#a blanket and a Lawrence Gordon

[witheringhouls]

I just think he's neat.

[sawtastic-sideblog]

Im playing Disney Dreamlight Valley. Y'all can't tell me Amanda wouldn't eat this game up. She and Adam would compete to see who can get certain characters the quickest. She would love to garden and Adam would always mine and sell the gems to Goofy for all that money. Don't even get me started on the house decorating competition. Lawrence likes Amanda's because it's cozy. Mark sides with Adam to spite Amanda. John comes in and declares Amanda the winner. Her little town is so cute with a little garden by her house. Adam has all his buildings upgraded and makes fun of Amanda fonnot having hers done. Okay I'm done now.

[lambiewrites]

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Camping w/ Saw Characters

Characters included: John Kramer, Amanda Young, Mark Hoffman, Lawrence Gordon, Adam Stanheight. Plus, me and Y/N (because I said so)

Warnings: none, except mentions of smoking, getting hurt?? Idk

Notes: Reader is gender neutral and everything is platonic. Even our relationships with each character (unless otherwise stated in other fics I may write)

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John Kramer: I personally feel like John really enjoys the outdoors and seeing as though we see him chilling on a park bench, sketching his traps 24/7, I feel like he’d really enjoy it. Loves the peacefulness except when everyone (Amanda and Mark) are fighting. Definitely fishing at 7am. Struggling because he may or may not have to sleep on the ground. We definitely bought peepaw as many blankets and sleeping bags as possible. He gets cold so easily, bless his heart. Wants to enjoy the hiking trails but, can’t because he’s either in his wheelchair at this point or it’s just a struggle for him in general. (Mad at me because I complained about my knee the entire time even though I’m perfectly fine.) definitely giving Y/N a lesson on the outdoors.

Lawerence Gordon: Didn’t really want to come but he was sorta forced to. Definitely the group’s medic. Lecturing everyone on where they should and shouldn’t step. Pissed because Adam keeps smoking even in the non smoking areas like the woods where there’s been really bad wildfires. Adam does not care though. Dr.Gordon helped pitch everyone’s tent and tried to tell me and Y/N how we could easily pitch our tents but we didn’t listen. He actively carries the first aid kit literally everywhere. This man also had to pull me out of the fishing creek because I slipped on some rocks and nearly fell in. (He and Adam are sharing a tent shhhh ❤️)

Amanda Young: A little less than thrilled to be here. It’s cold and wet. Plus she had better things to do. Constantly at John’s side making sure he’s not too cold and that he’s enjoying himself. Pitched her own tent and probably is sleeping in it by herself unless Y/N wants to share it. Stays up all night worrying about peepaw and maybe other campers (or bears) Definitely one to tell the darkest, scariest, goriest story at the campfire. Is she fighting with Mark the entire time? Oh yeah probably. Is she yelling at me the entire time? Yes. Is Y/N telling her about their nature knowledge (if that’s your hyperfixations) Yes. Amanda definitely wants to go home but she’s sticking it out for peepaw.

Mark Hoffman: (My favorite camping headcannon to write lmao) Complaining about pitching the tents because no one else can apparently. Honestly would rather die than be out here but, he’s making the most of it. Yes, we do have his ass grilling, why wouldn’t we? It’s his job now. Did we make him make the fire? We did actually. Watched me fall off the rocks and into the creek and did not care. Thought it was funny, wished I had drown. Y/N is the only one who he isn’t mad at (congratulations!). Yet. Secretly enjoys the camping but won’t say anything about it. Probably sleeping in a tent by himself. (Maybe Y/N is sharing it with him?) I have decided that this man physically cannot stand me and that’s okay.

