#the ecstatic cult

[unwri-ten]

Happy 2 followers

[raerodart]

What’s that saying the shippers say? “i’m so normal about them”?

[tlwebb]

[remadra]

evening stroll

[werewolfgenesis]

Do you picture Sprinkleshine as an actual transformation into a unicorn or do you think it's more like a posession situation?

Time for the Stardust Sprinkleshine lore (yippee!!)

This might not be worded the best but I'll try best I can

I think heavily depends on the situation, whether or not Stardust is trying to recruit and convert or whether or not he's trying to "purify" the person and send them to his "happiness land" (as he mentions taking children there in the McDonald's Zombie Survival video)

I think typically most Stardust Sprinkleshine appearances would be classified as possessions, where he just takes over a person's body, or simply invading their mind, or mind control

This doesn't change the person's appearance at all and he uses it simply as a means to try and convert others into The Love Cult, tainting their minds and trying to lead them to his idea of "purity"

When someone is converted into a unicorn, he is "purifying" them and sending them to his "happiness land"

Their bodies remain as unicorns and once they've done their due part, they die, as they've had their energy stripped and life away and taken from them, feeding Stardust and making him stronger and more easily able to bend the minds of his followers and those he tries to convert

He and his followers see both things as blessings, and being "purified" by him and send to the happiness land in such a way is viewed as the highest honor and purest form of love

[bitchesgate3]

Someone needs to a write an Orin and Durge fic in the same style as the game "The Cult of the Lamb".

[faneth]

do you ever hear your own voice call out to you?

[myballsitchaurghouchie]

el oh el

I hole hands with cosmic entities........

[oflgtfol]

LOOK AT HIM. HE'S MINEEEEE

[kali-lamb]

||*Sprinklez gives you a chezborger*

' FURR yew!!! ' Xp

—sprinklezz the anon… i thinks... 🐶🐶

oh uh... thank you?

[yurunivo]

Synopsis: continuation of this idea (and also subtracting and adding a few of my own) part 2 part 3 part 4

TW: yandere behavior, cult ish behavior, mentions of blood, injuries, torture, SAGAU, inaccurate personalities, bad grammar, english is not my first language, very short

Characters: Natlan cast x Creator!gn!reader (slight yandere Archons too)

You hated this.

All you were doing was playing genshin and then you suddenly got sucked into the game! At first, it was a dream come true, but now you wanted to be out of here as fast as possible. All this suffering just because you looked like someone?

Mondstadt was a no no. The acting grand master found out so quickly, and the knights of favonious were on your tail. Liyue was also a no, the millelith and adepti was also there. Heck, Zhongli came out of retirement just to catch you! Inazuma? Raiden was enough. Fontaine wasn't any better either. You got put on trial, it's only because of plot armour that you managed to survive.

Sumeru was a bit better. The dendro archon found out about your status quickly, due to Irminsul. But, her people were out of her control, so you got hunted down anyway.

The abyss was even worse. Once they sensed that the creator came back, they were ecstatic to kill you. The abyss weren't known for their fondness of the gods after all. Right now, with the amount of times you fought the abyss and the people of teyvat, your entire body was like a piece of paper ready to be blown away.

You were walking to Natlan, as fast as your legs would take you. Your arm was filled with abyssal energy, and you had open wounds all over you. The sand got into your injuries, which really stung. It was hell trying to walk, but the tiny sliver of hope that Natlan would be different would be enough to keep you going. Usually, your wounds healed instantly every time you were injured, but the attacks from the abyss slowed down your healing. You would show your golden blood, but the injuries healed too fast and the people would be too consumed by anger to even notice your golden blood.

How long has it been since the chase started? Like one or two years? You couldn't really tell. Your mind was foggy, and your body was trembling and shivering. Just the thought that you'll eventually heal and get hunted down again, without anyone knowing about what was truly going on was enough to consider dying. You coughed your way through to Natlan, and as the sandy desert came to a halt for the beginning of Natlan, you could only hope that Natlan would be different.

It wasn't long till you passed out, but you got a tiny glimpse of a Saurian watching you...

Your head hurt, everything did. You woke up to your injuries healed, as you thought what happened. Your body probably managed to heal itself, so that was already explained. What was not so good and definitely needed explaining was that the environment you were in was certainly different, even if you remember not seeing much.

You saw a little girl coming towards you. She looked familiar, but you began to panic. Were you really going to get hunted this time too? If that was the case then dying seemed like a better option than anything.

"Are you okay?! You really looked like you weren't going to survive!" Huh? Why wasn't she attacking you? Was this really a dream? Thank god! You felt like crying at the kindness you were shown after so long!

The girl introduced herself as Kachina. You thought that's why she looked familiar. Perhaps you were not thinking straight from the suffering that you were inflicted on. You introduced yourself too, but you used (fake name) instead of who you really were.

"What happened? You looked so pale and your entire arm was covered with abyssal energy! Did you get attacked on your way here?" She asked so innocently, which made you realize that you had to create a fake story, and fast. You contemplated for a moment, creating a fake story within seconds was hard, but the sheer thought of being hunted again left a bad image on your brain.

"Ah well, I was a runaway from my home in Sumeru. I encountered some enemies and that's what happened to my arm. Is there any place in Natlan where I can get a job and a cheap house and a job? I don't have any Mora on me," you lied through your teeth. You had Mora from the treasure chests you saw in the wild, but it would be weird that a runaway who left everything behind has Mora on them. You felt bad lying to Kachina. But, for your survival, everything was necessary. She seemed to believe you, so you internally sighed in exhaustion. Children were so naive.

She felt so sorry for you, even though your story was fake. She took a cherry flavoured candy from her large bag and gave it to you. Finally, tears started to slip through your eyes. It's truly been so long since you had seen kindness being shown to you. A tear fell from your eyes as you cried. Kachina began to panic, but realized that it was best to stay quiet. You sobbed and sniffled as Kachina continued to comfort you. You again passed out from crying so much.

"There is a bar nearby that you can work in! And for the place to stay in, they have a space above the bar where you can be at!" You walked together as she continued talking. She was nice to talk too, and didn't really pressure you and ask any more questions which might have made you uncomfortable. You changed your clothes too, wearing gloves to hide your injuries from the abyss. You looked at the bar she led you to and thanked her profusely. She was so kind, certainly a gift from the gods!

You got the job and a place to stay. All you had was cleaning duty, and, compared to the injuries and (sometimes) vomiting you had to deal with by yourself, this was a piece of cake. You just cleaned the counters, the glasses and the floor and also throw out the rowdy people in the bar. The room you live in now was cramped, but it was at least better than having to sleep in defeated hillichurl camps with no protection whatsoever.

After getting a stable income, you started giving Kachina a lot of gifts. After all, she helped you so much when you literally had no will to live. She always tried declining them, but you always insisted, saying that she deserved it. She really did though, you needed to pay back her kindness from the beginning anyway. You also started visiting her much often, exploring or just talking with her.

You do meet her friends eventually enough.

"(Fake name)! These are my friends, Kinich and Mualani! I hope you get along with them well!" You were shaking, what if they weren't as kind as Kachina? What if they find out? What if, what if-

But, they were much more easy going than what you expected. Mualani was very cheerful, and Kinich was also very kind! Something was weird though. Ajaw was much quieter than usual. Sure, he still had those narcissistic comments, but it was like he toned down on them a bit. That was very confusing, but if the others didn't notice then you didn't need to bother.

You sometimes visit Mualani in the hot springs, just keeping your arms out of the water for the abyssal energy not to spread. You also sometimes visit Kinich in the Scions of Canopy. He does his extreme sports like bungee jumping, you just watch. Again, it was really unnerving on how much quieter Ajaw was..

But, this happiness wouldn't really last for long.

You were cleaning in your bar, secretly listening into some drama in one of the tables. A woman came into the bar. She was clad in a dark cloak, so you couldn't really see her. But, upon taking a closer look, you realized it was... Mavuika?!

You were sweating like your life depended on it. How did she even figure out that you worked here? Did you have to move again, when you we're just getting settled? Was this perfectly calm life just going to stay for false hope? Seriously, you were scared. You went to go clean another station instead of your own, but not until she managed to give you a message.

"I've been meaning to meet you for a long time, how about we just talk outside later?" She smiled warmly, but you just felt a chill down your spine. You were terrified. But, considering how powerless you were, you agreed. You never know what she might do after all.

Your shift was done, and you gulped as you walked outside. Mavuika was there, waiting for you. She waved, and you nervously waved back. You looked down at yourself. Your hands were trembling, and your entire body was shaking. The sweaty feeling in your palms never went away, it was uncomfortable, but not nearly as uncomfortable as having to talk with an archon.

"I already know that you are our creator, please rest assured," huh?! She already knew? But how? You never revealed your identity,what was going on?! But, all you did was nod your head, still nervous on what she could do.

"I've heard of the chase that you have been through in other nations, but please be assured that I will not do the same. I will protect you from the other nations, and you can continue living your life as it is. I will do my best to help you lead a normal life," you were shocked. Absolutely shocked. Since when did an archon treat you so nicely?

