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plantfeed · 3 months

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location: west wing, museum, during the ball.

trigger warnings: gore, blood, assault, murder etc.

some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. from what i’ve tasted of desire / i hold with those who favor fire. but if it had to perish twice, i think i know enough of hate to say that for destruction ice / is also great and would suffice.

cold is preferable to heat. the way alma sees it, you can put a jumper on, lace up your snow boots, light a fire in a conclave, but when the sun beats down on your back you can’t peel off your own skin. alma’s never been deterred by the snow — if anything, she feels at home in it — twelve years spent christmassing in vermont would do that to a person. snow was the unexpected knock of a long-lost cousin at the door, a crumpled cushion on the couch that remembered the curve of their spine. snow was the cold november she learned to ride zeta, the sixth star of the constellation, one hand on the horse’s reigns and the other in the wind as the first flecks of winter landed on her nose. of all the elements, water is alma’s, in its liquid form a symbol of change and renewal — but heed too much of it and you’ll drown. in its purest form, ice, sharp enough to cut a throat, cold enough to freeze a man to death. more often than not, she’s the latter.

her pervading coldness is less pronounced tonight, the folly of a ball enough to lift her spirits, etch a smile across her perpetually scowling lips, and — in a moment of madness, pure and instinctive — enough to raise her skirt enough for monty to trail their fingers up her thigh, the announcement of a building-wide lockdown breaking them from their stupor. there’s something sexy about the idea of being locked in, no escape, guards on every door. it forces you to rethink, to examine, to play house with the cards that have been dealt to you and send unwise texts for the sheer thrill of it, like if you care to finish what we started, meet me in the rothschilds room in five. little does she know she’ll never make it to the rothschild room, or get to finish the years old game that monty and alma play, or that this particular foray towards a sexcapade in the dark we’ll be her last. that she’ll never get her keira knightley in atonement fucked-against-a-bookshelf moment ticked off the bucket list, or at least not in this life.

she’s already broken free of the throng of bodies gathered in the great hall when the lights begin to flicker and pulse like a lorde song, making her way down the west wing, skirts trailing behind her. whenever she’s in grand buildings like this one, alma imagines herself in a crinoline, hoiked within an inch of her life and laced up to the nines in whale boned corsets, how she’d tell the servants to fetch her the millais painting from the east wing, then bring it back, then fetch another, how she’d set her family little treasure hunts around the grounds to amuse their rich and listless hours. she could saltburn this place, if she wanted. she could gaslight the shit out of oliver quick, and he’d probably thank her for it.

the lights splutter out like a dying dog, harsh and visceral, and with the sudden sense that childhood is over, although she’d mourned it long before she entered adulthood. perhaps they go out all at once, or maybe it’s the slow pop of each bulb before her one-by-one snapping out in turn, the walls closing in around her, until the only one left is the one above her head, her final spotlight. she doesn’t have a candle to light the way, so the flashlight on her phone has to suffice. it’s a little less girl-in-a-period-drama and a little more final-girl-in-a-badly-reveiwed-a24-horror-movie, though she refuses to let her breath catch. fear’s a mind killer. fear is the enemy of a finely tuned performance. fear will kill you faster than the killing thing, if you let it, a virus in itself. she’s never let herself feel fear before without good reason. what’s so scary about a shortage of light?

a text chimes on her phone, and her eyes struggle to adjust in the lowlight. monty’s waiting. she starts typing a response that she’s on her way, but doesn’t finish sending it, three bubbling dots that never resolve themselves, and then from somewhere in the dark, a pitchy giggle. she’s read every gillian flynn book. she devours murder mysteries. she’s seen the box set of that british tv show set in oxford, morse, and the sleepy small town midsomer murders. there were periods of her childhood where she spoke exclusively in a british accent and claimed that she could see ghosts. this doesn’t feel like one of those times. the laugh feels otherworldly and threatening in a way that cuts her to the core.

the rothschild room isn’t far from here, where monty’s waiting to unzip her dress, to kiss her neck, to tell her they’ve thought about it in the rehearsal room while the two of them perform a pas de deux. she should just fucking turn around and go and find monty. but the nancy drew instinct in her begs otherwise, a dull throb that’ll haunt her if she doesn’t find the source of the sound.

so she follows it, a chorus of screams of ‘no! run!’ from the popcorn-munching audience she pictures in her mind, a projector wheel whirling on. or perhaps they’re bargaining for her death, taking bets on whether she’ll go quietly, what she looks like when she screams, if she’ll pull a knife from the gusset on her thigh and turn it around at the eleventh hour.

