Hey so idk if you will ever read this but i am really curious and it is quite important for me to reach a conclusion ig?
I am extremely interested in practicing Kemeticism and came across the KO and Dr. Sidua? And the official site claimed she has the kingly ka?
The thing is I am staunchly anti monarchy (especially the modern day version) and well it made me think if my stance on monarchy would well...not sit well with the gods?
I apologise if i come off as ignorant or silly but it is something i wished to know.
regarding Siuda, my understanding is that she did the rituals that you'd undergo to become a king in antiquity, and that's where the "has the kingly ka" comes into play.
as for the gods, ime, it depends on the deity. in my personal experience, there are certain ntrw who are more down with anti-monarchy/hierarchy stuff and there are those who are less down with it. there are certainly a few ntrw i've had friction with because of my stances on it, but it may not be an issue for everyone.
i think it depends on how often and how hard you brow beat them about it :')
there are definitely kemetics out there who seek to remove a lot of that hierarchy, so you wouldn't be alone, if nothing else.
Previously titled Body Full of Sin, this started out as a one-shot that I decided I want to write a continuation for. Please read the warnings.
Important warning: This story contains and centers around Mp/reg. If you don’t know what it is, read here. The first few paragraphs are informative enough. Make sure you’re okay with it before you proceed.
Other warnings: Rape, bloodplay, mentions of child abuse, dark themes around religion.
Note: I want to give a hat-tip to this fic, because it served as a great push and inspiration for me to write this continuation.
Word count: 6.1k
Ch. 1: Tumblr / AO3
Ch. 2: AO3
The demon spawn left the church not long after he was done.
Killian looked around and was surprised to see that there was no blood left as he lay in the confessional, feeling broken, violated and shameful. Everything around him, even his own body parts showed no signs anymore of what had just happened to him. Except of course, of the pain. No-one would believe him if he said anything.
He got dressed carelessly and walked out. David wasn’t there. He was probably at the office, filing paperwork or whatever.
Killian limped to the exit. He felt a shiver as he walked out of the church and went on to his car. Getting into it and sitting on the driver’s seat was an ordeal, and he winced as pain in his behind overtook him, but he managed to relax, enough to drive to his block. He got out and walked to his apartment, ignoring anyone who greeted him.
He went into the shower and tried to relax under the warm water. He could still feel pain, as if that demon was still raping him. He cried softly.
Was this really happening? How was it possible? He had the terrible feeling that that demon would come again soon. Why was he thinking that? Why couldn’t he get the demon’s disgusting sounds of lust out of his head?
Realizing that he couldn’t really feel clean enough, no matter how much he washed, he covered himself with a bathrobe and went straight for his bed, burying himself under the covers.
For the next two days, he only left his bed to eat something fast and use the bathroom, then went back to the minimum comfort and protection he felt there.
David called him to ask him why he hadn’t come to work, but Killian only replied that he wasn’t feeling well. It was not a lie by any means, but he could never admit the truth to him.
The next day, when he finally felt sitting down was a little easier, he dressed into normal clothes and drove to the church. He held the rosary tight in his hand and contemplated going in. He knew he had rejected his own God, and that he had little hope He would hear him now, but a little praying wouldn’t harm anyone, would it?
Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to get out. He felt dirty, and he felt ruined. Damaged. Nothing could bring him back now, and it was his fault that he gave in the first time.
He bent over, hugged his torso and let his forehead rest on the wheel, and he cried.
Neither Peter nor his spawn visited him for days. On Saturday evening, a time he knew David wasn’t at the church, he finally got the courage to drive back to the church and get in. He felt relieved when he realized he could actually cross the threshold unharmed. He wasn’t completely ruined, after all.
He sat on a bench and crossed his hand with his prosthetic, the rosary between them.
Our Father, Who is in heaven,
Holy is Your Name;
Your kingdom come,
Your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
He recited the prayer with closed eyes, willing himself to believe in it as much as he could.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our sins,
as we forgive those who sin against us;
and lead us not into temptation-
A small vibration in his hand cut his praying off. He opened his eyes and looked at the rosary in horror, as he saw the lower part of the crucifix bent sideways.
He gasped and the rosary fell from his hand. The crucifix kept benting until it was completely transformed beyond recognition.
That’s it, he thought. He has rejected me.
