#Black cat called ‘Behemoth’

[t-jfh]

Photograph by Alexander Yanenko (Russian)

Untitled, 1985

•

•

Related YouTube video regarding photographer Alexander Yanenko, the provenance of this photograph (above) and associated references:

YouTube video >> Zach Dobson Photography - Mystery Solved: The Truth behind the Viral Photo "Black Cat and His Kid" [Released 11 November 2023 / 3mins.+38secs.]:

In Mikhail Bulgakov’s novel The Master and Margarita, the black cat Behemoth character has a penchant for chess, vodka, pistols and obnoxious sarcasm.

Illustration by Christopher Conn Askew

The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov. New York. 1967. Harper & Row. Translated from the Russian by Michael Glenny. 394 pages. Hardcover. Jacket art by Mercer Mayer.

•

•

A colourised photo portrait of Russian writer Mikhail Bulgakov, 1928.

(Photo: Wikimedia Commons)

•

[silicon-puppy-pudding]

Can Fright Knight x Batman be a thing? Is it already a thing? I just saw this post where Frighty is acting as Danny's dad and I just want something with Fredric Knight meeting Bruce like..

Bruce is happy Daimian is making friends. This new kid, Daniel "call me Danny" Knight, seems nice. Kid might be a meta or something, with the way his eyes reflect like a cats and how he seems to always be cold, but he doesn't seem to be a bad kid and his background seemed to check out.

Yesterday Damian had invited Danny over for a sleepover and Bruce was stoked. Dami is having a friend over! A civilian friend! This is so normal and great! Danny had said his father would be picking him up the next day and would show up on his motorcycle (which was apparently named Nightmare?)

Bruce is in the sitting room close to the entrance when Alfred goes to buzz the gate for Danny's father. After a few minutes, he can hear Alfred walking the man in and explaining that "young Master Damian will be down with young Daniel in a few minutes. Till then, maybe you'd like to speak with Master Bruce?"

Bruce almost falls out of his seat when this almost 7 foot tall hunk of a man walks in, with his long raven black hair with a streak of gray down the center, all pulled back into a low ponytail. His bright green eyes have that same, almost glowing, shine that Danny's have and he's got a neat bit of stubble on his sharp jaw. He holds himself tall and seems to scan the room before setting his gaze on Bruce, who is using all his will to not ogle at this gorgeous man in front of him.

He stands to greet him and, oh God, he may actually be 7ft. "You must be Danny's dad, right?" He offers his hand to shake, "Bruce Wayne. I'm happy to see my son making friends with such a nice kid."

The behemoth of a man stares at his hand for just a moment to long before he shakes it and introduces himself, "Fredric Knight. I'm also glad my son is making friends." He says with the hint of a smile, "He's been a bit reclusive since we came here and I don't believe that's been healthy for him."

The two fathers talk for a bit, Bruce doing his best to be Batman ever now and then to make sure this guy isn't a potential threat. After some time, Danny and Damien walk into the room with Danny's bags, "Hey Dad, hi Mr. Bruce. Sorry that took so long," he says as he walks over to Fred (Bruce was told he could call him that) and half hugs the man, "Dami has a snake and he let me feed her!" Fred looks down at his son and pats his head, "That sounds interesting, little prince. Was it a frightful creature?"

As father and son speak, Bruce notes how fond Fred seems of Danny. The 'little prince' name seemed cute and pretty fitting with the last name. He also notes how Fred seemed to relax just a bit the moment Danny walked into the room (the same way he would after his children returned from patrol safe and unharmed), huh.

They say their goodbyes and the father-son duo are escorted out. Bruce and Damien watch as they ride down the driveway, Danny doing his best to wave at them from between his father's arms.

"We should invite the both of them over for dinner." Bruce says with a hand on his son's shoulder, "Fred seems like an interesting character, don't you think?"

"Father,"

"Yes Damian?"

"Please do not seduce my friends father."

[jamiesfootball]

please do tell me more about the brilliant “isaac mcadoo gets a one-eyed bunny” pearl you dropped on me last week i am so. I AM SO !!!!!! ABOUT IT.

Loosely based off of this and this and this and a few other posts about giving the Richmond lads pets

“What’s her name?” “A Good Samaritan brought her in, so we’re not sure. People don’t really microchip rabbits. We’ve just been calling her Bun-Bun.” “Then that’s her name,” said Isaac.

First Jamie with his monster cat, a true beast dressed up all fancy in an embroidered cravat, the two of them clogging up Isaac’s Twitter feed. (Isaac heard him out when he said he was trying to be better, but Isaac believed him when he saw him with the cat. The best-est cat in the world, he’d tell anyone, with a cheek-splitting grin on his face that rendered him almost unrecognizable from the man Isaac knew a year ago.) Then Dani with Jude of the forlorn eyes. A sweet dog, a real good boy, the both of them. (Isaac did not tear up when Dani showed him how to avoid petting the gnarled scar across his neck, from where a crueler owner left carelessness like a brand.) Then Dani had mentioned the other animals at the shelter, and well. It was a field trip now, wasn’t it? “This is Remy,” Moe explained as he cradled a small rat in his hand. “He used to be an explosives expert. Found land mines.” Jan scoffed. “That is not what the card on the cage said." “Doesn't matter what the card said, man. Just look at his eyes.”

Isaac ignored them, orbiting closer to Sam. The young man looked even younger than usual, his eyes wide with wonder as he peered through the glass. “You thinking about it?” Isaac asked. “I know nothing about snakes,” Sam whispered. Two orange shoelaces entwined together on a sandy rock. “I should let someone else find them. Someone who will know how to care for him.” Sam didn't sound like he believed a word he said. Isaac clapped him on the shoulder in sympathy.

Isaac wasn't looking for a critter to take home. Nah, he had enough on his plate. He was being smart about it. All the others, they could take on the weight and the care and the responsibility for a living breathing thing. Isaac had enough of those in his life: twenty-four of them in the locker room alone. At least if the whole team got pets, then he'd always have a good excuse to check in on them. Could say he was just in the mood to pet some dogs, or look at some fish, or perish under the weight of Jamie's massive behemoth of a cat. He could not imagine ever looking Moe in the eye and saying the words 'please let me hold your pet rat,' but he'd say them if it meant being a good captain.

The problem, he knew, with Moe and the rat was that once you named the thing you wanted, it made it impossible to want it any less.

Isaac hadn't know he wanted to be captain before Roy handed him that armband, and now it was all he wanted.

But he hadn't thought it would take so much work. Roy made that shit look easy. Even before Roy woke up from whatever coma he'd been in and started putting in the effort, the lads always followed in his wake. It wasn't like that with Isaac. He could command a room, sure, but did they listen? He could speak to them, but he couldn't move them. He couldn't remake their world the way Lasso rallied the team with his speeches.

He wanted to be the tides that could buoy hearts back to shore. It wasn't enough to have them listen if they didn't take his words to heart.

The team was a commitment that left no room for fuzzy little critters.

In a cage on the ground was a tiny bunny.

Isaac froze.

The bunny froze.

The enclosure was makeshift, nothing more than a cage on the ground with cardboard peaking out the sides. Hay tickled around the sides, and a tipped-over packing supply box made for a hidey-hole. Isaac towered in the bunny's sky. Far away on the ground the bunny huddled into a shivering ball no bigger than Isaac's shoe, a small black hole on the distant horizon.

One of the shelter's volunteers caught him staring and shimmered into existence at his side. "If you're interested in rabbits, that's our only one right now. Would you like to hold her?"

"Would I?" Isaac repeated.

The volunteer took that as a 'yes.'

