#human sacrifice

[ourslutfactory]

Me when I’m feeling like my hottest self

[whereserpentswalk]

You were born to be a sacrifice. When you first exited your mothers womb the oracles decided that would be your fate. They tattooed your hands and forehead so everyone would know.

When you turn twenty, they'll take you to the church, and they'll set you on fire. And then when your body is burned they'll give your ashes for the angels, and the angels and saints will be proud, and bless your community and family with great riches. Or at least that's what they say.

When you were young it didn't seem to mean anything that you were born to die young. Nobody cared, they just saw you as another kid. But it was always there. Adults would ask other kids what they wanted to be when they grew up, but they'd ask you what you would do once you were a ruler in the court of heaven. They'd tell other kids about marriage and sex and having children, but for you that would just be for other people, you'd die a virgin.

And at a certain age, you were removed from school. Because they said you wouldn't need it. That you shouldn't be wasting your time on such things. And you didn't understand, but you understood that all your freinds were upset that they wouldn't see you anymore. Not as much at least. And people talked about you so much differently from then on. You weren't complimented as strong, or as smart, or as ambitious, you were pretty, and pure, and brave, and dutiful. And everyone talked about how proud they were of you, how wonderful it was that you were going to die for them.

They were so nice to you. They gave you so many gifts and jewelry. You got to spend all day inside playing video games, and you got the best toys and got to go to movies and plays when you wanted to. Soldiers in power armor would bow when they saw you, and robots and cyborgs would turn off their lights. And you sat at a special place in church, and the clothing you wore was diffrent then everyone else's. And people talked about how wonderful you were, and how pretty you were, and how much they loved having you when they knew you wouldn't be on this world for long. And they were so proud of you when they showed you the platinum clothing you would wear on the day of your sacrifice. And you didn't understand why but all of the compliments sounded sad.

As you grew older things changed. The other children went through puberty, but you didn't, they gave you surgery to prevent it, ans told you how pure you were for not producing blood or seed. And you were old enough to understand that you would die, that you would burn, and it would hurt, and that nobody really knew for sure what happened after peopled died. And you saw a sacrifice, and saw the pain they were in, and there weren't any angels, there were only priests watching and chanting, and the smell of burning skin.

Your parents and family started to care much more how you behave. To make sure you're polite. To make sure you're a good sacrifice, who the angels will like. And meanwhile while all your other freinds are going to college, and talking about becoming artists, or starship pilots, or scientists, you know you'll only ever have one ending. But still, everyone loves you, and you don't have responsibilities, but still sometimes you think about how much diffrent life would be if you were born differently.

You've started meeting people who've left the faith, or people who didn't grow up in it, people who believe in diffrent religions or in no religion at all. And your heaven seems less and less certain every day. According to imperial law you're allowed to be sacrificed, but if you choose not to they can't force you. But if you choose not to you can never be a part of your faith again, and your family will be disappointed in you forever. All your family and community, everyone who you ever knew, will consider you a failure, a coward doomed to hell for not going through with what the cosmos planned for you. And all that pride and joy they felt about your fate would be replaced with anger that you never became what they were so happy and proud about you being. You don't think you believe in heaven anymore, but you still might choose to die, if it means they're proud... it's what you're raised to do, you don't know who you'll be if you choose to leave.

Better choose fast darling, it's only a few months away now. You don't want them to be upset.

[schwesternorden]

[epitome-the-burnkid-viii]

[sich-sehnen]

Eternally Bound

Synopsis - After days at sea, the pirates that plucked you from your small fishing village force you to walk the plank. You were meant to appease the irascible sea God, König, but the fates has other plans for you.

Category - I don't know how to categorize this. There will be notes of fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, and smut throughout the small series. It's just a melting pot of plot and romance. But for this part, it's mostly angst if you could call it that?

