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@deathtelevised
moving back to @slashaer
the bloody chamber by angela carter// amanda young & john kramer, saw
it's one of the good days - when john could move without feeling too much pain, and do the rare things he still enjoyed doing. sitting across from amanda, he glances down at the board between them, pondering his next move before moving his knight into position. glancing back up at the woman, he has a genuine smile on his face, no matter how small. 'check,' @stxckinatrap.
The belief that anyone could save themselves was almost laughable to her. Even though people believed that they could get their lives into that situation, it was few and far between that someone was ACTUALLY saved. Whether it boiled down to a religious antidote or that of an agnostic, the world wasn't full of HEALED souls. They were all damaged in their own way, or so Dana Scully believed that first and foremost.
"I don't believe that anyone is ACTUALLY able to be saved," she replied honestly, her eyes met his for a brief moment. "You may believe that you're some new-coming savior with all the right WORDS and ANTIDOTES, but sheep still get lost. You and I both know you're no shepherd," perhaps she was being a bit harsh, but it was the truth through her own eyes. "But I believe I'm just as unsalvageable as the next person. It's the way of the world-"
another wrong assumption. john does not see himself as a messiah. she's right, he is no shepard - but he is making a difference, whether she believes it or not. he has several followers who assure him that he has changed their lives, that he's given them a new enough outlook to understand why they could no longer take anything for granted. john closes his eyes for a moment to fend off a dizzy spell before they open once more, meeting dana's with no fear or reluctence.
'do you not save lives every day as part of your career, agent scully?' the question is asked with a genuine curiosity. 'for someone who has so little faith in humanity, you seem to have an authentic belief in your work,' john has met plenty of corrupt agents who cared very little about justice. dana was not one of those people. 'so i must ask - how little do you value your own life? you spend days trying to save others - others you claim cannot be saved - but care very little about your own safety. i can tell by the way you've come here, all alone, with no way to call for help,' he takes a wheezing breath in, milky stare never leaving hers. 'how is it that a man suffering from an incurable illness care more for a human life than you, agent scully?'
@deathtelevised ASKED, my reputation has never been about me. - clarice.
ππβπ ππππ ππ πππππππ ππππ ππππ πππ πππ πππ πππ πππ had made his name on mutilating & maiming people. maybe itβs the police that gave him the name βjigsawβ & not something he proclaimed himself, but either way itβs something tied to his identity. as are his deeds, as are his traps & the outcomes of them. what clarice wants to know is why he does what he doesβin all her looking into of his the files on him & his killings sheβs never seen a super clear pattern to it. ( aside from that those in his traps are trouble makers, have records, or are into sketchy business. but, does that warrant being put into death traps ? ) clarice shifts on her feet, keeps her hand placed near the gun at her hip. he didnβt seem the type to attack, but you could never be too sure. ; β thatβs hard tβbelieve, sir. β maybe being respectful would go longer than accusing him or shouting at him. β what else could it be βbout ? even if you didnβt give yourself your nickname, itβs apart of you regardless. β for a moment she wonders if this particular killer is resentful of that given name. a lot of them are because it doesnβt match what they do or how they want to be seen by the public. β your traps maim people. they have-a particular gore aspect to them, a brutality i havn't seen in-a while. β she breaths deep for a moment, settling her nerves but remains with a unreadable expression. β that in itself is gonna have some sorta reputation & will forever be tied tβjigsaw. hard tβescape, do you want to escape your reputation ? β
these people didn't understand the extent of john's intentions. they couldn't comprehend him as anything more than a cold blooded killer, but they were wrong. john kramer is not a murderer. he has never stuck a knife into someone ; shot someone in the chest ; choked them until the life left their bodies. he always gave his subjects an opportunity to live, to view their life as something worth living, should they have the strength to live it. it's not something that could be explained to the likes of agent starling. the fbi only sees what they want to see. john could not make them, as a whole, understand, but perhaps this one on one with clarice would shed some light on the truth of what john was trying to accomplish. 'it isn't about me,' he repeats in a raspy voice, breath wheezy in and out as he inhales and exhales. 'it is about showing those who have discarded the importance of their lives that anyone can have a second chance. that when a human is pushed, they will either choose to survive. or they will give up. and those who give up do not deserve the second chance that is given,' john sits back in his seat, the cord of his oxygen tank swaying as he does so. 'the name jigsaw is not just mine, agent starling. it will live on long after i have died. the world should be ready for its legacy,'
these silent woods by kimi cunningham grant sentence starters
i told you to stay in the house.
