#saw writing

[gambitsheart]

an unnamed lawrence gordon analysis piece

summary: just a gutwrenching character analysis of lawrence gordon and his grief and guilt over the events of saw 2004. proceed with caution /lh

word count: 1.5k

content: no major warnings!! second person perspective from lawrence's perspective. enjoy!

-

you told yourself this was the end of this, that you were done with all this nonsense. that last time was the last time you would step out onto the balcony and into the unforgiving cold at half past midnight,

cigarette in hand, lamenting.

although, you didn’t have much of a reason to be mourning the man that you yourself had left to die,

no, you didn’t have a very good reason at all.

and it had been nearly a decade by now anyway.

at least, what you thought might’ve been a decade. you’d spent so much of your time throughout the years in this same routine that you weren’t really sure exactly how long it had been.

not that it mattered much anyway,

because the last time was never the last time,

no matter how many times you said it would be.

you are no stranger to grief or death,

and you are no stranger to this pattern

this brutal, unforgiving pattern of..

well, you weren’t really sure what to call it

all you knew, really, was the bitter taste of a cigarette you’d long since quit when you first met adam stanheight,

and the even more bitter taste of what could have been.

you weren’t entirely sure what it was about him that was so special to you.

you’d met in an old dingy bathroom in the middle of an abandoned warehouse,

shackled to old pipes, meant to kill each other,

so, what could there possibly have been about this manic, anger riddled, bitter boy you’d met in the worst of circumstances, that you just couldn’t let go of?

you find yourself asking yourself this question more often than not,

when you’re staring mindlessly out into the abyss from your balcony,

fiddling with a cigarette you’d been holding for god knows how long, but never smoked.

what was it, what was it really, about this boy you knew for a few hours,

that you just couldn’t let go of?

maybe, it was his attitude.

in your line of work, you seldom had the chance to meet someone with such a devil may care, reckless abandon attitude,

and usually it would have put you off,

but not with adam.

maybe, it was his body.

although you’d never been one for looks, you couldn’t deny that adam stanheight had been the most beautiful boy you’d ever laid eyes on.

maybe, it was his voice.

to many others, you were sure it might come off as annoying, what with his voice being what you would have otherwise described as pitchy had it not been that it was adam. yes, you were sure many people would write him off as annoying.

but not you.

no, not at all.

you’d heard many voices in and out on a daily basis for years,

some of them shrill and overbearing,

some of them monotone and boring,

some of them smooth and charming,

some of them deep and confident,

but none of them quite as sweet as adam stanheight’s.

maybe, it was his compassion.

sure, he came off as aggressive and uncaring at times,

maybe he even came off as cold and pompous a few times,

and maybe he wanted you to think he didn’t care,

maybe he had planned on killing you in that room,

but he didn’t.

no, in fact, adam stanheight hadn’t wanted to kill you at all,

even from the beginning, he was so clearly fighting a battle you knew was impossible for him to win.

you knew the circumstances, you knew his fate even before your tape had finished playing.

but still, he tried.

he comforted you the best he knew how in a situation that seemed hopeless.

maybe, just maybe,

it was none of these things.

no, not quite.

maybe, just maybe,

none of this had mattered at all,

not in that moment,

not until after you had left that bathroom and he was long gone.

maybe, just maybe,

it was the way he had felt in your hands.

it was a brief moment,

a fleeting moment,

yet, one that would never flee your mind,

no matter how many times you tried,

and trust me,

you’ve tried.

tried to forget the stinging feeling of his nails digging into your skin, begging to hold on, just for a little while longer.

tried to forget the mindless motion of your thumb brushing over what would have otherwise been his perfectly soft skin had it not been for those circumstances.

tried to forget the lack of distance between the both of you.

tried to forget the feeling of his laboured breath against your cheek.

tried to forget the burning hot tears rolling down his cheeks and onto your own hand.

tried to forget just how perfect he had felt, even in the most dire situation.