The fur under his hands was immaculately shiny, a sort of brownish-black that parted under his hands like waves in a sea. She shivered. Isaac cradled her in his palms, following the volunteer's instructions to support her legs and back. Pressed next to his bicep, she looked like an afterthought.

Growing up Isaac had known with childish certainty that it was the feet of rabbits that went thump-thump-thump. As he held the small creature against his chest he felt the reality of its tiny heart singing thump-thump-thump.

"What happened to the ear?" he asked.

"It's a bit gruesome," the volunteer warned delicately. "But it sometimes happens after the mother gives birth--she gets a little carried away in the cleaning up. It worries some people off adopting, but the bunny is fine! Completely healthy, this one. so long as you don't mind a little imperfection."

The volunteer made it sound so easy. When Roy had handed over the armband, that had sounded easy too. That was how they got you. They dangled a carrot in front of you, and sometimes the carrot looked like respect or captain, and sometimes the carrot looked like a tribble and shivered in your hands, daring you to hold too tight.

Isaac did not need a pet. He had responsibilities, a weight upon his shoulders he'd never planned for.

Held aloft in the sky, the rabbit weighed hardly more than a feather.

"What's her name?"

[celestiall0tus]

Amaranthine - Chapter 1 - Another Day

Beginning || Previous || Next

            “Paris was once again saved by its valiant defenders, Midnight and Carmine. They once again stopped the mysterious Adonis’s monster from rampaging and destroying the city,” Nadja Chamack of the news announced.

            Marinette peeked over from her kitchen in the living room. Longg sat on the couch as a woman with olive skin and long, wavy black hair. Marinette sighed and shook her head at the sight.

            “Longg, I need your help with this brew,” Marinette called.

            “Just a moment. This is my favorite part.”

            Marinette rolled her eyes as she watched the TV. The broadcast showed a clip of the battle earlier that day with a behemoth creature. Midnight and Carmine, the heroes of the black cat and the ladybug, worked at getting to the monster’s weak spot. In the background were shimmers of brilliant gold as they darted about. The gold entity didn’t come into focus until the end of the battle. It revealed itself to be a woman in golden armor, her face obscured with a draconic mask, and a pair of massive wings on her back.

            Marinette stopped preparing her potion to watch the rest of the broadcast. The dragon warrior used her powers as vines and trees sprouted beneath the monster and ensnared it. It fought against the restraints but couldn’t break free before Midnight destroyed the weak point, a black crystal on its chest. A horrific butterfly flew from the crystal that was caught in Carmine’s yo-yo and purified into energy. Through the combined powers of Midnight and Carmine, they were able to restore the damages the monster had done. The broadcast went back to Nadja as Midnight and Carmine dealt with the press and the dragon left.

            “While we continue to give our thanks to Midnight and Carmine, we cannot express our gratitude enough to the mysterious golden dragon. Thanks to their efforts, the casualties from these attacks have reduced tenfold. I think I can speak for all of Paris in the expression of our thanks for keeping us safe.”

            “But their villain remains at large,” Nadja’s anchor partner commented.

            “True. Though it has been a long year, we must have faith in our heroes. We’ve seen only they can stop these bizarre creatures and the true monster behind them. I believe they will bring this Adonis down and finally liberate us. We just-.”

            Longg turned off the TV as she threw a pillow up in celebration. “Another job well done! Don’t you think so, ‘mysterious golden dragon?’”

            Marinette sighed. “You know, that other news anchor had a point. Our enemy is still at large.”

            “I mean, technically Midnight and Carmine’s enemy. You’re just the hero of the people.”

            “Maybe so, but so long as he puts the people in danger, then he is my enemy too.”

            “Oh, please. You can pretend to be all noble, Mari, but I know the truth. Don’t try to fool yourself now.”

            Marinette puffed out her cheeks. “Does this not match up? Didn’t I see myself as a hero back then? A hero of the people?”

            “Well, yeah, you did, but not like this. You had no enemies. You just helped to help people. You just couldn’t do what you wanted until you had me. Though I believe Sass would have been better for you, but I found you first.”

            “Regardless, I know this will help me find him. The one from my dream. My soulmate.”

            Longg snickered. “You mean your prosecutor.”

            “Will you stop calling him that? He saved me back then. You even said so yourself.”

            “Along with saving his own skin. Though I suppose having to drag your soulmate to the pyre is punishment enough. Though it did feel nice to set those flames myself. The surprise on his, and everyone’s, faces had me roaring. It was great. Oh! Minus you dying.”

            Marinette gave a dry laugh. “Always doing things on my terms, no?”

            “And how. That’s just how you were. How you still are. Honestly, I’m glad you didn’t lose that trait. Hence why we’re in this predicament.”

            “Maybe we wouldn’t be if you helped a little more with finding him.”

            “Hey! I’m helping where I can, but do I look like Psyche to you? I can’t just read people’s souls and tell who are and aren’t connected. That isn’t my concept. Besides, I’m helping you in other places that are my concept.”

            Marinette sighed. “I know. I just… I don’t know.”

            Longg stood and approached Marinette. “Hey, I know. You aren’t the first mortal I’ve met that longed for their soulmates. Just don’t forget that it’s never a guarantee that you’ll meet them again.”

            “I know, but that’s why I do all this. I know if I just repeat the initial conditions, I will meet him.”

            “And I’ll repeat what I’ve said before. If you wish to repeat your history, you will be doomed to repeat your downfall.”

            “I know, but I can also learn from my history and take steps to avoid it. That’s the point, no? We’ll be doomed to repeat history regardless unless we also learn and be better.”

            Longg smiled. “If only there were more humans like yourself. Maybe then we wouldn’t see so many of the same mistakes made. At least in this era you don’t have to worry about being burned at the stake for being a witch.”

            “That is unless the fires are yours.”

            “Only on a bad day. Or a bad meal. Don’t forget about those gas station tacos.”

            Marinette frowned. “I still want to know what possessed you to eat those awful things.”

            “Look, you know what your kind says. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back.”

            “In a roar of flames like a phoenix.”

            Longg grinned.

            Marinette shook her head. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when there was a knock on the door. She answered it as Longg moved to the kitchen. She smiled seeing Juleka and gestured for her to come inside.

            “Hey, Jules. How’re you this evening?”

            “I’m… actually fantastic. I just got some amazing news before I headed over here.”

            Marinette beamed. “Oh, do share. Oh! I should get some tea. Let me just-.”

            “Already started!” Longg called.

            “Well, alright. Let’s take a seat on the couch.”

            Juleka nodded and sat down with Marinette. “So, I’m not sure which to start with first.”

            “Is there any bad news?”

            “No. Just good and great news.”

            “Oh! Start with the great news then.”

            “Ok. Well. Rose and I are expecting.”

            Marinette squealed and bounced. “That’s amazing news! How is she?”

            “She’s doing well. Over the moon actually. She actually wanted to come along and tell you, but I wasn’t sure she’d be able to tolerate the odor of all the herbs. I know when I was pregnant I got sick easy from just normal smells. Not to say she’ll be the same, but you know.”

            “Well, not personally, but I have a hunch from all that I’ve heard. Regardless, that is fantastic. How far along is she? How did the twins take the news?”

            “She’s about five weeks along now. And Freye was ecstatic while Diana wasn’t too thrilled. Though she’s just worried Freye will love the new baby more over her. Classic siblings, I suppose.”

            “If Alya is any proof of that, then yeah, I’d say so.”

            Juleka chuckled. “I don’t know how Alya dealt with it. It’s one thing to have just one sibling. But to have three others must have been a lot.”

            Marinette furrowed her brow. “You have a sibling?”

            “Huh? Oh, right. You were never told. I have my own twin. His name is Luka.”

            “Really? How come you never mentioned him or introduced us?”