you do not kill something just to kill.
it's a thing i don't like to think about.
i'm a little mad at you.
a poem would be a better way to say goodbye.
this is private property.
this is who you are now.
oh, good. you're awake.
i can't sleep. i just can't. i've been lying there awake, all night.
i know how much they meant to you.
that's just what they say so you can try and live with yourself.
before, i was always afraid.
it's the most beautiful thing i've ever seen in my whole life.
guess i don't have much choice in the matter.
i have one of those faces.
i need to know that when i tell you something, i can trust you to listen.
it's just sometimes i wonder what it'd be like. to be out there.
that's the nice thing about books. you can experience all different people and all sorts of places through them.
you and i both know how that'll go.
no deer's gonna come anywhere near us if you don't sit sill.
we'll make some hot chocolate.
i think we might be lost.
i hope you're wrong about that. i really do.
what do you know about raising kids anyway?
sorry about the gun. sorry for scaring you.
you can stay forever if you want.
i should've ended it a long time ago, but i didn't.
we disagreed regarding whether or not that garbage could be considered coffee.
my high school guidance counselor said i was a poor conversationalist.
is someone gonna miss you?
sorry. that was uncalled for.
this world, it'll tear the guts right out of you. as you well know. but this isn't all there is.
i wasn't invited. i didn't want to crash the party.
i don't know why i'm telling you all this. i guess there was no one else to tell.
you probably think i'm pathetic.
it sounds kind of lovely, actually.
i'm scared because you're scard.
i want to keep you safe. that's all.
why would you do that?
we're not going anywhere near that place.
you should be ashamed of yourself.
want me to stay? help you keep watch here?
you could go somewhere. move. start over.
i knew you'd come back.
how'd you know where to find me?
my main blog is @consumare in case y'all didn't know, so if i'm not here, that's where i am.
I COULD HAVE KILLED JOHN KRAMER AT ONE POINT. Β ββββββ Β i wanted to, the vicious need for vengeance pumping thick through my veins. Β he had taken me, tested me, and i learned the truth. Β passing wasn't enough for me, nor was living. Β every part of me wanted to kill john kramer for his little contraptions and endless judgments on life and death. Β i didn't, and now as he closes his hand around my wrist, the first thought that flashes through my mind is that maybe i should have. Β we are similar, but not so much that it would weigh down a scale, especially not one made to balance wins and losses. Β i don't make a move, not under john's gaze of disapproval. Β he swats my hand away gently, then applies the trap himself. Β when he turns his stare toward me again: Β you have violent urges. Β that causes me to laugh, low and hollow, reflective of the emptiness inside. Β
ββ Β do i? Β ββ Β he's right, and i'm aware of it. Β i was never a violent person until john tested me, as that's when my hatred, the parts of it i would hide passively, awakened. Β i doubt that john had intended to bring me out of a haze and into a blood - red river to be baptized in with his actions. Β nevertheless, i am the monster he made me, and my laugh ceases like a stopped heartbeat. Β ββ Β did you show me the same mercy? Β was i lovingly placed into that thing i woke up in? Β ββ Β it's meant to sting, to hurt, to draw blood at the surface.
whether sang-woo believes it or not, john understands his anger. the wrath, pent up inside of him until he was finally allowed to let it out. but he was doing it in all the wrong ways. the point of john's work was to help other's change their lives, to prove that it was worth living - those that wanted to survive, did survive. sang-woo was one of those survivors, but he still saw life as a burden, rather than a gift. there was only so much he could do to aid in sang-woo's journey. john refused to give up, but he only had so much time left - he didn't want to know what the other man would be like once john could no longer keep him contained.