“i’m not scared of you,” alma shouts into the dark, half-impressed by the strength of her own voice. it doesn’t hitch, doesn’t warble, firmer than she feels, though she grits her teeth, balls her fists, and stalks on towards the sound. that giggle again, only this time it’s different, behind her. she whisks around, plastic ballerina in a jewellery box, and feels the breath pulled from her, the throbbing pulse of something sharp in her back. if she had to place it, she’d say between the eleventh and twelfth vertebrae, although the shock of it sends an electric pang all up her spine.

it’s like a heat she never imagined, almost a burn. when “jesus christ” splits from her lips, she’s not sure if it’s a curse or a prayer, gathering her skirt (that stupid fucking dress, fuck gwen stefani) as she begins to run. alma clamours through the dark, thankful for the ballet flats she’d chosen in favour of heels, breath hot in her chest as the pain pulses in her ribs, like a belt being tugged around her heart. who the fuck would want to kill her? a knife in the back is perhaps ironic, considering the back catalogue of people she’s fucked over on her way to the proverbial top. there was the girl she’d tripped in their audition for juliard; the actress who developed a mysterious bout of food poisoning on opening night of antigone; the seminar partner who’s research paper had mysteriously disappeared after they left their library computer unlocked; the numerous farmhands whom she’s taunted over the years. perhaps a better question is not ‘who’d want to kill alma putnam’ but rather ‘who the fuck wouldn’t?

something catches on her foot, and her phone skitters across the floor to a chorus of curses, spilling light across the walls, her hands clutching in the dark. “fuck, fuck, fuck.” she could be getting railed right now. she could be downstairs, dancing with masked strangers in the dark. instead, she’s engaging in a comical scooby doo chase scene, only her killer won’t be caught by a gaggle of meddling kids, and she can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel any more. it dawns on her that she’ll never make it rothschild room. she’ll never make it out of this museum. it's a theatrical way to go.

when the second blow strikes — a clean blow to the chest — it throbs in her ribs, in her lungs, a spluttering in her breath, the taste of blood in her mouth. death shouldn’t come to her like this alone in the west wing of an old museum while a ball beats on below. if she tunes out the dull throb of her heartbeat she can hear the pulse of robyn’s dancing on my own the floor below, the rounds of shots exchanged in the dark, mobile flashlights held like lighters at an open air concert. death should come to her as an old woman on a porch swing as she edits the final chapter of her memoirs. death should come to her in the theatre, struck down beneath a spotlight, a spectacle that haunts and amazes in equal measure. she should die before a crowd. instead, she’s completely alone, her breath growing quicker as the dual wounds that punctuate her back and chest grow colder. she knows from her anatomy textbooks that this is the part when she should start to panic, but that panicking will only make her die quicker. coldness pulses in the tips of her fingers. she starts to feel like a walking corpse. there’s no wiki how article on what to do when you feel yourself slipping out of the world.

consciousness evades her. she swills in and out of it like a dancing moth around a candle, sometimes aware of the blood on her dress, or awake enough to let out a blood-curdling scream. every sound she makes is another claw reaching into her chest, compressing her lungs. in the end, when she cries out for mother, she can’t tell if she’s crying out for the woman who raised her, or for mercy from the mother they build statues of in churches.

suffering feels religious if you do it right, and when she's hoisted up it feels almost like a crucifixion, the ropes around her torso no longer imagined but visceral. she always imagined that one day she’d get to fly in a show — as graceful in a harness as she is on her feet. well perhaps this is her final show, and to their credit, they’ve made a spectacle of it. it might be her best performance yet. she’d make a perverse joke about the ropes wrapped around her wrists if her lips weren’t too cold to speak. is this really how she goes out? not with a bang, but with a whimper, trying to come up with a kinky joke that’ll never reach its punchline.

