#I don’t get how people don’t care about their animals more than that

[lucygraysboy]

“it’s a wonder how they do it, right? i mean, they don’t even speak our language and somehow they just know if you’re a good or bad person, and what your intentions are. do you think they can read it off of our body language? or what’s happening in their heads?” thinking out loud, pale blue eyes fixated on the back of her head as his hand continues to travel across her back. over her shoulder, along the bumps at the nape of her neck, inching closer and closer to her other arm. olive skin covered in suds. “mhm,” he hums softly, praying she doesn’t turn around. he doesn’t want her to see him blushing like a schoolboy. “when i first walked in here, i thought that you’d ran away, but then i saw reva blue and began to wonder why you’d ever want to leave her behind… and started to question my own sanity, asked myself if you were real or a figment of my imagination,” he admits, chuckling sheepishly because it’s embarrassing to a certain degree. “i will never cause you any harm, lucy gray. i just need you to know that, okay?” even if she won’t instantly put all her trust in him. “and if ever want to go your separate way, i won’t go after you unless you want me to.” he’s not his brother. “and your favorite dessert is blueberry pie.” noted, he remembers. but he still leaves enough room for her to correct him if he’s wrong. “but not all desserts make you happy? that doesn’t make sense,” he playfully argues, just trying to provoke her to convince him otherwise. “horses.” what an easy question, he thinks. “i love and respect all animals.” even the squirrel that became their dinner as hard to believe as it may be. “birds and dogs and cats and cows and butterflies, but horses are just so special. my mother’s friend, back at the capitol, had stables bigger than whole neighborhoods in district twelve. plenty of stunning thoroughbreds. most of them had probably been imported from district eleven or something. anyway, there was this one chestnut mare that i really admired, could watch her for hours. she could run so fast…” eyes alight at the memory, but then he realizes that he’s been rambling for a long time and must be boring her to death. “sorry, got a little carried away. um, what’s yours?” he inquires, meaning her favorite animal. too bad there are no horses in district thirteen. it’s been so long since the last time he was near one… “thanks for trustin’ me enough.” to show him the wound on her leg. thank god he had that jar of iodine with him. “and how will that be your fault? don’t blame yourself for things that happened because other people put you in a certain position. what were you supposed to do? grab a brush on your way out? you had more important matters to worry about. it’s really not your fault, lucy gray. it’s not like you’re a slob by nature and let this happen out of laziness. you’ve been through a lot. it’s only natural,” he softly corrects, reaching around her petite frame and handing her the soapy washcloth so that she can scrub her legs and torso. calloused fingertips sinking beneath the surface, getting wet before gathering her long hair with nothing but affection. “we won’t be cuttin’ it to your ears. if we can’t get all the tangles out, we’ll braid it and… well, maybe my mother,” the one who’s most likely sick with worry back in thirteen, “will find a way to help us.” but right now, he’ll focus on combing through these pretty locks with his fingers, careful not to pull too hard.

“i think they can definitely tell, who’s a good person and who’s tryin’ to bring harm. animal’s are intuitive like that.” lucy gray reassures, smiling softly as her arm stays around her bent knees, her free arm tracing circles in the water. “oh…yeah?” brow lifting, looking over her shoulder at him before eyes glance back towards the water. shying up momentarily again. “of course not.” leave him as a single parent. a twitch of amusement pulling at her lips before softening at the thought, thinking how she can’t run. but even it she could, would she? not… exactly. not when she doesn’t have a gnawing fear in her chest yet towards him. just like the animals they speak of… if she doesn’t have a reason or sense a reason, she won’t leave. just like deer and birds, she too has those same instincts. “sort of. i mean, i can choose a favorite dessert. i can choose a favorite month. but i can’t choose a favorite color, animal or flower. all flowers, colors and animals make me happy. hard to choose just one.” a soft laugh emits, gently shrugging her thin shoulders. “what’s your favorite animal?” questioning before hearing the awful story of the man he knew and before too long her face is contorting into disgust and stomach churning, vomit reflexes on the rise when he starts saying thing about smells. “lord, then, i sure am lucky you found me in time. i might’ve suffered the same thing. that’s sickenin’, bless his poor soul havin’ to suffer all through that.” feeling sympathy and disgust, quickly trying to think of something else. she definitely doesn’t want to suffer like that and scared up to keep watching her wounds. “i hope not, i really like my hair. but then again… that’ll be my fault, maybe i’ll learn.” scolding herself— to at least brush her fingers through it and keep it from getting so matted. “it’d be devastatin’ cutting it off to my ears.” that gives her the notion to quickly start trying with her fingers to start pulling some knots out, feeling a little panicky on needing the answer if she’ll get to spare it or not. the rubs on her back feel so pleasant, too. the most soothing feeling she’s felt in awhile but she can’t exactly relax with her hair on the line.

[altruistichellhound]

Beastars Boyfriend Head cannons!

I’ll be doing a separate post for the shishigumi. Let me know if you want anyone added to this.

I made this as non specific and gender neutral as I could. I wanted everyone to read this and imagine themselves as whatever person/animal you see yourself as.

Legoshi

Legoshi cannot control his tail around you. Smile at him? furious wagging. Laugh in the sweetest of ways? furious wagging. Kiss him? He’s taken off like a helicopter with how fast his tail is going.

Absolutely loves being close to you! Cannot get enough of your scent, breathes it in more than the air around him.

Territorial of you, anyone looks at you and he’s pissed. Not that you can tell, or anyone else really. Isn’t outright jealous/confrontational unless you are out right disrespected. Absolutely not afraid of getting in fights for you.

When Legoshi is comfortable he will go on and on about his interests. He is so incredibly smart, especially when it comes to bugs. At this point you’re pretty much an entomologists.

Teaches you about the way of the sea and some of the seas language. (You’ll probably be pronouncing it wrong the same as him..)

At the beginning of your relationship he found it hard to communicate his feelings, not he fully able to express his wants and needs. It works very well for the both of you as he is an incredible listener.

Very oblivious…

Loves taking you on dates, especially private ones like picnics and star gazing.

You>Anything else

Louie

If you don’t come from a deer family of high value you’ll be his secret.

He might not show it with words but lord does this man love you.

Endless, and I really mean endless gifts. You offhandedly mention something you like? Oh what’s this, he bought it for you! He’s out and he sees something that reminds him of you, bought it. “Oh that’s cute!” Boom he bought it.

Secretly likes it when you give him massages. Poor man is so stressed out he needs that extra care. He wants a quiet life with you. One where he can be the beastar but come home to your little cozy home where it’s soft and quiet.

Knows you guys simply cannot exist together but pretends like it’s not reality…

Openly jealous, “I don’t like him”. Tells you when he thinks someone has bad intentions. Tries his best to protect you but sometimes it’s slightly misguided.

Acts like he needs to be the dominant one in the relationship but really likes it when you take control.

A balance of all out luxury dinners and simple little cafes you two like to frequent.

If it comes to it he would give up everything, including his relationship with his father; for you.

Gohin

Works out in front of you totally not on purpose. Flexes his muscles when you just happen to be looking at him.

Gohin is such a tease! Doesn’t matter what it is he’ll make fun of you for it. If you don’t like it he’ll tell you it was just a joke but he takes it very seriously and makes sure not to tease you like that again.

Tries his best to keep you away from his work. If you want to help he will tell you no until you persist so much he caves. While he loves you he cares about your safety more, so much training. He will run you until you colapse; he would never forgive himself if something happened to you.

Tea after training/work. He enjoys making you two a drink then sitting and talking about your day between sips.

Even if it doesn’t feel like it I promise you he listens. If he is busy or stressed he will respond with simple, hmm and mhms. However, he heard everyone word and won’t forget what you’ve told him.

At first he’s an awkward kisser, but he’s a quick learner and you’ve never had a better kisser in your life.

You remain the light of his life.

Bill

Childish. Not necessarily a bad thing but sometimes you want to beat him with a stick.

PDA to the max, you’re his and he’s yours. Why shouldn’t the people know? Hold his hand and steal quick kisses please.

Not the best at planning things but he’ll try his best. His goal is to make you happy and have something that will last.

Doesn’t really think about a serious future that much. Not that he doesn’t want to be with you, just that he hasn’t planned ahead enough to really put thought into marriage and a possible family.

This man makes you late to almost everything. Unless it’s the club, he is not on time.

You basically aren’t ever not laughing. He loves to see you smile and squirm around while you laugh so hard your stomach starts to hurt. Surprisingly his jokes are actually funny and land quite well.

All his friends know you very well, all he does is brag about how amazing and hot you are.

Jack

The sweetest man to have ever existed.

Had a crush on you for thee longest time before he either got the courage to talk to you or you finally went up to him.

Wants you to be happy, in his mind he can never do enough for you. He doesn’t want you to be happy, he needs it. If you are sad or angry he tries his darnedest to make cheer you up in a way that suits you the best. Listening, taking you out, leaving you alone, really whatever you need he will give.

Snores. Not loud though, sweet little snores and huffs throughout the night. At this point you can’t sleep without hearing him.

Always smells weirdly good. Like it’s unnatural how he always smells the same and it’s never bad. He could sprint three miles and still smell insanely good. When asked about it he just shrugs.

Constantly blushing! He can’t help it around you, doesn’t matter how long you’ve been together.

Collot

You trim his bangs. He lets you but in all honestly doesn’t trust you after you cut them way too short last time. He won’t tell you that though.

Suspiciously calm, makes him a good listener but sometimes it’s frustrating when he doesn’t get mad with you.

Speaking of anger he hasn’t really gotten mad with you. Maybe a few spats here and there but he has never once raised his voice at you.

Worst sleeper in the world! Moved, kicks, loud sleeper, talks. How did he kick you in the face? You don’t know and neither does he. Scares the crap out of you, “He’s coming.” You proceed to violently shake him until he wakes up and reassures you back to sleep.

Really likes playing video games with you or just doing things quietly next to each other.

Riz

Tries his very best to control himself around you after what happened. Really doesn’t matter to him what species you are he’s constantly afraid of hurting you. Cannot let go of you even if he’s afraid.

You on the other hand aren’t afraid of him. He told you what happened and you understood him. He would never hurt you, or so you think.

Protective as hell. Does not matter who it is no one will ever get to you.

Practically worships you. Would kiss the ground you walk on if he could. Lives to serve you, you want something it’s already been done.

Constant cuddles, he always wants to be the big spoon unless he’s sad. Being around you makes him feel powerful knowing in that moment you are untouchable. When you hold him he feels vulnerable, he hasn’t decided if he’s okay with that feeling yet but he knows that it feels good to be the one being protected for once.

Really likes cooking with you and for you.

Pina

Best way to describe him is annoying, but in the best way possible.

Can, and will, talk your ears off. Constantly yapping about something and expects you to listen. He’s offended if you ask him to give you even a second of silence.

Really loves it when you touch his horns.

Best lashes in the room, better than you and he will constantly brag about this. He tells you he’s joking (he’s not).

He’s just a little bit of a freak, “Eat me.” Doesn’t matter if you’re a carnivore or not. “What the hell Pina?” You can’t tell if he’s being serious…

He knows absolutely everything about you. Some things you didn’t even know about yourself! Not only does he know you but he knows everyone else. Tells you all the best gossip and keeps you up to date with rumors even if you don’t care.

Definitely needs someone to keep up with him.

Melon

Crazy but that’s okay!

Would kill someone if you asked him to. Neighbor pissed you off? Gone. Boss is being a dick? Gone. You tend to abuse this fact.

Okay he does not know how to express his love for you. He’s not even sure if what he’s feeling his love. He knows he oddly doesn’t want to hurt you but is that love? Who knows he’s just going with it.

This relationship is pretty much the definition of playing with fire.

You get to see such a different side to him, quiet and maybe even a little soft. Sad maybe? Is it an act? You don’t know but you’ve decided it’s okay not knowing you. Even when you have that nagging feeling that you should care.

Potentially likes you so much because you are very similar to him.

Won’t ever tell you or anyone this but he likes it when you hold him. He also enjoys that you aren’t afraid of his fangs. Will bite you if you let him.

Would both love and hate you even more if you were a hybrid.

Gosha

Biggest softy with you. Would do absolutely anything for you, to him, you are nothing less than the universe.

Thinks you are the most wonderful thing to have ever graced this world. He loves to show you it too. Random gifts, always brings you fresh flowers before your last ones die.

Evening walks are the best with him. As the sun turns the clouds orange and pink he’ll tell you about his adventures as a youth and his previous dreams of becoming the beastar.

