#Fuck intrusive thoughts and fuck trauma triggers

[the-yearning-astronaut]

.

[anomalymon]

Syscourser: I wonder how an endo would react to actual DID/OSDD distress lol

Me: My system is endogenic with elements of it being caused by being on the OCD spectrum/developing DPDR as a result. We experience dissociative episodes as viscerally melting out of our body and feeling a shift in our organs, bones, and flesh. During certain obsessive episodes, we might feel like our phantom body is being stabbed, blended, crushed, or whatever the intrusive thought of the day is. There's often a prevailing feeling that our body is intensely wrong that contributes to our dissociation. Sometimes dissociation feels like I'm being physically vomited out of my body.

[rouge-the-bat]

i am. SO fucking tired of ppl trying to make "problematic" fiction out to being the same fucking thing as shit me and other csa survivors have gone through. how do yall not realize how fucking disrespectful it is to have our trauma watered down to be equal to some shit thats literally not even real ????? THEY ARE NOT THE SAME THING, ONE HAS AN ACTIVE REAL ABUSER AND REAL VICTIM, ONE IS A FAKE STORY ABOUT FAKE PEOPLE.

[ravenquingvax]

14 year old me deserved better

we shouldn't have been bullied, our parents shouldn't have emotionally neglected us, we shouldn't have been allowed free reign on the internet

i have irreversible trauma all because my parents didn't understand the difference between giving shelter & food to someone and real parenting

i felt abandoned and unloved and pushed away and hated

i felt utterly worthless to, and unwanted by, the very people who had fought to have me

my parents went through IVF to have me, you know, and yet my whole life I've never really felt loved or wanted by them

i ended up so alone and scared i fell into an older person's trap and was hurt in ways that i didn't understand back then

i felt so broken and discarded, like i truly had nothing left to give to anyone else

it really fucked me up

i understand how this all happened and it sickens me

i hate that some parents hate their children and hurt them internationally, i hate that some parents don't know love and therefore can't give it to their own children in the future

i hate that people refuse to accept that girls can be evil and predatory, i hate that we treat victims as criminals even if they "followed every rule"

its no wonder i gave up on my education in the end

its no wonder i stopped living

im stuck and I feel helpless

i was talking to people, I was getting help, I was making progress (and technically i still am but not in ways that truly help in the long run) but it got too overwhelming and i just fucking shut down again

i feel trapped in a body that doesn't belong to me

it never did and never will

i feel trapped in a cycle of anger and sadness and sickness and exhaustion

5 10 15 20 25 30

i feel so fucking stuck

so fucking done

i woke up at 6am today and i couldn't fall back asleep

i trued writing it off, literally by writing fanfiction, and I've refreshed tumblr and twitter so many times since I woke up that in kind of sick of them

its now 8am and I feel dead

but not energy wise

just emotionally unwound

I'll probably feel better after i have some water and talk to my boyfriend, knowing me

but i wanted to talk about how just fucked everything feels

i feel like a vase someone smashed into smithereens and that was put back together with paper mache and string

her name kills me almost every time I see or hear it now

i think i might hate myself less than her these days, honestly

she stole my innocence and my trust and my childish love

she robbed me of a colour, of a book series, of a movie, of a flower and of so much more

she probably doesn't even remember me anymore, if she's still alive after everything

i don't know what I'd prefer

5 10 15 20 25 30

would i rather she got help and found love and happiness?

would i rather the opposite?

i feel too tired to care

she's not the last, nor am i certain she was truly the first

but she ruined me in ways nobody else could dream to

she left a sickness in my veins that i cant get rid of

its almost become lovely

i would miss it if it were gone

the hate is ugly and hisses, but i take comfort in its heat

maybe i am broken, maybe she broke me, maybe

i woke up today with terrible thoughts of things i dont want to do to myself or to others

thats fucked up

i can't remember if i was always like this or if she did this

maybe its both

5 10 15 20 25 30

all i know is that im tired

i want to stop hurting

i want to stop being scared

i want to stop being angry

i want to stop being sad

i want to stop being so tired

i just want to live and love

i love people, i do

i hate feeling such strong hatred that im not so sure is even really my own

i just want to be happy

i feel sick

[boys-with-guns-and-sticks]

i wish i was a little boy getting raped

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

weirdest fucking shit to fixate over but we just keep comin back to it huh

tmi in the tags probably

[manicpixiedreamedwins]

”I love you I’m just disappointed in you” no. You fool. Love me as the terrible abomination that I am or fuck off. I’m not interested in your guilt or your conditionals.

[headspace-hotel]

Also on topic of Consent: whenever somebody says "Kids should have bodily autonomy!" some guy always is like "You are too unrealistic. What will you do when a kid is seeing the doctor and doesn't want to get a shot? Would you just let them refuse the shot?"

Yeah I probably would. You're straight up asking the wrong person if you want the nice normal answer here. Doctors and nurses forcibly doing (relatively routine) things to my body against my protests when I was a small kid fucked me up so bad that as an adult anything medical related is a huge trigger for me, I've had persistent intrusive thoughts and recurring nightmares about medical procedures, and I can't have even the most basic tests and health checks done on top of it.

I hate talking about it because I can't get comfortable calling it "trauma" and I don't have any other words that are useful, but it's made my life so much harder and really scary since if I start having a weird symptom, there's nothing I can move myself to do about it.

I figured out a loophole where going to a pharmacy instead of a doctor's office for vaccines reduces some of the stress, but I was still in stress and misery for days before I went to get my tetanus shot. The repulsion is so intense it feels like I literally don't have control over myself, it feels like I can't make appointments or plans about such things out of my own free will, and so every year I have guilt guilt guilt guilt guilt about how I should get the flu shot, and it does nothing but ineffectually hurt me.

Vaccines save lives and all that, but when it comes right down to it, I don't think it's actually a net benefit to public health to give any percentage of kids lifelong psychological scars so deep and painful they're almost completely barred from accessing health care as adults.

I know I'm not the only one, far from it.

[mirroringshards]

i think the worst thing about mental health advocates online is how much they do not fucking care about and genuinely HATE actual mentally ill people.

people advocate for mental health issues but, if you have symptoms that affect another person youre cut off and treated like a monster.

if youre mentally ill you are not allowed to be less than perfect because then youre "the reason your disorder is so demonized".

if you try to explain yourself or your disorder you get "your mental health isnt an excuse", "stop excusing what you did".

if your symptom isnt normal, if you have an actually bad symptom and not just an "uwu quirky x3" one youre demonized and treated like a monster because "oh! erm.. thats toxic.."

if you cope in a way that appears weird to others youre viewed as weird. cringe. a bad person.

and god forbid a minor have sexual thoughts because of trauma.

ask to vent, dont trauma dump, dont say a single negative thing because it might trigger someone. dont complain, dont vent publicly, dont post your intrusive thoughts it might trigger someone. cover up your scars, "keep that shit to yourself", "leave it in the notes app" because it might trigger someone or cause someone discomfort.

and god forbid a consenting adult be into rough kink because of trauma. god forbid anyone have any symptom of mental illness that is deemed as "weird" or "not normal". god forbid mentally ill people be weird or unnormal.

we arent normal and you know that. stop acting like we are and stop acting like we have to be to please others. i am done caring about the comfort of ableists.

[whenmemorydies]

Carmen, Natalie, and the Berzattos

CW: this post talks about domestic violence, addiction, mental health, racialised trauma, toxic masculinity and intergenerational trauma (this show deals with so much friends!).

Go gently with yourself if you choose to continue to read. Also its a long one (longer than my usual!) so fair warning if you're diving in: maybe put the kettle on.

Following on from The Claw, The Scrunchie and The Prayer Card metas (Part 1 and Part 2), I've been thinking more about The Berzattos (represented via Natalie's hair claw in Carmy's apartment) and their presence (seen and unseen) in season 3 of The Bear.

@espumado's fantastic meta on The Night of the Hunter and its use in The Bear, particularly as it relates to Natalie and the struggle she goes through in season 3 has informed a lot of this post. My reblog of that post also contains a lot of thinking that I had started to scratch at but haven't been able to expand upon until now. Also check out @currymanganese's brilliant analysis of The Night of the Hunter in the context of romantic relationships in The Bear.

Another source of information I've used in the research for this meta is this fantastic interview in the LA Times with the cast involved in 2x06 Fishes (thanks @brokenwinebox for sharing it!). Also thank you to @thoughtfulchaos773, @brokenwinebox and @devisrina for the chat about the above interview and discussions about Donna Berzatto's relationship with her son, Carmy.

Finally @vacationship's most excellent breakdown of the roles taken up by characters in The Bear according to Adult Children of Alcoholics ('ACA') roles defined by Sharon Wegscheider-Cruise and communicator types as developed by Virginia Satir has also informed this post.

The Berzattos

Okay so, given what we know about Carmy and about the Berzattos, it would seem obvious that, yes, his birth family is going to impact Carmy. I think its probably so obvious, that a lot of the fandom, myself included, have taken Carmy's relationship with his family for granted this season. To be fair, we were also getting Claire and the Faks shoved down our throats so some things flew under the radar including, in my view, the Berzattos.

What got me thinking about the Berzattos as a source of anguish for Carmy was a rewatch of 3x03 Doors - specifically Carmy's panic attack during that episode.

The first panic attack of season 3

At this late point in the episode, we've been watching Carmy and the crew's slowly escalating struggle with the demands of fine dining, when we arrive at Carmy running expo and calling for hands. His voice is hoarse and it sounds like he's been screaming for some time. His vision starts to blur and as he continues to call out for hands, we see glimpses of what appear to be intrusive thoughts, interrupting Carmy's work and triggering a panic attack. The sequence of shots that appear during this panic attack is below:

I note that Carm appears to be trying to come out of the panic attack by remembering his time at The French Laundry and Noma - much like memories of immaculately plated food helped him regulate during his panic attack in 1x08 Braciole and memories of Sydney helped him to regulate during his panic attack in 2x09 Omelette.

The final thought Carm has during this panic attack - indeed the thought he has when it appears that his panic attack is reaching its peak - is of his sister Natalie, in a church praying:

Note: I'm working on the assumption that the above memory of Natalie takes place at Marcus' mother's funeral. This is based on the clothes Natalie is wearing and how her hair is styled.

Its at this moment in his panic attack that you can see the crest in Carmy's emotions. The orchestral score during this sequence also builds to its climax at this point. Carmy's face screws into a tight grimace and he practically spits out the word, Fuck. Its only then that the music cuts away and we hear Sydney's voice bringing Carmy back to the present:

The fact that thinking about Natalie (praying while she carries the next generation of the Berzatto family) is what causes Carmy's panic attack to peak is what got me thinking more seriously about the impact of his birth family on Carm. ( This is something that others including @mitocamdria and @moodyeucalyptus have also picked up on here and here - the Bear hive mind at work!)

Below is my attempt to map these impacts out, from the perspective of intergenerational trauma, which can be described as,

"the apparent transmission of trauma between generations of a family. People who experience adverse childhood experiences growing up, or who have survived historical disasters or traumas, may pass the effects of those traumas on to their children or grandchildren, through their genes, their behaviour, or both, leaving the next generational susceptible to anxiety, depression, hypervigilance, and other emotional and mental health concerns."

I'd argue that intergenerational trauma can continue well beyond a person's grandchildren, particularly in cases where the systemic factors may have caused a trauma (for example: racial segregation, colonialism), continue to impact on multiple generations of a family.

So lets start by looking at Carmy's mother, Donna Berzatto...

Donna's trauma

I preface the below analysis with the caveat that we are not told what mental health diagnoses (if any) Donna Berzatto has (though she is clearly struggling with her mental health when we first meet her in 2x06 Fishes). The inferences I make below are based on what we have been told in the show about trauma that Donna has experienced.

Recall 3x08 Ice Chips where Donna and Natalie are talking in between bouts of Natalie's contractions. At one point in the episode, Natalie says:

I don't remember your mom.

To which, Donna sadly responds:

You don't want to.

Donna then becomes silently tearful remembering her mother.

Its clear from this very brief exchange that Donna has experienced some level of abuse at the hands of her own mother: Michael, Natalie and Carmy's maternal grandmother. That abuse has no doubt impacted on Donna's ability to parent her own children and likely influenced how she parented them as well.