tried to forget, that no matter how much you wished him back,

no matter how much you hated yourself for leaving him in that god awful bathroom,

no matter how many nights you spent sobbing your life away, cigarette in hand,

begging him to come back,

that adam stanheight was not coming back.

you would never feel the perfect warmth of his skin on yours again,

you would never see those perfectly desperate eyes staring deep into yours again,

you would never know what it was like to truly touch adam stanheight,

to love him,

to give him the life he deserved,

to tell him that he was enough.

you would never know who adam stanheight was, not really.

hell, you only knew his last name from your mentor’s notes.

you didn’t even know how old he was when he died.

you didn’t know his favourite colour,

or his favourite bands,

or how he liked his coffee in the morning,

or if he even liked coffee.

you didn’t know if he preferred cats or dogs,

or if he was allergic,

you didn’t know his favourite food,

or what position he slept in at night.

you didn’t know what exactly it was he did for work,

or what his dream job had been.

you didn’t know his parents names,

or if he had siblings,

if they fought like typical siblings.

you didn’t know if he’d ever planned on having kids,

or what his plans were for the future,

if he might have any friends,

or a pet,

or a hobby he really enjoyed.

the more you thought of it,

you didn’t know jackshit about adam stanheight, not really.

but what you did know, you’d fallen so deeply in love with.

you knew his name was adam.

you knew he was around 5 feet 8 inches in height.

you knew he had striking green eyes and tousled brown hair.

you knew he fidgeted when he was nervous, specifically his fingers.

you knew he wanted to fix his relationship with his parents.

you knew he had a recent ex girlfriend, that she'd broken up with him.

you knew he watched a lot of movies, mostly sci-fi or action based on his reaction to waking up with no idea where he was.

you knew he was a photographer.

you knew he didn’t make great money.

you know that he did what he did just to live.

you know that he deserved to live.

you know that those were the screams of a man that wanted to live.

you know that he won.

you know that he was too young to die.

you know that it should have been you left in that room.

you know that you broke your promise.

you know that you were one of the last people to see him alive.

you know that he fell off the face of the earth without a trace.

you know that adam stanheight tried his best.

yes, that’s exactly what he did.

adam stanheight did his best,

and still, he died alone in that room, exactly where you’d left him.

even after all these years, you’re sure that not only did adam stanheight die of starvation and dehydration, he died of these things wondering why.

why had you left him there?

why had you promised him you’d come back if you weren’t going to keep it?

why had you given him a space in which he felt okay to be himself, for once in his absolutely pathetic life, only to rip it away, just like that?

to be entirely honest, you didn’t even have the answer to these questions, no matter how many nights they kept you awake, carving themselves into the back of your brain.

you weren’t entirely sure you wanted the answers anyway.

you’d given enough time to these thoughts,

lord knows you have.

one in particular, though, keeps the gears in that wretched brain of yours turning, even more so than they already do.

the sickening thought that you, dr. lawrence gordon, are the reason adam stanheight is dead.

you are the reason that he never got to live his life,

that you were both deprived of a safe place within each other,

that it is nobody’s fault but your own, and you have absolutely nobody else to blame but yourself.

[vics-chick]

Every body drop your favorite Mark Hoffman fanfics on any platform …. aaaaand GO !!

[wolfintestinez]

“ AN ODE TO NO ONE. ” — 🐞 janie scrabble.

another writing scrabble, but this time it’s relating to my saw oc janie ! it’s the events that take place before one of the apprentices get to her. it kind of goes into her work, and small things about her life, her character. this is really just me trying to get back into some sort of writing skills. bless …

🐞. . . . . . . . .