“i hope…” she starts, and the words don’t seem to come from her mouth but from the mouth of a haggard witch twice her age, like an advert from an anti-smoking campaign. “they fucking… catch you… you cunt.” fitting that the last word she ever says would be ‘cunt’ when most of her life she’s been one. she doesn’t see their face, doesn’t see anything at all, the dark closing around her in more ways than one. above her, the ropes are creaking, body swinging like a witch. the last thing she feels before she slips from the world is a sharp spike impaling her through the heart.

#ding dong the witch is dead!!#tw death #tw stabbing #pretty cunty of me to write this and not even proofread it before i post.......#but im rushing around so here it is so u can all move on w the plot!!#i'll edit if i notice mistakes.#also i lov tht i told the admins it was gonna be short and then wrote this fckn monstrosity. im nothing if not consistent.#⥂ alma olive putnam. ╱ threads.

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bunnakit · 4 months

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what are your top 5 movie recommendations?

EYY ok im a terrible person to ask because i absolutely do not watch movies unless forced to at gunpoint and most of them are not queer SO here's just like... my 5 fav movies i guess lmao

THE JACKET (2005) dir. John Maybury 🌸

(hey my first non-bl related gif!)

The narrative is a time slip fantasy in which a Gulf War veteran who suffered a death or near-death experience while on active service returns to the United States where he is blamed for the death of a policeman, and incarcerated in a hospital for the criminally insane. Subject to experimental treatments there, which involve him being shut inside a morgue casket while tied in a straitjacket, he eventually learns to travel through time and is able to offer help to various people.

i watched this in high school one lazy afternoon with my mom and became obsessed. i don't think it did well? or was really on anyone's radar? but Keira Knightley is fucking gorgeous in it as is Adrien Brody - both of which i had massive crushes on back then. it's definitely HEAVY and darker, obviously, and has a bit of an open ending but i eat that shit up.

"The important thing in life is to believe that while you're alive it's never too late."

PROMARE (2019) dir. Hiroyuki Imaishi 🌸

Thirty years has passed since the appearance of the Burnish, a race of flame-wielding mutant beings, who destroyed half of the world with fire. When a new group of aggressive mutants calling themselves Mad Burnish appears, the epic battle between Galo Thymos, a new member of the anti-Burnish rescue team Burning Rescue, and Lio Fotia, the leader of Mad Burnish begins.

i've watched promare an embarrassing amount of times, but hey, it's actually a little queer so there's that! the synopsis is just a drop in the hat of what the movie actually is. we love anarchist rebels and advocates for equal rights (and enemies to lovers between a smol angry rebel and a big lovable himbo.) small note - we lost Galo's english VA, Billy Kametz, last year to his battle with cancer. he played a huge role in a lot of my favorite shows and games and it really broke my heart.

DRAGONHEART (1996) dir. Rob Cohen 🌸

Sir Bowen, an English knight of "the Old Code", mentors Saxon prince Einon in his ideals to make him a better king than his father Freyne. While suppressing a peasant rebellion, rebels ambush and kill Freyne. Then a young peasant girl named Kara accidentally wounds Einon's heart. Einon's Celtic mother Aislinn has Einon taken before a dragon and asks him to save the boy's life. The dragon makes Einon promise to be a just ruler with honor and replaces Einon's wounded heart with half his own. However, Einon proves more oppressive by enslaving the former rebels that killed his father and forcing them to rebuild a Roman castle. Einon also has Kara's father, who led the insurgents, blinded. Believing the dragon's heart has corrupted Einon, Bowen swears vengeance on him and all dragons by hunting them down.

listen, i'm old okay? i watched this obsessively when i was a kid. i didn't own the VHS, i'm not really sure why? but anytime it was on tv i was glued to it. i think i eventually did record it onto a vhs.

