Beastly Suggestions

I won't let your walls contain me anymore.

[ivynightshade]

fatima aamer bilal, from days where my whole world is my bed.

[text id: 5. MY MOTHER ALWAYS TOLD ME TO NEVER PLAY WITH KNIVES. I BET SHE NEVER SAW ME BECOMING ONE. / 6. I SHARPEN MY TEETH ON MY SKIN.]

[beastly-suggestions]

You raised me into something other than human. You molded me, sculpted me, into sword-shattering sinew, snarling fangs, and tearing claws. You raised me into a beast, mother.

You raised a wolf, and yet you condemn her when she bites.

[gorgonapologist]

julia oldham, why are there no great female werewolves?

[headspace-hotel]

thinking about werewolves and the concept of becoming a monster and discovering that something savage and uncontrollable exists within you and the potential that has to be a liberating narrative about growth and change and courage rather than a story about controlling and concealing it

[headspace-hotel]

Being a werewolf is about shame. I think it’s also about anger, trauma, not belonging, and the fear that you might be unlovable.

The shame of being a werewolf has to be that you were bitten by the wolf, and you survived. You survived because you became the wolf yourself. You are this terrible, monstrous thing, and the terrible, monstrous thing is you. It’s the part of you that survives the attack, and it’s terrifying that this is you.

I feel like werewolves are people who are very hurt. Not only that, they’ve spent their lives up to this point trying as hard as they can being whatever the opposite of a werewolf is—something tame, something yielding, something that’s not angry and unpredictable and bestial. But the Wolf is also them. Because no matter how much you don’t believe it, you want to make it. You want to survive, and you will fight so that you will live.

Or werewolves are people who are incredibly afraid. It’s about the inevitability of not being lovable; being a monster is unforgivable. It’s about the inability to withstand anything that will happen to you. It’s about your body betraying you. It’s about carrying a terrible and ugly you inside you, locked up where no one can see it, because the thought of anyone else seeing that you is unbearable. It’s about all of those things and more.

I think the Wolf is the part of you that loves you, unconditionally. It’s the part of you that bites when something tries to hurt you. When something tries to put you back in the place you’re supposed to be. Of course it’s scary. It’s scary to find that you are impossibly strong and maybe selfish, and that your self-hatred isn’t enough to save you from the savage, stubborn knot of self-love you carry in your chest. But it’s also the answer to that question: What if I am awful? What if I am terrible, too terrible to look at, too terrible to love? What if you are a monster? Well, what then?

[lost-forest-heart]

Then perhaps- the Wolf will love you all the same.

[arcusxx]

[seidkonaz]

“How long your hair has grown. You could strangle a man in it.”

— Deathless, Catherynne M. Valente

[vardastouch]

Mapleshade.

“Your eyes black like an animal Black like an animal Crossing the water Lead them to die We press for the water, press for the river, press for the rain We press for the water, press for the river, press for the pain We press for the water… “

Chelsea Wolfe  -  Feral love

[darkknightsuggestion]

Primal instincts tell me to pin you to the ground and tear your throat out with my teeth. Give me a good reason not to.

[darkknightsuggestion]

You cry “you’re a monster!” to me, as if I should feel bad.

Darling, It feels good to be a monster.

[waadtariq]

“love, you were never meant to be tame with all the wild running in your veins.”

— love, you’re the revolution | wt.

[beastly-suggestions]

I am no longer going to be controlled. Not by you, by your rules, by your morals, your society. Not by any walls or cages you could create. I am going to be as I was meant- feral and uncontrollable. I am going to follow my instinct.

[beastly-suggestions]

I am not the monster your social constructs make me out to be. I am not broken or damages or ill. There is absolutely nothing wrong with me.  Yes, I am violent, I am feral, I am wild. Yes, I am often more animal than girl. Yes, I flinch away when you approach too quick. Yes, I’ll bare my teeth and snarl. And no, you should never, ever corner me. But that does not mean I have any less a right to exist. That does not mean I have any less right to be myself. Just because you have chosen to live within a cage doesn’t mean I have to. Just because you have cut away your instincts does not mean that I must. I will be wild, primordial, ancient, godly, feral. 

And you will just have to get out of my way.

[beastly-suggestions]

I will not be soft. I will be blood-stained teeth and claws hooked like bramble thorns. I will be wilderness and instinct, the fear of being chased. I will not be quiet. I will be the hunger cries of winter, the howling of the wolves. I will be the pounding of your heart in your chest, that seems all too loud when you try to hide. I will not be tame. I will be storms and landslides and rivers. I will not be gentle. I will be sharp edges and thorns, bloodlust and shadows. I will become a beast, so then none would dare harm me.

[beastly-suggestions]

Bone and sinew and muscle and movement all wrapped tightly within skin. Your strength shows beneath your shining pelt, the danger of you shining upon your glistening teeth. Claws scrape the earth, but only for an instant, before you push off again, running, chasing, pursuing your prey.

[the-traveling-witch]

Witchcraft is not docile. Witchcraft is what I turned to when every other avenue failed me. It was a last grasp, the feral response to my own undoing. It is death and splintering until the fragments of yourself are no longer recognizable. Witchcraft is vicious, it is violent and merciless and selfish and those who try to subjugate a witch will find that domestication does not sit easily on the skin of one who has used hellfire to warm their bones.

[phoenix-fire-witchcraft]

I needed this on my dash today. A reminder to all my fellow witches when you need it.

[amntenofre]

the Goddess Bastet in Her form of sacred cat playing with Her kitten; detail of a bronze statuette; 664-332 BCE. Now in the Louvre Museum…

[beastly-suggestions]

I'm not a coin, I'm a hundred-sided dice, and there's no knowing which set of teeth are going to tear your throat out.