The latex tightened over her hands with every swift movement, a dreadful feeling if you’d pay too much attention to it. Besides, the day would be over soon and she could toss them right into the trash to worry about a later pair. The hands of the clock ticked in relief, showing that she was only working a few hours overtime. Almost twelve in the morning, and only two were left in the building. Her, and the owner, Mr.weiss. He would be in the service part of the parlor, whereas she’d be in the cold ground floor — basement. It wasn’t such a stark contrast, both still harbored the dead one way or another.

Except, in the brighter territory of the funeral home, everything was comfortably organized. Flowers for every occasion were placed on just about any flat surface. Combinations of blackthorn and lilies, or maybe carnations and orchids. It all depended on the requests of each customer, just as every decoration for the occasion. Each day a new casket sat in waiting; mahogany, oak, spruce. All of different sizes, all sitting in perfect stillness, just as the bodies that rested in them did. Posed to leave the audience with some sort of resolution, though she hardly believed that it worked with all the wailing she could hear from the basement. She never could force her way up there to spectate.

So she stayed to prepare the next display. In the night, usually. Where she could play her cds, keeping it on low volume to be respectful. The music she played never matched the symphonies or hymns that Mr.weiss directed for the occasion, but she handpicked each artist to match the lives laid out on her table. Only being able to assume what they’d enjoy from her collection. The smashing pumpkins played tonight, Mellon collie and the infinite sadness. It was the first album she thought of when glancing upon him. A man in his late thirties, his hair of ragged texture, as if he had neglected to take care of his curl pattern.

Wrinkles ran around his lips, as if a smile was the only thing he had left behind. Crows feet beneath his eyelids from bunching his face up too often. Pale skin put the reference photo she was given to shame. The photo showed the stranger as laid back, a calm grin on his face as he wrapped an arm around someone off the camera. The washed out band tee he wore almost made her feel guilty. He would be buried in a navy blue suit, one that was a little too pristine for him. Ingenuine, but presentable; just as most families aimed for. Still, he seemed like the kind of guy that wouldn’t have even minded. It was only fair that she listen to something he might’ve enjoyed as she carved and embalmed.

Embalming was an invasive procedure, but necessary. Even if she had practically spilled this man’s guts, she didn’t know anything about his life. Just that it was over, and he’d be six feet under tomorrow morning. His mother had chosen lavender and violets, flowers ironically grown to represent peace. She wondered if that was what he was, at peace. With a final glance towards the photo, she pulled herself out of the assumption based envy. A frown pulled at the corners of her lips in slight disappointment, he didn’t even look like the same person. The morgue door swung open in a tired manner, distracting her from her doubts. Mr.weiss, who could only be a few years older than the man on the table, entered.

In her head, she could imagine that the two shared a sense of tranquility for life. She didn’t know how, especially with the kind of role he took in the funeral home. He was the director, the one who faced the grieving widows, children, parents. The ones who had to strive for perfect order, just so the mourning wouldn’t lose their heads over a mishap. They didn’t deserve the heavy task. She could only work behind the scenes, doing the gruesome work of preparation. That was a different kind of remorse on its own.

“How are you holding up down here, freezing yet?” He joked lightly, a quiet kindness toned his words, showing that he was still actually asking. He was a good boss, definitely one of the better ones she had. It was easy to look up to him.

“Always,” She huffed, “but it’s I’d rather be in here than out there.” She nodded towards the wall, gesturing to the jersey winter. It at least helped to insulate the room.

“Well, unfortunately you’re done — aren’t you?” He nodded his own head towards the corpse on the table, already dressed and ready. He was right, meaning her preference towards being inside wouldn’t matter for much longer. She’d still have to trudge the streets all the way back to the apartment complex. With a hum, she pulled the white sheet back over the man’s face. It was odd, to talk about him as if he weren’t even there. She was glad to shuck the gloves off,the cold air seeping back onto her skin as she did so.

”i am.”

“Alright, well, i trust you to lock up,” he shifted the files under his arm, “i promised my wife I’d at least be back before 12:30.”