As a mother myself, I've found that one of the hardest things about parenting has been avoiding the repetition of harmful behaviours that I've picked up through my own childhood. For all of us, the first - and often most memorable - models we have for how to parent have been the experiences we've had with our own primary caregivers (whether they were our birth parents or other adults in our lives). If those models were abusive or violent, we have to work that much harder to make sure we don't fall back on those examples when raising our own children. (And let me tell you, in the heat of the moment when your child is cracking a tanty in the grocery store, it takes A LOT to not revert to learned behaviours and instead take a step back and act from a rational place of calm lol).

For many folks who've had abusive childhoods, raising your own children can also be a very triggering journey. This article goes into a bit of why this is the case. If you've not been able to do any work on yourself or receive help to work through your own childhood abuse, you risk "blowing your trauma through" your children (I've borrowed the phrase "blowing trauma through" from African-American therapist and trauma specialist, Dr Resmaa Menakem, whose fantastic book My Grandmother's Hands has also influenced this post and a lot of my thinking about racial and intergenerational trauma). Given Donna's own history of abuse with her mother, its not a big leap to assume that she has "blown her trauma through" Michael, Natalie and Carmy with each of her children experiencing this in different ways.

There's also Donna's clear mom rage, no doubt built up over years as a single parent, and epitomised in the line from 2x06 (that broke my heart when I heard it because it resonated so much),

I make things beautiful for them, and no one makes things beautiful for me.

Based on the show's lore, up until 3x08 it wasn't evident that Donna had ever taken any steps to try and work through her own mental health issues and trauma. Once we get to 3x08 though, when Natalie says that she didn't tell Donna about her pregnancy because,

I just didn't want all the stuff you bring with you.

Donna replies by saying:

Yeah. I've been trying to put that stuff away.

Natalie then asks her mother how that process is going and Donna responds,

Its not easy.

Natalie then tells her mother that she's glad Donna is trying and Donna says she's glad that she's trying too.

Its not much, but the above exchange points to a slight shift in Donna's approach to her own trauma and to her parenting. This shift appears to have put Donna and Natalie's relationship on firmer footing than it has been in the past. Whether it will be enough for Carmy's relationship with his mother is another question and one I'm sure we'll see play out in season 4.

The Berzattos and Italian American racialised trauma

Other than the above exchange in 3x08 Ice Chips, we have no information about Donna's parents. I assume that Donna was born in America given her description of the Feast of the Seven Fishes (also known as La Vigilia) as described to Richie in 2x06 Fishes. During her description, Donna speaks about the Italian immigrants who brought "their seven best things" with them as if she's speaking about ancestors, not her own generation.

She does not use the first person here:

[I]ts based on people who left Italy to find new dreams and homes with new people. And they brought their seven best things from their sea to their new homes. And not so their families end up being a bunch of fuckin' jagoffs. (lmao)

Then Class A Jagoff, Uncle Lee storms into the kitchen and tells Donna that her retelling of the Seven Fishes legend is "not even close" and refers to all the sevens that occur in the Bible. Which is likely a closer explanation for the feast (see this overview on La Vigilia published on the Italian Sons and Daughters of America website). Notably, it was southern Italian and Sicilian immigrants that popularised the Feast of the Seven Fishes in America.

Given the above, it doesn't seem to me that Donna is a first generation Italian immigrant. Depending on the Berzatto family history, its possible that Donna is the daughter of Italian immigrants or the granddaughter of them. Her Italian ancestry could stretch even further back in time. At this point in The Bear, we don't know.

What we should note is that Italian immigrants and in particular, southern Italian and Sicilian immigrants to America, endured a history of racism in that country before their acceptance into the category of "white" in America.

Image source: How Italians Became 'White', The New York Times

This NY Times article provides an overview of the racialisation of Italians in America over time. The article notes that,

"[d]arker skinned southern Italians endured the penalties of blackness on both sides of the Atlantic. In Italy, Northerners had long held that Southerners - particularly Sicilians - were an 'uncivilized' and racially inferior people, [considered] too obviously African to be part of Europe."

This racism of northern Italians towards those from the south of the country was no doubt tied to Italy’s own racist and violent colonial history, including its involvement in Europe's rabid "Scramble for Africa". In the course of its time as a colonial power, Italy came to brutally invade and occupy Eritrea, Somalia, Libya and Ethopia.

Note: I don't think its a coincidence that, Ebraheim, Somalian "grill master", medic and veteran of the American military intervention in Somalia, found himself working at an Italian American beef sandwich shop. Much in the same way that its no surprise that many folks in my Tamil family ended up in the heart of the British Empire - the UK - after fleeing civil unrest and genocide in one of its former colonies (Sri Lanka). As Tamil writer A.S. Sivanandan is famously quoted as saying about post-colonial migration: "we are here, because you were there."

Once they first arrived in America in the 19th century, racism against Southern Italians continued:

"They were sometimes shut out of schools, movie houses and labor unions, or consigned to church pews set aside for black people. They were described in the press as 'swarthy', 'kinky haired' members of a criminal race and derided in the streets with epithets [that were more commonly] applied to enslaved Africans and their descendants[.]"

Though while Italian Americans experienced the severe racial prejudice described above, particularly during their early history in America, some were still able to benefit from their European ancestry in ways that people with non-European backgrounds were unable to. This included: being able to apply for US citizenship, being able to marry, own property, and choose where to live - things that BIPOC people often faced great barriers (if not outright bans) to accessing.

Notably, in Chicago where the Berzattos are based, the history of Italian racialisation differed to other major cities in America. In Italian Immigrants, Whiteness and Race: A Regional Perspective (p. 6) Italian historian Stefano Luconi notes that,

[I]n Chicago, Italian Americans competed primarily with Polish immigrants, who generally turned out to be less hostile to them than Irish Americans in New York City or Boston, and overall their accommodation within the adoptive society was easier than elsewhere.

Given the above, the Berzattos' connection with Polish "family members" Uncle Jimmy Kalinowski, Uncle Lee Lane, and Cousin Richie Jerimovich appears rooted in a long history of Polish-Italian relations in Chicago.

Note: Ancestry.com tells me Kalinowski is a Polish and Jewish last name. Uncle Lee identifies as "Polski" in 2x06 Fishes and in the draft script for 2x06 is listed as Uncle Jimmy's brother. While Richie's ethnicity isn't explicitly stated in The Bear, in 3x04 Violet, he refers to his daughter Eva as żabka which is Polish for "small frog" and is also used as a term of endearment for girls or women.

Eventually Italian Americans were assimilated into the racial category of "white" both legally and in the popular imagination of the country. This happened in a few ways including via Italian Americans claiming whiteness for themselves, particularly in active opposition to Black, African American communities. This is despite their historic racialisation in comparison to Black, African-descent people (which, in a better world, could have been the basis for shared and sustained solidarity between the two communities). Luconi observes that,

"in Brazos County, Texas, Italian Americans learned to claim whiteness for self-protection, which involved showing off hostility toward African Americans in the mid-1890s [...] By the same token, after realizing the social benefits of being characterized by a white identity, Italian Americans in Baltimore embraced the racist premises of the local political leadership in the early twentieth century and joined two campaigns that unsuccessfully aimed at disenfranchising African Americans in 1905 and 1909 by amending the state constitution." from: Italian Immigrants, Whiteness and Race: A Regional Perspective (p. 15)

The above NY Times article states that in 1892, the lynching of 11 Italian immigrants who were accused of killing a police chief in New Orleans resulted in Italy breaking diplomatic relations with America. As a result of this and to prevent unrest in the Italian American community, US President Benjamin Harrison proclaimed 12 October as "Columbus Day" and encouraged Americans to celebrate the contribution of the Italian Christopher Columbus to the creation of America.

Apparently, this sleight of hand (a legerdemain because it: (a) magically erased generations upon generations of First Nations who have existed in the Americas long before Columbus' arrival (and who continue to do so), and (b) because it vanished the explorer's penchant for rape and enslavement of the First Nations' people that he did encounter) was enough to reinstate diplomatic relations between America and Italy as well as carve out a place for Italian Americans in the white, American imaginary.

Indeed, despite recent calls to stop the celebration of Columbus Day led by First Nations people across America, it is Italian American organisations (including the Italian Sons and Daughters of America) and prominent Italian Americans that are some of those voices leading campaigns to keep Columbus Day as it is, reductively and disingenuously dismissing its critics as attacking Italian-American heritage.

Note: the above views are obviously not shared by all Italian Americans. See below protest staged by Italian Americans in the Berzattos' hometown of Chicago, in opposition to the city's Columbus Day Parade (Source: Fox 32 Chicago):

One of my heroes, Toni Morrison, once said of American national identity,

"In this country, American means white. Everybody else has to hyphenate."

White supremacy operates amongst racialised communities through divide and rule, with these communities pitted against one another, trying to achieve as close a proximity to whiteness as possible. In the US context, that proximity brings those communities closer to what is perceived as "American". The above examples show how some Italian American communities in America shifted the racial categorisation of their community to "white" over time by fighting for that proximity. I would argue that that shift came at a great cost, as all racism does: a cost to the BIPOC communities that were fucked over in the process and a cost to the souls of those now "white" Italian Americans who participated in divide and rule to get closer to a white supremacist position of power. Dr Resmaa Menakem would refer to those costs as traumas for both BIPOC communities and (now) white, Italian American communities.

In My Grandmother's Hands, Dr Menakem discusses the impact of racialised trauma on white people. Specifically, that white supremacy - or as Dr Menakem refers to it, "white body supremacy" - is itself a trauma response. I won't get into the details of this framework (and make this post longer than it already is lol) except to say its fascinating and I'd encourage you to read My Grandmother's Hands to find out more. Its relevance here is to illustrate that on top of our individual, personal traumas, we each carry with us racialised trauma. I make the point of articulating this because while The Bear alludes to race (sometimes masterfully as in this scene where Donna tries to play divide and rule in her own way), it often does so obliquely in ways that are not always obvious to viewers (for example, see director Ramy Youssef's discussion in Variety about the bike crash scene in 2x04 Honeydew). But make no mistake, race permeates this show.

For example, I think about Uncle Lee’s jab at Mikey in 2x06 about the latter living with his mom, and compare this to Marcus living with his mother throughout seasons 1-2 or Sydney living with her father in seasons 1-3. I think about how in many communities of colour, multi-generational living isn’t seen as shameful because the focus is not just on financial dependence but on relationships and care. Certainly, an adult child might not be financially independent but if they are caring for their parent, this is something to be valued.

I think about how the move to individualism (championed by Uncle Lee) away from family and community (features that Italian culture is historically very well known for) is a shift that, for many Italian Americans, may be viewed as a cost incurred as a result of an allegiance to white supremacy.

I think also about the words of Tema Okun, who wrote about how white supremacy shows up in organisational and professional settings in her 1999 article "White Supremacy Culture" and how in that work, Okun noted particular identifying characteristics of organisational, white supremacist culture, including (but not limited to):

individualism;

perfectionism;

either/or & binary thinking; and

a sense of urgency.

Sound familiar? I thought they might. These are traits that Carmy has exhibited in almost every episode of season 3 (and periodically in seasons 1-2). Notably, these are traits that are also valorised in the world of fine dining, as we see it through Carmy's eyes throughout season 3 (in flashbacks and in how he chooses to run The Bear). And we all know how well this shit is going for our man (lol).

I'll get into this more in an upcoming meta (again, this is me manifesting in a bid to force myself to finish writing the thing lol), but I just wanted to point out how both in terms of his racialisation and his professional career, Carmy is immersed in white supremacy - whether he wants to be or not - benefiting from its privileges while also being witness and therefore, subject, to its horrors. No one escapes this shit, not even those who've been welcomed into the fold at the top of the hierarchy.