Venti chased you with his bow and arrow, and you got nearly got sucked into the black hole that he had in his burst. Moral was leading the adepti and Liyue Qixing to find and hunt you. You just completely avoided Inazuma. It would be terrible that the Shogun would find you, since she's not as "nice" as Ei. You thought you could start a new in Fontaine, but you got put on to a death sentence by the Oratrice. At least Neuvillette had some kind of pity for you. The eremites, grand bazaar and the scholars of Sumeru were also in the hunt. You started reflecting on how much suffering you had to deal with, as tears welled up in your eyes again. You went to hug Mavuika and just sobbed in her shoulder. She looked surprised but didn't question it as you cried. She patted your back over and over again, letting you cry all your frustrations out.

Of course, it's not like people won't find out eventually.

Kinich was the first to find out. He offered you to bungee jump with him, and you stupidly agreed.

"It won't be that bad, I promise," oh how you shouldn't have believed him. You were screaming the entire time that he held you. Ajaw was fuming at Kinich, which, again, was very weird. He never cared for anyone before, so what was going on?

Though he was holding onto you, it didn't really stop you from getting injuries by nature itself. You had a cut on your cheek, as blood began to seep out. You landed, and it was only when Kinich was recovering from the adrenaline rush, did he notice your cut. He was speechless. He was just staring as you realized the cut you had on your skin. Your eyes widened at the revelation.

"W-wait, I-I can explain!" You didn't even know what you were panicking for. Wasn't it a good thing that they found out? If so, then why did it feel like your heart has been shattered into a million pieces when he found out? Ajaw then screamed at Kinich, like he was reprimanding him.

"You filthy servant! How can you not realize that the creator was with us all this time?! Honestly, what went on in your head when you took them in such a dangerous activity?!" He spewed out to Kinich, while the boy was still in a state of shock. Finally, as if he got to his senses, he muttered out:

"You're the creator?..." He mumbled under his breath. He looked extremely shocked, and also extremely guilty. He ran out of words so quickly. This is how he treated his creator the whole time?

He was about to apologize, but you interrupted him. There was no way that you would let him even say sorry, not when you want to live your life as a human instead of some divine being.

"If you want a more detailed explanation for this... predicament, meet me at the outskirts of the Children of echoes, you'll get all your answers there."

Mualani was second to find out. You two were walking through her tribe, talking about getting swimsuits for the hot spring. The area was very humid, and the floor was very slippery.

Suddenly, you tripped on your steps and fell on the ground. A scratch was on your knee, as you realised that the blood would show. You tried to hide the injury from Mualani, but she took a glance anyway. Her expression was very surprised, but all she did was wrap a piece of cloth around your knee. It really stung, but you really hoped she wouldn't ask any questions about it.

She took you to a secluded area with no people. Just you and her. She was staring for a long time, and you gulped in nervousness. You were enjoying your life without being chased or worshipped, why did this peace have to end now?!

"Well, (fake name), actually it might not even be your real name.. But anyway, I know it might make you uncomfortable, but please explained what happened a bit ago," she asked and all you did was mumble an incoherent sentence with a bitter tone.

Kachina was last to find out. You were exploring some ruins that you found along with her.

It was just supposed to be a little expedition outside in Natlan, but you got way too many cuts from the rocks inside. It didn't really hurt, so you brushed it off, forgetting that Kachina didn't know you were the creator. When she lit up a fire to check in on everything, that's when you realised this. You tried to stay out of the light as much as possible, but she found out very easily.

"What's wrong (fake name)? Why aren't you coming near the fire?" She innocently asked. You cursed at your self for not realizing that she didn't know sooner. But before you could respond, she dragged your wrist into the light in an attempt to see if you had any injuries or not. When she saw the golden blood however, she turned quiet.

"Y-you're the creator?" She asked, almost terrified. Oh what had she done! Treating the holy creator so casually like a friend! You only looked down at her, feeling guilty at putting so much terror to her mind. You patted her head, unsure of how to respond to her.

"Yes I am, but I am your friend still, am I not?"

Spies can exist anywhere and everywhere. After all, it's such a common phrase in Liyue, the walls have ears.

However, the spies that were there to find you and excecute you, were certainly incompetent in their job, letting their emotions get in the way of things.

Seeing the golden blood for their own eyes, the blood of the "imposter" that they were hunting down, was not really easy to swallow. Instead of kidnapping you, they just took a picture with their kamera and ran like the wind, doing anything to inform their leader.

When the Archons found out, they were nothing less than shocked. They have been hunting their creator the entire time? No, this couldn't be! They trembles at the photo in hand, realising how bad they fucked up. Now they were more determined to find you than ever, not to kill you, but to welcome you into their arms. They will get you back, no matter what it takes. Oh and the actual imposter? They're as dead as they can be. Nothing matters except you now.

Nothing else matters.

This is so short Lmaooo hope you like it tho!

[fear-is-truth]

Bestie hehe whose pullout game is worst and whose is best out of the characters Evan plays???

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑬𝑽𝑨𝑵𝑺 — 𝑷𝑼𝑳𝑳-𝑶𝑼𝑻 𝑮𝑨𝑴𝑬

ft. tate langdon ‧ kit walker ‧ kyle spencer ‧ jimmy darling ‧ james patrick march ‧ kai anderson ‧ peter maximoff ‧ colin zabel — nsfw ; MDNI 18+

a/n: hey bestie i love your mind

⟢ 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐍. (3/10)

his intentions are good. his execution? terrible. pull-out game is WEAK purely due to incompetence.

“fuck—wait, wait, oh shit, i was supposed to—”

feels guilty as hell afterward. “you don’t think i did it on purpose, right? you believe me, don’t you?”

⟢ 𝐊𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑. (2/10)

kit TRIES to be responsible. really, he does. but he’s also a man who fucks deep and loves even deeper.

a very passionate lover and in the heat of the moment, he forgets everything else.

honestly, he doesn’t even try that hard.

if you reminded him, he’d listen. but if you didn’t? yeah, he’s finishing inside.

if you got pregnant, he’d step up immediately. his pullout game is terrible but he’s a great dad.

⟢ pre death .ᐟ 𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑. (10/10)

doesn’t take risks; he’s got a good head on his shoulders.

his timing and self control are actually great. the pull-out game is strong with this one.

even before he met you, kyle doesn’t sleep around like most of his frat brothers, even though he totally could.

⟢ 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆. (6/10)

jimmy knows he can’t afford to be reckless. he’s working in a freak show—not exactly the best place to raise a kid.

he also worries about passing on his ectrodactyly. even though you tell him constantly that it doesn’t matter.

most of the time, he cums on your tits or ass.

but when he’s drunk, he’s super impulsive, emotional. all self control flies out the window.

if you got knocked up, he’d have a mini breakdown and go on a two day bender but would also step up.

he will also propose immediately (after he gets his shit together)

⟢ 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇. (10/10)

he is nothing if not disciplined.

if james ever decided to give you an heir, that decision was made long before the act.

lowkey has reservations because of bartholomew.

⟢ cult leader .ᐟ 𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍. (0/10)

kai never pulls out. he never intended to in the first place.

at first, he’ll act like it was an accident—just for plausible deniability. he’ll moan about how tight you are, how good you feel, and then when it happens:

“fuck—couldn’t help it. you feel too good, baby.” he’s fake guilty, kissing your shoulder, murmuring “next time i’ll pull out, promise.”

next time never came. (but he did. inside you) at some point, he just stopped pretending.

“this is how it’s supposed to be. why would i waste it anywhere but inside you?”

if you tell him you’re not ready for kids, he’ll say “women are biologically wired to want children. you’re just brainwashed by feminism.” (i hate this guy)

0/10 cos he’s actively TRYING to fail.

if you got pregnant? he’d be ecstatic.

⟢ 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐗𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐅𝐅. (5/10)

thinks he has great control, but he really, really doesn’t.

he’ll pull out last second. but he cuts it close EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

sometimes he miscalculates timing.

“uh. okay, okay—don’t freak out, but I MAY have just—wait, are you on the pill?”

⟢ 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐍 𝐙𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋. (9/10)

very responsible. colin respects boundaries and never pressures you into risky sex. always wears condoms unless you explicitly ask not to.

“you sure? ‘cause, uh, i got condoms—like, a lot. not a weird amount, just… y’know, normal.”

lowkey wants to have kids with you… but suppresses the “selfish” fantasy.

his one weakness? when he’s tipsy.

the one time you were both drunk, making out on the couch, which led to hot and sloppy sex. you felt so good and he was so lost in it, and then—

“oh, shit.”

immediate panic. full-body guilt. buys you plan b, also flowers and coffee because he feels guilty.

overall he’s very reliable, just that one slip-up.

[dolphin-diaries]

Who Gets To Talk Detransition?

Originally published on Dolphin Diaries

The story is supposed to go like this: a trans cult, or maybe the medical establishment, steals a young girl under its ghastly wing. A wounded girl, a scared one, desperate for reprieve from a violent world that has whipped her into self-hatred. The kidnapping cultists promise an escape. A cure to the horror of her body. Then, mutilation follows, which a brave few will eventually try to undo—only they never quite can.

No, wait.

The story is supposed to go like this: some people are trans men. They are assigned female at birth, but they are men, and so some want to make their body male. But sometimes, a select few regret their transition. They aren’t trans men. They’re actually cis—in agreement with their sex—but they’ve made a mistake for whatever reason. They are very scarce. A statistically inconsequential minority to which we ought not cede ground. After all, why should a society be concerned with a statistically minuscule people?

