#deathscenes

[sacredeeer]

horse  shoes  on  foliage  ,       falling  silent  ,  but  the  huffs  and  pants  of  the  riders  and  their  mounts  continued  .  he  readjusted  his  hat  ,  and  turned  to  face  the  stranger  who  had  joined  in  on  the  bloodshed  .  uneasy  still  ,  his  gun  remained  in  hand  .

                                          𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒔                @deathscenes :  ❛ i think time spent doing this is time well spent. ❜

"  ridin'  ?  shootin'  ?  or  killin  ?  "        an  accusation  underneath  .        "  'cause  you  just  did  a  damn  whole  lot  of  all  of  that  .  "       gravel  in  voice  ,  either  from  shouting  ,  the  breathlessness  ,  or  the  oppressive  feeling  he  wanted  to  overwhelm  the  stranger  with  .

"  why  you  help  me  ?  "        still  accusing  .       "  for  a  good  time  ?  "

[janedoez]

STARTER . . . ↬ @deathscenes . . . for jonboy raw .

nearly six feet of trouble in a seven foot heel, calamity towers over those who come and go in the lobby. there's really no reason for her to still be wearing them ( or the rest of her stripperific getup, ) but that's precisely why she keeps them on. a power thing. a power trip, as everything is with her. she strides over to her new buddy jon with a baggie of ice from the bar in hand.

❝  ― how's about some ice, rocky ?  ❞ he's sporting quite a shiner, but as the cliche goes . . . you should see the other guy. though she'd prefer to never see the likes of dill ever again.

there's a small part of her that pities jon. she doesn't care much about her own job being lost, ( hollywood is a fuckin' cesspool. she'd rather be a roadside attraction. ) but the movies and shit he's into feel like a big deal. to show solidarity, she sinks down into a squat, shaking the ice at him.

❝  you must've been itchin' for a chance to go after that bastard.  ❞ a crude grin splits her face in two. ❝  was it worth losin' your name in the post-credit roll ? ❞

[crimescend]

@deathscenes — jonboy says : “i’m the asshole? what does that make you then?”

teresa’s initial thought is to be offended. brows set firmly, arms cross her chest, “first of all that’s rude.” unfortunately there is little room to argue, plenty of people in hell’s half acre would agree. (she can list them if he asks)

“second of all, i never said i wasn’t one.” teresa’ll be the first to admit she's a migraine tied together in a skin that doesn’t fit right. her eyes move toward the window, watching as rome’s neon sign flickers, vacancy held between blinks.

brushing her hair out of her face, teresa considers jon, “another dead body was found the other day and now you’re back,” she turns the guestbook toward him, slides a pen between the crease, “i’d say that’s convenient but i’m no cop.” not dumb enough to be.

[furiouslywriting]

Writing prompts: last words

Revealing a secret

"I- I love-" *dies*

A(healthy): This isn't the end. I'll see you soon. B(dying): take your time, love.

Tries to speak but can't even get a sound out

B: is it over? A(lying): it's over. Rest

B: is it over? A(telling the truth): yes, rest now.

A: please. Please don't leave me. B:I'll never leave you. (A or B could be dying here)

B: I- I don't want to leave you. A: shhh, it's ok. I'll be ok.

B: don't forget me. A: I could never forget you

A: I'll never forget you. B: who could? I'm fantastic

Tries to reveal a secret but can't

Won't reveal a secret

A: no. No! Look at me! B: *smiles groggily* thank you

B: I know you never loved me. A: shhh. B: but I love you. I've never love anything as much as y-

B:I'm glad it's you. I'm sorry, but I'm glad. A: *sobs as they stab/shoot B*

[raskolnikoffnbksawyer]

Miss May (Chuckie) Dasparro, age 32, a prostitute. Killed by Leroy Harris Geiger, age 24, in a parking lot at Sixth & Maple St. off of Skid Row L.A. Calif. 2-26-46. He hit her, stuffed his handkerchief into her mouth in an attempt to still her wierd cries. Then ripped her clothes off and stabbed her 22 times with a knife. He was arrested and sentenced to life. 5-13-46 S.Q. From Death Scenes, A Homicide detective’s scrapbook, Feral House, 1996.

[herwest]

open starter // @deathscenes !

❛  my husband is too drunk to know when a woman is in need. ❜ which was how she liked it. dark eyes shifted towards the older man snoring in the corner, a drink still in hand, threatening to spill on the velvet sofa. one might think he was on more than just whiskey but . . . nobody could know for sure. she leaned forward into the bar, putting the end of her cigarette into the flame that was so graciously offered. she had asked the stranger, but never considered a world where a gentlemen would refuse. once lit, a cloud of smoke erupted, and so did a smile. she waved her hand, dispersing the swirl of grey so she could see him better. once she smiled, the gold around her front tooth glimmered. ❛  thank you, señor. . . ? ❜

accepting .

[deadwest]

open starter // @deathscenes !

❛ that's a nice ride you got there. ❜ john wasn't completely shy to the fact that he had been observing from a distance. although the timing wasn't as . . . odd as one may assume. he had caught a glance only a few moments ago, deciding to make his presence known and step outside of the . . . shadows ? crowd ? he wasn't entirely sure how he would be perceived. && he very well could be brushed off as . . . just another voice carried in the wind.

accepting .

[handspike]

@deathscenes said, “i'm  sorry  i  frightened  you.”

it's  unexpected  -  they  are  watching  the  sunrise  from  the  dock.  they  are  shrouded  by  the  storage  containers.  these  are  massive  shipments,  and  there  won't  be  one  today.  there  is  safety  in  this  knowledge.  they  know  what  to  do  and  when  to  do  it,  where  to  go,  and  how  to  go  about  it.  silver  lining  to  finding  a  way  out,  they  knew  when  to  take  their  exit. 

“i  forgive  you.”  they've  swapped  cars  already.  she's  washed  the  blood  from  her  cheeks,  and  now  she's  wearing  his  jacket.  "you  were  scared.”  she  still  needs  to  change  her  shirt.  “you  didn't  trust  me.”

this  is  a  break,  nothing  more.  they've  gone  over  one  stateline  already.  two  more  and  they  were  home  free.  they  could  make  a  pit  stop  later,  when  they  were  farther  out  in  the  sticks. 

“i'm  sorry  too.”  she  is  bathed  in  sunshine,  she  looks  away  from  blinding  light,  towards  him,  “can  we  trust  each  other,  jon?”