Warnings - fem!reader, loosely based on Greek myths and the like, Canon typical violence, misogynistic language, multiple parts will tag accordingly once the story is finished, kidnapping, debasing, inhumane behavior, octo!Konig, fantasy!au, deity!Konig, sacrifice!reader, appeasing the gods,

Notes- This story is based on the images I found on Pinterest. On the same note, there is a fic on a03 by the name of Meine Perle that is based on the first image. I highly recommend reading it if you haven't already, so good! (I tried to make this as different as possible but I won't lie and say this isn't at least somewhat inspired by the fic)

Wordcount - 1,710

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

The world rocked around you, sometimes as gently as a mother would her babe. Other times, more often than not, it swayed violently. Waves crashed against the walls of your prison, and rolling thunder echoed somewhere outside; the sound as raging as your thundering heart.

You missed the open air of your village and often dreamed of being back there. When you wake up though, you are forced back into a reality you didn't want to accept.

No amount of pleading swayed your captors into letting you go. No amount of screaming or cursing gained you anything but wicked laughter and a face full of spit.

They had hauled you below deck, and your last free gulp of the salty air was wasted on a panicked sob. They stripped you of your clothes, dressing you in a thin white sleeping gown instead. Your plait was ripped out in favor of the unbound mess your hair was now. No longer were you your mother's daughter, sister to your three small siblings, and friend of the village. You were widdled down into a shell of who you once were. Stripped of not only your clothes but your dignity.

At first, the constant swaying of the ship churned your stomach, the corner of your cell still reeking of the three-day-old vomit. They fed you once a day; a measly meal of watered-down potato stew and a stale piece of bread.

The only solace to your despair was the quiet hours of the night when the moon would shine through the small porthole across from your cell. Most nights you prayed she'd see your desperation and return you home, but the gods weren't known for being kind.

"When are we gettin' rid of'er Capn'? It's bad luck to have a wench on deck."

You hear gruff voices from above, the soles of their boots visible through worn planks of the deck. One shoves the other, his body stumbling but remaining upright as the two of them approach the brig's door.

"Bad luck is nothin' if we don't appease König."

"Why're we even-"

The insolate one was slammed into the wall, their bodies just past the threshold but out of her eyesight.

"Because ya bilge rat, if ya want the fuckin' treasure we can't have an irritated sea god gettin' in the way. If we give him a present first, maybe he'll be more forgivin' to our adventures."

Your heart drops to the bottom of the sea.

They round the corner, gruesome grins stretching their faces. The Captain, you assume, gets the closest your prison bars allowed him to.

You scurry back against the wall, putting as much distance as you can between you and your captors.

The Captain slams his hand against the bars and laughs at the flinch it jolts out of you.

"Please,"

You plead weakly, your body shaking from fear. It didn't help that you were starving, your stomach growling with a pinching pain every time you thought of food.

"Please, let me go."

They chuckle, the sound dark and wicked.

"Oh, we'll let'cha go alright. Just a couple more days and we'll be outta your hair."

In a desperate fit of rage, you kick day-old watery stew towards him, the force of it sending the contents splashing against his boot. You muster up any saliva your dry mouth can and spit a glob of it in his direction.

It doesn't even reach him, but by the snarl on his face, you assumed he got the gist of what you intended.

"Yer a lucky bitch to be locked up like this, else I'd stomp that fire out real quick. Even luckier König don't like his gifts dead."

The other man saunters up, leaning his face against a rusty bar.

"König wouldn't mind if his fruit is a little bruised would he?"

"Nah,"

The Captain steps back and puts his hand on his subordinate's shoulder, the grip tight from what you can see.

"It would be best to leave her untouched by pain. Let König deal with her."

The two of them leave without another word, walking out into the fresh air you so desperately crave. You lurch forward, as far as your chains allow, and curse them. You prayed upon their demise, begged the gods to bestow bad luck and karma, and wished with every ounce of your being that if you didn't make it out alive they would suffer the consequences.

All that responded were joyous chanting and drunken laughter.

Days bleed together in a blur of flavorless meals and taunting. Nights were your only comfort when the sound of snoring pirates replaced the shanties and crude comments.

The ever-waning moon looked down on you, its soft beams of light comforting you like a mother's touch. When you could see her, with each passing phase, you'd pray.