Regardless of which way you tell it, two constants remain. One: the trans and the detrans are antagonistic; the detrans have been hurt by transition care and now threaten its existence. Two: those that detransition are seeking to correct a prior mistake. Be it from the right or left, the story is always that of failure and regret.

Part I: When Your Worst Fears Come True

September 2023 marked the eighth anniversary of me starting testosterone. Getting HRT was something I’d fought for with great difficulty and determination: I’d burned bridges with an abusive family; I’d come out a year prior to the entirety of my university class and had already lived as a man; I then dropped out of university so I could work a full-time job to afford HRT. I did all this with full knowledge that I could not access the legal transition system in my country. I’d be unable to change my gender marker and would have to deal with that fact in a place where most people barely know what ‘transgender’ is, let alone accept it. But I was willing to weather all of that, and to my luck, I had no trouble passing for a man, and the vast majority of friends and acquaintances accepted me.

Needless to say, I was ecstatic to start testosterone. In adolescence my masculinity had been denied to me, the feminine traits of myself and my body forcibly exaggerated to put me in my (woman’s) place. Now, it felt like having all the features I’d come to despise overtaken by new growth. Like a ruin reclaimed by fresh ivy. I wasn’t entirely content—I wanted to be indistinguishable from a cis man, untouched by any insidious womanhood whatsoever. Only I found most cis men either uninspired-looking or repugnant, so… a pretty cis man? Androgynous, but not too androgynous, so I don’t get gay-bashed?

The real end goal I wished of my body was nebulous. There was no man I could cite as the Ur-Man for me, trans or cis, neither in character nor appearance. It wasn’t for lack of the much maligned Good Male Role Models in my life; I simply resonated with none of them. But there was life to be lived anyway. So I put one foot in front of the other, and sometimes, I knew my steps were dictated as much by fear of transphobia as they were by my own desires.

There are many things to fear while living as trans. One of my most personal anxieties was detransition. A forced one would be most horrid; to be put in a position where my bodily autonomy, so hard-won, could be stripped away as if it never existed.

But my strangest fear was that I would want to detransition. Not from some cruel necessity or right-wing brainwashing or what have you; genuinely, rationally, actively want it.

I knew why I feared that. Whenever I met another trans man or heard of their stories, some jigsaw puzzles would simply not fit. I never once desired to be a man until I learned of trans men’s existence. Never sought to play the role of a man and only half-enjoyed them now, if at all. Never, not even now, dreamt of myself as a man. At times another trans man would have the same ‘odd’ pieces, but then something else would find itself amiss again. On and on that list went.

One might call this a foregone conclusion in retrospect. Shouldn’t I have known? Shouldn’t a doctor have known? But this rather ignores that the psychology and study of transsexuality are hopelessly warped with attempts to eradicate it. My country’s procedures were dated. The questionnaires I took to have my doctor conclude I’m transsexual? Those were lousy with decades-dated misogyny (do you like housework? do you get aroused by housework? or maybe by cars?) and with voyeuristic, invasive questions (how do you have sex? how do you masturbate?) There were correct answers; there was no variation, which is only allowed for the cisgender. That procedure has since improved, especially in the West, but the traces remain. How does one introspect on one’s gender when that was the model for it? How does one even attempt to unravel the relationship between misogyny and desire to abandon womanhood when to do so threatens access to medical care? What sign ought I have looked for to distinguish myself from trans men when it was demanded no distinctions exist?

One does not exit a hostile care system with a healthier, more stable identity. That is nothing short of a miracle.

September 2023 marked the eighth anniversary of me exiting hostile care with a coveted prize in my grasp. It also marked the moment I looked in the mirror and saw exactly what I’d sought to win in that hellscape: an indisputable man. Not a cis man, of course, but one bereft of all the features that had haunted me to the point of self-harm. I was free, I had won; no one would ever look at me and think me a woman—no one ever did, those days.

I had won. And in my victory, I felt nothing at all.

Part II: Failure and Regret

The Right invests much bombast into transition regret. Loud ring the warning bells: this could happen to you! Your child! A girl with so much to live for, rendered barren, flat-chested, a misshapen man-thing! You, too, will live to regret it!

It amuses me. Queerness and butchness had marked me long ago; I was never particularly buxom or fecund. Never, in the heterosexist sense, something worthy of desire. I was a misshapen man-thing far before I asked people to call me ‘he.’ The people who made sure I knew I was a monster man-woman were precisely the kinds of people that now warned me away from turning myself into what—according to them—I already was. The sheer parental panic with which I’d been forced into makeup and dresses, you’d think I transitioned already.

Even more amusingly, sometimes the Right claims to care about butch lesbians. Tomboys are being mutilated, they say. It’s an imposition of gender stereotypes; women can be masculine!

But if the Right believes women can be lesbian and masculine, what’s with the whole fixation on ruined femininity and birthing wombs?

Indeed, the Right’s acceptance of detransitioned women is full of little caveats. They are to be paraded as damaged goods at conservative rallies. Their lost breasts and ovaries will be ever-ogled, figuratively if not literally, and the ‘irreversible damage’ left by testosterone examined with morbid fascination. They are the Right’s Magdalenes. They’re proof there’s good in the transgressive—that is, that the enemy can be pitied, assimilated. As an underclass, of course. They’re never to truly cease being damaged, for they must be proof that sex can only be ruined, never changed.

For a detransitioner, there is temptation in the Right’s conditional acceptance. It offers an easy answer to their current pain. The past choice they may regret or suffer under—why, it should’ve been prevented! If only you listened to the right authorities, all would’ve been well. Not altogether different than regretting a marriage or college major. Many an adult decries stupid choices of youth—and those certainly happen—but what’s scariest of all is the notion you weren’t making rash or ill-informed decisions. I know I wasn’t. And if that is so, then it means the current self—the mature one, the one with 20/20 hindsight—could make a mistake, too.

Right-wing detransitioners take for granted there exists a guardian angel that could’ve healed them of the gendered distress they once felt and showed them a path to contentment. That is a very tall order, considering how misogynistic and hostile psychiatry and psychology are, historically speaking. And that’s to say nothing of religion. But at least they would’ve been prevented from transitioning; misery averted—right?

My guardian angel, you could say, was lack of funds. I wanted top surgery—double mastectomy—but there was no way I could afford it, not in many years’ time. Now I realise I would’ve come to regret it and would’ve likely sought to reverse its effects. So I’m all good, right? I benefitted from how flawed trans healthcare is, didn’t I?

Perhaps. But there was a reason I wanted a mastectomy, and not a frivolous one. Every time I needed to see a doctor for a respiratory infection, I did so in fear of transphobic malpractice. I would minimise the time I spent in places where my chest could be exposed—gyms, pools, beaches, goddamned corporate retreats. And then there was the way my body, breasts included, had been used to prove to me I was not just a woman but Woman, a biodestined vessel for coy giggles, cookware, and pregnancy. And how that made me feel.

Indeed, I would later find out there are women and nonbinary people that do not identify with manhood yet seek the exact same top surgery I once wanted, for similar reasons. With no regrets. They wish to take control of their body and do so. And I know that, had I been able to get top surgery in the past, it would’ve made me happy for a good while.

So what’s more important: years of constant anxiety, or lack of hypothetical regret?

The right-wing detransitioner assumes one’s current self to be the ultimate judge of one’s choices—but take that principle to its logical conclusion, and it will seem like no decision should ever be made. There is always a prospective Future You which possesses more knowledge. Always the possibility of regret. Of course, decisions in life are sort of inevitable, but don’t worry about that—the powers that be will handle that. Ancestral tradition, or a caring authority figure. That’s also all humans with exactly the same issues, but don’t worry about that either. Maybe God is speaking through them. You never know.

In the end, the prescripts of the Right march to the same grim conclusion. That the only decision you can ever make with total certainty is death.

Part III: Death, the Tarot Kind

Queer culture delights in tales of transformation. We were all once larval—in the closet, often abused and scared. Trapped in a world of rigid roles and brutal dominion. But one day, we hope to metamorphose into our true shape and to take flight above a blissful, lawless, ever-shifting sea of change.

Most queer people are cisgender, and more still do not seek to transition, but the nature of all our transgressions is intimately entwined with gender anyway. We’re all doing it ‘wrong,’ by the wider society’s definition, even the most masculine of cis gay men or the most feminine of cis lesbian women. Unsurprising, then, are the queer community’s various attempts to embrace gender variance and to lay bare the plasticity of sex.

There is nothing per se about detransition that does not fit this mould. If gender is to be fucked with, why not take it for a swing? Indeed, in my experience most queer people would agree it’s entirely possible to detransition without weaponising transphobia or lapsing rightward.

But that’s usually a hypothetical thought exercise that ends exactly there. Maybe that queer person knows a detransitioner, maybe they don’t; regardless, the lives of the detransitioned do not interact with queer ideas of sex/gender, or indeed queer ideas about anything. The only time the detransitioned are really remarked on is only to state our statistical insignificance—or rather, the statistical insignificance of transition regret. I don’t personally regret my transition for the most part, so I wouldn’t even count there.

Whereas the Right sings lyrical about all the motivations and trials and tribulations of the detransitioned (and deftly twists the verses to fit the chorus), the Left does not usually consider the lives of the detransitioned at all. Mistakes happen, they suppose. Kind of funny we ‘failed at gender’ twice. Too bad we’re so miserable, they guess. What, ‘the patriarchy made you do it’? BuzzFeed feminism is so-o-o 2010s, bro.