'i've treated every subject with the same respect and dignity. we are all equals. you included,' love had nothing to do with these trials. john did not love humans. parts of him hated them. but everyone deserved a second chance. he, himself, was given one, with no intervention at all. now he was giving back to those that were just like him - pathetic, giving up on the only life one has to live. john has to catch his breath for a moment, weakened slightly by lifting such a heavy object, but he glances up at sang-woo once recovered. his words do not effect john the way they are supposed to. very little does, these days. 'how you feel is your choice. but you will not continue to take your anger out on those who do not deserve it,' john takes a moment to cough into his hand, wheezzing a few breaths inward before he moves to secure the trap. 'undo his restraints. he will be waking up soon,'
scary man who really loves his wife π₯Ίπ₯Ί
@roseguided
he's distracted. pencil in one hand, the other laid out flat on his work station to continue his blueprints. the sketch of the crib was coming together nicely. soon, he might even be able to build it - if he could ever be happy with its overall design. jill often teased him for it. it's a crib, she'd say. why don't we just use odelia's old one? but john wanted baby gideon to have something of his own ; something he knew his father had put a lot of love into, just like he had for their daughter. john doesn't notice jill enter the room, not until she lays a hand on his shoulder. instantly, one of his own lands over hers, curling his finger around her palm before head turns to glance at her. grin touches either corner of his mouth as their eyes meet. 'how long was i out?' he jokes, turning his stool to face her and take both of her hands. 'is it time for you to tell me to take a break?' @roseguided.
he simply watches, for a moment. watches sang-woo heave michael marks into his seat as if the man were a ragdoll, tie his wrists and ankles much too tightly to the arms of the chair, as if sang-woo personally hated the man. before he could reach for the venus flytrap, john struck out a hand to grab sang-woo's wrist, glancing up at the other man with warning. 'that is a human being, not a piece of meat,' he slowly moves sang-woo's hand away, grabbing for the trap to apply it to michael, himself. he has very little strength left, but he manages to lift it onto their subject's head alone. 'you have violent urges. i suggest you unlearn them, or take them out on something else. they won't do you any good here,' @0000218.
like this for a starter. lengths will vary, multis please specify!
&.Β πππ«π€Β ππ§π ππ§π π¬ππ² π¬ππ§πππ§ππ π¬πππ«πππ«π¬.
(Β weΒ loveΒ angstΒ onΒ thisΒ blog,Β whatΒ canΒ weΒ say.Β hereβsΒ someΒ moreΒ dialogueΒ promptsΒ forΒ you.Β aΒ warningΒ forΒ potentiallyΒ triggeringΒ themesΒ below.Β )
β everything you touch, you ruin. β
β the only one who gets to kill you, is me. β
β you canβt make me disappear. β
β memories are only there to make you bleed. β
β i donβt need your permission. β
β donβt shut me out like this. β
β the less you know, the better. β
β i wonβt stop killingΒ until you kill me. β
β why is it whenever we see each other, youβre covered in blood? β
β you think i felt something for you? youβve forgotten what i am. β
β the last time we talked, didnβt you say you wanted to kill me? β
β i felt something loosen in me that shouldnβt have been loosened. β
β pull yourself together. we have work to do. β
β stay back, i have a demon inside of me. β
β let me get closer, i have a hell inside of me where your demon can live. β
β people like that donβt deserve to live. β
β just do what youβre told. like you always do. β
β why do you have to make everyone hate you? β
β itβs better that you donβt get involved. β
β iβd do anything to make you stay. β
β who cares if it bleeds. β
β is this what you think love is? β
β just breathe through it. it gets easier. β
β donβt pretend that you cared about me. β
β iβm starting to think you like wasting my time. β
β we wouldnβt be alive if it werenβt for me. β
β i will never, ever, give you a momentβs peace. β
β the world doesnβt hate us. but it doesnβt love us either. β
β it hurts that you still canβt trust me after all this time. β