All of this - the racialised history and trauma associated with the Italian American community as well as the clear whiteness that marks the fine dining industry - makes Carmy's character that much more fascinating to me. Here is a character with seemingly no personal prejudices towards BIPOC folks. He loves the BIPOC folks in his life quite dearly (in particular, Marcus who he treats as a brother, and of course Sydney, in whom he's found a soulmate). I think this is likely due in large part to the role Carmy's siblings (Mikey and Natalie) played in raising him. These two characters also appear to care deeply for the BIPOC people in their lives without much of the prejudice that many who have been racialised and socialised in their community might harbour. And in their roles as surrogate parents for Carmy, they appear to have modelled that healthy and normal (because we must remember, what is abnormal is racism) respect for their fellow humans. They're not perfect in this (recall 2x06 and Mikey's bombastic objectification of Claire) but we do see repeated glimpses of their goodness throughout the show (recall 3x06 and Mikey's kindness to Tina, or the pantry scene in 2x06 and the gentleness he displays towards Carmy there). This is in contrast to their mother, Donna, who clearly has done no work to prevent blowing her own racialised trauma and prejudice through the bodies of her kids.

Also while the racialisation of The Bear's BIPOC characters is readily apparent (because the white supremacist culture of the West is more attuned to looking at non-white people and automatically seeing race), its white characters are also racialised and have racialised histories. The above was my attempt at stepping out a bit of the racialisation of The Berzattos, of Carmy, and of the racialised trauma that they also carry with them.

Phew.

Okay, now back to the Berzattos...

Carmy's birth

Recall 3x08 Ice Chips and Donna telling Natalie the stories of each of her children's births. By far, the birth that appears to cause Donna the most rage, the most pain, is Carmy's. It also happens to be the only birth out of her three children that her (by all accounts) deadbeat husband is present for. Donna describes fighting with her husband during the entirety of her labour with Carmy and that the hospital was fucked because it seemed like everyone went into labour at the same time. She then tells Natalie that Carmy took a long time to arrive:

Note: Its not lost on me that Carmy's obsession with speed, rushing and sense of urgency was almost definitely drilled into him from birth, given the rage with which Donna describes his "slowness" in being born.

Donna then goes onto express how frightened she was and the further difficulties involved in Carmy’s delivery:

It was so hard and so scary because he kept getting stuck, and they just kept having to move me, and I remember they were moving me in all these positions. And then at one point, I think they had me fucking upside down or something.

And then, so brutally it becomes darkly funny (I've pushed a kid out too: it can be so painful, if you don't laugh, you'll sob hysterically lol), Donna describes Carmy's birth as just all around fucked:

The whole thing was fucked:

No seriously, very fucked:

So Carmy entered the world and the experience of his delivery was fucked nine ways to Sunday for his mother. A very difficult beginning to this life for a baby, to say the least. I would go so far as to say, given the way Donna is recounting Carmy's birth, that she experienced birth trauma, and possibly developed birth-related post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

Contrast this with how Donna describes Michael's and Natalie's births:

Despite Michael also having difficulty being born (Donna recalls that it seemed like "he wanted to stay" in the safety of her womb), Donna says that she felt really good, great and strong during her labour with him and that his birth was even described by a doctor as an "amazing" one.

Donna describes Natalie's birth as "beautiful" with Natalie arriving after Donna had had a restful sleep and a vivid, prophetic dream. Donna then goes onto tell Natalie that she was delivered in the presence of a "sweet" girlfriend (Cicero's first wife, Gail) who sat with Donna during labour and who played "Baby, I Love you" for Donna as Natalie arrived.

The differences in how Donna recalls Mikey, Nat and Carmy's births and Donna's propensity in the past for holding her children's "mistakes" over their heads (recall 2x06 Fishes and the story of how Natalie got the nickname "Sugar"), make me think that she was likely to have rubbed Carmy's difficult birth in his face when he was younger. I think that Donna was also likely to have either intentionally or unintentionally (or perhaps both, depending on the circumstance) made Carmy feel less than his older siblings, maybe not as wanted. We have some evidence pointing to this happening in Carmy's past, peppered throughout the show.

Growing up in the Berzatto house:

As a child Carmy had a stutter, which causes speech to inherently slow (as it takes longer to form words and sentences). He was also scared to speak. Now a stutter in and of itself would not make the person speaking scared. Its other people's reactions to a stutter that would do that. Given Donna's vitriol at how slow Carmy's birth was, and her obsession with time (anyone fancy a kitchen timer? this lady's got 700 of them), its not a stretch to imagine that any delay in Carmy articulating himself as a child would have been met with ridicule or rage from his mother.

We know that all the Berzatto children grew up scared of their mother, a survivor of abuse herself, and an addict who drank to excess with clear mental health issues that it didn’t appear she was seeking treatment for. Recall Natalie's disclosure to Donna in 3x08 Ice Chips:

Carmy also grew up embedded in a particularly toxic type of white, heterosexual masculinity embodied by his brother Mikey and "cousin" Richie (who undoubtedly had it blown through their bodies by family, friends and the white supremacist, homophobic culture we are swimming in, in the West). I've previously discussed this in my meta on the use of 90s alternative rock in The Bear and more recently, in this reblog of @mitocamdria's meta Sublimation and Intellectual Orgasms.

Carmy gets called "a weird little dude" for knowing how to mix a drink in 2x06. He gets called a "gayrod" for owning the Noma cookbook in 1x01. He gets called a "soft shitty bitch" for calling Pete instead of Natalie in 1x05. He gets called a "mopey little fuck" in 2x06 for questioning Mikey and Richie right before they accost him with a veritable wall of gross dudebro, horndog descriptions of Claire (a girl they know and are friends with - again, fucking gross). Carmy hears his mother describe Steve as "gay" for being "arty" in 2x06 (recall that Carmy is also "arty" in that he can draw and likes fashion). If you weren't performing alpha-male dominance like Mikey, Richie, Uncle Lee or even Uncle Jimmy, the Berzatto household was a rough place to be. Truth is though, that all of those white, alpha-males have their own demons, and in the case of Mikey, those demons drove him to take his own life. The truth is that, like white supremacy, no one escapes toxic masculinity unscathed either.

We know Carmy suffered from low self-confidence as a child which might have led him to feeling aimless. He tells us in 1x08 Braciole that he got shitty grades because he couldn't pay attention in school, he didn't get into college, didn't have any girlfriends or many friends for that matter. Carmy also tells us in that same monologue that he wasn't "built" in the same way as his brother, who could walk into a room and take its temperature right away, who was loud, hilarious and magnetic.

I think about how for someone like Carmy, Mikey would have cast a long shadow. I think about how hard it would have been to have lived under that shadow while trying to figure yourself out.

It wasn't until working in fine dining that Carmy found his purpose. He says in 1x08,

For the first time in my life, I started to find this station for myself.

This must have been intoxicating and affirming for Carmy. Yet I think about how, after all that, he could return home having achieved accolades and fanfare in his career, try his best in the chaos of a Berzatto family Christmas to diffuse the powder keg that is Donna, and still be called "Michael" by his mother, his very existence in that moment, feeling like a puff of smoke.

We also know that Carmy's eldest siblings ended up being like surrogate parents for him. Mikey almost certainly was a father figure given the absence of his biological father in Carmy's life. Its not a stretch to imagine Natalie as taking on the role of a surrogate mother, given Donna's abuse and how Natalie looks out for almost everyone throughout seasons 1-3 of The Bear. In this video, Jeremy Allen White also talks about the tattoo Carmy has of two angels with a sun in between them as representing his brother and his sister, further confirming the roles of his "guardian angel" siblings.

I think about Natalie, parentified big sister that she is, sneaking a wad of cash into Carmy’s pocket as he leaves her and Chicago for New York in 3x01. I think about her calling him “honey” in that same episode as she affirms that she knows how good he is at being a chef - “honey” being a term of endearment commonly used in family settings but between parents and their children, not as commonly heard between siblings.

I also think about Mikey being born the eldest, the first and only (for a time) to have to deal with his mother's trauma and expectations. I think about how he took on the work of looking after his mother and his siblings when his father left the Berzatto home. I think about how Mikey is described by the actor who plays him, as a "dreamer who's not allowed to dream. He has to take care of everybody."

Loose ends

Another set of incidents haunting spread throughout season 3 also raised concerns for me, in that they remain unresolved and point to a resolution or confrontation for Carmy and the Berzattos in season 4. I named them in my reblog of @espumado's post on The Night of the Hunter. For ease of reference, I'll bullet point them here:

Carmy finds a box labelled "DD" (his mother, Donna's nickname) at The Bear at the end of 3x05 and looks through it. He appears frozen as he finds a baby photo of his mother holding a baby I assume is him. The episode ends at this moment and neither the box or Carmy's reaction are revisited for the remainder of season 3

Cicero tells Carmy during 3x09 that Donna wants Carmy to call her back about "the baby" (one assumes this is a reference to Natalie's baby) and that Carmy has been "fucking avoiding it" (one assumes again that the "it" here is the baby...but maybe its also just the act of calling Donna back)

But then Carmy says something strange:

Yeah. Hoping it would just go away.

Surely, Carmy's not talking about a baby. Babies can't just go away. And I don't think Carmy is so malicious that he'd wish his sister's child to disappear. I also don't think Carmy would refer to his mother as "it" (he's never done so up to this point on the show, as monstrous as she can be).

And in case you were wondering, Cicero's response to Carmy also doesn't sound like it applies to a baby or Donna (lol):

[Y]ou run right the fuck into it.

Intergenerational trauma and legacy

So what is the "it" that Carmy wants to go away? What is the "it" that Uncle Jimmy tells him to face by running "right the fuck into it"? My suspicion is that this is Carmy's baggage. The baggage that comes with being born a Berzatto and being born to Donna. All the stuff that we've been talking about here. Its also the baggage that both Nat and his mother have been trying to "put away":

Above from 3x02 Next: Natalie in conversation with Carmy. "Its not great 8am stuff."

Above from 3x08 Ice Chips: Donna in conversation with Natalie.

Carmy is trying to do this too: put away his baggage, while having been the "Lost Child" (referring to ACA roles and the recording about them that Natalie was listening to at the end of 3x07 Legacy) and the youngest child in his family for so long but now having to be the "Hero". @vacationship's post on ACA roles as they relate to The Bear gives a great breakdown on what the "lost child" and "hero" roles mean.

In the LA Times interview mentioned above, Jeremy Allen White says,

I don't think Carm's ever been outside of himself enough to really take in another person in their entirety, sadly. I think that's Carmen's real struggle.

As the youngest child of the Berzattos, Carmy has never had to step outside of himself to the extent that Mikey, Natalie or even Donna have had to. He has never had to care for anyone other than himself, until he inherits The Beef. And that responsibility is a HUGE one.

But Carmy jumps into that role, initially fuelled by the desire to retroactively fix his relationship with Mikey and fix "the family". Recall again his monologue in 1x08 Braciole:

[I]ts very clear to me trying to fix the restaurant, was me trying to fix whatever was happening with my brother. And I don't know, maybe fix the whole family because that restaurant, it has and it does mean a lot to people. It means a lot to me.

For the longest time, I interpreted "the family" that Carmy refers to here as his chosen family: the crew at The Beef. I think that while that was true, it wasn't the whole picture. I think Carmy was actually being more expansive in his definition of family to include his entire family: chosen and birth.

So while Carmy is obviously trying to make The Bear a success for Sydney ("Syd, we're going to get a star") and for Marcus ("Take us there Bear", "Yes, Chef"), as well as for the rest of the chosen family he first found at The Beef, Carmy is also trying to fix the restaurant for the Berzattos. Specifically, Carmy is trying to do what his father and brother couldn't do in keeping The Beef/The Bear going. He is trying to embody the Hero ACA role, vacated by Mikey with the latter's passing, even though his sister told him from the start, in 1x01:

No one's asking you to.

What I think I took for granted this season was just how much Carmy's desire to repair the legacy of the father figures in his life (as represented by the restaurant) was brought to an urgent and frenetic head for him in the late stages of Natalie's pregnancy. Upon rewatch of 3x09 Apologies, I picked up on some interesting script choices and imagery that I think have been chosen purposefully to relay to us that this is the case and that the impending birth of his niece is indeed, weighing on Carmy.