He ran out of the church to his car, not realizing how much he was crying until he reached his block. He hastily wiped the tears off his face as he walked with his head down. He went immediately for his bed and wished he would never need to get out of it again.
Movement around the house woke him up at midnight. Feeling stiff from having slept in his clothes and his head hurting from his crying, he supported himself at his elbows and looked to his bedroom door.
He didn’t remember closing the door earlier, and now he could see light underneath it. He could hear something being dragged from the living room...
The door opened suddenly and Killian froze at the sight of Peter resting on the doorframe. He was wearing a suit and was holding a glass goblet, already filled with a red liquid.
“I’d suppose you need something more than I do. Something probably stronger than wine, though. How long have you stayed clean, again?” Peter said and splayed his fingers towards Killian’s nightstand. Killian turned and saw a bottle of rum sitting on it, open and ready for use.
“No, no, please. Let me be,” Killian said and grabbed at his blanket in despair.
“Hmm, you see, at the end of the day, it was your choice to give yourself to me. So there’s not much I can do now.” Peter left the doorframe and walked closer to Killian’s bed.
“Not like this. I didn’t know.” A sob escaped Killian, his despair prominent in his voice.
“I’m a demon. What did you expect?” Pan said and laughed, then took a sip from his glass. “Rumple,” he said and turned at the door.
Killian froze again as he saw a man enter, dragging the armchair from the living room. He whimpered when he saw his smiling face. It was the demon spawn that had raped him in the church.
Peter sat comfortably at the chair and crossed his legs. “Come on, give me a good show.”
The demon spawn turned to Killian, his smile unwavering.
“No! No, please!”
“Rules apply here too, dearie. Scream all you want. No-one will hear you.”
And scream he did. It was horrible, even more painful than he remembered. The monster had pushed him on his belly, crying out in pleasure as he slammed and slammed into him. He was grabbing his hair, pushing half of his face into his tear-soaked pillow and forcing him to keep looking at Peter who was watching the whole thing with exuberant glee, drinking from his glass the whole time.
He knew it went on for a long time. He felt spent and devastated from the beginning, but he wasn’t allowed a moment of rest. Whenever the demon spilled inside him, he just kept going with unstoppable energy.
His voice gone hoarse from screaming, he hadn’t stopped begging them both to stop, even when the pleas came out in broken, unintelligible whispers.
Finally, the demon spilled inside him one last time, then lay down on the bed next to him, breathing hard. Peter stood up from the armchair, looking as elegant as when he first appeared that night, even after countless glasses of wine. Killian flinched and closed his eyes when he saw him raise his hand towards him, and whimpered when he felt it brush through his hair.
“What a sight,” Peter whispered. “Now rest. You’ll need it until the next time.”
And just like that, both demons were gone. Killian couldn’t even cry, he just stayed where he was, broken and dirty and used, listening to the morning bells ring somewhere far.
Some time later, having lost complete track of time, he crawled into the shower and let the water wash away the blood and release and pain. The latter didn’t disappear that easily. He couldn’t even stand, nor sit, he just lay uncomfortably on the cold tiles, crying his heart out.
He should do something. Perhaps let David know, or at least go to a hospital to get some painkillers and...
How could he? How could he get out there and admit that he’d let himself fall into a pit of continuous abuse and pain?
No, it couldn’t be just his fault. Peter had seduced him... and he hadn’t had much choice when it came to his demon spawn, had he?
Hadn’t Peter called him something? A name or... a rank? He had no idea what it was, but he couldn’t remember it no matter how much he tried to. The only thing that came to mind was the pain he’d caused him all night long. And it wouldn’t mean anything if he did know his name. No-one was protecting him anymore.
He stayed in the shower long after the warm water was over, only finding the strength to turn it off when he started shivering from the cold. He struggled to stand, hastily draped a bathrobe around him and hobbled painfully to his bed. He gasped when he saw it was immaculate. No blood, no semen, no tears on the pillow... not even the smell was there anymore.
Feeling tears run down his cheeks again at the thought that he had no proof left beside his physical and emotional agony, he collapsed at the entrance of his bedroom and cried again.
He woke up with his whole body in pain. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep, and only his spit drooling out of his mouth to the floor was the proof of that. He didn’t feel any better, no rest or relief from the pain or the horrible thoughts. He stood up on shaky feet, shivering as he remembered he was only wearing the bathrobe, and looked inside the bedroom again.