Janie wandered to the sink to turn the faucet on. She only nodded absentmindedly in response, focusing on the task at hand. She didn’t hold any grudges over him. He had a lot more going on in his life than she did, why argue over the simple task of locking some doors? Unlike some people she knew. He left with a small ‘thank you’, she always said ‘no problem’. When she turned back around to grab hold of a paper towel, she realized just how silent it had gotten.

The cd had long shut off, the songs deciding not to auto-repeat. She was the only soul left, besides the dead guy. Not a single person would happily be lurking around, only the eerie silence lingered in return. With dried hands, she could finally raise them to push her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. The red frames settled back into the corner of her vision, where she’d go cross-eyed trying to look at them. A familiar prick at her spine caused her to jump ahead, reminding her that it was in fact time to go.

With her jacket zipped back up, the scrub wear gone, she was departing. Her messenger bag swung side to side as she shut the lights off to the morgue. She’d come back for her cd another day. It was still early, and even she had a few dull goals to complete. She had to stop by the dollar general closest to her street. It was the only place open late enough half the time. She was sure most of the groceries in her fridge came from there. This time it was cat food she required, having made her own promise to the feline that she hid from the landlord.

A light smile replaced the blank, exhausted expression upon her face. Maybe bandit would enjoy some new treats , she thought as she traipsed up the stairs. Being met with the dark hallway was never a pleasant sight, but it was necessary to get to the front door. All the way from the back of the parlor, she had memorized the steps taken to get out. Past the file rooms, past the office and staff kitchen, and then past the open doored service room. It was always a little disturbing to pass it.

It stood to the right of her, the shadows casted over the seats and podium. In front of it laid the casket, where the dark had planted itself as well. Her gaze flickered way from it and to the front door instead, where she could see the street lamps waiting for her. Sneakers padded across the hard floors, almost rushing to get to the end of their path. Tonight was different. That usual closer paranoia had set in too early, and she found herself unusually glancing back. Halting immediately as one of the doors to the service room turned on its hinges. It took her a moment to decide on the reasoning. Maybe she had hit it with her bag when passing? Subconsciously her hand moved to grip the strap, brows furrowed now and the urge just to check came to mind.

The doors were always left open for a reason, she assumed. With faint steps, she moved towards it. Her trademark quietness now one of fear as she neared the dark opening. Ghosts weren’t real. The parlor was old, older than her and Mr.weiss combined. Silly ideas filled her thoughts as she stepped before the room, only one door left open to peer inside. The dark was still there, nothing too peculiar. Her hand reached for the handle of the closed one, pulling it back open. Just as she set it back into place, rattle of a flower vase distracted her again. Just enough to where she could see it balancing back onto it’s base, by the casket.

It was stupid to even debate going over there. But what if the flowers had gotten ruined? What if they weren’t settled properly? The corpse in the basement would have the possibility of crumpled flowers at his funeral. A disappointing sight to behold , really. Stupid rationalities poised her courage, it had to have been just some shotty placement. Probably Ryan’s fault. With a small sigh, her fear turned towards annoyance at her co-workers laziness. It made the most sense, he never cared for proper decoration. With the little light he had from the windows behind the podium, she could at least fix it.

Stepping further into the room, only to look over her shoulder — as if to make sure that the doors were wide open for her escape. They were. Upon better vision, the room was always put together. All those seats placed in order, the vases lined the room in a delicate but not overcrowding manner, and the religious paraphernalia preferred would’ve hung just above the speaker. There wasn’t a cross in sight this time, for once, she might’ve felt safer with it. Especially as she landed on the casket, the lid closed. It was supposed to be open, for visitation. Wasn’t it just open?

Her eyes were playing tricks on her. She reasoned with hesitate ease, her hands grazing over the wood in a leftover suspicious manner. Suddenly, her subtle paranoia had become a raging alarm. Her heart slammed against her ribcage, as if it were trying to run away — or to get her to do so. Her hand hooked under the lid, and in a mindless, quick motion she lifted it. Empty. Of course it was, what had she even expected?