Adam Stanheight: This man has been chain smoking since we got here. Obviously taking as many pictures as he physically can. OF EVERYTHING!!! Tried to help Lawerence set up the tent but got bored. Almost started a forest fire but felt instantly bad. Definitely got a lecture from it. Sits at the fire and makes s’mores. Watched me burn myself trying to roast marshmallows and laughed at me (I deserved it, trust me). Loves the outdoors actually and he’s thrilled to be there. Like a little squirrel running around with his camera ❤️😭✌🏻 Y/N is forcing him to take cute little selfies of them with trees and mountains. We’re hanging up the Polaroids all over the place. We’re gonna look so aesthetic, trust me xoxo

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Notes: This was quickly made and probably shitty but, just bare with me lol this is my first one and I love it. I think it’s funny. A lot of this was pulled from my actual camping trip at the beginning of the month. I hope y’all enjoyed and feel free to request stuff! I love you guys!

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[blueberrypancakesworld]

Lawrence Gordon - In a relationship

Warning : fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, implied smut, chance of mind, loss of a foot

Info : So back at it again with another Saw fic and this time our favorite doctor Lawrence Gordon Ladies and Gentleman. Have fun reading ;)

masterlist

--------------------------

°Loving and Obsessive

°You would meet in medical school, he on his way to becoming a doctor and you a nurse. You would study together in the big library and meet from time to time outside the university. What were initially coffee dates soon became restaurant visits and more romantic gestures from Lawrence. He loved to give you the flirt and tease you until you could finally see each other again.

°The late night learning led to you waking up together in a bed with books and papers spread out and you felt his arm around you as he murmured ,,Good morning" to you. The time between you was full of love and you even thought for a while that you would move in together and get married so lovingly he treated you. So often he had given you gifts, adored you and loved you.

°But when you both finished your studies, it was he who showed up with another woman by his side. A doctor not a nurse like you, it was she he took with him and left you behind. An incident that saw and even took you some time to start working in a hospital always with the fear that you would meet him.

°But with time the pain passed and you seemed to be over it, much to your delight. Until you took a new job in a new hospital and ran into a certain doctor on your ward. ,,Lawrence?" she said in confusion, seeing the man she had once loved as older, handsomer and prettier. But she saw the gold ring on his finger and how he looked at her in surprise and didn't seem to believe that she was here with him.

°But she walked past him, left him standing there and felt him looking after her. But she quickly had to admit to herself that her heart had never stopped beating for him, that she still loved him and that his advances to woo her were becoming more and more obvious. At first it was apologies and gestures, but when he reached for her in the medicine room and she let the door fall shut, it was silent between them.

°His bright eyes went to hers and she saw him watching her again with that loving expression before they kissed and found each other again in the darkness of the room. Knowing that he was married, the relationship between them was stronger than ever. But she noticed that he was becoming more cunning, perhaps even a little arrogant in his work and loved it when she praised him.

°She still loved it when he could give her presents and she was his pretty jewel. Until the incident when he suddenly disappeared and was gone for months he had disappeared during which time you searched for him not giving him up and found out through a couple of relationships how his wife had not been seen either. Had he disappeared?

°No, after months of pain and crying because you thought he had left you after all, someone rang your doorbell at night. Standing at the door in the rain was a frail, aged Lawrence Gordon. There was pain and apology in his gaze before tears came to your eyes and you fell into his arms before calling him in.

°But the biggest shock was when you watched him as his eyes fled from the light that seemed too bright, his different gait and you saw the prosthetic on his foot. How you made him soup and gave him blankets and towels and held him while he stifled his tears and reached for the painkiller instead.

°Since then he had changed and didn't want to tell you what had happened, you helped him to get better as best you could and had long since become so devoted to him that he was your everything and vice versa. But in his new way he had a goal, a goal which he took more seriously than anything else. But at some point you found out yourself what had happened when you met Lawrence with John in your house at night.

°You knew the older man, you had seen him in the hospital and the fact that he was the Jigsaw killer would have almost pulled the rug out from under you if Lawrence hadn't supported you. But since then you've been another piece of the puzzle in the game, you've been the eyes and ears in the hospital, and like Lawrence, you've become more and more absorbed in his new role, his new purpose.