            Juleka grimaced. “Well, it’s a little complicated. See, when Rose introduced us, Luka was on tour with our blood father, Jagged Stone. He made a deal with us that he’d help us with tuition for university, but he wanted Luka to join him for some tours. I really think he just wanted to use Luka to save his dying music brand, but Luka agreed all the same. So, I was able to get my Associate’s to become a mortician while he’s finishing up tour with Jagged.”

            “Sounds like he’s scum of the Earth,” Longg remarked.

            Marinette shot a glare at Longg as Longg set a tray on the coffee table for tea.

            “What? Tell me I’m wrong,” Longg challenged.

            “You’re not. He… he wasn’t there for us. Didn’t really care until Luka expressed interest in music therapy. Well, more the music part than the therapy. But it’ll be all over soon and he’ll be back,” Juleka explained.

            “Really? That’s incredible. Though you will have to introduce us now,” Marinette teased.

            “Don’t worry, I will. He’s actually interested in meeting you.”

            “Wait, really? How? Why?”

            “Well, Rose might have mentioned you a few times. Which, yeah, a curiosity. But when I mentioned you and that you were teaching me about herbs and other witchcraft, he wanted to meet you. I think just to make sure you weren’t scamming me.”

            Marinette smirked. “Then perhaps I should prepare a special hex just for him. See him doubt me after that.”

            Juleka laughed, then sighed. “If only it were possible to cast such spells. It’d be like a dream come true.”

            “Well, maybe not like the glorified magic in media, but I do have my own brand of magic. And it’s what you are here for today, my older grasshopper.”

            Juleka snorted. “I’m only a few years old than you.”

            “I know. But let’s get started. I don’t want to keep you away all night when Rose and the girls will need you.”

            “Oh! Right. Let’s get started.”

[ofdeference]

Anonymous asked: As soon as it caught sight of the Turk, the cat began to follow him, its green eyes fixed on his every move. As dark as the void, its sleek body moved gracefully, almost as if it were dancing to a silent melody. The regal demeanor and striking appearance were reminiscent of its newfound master. It is often said that a cat chooses its owner; he could only acquiesce to the terms that the cat had set.

The dreaded grocery day. The period in which he hadn't expected to be on furlough so long he'd need groceries to supplement the empty spaces of his refrigerator (of which there is a vast overstock). In essence he is staring down the few bags he's carrying as a waste as, inevitably, he will be called away for longer than it takes the perishables to perish.

Yet starving oneself in wait of an assignment seemed madness and when faced with the conundrum, the decision to take the potential loss was the more favorable. Performance on the job would suffer if all he could think about was the next meal.

On his journey home, the feeling of being followed settles over him, drawing his hand to his pocket where it rests for the duration. Halfway there, don't try it. He's not in the mood.

A few blocks more. Persistent? Very well, the keys won't rust if he cleans them after. They draw, clutched in his hands like a knife and he half turns to greet his soon-to-be assailant with a half hearted sigh.

There's no one there.

A black shadow languidly sidling along the ground catches his attention and he tilts his head to get a better look. Vivid green eyes peer up at him from the dark corner where the street light doesn't touch and he blinks.

"You? Well, no wonder I couldn't hear a single footstep. I'd thought it was-" Well, it wasn't. They wouldn't dare come into the city. Not this far in. The Turk kneels, bags dragging along small rivulets of water stagnant and stale.

"You don't have a home, do you?" Sleek and a coat well maintained, it was hard to believe. Thin enough it was a certainty. A wanderer, perhaps? He hadn't seen the creature since moving in.

"Are you hungry? I was going to cook a Behemoth steak if you're interested. Wait right there. Won't take long." Only the insane cook fine slices of meat like this longer than it takes to sear the outside and so it isn't very long at all that he returns to the cat with two plates. Each with their own pile of steak strips, one smaller cut than the other. And as they eat he finds himself talking.

To a cat.

"I wouldn't make a good home for you. You'd never see me. Trapped inside all day, running out of food every time I leave the house. I'd get you killed. Whereas you seem to be fairing better out here. Begging any and every poor lonely sap for a meal and-" He sets his fork on his plate and stares into the absence of space for some time.

"I'd like it if you lived nearby..." Maybe he does need a companion.

[autumnslance]

(@driftward) And while I am at it, turnabout is fair play. YOUR choice of our OC blorbo combinations.

((BUT I DIDN'T EVEN REBLOG--OK. OK, fine, let's do this. I was going to try to write up a response to the cool one you did of Karasawa and Aeryn but then my needy cat woke up from a nap so you get this instead.))

Hungry hungry hungry always hungry.

She roved the halls and hunted through the rooms. Massive clawed feet left gouges in the wood and tile. Her breath was loud in the still and dark.

The halls seemed to stretch forever, the rooms endless black chambers but she didn’t need to see into them. Not when she could hear terrified shaky breathing, smell the stench of fear-sweat, taste nervous magicks.

There.

She bellowed, the walls rattling, the screams of fear a heady delight.

She was the apex predator, and her prey was near.

A cry of defiance only made her blood run hotter, as a tall broad figure in armor charged out of the darkness, sword blazing, shield up, bathed in a fairy’s glow.

She roared in response, charging forward, through halls that swelled like her lungs as the figure flew forward, shouting response. She reared onto her hind legs as they finally clashed. She met the challenger with fire called from above, with the weight of her front claws knocking aside the sword and shield, cracking the armor.

As she dipped her maw into the torn-open ribcage, she looked up into the elezen’s face, frozen in surprise—

—

—And woke with a squeal.

Violet jittered a frantic circle around the bed, but there was no broken elezen nearby. Everything was the proper size and shape, she was the proper size and shape, but the memory of hot blood and organs still filled her mouth, her own heart thudding in her ears.

Oretta was spending the night in the dragoon’s room again, leaving Violet alone and the big pink heart-shaped bed to herself, though now the pillows and stuffed animals were all knocked to the floor, the previously smooth covers rumpled.

That was a problem for Morning Violet.

Getting out of the room wasn’t terribly difficult, just annoying without actual thumbs or a miqo’te. Violet toddled down the halls and up the stairs and to the staticky cool light of the lab.

Zoissette was sitting at a desk, ignoring her own yawns as she worked. Violet heaved a sigh of relief and flumped at the elezen’s feet. All in one piece; that was good.

“Oh, hello Violet. I—oh is that the time—”

Violet whined and nuzzled harder against the woman’s legs.

Zoissette sighed. And then scritched in just the perfect spot between Violet’s horns. She had once tested to figure out the best scritching spot, and always remembered it once she found it. “All right; cuddle break it is, and then I think it’ll be time for both of us to go to bed.”

That was all right, Violet thought. She probably wouldn’t have the hungry dreams again, since that was all they were. Her elezen friend was here and giving her scritches. That was real, and all the little behemoth needed to know.

[hompunkulus]

Bestial Sorcery

The devil Beliar in front of the gates of hell, woodcut, Augsburg 1473

Lilith is also known as the 'screetch-owl.' When she was excommunicated, she was outcast to the desert with the hyeanas and serpents.

Sammael is the serpent in the Garden of Eden.

Leviathan is the Oceanic Dragon with Seven Heads.

Behemoth is a bipedal elephant.

In folklore the magical lodestone comes from the belly of the frog who is Satan in disguise. The black cat, the bat, and the wolf are all relegated to the vampire, who is also known as the Son of the Devil.

Beasts and monsters have been allies to the Devil and Witch since time immemorial. Echidna ('she-viper') is considered the mother of monsters in Greek Mythology, and is the wife of Typhon ('hurricane'), an avian-serpent like giant.