Now, at the start of 3x09, Carmy may or may not know Natalie has just had her baby. I assume he does. After Marcus watches that clip about magic, followed by unnecessary Fak, Claire and dumpster content (lol) and then Sydney practising how she's going to break Shapiro's offer to Carmy, we cut to the kitchen of The Bear and we hear Carmy calling out orders while running expo. He's yelling again. His voice is hoarse like it was in 3x03 during his panic attack. We see Carmy's intrusive thoughts at a rapid clip intercut with close ups of his, Sydney's and Richie's faces. We also hear Carmy repeatedly yelling at the staff to push:

Please give me the fucking agnolotti. Push.

Lets fucking push, please. Lets fucking go.

Push, please.

Push, chefs! Please! The cook is fucked. Refire, please.

Push.

From a quick google, "push" is used in restaurant settings but not in the way Carmy's doing here. I've seen it used to mean "sell" an item (as in getting a server to "push" a particular dish to diners so they order it) as well as to describe a busy period during service (as in the restaurant is in the middle of a "push").

In 3x09, Carmy is yelling “push” like a midwife at his sister's side while she pushes out her child, the next generation of Berzattos, into the world. But instead of his niece, Carmy is trying to deliver one more in a litany of dinner services at The Bear.

Note: you can clearly see here that the jagged lines that have appeared since season 1 when Carmy is having intrusive thoughts are actually made up of what look to be hundreds of claw marks. I've noted in a previous reblog of one of @thoughtfulchaos773's posts (that I can't find atm sorry) that this evokes Carmy (the Bear) trying to claw his way out of a mental spiral and back to equilibrium. @currymanganese also noted that the lines themselves look like a neural network, driving the point about Carmy's mental state home.

And then directly after the above "push" scene, we see copious amounts of water ejected over the The Bear's kitchen island, washing away flesh coloured food and sauce that looks like blood splatter:

Having rewatched 3x09 through the lens of intergenerational trauma, with the spectre of Natalie's labour, Carmy's apparent resistance to seeing Natalie or her baby, and having just heard his hoarse voice screaming push, push, push...to me this water started looking a whole lot like birth waters breaking, and amniotic fluid flooding The Bear:

Note: Rest assured, amniotic fluid doesn't contain all those suds.

@espumado pointed out in their The Night of the Hunter meta that the song playing during the above "push" and "broken waters" scenes of 3x09 is a song by Trent Reznor and Atticus Finch from a war documentary. The song is "The Forever Rain" from the documentary series The Vietnam War by Ken Burns and Lynn Novick. I'm sure its no coincidence that a song from a documentary about the Vietnam War - a war whose veterans were the first to be assessed for post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) - is being used in a scene acting as an allegory for childbirth, given what we know about how traumatic Carmy's birth was for his mother, and inevitably, for him as an infant.

So why is Carmy so preoccupied with Natalie's pregnancy and the birth of his niece?

I think this all ties back to what Carmy told us in 1x08: that he wants to fix the restaurant (and in the context of season 3, this means making The Bear a success) and that in doing so, fix his family.

Note: which is also why I think we are shown that magic clip that Marcus is watching at the beginning of 3x09 with this bit of dialogue from it: "What makes magic different is that its inherently honest. You tell someone you're gonna deceive them before you deceive them. In some way, that makes it more difficult." We were told in 1x08 what the restaurant means to Carmy and his reasons for fixing it, but Storer and co have spent all of season 3 distracting us with Claire and Fak-shaped sleights of hand getting us looking elsewhere to understand Carmy's behaviour. By 3x10, Carmy's motives haven't changed. He's doing this for his family. All of his family.

Specifically in the context of Nat's pregnancy, Carmy wants to ensure that The Bear is a success for the next generation of Berzatto children, for his niece. And if Carmy is being haunted by a need to fix his family's legacy, particularly given the impending arrival of Natalie's baby - the youngest Berzatto after him - then his desperate, rageful plea to Syd after she brings him back from his panic attack in 3x03 Doors, is even more distressing:

They're going too fucking slow!

What Carmy means is:

I'm going too slow and this restaurant is going to fail because of it. And this baby is going to inherit my failure, just like I inherited Mikey's and just like he inherited our father's.

Remember: Natalie is a part owner of The Bear and so any financial failure of the restaurant will be felt by her and her family just as it would be felt by Carm.

What Carmy needs to realise is that while a brick and mortar institution may fail, what remains are the relationships, the people that he has met because of it (shout out to Chef Terry and her speech in 3x10 Forever, also shout out to Mikey and his chat with Tina in 3x06 Napkins). And if there are people - if there are relationships - there's always the chance to build another future together, again.

Conclusion (yep, I'm almost done)

I think about how whether he likes it or not, Carmy was able to pursue his passion in cooking because of his family’s racial (and class) privilege, particularly as a member of a community that was invited to join in the spoils of white supremacy. This privilege was most clearly embodied by the fact that the Berzattos had the means to own The Beef and the culinary opportunities for Carmy that flowed from that work and experience (contrast this with Sydney, Marcus and Tina's experiences in entering this field, which I've discussed here and which @freedelusionshere discusses here).

I think about how Carmy subverted and used that privilege to bring along the original crew of The Beef with him to The Bear, lifting up his largely BIPOC employees. And then I think about how he ran roughshod over them in order to try and meet the insane expectations he'd set for himself (in large part, as a result of his family's history).

I think about the safety net that Carmy had with Natalie and Mikey who were there to take care of The Beef, their family and their unwell mother, giving Carmy the room to find himself professionally. I think about Mikey leaving behind a restaurant for Carmy but also leaving behind an entire family for him too.

I think about Carmy not realising that while The Beef was a burden in some ways, it was a blessing in so many others.

I think about the clear intergenerational trauma that Carmy is contending with while trying to balance so many perceived, competing demands.

I also think about Donna's dream, the night she went into labour with Natalie:

In this nothing dream, I mean nothing dream. And it wasn't Chicago, and it wasn't New York. It was some sort of hybrid city, you know? And there was a fish tank. Big fish tank in the middle of the city. It was this giant fish tank, and I was the only one looking at it.

[...]

And I remember the colours were, they were so sharp and vivid and neon, you know, and I was the only one looking at it.

[...]

I was just staring at it for the longest time. And all of a sudden, I noticed that the glass started to come apart like it was gonna split. But I wasn't worried, you know? It wasn't bad, because I knew that more people were gonna get to see these beautiful fish.

And then I woke up, and I was sweating, and my water had broke.

When Donna had her children, she had no idea that she would lose her eldest child to suicide. She likely had no idea how far she was going to push her daughter away from her due to her abuse, and she most certainly did not know that her youngest would cease contact with her for years while becoming a renowned chef. None of us parents know for certain how things are going to turn out for our children, or for our relationships with them.

We can only hope, and do our best: do our best to break harmful cycles while trying to nurture children who will leave the world a better place than it was when when they arrived. And if our kids manage to do this not because of us but in spite of us, in spite of our slip ups and mistakes, in spite of our baggage, then honestly, we should be even prouder of them. Because it meant they were able to integrate our trauma, our histories, and their trauma, and their histories, all of it, and make something beautiful, something better.

And I think I can see why Donna wasn't worried when the fish tank started to crack. I get why she was so happy that more people were going to get to see her beautiful children and the world they were going to create, in spite of everything and because of everything.

As usual, tagging folks who might be interested (absolutely no pressure to read this fucking long ass thing though), but keen to hear from anyone who wants to discuss:

@currymanganese @thoughtfulchaos773 @moodyeucalyptus @vacationship @mitocamdria @brokenwinebox @espumado @tvfantic87 @turbulenthandholding @anxietycroissant @angelica4equity @devisrina @kdbleu @freedelusionshere @ambeauty @afrofairysblog @fresaton @hwere @ciaomarie @ambeauty

[puzzleddonkey]

Forgot to Lore dump about meeks. Basically, they're artificial sentient life designed to rival the short financial success of the Moon Mite franchise during its prime.. being even shorter-lived because of how unstable these critters were (and this would be before the Moon Mite Incident).

" The Pugs of artificial sapient lifeforms. Made for the sole purpose of competing with the moon mite franchise (pre-incident), and instead sparked a very heated discussion on the limitations of creating artificial life, ESPECIALLY sapient life. It didn't help that meeks were designed to be as close as possible to a "living doll, having very "cutesy bodies, fussy tempers, naive minds, small mouths, stubby, weak legs, and weaker bowels. Though the intended result was to make an adorable, empathetic, and intelligent pet that is fully dependent on its owners and can only be produced by the franchise, meeks instead ended up as disgusting, entitled, manipulative, and ignorant critters that breed and die in mass. Now ditched in the streets of shady planets, some meeks have gotten crueler, but some can become genuine companions if patient enough. However, one's patience can easily run thin with these meeks, especially when they can say and do the shittiest things to rile you up. It's one thing to shit on the carpet or destroy clothing, but it's another to insult you for your shortcomings, wish you'd endure graphic scenarios and purposely trigger any trauma response just because you didn't let them finish humping their own pile of shit. They're sapient but built so fucked up that their minds are fucked up, only getting worse as street rats. Which is why other species violently despise them. How else would you respond to a street meek screaming that they'll hump and shit on the corpse of your deceased loved ones? Doesn't help that they're also telepathic, but only capable of reading thoughts which is one of the biggest factors as to why they end up so cruel, their focus is often on the intrusive thoughts, influencing the meek. Very few realize that those thoughts are meant to be ignored."

Also doodles of meek variants that are more cunning, more somewhat civilized than their more pest-like counterparts.

[whatswrongwithblue]

The Fire in the Sin

Chapter 17 - The Prophetess vs. The Nun

Word count: 7,892. Read on AO3. Series Masterlist. <- Previous Chapter

Summary: Alastor and Mina being the power couple they are. Things get a little messy, in more than one sense of the word.

MIND THE TRIGGER WARNINGS: mind control, mass murder, graphic depictions of cannibalism, graphic depictions of torture, breeding kink (Alastor in rut/Mina in heat), religious/blasphemy kink, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, masturbation, oral (both receiving), monster fucking, tentacle sex, p&v, creampie, double penetration, sex toy/vibrator, squirting.

I can't find the artist for this image. If someone recognizes it, please tell me so I can credit them!

Series Summary:

In the 1950's, Alastor met the woman he would eventually marry but unfortunately his Radio Demon persona went for her soul rather than her hand. He has to learn what it means to love, and cherish, without possessing and he does. Their relationship is beautiful, strong, unbreakable . . . but he carries a dark secret through their marriage for decades until eventually he has to face the consequences of that secret and leave her, without warning, for seven years. He returns, finding her at the Hazbin Hotel, and has to convince her to forgive him, while being literally bound to secrecy, unable to tell her any of things he now is desperate to explain to her.

(This is a duel timeline fic, timestamps will be a the top of every chapter.)

Chapter 17 - The Prophetess vs. The Nun

1984

When Alastor had regained some semblance of control over himself, he returned to the main room of the tower to find Mina sitting at his chair and going through his notes on Kassandra, ready to begin making plans on how to take her down.

Alastor had figured they would just show up and start destroying things but Mina had a more creative and artistic eye when it came to carnage.

Normally he enjoyed working alone. He had his work and she had hers and it worked well for their relationship that those things stayed separate. Only occasionally did they mix work with pleasure but if any situation had ever called for them to be a team, it was this one.

Mina explained to Alaster that while she didn’t necessarily have a “normal” mental connection with Kassandra, where she could possibly push back and invade the other woman’s mind, she had still succeeded in gleaming a sense of personality with the intrusive thoughts that had come along with the possession. Kassandra’s likes and dislikes, her desires, and most importantly, what terrified her.

“Lots of religious trauma with that one,” Mina said, flipping through the many pages Alastor had collected over the last few weeks. “I mean, I could have guessed that. She insulted you and I for being Catholic, even though that made no more sense than insulting herself for being raised in the Church.”

“Ah, the things we hate the most about ourselves is often what we see first in others,” Alastor said.

“She really hates nuns in particular. Must have had some run ins with a few particularly nasty ones.”

“Really? Well that’s interesting,” Alastor said with a smirk. “I think we can have some fun with that one.”

“And food, but I think you already knew that, given her history while she was alive,” Mina said, feeling her own stomach twist at the idea of eating. She still hadn’t been able to get herself to eat anything, although she was getting dreadfully hungry. “I think that’s why she targeted Cannibal Town the way she did. She’s just disgusted by them. Oh, and don’t forget racist. Which I don’t think is a result of any kind of trauma other than being from Texas. Still pisses me off.”