MILK (2008) dir. Gus Van Sant 🌸

In 1972, Harvey Milk and his then-lover Scott Smith leave New York for San Francisco, with Milk determined to accomplish something meaningful in his life. Settling in the Castro District, he opens a camera shop and helps transform the area into a mecca for gays and lesbians. In 1977 he becomes the nation's first openly gay man elected to a notable public office when he wins a seat on the Board of Supervisors. The following year, Dan White kills Milk in cold blood.

i watched this just as i was coming to terms with my own queerness. i wanted to learn more about queer history and this movie came out at the exact perfect time for that. i was a freshman in high school, i'd never heard of Harvey Milk before, but my mom had and she encouraged me to watch it. it got me doing a lot more research into queer history and learning where we came from so while the movie may not be perfect, may not be wholly accurate, i thank it for that.

TITAN A.E. (2000) dir. Don Bluth & Gary Goldman 🌸

"Titan A.E." takes place in the distant future, after Earth has been obliterated by a mysterious alien race known as the Drej. Cale is a human teenager who has been given a mysterious map by his father, leading him on an unforgettable journey.

i am nothing if not an absolute slut for Don Bluth movies. that man illustrated my childhood. as i got older my mom told me about Titan A.E. and said it was a must watch for my nerdy ass. she was correct. it's not the perfect movie but it's a great look at what Don Bluth and Gary Goldman could've done if we'd considered "animation for adults" back then. we're finally getting somewhere with it now, and i like to think we have them to thank in part for that.

also fun story my husband met one of the animators for this film at a party where a lot of people were doing a lot of drugs and he gave him his card AND MY HUSBAND LOST IT

alright anon and friends i hope i haven't ruined your opinion of me with my taste in movies ~ thank you to all the gifmakers that have made gifs of these films, i'm so glad i didn't have to make one for all of them lmao.

#anon my beloved #top 5 #the jacket the movie #promare #dragonheart #milk the movie #harvey milk #titan ae #don bluth #gary goldman #gus van sant #rob cohen #hiroyuki imaishi #john maybury #bunn asks

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harmonie-writes · 2 years

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The Hunt pt. 2

Werewolf! Wonwoo x hunter! Reader

Summary: After going in different directions to work on different cases, you receive an alarming call. Driving to a small town that has wild nightlife and strange occurrences you begin your search for your missing hunting partner. This case you are about to take on will rival the others you’ve completed in the past. What could possibly happen as you search for your brother in arms?

AN: I love supernatural so a bunch of my ideas for this specific series are from that show!

Warnings: false identity, potential violence, language, depictions of gore, cause of death, alcohol. Story is purely for fictitious purposes and doesn't not portray actual people.

Word count: ~1k

—-------

Previously on The Hunt:

"Somethings just weird Seungcheol," Chan spoke in the phone receiver as he removed his fingers from the blinds as he noticed you get into your car. You came into town dressed in flannels and now you're leaving in a suit.

"Just keep your distance and keep us updated Chan," Seungcheol muttered, as he paced in the living room of the pack house before adding, "and don't get spotted."

—-------

Parking your car in the hospital parking lot you take a deep breath and glance at yourself one last time. You always hated lying, but unfortunately the world is a lot scarier than people are led to believe so a small white lie won't hurt, right?

Walking up to the front desk you spot a lady dressed in scrubs clicking away on the computer. "Hi there, I'm here to go over the body that was recently found with," your eyes catch a photo and name plate behind her, "with Dr. Evans."

"I wasn't aware that Dr. Evans had any appointments today," she responded, as she looked for any appointments on the computer.

"The business with Dr. Evans is," you pause to fish out your badge before showing her, "private."

Slowly she nodded her head before paging the doctor. "Right he will be here shortly, Miss?"

"Keira, Keira Knightley."

"Right, Miss Knightley."

—-------

A set of double doors open to reveal a stoutly man, roughly in his late 40s. "I'm looking for Miss Knightley?"