It would be accurate to surmise the queer community has ceded the concept of detransition to the Right. The queer stance is, in effect, ‘it doesn’t matter anyway’—a defensive and reactive one.

That is not to say the Left as a whole is to blame for grifting detransitioners or the Right itself—the blame is always, first and foremost, on the ones that actually do the harm. And the negligence of the Left doesn’t really harm those that happily push others under the bus—sadly, some people are just assholes. No, the consequences are felt instead by detrans people that have no desire to participate in the transphobia circus, and after that, trans people themselves. The Right’s deathgrip on the detransition narrative means detransition itself is conceptually tied to the Right. Because there is no alternative trans-positive narrative, there is no way to exist as detrans and not affirm someone else’s transphobia, no matter how many times you say you don’t hate trans people. After all there is only one thing people think of when they hear ‘detransitioner.’ And now you are it, whether you like it or not.

I feared I would detransition because, on some level, I knew I might. But why fear it? It’s hard to be trans. There are clear privileges to socially presenting as your birth sex. Doctors will readily help you undo transition. I didn’t want to grift—well, fucking fantastic. Easy enough to not do something. What’s the problem?

I feared it because it’s soul-crushing to know your existence hurts the people you love most. Your friends, partners, mentors. So many cis people in my past knew me as The Trans Person—and now what? How much of the good I had done would be ruined? And by what possible example could I imagine my life as a detransitioner? What is there to even aspire to? And what about everything I’d sacrificed to transition in the first place? All the strife and ridicule I endured, only to have it whispered to me from leering faces: “See? We were right all along.”

All that, to face alone.

At a certain point my resistance to the idea of detransition was motivated only by this. Only by what others would make of me against my will. Not my personal desires. Nothing else at all. To be turned into such a spectacle, a public property of a person, felt like nothing short of death.

Part IV: Afterlife

I decided to start this substack after listening to every podcast appearance by Lucy Kartikasari I could find. She is a detrans woman with a similar yet different story; she transitioned much younger, but went through a similarly arcane approval system and years of waiting; she is not a lesbian; she has detransitioned, and she speaks in favour of trans healthcare and trans rights. The name Dolphin Diaries also originates with her—or rather, with a different, anonymous user, whose idea she broadcast on her TikTok. A dolphin as a symbol of detransition; a mammal that evolved from the ocean to walk on land and then returned to an aquatic life. I find it an appealing and pithy comparison, one free of unnecessary gendering or judgement.

There are precious few voices that speak of detransition in a positive, non-right-wing light. It’s a perspective fraught with thorny, uncomfortable questions. A perspective which is easier to ignore—unless you can’t. If for no one else, I write this for people that felt the same way I did. Trapped, not by ‘mistakes’ or by ‘gender ideology’, but by the image others have painted of them before they could even protest.

I do not write this for the Right. There is nothing I can say that would sway you, and there is nothing you can say that would sway me—and believe me, I have listened more carefully and with far more good faith than you ever have. Feel free to comment how much you pity my womb, or something. I promise to leave its fertility a mystery. I’m a tease that way.

As for other potential readers of this blog: while I do believe it a failure of queer rhetoric to adequately synthesise detransition into the overall gender politic, I don’t believe it’s everyone else’s job to create that synthesis. Who better than a detransitioner, after all? I ask not that you solve my problems for me.

I ask only that you listen.

[subbmissivesuccubus]

Stepdad Douma X Reader - Edging

Day 7 of my Kinktober series whee

Disclaimer : Stepcest , exhibitionism and Implication of brainwashing. Also reader calls Douma “Daddy”

~~~~~ You remembered like it was yesterday.

Both you and your mother were grieving over the loss of your father, the pain unbearable. It felt like you couldn’t breathe, like your chest was ripped open for the crows to feast on. Both of you were looking for something, anything, to help and navigate this difficult time in your life when a friend of your mothers told you about a certain man.

“He can do anything.” She told your mother, a dazed look in her eyes, “and he can bring you peace.”

So the two of you went to this man. This miracle. The one who could heal your wounds and guide you through life. You had your hesitations, of course, suggesting to your mother that it would be best to stay away but she was so insistent, unable to deal with the loss of her lover, that you gave in to her pleas. She would have gone regardless, better you were with her.

And then you met Douma. The most beautiful man you’d ever seen and within a second, you understood.

His tall stature, toned body underneath his clothes, his silky whitish-blonde hair and those eyes. Oh, those eyes. Multicoloured, ever changing and bright like a pair of diamonds.  Within those moments, both of you understood. You needed to dedicate your life to him. You’d try to see him every day, even get a job managing his shrine. You’d talk to him when you could, often catching him outside his room and he’d chat with you, making your day so much better.

Which was why it hurt so much more when he announced that he was marrying your mother.

She was ecstatic, of course, a dedicated member of his cult and the fact that he chose her was a blessing. A true blessing. Of course, for you, it was a curse. Your usual bright days got so dull, colors turned into black and whites as you pretended to be happy for them. You couldn’t understand why Lord Douma chose your mother- why not choose you instead? But you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. Atleast, until he forced it out of you.

“You haven’t been coming to see me, lately.” Douma said, making you gulp as he cornered you in the hallway, “I’m hurt. Do I not interest you anymore?” “L-Lord Douma-“ “Shouldn’t you call me father?” he asked, gripping your chin gently, “We’re going to be family, right?” Your expression dropped and he understood. “Ah, so that’s why.” He said, “Do you not want me as a stepfather?” “I-“ You gulped, deciding to come out and say, “I w-would have preferred it if you were my h-husband instead… but you love my mother so-” “Who said that?” “Huh?” “Who said I love her?” Douma asked, tilting his head in confusion, “This is a marriage of convenience, nothing more. Your family has a lot of money that I can use, little dove. That’s all it is.” “That’s-" you hesitated, trying to process the information. So…he was just using your mother…for money…you had to tell her- get her out of this engagement- “Question is,” Douma said, a hand running up your arm and his touch making your body shiver, “Are you going to tell her or not? If you do, I’d have to banish the both of you from here. But if you keep it a secret…” his hand found its way to your hip, pulling you close to him, his body pressed flush against yours, “I’ll fuck you right here and now.”

There was only one option you could choose.

~~~~~

Douma had everyone in his palm, no one daring to disobey him and willing to put their lives on the line for him which was how his wife was blind to his affair with his stepdaughter even after all this time.

The night of his wedding, Douma sneaked out of his marital bed, leaving his new wife behind to go be with his plaything. He adored you. He loved your looks, how devoted you were to him, how innocent yet naughty you were- everything. And he wasn’t going to hide it. People were dumb enough to fall for his schemes but not stupid enough to not realise when to keep their mouths closed.

Which was why, even when he touched you while a follower was talking to him, they didn’t say a word. Even if they knew it was wrong, they kept silent. Even as they watched a stepfather make love to his stepdaughter, they dared not let Douma’s wife know.

“Mmm-haa-“ you whined as Douma pet your pussy, his long, delicious fingers running up and down your slick slit, your audience long forgotten. You’d gotten used to this- being touched and fucked whenever he wanted, having you ready and eager for him. His fingers suddenly dipped inside you, making you cry out as he slowly started thrusting in and out, a second finger soon joining as well.  

The man gulped, trying his best to keep his eyes on the floor, more out of fear than respect.

“So, you’re having problems with your marriage.” Douma said, his voice crystal clear despite all the…well…

“Y-Yes, Lord Douma.” The man replied, looking up at him only to look down again immediately, unable to help the blood rushing to his cheeks, “It’s becoming quite the issue.”

“Hmmm. So why is your wife mad at you?” Douma asked, curiously.

“I- I’m not sure.” Came the response, “Whenever I try to t-talk to her, she just snaps at me.”

“I see.” Douma said, only half paying attention, “What do you think the problem must be, cutie?”

You perked up, a confused look on your face as Douma’s fingers stopped inside you, making you whine in frustration. The man simply laughed at your adorable face, patting your cheek with his other hand. He had you on his lap, your kimono almost completely off, your pretty breasts bare for him to tease and your pussy dripping down his fingers.

“What?” you asked, not even paying attention to what was going on. You turned your head to look at the man in the room, giving him a glare as he was the reason your stepfather had stopped moving his fingers. The man seemed embarrassed, unable to look at you as he stared at the ground.

“Now, now.” Douma said, clicking his tongue as he pulled his fingers out just to slap your cunt, making you yelp, “Mind your manners.”

“I-I’m sorry daddy.” You whined, biting your thumb as he gave your pussy more pats, “What did he ask?”

“He’s having marriage problems.”

“Mmmm-“ you  pondered, trying to come up with the quickest solution, “Maybe he’s not good in bed.”

Douma laughed while the man barked in offense, his ears turning red, his silence a form of confession. “You think so?” Douma asked, running his pretty fingers up and down your cunt, leaning forward a bit to place a sweet kiss to your tits, “Then maybe we need to give him a lesson, hmm?”

“Y-Yes Daddy, please!” you begged, cupping his face and looking him in his stunning eyes, hoping he could see the desperation in them, “Please fuck me!”