For solace, for mercy, for a painless death.

Each night your murmered prayers changed the longer you remained captive. No one but the squeaking rats responded. You grew jealous of the vermin for they were free, able to move around where they wished.

When the moon's face was bright and full, you finally heard the brig's door open once again. Your relief of human contact immediately turned sour the moment he opened his mouth.

"Get yer sweet ass up, it's time to die!"

The man, a new one this time, slammed the blade of his sword against the bars of your cell. He had a crazed look in his eye, one that was only brought in moments of greed.

There was no getting out of this.

And if all hope was lost, you might as well go down swinging.

You wait until he uncuffs you, his grip on your arm solid as the putrid stench of his body assaults your nose. Reeling your head back, you slam your skull against his, adrenaline forcing you past the splitting pain.

You pick up the coins and straddle the crumpled pile on the floor. A sick glee flows through your veins as you wrap the thick metal loops around his neck.

"What the fuck-"

He writhed, trying with all his might to buck you off him, his hands clawing at yours. But whatever divine power you'd been praying to all those sleepless nights offered you the strength to hold him down until his lips turned purple and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

You felt his body relax, your grip on him only tightening until you were hoisted into the air. The man on the floor gasped as you were pulled off of him, the arms around your body keeping you high enough that you were unable to do anything other than kick and scream.

"You can be as mean as you want, lil lady, no one can save you now."

Your fight was doubled ten fold as you scrape and claw at the arms holding you.

"You'll never get away with this!"

Only laughter met your frantic curse as they dragged your wiggling body up the stairs and into the night air. Crisp cold wind met you, whipping strands of hair every which way.

Choppy waves rocked the ship violently as storm clouds brewed in the distance, and soon the moon's comforting light was overshadowed.

There was no land in sight, only pitch-black waves. Some were higher than trees, their crests touching the clouds as if they, too, were seeking solace from the gods. Lighting struck, and its spindly tendrils struck the water with a loud roar.

You were thrust forward, tossed onto the wet wood of the deck surrounded by sneering men. With the impact, your hands and knees shred, blood welling up and sliding down your skin.

No longer held, you book it for the only opening in the sea of bodies you could see. You run, and dodge, and hide. But there are only so many places you could escape to on a ship in the middle of the sea.

The boat tilts, your balance tipped as you struggle to regain your footing. The men crowd you now, corralling you towards the plank and ultimately your demise.

You had no choice but to step forward, afraid of what they'd do to you if you were caught by their hands again. Maybe the gods' would bestow you mercy and offer you a quick death at the hands of the sea. Maybe, you hoped with all your breaking heart, that you were saved from the maw of König.

One man unsheathed his sword, the metal whining as he held it out towards you, the sharpest point aimed at your back.

"Move!"

He shouts, pressing the blade into your skin hard enough that you step forward just enough to escape it. But he followed, pushing you across the deck and onto the wood that hung over the unforgiving water.

You couldn't see where the water even began, the night sky blending perfectly into the midnight waters. As rain pelted down on you, streams of water mixing with your tears, you stepped up to the edge.

A prayer was on your lips, one last chance to save your mortal soul from a pain you fear the most when cruel hands shove you over the edge. You dove into the abyss, a scream clawing out of your throat, hands grasping for something to grab hold of.

The water was cold, so cold you felt every nerve alight with shock. You try and swim up but the vengeful waves keep you just below the surface.

Your limbs grow stiff with exhaustion. Your lungs burning, begging for air. A serene kind of calm washed over you as one by one your senses disappear.

You stop feeling the biting cold of the water around you.

You stopped tasting the salt that had forced itself through your nose and into your lungs.

You stopped hearing the muffled echo of thunder rolling through the sky.

You didn't know when your vision would fade away aswell, or if it had gone already. You sank deeper, your body suspended in numbness as you succumb to the ocean.

Just when you could feel the other side calling, the reaper's soft touch caressing your cheek, two glowing eyes open in front of you.