The best support you’ll ever have. He whole heartedly believes that you can do anything you set your heart to. Encouraging your passions and making sure whatever you need to meet your goals is there for you to use.

You’ve never felt so safe than right by his side, and rightfully so. No one would even think to mess with you with him around.

Everyone knows you too are together, he’s made sure of that the way he runs around bragging about you.

Yahya

Tries his best to keep you and work separate. This is not only for your safety for also for him. He never expected or wanted a relationship because of his goals but when he saw you he just couldn’t let you go.

Manages balancing you and protecting the world pretty well. Though, he is in fact just a man like everyone else.

Missed dinners often which turns into arguments which ends in mutual apologies and making up.

He is so tired. Needs you to rub his shoulders and lightly scratch his back.

Can’t really sleep but if you tell him stories or hum softly while playing with his mane he knocks right out.

Keeps you out of the public eye because he knows that if he didn’t you’d have a target on your back. Constant security watching you from afar.

Makes sure to provide a good life for you first and foremost, but also is very focused on changing the world. It is a relationship based on understanding on both ends. Compromises have been made.

You are the closest thing to his heart and constantly on his mind.

[ashlynt]

I Don't Dance

This is my first time uploading a one shot on here, and well, honestly, I don't know how it happened, lol.

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2920

“Doll…” Bucky grumbled as you pulled him off the chair he had been sitting in all night. Stark was hosting a party again, you think it was for some sort of animal charity. You don’t quite remember. What you remember, however, was James Buchanan Barnes’s hesitance to appear tonight. Despite his hesitance, you can tell by his pristine black suit and slicked-back brown hair that he put a breathtaking amount of effort into his look, and you were far from complaining.

“James?” You drew out his name, moving yourselves away from the tables and towards the dance floor. A slow jazz beat flowed through the air, the night slowing as it neared one in the morning. A soft smile pulled at your lips as you saw the deep frown etched on his face loosen. A huff of air escaped his smooth, pink lips, and his sparkling blue eyes met your own. “You promised you wouldn’t sit in the corner all night.” The statement left your lips hushed but in no hurry.

“You don’t need to worry about me, Doll. I’ve been doing just fine sitting down.” His gaze is heavy as he watches your expressions. His legs slow you both down just before the dance floor. “It gave me a reason to watch you.”

A slight sound of amusement escaped you with a soft roll of your eyes. “Always the sweet-talker, Barnes.” You leaned up, slowly pecking the apple of his cheek. Lingering, you close your eyes for a split second, breathing in his woodsy cologne. Your hand grasped his filled-out bicep, the expensive material of his suit making soft contact with your palm. Leaning away, you look up into his soft eyes. “Just one dance?” Your voice is gentle, almost pleading. Almost. His eyes narrow slightly, full of hesitance. He looks around the room, seeing fewer people on the dance floor and more of them getting ready to leave.

“I suppose one dance won’t hurt…” His voice quiets as you pull him excitedly towards the dance floor. The music was slightly louder than his previous spot sitting down. You wrap your arms loosely around Bucky’s neck, your fingers grazing the stray pieces of hair that reach just below his suit collar. You feel his hands hesitant on your waist before they settle fully. Slowly, you sway to the calm jazz beat. You feel eyes on you from the other guests, but you can’t find a single bone in your body that cares.

It was obvious to the other Avengers in the tower that you were slowly falling head over heels for an oblivious Bucky Barnes. You were one of the first to accept him wholeheartedly into your home. This, of course, was not unnoticed by Steve Rogers, who, at the time, made a mental note of the observation. Your kind smile in the hallways made Bucky feel like a little kid. Scared yet a little flattered, he tried to hide his feelings deep down, but that was next to impossible. Everyone could see how Bucky looked at you, like you hung the moon and stars. Everyone but you, at least. His eyes undoubtedly brighten when you walk into the room. Everyone was, admittedly, a little annoyed by your cute displays of affection, in disbelief of how oblivious you were to one another.

Despite the eyes on the two of you slowly dancing, you felt like you were the only two in the room. Bucky’s deep cerulean eyes met your twinkling ones. A soft smile played on your face as you entangled your fingers into his hair. His hands lay heavy on your waist, securing you against his warm body. You hear Bucky sigh despite the two of you moving in rhythm to soft jazz.

“Doll, you know I don’t dance.” He mumbles softly into your hair, undoubtedly watching the patrons mingle among themselves. Bucky is not one for public theatrics; he quite likes the privacy of his own home. So, the watchful eyes of others are a tad unsettling for him. You slowly move your hands from the base of his neck to his biceps. You rub your hands up and down his shoulders and arms comfortingly. A genuine smile graces your lips, and you pull your head back to meet Bucky’s eyes. You two dance slowly in tandem, Bucky’s and your heartbeat beating at the same beautiful pace.

“I don’t know if I believe that, Buck.” You draw out his name teasingly, your eyes shining with admiration for the man holding onto you. His flesh hand contrasts his vibranium one across the low of your back. Both are gentle as you sway to the jazz ensemble. A deep breath escapes Bucky’s mouth, along with a soft laugh. “If I remember correctly from what Steve told me some nights ago, you were a quite popular dancer with the ladies, Bucky.” There is a soft glint in your eyes that Bucky can’t place. His heart drops at Steve’s name rolling off your tongue, his insecurities running rampant in his head. Slowly, he withdraws from your arms, and his habitual frown returns to his face.

“Thanks for the dance, doll. But, I better get going.” He slowly backs away from you, noting the confusion on your face yet ignoring it. “Have a good night.” His tone is abrupt, and he turns and walks across the room, leaving you in the middle of the dance floor. You play back your words, trying to understand what went wrong. Most of the crowd had left, except for the few stragglers and your teammates chatting at the bar. You stood there momentarily, trying to gather your thoughts and ignore the heavy feeling in your stomach.

The team noticed you standing on the floor alone and looked at each other, confused. They had previously been chatting about the two of you, expressing their ‘annoyance’ that you two are still dancing around your feelings. Seeing you were still in the middle of the dance floor, Steve got up and walked towards you, Natasha following close behind him. Bucky looked back for a second and saw Steve approaching you, his heart slowly breaking. He turned and left before seeing Natasha trailing Steve.

“What happened?” You flinch at Natasha’s soft voice. You turned around to see her and Steve looking at you worryingly. You shrug softly, a deep frown forming on your face. Natasha slowly ushers you off the dance floor and sits you down at the bar where the others sit. Her hand rubs your upper back, trying to bring you comfort. Everything was perfect when Bucky had his arms around you, twirling on the dancefloor. It changed so suddenly you were almost in shock. You look up at Natasha, confusion evident on your face.

“I’m not sure…?” You could feel your throat close with emotion, your eyes welling up. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. Natasha whispered to Steve and pointed towards the door, where everyone saw Bucky leave. Steve gave her a knowing look and promptly made his way out the same door Bucky took. Natasha wrapped her arms around you once more and smiled sadly at you.

“You know how Bucky can be…” Nat’s eyes shift to yours, “He can’t accept anything good for him. And he tends not to hear people out over it either.” Her eyes are sad as she softly speaks to you. You meet her eyes and nod slowly. Taking a deep breath, you stand up slowly. Disappointment sits low in your stomach, and you sigh.

“I think I am going to head to my room.” Your eyes burn from the tears that refuse to fall, and you nod at Natasha. She smiles softly and says she will walk with you. You both make your way out of the ballroom after saying goodnight to your friends.

–

Just down the hallway, Bucky had made his way out on the terrace, and Steve quickly approached him. Confusion is evident on Steve’s face.

“Bucky? What’s going on?” Bucky turned at the sound of Steve’s voice, his eyebrows pinched. Bucky couldn’t believe he’d been so blind. Pining after you when Steve had your heart. Every time he saw you, you were talking to Steve. He scoffs lightly at Steve’s concerned gaze before glancing at the skyline.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were together?” A particular animosity in Bucky’s voice draws Steve’s brows together. Steve let out a breathy laugh, confusion evident from Bucky’s harsh tone and strange words.

“What are you talking about Bucky?” Steve was nearly at a loss for words, and Bucky’s hands gripped the railing tighter. Bucky had never felt so jealous, and he usually didn’t mind the attention Steve got. Playing it off as a mere joke and teasing Steve for it. But, with you, he couldn’t help but feel the pang of the familiar monster rumbling low in his core. Its unfamiliar teeth nipped at his judgment, causing him to act out.

“You and Y/N. I can’t believe I’d been so blind. You know, Steve? I thought you were my best friend, but not telling me you were seeing her?” Bucky is interrupted by a low laugh leaving Steve’s lips. Relief bloomed in Steve’s gut, and he approached Bucky by the railing, leaning his firm back against the marble. Bucky’s eyebrows pinched even further, and before he could speak, Steve patted his shoulder.

“You are right about being blind, Bucky. But Y/N? She has no interest in me whatsoever.” Steve's truthful words only confused Bucky further, and his jealousy now simmered lowly. Bucky’s hands released the railing, and he turned to face Steve. The cool night air helped calm Bucky a little, and then he spoke lowly, his words hesitant.

“You guys are always with each other?” Bucky didn’t understand. He was sure you and Steve had something, but Steve’s knowing look made him feel a flicker of self-doubt.

“Yeah, and she’s always talking about you.” At Steve’s words, Bucky let out a breathless laugh, running his flesh hand through his slicked-back hair, thoroughly messing it up. His eyes glance over at Steve’s before he looks back at the city skyline. His eyes watch the stars twinkle on the horizon, and it only reminds him of your beautiful eyes. He runs his hand over his face again before turning his gaze back to Steve. Bucky couldn’t think himself more stupid.

“I’m an idiot, Steve…” A burst of laughter fell from Steve’s lips, his hand squeezing Bucky’s shoulder.

“You said it, not me.” Bucky let out a scoff, running his hand over his face once more.

“Goddamnit!” Bucky kicked off the ledge and began to pace the terrace, his hands threading through his hair repeatedly.

–

Natasha left your room nearly an hour ago, leaving you to your thoughts with the promise that you would let her know if you needed her. The soft comforter was pulled up around your shoulders, and you could hear the soft hum of the air conditioner blowing into your bedroom. You were overthinking everything. Should you have made Bucky dance? You knew he didn’t want to; maybe that was the last straw. But, he seemed to relax with you, and his arms felt so lovely wrapped around your body. You sighed softly into your pillow, tightening the comforter around your body. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you tried to clear your mind from the blue-eyed brunet.

You could nearly feel yourself drifting off to sleep, a lone tear falling from your eyes, when you hear the gentle rapping on your door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Your eyes drifted to your door, and you sighed quietly, trying to ignore the soft taps and pretend to be asleep, hoping to ward off the person at the door. You shuffled further into the pillows seated at the head of your bed, trying to get comfortable once more. Just when you think the person must have walked away, you hear it again, stronger this time.

Knock. Knock.

You rolled onto your back, your eyes trained on the ceiling. You didn’t want to push the comforter off yourself, nor did you want to step onto the cold hardwood floor to walk towards the door. Enough time had passed, and then you heard a familiar voice, one that you were both dying and dreading to hear. Bucky's voice was soft, and a trace of guilt overlapped it as he spoke your name into the door. You were conflicted inside, wanting to talk to the man and yet wanting to push everything off. However, you sighed softly, turning back to your side and facing away from the door.

“Come in…” The words flowed from your lips quietly, but you knew his super soldier hearing would pick it up. You faced towards the wall, your eyes never leaving the curtains that framed the window as the door creaked open softly. You pulled the comforter tighter towards your chin, and maybe you were being dramatic, but the man you very well had heavy feelings for had ditched you on the dancefloor. You could hear the soft padding of his footsteps, and you stiffened slightly when you felt the bed go down.

Bucky’s heart dropped seeing you curled on your bed like this, knowing it was his fault. If he hadn’t been so oblivious, this would never have happened. He slowly sat down on your bed, his head turned back to look at your tucked-in body. He wanted to reach out to comfort you. But he didn’t and didn’t want to upset you further by doing so. Instead, he spoke softly, your name falling from his lips again. You could hear the desperation in his voice, and you turned your head over your shoulder.

Your eyes met his blue ones that were still so striking in the dark of your bedroom. The two of you stared at each other, your eyes trailing over each other's faces. Bucky’s heart clenched at the sight of the dried tear streak on your face, and he spoke before he thought.

“I am so sorry…” Your eyes softened upon hearing the four words leave his lips, and you turned to face him fully. You reached out from under the comforter, laying it upon his vibranium hand, which dipped into the bed near you. Bucky’s breath hitched from your touch, and you carelessly caressed his metal arm. It was quiet, only the soft sound of your breathing and the quiet hum of the air conditioner. “I shouldn’t have left you on the dancefloor. I just–I just got a tiny bit upset when you mentioned Steve…”

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you sat up on your elbows further. You squeezed his hand before answering him softly.