“Well, my dear,” he said with an unbothered grin and placing a kiss between Mina’s ears as he leaned over her from behind. “She won’t be the first white woman this mullato demon will have torn to bits.”  

With a decent exchange of information between them, they were able to formulate a plan, hoping they would be able to act on it by the next morning, depending on how Mina felt. It would have to be perfectly timed; Mina would have to be sure she could stay in control but still feel a small bit of the affects of Kassandra’s blood in her.

Tomorrow morning was Sunday, the day that Kassandra always held her black mass. And only those tainted with her blood could open the front doors of her “church.”

Evening came and Mina still refused to let Alastor take the chains off her but she wanted to sleep in their bed, confident she no longer needed to be chained to the wall upstairs.

Alastor accepted the compromise, and as much as he needed a good rest himself, he left her to sleep alone in their bed while he tried to get some rest upstairs. He kept his shadow wrapped around her, the darkness of the room making it effortless for it to take form and give her the comfort that he himself could not. Not without bringing too much temptation onto himself.

He had been stretched out on the sofa in the main room, one arm across his chest, and the other hanging off the edge, in a deep, whiskey aided, exhausted sleep, when a growing sense of alarm invaded his senses, and pulled him from the depths of his slumber.

Alastor opened his eyes to see his shadow hovering over him, its eyes and smile glowing green. He sat up as it reached for him, enveloping him in tendrils and dragging him through the floorboards before Alastor had a chance to fully wake up and comprehend what was happening.

He found himself brought into his bedroom, looking down at a sleeping Mina, while his shadow left his side and fanned itself out across the wall that the bed was tucked up against. It loomed over Mina, looking between her sleeping form and Alastor.

It was trying to tell him something was wrong with her.

Mina had kicked off all her blankets and as Alastor watched her, she fidgeted in her sleep, restless even as her eyes twitched behind her eyelids in a dreamlike state. She looked flushed, with a red tint on her cheeks and across the top of her chest, below where the heavy shackle lay.

Alastor reached over her, pressing a palm to her forehead and felt her burning up as if with fever, though she wasn’t clammy. Alarm bells rang as he wondered what new assault this was and how Kassandra could possibly have given her a literal infection of the body.

Then Mina sighed in her sleep, making a tiny, barely audible whine and Alastor pulled his hand away, understanding the situation once the familiarity of it dawned on him.

Mina wasn’t sick. She was in heat.

Alastor’s shadow felt the idea form in his mind at the same time and though it was a much simpler creature than he, it knew to grab him again and send him back up into the main room.

Once up there, Alastor sat back down on the couch, trying very hard to ignore the massive hard on he now had.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck . . . .

The mantra ran through his mind, the only clear thought he could come up with.

His rut was difficult enough. The two of them had only come into their breeding seasons at the exact same time on a handful of occasions in past years and it was always . . . an event. Mina’s spring heats were easier to keep track of and predict but her fall one was the most intense and seemed to vary quite a bit, year to year, as to when it would occur. When she did go into heat while he was in rut, it was like mixing fire and gasoline. Their hormonal urges only fed off each other’s desires. The last time it had happened, they had rented a little cabin on the far, far reaches of Pride Ring, well outside of the city limits, and didn’t leave the building, and barely ate, or slept, for three solid days. It had been the most intense, blissful, physical experience at the time but the aftereffects had left Alastor completely drained and exhausted. He understood now how real, living bucks could sometimes literally die from their ruts. And it wasn’t something he eagerly awaited happening again.

For it to happen now, when they very much needed to have their attention on other things, and Mina was already at risk of losing her mental faculties, was the worst thing Alastor could have imagined. It was difficult enough to not be practically on top of her every second that she had been around him the last two days. His body was absolutely betraying him, round the clock, his mind wandering to the most lewd and obscene ways he should be using her body.

And now the idea of her down in their bed, literally flushed with desire, likely very wet and welcoming between her legs nearly took over what was left of his shredded willpower. Not only would she not mind if he went down there and fucked her senseless, she wouldn’t be able to resist once it began; her own body would be crying out for it as much as his was.

But if they started tonight, he was sure they wouldn’t be able to stop come morning.

And the rational part of his mind, the part that was still Alastor, the Radio Demon, and not some common Cervidae demon, a slave to his own hellish form and body, refused to let go of their plan of revenge for tomorrow.

Even as he downed another glass of rye and took himself in hand in order to get a little relief from that damnable, based physical need, Alastor still wanted blood more than sex. He still wanted revenge for Mina more than he wanted Mina herself.

Maybe Abaddon was (a little) right and Alastor did crave power above all else. But if any of his desires led him to choose something over Mina, it was only temporary. By the end of the day tomorrow, he would have both his revenge and his lover . . . and his power.

He would have it all.

____

Mina didn’t even mention her heat to Alastor the next morning, though there was no way she hadn’t realized it was happening. Her pupils were always wide like she was riding the highest of highs when she was in heat and sure enough, when she looked at him as he unhooked the angelic steel shackle from around her neck, her usually vertical pupils were as dilated and round as they could possibly get.

This is why they were perfect together.

Forget how well they complimented each other in every domestic regard. Or how while alive, they had both risen from poverty during the same era, both endured racism, but murdered out of necessity and the pleasure of the deed.

It was this, this need to be powerful enough to not be messed with, this burning desire to let others know they were not to be trifled with. Mina may not have shared Alastor’s competitiveness, her desire for power was strictly a manifestation of her desire for safety, but that small difference made her even more perfect. She wasn’t competition for his position and never would be. But she could hold her own against most threats and understood and appreciated how he worked.

And though she didn’t experience touch aversion the way he often did, though she had a much larger appetite for sex and romance than him on a normal day, she could still power through the mental fog of her heat and focus on what needed to be done. Very few Sinners could say the same.

Kassandra’s black mass started at 9:00 am prompt.

At 9:05 Mina stood outside the large, imposing, and grotesquely carved wooden double doors of her church. From within, the faint sound of Kassandra’s voice could be heard, though clear words couldn’t be made out.

She had already started her sermon.

With a deep breath in, Mina opened both doors at once, leaving them wide open as she stepped over the threshold.

The pews were nearly full of ghouls, though there were several empty rows at the back. Room to grow, Alastor supposed, but Kassandra would never be given that chance.

Kassandra had stopped speaking as soon as the doors had opened, looking at first shocked, but then she began to smile as she saw who was coming in. All she could see was Mina, and it was clear Kassandra believed she had just earned herself her first Sinner convert.

Alastor moved through the opened double doors a second later, using his shadow form to drift along the walls until he solidified behind Kassandra at her podium.

In front of her entire congregation, he appeared towering over her, a taller, more monstrous version of his usual form. 9 feet of antlered, clawed, and bloodthirsty demon loomed over the new Overlord, dressed from head to toe as a nun.

“Boo,” Alastor said and laughed as Kassandra began to scream.

Mina felt the doors slam shut behind her and saw Alastor’s magical barricade form between the podium and the rest of the congregation. He would deal with Kassandra, safe behind a soundproof wall of shadow.

The rest of the ghouls were hers. And she was starving.

With Abaddon’s blood singing through her veins and heightening her power to a strength she had never known, Mina opened her mouth and began to sing.

“Take me past the outer courts

Into the Holy Place

Past the brazen Alter

Lord, I want to see Your face

Pass me by the crowds of people

The priests who sing Your praise

I hunger and thirst for Your righteousness

But it’s only found in one place.”

For a crowd this large, it usually took a few lines for Mina’s words to take hold. For the first verse, most would just stare and gawk at her as the music warped their minds, forced into a trance, until her will could be enforced. But with the power of angelic blood in her, Kassandra’s ghouls began to turn on each other by the end of the very first line.

Through the wall of shadow, Mina could see Kassandra, being strung up by tentacles, held by them from the ceiling to better enjoy the show.

Mina stopped singing, no longer needing to bother, as she marched down the aisle.

The ghouls, so starved for so long, in life and death, had been awakened to their hunger. Had been allowed to feel that burning, twisting pain Mina could feel in her own stomach, and the very desperate need for blood and meat. And the only source for that delicious reprieve was each other.

There was a surprising amount of blood in their bodies, considering how little flesh there appeared to be, and Mina was splattered more than once as she made her way up to the altar that stood in the middle of the rows of pews, and then stepped around it.

At the foot of the short set of stairs that led up to where Kassandra gave her sermons, Mina stopped, and turned her attention on the nearest damned soul.

She tilted her head, felt her jaw unhinge in preparation for its meal, and lunged.

___

Alastor smiled, a true and vicious smile, as he watched Kassandra squirm in the grasp of his shadows. The barricade was soundproof to protect them both from the effects of Mina’s singing; he wanted Kassandra as lucid and mortified as possible. But it wasn’t fully opaque. The wall was more than transparent enough to see the affect of Mina’s singing, a Catholic hymn she had thought perfect for the occasion, and Alastor could easily see the entirety of Kassandra’s cult as they began to devour each other.

He lowered the barrier, certain now that Mina had stopped singing, so they got the full surround sound affects of the screaming; along with the wet squelching and tearing noises of over two hundred bodies being torn apart and chewed on.

Kassandra began to scream with renewed vigor and Alastor loosened some of his shadow’s grip on her, just enough for her to get a real good lung full of air and scream for him even better.

With the barrier down, he could also get a better view of Mina.

She was on hands and knees, bent over what was left of the corpse of a nameless ghoul. Its rib cage was cracked wide open, and her face buried in the chest cavity. Her hands, arms, and even her hair were coated in blood, her face hidden from view as she devoured the heart, but her tail was perfectly visible as it swayed behind her.

Alastor had been wound up and strung so taut the last two days and something deep within him finally snapped and broke free as he watched Mina be her most heinous and carnal self.

For a man who had never even kissed her in public, he suddenly found the idea of taking her there in front of everyone to be incredibly arousing.

But first, he just wanted to watch her satisfy herself.

As she continued with her meal, Alastor reached his hand through his robes and began stroking himself. The long slit that he had created was not usually found on the constricting black garments that nuns wore, but this was an outfit of his own creation and he could alter it to fit his every whim.

There was a large and ornate looking chair tucked into the back of the room, out of sight from the congregation that Alastor assumed was for some kind of ritual, and he summoned it forward so that he could properly relax and enjoy the view.

He gave himself long, slow pumps, building himself up for pleasure rather than for the simple act of finishing, as he watched Mina tear out the ghoul’s liver and bite it in half. His cock twitched in his grip, letting himself succumb to the sheer amount of lust and love he felt for her in that moment.

After she finished with the liver, Mina looked up and her eyes landed on him. They flickered down as she caught the movement of his dirty deed beneath the robe and then looked back up at his face, holding his gaze. There was no disgust or even surprise in her features, just pure determination and desire.

She stood up from her crouched position, the lower half of her face painted red, the ends of her hair, the torso of her dress, and her arms up to her elbows likewise a bloody mess, and walked over to him.

Alastor rose to meet her as she approached and the chair turned to shadow, forgotten as he let go of himself and pulled her to him, grabbing her face with both hands and devouring her lips with his own. She tasted and smelled of blood and death, like power and victory; she was the embodiment of everything he cherished and craved in this world.

Mina pulled away from the kiss and Alastor could feel the stickiness of the blood she had left on his lips and enjoyed the mental image of his smiling down at her, crimson smeared across his features, adding to the blasphemous outfit he had on.

Whatever came next, he was not taking off those robes.

His cock throbbed at the thought of fucking her dressed like that, there in that church, in front of Kassandra and however many of the ghouls that were left alive.

Mina found the opening he had made in the robes and slipped her own hand through, but she surprised him when she used her nail to slice a long slit down to the floor, exposing an entire leg from hip bone to ankle. It made the robes almost appear to be some twisted risqué dress, while also giving her easier access to what she was after, and the debauchery of it only turned Alastor on more.

Looking pleased with her decision, Mina got down on her knees before Alastor and took his cock in her hands.

Before she could bring her mouth to him, Alastor grabbed a fistful of her hair behind her ears and held her still.

“Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” she answered back.

“You like to suck my cock?” he asked.