[katerinaaqu]

I love it how everyone is so hyping over how sweet and romantic Achilles is or even his anger issues and rage but...can we all like talk more on how obsessed that kid was with human sacrifice?

I mean...he sacrifices 12 Trojans to the funeral pyre of Patroclus (and two of his dogs) and then demands Polyxena as his human sacrifice...

I feel no one remembers these 12 Trojans! Poor guys!

Patroclus from the afterlife be like: Dude...no!

[luimagines]

Sacrificial Dues

Another Commission!

They asked for a human sacrifice to the one and only Fierce Deity. The events are as follows. Enjoy!

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

It was at dawn, at the waking breaths of the earth when there was a shift of change in the air. It happened every now and then, but the air itself tasted different. Sweet. Sour. Acrid. Strange. It was strange. It was personal.

He had no name that he would have assigned himself. He was created with a purpose. His only job was to see it through. The humans however were less enthralled with the concept.

They had called him The Fierce Deity, a being worthy of praise or of contempt depending on who you ask.

He was fine with either, knowing that so long as no one was in his way to protect the humans from themselves and of other threats that sought to do them harm, he could handle any indignity that the universe threw at him. 

The way the humans looked at the way he worked was one of curiosity and reverence. The occasional unease trickled through the humans every now and then. More often than not, his presence was often followed by a surging sense of foreboding. The humans knew that wherever he went, violence was sure to follow.

Due to their misconceptions, they often sent him gifts for mercy- in vain hopes that his blade would never come against their people and to buy his peace and protection from the threats to them and their land.

The Fierce Deity would have done so regardless. It was his purpose. But the reason for his existence didn’t dictate that he shouldn’t accept the gifts and he wasn’t inclined to correct the people if it meant that they would give their continued cooperation. 

He was on his way to pick up the leftover gift when the stench in the air all but disturbed his very sense of balance. The humans were waiting for him. As in, multiple humans.

They had never bothered to wait for him before.

Cautious, he approached the no doubt fearful group. And it was a group. There were at least five individuals. Most appeared to be male (although he never considered himself very good at telling the humans apart from one another), but there was one in a bright, white gown that no doubt held significance to the humans he protected, but one he never bothered to learn.

All the humans bowed low to the ground at once, save for the one in the dress and waited until he stood in front of them to speak. They were all shaking, but only the one in the dress dared to look at him. Intriguing. The Deity noted this with a hidden grin. He favored the brave.

They were striking in appearance, adorned with many fine metals and jewels that were meant to accentuate their appearance. It worked. The god found himself fascinated by the particular shade of their eyes and the lines of their features.

“Oh great and mighty Fierce Deity.” One of the humans spoke with his face to the dirt. It had halted his blizzard fascination with the mortal they deemed worthy of being in his presence. “We have little to give. A famine has desecrated our lands and there is nothing of substance for Your Grace.”

The Fierce Deity stayed silent, for there was little he could do or say about the matter.

The human continued. “In hopes of mercy and time for the land to heal and produce, we offer the most beautiful of our people to you. They are yours to do with as you see fit.”

He stared at the pitiful man in the dirt by his boots. The deity… was perplexed  to say the least. He had no need for the humans to sacrifice to him to begin with. It was never part of his duties or his vows or purpose.

The human in question, now that the context was beginning to dawn on him, was tied by the wrists and no doubt tied by their ankles as well. 

Anger churred dangerously in his gut before he found the will to speak. He tried to cause as little fear in the humans as he could but this warranted the terror he’d produce in their hearts. “Are they a willing sacrifice?”

He may not be the most benevolent creature, but he wasn’t cruel. Ruthless, yes. Many a time. But cruel? He was built to protect, not destroy. The very thought made his blood boil. After all this time, had they thought so little of him? After everything he’s done for them?

His words had shaken the mortals to their core, giving the rope around his “sacrifice’s” wrists a deeper, far more twisted meaning. He raised his hand to the hilt of his sword before the mortal in question stepped forward, putting them between him and their captors.