“Good girl, using your words.” Douma praised, making you shiver and your pussy gush, “But I don’t think I’m done playing with you yet~”

You gasped as he started moving his fingers in you again, the nasty sound of his long digits digging into your cunt and curling just right had you biting your lower lip. He gave your nipple a few kitten licks, enjoying your reaction before he turned back to the man in the room. “Come back at the end of the day.” He said, an arm around you as you leaned into him, bucking your hips against his fingers, “And I’ll teach you how you can please your wife.”

“A-As you wish my lord.”

“Let in the next person. Oh, and remember, not a word.”

“U-understood Lord Douma.”

With a bow, the man scurried out of the room, his erection poorly hidden under his Yukata. Douma didn’t care. He always thought he wouldn’t understand the human nature of possessiveness, but it was only after meeting you that he was starting to get it. He didn’t care if people watched and were turned on by you but he drew the line at anyone but him touching you. Luckily, you didn’t want anyone but Douma.

“M-My lord.” The next person sputtered, her face turning a bright shade of red as she closed the door behind her, her desire to pray to Douma more important than her embarrassment of seeing him with his step daughter, “I- I have a question-“

“Ah! Yes daddy!” you screamed, cutting her off as you tossed your head back, Douma milking your g-spot. But, deciding to tease you a bit, the man stopped once more, taking his fingers out. You whined in protest, eyes wide as you tried to press against him but he suddenly grabbed you by the hips and pushed you off of him, forcing your body to collide against the soft cushion of his loveseat.

“I have a supporter here, baby.” He said, smirking at your offended face, your kimono rucked over your ass and giving him a lovely view of your twitching cunt and pink asshole, “Don’t be naughty. Stay quiet and wait for me to finish.”

“But daddy!” You whined, lying on your back before spreading your legs, a hand coming up to thumb at your pussy lips before spreading them apart, showing off every nook and cranny of your cunt to him, “I was so close!”

“I don’t care.” Douma said, attention back on his subject whose whole face was red with shame over seeing you be so disgraceful, “And don’t you dare touch yourself. That’s an order.”

You whined, pouting and flailing your legs like a brat, annoyed as you both knew you’d never disobey an order. Your stepfather seemed to have some kindness towards you as he grabbed your ankle and pulled you close to him before placing your legs on his lap. His hand went between you legs and you giggled happily as he started petting your pussy like he was stroking a cat. You spread your legs once more, giving him more room as he stroked you gently. It wasn’t enough to really make you feel good but it was better than nothing.

It was quite the sight, seeing Douma mindlessly stroke your pussy as his attention was on his supporters, his dick straining in his pants. Occasionally he’d put some force in, swiping his fingers over your clit so fast and suddenly it made you squeal before he went back to gentle strokes taking away your pleasure. He was such a meany but you loved it. You couldn’t be happier to be his stepdaughter.

“Daddy-“ you panted as the woman left the room, leaving the door open for the next person to come in, “Can I cum? Please let me cum?”

“Are you close?” Douma asked, rubbing your clit in circles. “Mmhmm!” you whined with a nod, your cheeks red and your thighs trembling with want, “Please Daddy?”

“Get on Daddy’s cock, pretty.”

You gasped happily as you scrambled back onto his lap, fingers digging at his pants greedily before you pulled his cock out. You sighed as you grabbed a hold of his hot, thick heavy cock. Just like the rest of him, your stepdads cock was pure perfection. The first time he took you, you were scared that it wouldn’t fit but the more and more he fucked you, you learned to worship his beastly member.

“Ride me baby, that’s it. Ohh~ Good girl~”

You mewled happily as you started sinking down on his cock, your pussy splitting apart as you sank down inch by inch, his dick filling you up deliciously. You sank down to the bottom just as the third person walked in, another woman who gasped loudly before she slapped a hand over her mouth, minding her manners. She should be used to it at this point.

“Tell me, what ails you?” Douma asked his subject as she sat down, just as embarrassed as the rest of them, trying her best to not look at Douma’s balls pressed against your cunt. She started to speak and you were starting to move, but you gawked when Douma grabbed your hips and kept you in place, not allowing you to move an inch. The look in his eyes told you that you were to stay still, demanding that you cockwarm him as he spoke to the other woman.

It was pure hell being edged like this. He started touching you from the moment you woke up, the man sneaking into your room after laying with your mother and still, he hadn’t let you cum. Now, his perfect cock was balls deep inside you and still, he wasn’t going to let you cum. He was strict with you, making sure you stayed still even as he tickled your clit or slid a pinkie into your asshole.

And the woman left. Another man came in. After he left, another man came in. And after him, another woman.

Douma continued to talk to these people as he toyed with you, never allowing you to sink into that pleasure completely. He’d occasionally start fucking you, balls slapping against your skin as you rode him but just as you were about to cum, he’d stop.

He’s push you off his cock before making you take it in your mouth, the sound of you gagging acting as background noise as he listened to his followers’ problems. He’d touch you, finger your cunt, suckle your breasts, taste your pussy- but over and over again, he’d stop right before you came.

Until finally, finally- when that first man came back just as Lord Douma had told him too, he decided to give you mercy.

“See how pathetic she looks?” Douma asked as he fucked you, smirking at your slutty screams. You were on your hands and knees, your stepfather switching positions to take you doggy and it was wonderful. Both of you were facing the supporter and you could see his conflicted expression. Your tits swung back and forth each time Douma thrust into you, his hips slapping against yours deliciously as he pounded you.

“Edge your wife and – fuck yes- by the end of the day, she’ll be begging for you cock. Just like my little girl~” he raised a hand and smacked you across the ass, making you scream, “Spank her, finger her pussy, suck her tits and eat her out- tease her all day long and make her beg for it!”

“I- I understand my Lord.” The man said, eyes glued to you and your stepfather fucking like animals. He’d never do something as blasphemous as leave when he got to experience Lord Douma engage in this sexual activity, even if it did feel embarrassing.

“You gonna cum baby?” Douma asked you, sweat driping down his brow and your juices dripping down his balls as he pounded into you, your moans melodic. “Yes! Yes- yes- yes- please daddy!” “Want Daddy’s cum?” “Inside me- breed me- make me a mommy!” “Pathetic.” He panted with a grin, giving you another spank as he felt your pussy tighten around him, milking his dick with your perfect and hot walls, practically begging him for his seed.

And he’d give it to you but only after he got you to squirt around his cock.

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Moon

summary: as you had gotten ready for the Homecoming dance, you'd finally confronted your sister about her creepy, Ken Doll husband. meanwhile, Xavier had continued to notice differences in his dad's personality while Claire had probed for answers.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smutty smut smut. mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER MOON pt.4

At home, you were curled up on your desk chair, Aurora behind you wielding her hair curler, bobby pins poking out from the corner of her mouth as she styled your hair for the Homecoming dance. Your dress hung on the back of your door. Emerald green satin and spaghetti straps, structured bodice and A-line skirt. It had pockets.

Aside from being your personal hair stylist and makeup artist, Aurora had also opened her closet to you and lent you a pair of tall, chunky heels that matched the color of your dress. You weren't much of a heels girlie, but Wally had height and you wanted to kiss him without folding him in half.

Unbeknownst to him (and everyone except Xavier who'd given you the keys to his truck), you had a plan. A plan that involved a blow up mattress and a pile of blankets to cover your body in the bed of the truck while your ghost made merry with Wally unhindered.

Was it risky? Yeah. Was it worth it? Hell yes. You'd make appearances here and there as your living self—you had to, the band was scheduled to kick off the party—but, ultimately, you wanted spend a stress-free night in the arms of your very sexy date.

"You feel pink, little sister," Aurora commented around the bobby pins. "You excited to see Simon?"

Right. That.

Simon had agreed to meet you at the house and pose as your date. It had been a semi-awkward conversation throughout which he and Maddie had teased you. There'd been an item of negotiation. Namely, you'd had to take a folded up note from Maddie and pass it to Simon for a reason neither disclosed. But, in the end, Simon had been happy to be of service.

Nicole would drop him off in—you glanced at the boysenberry Kit-Kat Klock above your desk—twenty-five minutes; he'd say hi to Andrew, Aurora, and Ginny, act a little lovestruck, and then you'd drive to the school in Xavier's truck.

Everything was working out perfectly.

Except the matter of Aurora's mug of tea sat on your desk, the nasty stench doing its level best to overtake your perfume. It wasn't as bad as being trapped in the confines of the car with it, your window open and your room much bigger. Still nauseating, though. You stared at her mug and deliberated whether or not to ask Aurora about Dave who was now, in your mind, suspicious as hell and who also happened to enjoy a cup of tea—that may or may not be related to an evil cult—with his breakfast.

Seeing Dave at the school last night, sneaking around the basement like he was on a mission, had made you uneasy and you realized you didn't know a damn thing about the guy who slept two stories below you.

Glancing at Aurora in the mirror, you ventured, "Rory...how'd you meet Dave?"

She seemed ecstatic that you'd finally asked, plucked the pins out of her mouth and giddily said, "Feeling romantic, huh? And you kept denying it when I called Simon your boyfriend!" After she'd seen you on the swings with him that night he'd found the money in Mr. Anderson's classroom.

You tried not to cringe, "Sure, let's go with that."

"Well," Aurora began, twirling a curl into a roll atop your head and pinning it in place, "We met when I was in New York. Obvi. I actually met him through Carol—" Xavier's mom "—when she was there for a realtor's mixer. They worked together."

