i’m ready to go into this new year with all the amazing people and friends i’ve met the few months i’ve been here. i still have a few hours until midnight, but here’s some people i’m glad who are coming with me into 2025 :
thank you all for supporting me ❤️! also, big thanks to @strnilolover because shes the reason why i started posting on tumblr. i will try to be more active in a few days,
i've not been so active lately, sorry for that, but i'm trying to focus on myself and my love life (🫣) + i have no motivation AND i have a lot of exams. i'll try to post something in a few days 💕
istg im so embarrassed when someone asks me "what are ur top 5 artists on spotify wrapped?" my music taste has changed SO MUCH its embarrassing... and 2 artists from my wrapped remind me of one boy i had a situationship with i literally stopped listening to those artists because of him 😭😭
don’t be embarrassed sweetheart! our music tastes change all the time and i mean you stopped listening to those two, just tell people that when you tell them your wrapped
the puzzle's new pieces
in the wake of jigsaw's death, a new killer emerges, mimicking his twisted games
warnings: blood, suicide, death (lmk if i forgot about anything)
wc: 1.4k
the entire country is abuzz with fear over the return of “jigsaw,” a notorious serial killer whose reign of terror was thought to have ended with his death. yet, despite the original jigsaw's demise, the killings persist, leaving the people of new jersey gripped in paranoia. everyone is scared, the whole new jersey state is talking only about this topic.
“it’s just stupid, meg!” you shout to your friend and co-worker. “some old guy kills people because they ‘don’t appreciate’ their lives, then he dies, his accomplice amanda dies—and somehow the murders still keep happening! we don’t even know who’s behind it!” you fling the papers in your hands across meg’s bed, frustration boiling over.
meg sighs heavily, exasperation creeping into her voice. “he’s not killing people. they’re killing themselves.” she swivels in her chair to face you, the exhaustion plain on her face. “the whole ‘jigsaw mantra’? it’s about making them face their own guilt or whatever. anyway…” she spins back toward her desk, rifling through documents. “john kramer was in contact with amanda. we know that. amanda was in a relationship with matthew sturniolo. we should talk to him in the morning.”
“yeah, we’ll do that.” you return to the documents and photos strewn across the room, letting the silence settle for a moment before a thought strikes.
“play the tape again.”
⸝⸝
another victim of john’s traps wakes up in a small, cold and dimly lit room, chained to the floor. above them, suspended from the ceiling, is a massive, razor-sharp pendulum with a blade that swings back and forth. the victim is positioned directly in its path, but they are not immediately in danger. in front of them is a large, heavy metal door, locked shut with a complex mechanism. they are so confused, frightened, their breath gets more rapid and before they know it, tears run down their cheeks.
“help! someone help me! please!” they yell, hoping that someone will hear them, but they know that no one is going to come here and save them.
suddenly, a mechanical whir echoed through the room causing them to look in the direction of the sound. a small tv flickered on, and the image of a puppet with hollow eyes and a chilling grin appeared. then, the voice spoke.
"hello thomas. you are here because of the choices you’ve made. choices that haunt you, that weigh on you. you thought you could run from them, but now, there’s no escape.
a pendulum, sharp and unforgiving, swings above you. each swing is a reminder—reminder of your past, your mistakes, and the consequences of them. you are chained to the floor, but your freedom lies behind a door. a door that you can only unlock if you confront what you have done.
in front of you, you’ll find several objects. each one holds a piece of your past. only one holds the key to your escape. you must choose carefully. the wrong choice will not only keep you trapped—it will cost you your life.
the key to the door is within a steel block. it can only be freed by burning the right object. but beware... time is running out. the pendulum swings closer with each second you waste. if you don't act soon, it will end your story.
live or die, thomas.
make your choice.”
the screen went dark as the pendulum began to swing faster. thomas’s eyes darted to the small pile of items scattered before him: an old photograph of a woman holding a baby, a screwdriver and a set of car keys. his breath caught in his throat. each object was a shard of his life, broken and fragmented.