“Yes,” she panted, never breaking eye contact.

“Pull up your skirts,” he demanded.

Still looking up at him, she let go of his erection and used both hands to first undo the buttons of her sweater and slip it off her shoulders before she tossed it to the side. Then, she bunched up her skirts at her hips. Alastor kept his grip on her hair the whole time.

“Is this how you want me?” she asked.

“God, yes,” he said, feeling almost painful with need as he stared at her exposed cleavage and the spots across her shoulders. “And touch yourself. Show me how turned on you get with my dick down your throat.”

Mina again took him in hand, guiding his shaft in her mouth, as her other hand slipped beneath the top band of her underwear and began working herself.

Only then did she break eye contact, closing her eyes and moaning as he thrust deeper into her mouth. Alastor brought his other hand to clutch at her head, holding her still as he fucked her face. The view of his cock pushing in and out of her willing lips blocked the view of what she was doing to herself, but he could see it on her face, and feel the vibration of her moans on his cock.

“Good girl,” he panted as he watched her pleasure building in her features, felt her whimpering as her fingers worked her up even as she choked on his length. “Put your fingers inside yourself. Fuck yourself for me, darling.”

He could see her shift her weight, spreading her legs a little farther and reaching further inside her underwear, and felt her moans grow deeper as she fulfilled his wish.

Alastor rewarded her by slowing down a little, not hitting as hard into the back of her throat. Mina opened her eyes and looked up at him, giving him a hard and delicious suck in appreciation.

“Hmm, keep doing that,” he encouraged, enjoying the slower, less brutal pace that allowed her to use her tongue better along his length. “That’s it, Mina, just like that.”

She whimpered, and little tears gathered in her eyes, as she shut them again.

“Oh, you’re already so close, aren’t you, my sweet thing?” He wouldn’t let her reply with words, not daring to take himself from her mouth when she was working him so well, but he could see the positive response in the way she looked at him. “Who are you going to make cum first? Me or you?”

There was a question in her eyes and he yanked on her hair, forcing her to take him deeper.

“It better be you,” he threatened, before easing his grip on her hair, stroking his fingers across where his claws had scratched her like an apology. “Or would you like a little assistance?”

A tendril of shadow snaked around his back and traveled across the floor, moving between her open legs. Alastor made it caress her inner thigh and as it touched the edges of her panties, the fabric dissolved into nothing, and the dark tentacle brushed against her fingers that were working her wet cunt.

Mina pulled her hand away, giving the shadowy appendage permission, and Alastor felt it as it entered her, curling around her to stroke her spongy inner walls. He felt her cry out and could feel the edges of her claws hitting the tentacle as she returned her fingers to her clit.

Alastor really picked up his rhythm as he slid in and out of her lips, getting off on the muffled noises she was making as he gagged her with his cock. 

She came hard and fast, his tentacle sensitive enough to pick up on the way her walls clenched and spasmed around it, and she removed her hand from herself, nearly falling forward, if not for the body pressed before her.

Alastor reached down and grabbed her hand before it could fall to the floor. He could feel his own orgasm right on the brink, and he guided her arm up enough so that he could tilt his head down and suck on her fingers.

The wet, sweet and tangy taste of her mixed with the blood of her victim excited him enough that he came right then, and Mina eagerly swallowed his release, holding onto the base of his member with her free hand.

Once he was fully finished, he pulled on her hair as she stood, bringing them together for another passionate kiss, both of them enjoying the mixed flavor of themselves on each other’s tongues.

“My turn,” he said, and picked her up, carrying her over to the altar that stood in the middle of the mass of bodies that were still actively devouring each other, and laid her on her back across the top of it.

Even as he pushed the skirt of Mina’s dress back up over her hips, Alastor was still enjoying toying with Kassandra. He used his shadows to pull her along the ceiling of the church, placing her directly above them. Let her get an even better view as he reclaimed Mina’s body and mind within the walls of her sanctuary. Let Kassandra scream as she witnessed the cannibalism Mina had brought to her door, how absolutely destructive Mina’s power could be, as he worshipped between her legs, on his knees before the altar.

Mina’s fingers had been covered in blood as she had fingered herself, leaving the small patch of black curls and pink lips of her sex painted red. Alastor eagerly ran his tongue over it all, licking her thoroughly clean, and earning him little sounds of praise from Mina.

She leaned forward, grabbing hold of his antlers that poked through the black veil he wore, something she nearly always did when he went down on her. Alastor loved it when she did that and he could feel his body respond to her touch as his antlers spread out even wider.

Once he was finished indulging and savoring the sweet mix of her natural taste with the ghoulish blood, Alastor began truly working her with his tongue. With long, rhythmic strokes from her entrance to her clit, he built up her pleasure until he could hear her gasping out his name.

Just as he had requested of her when she was sucking him off, Alastor began pleasuring himself, pumping his cock with his fist to the same rhythm his tongue was using on Mina.

“Are you? . . . oh God, Alastor,” Mina tried to say in between her little needy whimpers, “. . . fuck, love, that is so fucking hot.”

Alastor had never let Mina see him perform this act himself; not before that morning. He had made her touch herself for him before but never had he reversed those roles. But he could feel her cunt getting even wetter as she processed what he was doing and he used his now unnaturally long tongue to delve into her center, encouraged by her obvious arousal. If he had known she would enjoy it this much, he might have indulged this fantasy of hers much sooner.

He was unbelievably close for how little time they had spent in this position but judging by the sounds Mina was making, she was ahead of him.

“Cum on me,” Mina said, and Alastor’s cock throbbed even harder in his fist. That was also new but the beast within him that controlled his rut very much liked the idea of it. “Please,” she begged, “I want to watch you cum on me.”

Alastor looked up at her from between her legs, his mouth never leaving her mound, and met her eyes with his own. He hoped she could read his nonverbal confirmation and by the way she almost instantly came around his tongue, he knew she did.

His tongue slowed, giving her several lingering strokes as she rode out her orgasm, until her hips finally stilled and she began using her hands to push him away.

It was hardly a heartbeat later that he stood, pumping himself just a few more times, and then he glanced at Mina’s face as she watched, enraptured by his act as he came, leaving streaks of his creamy white seed on her skirt, inner thighs, and sex.

He bent over her and they reached for each other in tandem, kissing and groping, hands desperately roaming, grabbing whatever flesh and clothing they could reach. Mina’s dress and the nun’s tunic he wore were ruined now, both covered in visceral and semen, as they pressed their clothed bodies together.

Alastor reached between Mina’s legs, finding her pleasantly soaked down there, as he used two fingers to spread his cum between her folds, coating her more thoroughly. She moaned against his mouth and ground her hips against his hand, the added slick texture making it even easier for him to play with and tease the folds around her clit.

“Good idea, my love,” he said as his mouth left hers and began exploring her neck and shoulders. “You look so pretty covered in my cum.”

She whimpered in response to the praise and he finally pressed his fingers directly on her little bundle of nerves, rewarding her even more with gentle but quick circular movements.

With his free hand on one shoulder, and his teeth at her other, Alastor pulled the straps of her sundress down, kissing a wet and slopping pattern across her collar bone and upper swells of her breasts, leaving several bite marks along the way.

Mina sat back on her elbows, reaching her hands behind her, and Alastor watched her dress loosen around her chest as she unzipped the back. Recognizing the invitation for what it was, he pulled the obscuring fabric further down, fulling exposing both her tits, and he clamped his mouth around one erect and hard nipple as his fingers slid lower through her folds and curled them in and up once they found her entrance.

Although he was exceptionally careful with his long claws when they were inside her, making sure to only apply pressure with the pads of his fingers, he held no such reservations when it came to his teeth on her body. Mina’s breasts were particularly sensitive, and he loved to pinch and play with her nipples when he fucked her. They seemed to be her favorite erogenous zone and he had often pushed the limits of their sensitivity when she was in heat. He had even once succeeded in making her cum with nipple play alone. But he was not gentle with them like he was with her pussy, and purposefully used his teeth as he sucked and marked the curvy flesh across her chest.

Mina encouraged it with everything in her arsenal, rocking her hips against his hand as she held his head to her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair, stroked his ears and antlers, ran her claws along his scalp, pressing sweet little kisses to the crown of his head, and whispering filthy things to him all the while.

He was getting hard again, his refractory period was alarmingly short and sometimes nonexistent while he was this far into his rut, and his cock bobbed in response to Mina’s panting praises as she begged him to fuck her harder, bite her again, fill her up, make her his.

She paused, the only sound coming from her being the sound of her heavy breathing and the wet noises of his fingers inside her. Around them, the sounds of pain and pleasure from those being eaten and those doing the eating, filled the air and nearly drowned out the noise of their lovemaking. Above them, Kassandra’s screams had turned to sobs of utter failure.

“Make her bleed, Alastor,” Mina said, in the same husky tone she used for dirty talk. “I’m so close, love. Make me cum while I watch her bleed out.”

Alastor head popped up from her breasts and he grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling her face to his as he quickened the pace of his finger fucking. She gasped in delight, her open mouth inches from his own as his smile spread with wicked approval at her words.

“I fucking love you,” he said to her and she smiled back, cupping his face in her hands, tenderly kissing his blood streaked mouth.

“I fucking love you, too,” she said, her sweet tone a stark contrast to the depravity of their situation.

Alastor commanded the tentacles of shadow that were constricting around Kassandra, holding her hostage high above them, and they responded in kind. He felt them as they began to puncture her flesh, impaling her through her lower gut as others cut through the skin of her limbs as they slithered around her.

She began screaming again, writhing in the grasp of the deadly appendages, which only made more droplets of her blood rain down from above.

Mina began to cry out as well, and her lusty shouts of pleasure harmonized beautifully with the screams of torture from the other woman. Alastor and Mina had never been interested in adding a third to their dynamic but he had to admit, he was enjoying the way the two woman’s voices blended together. He had never considered mixing his love of murder and torment with his sexual activities but the way his cock was becoming painfully hard, it was clearly a newly discovered kink for both of them. Mina held onto his shoulders, her eyes focused on the show above them, as she came undone, her walls clenching tightly around his fingers as she did so.

Even as she came down from her orgasm and her body began to settle and relax, Alastor continued slowly stroking her sex, keeping her high going. She twitched a couple times, just on the brink of overstimulation, so he softened his movements even more. He stayed patient, even as his cock twitched, hard and ready for more. Alastor took his time, kissing her mouth and neck, stroking her breast with his free hand, tenderly giving her body the small pleasures it needed to keep her wanting more.

Mina sighed into his hair as he sucked hard on her neck, right over where he could feel the hammering beat of her pulse. He felt the shift in her, the way she tilted her hips up and encouraged his fingers, and knew she was ready for more.

Alastor removed his hand from between her legs and once more took the bundled-up skirt of her dress into his fists. The orange fabric, that was now only covering up her stomach and getting in his way, disappeared at his touch, leaving Mina completely naked across the altar. 

Setting the stage for his final act, Alastor summoned flames. They burned in the air above them, fueled by nothing but his power and fury, putting a green and fiery barrier between them and Kassandra. The heat would slowly build for Kassandra as she remained suspended above the fire, first uncomfortable and then unbearable. The perfect contrast to what he was about to do to Mina.

Alastor grabbed hold of Mina’s naked hips and pulled her forward, until they were just hanging off the edge of the altar. Appreciating the new angle, she spread her legs wider and lifted them around him. He reached between them, adjusting the slit in the tunic Mina had made, until it fully exposed him and he pressed his naked pelvis into hers as his cock slid into her welcoming warmth.

He could see the reflection of the burning green glow in Mina’s wide, black pupils. She watched the flames growing above them as he began to move.

“You like that, don’t you,” he said once he got into the perfect tempo and began to fuck her properly. She was drenched, even down to her inner thighs, a mix of her own wetness and his cum, and it didn’t take long for the mess to cover himself. “You want to watch her burn as I fuck you?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Mina said, every word punctuated by an inward thrust of his cock into her.

“You want to watch her skin blister? Would that make you cum for me again?”

Mina could only whine and gasp in response to his filthy words. To his amazement, it seemed like she was already close again, so he picked up his pace and began to piston into her with short, hard thrusts.