"Dave's from Split River?" You were surprised. He didn't sound like he was from Wisconsin. He had a very proper way of speaking. Controlled. Crisp. More Big City Society than Small Town Midwestern. Perhaps it was something he'd learned to do in order to charm prospective investors.

"Born and raised," Aurora confirmed. "Anyway, I went to meet Carol for lunch and Dave tagged along. The rest is history."

"That's it? You ate lunch together?"

Aurora dismissed your cynicism with an eye roll, "No. We stayed in touch after he left. You know, texting and Skype. And then he transferred to the NYC branch of his company. We moved in together after two months," She sighed as if reliving that era of their relationship.

"If you know, you know." You muttered, not sure that Aurora had known, however that wasn't for you to say.

"Exactly."

Staring at the tea again, "And then you brainwashed him into drinking this stuff?" You indicated to her mug.

Again, Aurora rolled her eyes, "You know, this superiority act is getting old. You drank it, too."

"And then I found my brain and stopped."

Answering your question, "No," Aurora said, "Dave was as bad as you're suddenly being about it." Aurora pondered, "But then work stress caught up to him—the pace in New York is no joke—and I suggested he try it." Her reflection smiled at you. "I mean, it helped mom, it helps me, it helped you until you got all holier-than-thou."

"Helped me how?" You frowned at her through the mirror, "I wasn't stressed." Which further made you wonder why you'd been drinking the stuff for so long.

"Oh, come on, you remember. After—." Aurora abruptly stopped.

After Aiden, she didn't say, her face telling you that she was uncomfortable bringing up the memory since you'd always blamed yourself for his death. Because she knew what you'd thought had been the truth; that he'd fallen and busted his head open. Not what'd actually happened.

"Well," You cleared your throat, "I guess I'm over it now, huh?"

"Guess so," Aurora murmured, attention entirely on the curl she was shaping in your hair.

There was a brief lull before either you spoke again. Prodding, "And Nanna still drinks it because...?"

"It helps her focus her divination. The way she puts it, she has too much time to herself these days to think."

The more you learned about your family's motives to drink the tea, the more you realized everyone was using it as a mild sedative. Which, okay, it probably was, but usually the natural stuff didn't work that well.

Though certainly not as strong as what you'd smelt on the sacrifices in the cavern, Wally had claimed that he'd smelled exactly what the tea smelt like on younger-you's breath on the other side of the farmhouse door. It could be as he'd suggested, that your family's tea was missing a key ingredient, but was otherwise identical.

Maddie had given you the list of ingredients, tucked between the pages of your Math notes, and you were more determined than ever to compare what was in your family's tea to what Wally remembered seeing on the shelf in the farmhouse cellar.

"Do you know what's in it?" You asked Aurora who'd relaxed since bringing up Aiden.

She hummed and then, "Sort of. We started to carry most of the floral ingredients at the shop. But some of them I have to get from the holistic place on Randolph." A main drag in one of three upper-middle-class boroughs in Split River.

"So, we make it ourselves now?"

"Oh, yeah, we've been making it for years. The place that used to sell it went out of business a few years ago."

Should've taken that as a sign, you mused.

"I can feel your sassy thoughts, you know." Aurora reminded you, giving you a flat look through the mirror.

You grinned, "I'm not sorry."

"I know you aren't."

There was one more thing you wanted to know, something that had been nagging at you since last night. There was a chance Aurora would rat you out to your great-aunt or mother, but, at that point, it didn't matter. You were seriously unnerved by Dave's behavior. By the fact that he'd driven around town supposedly looking for you by his lonesome, without Aurora...?

And then last night, Dave who never attended a single sports event ever suddenly appears in the school after the Homecoming game wearing Andrew's clothes? Nah, the guy was up to something. Maybe not cult-related something, but something.

"Rory?"

"Yeah?"

"Did Dave mention anything about last week?"

You watched her carefully through the mirror, the genuine confusion on her face as she thought about it.

"No? Why? What happened last week?"

Here goes nothing, you swallowed, took a deep breath and then, "I snuck out last Thursday and Dave found me. He brought me back home... He didn't mention it?"

Shock-horror flit across her face in stages as she processed what you'd said. She was so stunned that she almost burned your hair, the curler on for too long.

"You did what?"

"I'll take that as a no." You said, turning to face her properly. "Oh, like you didn't do the same thing when you were a teenager."

Aurora gaped, "I absolutely didn't, are you crazy!? This is Split River! Your friend is literally missing and you thought it was a good idea to just," She gestured widely, face puffed up in frustration, "wander around the town after dark!? Are you dumb!?"

Right. Normal people worried about things like kidnappers and murderers. Normal people didn't help their friend's ghost investigate the circumstances surrounding them being stuck in an In Between. Because normal people, even if they could see ghosts, didn't put themselves in danger when there were people trained to do that sort of thing.

Oops.

Placating, "Nothing happened. I'm not drinking or having sex or doing drugs. I was hanging out with friends." Kind of. "Can we please talk about how Dave snuck out to come find me and never told you about it?"

Aurora went through the motions of unplugging and setting aside the hair curler, tidying up the unused bobby pins, and uncapping the hairspray before she said anything. Either she couldn't process what you'd said or she needed the time to come up with an excuse.

"He probably heard you," She started, "And he might've woken me up to tell me, I just don't remember. You know how I am, I'm like a zombie when my eight hours are interrupted."

"Strange how you used to wake up when I breathed too loud in my room across the hall with the door closed..." You quipped and gave her a hard look.

Aurora scoffed, "You get to your thirties and tell me if you're the same as you were when you were younger."

"Where's Dave now?" Because he hadn't come home at half-past six as was his routine.

Visibly uncomfortable with receiving the third degree, Aurora shot back, "At the office; he has a meeting with clients on the West Coast. What the fuck? You think he's cheating on me or something?"

You hadn't realized that that could explain all of Dave's weird behavior. Jesus, you were so far down the rabbit hole, the average slimy husband angle hadn't even blipped on your radar and yet it made the most sense.

Ashamed, you tried to salvage what you could of the conversation, "I mean, I don't think so. But, I think he's lying to you about something. He was at the school after the game last night. Did you know that?"

Aurora didn't answer, her eyes darting about, "Maybe he went to pick you up?"

"I didn't ask him to. You obviously didn't ask him to. And when has he ever done anything for me from the kindness of his heart?"

"Why are you being such a bitch!? Dave is a good man. I wouldn't have married him if he wasn't."

You got to your feet, gesturing to emphasize your point, "Good or not, Rory, he was sneaking around the basement at school last night."

"You followed him?" Aurora frowned at you, "Did you see anything?"

You chewed your lip before admitting, "I lost him. Which is why I'm asking you." God, was Dave cheating on Aurora? With someone who liked high school football and basement trysts?

Aurora stepped back until her legs hit your bed. She sat down, pushed her hair out of her face and mulled over what you'd exposed about her husband. You joined her, sat close, studying her expression as she struggled to piece together a plausible explanation that didn't make Dave the bad guy.

"I'll ask him," She finally said.

"You think he'll tell you the truth?"

She shrugged, "If he doesn't, I'll know." According to Aurora, lies were painted in shades of grey and smelt like burnt rubber.

Aurora assisted you through everything else; fixed your hair, perfected your makeup, zipped up your dress. Throughout it all, she remained quiet, obviously thrown into internal hysteria, mentally seeking out what red flags she'd missed from Dave in the past.

You felt horrible. Sort of. Dave wasn't Mr. Anderson who'd been desperate to get out from under a mountain of debt that wasn't his. He hadn't hurt anyone; had actually helped raise that money and had provided new uniforms as promised.

On the other hand, Dave was being dishonest with Aurora. Sneaking around and acting like finding you behind the school near the woods was totally legit.

"Rory." You murmured, "I'm really sorry for bringing it up."

Aurora smiled at you, small and sad, and pulled you into a hug, "I'm glad you told me," She said. "I'd rather know now than be taken by surprise later."

A knock at the door and Andrew peeked in, "How's she lookin'?" He asked Aurora and then entered the room fully. His eyes widened and a grin spread across his face, "Wow. You fix up nice, beans."

You chuckled at the old nickname, "Thanks, Drew," and tried to ignore how his eyes misted and his smile wobbled.

It was sweet, and Andrew basically filled in all the gaps your father left behind whenever he was deployed or stationed away from home. But you'd never been good at handling that kind of emotional attention; preferred jokes and laughter to happy tears.

Andrew cleared his throat, glanced away, and said, "You're date's here, by the way. Ginny's got her paws all over him, so you might wanna hurry up."

"We'll be down in a sec," You grinned back, "Just make sure Ginny doesn't eat him, please."

"Can do," Andrew saluted and stepped back out of your room to rescue Simon from your great-aunt's clutches.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Xavier listened at the banister as Claire fished for clues. He wasn't convinced she'd hurt Maddie, but she was definitely hiding something. Something worth whatever amount that cheque she'd handed Xavier's dad had on it.

He watched the tendrils stretch between him and his dad (blue), him and Claire (a swirl of green and red). His dad's blue was steady tonight, unlike earlier when Xavier had come home with the suit bag and his dad's credit card. No words had been exchanged, just that annoyed stare his dad sometimes fixed him with, like he couldn't wait until Xavier left for college. And that black thread suspended between them, linking them.