His bed was cleaned and made, but his clothes from the other night were still lying in tatters next to it.
Killian felt his head ready to explode as memories assaulted him, memories of that demon ripping them off his body before he pushed him hard down on the bed and...
“No!” he cried hoarsely. No, no, he needed some air... without even bothering to put on underwear, he slipped into the first shirt and trousers he grabbed from his wardrobe, put on his shoes and ran outside. He collapsed on the stairs more than a few times before he reached the exit of the block. He pushed the door firmly and walked outside.
The cold wind only made him feel even more exposed, more vulnerable. It was late; he didn’t have his phone, what if someone attacked him?
But he couldn’t find it in himself to walk back in. He found a quiet, almost hidden spot among the parking lot and lay down there. He brought his knees as close to his chest as his aching behind allowed him, hugged his torso with his arms and cried softly.
He only stood up hours later because of his growling stomach. He still had needs to fulfill, and something told him that if he failed to do so, Peter and his spawn would come to make sure he did.
Instead the first thing he picked up when he entered his apartment was the still open bottle of rum. He downed a few gulps, feeling the burning he never forgot, welcoming it back.
He didn’t regret his decision, not even later, as he lay down on the bathroom floor, the bottle empty next to him and its contents just thrown up from Killian’s stomach into the toilet.
The days passed and all Killian could do was lie on his couch - lying on the bed was off the question after that night - eat only to appease his hunger and use the bathroom. His supplies were ending and he felt a terror at the thought that he would have to go out for groceries.
How could he face the world again?
That didn’t apply when he ran to grab a good ol’ bottle of rum or whiskey, however. With the bottle already half empty by the time he was back home, he felt like he could get to the rooftop and scream what was happening to him, for all the world to hear.
They came again next Saturday, right on midnight to Sunday. Peter sat on the armchair, crossing his legs and sipping his wine as Rumple - that was his spawn’s name - broke him apart all over again.
They left him at dawn again, and he was left in the same condition as last week, listening to the morning bells.
They came only on Saturdays, leaving him the same way, as if to remind him what he left behind.
On the fifth Saturday, Killian found the strength to drive to his church. He owed an explanation anyway. Salvation was not even a question right then.
He felt a slight pain in his stomach as he walked up the stairs to the entrance, but he ignored it. He’d been having cramps anyway, and he was lucky he could even walk after the horrors he’d been enduring.
He couldn’t ignore though the burning fire that blasted inside him as soon as he crossed the threshold. He cried desperately and took an instinctive step backwards. The pain subsided mostly, leaving a small burning feeling behind.
It was nothing to the terror he felt as he saw David’s horrified face, looking at him through the entrance.
“Killian...” he whispered and reached for the crucifix hanging from his neck.
It was enough to send Killian running away in shock.
He couldn’t step inside the church. The demons had infected him, and now he was seen as a threat by David too. He had no idea how he had the vigor to run, he already felt his hips protest from the strain, but he only ran and ran, until the nausea that had bothered him since that morning got the best of him. He fell on his knees as far from people as he could and threw up.
Only the shame of being in public gave him the motivation to get back on his feet. He still felt terribly nauseated and cramped, but the only thing on his mind was that he was too unsanctified to walk on holy ground anymore.
With little thought that he’d left his car outside the church, he merely walked back to his apartment and collapsed on his bed.
It was Saturday. He’d only wanted to ask for some help, just in case someone could offer it...
The feeling of someone’s fingers brushing through his hair startled him awake. It was only Peter, this time wearing simple clothes and sitting on Killian’s bed with a soft smile on his face.
“Wakey, wakey. I heard you tried to reach your God today.”
Killian shivered and tried to pull away from the touch. Peter let him, and he sat up on the bed, wincing.
“Why did this happen suddenly? I... I went into the church after... the first... and then your... your son...”
Peter shook his head lightly. “It wasn’t you that the ‘holy’,” he made a face at the word before continuing, “grounds tried to harm.”
“What then?”
Peter lowered his gaze and touched his hand on Killian’s lower stomach. “Why, this little thing growing inside of you.”
Killian blinked at him. “What? Wha- no.”
“You’ve been having cramps and nausea, haven’t you?”