Hekate has many forms, mostly bestial. She is know as Leader of the Dogs (Skylakagetis), serpents (Opheôplokamos ‘Coiled with Snakes’, ‘With Snaky Curls’), but is also known for appearing as a bull-formed (Tauromorphos), cow-eyed (Boopîs), and 'she-wolf' (Mormolykeia).

In Japanese mythology there is the goblin demon king Sōjōbō, the red faced goblin with raven wings. Under Sōjōbō are the kerasu, the humanoid crow mountain warriors. There is the nodeppo, the flying squirrel vampire, the bakenekko, two tailed cat, the white demon cat who taught swordsman philosophy, magic, and of course, swordsmanship. The most famous is the nine tailed fox kitsune, a shapeshfting witch. Even more, there is the kappa, the hollow headed turtle demon found among small bodies of water.

Japan, as you can see, has a rich history of bestial demonic creatures. Some are merely mischevious (bakenekko), some are extremely brutal (nodeppo and kappa), while some are more grey (tengu).

Bestial Ritual

Ritual is a great way to acheive bestial mindset and structure. My prefered way is to make a little fire and pour some fresh herbs into it to make a blazing fire with unique smells in a private outdoor area. If privacy permits, strip down to nothing to really get into the shape of the beast. Mimic its sounds and movements to the best of your ability.

Since my current living situation makes it near impossible to really engage in bestial psychodrama as mentioned above I use my martial arts as a way to mimic animals. The style I was taught utilizes eight different animals, so taking that knowledge I can adapt those animal shapes into whatever animal I choose.

I also have certain workouts dedicated to certain animals concepts, or I manipulate basic calisthenic movements to make them fit into the animalistic form. Such as air squats with a jump I call Bullfrog Squats, there is already a pushup varation from Judo called a Scorpion Pushup, and a WeckMethod Squat I call the Phoenix.

Play and enjoy. Bestial magic is less about results in love or career and more about opening your consciousness to its instinctual nature. As a Satanist/Chaos Magician, it is best to learn to play in the magical arena then be bogged down by illumination so much. Illumination has its place, but especially for the younger people out there, magic is about suspenaion of disbelief to achieve a sense of freedom. Bestial Sorcery is an excellent method.

[ancient-cats-unite]

An Ancient Thanksgiving!

The Ancient Eggs celebrate Thanksgiving. Surely nothing will go wrong, right?

The Ancient Eggs were enigmatic cats. Which cat isn't though? With the arrival of the Behemoths, these cats were tasked to slay them. As expected from cats that were unsealed from isolation, they were always learning about this new world. So, these beast slayers could use downtime for this new holiday. That's why we bring you to this mismatched house they call home..

-----------------------------------

The Behemoth Slayers sat down at a long dinner table, cracks covered neatly by the crimson dinnercloth. Everyone was hungry, waiting for Exorcist to finish the meal. Haniwa Cat got to chewing on the assorted cutlery already. Mushroom Cat got uneasy by the glances others gave him.

Most were expecting Exorcist was making an elaborate five star feast. Exorcist takes pride in being the chef of the family, considering how some cats can't be trusted in the kitchen isn'tthatrightcourier. They didn't bother trying to rush Exorcist, they knew they would get a "you can't rush perfection!" type comment.

Courier's stomach growled. He hasn't eaten anything besides a small lunch. Even though he was famished, he didn't want that to dull the night. Being the host he is, he tapped the rim of his painted glass with his spoon.

"Attention everyone! I know Exorcist is putting lotsa time into our Givingthanks food, but lets try to distract ourselves. How's our new pals?"

"Huh huh! I luv friends! I luv you!!!"

Mushroom hugged Haniwa. The statue hugged back, a little awkward.

"Ducky likes you too! Honk honk!"

Supercar pushed the horn of his vehicle, making the duck screech the souls of the damned. Silence reigned once more, before being broken by stomach growling.

"Was that you, Surgeon?"

"Yeah, because I'm frigging starving and that priest won't serve us food!"

Surgeon banged on the table angrily. Courier had to think of a plan to make everyone happy, and FAST. Luckily, Gas Mask offered a solution.

"For God's sake, check up on Exorcist, anyone! Cactus! Go see him! Gobbles don't take this long to cook!"

"Mewn! Of course! Maybe his Gobble will MEAT our expectations!"

Cactus toddled off cheerfully while everyone groaned.

------------------------------

Exorcist hacked over the black smoke rising out of the oven. Exorcist took out a tray of burnt meat which looked like charcoal more than anything. Exorcist sobbed, Cactus tugging on Exorcist's apron.

"Another Gobble, ruined!"

Cactus looked around in the fridge. Milk, myster brown stuff, leftover stew.. aha! Some SLOTH was saved in the freezer.

"Can't you make some Behemoth meat? It's your top recipe!"

Cactus toddled onto the counter. She pulled out Exorcist's cookbook. He flipped past chapter after chapter, stopping on a lilac colored paper.

"Look! You can cook some FOLIVORIAN filets instead!"

Exorcist pondered, brainstorming how he could prepare it.

"I suppose so.. thank you Cactus."

Cactus got a pat on his face. It sounds awkward, but thats the only place without spikes. Cactus meowed appreciatively, before leaving out of the kitchen.

------------------------------

"So, whats up with everyone?"

Courier made an attempt at starting more conversation. The silence was deafening.

"Me and Armoured Firefly are migrating to the same place soon. We'll leave around December."

Catarzan nudged the cricket cat on his left. Firefly glew defensively, still in full armor.

"Ooh! Me and Raquet Cat went shopping!"

Supercar perked up. Catarzan retorted back, disgusted by the idea like it was a crime.

"How about we don't bring up the cat the begins with R? On second thought, where is she? Only asking because she didn't say something totally obnoxious."

"Be nice! I heard she was busy, maybe with a game."

Surgeon fidgeted with her paws, giving the wild cat a slight glare.

"Oh well, I wanted all the new slayers to come, but she can do whatever she wants."

Courier Cat's ears drooped a little. He played with his painted cup.

Cactus came back to her seat. Everyone looked over to hear what happened in the kitchen. Cactus preened her multicolored flowers.

"Exorcist is almost done! He's preparing his speciality!!"

All the cats rejoiced! That put them in a good mood.

This seems like a cozy get-together, yes? Not bad for some outsiders. Unfortunately, it all goes downhill from here.

_____________________

//Happy Thanksgiving folks! I will be posting a Part 2, I'm just not in the mood.//

[msbarrows]

Was looking through old photos last night and decided I wanted to post these; I’ve sorted them more-or-less into chronological order. The first is me, circa probably mid-90s, when I had a perm and silver-framed round glasses.

The second shows what my computer setup looked like way back when. Depending on whether this was early/mid or late 90s, I either had a 286 or an early Pentium Pro, in a tower case in a stand off to the side. If you look at more recent photos of my computer setup, you’ll notice I am still using the same giant white behemoth of a white-coated particle board desk. It weights a ton and is a bitch to move even disassembled, but I have definitely gotten my money’s worth out of that late 80s purchase. I also still have and use the keyboard hutch/monitor stand in the picture, and still had that chair (long since reupholstered in a dark green canvas to replace the grey olefin) until about two years ago.

The dark striped and black cats are sisters I’d adopted from an informal shelter (a mother and adult daughter who took in strays, got them their shots, and got the males spayed at a discount from their local vet). The striped cat is “Little Demon”, her sister is “The Witch”. They were very sweet, and very shy of people-not-me, since I only rarely had visitors over so they weren’t particularly socialized to deal with strangers; I used to refer to them as the alleged cats, as in I said I had them but almost no one ever actually saw them. They loved cuddling up with each other and with me. The Witch adored playing fetch and would make the cutest little murping noises as she scurried back to me with whatever her object-to-throw of the moment was (loose socks, singular mittens, squiggy balls, crinkly balls, plastic rings from juice bottle, crumpled paper...). Little Demon also liked fetch but wasn’t as clear on the “carry it back for it to be thrown again” part of things. She adored their cat dancer toy, and one that was a circular plastic track with a ball that had multiple ways to reach inside and interact with the ball.