"This year has been...unreal. First Maddie, and then Mr. Anderson."

"Yeah...it's nothing you kids need to worry about. The police are on it." His dad told Claire, sounding human for the first time in weeks. Sure, it could all be a show for Claire who had the money to fund his dad's campaign, but Xavier remembered when his dad used to speak to him like that.

Austin Baxter was being real. Himself. Not whatever made that thread between he and Xavier black as pitch.

Claire responded, "It's hard not to wonder, though, if we'll ever have any answers." A pause. "Are there any updates?"

Xavier continued to eavesdrop as Claire prodded about Mr. Anderson, clearly desperate to find out if Mr. Anderson had said anything about her to the police.

Xavier knew Mr. Anderson hadn't, had seen it in the file his dad had brought home one night to finalize (along with a few others, including Maddie's). That was even stranger, now that Xavier was thinking about it. His dad had been meticulous about following every letter of the law; had taken his responsibilities very seriously.

The state specified that no officer, not even the Sheriff, was allowed take home case files unless authorized by a court under tightly controlled conditions. Yet, Xavier's poking around had yielded results twice. First, unmarked evidence in Christopher Nears' case, and then earlier that week, case files that should've stayed at the station.

Either his dad was that narcissistic to believe he could do whatever he wanted, or he was beginning to slip.

"—be sure to tell your folks we're very thankful they're cooperating while we continue to search the abandoned property."

Xavier pushed away from the banister and descended the stairs, eager to get moving. He wanted to get answers as much as Maddie and Simon, but he couldn't do that if they stuck around trying to coax information from his dad.

Claire complimented how well he cleaned up, and he even managed to get what constituted as praise from his dad. Xavier ushered Claire to the door, shooting one last look over his shoulder at his dad, and watched in mild hope as the blue thread between them shimmered a resolute and brightening blue.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Simon rang the doorbell, shifting from foot to foot. He was nervous. He'd never been to your house, had never met your family—waving to your sister from a swing set while she yelled at you through an open window didn't count—and he wasn't sure what to expect.

To be clear, he wasn't sure what to expect from a family of, "we're not witches, Simon, stop."

In that case, a family of magical people whose abilities ranged from seeing ghosts to acute empathy to psychometry to, what the hell was it? Oh yeah, full-fledged divination.

You'd rattled off who would and wouldn't be there; your mom had been called last minute by a friend to help look after an elderly relative; your Nanna was minding the family flower shop on behalf of your sister who was home to assist you with your nails or lashes or whatever.

If Simon recalled correctly, that meant he had to be wary of your sister the empath, your uncle the psychometrist, and your great-aunt the astral Traveler.

He could do this.

In the last two weeks, he'd been arrested, questioned by police, turned the tables and had his teacher arrested, manifested clairvoyance, embarked on a quest to dismantle a death cult that may or may not have resurfaced, and passed a history test on no hours of sleep. If he could overcome all that, this would be a cake walk.

When the door opened, he was greeted by an elderly woman who he identified easily to be your great-aunt. And, wow, she knew how to make an impression. Beautiful, looked younger than her age with rose gold hair and bright blue eyes, tiny frame swimming in satin. She smiled warmly at him, levering him into a hug before she ushered him inside.

Appearing from the kitchen, wiping his hands with a dishtowel, was your uncle, Andrew. He shared a lot of your great-aunt's features. Same eyes, same impish smile, but he was much taller and broader. He stepped up to Simon and held out his hand for Simon to shake.

"I'll go get the girls," He said after introducing himself, laughing when he added, "And whatever Ginny says, ignore it."

Simon chuckled in response and nodded. "Sounds good," He said, nervous, and followed your great-aunt into the living room after she flapped a beckoning hand at him.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Simon," She said, her voice rich and deep for a woman, at odds with her pixie-like appearance.

Politely, "It's nice to meet you, too, ma'am," he replied.

She gestured for him to take a seat at the corner of the couch as she fell into an armchair beside him; legs crossed, eyes openly grazing up from his shoes to his hair. He felt his ears burn when she at last settled her gaze on his.

"Call me Ginny," She offered, "A friend of hers is family here."

Simon smiled, "Thanks."

He liked her. There was something magnetic about her. Fun. Interesting. He wanted to sit with her over coffee and listen to her tell him her life story. Without knowing anything about Ginny, he could tell she'd lived an exciting life, probably filled with African safaris and cruises around the Mediterranean. She just had that aura about her.

As they chatted—Ginny posing the usual small-talk questions and Simon dutifully answering—he noticed the pendant on one of her necklaces. He wouldn't have been drawn to it had it not stood out against the long strings of bejeweled costume jewelry. In comparison, it was plain, understated, a very simple piece that didn't match the rest of Ginny's aesthetic.

A round piece of silver with a design that reminded Simon of the sun.

She must've noticed him staring because, "It's lovely isn't it?" she said, leaning forward and holding the pendant away from her collar for Simon to see. "An heirloom. Once part of a pair." At Simon's questioning gaze, she elaborated, "Earrings. But one of them wandered off somewhere along the line, so I strung this one on a chain. I simply couldn't part with it."

"It's beautiful." Simon said as he admired the pendant. "Does the symbol mean anything?"

Ginny nodded, "Actually, it does. The compass is to keep your soul on the right path, the sun beneath it represents clarity in this case, to ensure your vessel remains clean. And the flower," She used her Victory Red pinky nail to indicate, "is another layer of purity." She chuckled, "Essentially, it's to ward off any bad juju that tries to enter your body or mind."

Simon listened closely, curious if she wore it because she was a Traveler, like you'd told him. Her soul could walk out of her body on a whim, which, to Simon, suggested something else could walk in. Including but not limited to bad juju as she'd put it. Was that possible? He really wanted to ask, but knew he couldn't.

The click-clack of heels on hardwood turned Simon's attention to the hall. He stood, smoothed his suit jacket and stepped around the couch, eyes widening and jaw going slack when he saw you descending the stairs.

"Wow."

You looked...gorgeous. Stunning. He'd never seen you done up like that before, makeup that enhanced your features rather than made a statement, hair in loose curls that fell down your back, a cocktail dress in a color that complimented your skin. He was, to put it lightly, gobsmacked.

Wally was a lucky guy, Simon thought.

Your sister giggled and whispered something to you that sounded like, "He's pink, too," which...did that make sense? Because he didn't understand. He'd have to ask you when you and he were safely alone in the truck.

He saw Andrew roll his eyes, "Not now," and knock your sister's shoulder as he passed her to stand with Ginny.

Behind him, Ginny snickered to Simon, "We want her back in the same condition she's leaving in," to which Simon blushed to his roots.

Knowing something you didn't, he could only stammer, "I—yeah. I promise. No funny business."

Your sister seemed to disagree, squinting at him before she whispered to you again, this time telling you, "He's red now," then louder, for everyone to hear but directed at Simon, "Remember to keep room between you for the holy spirit."

Oh god. Simon's collar suddenly felt too tight. Andrew barked a laugh. Ginny cackled and patted his shoulder, assuring him not to listen to your sister as she winked salaciously.

When he turned back to you, you had your hands over your face, grumbling, "I hate you so much," to your sister and Ginny.

Grinning, Simon held out his arm to you, a charming, "Milady," as you banded your arm through his.

"Milord," You grinned back, "Let's go before they make us take pictures."

He agreed, wishing Andrew, your sister, and Ginny goodnight, and escorting you to the door. You grabbed a peacoat and a guitar case on your way out, waved to your family and bid them goodbye, groaning like the teenage girl you were at whatever, "You'd better still smell like jasmine tomorrow!" meant.

💀___________________________

PART THREE - PART FIVE

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[aidensolas]

A TRULY VEHEMENT FOLLOWING

Obsessed! (?) Two Time x Reader

Hey guys sorry for being off the radar for a while it's because I finally got my milestone IV Two Time yippie! Anyways even though this story isn't that dark it deserves a warning or two so only read if you're okay with it!

The moon was hung low in the sky, its silver light filtering through the gnarled branches of the dead trees that surrounded the clearing. A cold wind blew through the forest, carrying the scent of damp earth and something metallic.

On the ground, a pattern of symbols was drawn in red chalk, bleeding into the soil like veins forming a sun with sharp blades. The air was heavy with silence, broken only by distant rustling of leaves and the soft chanting of the cultists in a circle around the ritual. They were all in black, their faces hidden, and murmuring in hushed tones, their hands raised to the sky as if calling something.

In the center of the circle, a stone altar stood, cold and ancient, with flickering candles that cast long shadows. The cult leader, in deep purple robes, raised a ceremonial dagger above the altar, his voice growing louder with each word.

"The spawn answer our call! You have promised an incarnate of your divine being! A living person to free us from our suffering! We call you as a testament to the answer to our deeds, an answer to your eternal divinity."