β a darkness with voices is better than a silent void. β
β itβs safer to be feared, than loved. β
β am i not good enough for you? β
β a burnt child loves the fire. β
β iβm tired of dying. β
β what if you hurt because it feels good? β
β donβt try to fix me, iβm not broken. β
β if you want me to die, you can just say so. β
β you donβt have to be afraid of who you are. β
β that line disappears once you cross it. β
β how can i believe you after all youβve done? β
β i wonβt let you forget about me. β
β the person you once knew me as, died. β
β are you going to leave me again? β
β i have nothing i could offer you. β
β no one is going to save you. no one can. β
β maybe youβre / iβm already dead. βΒ
β you have blood on your hands. β
β what, canβt take a punch? β
β iβm your mind giving you someone to talk to. β
β you have to step out of this darkness and let them see you for who you are, like i have. β
yes, i'm sick. sick from the disease eating away at me inside. sick of people who don't appreciate their blessings. sick of those who scoff at the suffering of others. i'm sick of it all! independent & selective rp. written by ASH / they them / 25+. do not follow / interact if you are UNDER 21. themes of horror, body horror, gore, murder, villainy & more are present. follow at your OWN RISK.
@deathtelevised LIKED for a starter ! ft odelia kramer
πππ πππππ ππππππππ ππ ππ πππ πππππ ππ ππ, it acknowledge it as little as possible. it was a defense mechanism, she knew, & a damn powerful one. what else was she meant to do ? face with mortality & impending death, which does not pertain to those playing their games, of someone she often times loved more than her own self. someone she never knew she would have to live without until his diagnosis, until he peeled himself away from what once was their family unit. ; her father grew distant, but she was ever stubborn & persistent. he might not have wanted to see her, a reminder of another child heβd never have, but odelia knew if she kept on, if she wiggled her way in, he would be some semblance of what he was. ( did she know it would be this ? building death traps, making people cherish life. no, never, but she does it because she will be the legacy. ) coming to sit in a chair pulled close to his bedside, eyes glance over the array of medicine. out of habit, she checks her watchβhe wonβt need any more meds for another two hours. john speaks, he talks about legacies, destines, doing what needs to be done to open peoples eyes & immediately odelia knows. jaw clenched, β do we have tβtalk about this now, dad ? β
one man cannot overcome his grief alone. but if that man refuses help from those around him, how does he cope? a dying man should bring his family closer, not push them away, but john kramer found himsef isolating. his life had taken turn after traumatic turn, and he didn't want his now ex wife or daughter seeing the changes within him. that was hard when he had a daughter that refused to leave his side. and despite knowing how terrible it was to expose such a young mind to what he's doing, john also couldn't deny having her there with him made him feel a bit more whole. no matter how far he pushed her away, odelia always came back. he supposes he should be grateful for that. he just doesn't know how to be, anymore.
'yes,' john's voice is raspy. there are days when he can get out of bed, walk around, work with his hands ; when the medication works and his pain levels are lessened greatly. today is not one of those days. today, he's bedridden, forced to stare at the ceiling, fading in and out of sleep and cursing his body and everything else that had lead him to this frail state. glazed over eyes move to meet his daughter's, his breath slow and shallow, a cough caught in his throat. 'i know this isn't something you want to talk about, delia. but it's something we have to discuss. i won't be here for much longer,' eyes flutter a bit, john fighting unconciousness even as he speaks to odelia. 'you are here to assure my legacy lives on. i need to make sure this is something you want, and not something you've been forced into,'
the kramer family 01. @roseguided.
like this for a starter. lengths will vary, multis please specify!