The singular cat is Sandtiger, whom I refer to as my obligatory big fat orange cat (I like to believe that any owner of multiple cats will at some point in their lives have a large orange one). She came to me as a semi-feral mother with newborn kittens when I was doing fostering for the Toronto Humane Society. She was an aggressive mistrusting asshole that was extremely defensive of her kittens, but after a lot of work on my part eventually decided to tolerate me. I was so upset when I had to return her and her kittens at the end of the fostering period, and didn’t have the money to adopt her right away; it was a Saturday, iirc, and my next payday wasn’t until the Thursday. I was woken up by a phone call first thing the next morning; she’d bitten the vet while being examined, they wouldn’t be able to adopt her out due to her aggressiveness... did I still want her? For free? I said yes, of course, and had her for about a decade afterwards. She treated my other two cats with barely-there tolerance most of the time, so it was always nice to spot the few times she did decide to cuddle up with one or both of them (and it tended to be aggressive cuddling, of the pin-them-down and wash their face or ears with her own ears tilted back and an “I’m only doing to this satisfy my social instincts and I Hate It” look on her face). She was not big into playing, except the very rare times when she’d suddenly decided out of nowhere to play-murder a random item.

It’s been about 20 years since I had to give them up (fucking allergies) and I miss them still.

[pitoftheplum]

[Ode to Being Brought Up by White Trash Punk Rock Party Kids Who Never Fully Grew Up]

A tattoo of me as a tiny devil on my dad’s arm. Tail and trident and horns and all. In the style of an old poster he had of this band we still love. Gap toothed girl in the back of the truck singing along. I can smell stale cigarette smoke old car must and a forgotten under the seat can of pina colada. Classic y2k baby blue baby tee that said “Angel” bookended with pearly glitter wings from my grandma. Going to our best friends’ house. Running around Vicentia with the fellow half-pint hoodrats until some stick up the ass neighbor got tired of the party and called the fucking cops. In all fairness most of the time the garage was popping off until dawn. Soberest teen took the daewoo to Del on Main for a shit ton of tacos and burritos and scorcho sauce. That place has seen me in states I can’t begin to recall. Laid them out on the table and drunks gathered round like the last supper, squeezing into a child-sized breakfast nook. Judas took the last red bean and cheese. Nobody really liked liked green but me. If you’re gonna be dumb you gotta be tough; Jackass DVD looping on the TV. Outside someone’s blasting Social D. Sick Girl, always. Babies and littles asleep on beds in the back of the house. Innocent things kept safe from various bad decisions being made. Last coors light (gross) crushed. Slumped in my dad’s arms as he carried me to the truck. Tuckered from children of the corn activities. Still buzzed mom cruising us down the predawn ghost town of Ontario. Church street. Fog clouding. Going home to my behemoth black cat and bubblegum pink sheets. Up at noon to drag ass down Sixth, meeting at Chuck Wagon for spongy pancakes and keno and bloody marys. Full of sugar and coffee and no longer able to sit still in our seats. Adults say we gotta either chill or leave. Sprinting across the street about 10 maniacally laughing kids deep. Messing around at the skate park until hair of the dog resurrected our parents back to the land of the living.

That’s home to me.

- Crown Town Baby

[goatboard]

hate when authors point blank explain what theyre writing abour wheres the nuance wheres the mystique wheres the black cat who drinks vodka with mushrooms, Behemoth i know i might be a lesbian but if you ever come to Poland to do your entire helping people by being evil thing straight from Faust im like totally down ok, call me

[wwpia]

Well if this isn’t the quickest character ref I ever dun shat out. I want to do a better one including the werewolf form buuuut…. I got bitten by a cat and it fucking hurts. No drawing. Boo.

Commence long af Character info dump, quite a long spiel because he is one of the two primary characters.

NAME: Faustus Chandran

AGE: 33

GENDER: Trans man

RACE: Werewolf - technically now a chimera Werewolf/Dragonborn because of unauthorised monoclonal antibody therapy. He doesn’t really have any ‘benefits’ to this previous therapy, other than maybe being a bit more heat proof than the average person. He actually has much worse sense hearing and smell than the average werewolf… but it’s still a whole lot better than a human’s.

He isn’t able to change during a full moon - he used to have a ‘normal’ werewolf form before the therapy which highly resembled a black German shepherd puppy, all floppy ears, gangly limbs and big paws. He was considered to be quite runty though.

His post-therapy ‘werewolf’ form is quite simply just a complete behemoth - about 40 feet in length, 15 feet high and a mouth gape of about 7 foot. So cute. Like a fluffy T-Rex.

HEIGHT: 5’6”

COUNTRY OF ORIGIN: United Kingdom, Yorkshire. (Mother also born in Yorkshire, grandmother born in South India.)

ACCENT: Yorkshire accent, he’ll slow down if someone isn’t able to understand his - at times, extremely fast speaking rate. In all seriousness, his gob outruns his brain. Knows how to speak Hindu fairly well but not quite fluently.

OCCUPATION: World Wide Paranormal Intelligence Agent - junior/mid level. He has only been working at the WWPIA for about 3 years (UK branch). No formal education beyond high school/college. Had a lot of various jobs since the age of 16, mostly muscle for hire, bouncer, etc. The only odd job was when he got a job in a bakery and absolutely loved it. He got fired because a customer lied about finding ‘werewolf hair’ in the buns.

FAVOURITE FOOD: He honestly will eat just about anything and probably enjoy it. He has an obscenely voracious appetite at all times, and can get really, really, REALLY hangry. Like a lot of werewolves - meat is probably at the top on preference but he doesn’t go insane over it or something. Much like humans he ponders/wonders the ethical implications or eating meat. Unfortunately like a lot of humans, going veggie just isn’t economically viable for him… especially with his weirdly fast metabolism. He isn’t that confident in cooking and tends to grab anything when hunger strikes.

FAVOURITE MUSIC: Hard rock, AC/DC, the Darkness, Guns N Roses.

FAVOURITE MEMORY: Running around woods/Yorkshire dales. Building treehouses, playing hide and seek. Just being generally a carefree child.

BIGGEST SECRET: See werewolf form, if it could be called that anymore. Deep down he kind of blames himself for what he considers a true ‘monster’ of an alternate form. That he somehow deserves not being able to join other werewolves on a full moon. It sounds not that big of a ‘big deal’ but for werewolves its absolutely a huge detriment. Werewolves actually extremely in tune with nature, the moon cycles - the full moon phase is like a renewal of the soul. A time of true freedom. The closest he really gets to that is being with his family, and even then he has to be a bit careful because… well wolves be wolves.

BIGGEST FEAR: Needles, doctors, being strapped down, solitary confinement. Getting ‘stuck’ in his monstrous form.

SCARS/TATTOOS/OTHER PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES: Most prominently thick white bands around his wrists, ankles and neck. Unlike most scars they’re pretty perfectly even without much if any jagged edges. That’s because they’re from silver restraints during his antibody therapy. The long term exposure and stress at that time means they will never truly ‘heal’.

He always wears some form of neck/wrist covering, usually spiked collars.

He has various other faint, normal scars all over his body that mostly healed or healing. Same with top surgery scars, of which he actually is proud of. TIDDIES BE GONE.

STRENGTHS: Excellent sense of humour, generally level headed, honest to a fault. Generally sweet natured and positive. A very gud boi.