“Maybe i need to cut it on the zombie flicks,” she mumbled as she went to turn. Her head didn’t get to swivel far enough before a sting met its side. Before she could even holler, leather pressed over her mouth. Kicking was useless. Rigor mortis had set in and her limbs betrayed her thoughts. She slurred over her tongue, as if trying to figure out if she were even still alive or not. The void of the room morphed with her tunnel vision, leaving her last thoughts to be unsure.

[hoffstrap-yuri]

Tagged by @afoxnamedmulder, thank you!

RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Okay so right now I've got:

-Radiationshipping

-Chainshipping Papparazzi

-Needle and Chain (Amanda Young/Fem Lawrence Gordon [Laura Gordon]) Fallout

(Non-saw from here on out)

-I'll Always Protect You

-That's the way you want it

And I'll just tag @cubestrahm since I'm still kind of small here xD

I love yapping so ask away!

[almondpiglet]

ppl were drawing mikus from all over so heres habesha miku and her lil twin sibs rin and len!!

[jjk4isen]

super annoying gojo satoru when a girl comes up to you and asks you if he's your brother even after clearly seeing him grabbing your ass and saying super cheesy lines to you to make you only roll your eyes at him.

and you're stuck dumbfounded because it's not rocket science to figure out that you two are a thing just by looking at the both of you because the clingy bastard is quite literally stuck to you everywhere you go, whining and pleading for yet another kiss after stealing several from you.

and it's the same clinginess that prompts him to answer in your stead "yes actually. we're siblings" he beams a smile at you and you scowl, why the hell is he feeding onto this random girl's delusions like that? can't he take the hint?

you're not done scrutinising him when he grabs your chin with his big ass hands and smashes his lips onto yours, tugging and devouring your mouth into an extra sloppy kiss for the girl to take a hint.

he pulls away, a smirk on his lips as he licks his lips where yours had been a second ago. "is that obvious enough?" he chuckles, eyes never leaving yours as you see the girl storm off in the corner of your eye.

[telltaletypist]

i think people who complain about paragraphs being too long should just read/write screenplays instead. some of us actually enjoy reading

[frownyalfred]

It actually makes a lot of sense that Bruce was one of the few people left standing in the crowd at Haly’s Circus when Dick’s parents died.

Watching two innocent people plummet to their deaths is gruesome. It’s shocking. It can be horribly traumatic, depending on the blunt force trauma of hitting the ground. They might not have died right away. They might have bled and made awful noises that were heard even above the sounds of the crowd.

But Bruce is Batman. Bruce saw his parents get murdered right in front of him. And he knows the sounds and sights of someone dying. He’s hardened himself to stay calm in a situation like that, both through trauma and practice.

I think the image of a young Dick Grayson making eye contact with the one unshaken person in the crowd is chilling. A man standing resolute when everyone else is screaming, sadness etched across his face. But not panic. Not confusion. Resignation, maybe.

[lu-inlondon]

source

[nyancrimew]

[crispyliza]

I've got you all figured out fanartists

[vics-chick]

Hey guys,, I haven’t been on here much these last few days and that’s because of Hurricane Helene. Thankfully we are okay physically after the storm but I am not okay mentally. I live on a dirt road and we couldn’t even see the dirt because of all the trees, limbs, powerlines, and debris covering the road. We were trapped on our dirt road for 3 days before we, as a road, got together with chainsaws to open up one side for us to get through. All of our gas stations have ran out of gas, no stores open. Multiple tornadoes hit around my house but thankfully didn’t hit my house. I’m from Georgia and came here to South Carolina to stay at my mom’s house so I am okay! I’m safe I finally got to eat after eating nothing but a handful of crackers for 3 days. I am not mentally okay after this but just wanted to pop on here to give an update. I know im leaving out some of the effects from the hurricane but it is just too much. Thank you for your patience and support, I’ll hopefully be back on here a lot more in the next few days ! 🤍 everyone stay safe !!