“Bucky, I don’t like Steve if that’s what you think…” He gave a weak smile, nodding at your words. His hand moved over yours slowly, interlacing your fingers with his.

“I know that��now, at least.” His eyes glance from where your hands were connected to your eyes, nearly getting lost in them. A soft sigh left his lips as he squeezed your palm, trying to quell the nervousness building in his system. The fact that you hadn’t kicked him from your room was helping enough for now. “Doll, I, uh, I care for you. An awful lot more than a friend should, and when you mentioned Steve, I guess my mind went straight to how you deserve so much more than what I can offer you…”

Your heart skipped a beat at his statement before clenching at the following words. A soft sigh left your lips before you sat up fully. You scooted closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder. His breath hitched at your gentle touch.

“Bucky, I don’t want Steve…I never have.” He sighed in relief, and you could feel his shoulders drop in relaxation from your words. “I was dancing with you, wasn’t I?” You felt his shoulders shake with a soft laugh, the melodic sound hitting your ears. He shakes his head softly, sighing into the quiet night air.

“You were, and Steve made me realize how stupid I have been.” You lift your head at his words, a soft smile pulling at your lips as your hand threads through his brown locks. You turn his head to face you and then speak softly, the words falling from your lips, causing Bucky to chuckle.

“We’re both idiots, Bucky…” His body turns to face you better, and his hands cup your cheeks, creating a delightful contrast between his flesh and vibranium palms. He smiles rawly and genuinely as he speaks softly, and his face is close enough for you to feel his warm breath play upon your cheeks.

“That we are, doll…” Your fingers play with his hair slowly, and you feel his thumbs caress the roundness of your cheeks. Your eyes darted down, for a mere moment, to his full pink lips, yet he caught it. Without a moment of hesitation, he leaned down and captured your lips between his. Your breath caught in your throat, and your eyes fluttered shut. Your lips moved against his slightly chapped ones with a gentle fervor. After a few moments, you pull away for air, your forehead resting on Bucky’s. When your eyes open, you can’t help the wide smile that covers your face and the soft laugh flowing from your lips. He smiled down at you, his fingers threading into the hair at the base of your neck.

[steddie-island]

Anyway if you have a cat that you just let outside and 🤷🏼‍♀️ when you don’t see it for a few days because “it always comes back” I genuinely hope it claws the shit out of you and that someone then comes up and kicks you in your fucking shins.

[16-puppies]

Yes!! I absolutely understand what you’re saying and I agree pretty much. Like yes, it’s important to accept every nonhuman identity, and I don’t think the people who experience nonhumanity this way are necessarily “fakers” or “being nonhuman wrong” or are less serious about it than others, but also there seems to be an obvious difference between how these types of nonhumans experience the identity (as in more of a metaphorical, aesthetic, or symbolic way) vs how other nonhumans experience their identity. It also seems like these types of nonhumans make up a large portion of the community, so then you end up with this weird limbo where the therian community is both incredibly diverse and ridiculously homogeneous. Like, I remember making a post a few days ago about how there’s this sort of specific “dog therian aesthetic” that is super popular in the community, and it kindof leaves out the experiences of other people. It’s also interesting seeing this current clash in the community about how far away and distinct therians and other nonhumans are from being human in any way, and yet from what I’ve seen there is a lot more human influence on people’s identities than most of us realize.

Again, I don’t really want to say that nonhuman identities aren’t nonhuman if they’re created or influenced by emotions or if it’s identifying symbolically or metaphorically (even if the one identifying doesn’t realize it) because my dog theriotype very much still is/was influenced by emotions, specifically grief, but also… I still… researched? Like my dog theriotype is still one I was questioning before I experienced grief. I think one of the most confusing things about interacting with the therian community is going into it thinking that research of theriotypes and introspection was going to be a major focus for everyone over a year ago when I awakened and now im here and its… not really like that for a lot of people? And im not trying to be elitist about it and say like “oh you actually have to know 5 billion facts about your theriotype or you’re not valid, you have to know exactly which clade and genus your theriotype is from and if you cannot say their scientific name in perfect latin obviously that means you’re faking” because that would obviously be stupid but ALSO… if you’re supposedly a coyote therian, and all you’re basing it off is just “well I feel like this so I must be this”, how likely is it that you’re actually another small wild canine? Maybe you’re really a jackal, or a culpeo, or a short-eared dog, or a dingo, or a carolina dog, or some other canine no one’s ever heard of but because you didn’t care to research you’ll never know. How many therians have the wrong theriotype because of this?

I also feel like the community should be more accepting of temporary nonhuman identities… like, if you’re identifying as an animal because of emotions of feeling hurt, betrayed, angry, lonely, etc. and you heal from that, will the identity then disappear? We should at least be open to the possibility, because it’s not like identity is set in stone till the day we die. And there’s nothing wrong or bad or stupid with identifying as an animal because of these things, even if it’s seen as “out of the norm” for things like therianthropy. But like… I also understand what you mean by saying that these people don’t exactly understand what it means to be animal… so it makes me wonder, do we need a new term for this phenomenon, or would that be too much? Maybe just more encouragement to research and do actual self reflection?

LIKE… I WANT TO REITERATE THAT I GET IT. I really do get it. Sometimes I read things from a therian and I just shake my head like… is that really all you think it means to be an animal? And I’m so worried about talking about this in depth with most others in the community because I don’t want people to think I’m gatekeeping yknow?

I also think that some of the general negative ideas about humans and humanity that circulate in the community inadvertently discourage people from questioning their identity from time to time and realizing that they may be human or even partially human, or even discussion about partially human identities or metaphorical/symbolic identities like the ones described here. It’s another phenomenon that can be classified into what you described — following the masses and seeking community, even if that means misinterpreting a part of yourself. It’s like so many of us in the community are in a race to be “more nonhuman” than everyone else, and to denounce anything to do with humans and humanity even if that means denying a part of your nonhuman identity and how it intertwines with humanity. It’s not saying that we are all inherently human, but rather that it’s okay if your identity has ties to humanity or even if it’s fully human.

Conclusion i guess… I think there needs to be more focus on actually reflecting on your identity which is why I was drafting a post to “redefine” therianthropy to encourage this… as well as more awareness of therianthropy that is more than just psychological, spiritual, or physical. Like, overall I think it’s fine for people to metaphorically or symbolically be an animal and maybe having more awareness of this will help people understand and define their experiences more? Instead of all of us being lumped together when many of us experience therianthropy very differently? I don’t know… I really don’t know… I’m not sure it would be a good idea anyways because there’s already a lot of words that mean nearly the same things but just slightly different.. I feel like I see a coining post every week lol /lh .

(I hope this all makes sense and I hope I understood your points correctly lol, this is just mostly additional ramblings that I thought of in relation to all of this)

not take but I think nearly 90% of therian identities are at least somewhat subconsciously (or consciously) affected by emotional states and how the heart feels through the logical filter of the mind (like.. wanting unconditional love is clearly a canine thing, wanting respect and space is a feline thing, wanting to be feared and yet soft is like some big cat thing.. etc.. no? The stereotypes still are ever so present)

but idk man

[the-red-hoodlum]

killing people who don’t get an animals consent before touching them &/or ignore when animals are visibly uncomfortable with being touched.

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

This is like, the fifth time I’ve had someone say “you can’t even tell you own a cat” and I pointed out all my cat’s toys and stuff and they were like “I mean it never smells bad in here” and I’m just confused? I can often tell when someone has dogs based on their house smell, but when I visit cat people a majority of them have normal smelling houses? I can only think of one instance that was different and they were fostering multiple cats and could only fit the litter boxes in the living room. Who are they visiting that have weird smelling houses? I’m legitimately confused? The only place that smells strong is the closet where his litter boxes are and they mostly just smell like litter dust. I wouldn’t say they smell like flowers, but if you keep up with the boxes it’s not that bad? Is this about marking things? There’s only ever been one cat who I couldn’t stop from doing that behavior and it was a senior in a house that wasn’t mine who’s home owner didn’t want to put stuff like cat trees on the main floor. Give them other ways of marking things (stuff to rub and scratch, especially near entrances and windows) and make them feel secure and they are way less likely to mark with piss? I’m not saying no cat is ever going to have that behavioral issue when provided with all the other options and stuff, but it’s way less likely. Most people I know don’t even deal with the piss marking. The two instances that come to mind involved parents who didn’t want to ruin their decor by having cat stuff in the more trafficked areas and didn’t like the cats themselves. If you don’t listen to the advice then it doesn’t have a chance of working. I have to stop myself before I infodump more about cat care. I’m just confused by the comments I’ve gotten from visitors.

[samuraisharkie]

that virtualtoybox person literally told me they aren’t reading what I said and then tried to talk to me w about as much in their tags lol. i never understand people that go ‘I’m not reading all of that but you should read what I have to say” bc like. imagine how infuriated ur gonna get when that response is leveled right back at you? and judging by their tags they didn’t read past my very first line. bc they started comparing animals and animal rights to eugenics which is EXACTLY what I was saying is extremely dangerous to do. That’s exactly how people start calling things that happen to animals a ‘Holocaust’ and I’m positive such a statement is made in that book they told me to read. I’m disabled too. I know what I’m talking fucking about too. In the animal section, I for SURE know more than you do! Because if you knew and truly cared about animals and their welfare, you wouldn’t be talking like PETA. Here’s a trick to other disability activists: learn about animal welfare by volunteering on farms and educating yourself on breeders and the industry rather than getting involved in PETA! And another critical trick: NEVER compare animals to people! That’s exactly what the freaks that think any living thing with a deformity that should die are doing. These people would clutch their pearls the moment they hear farms cull undesirable animals bc they can’t afford to keep every single one and have to streamline their breeding and raising to what will help keep the farm running. That doesn’t mean these farmers want to do the same to people, because the animal is NOT a person and doesn’t live like one. Our lives are not even remotely comparable! People like OP are the people that keep a wild bird with an amputated wing alive bc in their mind it would be insinuating all amputees should die if the bird is put down, and next thing the bird is on the Dodo as inspiration porn. Duex Face is an exception to two headed animals, not the rule. Don’t tell me to do my research when you’re spouting talking points from people that have caused more problems for animals as a whole second only to the commercialization of animal industry. Maybe you need some research (field research) instead! They’re going to block me and I’m assuming that’s why I can’t rb the post anymore even if I wanted to (like I said I didn’t want to start a fight so like. I’m not going to be yelling and acting like an asshole. I swore a bit in the tags initially bc I feel very strongly about how animal rights activists have fucked up disability activism by acting like there’s equivalency in our existences, but that’s not targeted. Most was going to respond telling them that if they feel this strongly they need to be reading more about the animal industry rather than relying on people that are in no way experts on animals talking as an authority on them, and using that to tie with their human rights activism as if animals rights and humans rights are even remotely the same in any way. Whatever though at least the tags are there if anyone who cares enough actually reads them and thinks about them. Will most likely just attract militant vegans and ARAs like the op but whatever)

[mint-mumbles]

Gonna use this image any time someone says something low key sexist about Sable (ie "she's showing too much skin" regarding a fucking bathing suit 😭🤦)

I don't hear you complaining about Spirit 😭

[peapod20001]

I like to think that if my tumblr pals came to my house, they’d have a good time

[luviestarz]

jungkook fic recs! 💘 part 3

★ starry night (m) | jjk - @kithtaehyung (all you wanted to do was take your boyfriend on a super late date.)

★ Millisecond - @kookiepleasee (Jungkook just can’t get enough of you, but is too afraid to make a move, so he just admires you from afar, every day.)

★ Home: risky birthday 🔞 - @bonny-kookoo (In which you really don't know how he talked you into this.)

★ just a little... | jjk drabble - @soft4gguk

★ "big tiddie anime bitches" | jjk - @h0neypjm (Jungkook, bless his heart, has an obsession. An obsession with big titty anime girls and the idea of you dressed as them. His birthday is coming up, what better time to fulfil his weeb fantasies than on Jungkook's special day.)

★ WARM NIGHTS & CLEAR LINES — JJK (m.) - @awrkive (there haven't been a lot of people who have come into your life that became important to you – and you didn’t expect jeon jungkook to be one if it – not at all. but what started as a casual relationship turned into more than that, and now you find yourself deeply in love with him – and happily so. or; your first "i love you" comes out completely wrong.)