WEAKNESSES: Motor mouth, gets bored extremely quickly. Not ‘dumb’ but regally not hugely academically minded. Acts before he thinks… way way too much. Can be very petulant sometimes. Don’t ever ‘dare’ him to do something because he will totally do it.

FAMILY RELATIONSHIP: Father deceased. Mother is an absolute angel and is such an Indian mum.

Faustus is actually the second oldest child out of SIX. (Yep, six!)

His older brother is kind of a judgemental prick and he clashed a lot with Faustus - they don’t really speak to each other now.

His younger brother is an avid scientist and does a lot of oversees research, Faustus loves him a lot but.. doesn’t really get him sometimes. He’ll just nod and act fascinated when the brother rants about… quantum entanglement, quarks and bosons.

Next are his twin sisters who are satan incarnate, kind of the youngest child without actually being the youngest child. Mother dotes on them and they get away with everything. They run a mystery/oddity gallery and swindle absolutely everyone. Especially their siblings.

Youngest is just about 18 and just the embodiment of a golden retriever puppy. He is possibly the sweetest werewolf to roam the planet. He actually is part of a very effective search and rescue team designed to aid those lost on the Yorkshire dales and moors, His sense of smell of hearing are unrivalled. Looking forward to potentially going to university in France. He also would often stay with Faustus on a full moon as opposed to running off in the dales, thereby giving Faustus a lot of comfort. These two have an extremely close bond.

SEXUALITY: Pansexual.

KINKS(ooh la la!): Genuine praise.

[shartlock-holmes]

Not one of you behemoths will every understand the terror and cringe of having your teacher call himself a “golden retriever boyfriend” when talking about his “black cat” girlfriend……😕😕😕😕

[intrusive-thoughtz]

rant number2

I've been very very lonely very lonely. I don't see my friends enough I don't even really feel like anyone actually likes me I feel like I'm a problem in the world. I also broke up with my boyfriend 8 months ago because he made some racist comments for getting that he sticks his dick in a black and brown girl. And that made me really sad because that always seems to be the issue with the reasons why I break up with most of my boyfriends because they're low-key racist.

I'd like to think I have a fantastic personality my brain is filled with lots of knowledge skills and facts and movies and shows and books but no one finds me interesting. People tell me that I'm intimidating wow what a fucking great compliment that makes me feel fantastic. I am a woman and I just want to be treated as a woman I want to be told that I'm beautiful I want somebody to be like hey babe I was thinking about you I bought you flowers hey there's this really cool restaurant would you like to go check it out hey I saw this today and I thought you would like it I bought it for you. Hey I know you like to just go sit on the beach and paddle board so I rented a some paddle boards. But no I am single I have no prospects no one finds me interesting and it comes to a point where you start questioning your own existence.

I have body dysmorphia so the first thing I question is oh my God I'm fat and disgusting ew look at the stretch marks on my belly that came out of nowhere I never even have children it's kind of embarrassing. Oh maybe because I don't shave my arms and I look like a hairy beast oh maybe it's my nose I'm not your your your eurocentric kind of looking girl. And I know that most people don't care about that shit that's just shit that's in my head from growing up in the early 2000s in a shitty world. And the only man who are attracted to me are either over 60 who think I'm going to be there perfect little pretty house wife that keeps my mouth shut or they're 25 years old and makes me feel like an old behemoth in my thirties who can't find anyone in her age group to date because they all have that early 2000s mentality where they have this like perfect girl in their minds that's like their mom with the worst expectations in women and I can't even deal with having a conversation with them. I'm Literally in fucking limbo.

my worst fear is having a relationship with someone who's exactly like my dad who's literally the worst human being I have ever met and I've met some shitty ones in my time. I would rather die old and single although it would be wonderful to have someone to do things with while all my friends around me are getting married having kids moving in with boyfriends making milestones and I'm like a kid still living with my parents in my thirties with four cats. I'm a fucking stereotype. I'm feeling defective like there's something wrong with me. I'm really pushed for my two friends to start dating and now I'm just a fucking fart in the wind no one calls me they act like I live this extremely busy life when really I just go to work and come home but the both of them are consistently texting smelling each other's farts live together but they can't go out to dinner with me and their other roommate who were all friends with great job. My friend also won't go to the beach with us anymore or water parks or adventures go with their boyfriend and leave the rest of us home. In fact They went to the Renaissance Fair and didn't even tell me so I could request off and go and I've never been a little really have the worst people in my life

[n3onguts]

pride and prejudice (07): happy together.

summary — if loneliness hits in waves, then you’re drowning in the middle of this party.

genre&tags — written chapter, approx. 3k words, angst, sunghoon being a lil sus, y/n being a mopey loser, allusions to social anxiety, general uni student debauchery, an abundance of wong kar-wai praise, and a rejected apology

warning(s) — swearing, alcohol consumption

a/n — this is so all over the place but idc anymore bc i’m so sick of staring at google docs

“Acceptable, Hoon?” In the lobby of your building, this glass-and-marble behemoth, you twirl for your friend, all dolled-up in a tiny, stringy halter and your cleanest pair of Doc Martens. Scrubbed of your battlescars from this past hellish week of exams, the process devoured almost 4 hours of your Saturday, left your room ravaged with crumpled piles of clothing haphazardly thrown on the floor — but you’ve come out looking more-than-decent and that’s still a win in your book.

Towering over you, Sunghoon is quiet, car keys hanging from his hand and eyes raking over your figure. Then, a little winded in a low murmur, “Are you wearing lip gloss? You never wear lip gloss.”

Shrugging, sheepish, you grin something cheeky, “I mean, why not, right? It’s a party. Not like we go to these kinds of things often.”

“Right.” A sharp nod. He’s still got on that murky stare. “It is and we don’t.”

In the distant background, Wonyoung honks an interruption, impatient in the passenger’s seat of her twin’s reliable ol’ Jag.​ Its engine purrs, steady and solid, from the vintage vehicle’s parked spot on the curb. The first blizzard of the winter season has ceased, settling into a calm night, lampposts lighting the icy asphalt street outside. “Oppa’s not done primping, but he should be down soon. In the meantime — what do you think?”

“I think…” Lips pursed, the boy offers zero flattery. “You should take my jacket. It’s bound to get freezing in that scrap of black cloth you call a top.”

“Wow. Can’t even fake a you-look-nice?”

“Just take it.” Sunghoon presses, tone clipped, thrusting the bulky leather thing into your hands.

You sigh — “Fine. Whatever.” — and accept, sliding into the oversized garment. “Too big. My outfit’s not seen anymore.”

Flicking your forehead, he says, dry and expectant, “That’s kind of the point, princess.”

A half-hour’s worth of Doja Cat later (courtesy of Sunghoon) and your tight-knit group pulls up to the snow-sunk driveway of the Beta Thi Sigma frat. There’s some 90’s RnB spilling out from the booming structure, its Grecian columns lit by the red-and-green of several, suspended Christmas lights. Sloshed students — wrapped up in their coats, sporting an array of Santa hats and antler headbands — teeter up-and-down the steps to the front door. They part, however, somewhat lucid, at the sight of your brother rushing through with his corduroy cover-up and hair swept back. He’s got an agenda, it seems, and it goes by the name of Kai.

The twins, meanwhile, take their time, undeterred by the horde of curious eyes following their every move. Wonyoung struts ahead in a knit Chanel number, glistening from the attention, as Sunghoon shuts the car door behind him, all cool and casual with his hand secure on your back. Inside, the atmosphere is sticky with heat and vice. It’s sensory overload for someone like yourself — bodies packed together, draped in tinsel but awash in tints of wine, swaying in slow-motion to the beat of the music. Wonyoung in the lead, your little trio passes by mistletoed corners in search of cleaner air.