“You want to watch her burst into flames as I fill your sweet pussy full of cum, don’t you?”

“God, yes, Alastor, yes,” she cried out and then sobbed, brought to tears by the strength of her fourth orgasm.

He slowed his movements, but only to the steady in and out rhythm he had set at the beginning. Mina’s back hit the flat top of the altar a moment later, once the tension of her orgasm left her, but Alastor could still feel the tremble of her walls along his shaft, especially when he refused to let up.

She was properly overstimulated now and under normal circumstances he would give her a break. But the wild and crazed look on her face told him all he needed to know about what she wanted.

“Look around you,” he said, wrapping his hand around the bottom of her jaw and forcing her head to the side, making her look at the bloodshed and slaughter she had accomplished with her song. Over a hundred bodies left in pieces, gutted and torn to bits, and there was hardly a spot on the floor of the entire cathedral that wasn’t covered in a thick layer of blood and tissue. The other half of the cult members continued on with their newfound love of cannibalism, completely oblivious to the couple fucking on their altar.

“You did this. You wanted this,” he said, and removed his hand from her jaw only to replace it with a rope made of shadow that wrapped itself around her neck. “You’re so fucking perfect, my love. So now I’m going to fuck you as hard as I can.”

Mina shook and moaned beneath him, tears running down her temples and into her hairline as he picked up his pace again. Her sounds were audibly strangled now and he watched as her face turned red from the pressure of the tentacle at her throat, but he kept it at just the right tightness, so she could enjoy the high of being choked without blacking out.

Another tentacle sprouted from his back and twisted between his legs. He felt it grazing the bottom side of his shaft as it followed his body to Mina’s, stopping for a moment at where they were joined, and then curling lower.

Mina groaned, spreading her hips wider, as the tentacle began playing with her ass. It slid just the tip of itself in, giving soft and gentle little swirls, making sure she was relaxed and ready for more, and coating itself with the mix of their releases that had pooled there.

“Tell me you want more,” Alastor said, and loosened the tangle of shadow at her throat enough so she could comfortably speak.

“I want more,” Mina answered, her speech nearly slurred as he continued to fuck her far beyond the limits of pleasure they usually reached.

“Want more of what, my sweet girl?” he asked.

Above them, Kassandra’s screaming intensified until it was a high-pitched mewl of madness and misery. The heat from the flames had begun to warm Alastor’s back and he knew Kassandra’s skin must be beginning to blacken and bubble from the growing inferno beneath her.

Mina’s eyes had been fixed on the show above them, but they looked at him then, desperate and sure of her own desires.

“More of you. All of you,” she said, “everywhere.”

There was a whooshing sound from above and Kassandra’s screams changed into something Alastor recognized well. She had finally combusted and was now fully engulfed in flames. But the show was not over. As Alastor had first told Mina decades before, his green fire was more horrific than most as he had purposefully designed it to burn slower, defying all laws of chemistry and physics.

The tendril of shadow beneath his cock thickened and deepened, penetrating her ass fully now, and using both appendages at once, Alastor filled her up more than he had ever before. The added pressure of the tentacle inside her ass pressed the walls of her sex tighter around him than he had anticipated. They both groaned at the intense sensation, his voice full of static and guttural.

Alastor could feel himself losing control over his body. His antlers were growing impossibly heavy on his head, and he could feel his spine and limbs beginning to stretch. His focus was on so many places; keeping Kassandra suspended above them even as she burned, on the tentacle around Mina’s neck applying the perfect amount of pressure, the other tentacle pumping inside her ass, his own building pleasure as he continuously rammed his cock into her, and now he had to focus on not expanding the size of the pieces of him that were in and around Mina, less he actually hurt her, the threat of tearing a real possibility with the double penetration.

“I need you to finish for me, Mina,” he said, desperately, almost nervous. His claws dug into the soft flesh of her upper thighs, anxiously hoping he would start to feel her building beneath him again, but she just wasn’t there yet.

An idea lit up in his mind, remembering the gift he had given her just a few nights prior. He hadn’t brought the device with him but with a little bit more mental effort, he was able to feel it appear and solidify in his hands.

Mina had her eyes closed, so focused on the pleasures she could feel in her body, and the sounds of death around her, that she didn’t react when he twisted the top of the vibrator, and it began to hum. But they flew open as soon as he touched it to her clit and began moving it around the bundle of nerves.

Alastor’s balls tightened in response, not having considered the fact that he would be able to feel the vibrations through her walls.

“Oh fuck Mina,” he panted, the new sensation almost more than he could bare.

“More,” she growled, and he pressed the toy into her clit in way that must have been painful, but the way she cried out in response let him know it was exactly what she had wanted.

He tried so hard to keep his focus on her rather than how hard his cock was being squeezed inside her or how deliciously the vibrator was working both of them, refusing to let himself cum again before she had.

Mina’s chest began to rise and fall, her tits bouncing with every aggressive thrust he gave her, and she touched herself, pinching and pulling on the nipple of one bitten and bloody breast.

Alastor felt the tentacle tighten around her neck even without meaning to but Mina took it well, just moaning and throwing her head back in response.

“Come on, my love, cum for me,” he begged.

Mina opened her eyes again and looked up and then around her, as much as his chokehold on her allowed her to, getting one last look at what their vengeance had brought to this unholy place.

Then to Alastor’s initial confusion, she lifted the arm that wasn’t still teasing her breast, and brought it up and over her head, reaching her fingers out behind her as if she were trying to touch the nearest ghoul’s body.

There were still several dozens of them left alive, still mindlessly feasting on the remains of their fellow cult members.

Alastor watched as a soft golden glow shot forward from Mina’s open palm and then all at once, every one of the two hundred bodies burst into angelic flame.

She smiled for a moment and then closed her eyes, her jaw dropping open as she screamed out her pleasure, her orgasm ripping through her body and tensing every muscle she had.

Alastor felt the rush of fluid over his cock, drenching his pelvis and the tentacle beneath him.

Mina screamed on for several more seconds, and Alastor released the vibrator and his tentacles from her body, patiently letting her come down from her heightened state of bliss.

“Wha-,” she stammered as her eyes finally fluttered again, even as he continued to pump himself in and out of her, “what did I . . .”

No longer holding back his own release, Alastor loomed over her, feeling even his neck beginning to lengthen as his body changed into something far less human. Mina wrapped her arms around him, embracing his larger, demonic form.

He ignored her question, so completely aroused by her first ejaculation on him. He could tell her later what a compliment it had been to the fucking he had just given her, but right now his mind could no longer process words.

There was a second where Alastor felt Kassandra finally pass, her soul completely devoured by his flames, as her power seeped into his being.

The shadowing restraints that had been holding her up disappeared as Alastor gave himself completely to Mina, and what was left of Kassandra's charred body fell silently into the angelic flames around them.

Mina clung to his distorted body, holding him gently as only a lover could do, as he continued to rut against her, on the very brink of his own final orgasm.

Despite his increased size, she was able to slip her hand under his robes and reach around him to grab the base of his tail. She stroked it to the same beat that he fucked her, gently running her fingers through the soft fur and over the ridges of the vertebrae beneath the skin.

“It’s over, Alastor,” she whispered to him. “You can let go, now. I’m all yours.”

His release was almost instant, and she continued to caress his tail as he pumped his seed inside her, nuzzling her face into his chest as he began to relax, gradually returning to his normal form and size.

They lay together, him still inside her and becoming soft again, even as the flames began to consume the walls around them. Mina somehow kept them at bay, her command over the angelic flame increased by the power that Abaddon’s blood had given her.

She pulled off the black veil of the habit so she could lovingly run her fingers through his red and black hair, kissing his cheek and neck, all while he lay limp above her, trying to catch his breath and collect himself.

“I love you,” she said, smiling at him when he finally lifted his head and met her eyes.

“I love you,” he replied, still panting a little, and kissed her tenderly on the lips as he finally pulled himself out of her warm, wet heat.

They both sighed a little at the empty feeling. It wouldn’t be long before they were both ready for more but the flames were beginning to reach the high ceiling of the church, telling Alastor they had officially run out of time.

A minute later, the front doors of the church flung back open, and a melted form of shadow burst out and streaked away, heading for the heart of the city and the radio tower, carrying with it the two lovers as they left to enjoy the rest of their vacation in isolated bliss.

Golden and green flames mixed and began licking at the open doorway. Stained glass windows shattered and smoke and more flames billowed out from the gaping wounds left behind. Then the ceiling collapsed as onlookers began to gather and watch, unsure of exactly what had happened, but knowing the Radio Demon had finally gotten his revenge against The Prophetess.

Next Chapter ->

@inuhalfdemon @saccharine-nectarine @whoknowswhoiamtoday

[gurorori]

im really sad thinkin abt some of my friends

[sanguineterrain]

about first place | eddie munson

hey guys remember when i wrote for stranger things? lol.

so this is another installment of my about a boy series. you don't have to read them to understand this fic, but idk, you might like those too! check them out if you feel like :)

Summary: Eddie asks you to change plans. You spiral.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x gn!reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings/tags: intrusive (violent and one self-harm) thoughts, self deprecating thoughts, reader spirals, eddie is hurtful (by accident) to the reader, but they communicate and it's resolved. reader feels like they are cast aside and there is trauma behind that feeling. reader is sensitive to rejection and has trouble communicating.

my fics aren't intended to be used as models for perfect communication or anything like that HOWEVER this fic is intended to be a story about communication and building trust and navigating a partner's trauma. if these topics are triggering to you, DO NOT READ.

if you enjoy this, please let me know through reblogs (and a comment, if you feel like!)

divider by firefly-graphics | i reblog all fics to @sanguinelibrary

Fridays are dinner nights with Eddie. Sometimes you do them on Saturday, but usually, every week, you two have dinner. It hasn’t gone on for very long; you’ve only just begun to feel comfortable eating in front of Eddie. But you like it. Sometimes Wayne joins you two. It feels like you have a home.

And after every dinner, you confirm with Eddie that he'll come over next week too. People like when you confirm plans in advance. You like when people confirm plans and keep their commitments. 

You like that Eddie comes over. You like that he wants to come over. 

The phone rings. You put down the wooden spoon and answer. 

"Hello?"

"Hey, sweet thing!" Eddie says. "Hey, so, I'm at Gareth's place right now, and our campaign is running long. It's so good, babe, I just created this new storyline and everybody loves it! Wheeler even said she might join next week. Am I a genius or what?"

You smile. "You're a genius, Eds. Nancy appreciates a good story; I’m not surprised you wowed her.”

"Aw, you flatter me, sweet thing. So, uh, I know I'm supposed to come over for dinner, but would it be okay if I took a rain check? Only because…"

You don't hear the rest of the sentence. The only thing that rings in your ears is rain check. Eddie's canceling. Eddie's sick of you. 

"...Is that alright?" he finally asks. "I'll take you out to dinner tomorrow." 

Your chest constricts. Eddie's expecting agreeability. He's expecting your acquiescence to the fact that he's sick of you. 

"Sure," you say tightly. 

There's a pause. Then, "So, I’ll swing by tomorrow?"

"No." You haven't prepared to interact with people tomorrow, you prepared for today. And tonight was planned a week in advance, but Eddie wants to change plans. Eddie cares more about Hellfire than spending time with you. 

Eddie is just like the rest of them.

"How ‘bout Monday? Or later next week? I wanna spend time with you, sweet thing."

Your throat feels tight. You need to end the conversation now or your guts will unspool all over the floor and Eddie will hear you try to stuff them back into your stomach. 

"It's fine. We don't need to reschedule. Bye."

You hang up. Immediately, your stomach hurts. Why should you feel guilty? Eddie abandoned plans that you made a week ago for his other friends. Eddie doesn't care about you. That's always how it goes. People hurt you and they don't care, and then you're the one who feels guilty for hanging up on them. 

Thoughts of Eddie crashing his van or Eddie getting struck by lightning flash unbidden into your mind and your stomach ache gets worse. What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you think those things? You don't want that to happen to Eddie. You love Eddie, even though you were bound to eat too much love and get a stomach ache. 

You feel like doing something that would make your mother mad at you. You feel like digging your nails into the bathroom tile grout and scraping until you see the sun. You feel like carving scars into the kitchen table. 