★ ( 전정국 ) . . . BURNING HOUR jeon jungkook - @jungqkook (there’s nothing better than spending an entire day at your boyfriend’s yatch, tanning and waiting for the sunset with a drink in your hand… too bad your boyfriend had other plans for you.)

★ fill with fire, exhale desire, m | jjk - @whatifyoulivelikethat (He smokes cigarettes. You hate it. You always have a lighter in your pocket. He is pissed off because it isn't for him, you say. So much is said, but the truth is in the silence.)

★ RAINY DAYS | JEON JUNGKOOK - PART ONE - @rklve (your life choices left not only yours, but jungkook's heart broken in peaces. now you're back in town, and just like pluto, even if it's cold and dark, he tends to orbit around his sun forever.)

★ Devoted to Trouble - @jeonsweetpea (In which the whole world finds out Jungkook is Spider-Man, but he doesn’t care about anything but you. OR Can you survive seven days of Jungkook pining over you while his identity is exposed to the world?)

★ whipped - JJK - @aquagustd (another day, another trend that you’re forced to participate in with your boyfriend. It was his idea but he somehow gets sidetracked, with his head between your thighs.)

★ campus affairs | jeon jungkook - @kooktrash (you transferred to a new college during second semester and you didn’t expect much excitement out for. that’s until jungkook came along and what had struggled to be a friendship was becoming so much more.)

★ [10:29pm] | jeon jungkook - @kookssin (established!relationship, smut, mirror sex)

★ Fall Back in Love | jjk - @bukguhope (jungkook somehow grew a reputation of sleeping around on campus, leaving him lonely and inexperienced with relationships. so when you, his old childhood best friend moves onto campus, he discovers what a relationship can feel like as he finds himself falling in love with you)

★ 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬: - @euphoricfilter (it’s not often your boyfriend calls you with a cryptic message to come over; especially when he’s meant to be at his parents’ place for the holidays.)

★ fast forward - JJK - @aquagustd (If every single person you knew was against you, it wouldn’t matter, doesn’t matter because Jungkook would be there for you. That’s why you don’t question his words when he repeats ‘I’ll be back’ one disconcerting morning, and you respond with ‘I know. I trust you.’ He’ll make you eat your words.)

★ paired & puppy-eyed | jjk - @yoon-kooks (When Jeon Jungkook agrees to be your partner for a class project, he doesn’t realize what that might escalate to until you show up at his door in a teeny-tiny crop top and cling to his tattooed arm like his naughty little kitten.)

★ risqué ; timestamp #15 - @mercurygguk

★ LOVE ME | JJK - @wnderkoo (I guess I'm just a sucker for love.)

★ CRIMINAL ! ... halloween special - @voyter (your boyfriend ends up loving your costume idea for the two of you more than he initially lets on.)

★ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢 - @pennyellee (You, a determined fashion designer, find yourself entangled in a collaboration with the irresistibly charming and egotistic heartthrob, Jeon Jungkook. Will this partnership remain strictly professional, or will he make the lines blur?)

★ grumpy!jk - @awrkive (jungkook is usually a nice guy from the way he interacts with other people – but the only exception comes to you. and you can't figure out why.)

★ MOTHERFUCKIN’ TRAIN WRECK! ⋆ 정국 - @lovieku (when renowned fuckboy jeon jeongguk catches feelings, he loses his mind. only when it comes to you, though.)

★ CRAZY | JJK (Part 1) - @girlygguk (you know it sounds twisted. that most people would see hyungwon as the perfect boyfriend. healthy, balanced, all the things that relationships should be. that’s when you realized... you weren't like most people. but that's okay. because neither is jungkook.)

★ metro inhabitant!Jungkook x survivor!female reader - @runariya

★ Closer To You - JJK (18+) - @back2bluesidex (You know that you and Jeongguk are completely different individuals from every possible aspect, and there is no future of this relationship but you can’t push him away, not when he only wants to come closer to you.)

★ next door - jjk - @sugaimhome (Jungkook is obsessed with you. All because of some badly designed architecture and house planning, he’d do anything for you, and when he sees you struggling to orgasm, he takes matters into his own hands... or camera.)

★ PRESSED IN THE STEAM - @97kuu (There is only so much he can handle visually of your wet, hot and exposed body in an a private onsen before his member starts craving more than simple touches and thrusts between your thighs.)

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

Yandere batfamily x neglected reader

From the moment you were ten, you had sought their attention like a moth drawn to a flame. But the flame was always too hot, always too far away, and with every desperate attempt to get close, they burned you. You had been a shadow in their world, hovering at the edges of their lives, wanting, needing. Needing. That word, so simple, yet it had been the curse of your existence. You needed them. You needed their time, their care, their love. But they never saw you, never acknowledged the pit of loneliness that gnawed at you every time you begged to be included.

They had brushed you aside, every single time.

The family, your family, was never really yours.

It started when you were just a kid. “Not now, kid,” they would say. Or “Go play somewhere else.” Every time you tried to insert yourself into their lives, they shoved you away, like a toy they’d grown tired of. They didn’t need you. Not when there were bigger things at stake. Not when Gotham was drowning in its own darkness, when the Batcave was filled with the hum of machinery and the rush of adrenaline.

You were just a distraction.

You were nothing.

The words didn’t change as you grew older. They only got sharper.

When you were twelve, you tried again—this time with more subtlety. You offered to help, to be something, anything that would make them notice you. I can be useful, I promise. But no. No, they couldn’t have you tagging along. Not when there were more important things to do, more important people to be with. You were only a child.

By the time you turned fifteen, the bitter reality had set in. You weren’t wanted. You weren’t needed. They were a family—their family—and you? You were the outcast, the inconvenience they only tolerated because they had no choice. They didn’t want you, but they had to keep you around. The occasional glance from Tim, a brief acknowledgment from Dick—enough to keep the illusion of familial love alive, but never enough to make you feel like you mattered.

It wasn’t just Bruce anymore. He had become an empty figure in your life, a distant authority figure who only spoke when there was something to be done. Do this. Do that. Don’t ask questions. That was how you learned to live under his roof—like a shadow. Like a nothing.

There were moments when you thought you might be able to break through. When you thought maybe—just maybe—they would see you for who you were, someone who could stand beside them, shoulder to shoulder, not as a burden but as a part of the family.

But those moments were fleeting. They were crumbs, pieces of hope that you clung to like a starving animal, only for them to be yanked away, leaving you empty once again.

By the time you turned sixteen, you no longer asked. No longer begged. You had learned that your needs were nothing but noise to them. So, you stayed quiet, retreating into the corners of their lives. You were there, but invisible. A ghost that haunted the edges of their family but was never invited to sit at the table.

But it wasn’t just the coldness that broke you. No. It was the sharpness of their words.

The day it all ended—the day your last shred of hope died—had come like a storm.

You were seventeen when you finally broke. You had asked, yet again, for something so simple. You wanted to hang out, to spend the evening together, just for once. No work. No patrols. Just them. Just family. But Dick—always so perfect, so composed—snapped.

“Stop nagging, goddammit!” His voice was low, but the venom was there. The venom that cut deeper than any blade. “I don’t have time for this. You’re not a kid anymore. You should know better.”

And it was in that moment, when the words hit you like fists to your chest, that you knew. It was over. They will never care about you.

No more pleading. No more silence. You were done.

You wanted to scream, to break down and tell him how it felt to always be ignored, to always be pushed aside. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. All you could do was stare at him, the person you had once looked up to, the brother who had made you feel like you belonged. And now? Now he hated you. He resented you. You were just a thorn in his side, something he couldn’t wait to get rid of.

The Batfamily didn’t need you. They didn’t even want you. You were just a memory in the background of their perfect little world.

And so, you left.

You packed your things and left Gotham without a second thought. You didn’t care anymore. You didn’t care about them. You didn’t care about the lies you had told yourself for years, that someday they would come to love you. No. You were done.

You found a small apartment in a city far, far away. The rent was cheap. The food was okay. It didn’t matter. For the first time in years, you felt a strange kind of peace. No more begging. No more hoping for something that was never going to come.

But the peace didn’t last long. It never does.

Months passed, and the Batfamily went on without you. It wasn’t like you expected them to notice, but they did. They always did.

It started slowly at first. A message from Bruce, terse and businesslike, asking how you were. A phone call from Dick, his voice hesitant, full of uncertainty. Tim sent an email—just a few lines, but still. He’d written “We miss you.”

You didn’t respond. The first few days, you let it sit there, those words ringing in your ears. We miss you. The words came so easily now, but where had they been all those years? You stared at the screen, a hollow laugh escaping your lips. Miss you? They had pushed you aside when you needed them most. They had ignored you, told you to shut up, told you to go away.

Now they missed you?

You threw your phone across the room and sat down, gripping your hair, letting the quiet take you over.

It wasn’t until the second month that they started to call. At first, it was Tim—his voice softer than it had been in years, like a penitent ghost, when he called you.

“Please… just talk to us. We’re… we’re worried about you.”

You didn’t pick up.

Then, Dick. His voice cracked when he asked if you were okay. Just talk to us. How many times had you told them that? How many times had you begged? And now, they were begging you? You felt the rage swell inside you, the bitterness of those years threatening to break you apart.

And that was when they came.

It wasn’t just a phone call. It wasn’t just messages anymore. They came looking for you.

Nightwing was the first. He showed up at your door, standing there in his familiar suit, but his smile was tight, his eyes uncertain.

“Please,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “We just want to talk.”

You stared at him, the same person who had once smiled at you like you meant the world to him. And now? Now he looked like a stranger. Someone who didn’t know who you were. And maybe, in a way, he didn’t.

“Why?” you asked, your voice rough from months of silence. “Why now? Where were you when I needed you?”

The guilt in his eyes only deepened. “We were wrong,” he said, the words fragile, like he was afraid they would break if spoken too loudly. “We… we miss you.”

The anger rose in your chest. They missed you?

The words sounded so hollow. What good was their love now?

They all came. One by one, each member of the family arrived at your door, apologizing, begging for forgiveness, for your attention, your love.

But it was too late.

They had pushed you away for too long, and now you could feel it: the suffocating weight of their regret, the twisting hunger of their need.

They needed you. They needed you so badly. They would never let you go again.

It wasn’t just about family anymore. It wasn’t just about reconciliation. Now, it was about possession.

And the family would do whatever it took to keep you close—no matter the cost.

Gotham had never felt farther away, yet the shadows of the family loomed larger than ever.

You weren’t sure if you were ready to go back, to reopen that door. But deep down, you knew one thing.

They would never let you leave again.

And now?

Now, they were willing to do anything to make sure of it.

(A/n: no part 2 becuz it's a one shot 😸)

[crescenthistory]

hi! i have this really cute idea for regulus x fem! reader. so reader is a animagus and it’s winter time so sometimes she’ll shift into a their animal form, preferably a cat, and goes seek out warmth. but reader is also besties with remus and knows he’s a werewolf, his body temperature runs a lot warmer then anyone else so she goes to room to cuddle. when that happens, regulus immediately knows they reader is with remus and, begrudgingly, goes to gryffindor to steal reader back.

when he gets there, sirius is pouring and complains to reggie that “your girlfriend is stealing my boyfriend” and regulus snaps back by saying “well your boyfriend is stealing my girlfriend” and reader and remus are amused but their bickering but don’t care.

anon. anon. i am giving you the BIGGEST kiss, you don't even know. this is perhaps the best idea i've seen in a while and so i love you. i will be thinking about this throughout all of winter, thank you.

Words: 3k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, references to previous black brothers angst, disgusting amounts of fluff, best friends can cuddle platonically regardless of gender i will fight you on this, background rosekiller and wolfstar, childhood best friend!remus, implied gryffindor!reader, sirius pretends to be jealous but is not

Note: read more about cat!animagus!reader's shenanigans with regulus, wolfstar and james in Sweet Like Honey; Karma is a Cat & Padfoot vs. Whiskers

When Regulus accepted Sirius’ attempt to mend their relationship, he had expected to get his big brother back in full and no more. The person who understands him best, the boy he needed to lean on – it was all he wanted to get out of it. Perhaps he expected to have to grown tolerant of his brother’s friends, but that was something he dreaded, if he at all thought of.

What Regulus had not expected was to be introduced to and fall head over heels in love with you.

Remus’ childhood best friend, the more reserved one of the bunch that he had always seen floating around with them, but whose voice he had never had to roll his eyes at, thus never interacted with. It bewildered him now how he once upon a time barely thought of you, regarded you.

Now he knew you were delightful, and Regulus was positively smitten.

It had been exactly what Regulus had never thought he would get – an easy love. Like your friends, you were open and honest and loyal to the bone, and it spilled over like honey into your relationships with those around you. Once you caught a glance of his clearly lovestruck eyes, you melted, and the puddle was caught delicately in his hands.