Killian shook his head frantically. “No, no, no. How - how is this possible?” he stuttered between heavy breaths.
“I’m a demon,” Peter said and shrugged. “Anything’s possible. Like this thing.” He snapped his fingers.
Killian found himself naked, lying down on the bed on his back. There were chains around his ankles and his wrists, even holding his severed left arm in place though it should have easily slipped off. The chains pulled at his limbs, forcing his legs open in a painful position, and Killian gasped in pain and shock.
“Normally, we can only impregnate women,” Peter whispered as he stood above him, naked as well. “But my Rumple is special, different from my other spawns, and therefore my favorite.” He bent forward, getting too close to Killian’s face. “He can impregnate men.” His smile was fierce and cold and sent shivers throughout all of Killian’s body. “So don’t worry, you’re not really the first one to go through this. It has happened a lot before.”
“Please...” Killian begged weakly, tears of shock running down his face. “Leave me be.”
“What’s done is done, my dear,” Pan replied and sat between his legs.
“Peter, please. Don’t do this…”
“Stop calling me Peter,” he hissed. “Such a ridiculous nickname, hearing it in your thoughts all the time. My real name is Pan.” He moved forward and kissed Killian’s wet and frozen lips. “Mmm. I quite missed you.”
Killian didn’t even scream that night. The pain was the same, and though Pan was very inventive of ways to make him suffer more, only so that Pan could laugh at him, the shock and the fear settled deep down in Killian’s mind and he couldn’t react at all.
It was only early in the morning that he finally did. Pan had just finished, and he threw himself all over him. Killian could feel his frantic pants as well as the low chuckle at the sound of the bells.
“The bells ring for the faithful,” Pan said. “But you’re not one of them now, are you?” He caressed Killian’s cheek with his knuckles, letting his hand rest on his neck, and Killian finally started sobbing.
If he really thought on it, he still had a tiny burning feeling in his stomach.
Pan left without making the chains go away.
The nightmares later came at full force. He saw Hellfire, he saw suffering, tormented, cursed souls screaming for help. Liam and Milah begging him to save them. And a small creature, sometimes deep red, sometimes black, grasping at him and stealing his breath, leaving him broken, weak, begging for death.
He finally woke up screaming. He was still naked, still chained down on his bed, his blood and Pan’s release all around his sheets. His body ached from his painful position and he was bruised where the chains were squeezing him. But he couldn’t get his eyes off his stomach. Could it really be true? How could he even know? Was his stomach really gonna start growing? How would it even work?
The chains didn’t disappear until the next night. Killian wheezed from the pain, barely able to move his body after being held in such a painful position for so long. His hand went to his stomach, helplessly trying to catch any movement from... inside. He knew it was probably too early for that but, him carrying a child - a demon - wasn’t normal at all. Who knew how different this would be for him.
It shocked him. He was going to bear a child, a very demon. He was going to give birth to it - how could that even happen? How would it-
He sighed, mind and soul too weary to focus on such questions. He just needed to get help somehow.
But who would believe him? David was the closest thing he had to a friend, and he wouldn’t even trust him anymore.
Perhaps if he went to a doctor, asking for help to remove it...
He felt a pang in his stomach, unrelated to whatever might be growing there. He knew the Church’s stance on abortion, he’d spent years following it, and though he knew that this creature was as unholy as any of its predecessors and was practically possessing him, he felt guilty at the idea of killing it.
He crawled himself painfully into a ball and sobbed himself to sleep.
He woke up in pain, parched, and starving. Sundays were always like that, him waking at random hours and feeling like death, barely able to lift from his stained bed to attend to his body’s needs.
He thought that, at least, if he couldn’t remove it, he ought at least to know what it was, and what it would do to him. But he couldn’t do much during the following days, as the shock overwhelmed him and Pan’s assault was significantly worse than Rumple’s.
The week went by too fast for his liking, and he was still healing from Pan’s torments when Rumple appeared right in front of him next Saturday.
Killian startled, sitting up in bed and trying to move away.
“No, no, please,” he said. “You did what you had to do, please leave me be.”
“Now why would I do that? You’re such a pleasure to use. Why should my father get all the fun?”
“Please, no. I’m... I’m carrying…” Killian breathed hard, unable to utter the words that had been plaguing his mind all week long. He glanced at his stomach. “Please.”