[umblrspectrum]

i love learning cursive just to write text for exactly one character

[sonicman66]

DpxDc fic where Danny is just haunting the Bats and providing memes to the internet whilst being invisible

Because I read a fic ('the curious case of who lives in the walls' by RaccoonRobyn over on ao3) that has Danny chilling in the Wayne Manor's walls and commenting on the Wayne's habits and goings on and i just

Tl;dr danny has a twitter page where he invisibly follows the bats and documents their funny mistakes like a nature documentary.

One day a Gothamite spots a new twitter page on their feed. Its not got a lot of posts, but they're all pictures. And the first one is... Nightwing. Lying on the concrete, face-down, with another bat or bird very obviously laughing at him.

They think nothing of it. They compliment the photoshop for its realism, and move on. Except there's more pictures. All of them, every last one of them, has the Bats and Birds suffering from a trip, fall, a gaffe, a misstep, anything and everything.

And then they find a video

Its clearly a handheld or phone camera, pointed at Robin in an alleyway. Someone starts talking, in a very poor attempt at sounding like David Attenborough, narrating like a wildlife documentary. "Here we see the youngest of the Bat-brood partaking in one of its more private behaviors, unseen and unknown by its kin."

And Robin just. Steps further into the alleyway and gets swarmed by stray cats, all begging for food. He grins and starts feeding them, all whilst narration continues, talking about this like its an animal's behavior.

And they have more. So many more.

A video of Red Hood. He does a fancy gun twirl when nobody's around, bobbles it, and accidentally fires into the ground. He picks it up and acts like nothing happened. But the video sees all.

A video of Batman on a gargoyle on a skyscraper, with shaky footage from clearly around a corner, but on the same level. "Commentary on this specimen has been added in post, for reasons you will soon see. Batman, the patriarch of the Bat-Brood, is incredibly elusive to research, and for good reason." In the video, the camera jolts a little and Batman turns suddenly to the sound of rocks moving. The camera goes still, and Batman scans the area, seemingly seeing nothing. Then, his white eyes turn blue, and he looks directly into the camera. Footage ends.

The acc posts a screenshot of a dm that is very clearly an Oracle sockpuppet. She has sent something along the lines of 'how have you obtained this footage, this is dangerous,' etc etc. His response is 'i am in ur walls lol'

He is not aware of the level of Bat Paranoia this brings out.

[adoringmha]

playing one of those couple drinking games with katsuki and you pick out a card that says deep french kiss your partner, or drink two shots.

“alright,” you put on a fake serious tone, face deadpan, as you focus on everything but your boyfriend. you can feel his gaze on you as you reach for the shot glasses and gasp when he grabs your jaw, gently but firmly and turns you to face him.

his brow is raised, “don’t fuckin’ play with me.”

you smirk as he pulls you in for the kiss, hand still holding you in place, like you would even go anywhere.

the kiss is slow and sensual as he takes his time with you, tongue toying with yours as if he’s learning you for the first time. your hands can’t help but find their home in his hair, making him groan into your mouth as you pull on the strands and scratch his scalp.

he pulls away with a teasing and possessive bite to your bottom lip, eyes trained on it as he caresses where he bit with his thumb, hypnotizing you with his touch.

“we’re ending this game sober, i already told you.”

[thebroccolination]

I FUCKING LOVE THEIR FRIENDSHIP

Just for context, [Helluva Boss spoilers] Blitz and Fizz were childhood friends working at a circus who, due to an explosion, didn’t speak for fifteen years.

And on an unrelated note, Blitz has shown a consistent love for horses throughout the series.

When they rekindle their friendship, this happens:

Blitz’s FACE. FIZZ’S FACE.

There’s no judgment in the world like best friend judgment, and no shamelessness like best friend shamelessness.

I love them so much.