Since then, that is where he has held you. In the palms of his hands, close to his heart. He learned more than he perhaps wanted to know about himself during the process of opening up to you, and you showed him a patience he still is not entirely certain he deserves. But you gave him your time, your moments, your touches and your lips, and he received and received without complaint.

When the two most important people in Regulus’ life – one a fervent, natural devotion, another a sassy, passionate rivalry – were in the same hazardous circle of loud-mouthed Gryffindor friends, he eventually had to capitulate that he could no longer just tolerate them. They were family.

God, what love has cost him.

Regulus walked into his dorm room where you have spent more days than not for the past few months, and sighed defeatedly when all he finds there is Barty laying on top of Evan in some odd position that cannot possibly be comfortable.

“Hello to you too, Black. Thrilling to see you.” Barty’s voice was laced with sarcasm, but there was no menace there as of yet.

“Yeah, yeah,” Regulus grumbled as he threw his bookbag onto his bed and sat down. “You seen Y/N lately?”

“You mean since you were all snuggled up this morning? Nah.”

Regulus rolled his eyes painfully hard at his oldest friend, murmuring a soft sod off before tossing whatever was closest – his pyjama t-shirt – in Barty’s general direction, missing by a good metre. He is a seeker and not a chaser for a reason.

“What of it, Reg?” Evan mumbled, but it was distorted by Barty’s elbow being more or less shoved into his mouth. He could never sit still.

“Just figured she’d be here, ‘s all. She finished class before me.” Regulus falls down onto his bed, curls spilling onto the emerald sheets as he stares at the ceiling, picturing you there and then immediately kicking himself for being that down bad. Then reminding himself with the therapy-speech Sirius has been teaching him, love is a strength not a weakness, it’s good to feel your feelings. Yada yada. "It's been a long day."

“Maybe she got tired of your sorry ass.” Barty laughed at his own joke only to be smacked by Evan’s finally-freed hand.

“Or yours, you sod.”

“Nah, Treasure absolutely adores me.” Barty propped himself up to flash you both a grin. “See, unlike you, I’m fun.”

“Interesting word to substitute insufferable with.” Evan said, leaning his face up from underneath Barty, as if to intimidate him.

“You love me,” Barty drawled before kissing the blond soundly.

“Would you guys please stop flirting?” Regulus’ voice was closer to a groan than anything else. He pressed the backs of his hands to his eyes, seeing stars and thinking of you. Stupid poetic feelings.

“Just because you can’t keep track of your girl doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves.” Barty pointed an accusatory finger at Regulus. “I would classify that demand as rude.”

“Bite me.”

“Only if your girlfriend says yes.” This time it was Evan’s turn of tuning into Regulus’ torture.

“And she would.” Barty winks at him.

This time it’s a pillow Regulus throws at them, and it lands perfectly, smack in the middle of Barty’s face.

“Oi!” He calls as he throws it back. “Either you quit it, or you throw me your jumper, it’s freezing in here.”

“You’re literally in bed, Barty.” Regulus looks at him, unamused. “Just–”

He trails off, gaze falling from Barty to the wall behind him as he pieces the puzzle together and realisation dawns on his face. The other boys seem to have caught on as they both cock their heads curiously at him. 

“Of course,” Regulus whispers, first in marvel and then it morphs into something between exasperation and disgust. “Of course.” At last, he gets a determined look on his face, slapping his palms on his knees as he sits up from bed and grabs his jumper to go.

“Excuse you, what just happened?” Barty says, increasingly louder throughout his sentence as he realises Regulus is headed for the door, thick wool jumper tucked under his arm. “Hey!”

Regulus throws the boys a look over his shoulder, smirking at them and shaking his head before shutting the door and walking off. He barely catches Evan’s “shush, you baby, I’ll warm ya” before he is out of earshot.

A man with a purpose and half a plan stalks off, beginning the treacherous journey from the Slytherin dungeons to the Gryffindor dormitories.

What is the single thing Regulus knows can keep you from him when you’re otherwise attached at the hip? The cold.

What is the one person you go to for anything and everything, especially dealing with the cold? A certain ragged boy with a wolfish smile that he knows is to be found only behind the portrait of an increasingly annoying woman.

“Password?” The Fat Lady asked, quirking a brow ridiculously high as she regards Regulus with a mutual disgust.

“Catulus leonis.” Regulus does not bother holding back the eyeroll at the ridiculous passphrase.

She looks at him a moment or five longer than she needs, almost as if considering not letting him in despite his answer being perfectly correct, before she finally swings open the door wordlessly.

Regulus mutters a harsh thank you, Pureblood upbringing having knocked some politeness into him he is just not able to forego, no matter how severe his beef – as Sirius says – with the woman is.

When he finally approaches the offending dorm, the door opens fast enough to knock some wind across his face, and he is met with a set of black curls and a superfluous frown that both match his own.

“Regulus. Thank Merlin.”

“Good to see you too, Siri. How'd you know it was me?”

"Recognised your footsteps. Now, c'mon."

Regulus pushes in past his brother and his eyes immediately find Remus Lupin’s bed. To the unaware, it would just look like the scrawny boy was innocently laying on his bed, head propped against a mountain of pillows and reading another one of his paperbacks.

However, Regulus knew better and could see the perfect girlfriend-shaped lump underneath Remus’ jumper, shielded by his arms as he held his book over his stomach.

Or, at least shaped like this rather specific form of his girlfriend.

“Hello, amour, I’ve been looking for you.” Regulus’ voice is addressed to the bump on Remus’ chest, but he looks up at him with a quirked brow and a smug smile tugging on the corner of his lips.

“Didn’t know we were on a pet name-basis, Reg. Good to know.” 

“Absolutely not.” Sirius and Regulus chorus at the exact same time, and Regulus fights back the wince at how painfully similar they are in this moment.

“Reggie,” Sirius finally whines. “Your girlfriend’s been stealing my boyfriend for the past two hours. Do something!”

Despite having a very similar sentiment settled in his own chest, Regulus gives his brother a pull yourself together look as he comes up to stand beside him, near the occupied bed. “I’m fairly certain your boyfriend has stolen my girlfriend equally as much,” he tuts.

“Whatever, just do something.” Sirius waves his hand towards Remus’ still very relaxed state with something a bit too close to a pout forming on his face.

“There’s no need to be jealous, Pads, the poor girl’s just cold,” Remus chides, with a teasing glint in his eye that clearly shows he knows his boyfriend is being dramatic for the bit and not actually upset. "Gotta help 'er out."

“‘M not jealous. I’m needy.” Sirius’ deadpan stare is not affected by Remus’ laughter nor Regulus’ barely-contained snort.

“Glad you admit it,” Regulus says slyly, patting Sirius on his shoulder twice, who immediately shrugs his hand off with a scowl.

“Like you’re any better, you slithered all the way up from the snake pit to fetch her. At least I’m open about it.”

Before Regulus has the chance to retort, Remus puts his book down in his lap and reaches out a hand for Sirius, which he immediately takes. “I told you you could come lay in the bed with us, love,” Remus murmurs and swipes his thumb over the back of Sirius’ hand.

If he did not feel the same way, Regulus would have given Sirius hell for how he seemed to absolutely soften in the sunlight of his boy. “Yeah, I know, Moons, I’m just being theatrical.”

Remus laughs once more, and this time his chest rumbling results in a distinct prrrt! coming from the inside of his jumper. Up through the collar, cheek smashed against Remus’, comes the tentative head of beautiful grey-and-white fur and slow-blinking yellow eyes, still riddled with sleep. 

“Good morning, amour,” Regulus coos, ignoring Sirius’ snort as he drops down to squat beside Remus’ bed so his face is lined up with yours.

You pur, stretching beneath the fabric, a single paw escaping beside your head through the collar as you roll over onto your back. Your eyes remained trained on Regulus, and though he knows cats can’t actually smile, he swears you were smiling at him.

“Sorry to wake you, princess,” Sirius drawls as he looks down at you from where he is leaning on the bedpost beside Remus. “But have you seeped up enough warmth for me to get my boyfriend back yet?”

You make a faux hissing sound before ducking your head down, so it’s just barely hidden by the collar.

Remus laughs heartily, setting his book completely away this time so his hand can come up to rest on your cat-form, petting you through his jumper. “It’s alright kitten, take your time.”

The exposed paw lightly hits Remus’ cheek in retaliation, and this time it is Sirius and Regulus’ turn to laugh at his expense. “Ow! I share my warmth with you and this is what I get in return?”

From the movement beneath the fabric, Regulus assumes you’re nuzzling your head against his chest in apology.

“Amour, I brought your favourite jumper of mine and promise to make you so much hot cocoa if I can steal you back. We can be in your dorm room instead of mine, it’s warmer in there, right?” A smile remains consistent on Regulus’ face as he talks to you.

Sirius pats him on the back, murmuring something about you’re so whipped that he doesn’t bother to pay attention to. 

More movement beneath the fabric, and then suddenly your ears are poking out of the neckline again – because why would you make it easy for yourself and use the big exit, when you can squeeze your way through a tight opening? You’re a cat after all.

Remus seems to be thinking the same as he laughs while you attempt to climb out beside his head, soft fur brushing against his skin and making up for the occasional claw you use for traction. 

Regulus attempts to bite back the coos as he sees more and more of you, recognising your movements as sluggish with sleep, no doubt coaxed into it by finally being comfortable.

“Thanks for today, see you again tomorrow, same time?” Remus teases, head turned towards you as you headbutt him lovingly, finally fully escaped from his jumper and standing on his shoulder. He nuzzles you back and scratches your head in goodbye.

Another prrrt! escapes you in greeting as you saunter your way across Remus and plop onto the small strip of mattress on his side where Regulus’ hands are open and ready to receive you. 

“Hi, sweetie,” he whispers as you allow him to scoop you up into his arms while he’s still squatting beside the bed. He holds you like an infant, tight to his body and securely supported. You immediately begin to purr loudly, nuzzling your head even further into his neck and shoulder.

Regulus does not bother to hold back the slight giggle as your caresses tickle him. 

“Good gods, are you two sappy,” Sirius groans, but when Regulus looks up, there is a wide grin on his face. A slightly teasing one admittedly, but a grin nonetheless.

Then, Regulus recognises where Sirius is grinning at him from – properly cuddled up besides Remus on the opposite side of the bed, arms beneath his jumper, soaking up the leftover warmth from you.

“Wait– how did you get there so fast?” Regulus’ voice is almost incredulous, stopping his greeting of you – earning him a harrumphing meow – to narrow his eyes at his brother. “I didn’t even notice you move from beside me.”

“What can I say; I am a dedicated man.” Sirius nuzzles into Remus’ cheek, not much unlike how you were mere seconds ago, albeit his involved a tad many more kisses.

“You’re weird, that’s what you are,” Regulus laughs as he stands up with you in his arms.

You turn around to look up at him with those big, slitted eyes of yours. When you extend your neck further towards his face, Regulus lifts you higher so you can give him the cat-kisses you so evidently wanted, his lips curling at your touch.

Sirius lifts a brow at the two of you. “Yeah. I’m the weird one.” 

Regulus scoffs at him, but when you continue to caress your furry cheeks against his lips and chin, it is difficult for any menace to remain serious.

“Thank you for your deviant supernatural warmth keeping my girlfriend alive, Lupin, but I’d like to steal her away from you now.” 

“By all means, Black, you’ve already stolen her from me once,” Remus harrumphs, pretending to be some scorned faux older brother but his eyes betray his facade; he is happy for you.

Regulus chooses to ignore it nonetheless.

“Brother.” He nods at Sirius. “Soon to be brother-in-law.” He nods at Remus. “We bid you goodnight.”

“Try not to undo all of Moony’s hard work by freezing her right back up with your freakishly cold feet!” Sirius calls after him as he heads towards the door. He then promptly gives out a soft yelp that indicates Remus corrected him in some physical way.

“Goodnight love, goodnight Reg,” Remus calls instead.

“Yeah, bye, doll!” Sirius adds, whispering more to himself, “he’s mine again now.”

You give out a tired meow that is so cute it makes Regulus’ heart clench with endearment. You cuddle properly up into the crook of his neck as he carries you out, softly closing the door behind him with a smile.

He shifts you in his grip so he can look down at you more carefully. “You are so unbelievably predictable. And even cuter than that again, which is saying something,” he murmurs to you and you respond with quiet meows.

He looks at you curiously. “Are you going to remain in cat form the whole night?”