“Oh, I know, I know.” Rumple reached forward and caressed Killian’s hair. Killian whimpered and closed his eyes, a few tears squeezing through them. “We don’t usually bother our hosts after knocking them up, but you’re simply...“ he leaned in and put his lips on his hair, breathing him in before adding, “... irresistible.”
Killian started sobbing. His tired, pained body couldn’t resist Rumple’s assaults, as he rid him of his clothes, then pushed him on his stomach and prepared to enter him. But Rumple only started toying with him, touching the head of his cock to Killian’s rear and pushing it in only a little, then drawing back, over and over again.
“Please...” Killian said.
“Mmm?” Rumple said between pants.
“Just get... get on with... with it.”
Rumple laughed. “You want me to fuck you properly? Can’t stand the teasing of my cock in your ass?”
Killian whimpered in response. Rumple continued his teasing for hours. Each second was a small push and pull. Each tick from the clock on Killian’s bedside table was a stab of pain in his ass. He closed his eyes, burying half of his face in his tear soaked pillow, leaving out only as much as he needed to keep breathing.
He vaguely wondered if it mattered whether he could breathe or not.
And then, without a single warning, Rumple pushed all his length inside him with force, and Killian screamed into his pillow. He felt Rumple’s hands grab his buttocks hard, digging his nails into his flesh, and then him drawing back and entering him again with the same force. Killian already felt the blood around his hole, slicking the tissue so that Rumple was entering him with more ease now.
“Stop! Please!” Killian screamed, but Rumple’s only response were moans and pants of pleasure.
After some more painful time, he felt Rumple spill inside him and pull off... and to his horror, also felt him reach down to his hole with his mouth, sucking. Killian tensed and screamed, but a hard punch delivered at his lower back forced him to relax, and Rumple kept on sucking. He then grabbed Killian’s hair and turned his face towards him.
Killian’s lips started trembling when he saw the bloody smile on the demon’s face. Rumple leaned in and opened his mouth against Killian’s, forcing blood and cum inside. Killian screamed through his nose and thrashed around, but with one move Rumple pulled away and... Killian found he couldn’t open his mouth. It was closed shut, and no matter what he tried, even pulling with his own hand, his lips wouldn’t detach from each other.
Rumple turned him on his back. Killian felt bile rise in his throat in disgust of what Rumple had put inside his mouth forcing him to swallow it, and he couldn’t stop it in time. He heaved forward, but his mouth still wouldn’t open, so part of his vomit went out of his nostrils and rolled down his chin and neck to his chest. The rest of it, along with his blood and Rumple’s cum were still in his mouth, forcing him to blow his cheeks to hold it all.
“Swallow it, dearie. Perhaps it’ll be good for the baby,” Rumple said, caressing Killian’s hair with both his hands.
Killian trembled, realizing that Rumple wouldn’t let him open his mouth until he swallowed, and the more he left the horrible mix there, the more disgusting it felt. Knowing he had no other choice, he swallowed, wincing at the horrendous taste and feeling down his throat. He finally managed to open his mouth then, only to let out a sob.
“There, there,” Rumple said. Still holding onto his hair, he forced Killian to sit and guided his head to rest on his bare chest as he trembled and cried. His position was pushing at his bleeding ass, making the pain even worse than before. Killian kept crying uncontrollably as Rumple caressed his hair and back, pretending to mutter words of comfort to him.
He was so tired. He barely had time to heal enough before either of them came to rip him apart all over again. Every time they came, he was getting worse and worse.
“How long?” Killian breathed through his sobs.
“How long what, sweetheart?” Rumple said and turned to leave a kiss on his hair.
“How long will... you keep... doing this?” His voice was shaking.
He felt Rumple’s laugh shake his chest lightly.
“How long will we keep coming and raping you? I guess, as long as we can.”
“Please.”
“Nuh-huh.” He pulled away a little to look into Killian’s tear-stained eyes. Killian couldn’t stop looking - and trembling - at the sight of his own blood around Rumple’s mouth. “You need to understand that this is how we work. It’s not our fault you’re so enjoyable, broken and pleading like this.”
As if on cue, Killian sobbed.
“And deep down, it is your fault. You let us right in.”
“No...“ Killian said weakly and closed his eyes as more tears came.
“Yes... You chose us, well my father to be fair, but if you really wanted your Lord’s protection, you would have it.”