Standing from your chair you greet the man with a smile and handshake before he leads you to an elevator.

"So, how did this become FBI jurisdiction?"

Tugging on the end of your blazer sleeve you answer, "there have been a rising amount of cases recently in this area, and it's just to help resolve the case before things escalate any further. Trying to avoid any unnecessary attention by the media by stepping in and taking over." You hope he buys your answer.

The man just grumbles under his breath before unlocking a door to the morgue. "Still don't know how these bear attacks are FBI jurisdiction."

"Neither do I. Just trying to do my job," you answer as you follow him to one of the slide tables. Opening the door, Dr. Evans pulls out a table with a covered body on it. Dr. Evans walks over to a small counter and grabs a couple pairs of latex gloves and a folder. Handing you a pair of gloves he proceeds to uncover the poor soul laying on the cold table.

"I'll admit, this is the strangest bear attack I've ever seen. Normally when a bear eats something there isn't much left over other than the bones. This lad is still quite intact, other than the lack of face which would have made him unidentifiable if it weren't for a concerned family member."

Looking over the report in your hand you skim over all the information quickly before eyeing the victim in front of you. From the chin up to the hair line there was nothing, just a gnarly hole, as if each part was chewed or clawed out. This isn't a bear attack, Adam must've found a nest. "Where did they say the body was found?"

"He was found just off a camp trail outside of town, passed route 46. Lots of families go there during the summer since it's pretty nice. As of last year though, several people have gone missing only to either never be found or to end up like this man right here."

Nodding you place the autopsy into the doctor's awaiting hand.

"Thank you for sparing your time with me Dr. Evans," you say while bowing your head slightly. With that you are escorted back to the elevator.

"I'm sure you can see yourself out."

—-------

Sitting in your car you rest your forehead on the steering before letting out a shaky exhale, "Of course it had to be a fucking vampire nest. You just had to find a nest didn't you Adam?" A tired chuckle leaves your lips before you lean back in your seat. Looking over your shoulder you put your car in gear before tearing out of the hospital parking lot back to the motel.

—-------

"Her car finally pulled up," Chan muttered, glancing out the window.

"Who showed up?" Wonwoo asked, after setting down the box he brought in from storage.

"Just some strange person from out of town. They give me some weird vibes. Already let Cheol know them last night," Chan explains as he flips the page of the magazine in front of him.

Dusting his hands off, Wonwoo glances in the direction Chan pointed at, but only managed to see the door closing behind the person in question.

"Anything else you know?"

Huffing, Chan pushed his magazine away from him, "Jun mentioned that they were at the bar last night for dinner. Said something about camping with a friend. Honestly, if you just want to hear about it, ask the person that actually talked to them."

Rolling his eyes, Wonwoo thumped the boy on the back of the head before heading over to Jun's bar.

—-------

Walking into the bar Wonwoo’s eyes scanned the bar before checking the back, the only person showing up being Mingyu.

"I thought Jun was coming in today?"

"Nah," Mingyu shook his head, "he only came in to drop off some stuff we ordered. He's out with Vernon and Soonyoung doing a patrol. You know, trying to deal with that issue."

Nodding slowly, Wonwoo eased his way into the stool. The pack house had been in the property for over a decade and this has been the first time any of them had to deal with something supernatural, besides other werewolves that is. It's put a bit of strain on the pack, trying to maintain normalcy, but also trying to keep their surrounding woods clear of any threat that might come to them.

—-------

Pacing the small expanse of your room, you let out a frustrated groan. It's been almost a week since you got the call, considering you had to drive from Wyoming and do some investigating to figure out what mess Adam had gotten himself into. Gripping the hairs at the back of your head you grumble, "Fuck. It's been long enough for him to have been drained. Worse is if they decide to do a transfusion."

Coming to terms you decide that tonight is the last night you'll be staying in the motel. You have a camping trip to take starting tomorrow morning.

—-------

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#dvoz-writes #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #dvoz is dead but not dead #supernatural seventeen #supernatural svt #wonwoo x reader #the hunt series #wonwoo x fem reader

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