A crackling sound split the air. Lightning struck. The heavens themselves seemed to tear open. A shimmer appeared in the center of the symbol. There was no time to react. The center of the symbol had a person now. A person in robes, a giant witch hat, and skeletal wings and a tail. The person on the center flailed as they hit the ground. You blinked in shock. A little dazed as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

One moment you were playing DnD with your friends having fun and thinking it was the best day ever and the next you’re in the middle of a ritual greeted by people you don't know or would like to know in the matter of fact. It was all a blur on the events that transpired next, you were entitled with being the so-called incarnation of a higher being as so to say having the signature signs of the one most normally believed to be affiliated with their 'higher being' or at least blessed by them. Wings embraced by a skeletal cover? Well check. A tail that's also skeletal and arches into a circle? Check. You argue that it's all a coincidence and none of it is true to which the one who conducted the ritual calmly stated for you to prove it. Flabbergasted and surprised that the cult is actually hearing you out, you tried to pull off the wings and the tail the main signs of what ensnares you but all you were met with is a forceful pain as you try to do so. Now the cult believes you to be their promised one you were quickly endowed with robes and garments fit for royalty and now you were just... Here.

As you stayed within the cult as they prohibited you from leaving their watchful eyes, you were frankly bored and to pass the time the cult decided to give you one of their own as a subordinate his name was Two Time though they were a bit awkward in your first meeting stumbling and bumbling over their own words as they called you his 'Divine' one.. They truly meant well as they would always accommodate on what you asked for, would always be on your beck and call, they're also quite a looker despite their pale complexion and clumsy personality. As time went on they became more open and more comfortable with talking to you yet they still call you by a title and wouldn't budge no matter what you say. Well life here can't be that bad right?

Two Time is a person with a strong sense of faith no matter whether it be their belief or not they will stand by what they think is the truth or what they deem it to be. So, imagine their surprise when you came along a person which the cult admitted being the incarnation of the 'Spawn' sure they were ecstatic, but they can't help but feel doubtful of your identity. The spawn responding after the graceful silence they've been in for the past decade. Even a person with unwavering faith in the cult is a bit skeptical to say the least though they wouldn't question you themselves as if the following deemed it so they would oblige. It would come as another surprise that the leader of the following would assign himself as the subordinate of the so-called incarnation of the spawn though they wanted to reject the initial offer their faith and their belief in the following made them agree in Favour of it as if it was asked of them, they would do so.

So they met you in person, a little in awe in how great you personally looked, a person who's tacked and well-dressed being adorned the finest of robes and a set of functioning skeletal tails and wings. They were oddly enamored by those features of yours they wondered how it would feel against their hands as gently caressed would it hurt? Two Time heard the process of getting those wings and tail is the process of constant pain and suffering but it's a blessing to be given another chance at life and yet you seem relatively fine in the fact almost unbothered by the presence of it.

Is it because you're truly the incarnation? They have no clue. Breaking their thoughts as they see you looking at them in anticipation, they clumsily introduce themselves as well as stating the purpose of being your personal subordinate. The more Two Time stares at you as you shake the hand that's been outreached to you the more weirded out, they are regarding your position. Your touch is a little warm and out of place as it braces their hands... It felt weird to feel this way but, it isn't unwelcome it just feels off as if they don't deserve this something... Out of his league to say so. Two Time jitters back to reality as they hastily retract their hand and once more to mutter his name albeit more silent. No more words were said that day they just stood still in your quarters and would do the actions they were asked to do so by you.

Their opinion would come to change as day by day they got to spend time with you personally as your subordinate. Two Time would be often tasked to be by your side when conducting with the daily hearings and prayers conducted by the following. You were to be kept hidden and concealed as the hearings happened as to respect your reverence thought they became more lighthearted and accepted your position as the incarnation, a little nagging voice in their mind tells them to be skeptical of the slightest chance you aren't. The hearings happened as normal, the followers would tell you upon their days, sins, blessings, wishes, hopes and you would be the person to listen and perhaps grant them the blessing of forgiveness or the blessing of granting those requests.

Two time stood still by the area you were concealed and hidden only your voice being heard as one of the followers of the cult rambled on about his day and how he always wanted to own a simple bakery on the block spreading cheer and joy to those who eats inside his bakery, he described what the bakery should look like and the aesthetic he was going for he prayed that you would grant his wish even though he was just a new member. You thought his dreams were endearing and was honestly looking for an out to be kicked out of the cult, if you told this man, you would grant his wish, and it didn't happen wouldn't they realize you're fake? So, you decided to offer your words of confirmation to him. "When the dawn's light breaks the night, a secret shall take flight; what heart's desire in slumber's keep, will bloom anew with morning's leap." The follower seemed to have understood what you meant and jumped up in joy thanking you for hearing him out and left promptly after. "Why'd you grant his request and not the others?" Two Time asked as they noticed out of all the requests that you could have given affirmation to you chose the single last one which was definitely the hardest to grant. You decided to think about it and honestly out of all the requests you took, that single follower was probably the one you liked the best. As other people asked for things like forgiveness or advice, and you were honestly bored of that and since you needed a way to disprove yourself why not? You left the area to where you would be concealed as you patted Two Time's back "You don't trust me?" Two Time looked at you for a bit and shook their head "It's not that I don't it's just... I'm sorry my Divinity.. I shouldn't question your intentions." You chucked a bit at their dull reaction "Don't worry Two Time you'll always be my favourite subordinate or uh... Servant for that matter." You said as a joke, but little did you see as Two Time hid their head to look at the other side, they were blushing although just a little bit.

The next day to your surprise somehow the follower you granted the request to get his wish granted. Even though you were surprised as he barged in and thanked you, ruining another person's hearing in the moment, the word in the following quickly got out that a wish of a follower has been granted. Two Time being the most surprised as they felt guilty and scared of confronting you as a follower of their degree should have never doubted you in the first place. As you wrapped up your final hearings for the day and was about to step out Two Time told you there was one more hearing you needed to attend to, and it was theirs. They asked for forgiveness as they kneeled to you head down, you gently cup their cheeks as you ruffled his hair in a playful manner. "It doesn't matter if you believe me or not all that it matters is that you stay true to yourself besides you're my favored one no matter what you do I'll see it in a good light." You say not giving it much thought as you're not accustomed to Two Time taking everything so seriously and this time it won't end up good for the both of you. Two Time raised their head blushing, looking at you like they spent their whole life waiting to see you, they rubbed their face onto your hand's eyes closed as they gently held your hands with their own. "I'll serve you earnestly. I promise my great one." You sighed as you thought in your head 'You won't be saying that for long anyway.'

Each and every time you would try to disprove yourself and escape it would somehow be disproved and it would end up making you look more like a deity than a fraud. A person asked for a blessing? They got it immediately. Materialistic desires? Somehow got granted. The more you think about it the more you realized the people in the cult wasn't all that bad sure they may look scary but they have their own lives though the practices to get a second life is indeed not what you thought it'd be you were disensitized as you never really felt part of their own world though Two Time in the other hard grew more faithful day by day. As a person whose faith reigned more than their own morality Two Time knows they shouldn't feel this way about you, they've always wondered what it feels like to embrace you as theirs as they would often look at you for an alarming amount of time before shaking their head and looking away, but can you blame them? You've always seemed to give them special treatment though you were monotone and serious when it came to other followers, you were smiling and showing your emotions only to them, they feel special as to be the person who receives your attention and trust. They know they shouldn't feel this way but it gets hard to do so each fleeting moment they spend together and the more Two Time thinks about you the more twisted his obsession becomes as in their mind the only fitting subordinate to ever grave your presence was them.

It started off innocent and cute really... Two Time would become less frigid and cold as you both talked, they would be more worried and concerned for your safety always nagging on how you should take care of yourself they would often to try and initiate small levels of kinship like holding your hands or being close to you a little clingy infact as he would even stand outside your quarters as you slept. This wouldn't last long as the more you spend time with them the more twisted his mind becomes opting to more unconventional means to prove his worth and undying faith to you. He would often enter your quarters after they know you would be sound asleep looking at your sleeping face makes them feel special as they're the only person who's seen you this vulnerable and liable to danger he would often rub their face against yours as they held your hand often thinking how it would feel if you were to embrace them wholly to become one with them, (not that kind.) their heart would beat faster as they caress your wings adorned by a skeletal structure as it felt cool and smooth to their touch, they've always wanted to this. This was their only moment to savor no one else's as only they can see this part of you, as your faithful subordinate no... your only faithful subordinate will be the first and last person to be able to do these things with you. No one else. As time passes on Two Time became more manipulative and vocal about what they didn't like, optioning to tell you on what people thought about you as they realized that even if you are the incarnation you heavily relied on other people's opinion on you, you began to isolate yourself from the following even though you wanted to leave you still taught they were nice people do you didn't want to bother them anymore, to which Two Time became ecstatic as you spent more time with them. If given the chance they would always rest his head on your lap as they embrace your legs muttering how faithful they are to you and that you've changed their life for the better. You would always comb your hands through their hair which would make them feel more special as you chose to embrace them and only them as you could have always pushed them away and rejected them, but you didn't. You always accept everything from them with open arms so ofcourse how aren't they going to feel special? They threw out modestly a long time ago when they stopped thinking of you as a person out of their league and instead thinking you're the only person worth their love.

Your dedicated servant would always be Two Time. No matter what you do or what you say, he is your only devoted servant since without them, no one else in the world would support you as much as they do. They might not be able to hurt anyone for you yet, but only time will tell before a severed head in your bedroom caused by your name will be found. A sacrifice and a statement that only a person as devoted as them will be the only thing you will need.

Notes:

I finished it. Me sleepy. I won't tag anyone because I don't know if they'd like something like this... Thanks to @brain4stew for saying we need more stuff like this it's so true it's simply a need to have more obsessive and yandere type stuff!

Yippie bald two time.