Killian’s heart sank. How could he not want to be protected at that moment? He was suffering, living a Hell right where he was.
Instead, Rumple pushed him back into his arms and caressed his hair like he was some kind of a fucking pet, hurt and asking for attention.
“There, there,” he said again in a mock soothing voice. “Poor dearie, you remind me of babies in desperate need of a pacifier.”
Killian finally found the strength to push him back, away from him. He suddenly felt a flash of anger rush through him.
But Rumple was only smiling. “I don’t have a pacifier, but it’s close enough.” And then he grabbed his member and started rubbing.
“No! No! Get out!” Killian tried to move, but Rumple was sitting on his thighs, moving higher to push him back on the bed and sit right on his hips. Killian screamed as Rumple pushed his aching ass down on the mattress, and could only watch as his member went hard again.
Rumple panted. “There,” he said, grabbing his member with one hand and Killian’s hair with the other. “Suck on this for daddy.” Killian froze.
It all lasted a second, but it was as immobilizing as ever. One only word took him back, to his father’s angry face, to the abuse he’d endured from him, to his fear of him, to the cigarette burns still visible on his back... He had never raped him, of course, but all that pain felt significantly bigger to a child as young as he had been.
And as soon as the flashbacks were over, Killian felt Rumple’s member slide inside his mouth, making him gag. Instinctively, his hand reached up to remove it and his teeth bit down on it. It felt as if he was biting down on rocks.
“Ah, that won’t... do, so try all you... want. Oh fucking hell...“
Killian couldn’t even sob anymore. Rumple’s member went all the way down to his throat, nearly choking him with his thrusts. Killian shook and cried silently, the only sounds in the room being Rumple’s gasps and moans, the popping sound of his cock in his mouth, the creaking of his bed, and that bloody tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock...
The next thing Killian registered was Rumple pulling off, spilling cum on his face and mouth. Then he passed out, having a nightmare whose only detail he remembered was pain and a ticking clock.
He woke up later, the only indication it was early afternoon being his blasted clock, and for a moment he didn’t realize why he hated it so much and why his room was stinking so much.
It wouldn’t be the first Sunday he woke up not remembering half of the things that had happened. But this time it simply felt weird. He smelt something more than release, something worse... Then he took a glance sideways, to the full-length mirror facing him. He saw the dried blood on his lips and the vomit that had run down his chin and it all came back to him.
He barely managed to lean over the side of the bed before his previously swallowed vomit made a reappearance. It burned, coming out of his nostrils as well. When he finished, feeling like he’d thrown up his entire stomach, he looked at the result and shivered. Among the bile he could see the blood and the release from earlier. He whimpered before a second round came up, shorter this time but as forceful and exhausting as the first.
He let his head fall onto the bed, staying in an awkward position as he fought to take control of his breathing and frantic heartbeat. He needed to clean up... he needed to stand up...
He needed help.
Next Thursday he felt strong enough to drive to a hospital further away, where he hoped no one would recognize him and no one would pay him enough attention to remember him.
After he parked and killed the machine, he grasped desperately at the wheel. Sitting down, even walking was still too painful. He’d have to hobble through the parking lot, then through the corridors in order to reach the secretary, then to wherever they would send him for his appointment.
But he had to see. Judging by his calculations, the... fetus was around five to six weeks old. The research he’d fearfully done on the subject had told him an ultrasound would show it clearly. He had to see. Perhaps he could get help this way.
Breathing deep, he exited his car and walked slowly to the hospital, trying to cover his limping. After long explanations about stomach pain and bloating - the last one was nothing but true - he was finally brought into a room, a nurse asking him to raise his shirt. He trembled a little when the doctor came in and prepared the machine.
“Calm down. We’ll get to see what’s wrong with you,” she said.
Her tone did nothing to help him relax. He resigned to watch her as she squeezed gel onto the transducer and held his breath while she brought it close to his skin. He gasped at the cold touch when it made contact, and closed his eyes, fearing the doctor’s reaction.
But the doctor was silent. No gasped breaths, no screams, nothing. He opened his eyes and saw her searching the display, confusion settling on her brows after a while.
“I don’t see anything wrong,” she said after a full minute of searching his stomach up and down.
“What?” he said without thinking.