“I am willing.” They said, swallowing the last of their fear, meeting his eyes at last. He could see their shoulders shake with the strength and force they exuded to keep their tremors hidden from his gaze. The Fierce Deity was trained to notice such subtleties in body language on all fronts, but once more, he admired their courage.

“Very well.” He rolled his shoulders, hoping to quell the unease and fury coiling around in his stomach. “And what am I to do with a human sacrifice?”

“Whatever you see fit.” Came a reply from the dirt before the sacrifice could answer for themselves. “A slave, a companion, a meal, a lover- just have mercy on us and our village.”

He growled.

The mortals flinched at the inhumane sound, attempting to burrow themselves into the ground as it was. Even his steely-eyed sacrifice had turned their gaze away with a wince at the otherworldly portrayal of rage.

“I may have to reconsider our arrangement.” He took a step back but took a breath to calm himself. Desperation drives even the most sane ones to madness. He will do himself no favors if he exudes punishment when they feel as if they have run out of options. Instead, he reaches a hand toward the adorned jewel among them, forcing his touch and demeanor into a more gentler tone. “Come. No harm will come to you… or your village.”

No matter how much he wanted to personally rain hell fire for this subordination. 

A life is a life and should never be used to curry favors.

The thought nearly had him growling once more at the back of his throat. He managed to quell the instinctual response for the sake of his impromptu guest, but he will have to have a heavy handed conversation with such village dwellers when he returns from his patrol.

Hesitantly, the mortal thrust into his care placed their hand in his, allowing their trust (and their very life) to be put into the palm of his hand.

“...Thank you.” Their near impossibly quiet voice was a gunshot through the tense atmosphere. He had thought they would be braver, more robust and forthcoming, but perhaps that had been in the moment of fear. And frankly, in comparison to the other mortals that had dropped to the earth at the sight of him, there was little contest between the two parties.

All the other mortals had all but fainted on the spot, relief filling every fiber of their beings as they went back to his domain. Once they had traveled a fair distance away from any more prying eyes, the Fierce Deity turned on his heel and took out his less impressive blade. A simple dagger, but just as sharp and deadly as his double helix sword.

He held the blade up and his… pet? The word felt infinitesimally wrong. Tossing the descriptors aside for now, he noticed that they had closed their eyes at the sight of a weapon in his hands. Their head had turned away and once more their shoulders shook with the effort they exuded to keep a calm facade.

He cut the ropes around their wrists.

It fell away at once.

Their head snapped to their wrists, taking in the weight of his actions. The Fierce Deity also took in the exposed flesh before him. Gently, he cradled their hands, looking at their abused wrists that had been rubbed raw from the coarse material that had bound them. He would need to find a salve for them. The skin was red and angry, flaking at certain parts to show that damage had taken place, but there was no blood. It would heal, unlikely to even scar.

Their breath had hitched under his consideration. He gently returned their hands to their sides. “Are you injured anywhere else?”

“You’re not going to kill me?” They blurted in response, clutching their wrists close to their chest. “I thought… I thought you’d-”

“I am not the cold hearted killer as you humans love to portray me.” He says in a not so quiet voice despite his best attempts. “I get no pleasure from the destruction of the innocent.”

Anger returned to the edges of his skin. It was bubbling with unrestrained energy at the implications of this so-called sacrifice. The mortal rubbed their wrists, following at the same slow pace he had kept them at despite his subconscious shift in speed. It was only when he had noticed they had begun to fall back did he remember his previous question and intent.

Groaning inwardly, he turned once more and stopped in front of the mortal. “I don’t like to repeat myself, but I am inclined to admit this was my own folly. However, for future reference, do not test my patience. I had asked if you were injured elsewhere.”

The mortal stood frozen to the earth before slowly lowering their head at long last. “...My ankles are also tied up.”

Inwardly, the Fierce Deity cursed, but that would have been very ungentlemanly behavior toward this poor soul. Scowling over this morning's events wasn’t beneath him however, so he lowered himself to the dirt and lifted the hem of the dress. “Excuse me.”