Goddammit, you need to stop the bad thoughts. Think good thoughts. Think thoughts normal people have. Pretend you're normal. Pretend you're loved. 

You look at the pot of boiling water. Would Eddie come over if you stuck your hand in?

No, God, what's wrong with you? You fucking psycho. This is why no one keeps their plans with you! Eddie's job isn't to take care of you, to hold your hand and pet your hair and tell you he's happy to be here with you. 

You're wrong, you were born wrong, and that's your problem, not his. That's why he's gone. That's why everybody leaves. 

Knock knock. 

You look at the door, spooked. Did someone hear your thoughts? Are they finally here to take you away? 

"Sweet thing, you there? Can I please come in?"

If you let Eddie in, you'll have to tell him it's okay, and your guts will be there for him to see because you haven't cleaned them up yet, and he'll know you've been crying over him even though he called first which is more than you've ever been given before, and your stomach ache will triple and and and—

"It's open," you say. 

Eddie comes in. Your face is impenetrable. Stone. No, concrete. No, obsidian. Your face is obsidian, and Eddie's got a plastic hammer. You'll win and you can scoop up your guts later. 

"Hey," Eddie says softly. "Hey, sweetheart."

You take a step back. This is a trick.

"Why aren't you with your friends?" you ask, crossing your arms.

Eddie winces. "I’m sorry, baby. That was a mistake. I realized that after we hung up. I shouldn't have tried to reschedule. You and I made plans, and they're important to me. I ended the game—we're gonna meet next week." 

"You can go. I don't care."

Eddie's mouth flattens. You've hurt his feelings, but he hurt yours first, but you don't want to hurt his at all, but but but—

"I'm sorry I hurt you," Eddie says. "I don't want to reschedule or ditch our plans. I wanna spend time with you, I do."

"I don't want you here," you say. "I want you to leave, Eddie. I don't forgive you."

Eddie's face crumples. But he nods. "Okay, baby. I-I'll leave if you want me to go. I respect your space. You don't have to forgive me right now." 

Oh no. Eddie came prepared. Eddie has a diamond-tipped drill. 

"I'm never first," you blurt.

Eddie tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

He's still gentle. He's still here. Even though you didn't forgive him. Even though you're mad at him. Even though you'll never be normal. He's listening anyway. 

"No one puts me first. You did, but then you didn't tonight, even though I made plans enough time in advance. A week is enough time. People are supposed to stick to plans when you ask them a week ahead. It's my fault when I don't give them enough time, and it makes sense when they don't want to spend time with me then, but this time it wasn't my fault. You're supposed to decide you don't like me before this point. It hurts less when you decide earlier." 

Your chest heaves. Eddie's stepping all over your guts. He tracks them across the carpet as he gets closer. You watch the bloody intestine footprints slop behind him. 

"But you said yes. But then you wanted out. I'm never—I'm never first."

Eddie's face splinters further. "Oh, sweetheart—"

You wipe your eyes, pulling the skin hard. 

"I do like you," he says, and your sob breaks. "I do. Nothing'll make me stop liking you. And I love you still. I didn't ask that because I don't like you. It-it doesn't matter why I asked, but avoiding you wasn't the reason. It was a thoughtless thing I did. I thought you wouldn't mind, but you do, and that's okay. That's valid. I want you to tell me that. I want you to say, "Eddie, you dummy, I love ya, but let's keep our plans," and I'll come home."

"You didn't want to," you say, and cry harder. 

"No, baby, it's not like that at all. I wanted to do both, I like the idea of both. I always enjoy spending time with you. I thought maybe since we do this regularly, you wouldn't mind something different too."

You're overreacting. You're scary. This is wrong. This isn't how norm—fucking fuck that word! 

"I'm sorry," you blubber, quivering in place. 

Your legs feel weak. You lean against the counter for support.

Eddie shakes his head. He's a foot away. 

"What're you apologizing for, baby? You don't have to apologize. I hurt you, not the other way around."

"I'm guilty," you say, crying into your hands. "I'm guilty too. I thought bad thoughts. I didn't mean to, but I did, and now you're here, but I want you to be here because you want to be, not because I… I…"

"Is it okay if I touch you?" 

You nod, and Eddie's arms slide around you. Every time he hugs you, you're certain you won't fit together. But you always do. 

"It's okay if you thought bad thoughts," Eddie says into your ear. You feel his voice vibrate through your chest. "You're not your thoughts. And it's okay if some of those thoughts were because you were hurting from what I said. I’m really sorry, sweet thing. I have angry thoughts too, sometimes. But that's all they are. Just thoughts. Just noise. They don't make you bad. You're good. So, so good."

You wrap your arms around Eddie's neck and hug hard. He squeezes you back just as tightly. The pressure feels good. 

"I w-want you to hang out with friends, but I want you to k-keep our plans first," you say, and then brace yourself. You take great, big, shuddering breaths. 

"That is a very reasonable ask, my love. I’ll do that from now on. And how 'bout if we want to change plans, we'll ask at least three days in advance? Is that fair?”

You nod against his shoulder. You stay like that, Eddie rubbing circles on your back. His curls tickle your wet cheek.

"Sorry I ruined it," you say. 

"No, no, you didn't ruin anything. I made a mistake and we're learning how to communicate better. We’re learning.”

"I was scary."

"I don't think so, baby." 

You're quiet for a moment. "I want you to stay and eat with me."

He squeezes your arm. "I would love nothing more, sweet thing." 

You take the colander out of the cabinet. Eddie pushes your guts back into your stomach. No one's ever done that for you.

Perhaps you are loved. No pretending necessary. 

[misscammiedawn]

it’s literally your own fault that you have trauma from personality play, idiot. why the fuck would you EVER engage in intense kink with people you didn’t trust/people who didn’t believe in hypnosis/etc. and not practice the most obvious safety precautions during lmao. moronic behavior honestly.

Wasn't 100% sure if I should reply or delete-- My rule is to delete anon-hate without a second thought and the moment the word 'idiot' was brought out it fell into that category. So firstly, no sympathy/support either for the message or the circumstances please. I'm not here for that and it undermines the point if people focus on that.

Buuut here's the thing. I know. This isn't an accusation or an insult or even mean. Everything you say is in the body of the Ethical Personality Play post. Like-- uuuh--- I dunno what to say? Congrats, you read the post?

Fact is these events happened 15+ years ago and the community lacked the support, education and structure that it has now. I'm trying to help build something which I needed back then. Will I save everyone? No. Can I help like one person? I hope so.

But like, I was a self-destructive moronic idiot 15+ years ago and I am sorta open about it?

Like here are direct quotes (key quotes bolded):

I have experience with this fallacy myself. In utilizing hypnosis to ignore my triggers I did severe damage to myself and I am now plagued with intrusive memories and nightmares of events that happened during scenes that I was able to effortlessly indulge in during the scene but as they say "The body keeps the score" and I was in fact doing further damage to myself. Something which my partner at the time was not equipped to deal with because I'd failed to disclose or even treat the situation as worth being safe about. Now I am just burdened with further damage by ignoring my brain's defenses on my existing pain.

Likewise I want to note the power imbalance that comes from play like this. A motivated hypnotee can fling themselves into this arena and do harm to the hypnotist. This does fly both ways. A hypnotee not advocating for themselves or exercising their agency will make a hypnotist accessory to the damage. This is a sin I have committed.

...look... I don't want to be an old lady yelling at the kids for doing things when I did them myself at that age. I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't pretend I didn't see the allure on both sides of the watch.

I just... there weren't 20+ year experienced hypnosis veterans who had been in my character play abusing position when I was growing up. No one warned me. I learned all this the hard way and I hurt people. People I loved. Moreover I hurt me. In ways that will never heal. I just want to spare anyone I can the pain of going through this.

So--- like

Yeah. You read the post and understood it. I'm glad you read the post and understood it.

The landscape was different back then but that's no excuse. We were a fucking dumb child who wanted to be anyone but ourselves and acted recklessly because of it. We were a dangerous and toxic hypnotee and we should have known better.

That's the lesson. That's the point. I'm not here to ask forgiveness from the people I hurt or sympathy for the fact we fucked up. We just want to help build framework that didn't exist when we were starting out.

History on the hypnokink community is a topic that probably does need to be taught-- but if you're young enough that you've never known a place without framework, education and support then I'm glad, honestly. It means a lot of good people, dedicated people, have done work building houses my silly little essays can only manage to move pebbles with. I'm glad for that. Really.

The post isn't there for you to think "Poor Cammie :(" it's there for you to think "What an idiot, I'm never going to be like her"

So-- yeah-- I don't post anon-hate as a rule-- so thank you for the fan mail. Knee-jerk reaction aside, it makes me happy that you got the point.

[realbeefman]

Do you have any good house fic recs? I am Struggling with my search.

for sure! although Disclaimer, i havent been reading house fanfic for very long and ive pretty much only read house/wilson so far, SO this is more of a hilson fic rec list than anything lol

Warning Signs by out_there - oneshot, 12k words, Wilson-POV, set around the end of s3. SUCH A GOOD FIC i laughed so much while reading this. genuinely delightful. possibly my fav house fic i’ve ever had the pleasure of reading.

The Line of Thought by tevinterimperium - oneshot, 12k, Wilson-POV, set after s3 e15. THEEE classic fake-dating AU. this was the first fic i read in this fandom and it absolutely fucks. im a SAP i love a good “no homo but OH GOD THE FEELINGS” plot!!

Desert Mesa Motel - 8 miles outside of Kingman, Arizona - 12:03 AM by plorp - ficlet, 1k, House-POV, post-canon. this makes me BAWL. very very good fic but SAD. and DEPRESSING. will make you CRY/pos

How Not To Be Boring by fourleggedfish - incomplete/abandoned, 497k, Wilson-POV, AU from around mid-s5. if u like whump (which i absolutely do) u will probably like this fic. if u are squicked out by sex, u will hate it bc these guys bang 24/7. this fic had me pacing, glued to my phone, sick to my stomach, crying (several times), and obliterated my sleep schedule. i can’t rec it highly enough. every chapters includes appropriate content warnings, but some major themes that appear throughout are character death (not of main characters), the aftermath of severe child abuse, and mental illness. if any of these topics are a trigger for you, please don’t read this work.

Forsake Me Here by MonsterBoyf - complete, 8k, Wilson-POV, ambiguous setting. Wilson has intrusive thoughts about mutilating House. He tries to cope. features a lot of very graphic imagery and does an excellent but extremely accurate job of portraying an OCD-spiral that could be triggering to people. i LOVE this fic i think about it so so much.

An Inconvenient Truth by anathaema - complete, 15k, House-POV, ambiguous setting. contains the quote “You’re the suicide bomber of revelations” and is one of the funniest things i’ve ever read. plus the way in which wilson’s sexuality in this fic is handled is honestly so realistic and entertaining. HIGHLY recc this to absolutely everyone who enjoys hilson

the more it took away by scribespirare - oneshot, 10k, House-POV, ambiguous setting. Omega!House has his first heat since presenting. Alpha!Wilson helps him through it. I LOVE OMEGAVERSE AND I LOVE FUCK OR DIE AND I LOVE THE WAY THIS FIC HANDLES THIS IS JUST GRAHHHH. If u don’t enjoy omegaverse u won’t like this but i can’t make a house fic rec list and NOT include this one

Aftershocks by black_cigarette - series, around 125k in total, various POV’s, set sometime post-Tritter arc. this fic IS gen, but honestly, i didn’t know that going in and didn’t realize it wasn’t a slash fic until the very end. tldr is that wilson is brutally assaulted because house has been gambling with some unsavory people, and house helps him deal with the aftermath. this fic does not pull punches. its is extremely graphic and everything wilson goes through is described in detail. it is a messy story about recovering from brutal trauma and everything that entails. DISCLAIMER: there are sequel(s) to this series available on the author’s livejournal, but i haven’t read them and can’t speak to anything they discuss.

no need to worry (making up your mind) by scribespirare - complete, 25k, House-POV, set sometime in the early seasons. House lies about having a Jewish boyfriend to get out of visiting his mother at Christmas. Things quickly get out of hand. THIS FIC IS SOOO *tears into it with my teeth*. I love when they scheme together <3