The twins end up camped out near the house’s fireplace, marking it as their territory, and you follow suit. Poised and nonchalant, they keep to themselves yet are still, somehow, magnets for returning rounds of strangers. It’s disconcerting, mostly because you were wholly unaware of how in-demand the Parks had apparently become, even as freshmen — and stuck-up ones at that. A 2-for-1 package of popularity, you fourth-wheel all their conversations: your hands are empty when they’re greeted with Asahis from some senior named Jeon Jungkook and you get gawked at by Yu Karina, who sits behind you in English, when she reports the latest goss to the pair like their self-appointed secretary. There’s nothing lonelier than being demoted to mere audience member, so much so that it almost makes you laugh, like you’re a ghost in your own life.

Somewhere, concealed in your heart but pulsating through your body, is the anxious urge to escape to what’s familiar — to Uber home, dig out your rattiest Champion sweater, and drown in the embrace of a piping-hot bowl of wagyu ram-don — but it’s lambasted by the disapproving tone of Taehyun’s voice, ringing through your head like he’s your goddamned conscience and telling you that you need to ‘put yourself out there’. He’s right — of course, he is — and you hate him for that, but, God, you still can’t help but wish he were here now, not on some G650 jet out to the Amalfi Coast but stationed beside you through it all.

Sunghoon’s hand loosening from its spot on your side and Wonyoung occupied by whatever inane rumor Karina’s intent on spreading hot-off-the-press, you make your exit with a pitiful lack of notice. Through the red maze of rooms, you find yourself lost, disoriented. Your grip tight on your cell, you type out an agitated text to your missing brother, send the distress signal rapid-fire. But with no end destination in sight and nobody to cling onto for saving, everything’s suddenly too much, too loud, all happening in chaotic blurs. It takes you back to that night at the Bulldog, and you’re reminded of why you never attend these sort of things.

Really, you want to be fun and you want to be perky, the kind of girl who’s so goddamned painless to be around, no question — just easy and laid-back and enjoying the mess as if all’s good and well in the world. The kind who knocks down beers like it’s no one’s business, always knows what to say plus when to say it, leaves her heart out on her sleeve and gets rewarded for it. A cool girl, an effortless one. Instead — you’re difficult and you’re harsh and you’re dull. You’ve lived like this forever now, inside your little cage, built out of self-preservation. And you’re safe, it’s true, but disappear and it’d make no difference.

So, in an empty bathroom off the back porch, you take shelter, pathetically sober. Sat on the lid of the toilet, you rest your head between your knees, check for a response from Soobin only to be met with nothing. Probably still busy with Kai, you surmise, sighing. Footsteps come and go as your breathing slows to a more measured rate. From here, locked away from everyone, the party is muffled like it’s universes away. Then, a voice, thick but low, resonates through the noise, the wall, to you: “Most people turn away at the sight of subtitles, so it’s hard to recommend, but I’m telling you — it’s hauntingly perfect. Wong Kar-Wai’s best, in my opinion.” You recognize him immediately, would know that baritone anywhere and have found it here. Reflexively, without much thought, you slam the door open, bumping into the boy stationed right outside on the damp wooden deck.

“Hey!” Beomgyu cries before turning flat and faltering. “Oh.”

Flushed and self-conscious, you stagger back, examine the scene. Steel eyes, mouth in a wary line — a stark difference from your first impression of him, annoyingly open and terrifyingly carefree. Now, Beomgyu’s a mirror image of you and it’s enough to make you shrink. Is this how you looked when you two met? Stood next to him, a girl with sharp, feline features. You place her face as another of Kai’s bandmates, Yeji. She’s less stiff but still has her arms crossed, like you’ve slighted her without your knowledge.

“Hi.” You begin, a little breathless. It comes out uncertain.

Yeji stares at Beomgyu, then you. She takes his silence as her cue, “Y/N. Hi. If you’re looking for your brother, pretty sure he’s upstairs with Kai right now.”

“Oh, um, actually, I wasn’t—” You look over at him, tight-lipped and staring at his muddy Converse, his clenched hands, the black abyss of the night sky. Everything, it seems, but you. Softer than intended, you attempt an explanation, “I just needed a breather.”

An awkward silence ensues. It makes sense, you think to yourself, because you’ve conditioned people to expect cruelty in your presence, inadvertently taught them how to treat you. This is your comeuppance.

Yeji takes pity on you, sensing your discomfort, but sighs like she really doesn't want to, “Would you want to hang back with us then? Gyu was just telling me about some arthouse director he’s big on.”

“I don’t want to intrude—”

“Who cares? It’s just more of his pretentious babbling. I was only half-listening anyway.”

At this, Beomgyu gasps in mock-hurt. “Wong Kar-Wai deserves better. Don’t be such a philistine, Ji.”

Snorting, Yeji turns to you, unconcerned, “Ever heard of that guy, Y/N?”

“Well, yes, actually — ‘Happy Together’ is my comfort movie.” There’s no tell-tale signs on Beomgyu’s face that he’s listening, yet you find yourself hoping that he is.

“There we go then. That’s literally what he was just raving about.” Yeji cocks her head, rolls her eyes. “Ugh. You cinephiles are all the same.”

You look over at Beomgyu, consider him, suddenly curious. “Oh. So what do you think of it?”

“Like I was saying before being interrupted,” Stare averted, he speaks mostly towards Yeji. “Arguably, ‘Happy Together’ is Wong’s true magnum opus. It’s got all of his signature tropes, from the over-saturation to the dizzying camera work to the unconventional narrative — but it’s distinct for the sole reason that the heartache depicted isn’t muted. Instead, it burns.”

Growing frenzied and gaining momentum, hands flitting about like birds eager to get away, he continues, “Like, that sense of yearning that he’s known for, that longing for a love that keeps slipping out of your grasp, it’s there, undeniably, just much, much uglier. In the film, Ho and Lai are rotten to each other, and they shouldn’t be together, and they both know that — but they’re stuck in a perverse cycle, in this kind of horrible purgatory, that forces them to slingshot back to one another even once they escape. When they’re with each other, it hurts, yet when they’re apart, it hurts even more. The cruelest irony of the film is the title, because Ho and Lai can never be that — can never be ‘Happy Together’. It’s fucking devasting. And that’s what makes it so good.”

It’s quiet for a moment as the entirety of Beomgyu’s manic little spiel settles into the air. Then, Yeji laughs, amused at her friend, “Okay, Jesus, I’ll watch it. How long have you been holding all of that in?”

The boy shrugs, rubs the nape of his neck, going timid. People have this sad tendency to recoil into their shells after letting their passion leak out, you realize, like it’s shameful to care this much about anything. And you try not to gawk, try not to let your gaze linger, but it stuns you — the accuracy with which Beomgyu’s vocalized your very thoughts about the film, all of which have been ruminating inside of you since your first watch. There’s an impulse to nod profusely, to shout, all ecstatic from the matchbox sparks in your stomach, “Yes, yes! Finally someone gets it.” But, instead, you tamp it down, let the words die upon your tongue. You could call it serendipity, say it’s a kind of happy accident to stumble upon someone who shares your same fondness for cinema, but he’s a film major, of course, so what do you expect?

Cutting through the moment is a persistent racket vibrating from Yeji’s pocket. Fishing her phone out, exasperated, she groans, “Fuck — it’s my dad. I’ll be back, just a sec.” Trudging into the backyard, wading through the sheet of snow-caked grass, her intonation and inflection reconstructs itself into something guttural, more provincial, as she talks into the receiver and fades into the distance.