They squeaked, but made no move to stop him as he pushed the silken material aside. He reached in, taking their leg in his hand and pulled it towards him. His hands were rough and calloused from constant use and abuse from his battles and training regiment but their skin was nothing of the sort. It was soft, almost as silken as the dress they donned. He kept his gaze low, not wanting to appear too wanton but the skin contact was inciting reactions he hadn’t known he was capable of experiencing. 

He made no comment about it and said nothing to give away the thoughts in his head.

The Fierce Deity pulled the leg closer to him- until it was pulled taut against an opposing force. The rope. Leaning closer so that it would be easier for the both of them, he once again took up his dagger and reached for the rope within the fabric.

Their hands landed on his much larger shoulders to keep their balance as he quickly did away with the physical limitation to their mobility. Afterwards, he cut away the knot found at the base at their leg, right where they said it would be. His fingertips lingered for a moment longer.

They would have to apply more salve to the irritated skin than he initially guessed but their shoes (also adorned in a higher fashion to match the rest of the gown and jewels) had protected much of their flesh as it was.

Slowly, hoping to not startle this already shaken individual, he moved to the other side and repeated the process of gently moving the gown away and reaching for their leg. To his surprise, they cooperated quickly and allowed him to take the knot away from their other foot.

Once the job was complete, he detached himself quickly. No need to entertain strange and primal thoughts.

“Come.” He spoke again, leading them deeper in unknown territory. Since they were now free from their bonds, they were able to move at a much faster pace- however his stride was not easily matched by anyone and the Fierce Deity found himself needing to slow down in order to keep them close.

He may not live in the most dangerous part of the land (his very presence is enough to keep even the more foolish monsters at bay) but that didn’t mean that threats weren’t watching them both from within the shadows among them.

“Oh.” They exclaimed quietly to themselves when they had arrived at his home. They seemed surprised, although he could not fathom why. He looked at them and as if on cue, they were rambling to explain themselves. “I didn’t think you would have lived…. Like this.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I have never needed much. What were you expecting?”

“Not a hut.” Came their honest reply. “I thought… a palace would have been more suited to you. Somewhere big and grandiose… not… Well, not this.”

He chuckled, startling his companion once more. “You humans know so little about me. Your assumptions are amusing.”

They laughed in return but it was stunted and weak. They were still nervous. “If… I may be so bold… what happens to me now?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? The Fierce Deity sighed and closed the distance to the front door. Opening it, he gestured to his guest to follow him in. “I do not intend to cause you harm. You need not fear for your safety or your life. However, I have no need for a servant or a slave…. And I do not enjoy the taste of human flesh.”

He added that last part in jest, hoping to dispel any lingering reservations about his violent nature. It didn’t appear to stick as he had hoped, then again, his voice was unnaturally stoic. “I will give you the choice to leave if you wish. There isn’t anything for you here.”

“...May I stay?”

Once more, this mortal had left him perplexed and intrigued. He had noted before that their braver had kept their head up even as he, with all the wrong assumptions in their head, had approached them. He was willing to bet that they had more courage than all the sniveling fools in their village had to offer.

“Why stay? I have nothing for you.” Aside from protection of course, but that was a given due to his nature.

Shocking him once more as their gaze reached his eyes, they spoke. “I have nowhere else to go. I came here willingly, knowing that I would never be accepted back in my village. If I return, I will be shunned and exiled for failing my task to please you.”

Something stirred within him once more at their words. “...I see.”

Interestingly, he had noticed that he had spoken more in this instance, in their company, than he had in many, many years. It was nice. Enjoyable even.

“Then you may stay.”

[exhoingspirit]

Sorry, I drew it in a hurry, but this is the best offering I have right now

@irunaki

[mattsmemes]

[bloodybosom]

Norman Saunders, The Devil's Mistress, 1961

[ourslutfactory]

Should we roast marshmallows?

[vexwerewolf]

If your religion prescribes death for certain crimes, that's human sacrifice. Sorry buddy, but entirely regardless of the secular ethics of capital punishment, a religious decree demanding the death of a person to balance moral scales is just a fancy way of demanding a human sacrifice.