Your tail twitches teasingly, your only other response is a quiet prrt as you close your eyes into the warmth of his neck again. He laughs, covering your feline body with his hands as he carries you, to keep the warmth in.

He sneaks into your dorm – thankfully often unoccupied as Marlene is with Dorcas and Mary is with Pandora – and settles you down onto your plush mattress and pillows. He undresses and gets ready for bed, while you’re resting your head on the pillow, observing him, but just before getting under the covers, he slips on his jumper.

“It’s so soft I could cry, Reggie,” you had whispered to him when you cuddled up to him when he wore it around you for the first time. “I fear I can never let you go now.”

Regulus slides under the blankets with a knowing smile, opening the hem, allowing you to creep under, chest against chest with your head poking out of the collar to rest at the bottom of his neck. 

“I'm no werewolf, but I’ll keep you warm with my love, amour,” he whispered to you in the dark, one hand combing through your fur protectively underneath his own jumper.

He swears, he could hear the little cat snort against his skin.

Regulus fell desperately deeper in love.

[soarrenbluejay]

Since I’ve been encouraged to actually share my funny little blorbo ideas here’s another one gang;

Danny moves to Gotham on scholarship for engineering, because the Fentons may be infamous but they’re also insanely brilliant and besides both he and Jazz are showing every sign of embarrassed child of a super genius syndrome, so while the bats are keeping a close eye on him Just In Case, duke is also thinking of introducing him to the Our Parents Are Maniacs But Anyway club maybe after the first month or so.

Gotham does not go for standard dorm living bc of his ‘condition’ and lack of wanting to constantly spook/gaslight a roommate. Besides, living with two small children is a dorm sounds like a disaster in action.

So Danny signs up as a mechanic in Crime Alley, buys himself a teeny weensy lil apartment and Makes It Work. He has been all year after showing up with a de aged Dani and Dan in Amnity after all, and that had gone,,, fine? (The entire town, observing how Danny had been getting increasingly more uncomfortable around his godfather prior to the cloning incident, then just dropped off the face of the earth for several months, the first two weeks stuck in Vlad’s basement enduring horrors and the next Too Many desperately fapping around in the Ghost Zone to get everything handled. All the clones live, all 13 of them. Bunch of them are stuck in the Ghost Zone due to constant need for ectoplasm, but eh, plenty of Zone born never leave, so. One, in the future, apprentices under a green warrior lady on Pandora’s suggestion, another is working in the Eternal Library with Ghost Writer, etc etc. so Danny eventually came back to Amnity with one small child under each arm very obviously traumatized by Somethingn with vlad and doesn’t like being alone with him,,, or touched without warning,, and immediately and passionately proclaims the kids his but struggles to explain how or why,, look some very reasonable assumptions are drawn okay. So the town does the very reasonable thing and does the midwestern equivilant of excommunicating Vlad, except it’s a lot more run him out with pitchforks vibes since he’s the Mayor. Anyway)

He is immediately loved, because while non Gothamites are usually more of a pain than they’re worth, everyone in a while someone even from out of town will just fit in so nicely it’s uncanny for everyone involved. Addams family vibes, it’s referred to as ‘making it home’, just personal hc. He is protective of all the kids playing in the parks and street girls that can totally take care of themselves on their corners but find it HILARIOUS when he just tackles a dick like a wild animal full force no warning. He can fix anything it seems, but refuses to work with weapons. Reasonable enough, people get twitchy about gangs sometimes. Danny mentions being not against Hood or anything, but he’s not going to work for him, littles to take care of and all, but had past experience with ‘Dora and that inheritance mess with her brother he was being a real prick about’ so everyone assumes it’s the equivilant of him having Done His Time and being plenty good for a life time and respects it as long as none of that petty midwestern small town hotshots bring any of that shit over here. And they don’t, because said individuals are on the other side of the mortal veil, so happy day.

See I really love deaged!Dan because he’s just a grumpy lil guy. But he’s also killed millions. He’s so protective of his loved ones, but held back by blending in and also being Smol that it comes off more bitey kitten than anything else. Dani, of course, is a terror, so she fits right in with the crowd.

And sorry gang, but a bunch of kids on their own in Gotham in a poor side of the city just isn’t going to get any attention: that’s just business as usual really. What first gets attention on Danny is not his ‘condition’ or being mistaken for a meta (which he legally probs has an argument for even without the gene bc like these bitches don’t know how metaism works anyway so) or alien (I’m 90% sure he’d be covered by the alien protection act by virtue of being half ‘not from earth’), but because Danny despite best efforts is a Weird Guy.

He grew up in what could only be described as a low level villain level and spent most of high school dealing with smack downs and spiritual invasion. He’s never really processed that any of that is not in fact Normal. Also, he’s capable of making Anything if given the insides of a toaster, blender and alarm clock, and could probably rewrite the circuits of the apartment blindfolded and improve them 1000% even if it ABSOLUTELY would not be up to code.

And sure, things slip every once in a while, bits of spectral ice here, small floating incident there, but everyone just Minds Their Buisness ya know? You really gunna mess with the guy that personally ensured that when your car got flattened by a fight with Killer Croc, you were still able to get in to work the next day by some wizardry? Really?

But Gotham is a city so cursed it’s probably in the exponents countwise, so of course there is a) a flourishing community of magic users and assorted supernatural weirdos and b) a whole lot of shit for Mega Overpowered Ghost King Danny to idly pick at day to day in order to help with his protecting other Obsession. Gotham has plenty of heroes, but by god do they need the spiritual equivilant of an electrician/priest.

Still, Danny, as a baby ancient under a facet of Kronos and KING OF THE DEAD is like, way, way out of their scope to be able to grok, so it mostly just comes off as you know, a family of banshees or something. When asked, Danny very haltingly says he was briefly dead but then revived, which neatly explains his Weird Ass aura and makes it SPECTACULARLY AWKWARD to ask further about. So everyone nods politely, and goes back to their lives after double checking no nefarious bullshit was being pulled.

Then, of course, Vlad finally tracks them down. The whole neighborhood is altered in short order because he doesn’t bother trying to hide being a Rich Bitch or how he’s sneering down his nose at people on the sidewalk. Every connects the dots when Danny paniks. Dani and Dan’s daycare are staffed with some extra, very buff set of hands within the hour. Jerry, Hood’s third in command, personally shows up to the garage Danny is working at to talk things out with him bc he knows he does t like the deal with this stuff due to past unspecified circumstances but well, they guys had already started fucking with him, you see. Stole his tires, spray painted the windows, pickpocketed him blind, and when he retreated tipped off the police to the drugs they’d planted in the glove box.

Danny might not have been born in Gotham, but he was one of them. And the Alley takes care of it own.

[nanivinsmoke]

❥ messy on a haystack

❥ dbf!logan x fem!reader

having a crush on an older man, your dad’s best friend , was something you never expected.

❥ tags: age gap (but it makes sense), based off of origins wolverine, reader is thick asf (country booty duhh), explicit language, creaming, squirting, breeding kink, pussy drunk logan, mutant awakening, semi-plot—needed him to fuck us asap, logan is a little pervy…

note: up next, fantasize. wc: 2.8k

your dad left the farm’s care in your hands this week, while he took a trip back to his hometown to check on his parents—your grandparents. which means that you were in charge of everything. from the animals, to the wood the men chopped, to the pay and the workers; you were in charge of it all. including him.

logan had known your father for a while, meeting him a few months after you left for college and that was practically six years ago. during that time, logan practically ran the farm with your father—he was his right hand man. everything was running smoothly, the farm had been booming for years. and then your father got sick, changing everything.

people found out about your father’s sickness and tried to get him sell. logan would scare them away most of the time, telling them to fuck off, but then the stress of running the farm started to jeopardize his health even more. so, logan found your number stashed in your father’s office—your dad’s too stubborn and old school to get a cellphone—and gave you a call. you caught the next flight out.

the moment you stepped on the dirt paved roads, everything seemed to perk back up. especially your old man. but, when logan laid eyes on you, he was finally able to see what you really looked like, (your dad kept old photos of you in his office) and he was amazed. you were gorgeous, prettiest lil thing he’d ever seen.

those deep blue flare jeans you wore, hugged you tighter than a grandma during holidays. and he never thought he was an ass man till he seen yours and how it sat in your jeans. and don’t get him started on how you filled out your the cropped white beater—fuck he sounded like a perv. but, it’s been a long time since he thought about a woman like that; and you were everything and then some.

after greeting your dad and explaining to him why you were here, you finally met the mysterious man who called you—and let’s just say he caught your eyes too. he was handsome, the rugged look he adorned was incredibly sexy and the way he would look at you; had your panties wet every night. if someone would hear your thoughts right now, they’d call you weird and tell you that he was old enough to be your father—but thank goodness he was not.

—

“time for lunch boys!” you yelled out to the men hard at work, watching them throw down their things and separate—happy to finally stop working and chow down. you watched as logan sauntered over towards you, standing on the porch; waiting for him to join you for lunch. “hi logan.”

“hey princess, what’s for lunch?” you blushed at the nickname and walked with him to the kitchen, where you had practically went all out. you made a big ole southern meal. you loved cooking, it was your love language. and he loved the meals you’d make.

the two of you sat down and began passing around the various dishes of food you had made, before he sparked up a conversation. “your dad left today, right? what day did he say he’ll be back?” his eyes locked onto yours as he picked the chicken you made, munching on it while he spoke.

“yeah and he won’t be back until…next monday.” he nodded and smirked, tossing back some more of the home cooked food you made. “so then i got you all to myself then?” you nearly choked on your mashed potatoes, eyes wide when you saw him smirking. there was no denying that you heard him, loud and clear.

just as you were about to respond, the kitchen timer went off—signaling that it was time to go back to work. you pouted and he hurried up to scarf down the glass of water beside his food before getting up and leaning over to kiss your forehead, “later princess. I’ll be back tonight.” you watched him leave, heart heavy with love and your mind going crazy with what happened at the table.

you spent the next few hours at the front office, crunching numbers and overseeing where the next shipment of wood was going. the sun going down and slipping past the horizon, made the workers excited as they all wrapped up their work and lined up to clock out. you watched from the porch, as they scanned their manilla colored time cards in front of the clock and headed home.

logan was the last one and when he clocked out, he made his way over towards you. his flannel was torn to shreds and his beater that made his toned torso stick out, was covered in dirt; showing how hard his day went. but all in all, he was still sexy, even when covered in dirt.

“logan~” your voice mimicked a siren, trying to seduce a sailor in by the sexy tone of their voice, while your eyes were low and lidded. he could feel himself grown in his pants from the sound of your voice, his desire for you growing by the second.

“need sumn’, princess?” his voice made you melt and you pressed your thighs together. “shower’s free and i made your bed. ooh, there’s leftovers in the fridge if you’re still hungry!” you smiled at him, trying to suppress a moan when his natural scent hit your nostrils. the smell of woods, hours old cologne and hard work, had your panties wet.

he nodded his head, licking his lips as his eyes traveled down to your thick thighs that were no longer being hidden by denim—before fixtating them back onto your own. “might have to marry ya’ one day.” he commented, planting a kiss on your forehead, before stepping into the house.

letting out a moan, you bit your lip and accepted the tingling sensation that throbbed down below. oh you needed him bad.

logan enjoyed the shower’s hot steaming waters, easing the tension in his muscles and helping him clear his brain. well at least he tried to, his head was clouded with thoughts of you. his best friend’s daughter.

once he stepped out of the shower and put on something comfy, he went down to the kitchen hoping to find you there, however much to his dismay you weren’t. he opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. just as he was about to put it his lips, he heard you let out a distressed scream and he took off running.

he could see you in front of the barn doors being harassed by the men that came a month ago, whom tried to get your dad to sell his land. one had a grip on your hair while the other stood in front, taunting you. logan practically pounced on them and his claws unsheathed, slicing them men up.

you back away and watched as they fought, blood splattering everywhere—but that’s not what worried you. what made you worry was when both of the men began to overpower logan—you had to help him. you realized there were some tools in the barn and as you moved to get, you appeared inside in the blink of an eye; grabbing a shovel before appearing right behind the fighting men again.

your mind was pushing out a million thoughts about what just happened, but you didn’t have time to focus on them right now; you had to save him. you swung with all of your might, knocking the men across the field and off of logan. their bodies crashed into other, giving logan ample enough time to pounce on them and fuck them up.

“get in the barn!” he yelled out, slicing them to bits and pieces—and just like before, you appeared in the barn.