“Apparently it’s not something we can see with an ultrasound. Perhaps you should appoint for a blood test and an MRI-”
“You’re not seeing anything there?” he said, pointing at the display. How could it... did Pan trick him? But he’d already felt nausea, fatigue and bloating even before he’d told him.
“No. Have you taken any other tests?”
Admittedly, perhaps the first thing he should have done was take a pregnancy test - as much as the idea absolutely terrified him.
“No. B-but, tell me something. A p-pregnancy would show five weeks in, right?”
The doctor raised her eyebrows. “Yes?”
Killian sighed in confusion.
“Do you think you’re pregnant?” She didn’t appear to be judging him, only curious. Killian consoled himself with the thought that she only asked because she wanted to help him. It was her job, after all.
“Yes,” he said, lowering his eyes.
“Couvade?” the nurse asked her.
“We’ll see. Now, mister Jones, I need to ask you some questions. Were you born male?”
He flinched. Of course she would try to convince him it wasn’t possible. Even if he allowed them to help, he would have to also tell them that he was being raped... with no physical signs but a slight limp to show for it.
He felt tears prickle his eyes. “I need to leave,” he said and threw his legs off the bed.
“Wait a moment. If it’s sympathetic pregnancy, we’ll need to-”
“I don’t care. I have to go.”
He ignored everything else they said, even when the nurse ran off after him.
“Are you alright, sir? You’re limping.”
He turned to look at her and the nurse gasped, taking a step back. He couldn’t understand why she did and he didn’t care. He walked away without looking back.
When he entered his car, he wasn’t surprised to see Pan appear out of nowhere in the passenger seat. He only looked around to make sure nobody had seen him.
“Did you really think it would be that easy?” Pan said.
“Is it true? Am I really carrying your spawn?”
“Grand-spawn, to be specific, but yes. Why would I lie to you?” he chuckled and turned on his seat towards him.
“To creep me out. To scare me out of asking for help. To make me think I was going to die.” Killian was still looking far ahead.
“Oh, you are going to die, sadly. But I guess you’ll see for yourself when your belly starts growing and you start to feel the baby kick.”
Killian swallowed hard at all the information. He was going to... to feel the creature inside him... he would eventually look the part... and he wouldn’t survive the end of this torture.
His breathing went faster, and he closed his eyes as he gripped hard on the wheel.
“Hey, it’s okay... I can make sure it’s fast, if you want,” Pan said coolly and caressed Killian’s cheek with his knuckles. Killian couldn’t even move. He only opened his eyes to look at someone staring at them through his car window.
A feeling of shame washed over him at the fact that he saw them this way, and then the man turned to his side and started yelling. He rushed out of the car and threw himself on the ground, hitting the burning arm of his jacket on it to extinguish the flames.
He managed it before any big harm was done, and then he looked at them both, terror covering his face when he looked at Pan and then he ran towards the hospital.
“Why did you do that?” Killian asked.
“Oh, I didn’t. If it were me the car would have exploded, with him still looking at us.” He lowered his hand from Killian’s cheek to lay it flat on his stomach. Killian’s eyes followed the movement. “Seems this one is a little timid with her powers yet.”
“Her? It’s a girl? Can you see her?” He looked up back at him.
Pan nodded, a small smile appearing on his lips as he stroked Killian’s stomach.
“And sh- she has powers?”
“Why did you think the nurse lost her shit earlier?”
Killian looked at him apprehensively.
“Your daughter made your eyes look all black for a few seconds, and the nurse was creeped out.”
Killian froze at the word daughter, and didn’t move as Pan adjusted the rearview mirror so that Killian could see his reflection on it. “Come on, sweetheart. Show your papa what you’re worth.”
Indeed, Killian saw his own pupils dilate and cover his irises and scleras until the whole of both of his eyes looked black. He shivered and whimpered softly, and his eyes returned to normal.
“I’d suggest you be careful with your interactions,” Pan said as Killian lowered his gaze and placed his hand next to Pan’s on his stomach. “Who knows how she’ll react in public if another person bothers you.”
“Please leave,” Killian whispered, and then he was alone. He leaned forward, keeping his hand on his stomach and wrapping his other arm around him, and cried silently in horror.
He was carrying a demon inside him.
That fact obviously didn’t deter Pan and Rumple from hurting him.
S-It was unpredictable. It could harm others, and he’d have to isolate himself.