the photo. the photo of his loving and kind wife, who tried her best to make thomas happy, chained to the bed’s leg. next to her was their daughter, who had to listen to them yelling at each other every evening, also chained to the bed.
the screwdriver that he used to unscrew a nail from a pencil sharpener and hurt himself with the blade.
the car keys reminded him of hitting a stranger while driving.
his mind raced. “what do i do? which one?” he stared at the items, his hands trembling. the pendulum swung closer, its blade slicing the air with a whooshing sound. he had to burn the right object to release the corrosive liquid and free the key, but what was the right choice?
his heart screamed for him to grab the car keys. that accident had started it all. it was his deepest regret. he seized the keys and threw them into the furnace nearby. the heat surged, flames licking at the metal, but... nothing. no liquid dripped, no key emerged.
the pendulum inched closer.
thomas’s screams filled the room as he fumbled for another object. the photograph. he grabbed it with shaking hands, hesitating for a moment as he looked at the faces in it—his wife and child. he clenched his jaw and shoved it into the fire.
the furnace hissed. this time, a dark liquid oozed out, burning through the steel block. the key fell onto the floor with a clang, but the pendulum was already dangerously close. its blade sliced the air just inches from his chest.
with a final surge of adrenaline, thomas grabbed the key and reached for the lock on his chains. his fingers fumbled, slick with sweat and trembling. the lock clicked open, and he scrambled to his feet, but he wasn’t fast enough.
the pendulum swung down, its sharp edge catching him in the back. the man gasped, the pain blinding, as it sliced deeper with each pass. he collapsed, blood pooling around him. his vision blurred as he stared at the open door just a few feet away, freedom tantalizingly close yet forever out of reach.
his last thoughts were of the photograph, the faces he’d burned away, and the life he could never reclaim.
the pendulum swung one final time.
⸝⸝
“it doesn’t sound like jigsaw at all.” meg spoke up as she stared at the puppet on the screen. “a voice changer,” you said with no emotion in your voice as you bit on your pen, completely zooned out. finally, meg took her eyes off of the screen, tilting her head in your direction. “someone tried to sound like jigsaw, so they used a voice changer. send it to jasmine.”
meg nodded and clicked a few keys on her laptop, sending the recording to jasmine, the department's forensic audio analyst. she leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowed in thought. "if someone’s impersonating jigsaw, it’s not just about the traps. they want people to believe it’s him. that means whoever this is-"
"-is obsessed," you finished for her. "or trying to use the fear of jigsaw to cover their own agenda." you exhaled sharply and leaned back against the wall. "this isn’t just about making people appreciate life. this is… something else entirely."
meg gestured to the case files scattered across her desk. "we’ve got a connection between kramer and amanda. if we’re chasing leads, matthew sturniolo’s our best shot. kramer groomed amanda; who’s to say amanda didn’t groom someone else before she died?"
the thought made your stomach churn. the idea of this violence being passed down like some twisted legacy was almost too much to bear. "what do we even ask him? 'did your dead girlfriend turn you into a serial killer?' he won’t talk to us unless we’ve got something solid."
"that’s why we play nice at first," meg said. "let’s see what he says when we bring up amanda."
before you could respond, meg’s phone buzzed on the desk. a text from jasmine:
“you got it”
“i’ll send the results tomorrow”
"jasmine’s on it," meg said, showing meg the message. "if the voice changer gives us anything—an accent, background noise, whatever—we might have a starting point."
meg glanced at the clock. "it’s late. let’s get some sleep and visit sturniolo first thing. whoever’s behind this, they’re escalating. if we don’t move fast, there’s going to be another victim."
you nodded, gathering up the files. "escalating or not, they’re sloppy. whoever this is doesn’t have kramer’s precision. that might be their undoing."