–—

you were in there for quite a while, pacing back and forth; wondering what the hell was going on out there. the sounds of his grunting and the slicing of their skin could no longer be heard. you didn’t care what happened to them, they deserved hell or worse, all you cared about was logan.

the doors to the barn creaked open and you eyed it, but you relaxed when you saw him stomping in. your eyes watered at his bloody torso and you sprinted over to him, engulfing him in a hug. “baby, i was so worried about you!”

that nickname rolled off your tongue and he caught it, pulling you back to look at your face. he held you by your chin, puffing up your cheeks, before kissing your soft plump lips—while you gladly accepted his. the kiss was hot and a little sloppy. and when he pulled away from you, a trail spit following.

“been wanting to do that for awhile now. go ahead and take those off, you won’t be needing them,” he tugged on the hem of your shorts and you obliged. you quickly stripped them off along with your sunset colored thong, a web of your essence following. you were beyond soaked and he knew the moment he appeared in the barn, he could smell it.

you sat on a nearby haystack, spreading your legs and your slick coated lips, rubbing your sensitive little love bud. “please logan, wan’ you so bad.”

the lust that had built up over time, had overflowed and erupted; causing a change within you. and he loved it.

he watched with a lust filled glint in his eyes, his cock growing in his sweatpants as he watched you play with your pretty pussy—his desire and longing for you growing by the second. “think you can handle it, princess?” he asked and you nodded, slipping a finger in your aching hole; a sweet mewl leaving your lips.

he then replaced his finger with his fat leaky tip, pressing it right at your entrance; causing you to clamp down on nothing. he grunted and pushed through, stretching you open bit by bit; making you gasp and tear prick at the corner of your eyes.

“ ‘s too big—fuck!” that was an understatement. logan was huge, thick even. he was painfully big, but that’s exactly what you wanted. to be fucked dumb by his big fat painful cock.

“i know baby, but you can take it. yeah? —atta girl” he coached, splitting your cunt open as he pushed through, his tips inches away from kissing your cervix. logan leaned down and kissed away your tears, his cock pressing deep inside of you. he wiggled his hips around, helping you get used to his size and pressing his thumb to your clit; causing you to shudder.

the more he rubbed and he moved, the less pain you felt—and soon you were taking him so well. his cock was coated in your slick, a ring of white started form around his base as he plunged in and out of your wetness. logan watched your tits bounce out of your top with lidded eyes and the animal in him couldn’t help it anymore. his claws unsheathed and wrapped your top open—shredding it completely and freeing your jiggly mounds.

“so fucking—pretty. fuck, my pretty girl taking me so well!” his praises had you gushing all over him, clamping down on him as you started to see specks of white. you had never had an orgasm like this nor have you ever came so quickly before. none of the boys in college made you cum like this. but, that was the difference between logan and them. they were boys and he was a man.

“please don’t stop. please~” you begged, pulling him close while your orgasm flowed out of you. he grunted in your ear and your cunt weeped at the noise, his hips never faltering. “wasn’t planning on it sweetheart.” he moved his head down and took one of your hard nipples into his mouth, sucking on it like he was trying to pull milk from it.

you whined and bucked your hips up to match his thrusts, your clit pressing into him—adding more pleasure to your fucked out body.

you clung to him with each powerful thrust, his hips spanking your ass making a clapping sound erupt through the barn; accompanying your series of moans. your next orgasm approached by the minute, but this one felt different and you lowered your hips trying to back away.

“wait—wait, feels like m’gonna pee—“ but he didn’t budge, he stayed inside of your pussy—still drilling your cunt stilly—and let your nipple go with a pop; a web of saliva followed after him.

“just let go, trust me baby.” he smirked and gripped your hips, hazel eyes dancing over yours. you watched the dog tags around his neck jump with each pump, sending you straight to nirvana. your body shook as you let go, this orgasm different from your last; it was way more intense and you loved the feeling.

a clear stream of liquid splash out of you and onto his low stomach, pushing him out of you—drenching the hay bale beneath you. he slapped his cock onto your sensitive clit, coating himself in your essence.

when you finally calmed down, he leaned down and kissed your lips—hunger laced in it—his hips grinding against yours. and that’s when you realized something. he was still hard. you pulled away and looked at his swollen cock, shiny with your love. “baby, you didn’t get to cum?”

he pecked your lips some more, his tip now laying onto your belly, “just wanted to get you off first. see how pretty you looked when you came on my dick.”

you practically drooled at his words, eyes glued onto his girth that laid on your tummy—small hand fisting it, causing him to growl. “come sit your pretty ass down on my dick and ride me~”.

and that’s what you did for the next couple of minutes, riding him on the hay bale where he just made you squirt for the first time. webs of your messy fluids sticking to his thighs while you bounced and grinded on him—your boobs jiggling all in his face.

logan was losing himself under you, his cock twitching with each movement. he couldn’t wait anymore. he so desperately wanted to let go inside you. wanted to see your belly swollen in a few months with his kid and fuck another one right into you.

he gripped your ass, his hips bucking upwards, emptying ropes and ropes of his cum deep inside of you—filling you to the brim with his seed.

you rolled your hips, teasing him while leaning down to kiss him—tongues melting on one another. you pulled away and bit your lip, eyeing him with desire. the way he made you feel had you wanting more and he felt the same way. “take me inside.”

—

the two of you laid on his navy blue sheets, in each other’s arms, after a few more rounds of lovemaking. you toyed with his dog tags while he stared at your pretty face, loving how you looked with the moon glowing on you.

“your dad would kill me if he came back and saw us like this.” he spoke and you looked at him and smiled—getting on top of him and laying down on his muscled body.

“nah, i don’t think so. he’ll know i'm in good hands. ill be with the guy he’s going to sell the farm to, after all.” one of his beautiful thick eyebrows raised in response and you pressed a kiss to his lips.

“read the official letter in his office, he wants to sell the farm to you. im all for it. keep you close so we can have a litter of mutant babies together—now that i am one~”.

now it was his turn to smile and kiss on you. he rubbed circles on your back and pecked more kisses to your plump lips, “you’d look so pretty having my kids, with a ring on your finger and my last name attached to yours. i could see us turning that barn into our house, waking up next to you every day…”

“you can see all of that? you sure the wolverine isn’t a clairvoyant?” you joked and he roared with laughter. you smiled at him, so happy and content with every. so happy that you had to tell him, “i love you.”

his hazel eyes with hints of green widened and his smile became wider, “i love you more, doll.”

[creatingblackcharacters]

“The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth” - Violence, Violent Imagery & Black Horror

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of death, violence, blood, hate crimes, antiblackness, police violence, rape

Note! I am going to be speaking from a Black American point of view, as my identity informs my experience. That said, antiblackness itself is international. The idea of my Blackness as a threat, as a source of fear and violence to repress and to destroy, is something every Black person in the world that has ever dealt with white supremacy has experienced.

There are two things, I think, that are important to note as we start this conversation.

One: there is a long history of violence towards Black bodies that is due to our dehumanization. People do not care for the killing of a mouse in the way they care about a human. But if you think the people you are dealing with are not people, but animals- more particularly, pests, something distasteful- then you will be able to rationalize treating them as such.

Two: even though we live in a time period where that overt belief of Blackness as inhuman is less likely, we must recognize that there are centuries of belief behind this concept; centuries of arguments and actions that cement in our minds that a certain amount of violence towards Blackness is normal. That subconscious belief you may hold is steeped in centuries of effort to convince you of it without even questioning it. And because of this very real re-enforcement of desensitization, naturally another place this will manifest itself is in how we tell and comprehend stories.

There are also three points I'm about to make first- not the only three that can ever be made, but the ones that stand out the most to me when we talk about violence with Black characters:

One: Your Black readers may experience that scene you wrote differently than you meant anyone to, just because our history may change our perspective on what’s happening.

Two: The idea that Black characters and people deserve the pain they are experiencing.

Three: The disbelief or dismissal of the pain of Black characters and people.

You Better Start Believing In Ghost Stories- You’re In One

I don’t need to tell Black viewers scary fairytales of sadists, body snatchers and noncoincidental disappearances, cannibals, monsters appearing in the night, and dystopian, unjust systems that bury people alive- real life suffices! We recognize the symbolism because we’ve seen real demons.

Some real examples of familiar, terrifying stories that feel like drama, but are real experiences:

12 Years a Slave: “This is no fiction, no exaggeration. If I have failed in anything, it has been in presenting to the reader too prominently the bright side of the picture. I doubt not hundreds have been as unfortunate as myself; that hundreds of free citizens have been kidnapped and sold into slavery, and are at this moment wearing out their lives on plantations in Texas and Louisiana.” – Solomon Northup

When They See Us: I can’t get myself to watch When They See Us, because I learned about the actual trial of the Central Park Five- now the Exonerated Five- in my undergrad program. Five teen Black and brown boys, subjected to racist and cruel policing and vilification in the media- from Donald Trump calling for their deaths in the newspaper, to being imprisoned under what the Clintons deemed a generation of “superpredators” during a “tough on crime” administration. And as audacious as it is to say, as Solomon Northup explained, they were fortunate. The average Black person funneled into the prison system doesn’t get the opportunity to make it back out redeemed or exonerated, because the system is designed to capture and keep them there regardless of their innocence or guilt. Their lives are irreparably changed; they are forever trapped.

Jasper, Texas: Learning about the vicious, gruesome murder of James Byrd Jr, was horrific- and that was just the movie. No matter how “community comes together” everyone tells that story, the reality is that there are people who will beat you, drag you chained down a gravel road for three miles as your body shreds away until you are decapitated, and leave your mangled body in front of a Black church to send a message… Because you’re Black and they hate you. To date I am scared when I’m walking and I see trucks passing me, and don’t let them have the American or the Confederate flag on them. Even Ahmaud Arbery, all he was doing was jogging in his hometown, and white men from out of town decided he should be murdered for that.

Do you want to know what all of these men and boys, from 1841 to 2020, had in common? What they did to warrant what happened to them? Being outside while Black. Some might call it “wrong place wrong time”, but the reality is that there is no “right place”. Sonya Massey, Breonna Taylor- murdered inside their home. Where else can you be, if the danger has every right to barge inside? There is no “safe”.

It is already Frightening to live while Black- not because being Black is inherently frightening, but because our society has made it horrific to do so. But that leads into my next point:

“They Shouldn’t Have Resisted”

Think of all the videos of assaulted and murdered Black people from police violence. If you can stomach going into the comments- which I don’t, anymore- you’ll see this classic comment of hate in the thousands, twisting your stomach into knots:

“if they obeyed the officer, if they didn’t resist, this wouldn’t have happened”

Another way our punitive society normalizes itself is via the idea of respectability politics; the idea that “if you are Good, if you do what you are Supposed to do, you will not be hurt- I will not have to hurt you”. Therefore, if my people are always suffering violence, it must be because we are Bad. And in a society that is already less gracious to Black people, that is more likely to think we are less human, that we are innately bad and must earn the right to be exceptional… the use of excessive violence towards me must be the natural outcome. “If your people weren’t more likely to be criminals, there wouldn’t be the need to be suspicious of you”- that is the way our society has taught us to frame these interactions, placing the blame for our own victimization on us.

Sidebar: I would highly suggest reading The New Jim Crow, written in 2010 by Michelle Alexander, to see how this mentality helps tie into large scale criminalization and mass incarceration, and how the cycle is purposely perpetuated.

You have to constantly be aware of how you look, walk and talk- and even then, that won’t be enough to save you if the time comes. The turning point for me, personally, was the murder of Sandra Bland. If she could be educated, beautiful, a beacon of her community, be everything a “Good” Black person is supposed to be… and still be murdered via police violence, they can kill any of us. And that’s a very terrifying thought- that anything at any point can be the reason for your death, and it will be validated because someone thinks you shouldn’t have “been that way”. And that way has far less to do with what you did, than it does who you are. Being “that way” is Black.

My point is, if this belief is so normalized in real life about violence on Black bodies- that somehow, we must have done something to deserve this- what makes you think that this belief does not affect how you comprehend Black people suffering in stories?

Hippocratic Oath

Human experimentation? Vivisection? Organ stealing? Begging for medicine? Dramatically bleeding out? Not trusting just anyone to see that you are hurt, because they might take advantage? All very real fears. The idea that pain is normal for Black people is especially rampant in the healthcare field, where ideas like our melanin making our skin thick enough to feel less pain (no), an overblown fear of ‘drug misuse’, and believing we are overexaggerating our pain makes many Black people being unwilling to trust the healthcare system. And it comes down to this thought:

If you think that I feel less pain, you will allow me to suffer long before you believe that I am in pain.