Secluded out here, amidst the numbing breeze of winter, the population of people dwindle about, more subdued. And so, you’re left with Beomgyu, left to fend for yourself against him and his explicit dislike for you. Juxtaposed by the faint, flickering lights of the porch, he’s locked stubbornly behind layers of clothing, black hair sat stiff underneath his beanie. Grasping for something to say, you murmur, something bland enough for you to survive if he ignores it, “Cold night, huh?”

At this, Beomgyu finally faces you, pivoting to put your smaller self in his direct line of vision. You see him clearly for the first time since meeting him two weeks ago: rendered in angles only God could draw, acrid like he’s a home remedy. “Seriously?” He laughs, all spite. “With the fucking small talk?” It’s a role reversal, a karmic punishment; you know it and so does he.

“Right. You’re right. Look…” You say, cautious but deliberate, enunciating each word with the weight of your remorse. “I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry — sorry for, well, y’know, acting like a dick when we met. I was worn-out that night and it was so goddamned dank inside the bar and the enormity of the crowd was putting me on edge and, fuck, I know those aren’t excuses, but you still bore the brunt of all of it so I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve any of it, especially because you were so nice to me. And if you hate me, I get it, whatever, I understand — still, regardless, I just hope you know how much I regret everything.”

“Is that all you’ve got?” He tilts his head, eyebrow quirked and visibly unimpressed.

You don’t waver. “It’s fine if you don’t forgive me. We don’t need to be friends or anything — I just needed to get it out of my system.”

“So, basically, what you’re saying is…” A disdainful pause. “You just want to be rid of your wrongdoing. Wash it off like it’s just another stain on your designer jeans.”

“Well, no—”

“Here’s a reality check, Saint Y/N: that icky feeling you get for being a shitty person? It’s warranted because you are. You were a douchebag to me, and you were a douchebag to my friends. I was nice to you, yes, but people don’t have to be for you to treat them with decency. It’s not fucking hard.” He hacks away at your character, drills down on your flaws until he tears at your Achilles heel. You remain quiet throughout, blank-faced, digesting his vilification of you and absorbing the verbal onslaught. You’re on trial, it’s clear, and you’re all ears. “And also? I couldn’t care less if you’ve, quote, seen better, because frankly I’d rather gouge my eyes out than date someone with an unearned superiority complex. So, y’know, thanks, appreciate the apology, but seriously — get over yourself.”

Finished with his tirade, you’re forced to sit and simmer together in Beomgyu’s hostility, visceral and true, piercing through the air between you two. In place of a response, all you can do is nod mechanically, let the guilt turn over in your stomach, settle, then mushroom. “Okay.” It comes out a mere whisper.

“Okay?”

You exhale, blink away the fatigue that’s suddenly washed over you. Then, firm and understanding, “Okay. I get it. I’ll leave you alone.”

“Good.”

As you turn away to make a beeline back indoors, you’re confronted by the timely reappearance of Yeji, frost-nipped and leaving a puddle of snow where she’s planted. She scans you over, leans to look at her friend, “Everything cool here?”

“Yeah. I’m just going now. Sorry to bother you guys.” Brushing past her, your hands find their home in your pockets. Yeji calls your name, shouts something or other, but it’s all just background noise to you at this point.

When you reach the kitchen, you’re swallowed in by the swarm of sweaty bodies you’d tried so hard to flee from. Now, however, you’re too drained to give a flying fuck. No more fighting, you decide. From somewhere indiscernible, a drink is pushed into your palm, this lemony concoction that hisses on its surface but glides down your throat. You accept the evening for what it is — a glorified shitshow — and the rest of it washes over you with less struggle.

Through the miniature glow of his phone, Beomgyu notes the time: 5 AM. He clicks the device off, chucks it to the side of his lumpy mattress. Snoring from the other side of their shared room is Kai, placid and passed out in last night’s clothes, sure as shit dreaming up an unperturbed life with his dimpled boytoy. Outside, the world is still dark, readying for the new day. 

Swaddled by his comforter, safe against the biting cold, Beomgyu is plagued by the thought of you. Ogling at him as he rhapsodized about a film close to his heart, spouting a red-nosed and glossy-eyed apology. What a fucking weirdo. Pint-sized in that jacket, glimpses of skin shining through. Much softer than when he’d first met you. Seriously — so fucking weird. He sighs, prays for sleep to come quick. And too fucking pretty.

previous | masterlist | next

TAGLIST

if you’d like to be added, please inform me in the replies section!

@jjunis​ @ineedaherosavemeenow​ @flrtsbin​ @feline4txt​ @soobin-chois​ @bearbeom​ @voidbeomgyu​ @woncheecks​ @rlajjunie​ @yeonjuns-earring​ @etherealcherrie​ @lilactangerine​ @ghostfacefricker6969​ @milkycloudtyg​ @vanillamilko​ @luvsoobs​ @kisshot-heartunderblade​ @sansluvr​ @beepjun​ @allisocks​ @gyurecs​ @sophhloaff​

[silver-ink-iron-words]

Can you write a Villain X Vampire Hero Prompt. But there is a kind of drug that gives pleasure in the teeth of the vampires, like in Vanitas No Carte (anime). And Villain is a little (!) obsessed with this drug. I hope you wrıte cuz i wonder your style.

Lol I had to call my sister (who's read the Vanitas manga) to ask what this meant. Hopefully I created something you'd enjoy :)

Also, thank you for the prompt!

------

The hero checked the slip of paper with the address on it, and sighed. Yep, they were in the right place.

“I’m not going in there,” they called up to the building.

It was an ornate gothic manor, with intricately carved archways and tall reaching towers. The windows were dark, except for a single flickering candle placed in each one. It created an effect that reminded the hero of eyes. The structure loomed high into the pitch-black night – a behemoth readying its attack.

“But you came all this way,” a voice said behind them.

The hero whipped around. Their expression only grew more agitated as they took in the sight of the villain, dressed in full regency clothing.

“I knew it was you!” the hero cried. “As soon as I saw this creepy house, I knew it had to be you!”

The hero had received an anonymous message from a supposed information broker, promising to reveal the secrets of the city’s most corrupt politicians. At the time, it felt like the big break in the case the hero had been waiting for.

But now, meeting the villain’s unwavering gaze, they wanted to strangle their former self for being so stupid.

“You must really think I’m something special,” they said, backing away, “to go to all this effort.”

The villain followed – a jungle cat trailing an antelope. “Well, you ignored all my attempts to seduce you.”

“You’re not my type, bud.”

“And to pay you.”

“Now that was just insulting.”

“So, I’m afraid it’s come to this.” The villain pulled out a remote control, and pressed a large red button.

The hero heard a series of clangs in the distance. And then, a few hundred feet away, they saw a barred fence start to rise from the ground, encapsulating the estate’s entire perimeter.

“Fuck,” they hissed, and sprinted towards it. The villain followed at a leisurely pace.

The fence was three feet tall.

“Fuck fuck fuck.”

Six feet.

“No, please – ”

The gate reached its full height of ten feet, and then halted with a reverberating bang.

“Oh god damn it!” The hero scrambled to a stop just before they rammed into it, their feet kicking into the mud.

The worst part was that the fence wasn’t even that tall. The hero could have easily climbed it, had it been normal. But judging by the way its mere proximity itched at their skin . . .

“Silver,” the villain said, strolling up beside the hero. “Pure silver. And forged in holy water, just for good measure.”

The hero whirled on the villain, fangs bared. “I will tear into you! I’ll suck every last drop from your body!”

“Oh, please do.” The villain seized forward, grabbing the front of the hero’s shirt. “You are going to drink me. Again, and again, and again. And only then will I, perhaps someday, consider letting you go.”

“Get fucked,” the hero said.

The villain smiled, and then proceeded to drag the hero – writhing and swearing and screaming – into the waiting belly of the manor.