He was going to die.
“Please, leave. Leave me alone,” he repeated in a shaky voice, hand still on his stomach. “Leave.”
My mom just texted me...she is fine; she is visiting NYC and was in Lower Manhatten but several blocks away from the terror attack; she was not there or involved, and is 100% fine. We're going to talk on the phone in a few minutes.
This is horrible. Sending love and strength to anyone affected.
when you say "fursuit cum spirits" are you saying that you were wearing one before/after/during the sexual stuff?
omg
NOT MY FURSUIT
I was speaking about a spirit wandering a convention that looked suspiciously like a living fursuit and showed me things I did not want to see about how it came into existence
Thanku for answering my previous ask, i deeply appreciate it.
Just a follow up, which gods do you think are more willing to look over my anti monarchy stance?
P.S. I have felt extremely called by Ma'at and Set so i would like to know, from your experience if they are willing to accept this side of me.
Once again thanku for ur time!
upg time, but anyone outside of Re and HSA is probably fine. they are the two ntrw i've had the most conflict with regarding this topic.
set, imo, is the deity par excellence to be around if you're anti-monarchy. i'd also say that ma'at is a good choice because, frankly, monarchy tends to go against the core principles of ma'at (imo).
Hi! I just want to say your blog is so helpful, I've had Sehkmet's presence in my life for a while now and it's been so helpful in learning how to honour her better. I was wondering how much traditional 'Wiccan' rituals overlap with those you may perform as a Kemetic? Do you celebrate the solstices/equinoxes, work with the elements and perform magic with spells like you'd find in a spell book?. I'm coming at this from a very chaos witch point of view, so far I've been doing what 'feels' right.
It is my unpopular opinion that Wicca doesn’t overlap with Kemeticism much at all. That’s not to say you couldn’t find a way to make Wicca work with Kemetic elements, but I don’t feel like straight-out-of-the-box Wicca is going to line up with Kemeticism in a lot of ways. Most of the Wicca I’ve come across is very Europen-centered, and relies on a lot of the imagery and seasonality that is present in Europe. So in the same way that I didn’t find that Wicca worked well for someone in AZ who doesn’t have holly in the winter or harvest in September, I feel like Wicca is going to have some challenges being formatted to AE seasons and rituals.
In terms of ritual structure, we don’t necessarily call quarters or set up barriers or wards around us. We don’t have any idea what laypersons did for rituals in antiquity, so we’re often left utilizing what we have from the priesthood in antiquity. On the most formal level, you’d cleanse the space, cleanse the deity’s icon, play music and offer specific amulets and items to the deity, you’d feed, dress, water, and flatter the deity all before reverting offerings to be eaten. This is an example of a somewhat traditional ritual. Luckily for you, its to Sekhmet, so that should be helpful to at least give you an idea of what you could use if you wanted.
In terms of the calendar, AE worked off of a three-season system that was composed of a dry season, a flood season, and a growing season. I’ve seen people format the Egyptian calendar to line up more with what we use up here, converting Mysteries to be related to Samhain, etc. but most of the time I feel that the adjustments feel forced. As someone who also lives in a location with three seasons, I really don’t feel like most four-season models work seamlessly, and I think that bias shows up in this instance. Technically if you wanted to convert the Egyptian calendar to the Wiccan one, you can, its just really not my personal preference.
We have enough holidays to sink a boat, many of which are tied to the moon phases and the cycle of seasons in AE, so those things line up conceptually, at least. We also have “magic”, though we call it heka. I feel like heka can line up with what you find in a spell book, but its also much more complex and all-encompassing than what most folks think of when they think of spell work and magic (because heka involves every aspect of communication, at all times.)
The FAQ has a section on our calendar and on heka, so that may be worth investigating for more ideas.
All in all, I personally feel like “do what feels right” is a good place to start, and is a place that is worth visiting regularly. There isn’t necessarily anything wrong with not being historically informed* so I’m not saying that you absolutely need to modify what you’re doing to align up with what’s been laid out above. But in terms of discrepancies I often see btwn Wicca and Kemeticism, this is what comes to mind first.
idkifthatshelpful?
*provided you’re not telling people that it is when its not and actively trying to ensure you’re not doing things that would be considered disrespectful in the religious practice, not appropriating in what you’re doing, etc.