[editsulli]

Sacrifice

[kabr0ztrousers]

Kabr0z Writes Episode 23: The Ritual, Part 2

Find the rest of the anthology here! And Part 1 here!

CWs: kidnapping; dubcon; noncon; group sex; blood; religious themes; major character death; ritual sacrifice; the afterlife;

A/N: the request was to have the demon marry the reader for part 3, that either means I have to bring to demon to her, or her to the demon. Don't worry, she gets better

######################################

You struggled against the hand on your face, more were grabbing you, dragging you off the street. They pulled you, kicking and struggling through the churchyard and into the chapel.

They pushed you onto the altar and started tearing off your dress. Six men in robes, hoods drawn over their faces. You thought you recognised one even with his face obscured, the pastor? That would explain how they got in here, and why they didn't seem worried about getting caught.

You lay there, pinned down by three pairs of hands while a fourth and fifth secured manacles around your limbs. The chains clanked and scraped against the rough stone, but held.

"Prepare her" That was definitely the pastor's voice. That bastard had always had it out for you.

The men started rubbing you down with an acrid-smelling oil, covering every inch of your bare skin. They were incredibly thorough, making sure to coat every part of you. The sensation of them rubbing against your tits and your pussy caused you to flush, still leaking cum from the earlier debauchery. Once the cultists had finished oiling your body the pastor pulled out a long curved dagger, the silver blade decorated with rubies, glinting in the candlelight.

White hot pain filled your head as he started carving designs into your skin, a collection of runes and glyphs, taking extra care on your belly and your chest, painstaking cutting a delicately patterned filigree into you. At last he finished, blood seeping from the designs you were now marked with.

"Now, partake in the sacrament, for L'Saat"

The pastor took out his cock, already fully hard, and stuffed it into your pussy. The combination of ritual oils, the cum from the bar, and the wetness from being prepared easily allowed him in. The other men stood back, watching their leader fuck you over the altar until with a grunt he withdrew. His cum sprayed over you, mingling with the blood on your belly as it hit you. The next cultist was just as eager, thrusting into you and toying with your clit. You whined in pain and pleasure as you came under him before he too pulled out, rushing over to your face to cum over it, the liquid stinging your eyes a little as it got in them. The next was already in you, pumping away, groping your tits and driving himself deep inside you. Over and over the cultists fucked you, each one pulling out and covering you with their seed.

You could see daylight from the stained glass windows before they stopped. The pastor pulled out the same curve-bladed dagger, stained with your blood and flashing cruelly in the early morning light.

The dagger plunged into you

The world went quiet. Then dark

Your eyes snap open. You're in a dress. You hear a voice

"Do you take L'Saat as your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do" You answered without thinking

"Then I pronounce you married, forevermore. You may kiss the bride"

What the fuck?

[agentrouka-blog]

I find it infinitely fascinating that Dany - even outside a purely Targaryen context - follows the footsteps of her female ancestors and is married far too young, is pregnant with a prophecy baby, and would have likely died giving birth to a deformed stillborn half-dragon fetus. A disposable vessel for a flawed incarnation of war and conquest, given no room for her own desires, her own inherent worth.

And a healer saves her from this fate. She helps her survive the traumatic birth even though she is in conflict with Dany and her people, has been victimized by Dany and her people. Dany is allowed to escape the cycle of birthing a conqueror. Is allowed to escape the cycle of dying for men's ambition.

And then she turns that healer into a vessel for her weapon of war, burns her alive to birth herself a conqueror. Mirri screams in agony to give life to Dany's ambitions. The maternal sacrifice to Dany patriarchical consummation of her body and life.

Dany could have chosen a painful lesson and freedom. She chose to uphold the oppressive cycle, with herself at the top now. The half-human dead child fully replaced by reptiles that will kill for her within a year.

Mother, she calls herself.

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I got kidnapped by a cult and were going to use me as a human sacrifice, but instead of chanting something creepy they chanted the lyrics to Big Lizard by The Dead Milkmen.