⌞an oneshot of chris getting jealous because of one boy.⌝
chris and angel’s relationship was a tangled mess of mixed signals and uneven boundaries, they weren’t officially dating, but they weren’t just friends either. chris enjoyed a level of freedom that angel was denied. while chris was allowed to hook up with other girls without repercussions, angel couldn’t even entertain casual conversations with other boys from her class without facing chris’s possessiveness. if she did, he made it a point to remind everyone that she is “taken”, even though he never committed to her in the same way/ this double standard created a dynamic where angel was unsure of her place in the boy’s life, while he indulged in the best of both worlds.
𝜗𝜚
mac miller’s "jump" hums softly in the background, the faint beat filling the quiet room. angel is lying on chris’s bed, her dark hair fanned out against the white pillow. his hand is tracing lazy circles over the tattoo on her arm, the barbed wire one. it’s not sweet, though. nothing about chris is sweet. it’s more like a reminder—his touch, the way his hand grips hers tighter when she moves to adjust. like he owns her.
angel doesn’t say anything because she’s used to this. used to how her world bends around him. it’s always like this—his rules, his terms.
his lips trail down her jaw, his free hand slipping under the strap of her tank top. her chest rises and falls, her breath shaky as she gets lost in the feeling. it’s confusing. it always is. she knows she shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t want him, but she does.
“ya still let that kid do this to ya?” he mutters, his voice thick with that unmistakable boston drawl. the words come out half-teasing, half-something else. something sharper.
angel glances at him, trying not to smile. “you gonna complain about my tattoos again?”
“nah,” he says, but his smirk is wicked, like he’s thinking about a million things he’ll never say out loud. “just sayin’, though. this one? it’s a little on the nose, don’t ya think?”
his lips brush the edge of her jaw, and her breath catches. it’s always like this with chris—soft enough to keep her hooked, but not enough to ever feel safe.
her phone buzzes against the bed. she ignores it, but of course, chris doesn’t.
“who’s textin’ ya?” he asks, his voice tightening. his hand stills on her arm, gripping it just firm enough to make a point.
“no one,” angel lies, her chest tightening. “it’s nothing.”
but he’s already grabbing her phone. “lemme see.”
“chris—” she protests, but his eyes are locked on the screen, his smirk growing into something almost cruel.
“who the hell’s this kid?” he scoffs, holding up the phone so she can see. it’s just a text from some guy in her class, asking for help with homework.
“he’s nobody,” angel says quickly, reaching for her phone, but he yanks it out of reach.
“‘nobody,’ huh?” chris drawls, raising a brow. “then why’s he hittin’ ya up? what does he want, huh? some extra credit?”
“it’s not like that,” she says, but she knows it’s pointless.
he chuckles darkly, shaking his head. “nah, nah. don’t worry, babe. i’ll take care’a this for ya.”
before she can stop him, he angles the phone and snaps a picture—a low, gritty shot of his hand gripping her left tit, the tattoos, the messy bed, everything screaming off-limits.
“there,” he says, sending the pic to the guy without hesitation. “that oughta shut him up.”
“chris, what the hell?” angel hisses, snatching her phone back.
he shrugs, leaning back against the pillows like he’s got all the time in the world. “what? i’m just helpin’ ya out. ain’t no guy gonna be textin’ my girl. ’cept, y’know, you ain’t my girl.”
his smirk deepens, like he’s proud of the way he’s got her all tied up in knots. angel stares at him, her pulse racing. she wants to be mad, to tell him off, but then he pulls her down again, his lips crashing against hers, and all those thoughts just dissolve.
because no matter how messed up he is—no matter how messed up they are—she’s still his. whether she likes it or not.
a/n... i've watched 'saw 2', "saw 3', 'saw 6' and 'saw: the final chapter" and now i'm watching the first 'saw' movie... what the fuck.
ᯓ TAGS: @strnilolover
(big thanks to gabby cuz she gave me this idea i love u girl x)
dededos
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