I was psychologically spiraling I was in so much pain after my wisdom teeth removal, and my surgeon was more concerned about “addiction to the medication”. Only because Hot Chocolate’s mom is a nurse, did I get an effective medicine schedule. My mother ended up with jaw rot because her surgeon outright claimed that she didn’t believe that she was in more than the ‘healing’ pain after her wisdom teeth were removed. She also has a gigantic, macabre (and awesome fr) scar on her stomach from a c-section she received after four days of labor attempting to have me… all because she was too poor and too Black to afford better doctors who wouldn’t have dismissed her struggles to push.

As a major example of dismissed Black pain: let’s discuss the mortality rate of Black women during childbirth, as well as the likelihood of our children to die. When we say “they will let you bleed to death”, we mean it.

“Black women have the highest maternal mortality rate in the United States — 69.9 per 100,000 live births for 2021, almost three times the rate for white women, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Black babies are more likely to die, and also far more likely to be born prematurely, setting the stage for health issues that could follow them through their lives.”

Even gynecology roots in dismissal (and taking brutal advantage of) Black women's pain:

“The history of this particular medical branch … it begins on a slave farm in Alabama,” Owens said. “The advancement of obstetrics and gynecology had such an intimate relationship with slavery, and was literally built on the wounds of Black women.” Reproductive surgeries that were experimental at the time, like cesarean sections, were commonly performed on enslaved Black women. Physicians like the once-heralded J. Marion Sims, an Alabama doctor many call the “father of gynecology,” performed torturous surgical experiments on enslaved Black women in the 1840s without anesthesia. And well after the abolition of slavery, hospitals performed unnecessary hysterectomies on Black women, and eugenics programs sterilized them.”

If you think Black characters are not in pain, or that they’re overexaggerating, you’re more likely to be okay with them suffering more in comparison to those whose pain you take more seriously- to those you believe.

What’s My Point?

My point is that whatever terrifying scene you think you’re writing, whatever violent whump scenario you think you’re about to put your Black characters through, there’s a chance it has probably happened and was treated as nonimportant (damn shame, right?) And when those terrifying scenes are both written and read, the way their suffering will be felt depends on how much you as a reader care, how much you believe they are suffering.

There’s a joke amongst readers of color that many dystopian tales are tales of “what happened if white people experienced things that the rest of us have already been put through?” Think concepts like alien invasion and mass eradication of the existing population- you may think of that as an action flick, meanwhile peoples globally have suffered colonization for centuries. The Handmaid’s Tale- forced birthing and raising of “someone else’s” children, always subject to sexual harassment by the Master while subject to hate from the Mistress- that’s just being a Mammy.

There’s nothing wrong with having Black characters be violent or deal with violence, especially in a story where every character is going through shit. That is not the problem! What I am trying to tell you, though, is to be aware that certain violent imagery is going to evoke familiarity in Black viewers. And if I as a Black viewer see my very real traumas treated as entertainment fodder- or worse, dismissed- by the narrative and other viewers, I will probably not want to consume that piece of media anymore. I will also question the intentions and the beliefs of the people who treat said traumas so callously. Now, if that’s not something you care about, that’s on you! But for people who do care, it is something we need to make sure we are catching before we do it.

“So I just can’t write anything?!”

Stop that. There are plenty of examples of stories containing horror and violence with Black characters. There’s an entire genre of us telling our own stories, using the same violence as symbolism. I’m not telling you “no” (least not always). I’m telling you to take some consideration when you write the things that you do. There’s nothing wrong about writing your Black characters being violent or experiencing violence. But there is a difference between making it narratively relevant, and thoughtlessly using them as a “spook”, a stereotypical scary Black person, or a punching bag, especially in a way that may invoke certain trauma.

The Black Guy Dies First

The joke is that we never survive these horror movies because we either wouldn’t be there to begin with, or because we would make better decisions and the narrative can’t have that. But the reality is just that a lot of writers find Black characters- Black people- expendable in comparison to their white counterparts, and it shows. More of a “here, damn” sort of character, not worth investment and easy to shrug off. The book itself I haven’t read, just because it’s pretty new, but I’m looking forward to doing so. But from the summaries, it goes into horror media history and how Black characters have fared in these stories, as well as how that connects to the society those characters were written in. I.e., a thorough version of this lesson.

Instead, I wrote an entire list of questions you could possibly ask yourself involving violence or villainy involving a Black character. Feel free to print it and put it on your wall where you write if you have to! I cannot stress enough that asking yourself questions like these are good both for your creation and just… being less antiblack in general when you consume media.

Black Horror/Black Thriller

We, too, have turned our violent experiences into stories. I continue to highly suggest watching our films and reading our stories to see how we convey our fear, our terror, our violence and our pain. There are plenty of stories that work- Get Out, The Angry Black Girl and her Monster, Candyman, Lovecraft Country (the show) and Nanny are some examples. There’s even a blog by the co-writer of The Black Guy Dies First who runs BlackHorrorMovies where he reviews horror movies from throughout the decades.

Desiree Evans has a great essay, We Need Black Horror More Than Ever, that gets into why this genre is so creative and effective, that I think says what I have to say better than I could.

“Even before Peele, Black horror had a rich literary lineage going back to the folklore of Africa and its Diaspora. Stories of haints, witches, curses, and magic of all kinds can be found in the folktales collected by author and anthropologist Zora Neale Hurston and in the folktales retold by acclaimed children’s book author Virginia Hamilton. One of my earliest childhood literary memories is being entranced by Hamilton’s The House of Dies Drear and Patricia McKissack’s children’s book classic The Dark-Thirty: Southern Tales of the Supernatural, both examples of the ways Black authors have tapped into Black history along with our rich ghostlore.” “Black horror can be clever and subversive, allowing Black writers to move against racist tropes, to reconfigure who stands at the center of a story, and to shift the focus from the dominant narrative to that which is hidden, submerged. To ask: what happens when the group that was Othered, gets to tell their side of the story?”

For on the nose simplicity, I’m going to use hood classic Tales From The Hood (1994) as an example of how violence can be integrated into Black horror tales. Tales From The Hood is like… The Twilight Zone by Black people. Messages discussing issues in our community, done through a mystical twist. Free on Tubi! If you want to stop here before some spoilers, it’s an hour and a half. A great time!

In the first story, a Black political activist is murdered by the cops. The scene is reflective of the real-world efforts to discredit and even murder activists speaking out against police violence, as well as the types of things done to criminalize Black citizens for capture. The song Strange Fruit plays in the background, to drive the point home that this is a lynching.

The second story deals with a Black little boy experiencing abuse in the home, drawing a green monster to show his teacher why he’s covered in wounds and is lashing out at school.

The fourth story is about a gangbanger who undergoes “behavioral modification” to be released from prison early. Think of the classic scene from A Clockwork Orange. He must watch as imagery of the Klan and of happy whites lynching Black bodies (real-life pictures and video, mind you!) play into his mind alongside gang violence.

Isn’t Violence Stereotypical or antiblack?

That last story from Tales From The Hood leads into a good point. It can be! But it does not have to be! Violence is a human experience. By suggesting we don’t experience it or commit it, you would be denying everything I’ve just spoken about. We don’t have to be racist to write our Black characters in violent situations. We also don’t have to comprehend those situations through a racist lens.

Even experiences that seem “stereotypical” do not have to be comprehended that way. I get a LOT of questions about if something is stereotypical, and my response is always that it depends on the writing!!! You could give me a harmless prompt and it becomes the most racist story ever once you leave my inbox. But you could give me a “stereotypical” prompt and it be genuine writing.

Let’s take the movie Juice for example. Juice in my honest to God opinion becomes a thriller about halfway in. On its surface, Juice looks like bad Black boys shooting and cursing and doing things they aren’t supposed to be doing! Incredibly stereotypical- violent young thugs. You might think, “you shouldn’t write something like this- you’re telling everyone this is what your community is like”. First- there’s that respectability politics again! Just because something is not a “respectable” story does not mean it doesn’t need to be told!

But if we’re actually paying attention, what we’re looking at is four young boys dealing with their environment in different ways. All four of them originally stick together to feel power amongst their brotherhood as they all act tough and discover their own identities. They are not perfect, but they are still kids. In this environment, to be tough, to be strong, you do the things that they are doing. You run from cops, you steal from stores, you mess with all the girls and talk shit and wave weapons. That’s what makes you “big”. That’s what gives you the “juice”- and the “juice” can make you untouchable.

I want to focus particularly on Bishop, yes, played by Tupac. Bishop, the antagonist of Juice, is particularly powerless, angry, and scared of the world around him. He puts on a big front of bravado, yelling, cursing, and talking big because he’s tired of being afraid, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it otherwise. So when he gets access to a gun- to power- he quickly spirals out of control. His response to his fear is to wave around a tool that makes him feel stronger, that stops the things that scare him from scaring him.

Now, that is not a unique tale! That is a tale that any race could write about, particularly young white men with gun violence! If you ever cared for Fairuza Balk’s character in The Craft, it is a similar fall from grace. But because it is on a young, Black man in the hood, audiences are less likely to empathize with Bishop. And granted, Bishop is unhinged! But many a white character has been, and is not shoved into a stereotype that white people cannot escape from!

Now would I be comfortable if a nonblack person attempted to write a narrative like Juice? Yes, because I’d worry about the tendency to lose the messaging and just fall into stereotype outright. But it can be done! The story can be told!

“But if Black violence bad, why rap?”

The short answer:

“In order for me to write poetry that isn’t political, I must listen to the birds, and in order to hear the birds, the warplanes must be silent.”

Marwhan Makhoul, Palestinian Poet

First, rap is not “only violence and misogyny”. Step your understanding of the genre up; there are plenty of options outside of the mainstream that don’t discuss those things. Second, every genre of music has mainstream popular songs about vice and sin. The idea that Black rappers have to be held to a higher standard is yet another example of how we are seen as inherently bad and must prove ourselves good. We could speak about nothing but drugs and alcohol and 1) there would still be white artists who do the very same and 2) we would still deserve to be treated like humans.

That said, many- not all- rappers rap about violence for the same reason Billy Joel wrote We Didn’t Start the Fire, the same reason Homer first spoke The Iliad- because they have something to say about it! They stand in a long tradition of people using poetry and rhythm to tell stories. Rap is an art of storytelling!

Rap is often used as an expression of frustration and righteous anger against a system built to keep us trapped within it. I’m not allowed to be angry? Why wouldn’t I be angry? Anger is a protective emotion, often when one feels helpless. Young Black people also began to reclaim and glorify the violence they lived in within their music, to take pride in their survival and in their success in a world that otherwise wanted them to fail. If I think the world fights against me no matter what I do, I’d rather live in pride than in shame with a bent head. Is it right? Maybe, maybe not. But if you don’t want them to rap about violence, why not alleviate the things leading to the violence in their environment?

Whether you choose to listen to their words, because the delivery scares you- and trust, angry Black men scared the music industry and society- doesn’t make the story any less valid!

Conclusion

I am going to drop a classic by Slick Rick called Children’s Story. I think listening to it- and I mean genuinely listening- summarizes what I’ve said here about how Black creators can tell stories, even violent ones, and how even the delivery through Blackness can change how you perceive them. Please take the time to listen before continuing.

I’ve been alive for 28 years and have known this song my whole life, and it just hit me tonight: not once is the kid in this story identified as Black! My perception of this story was completely altered by my own experiences, who told the story, and how it was told.

That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You can tell stories of violence that involve Black characters. I love and adore a good hurt/comfort myself! But you need to be cognizant of your audience and how they’ll perceive the story you’re telling, and that includes the types of imagery you include. It’s not effective catharsis via hurt/comfort for the audience if your Black readers are being completely left out of the comfort. “I wrote this for myself” that’s cool, but… if you wrote racism for yourself, and you’re willing to admit that to yourself, that’s on you. I’d like to think that’s not your intention! You can write these stories of woe and pain without mistreating your Black characters- but that requires knowing and acknowledging when and how you’re doing that!

@afropiscesism makes a solid point in this post: our horror stories are not just fairytales full of amorphous boogiemen meant to teach lessons. Racial violence is very real, very alive, and we cannot act like the things we write can be dismissed outright as “oh well it’s not real”. Sure, those characters aren’t real. But the way you feel about Black bodies and violence is, and often it can slip into your writing as a pattern without you even realizing it. Be willing to get uncomfortable and check yourself on this as you write, as well as noticing it in other works!

If you’re constantly thinking “I would never do this”, you’ll never stop yourself when you inevitably do! If you know what violent imagery can be evoked, you can utilize it or avoid it altogether- but only if you’re willing to get honest about it. You might not intend to do any of this, but it doesn’t matter if you don’t change the pattern, because as always, it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!