scientist, Aisha Hill, a PHd holder in Biotechnology. The post was Sharing the benefits of botanical mocktails, and I almost flipped my noodle! Using the Levo oil infusion machine 2.0 (I believe), she cultivated a nice botanical mock tail which was designed to mimic the pleasures of alcohol without the poison!…

[rosethewitch]

My finished Grief Healing spell jar!

- white crepe myrtle blossoms

- dried pomegranate

- rain moonwater infused rose petals

- rain moonwater infused clear quartz

- rain moonwater infused rose quartz runes

- rain moonwater infused glass gems

- Cleansed moss

- flower stem

- mushroom charm

- bound with brown hemp cord

"I allow myself to heal, to feel, and to gently let go. I am supported and loved every step of the way."