He still loved you and took you, but the ropes with which he tied you up, looked at you and let you hang from the ceiling seemed to get tighter and tighter. His gestures more demanding and more demanding but his voice every time made you lose your mind while you took your role and he gave you everything you wanted. You were his darling.

°You came with him to the meeting of the victims, standing by his side with your hand on his shoulder. How he saw there his walking stick in the hand that you had chosen with him. It only made him more handsome for you and you both pulled the strings like spiders in the background during the games.

°It was you who stood at the end, carrying on the legacy and yet giving yourselves to each other. You took the heart he had and he gave you the love you needed. You were the king and queen in the game.

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@a-writer-on-elm-street

[dustedmagazine]

Dusted Mid-Year 2024, Part III (The Lists)

Winged Wheel

Dusted’s writers picked two for the mid-year exchange, but any of them could easily reel off a dozen or more other favorites.  Find out what else they liked in this collection of lists. 

If you haven’t read Part I or Part II yet, check them out. 

Christian Carey

Arooj Aftab —  Night Reign (Verve)

Richard Baker —  The Tyranny of Fun (NMC)

Kyle Bruckman —  Of Rivers (New Focus)

Madi Diaz —  Weird Feeling (Anti)

Julia Holter —  Something in the Room She Moves (Domino)

Hurray for the Riff Raff —  The Past is Still Alive (Nonesuch)

Vijay Iyer, Linda May Han Oh, Tyshawn Sorey —  Compassion (ECM)

Kali Malone —  All Life Long (Ideologic Organ)

Rosali — Bite Down (Merge)

Caroline Shaw and Sō Percussion —  Rectangles and Circumstance (Nonesuch)

Ches Smith —  Laugh Ash (Pyroclastic)

Waxahatchee —  Tigers Blood (Anti)

Tim Clarke

DIIV — Frog In Boiling Water (Fantasy)

Loma — How Will I Live Without A Body? (Sub Pop)

Jessica Pratt — Here in the Pitch (City Slang)

Jon Mckiel — Hex (You’ve Changed)

Winged Wheel — Big Hotel (12XU)

Corridor — Mimi (Sub Pop)

English Teacher — This Could Be Texas (Island)

Helado Negro — Phasor (4AD)

Ty Segall — Three Bells (Drag City)

The Smile — Wall of Eyes (XL)

Andrew Forell

Arab Strap — I’m totally fine with it 👍 don’t give a fuck anymore 👍 (Rock Action)

Camera Obscura — Look to the East, Look to the West (Merge)

Daryl Groetsch — Above the Shore (self-released)

Drahla — angeltape (Captured Tracks)

Geotic — The Anchorite (Basement’s Basement)

Iceboy Violet, Nueen — You Said You’d Hold my Hand Through the Fire (Hyperdub)

Kim Gordon — The Collective (Matador)

Mick Harvey — Five Ways to Say Goodbye (Mute)

Sandwell District — Where Next? (Point of Departure)

Umbrellas — Fairweather Friend (Slumberland)

Yosa Peit — Gutbuster (Fire)

Reissues:

Brion Gysin — Junk (WEWANTSOUNDS)

These Immortal Souls — Get Lost (Don’t Lie!) Mute

Bryon Hayes

Rosali – Bite Down (Merge)

Winged Wheel – Big Hotel (12xU)

Gastr Del Sol – We Have Dozens of Titles (Drag City)

Beings – There is a Garden (No Quarter)

Ambarchi Berthling Werliin – Dusted II (Drag City)

Sunburned Hand of the Man – Nimbus (Three Lobed)

Water Damage – In E (12xU)

Dun-Dun Band – Pita Parka Pt. 1: Xam Egdub (Ansible Editions)

Gerycz Powers Rolin – Activator (12xU)

Magic Tuber String Band – Needlefall (Thrill Jockey)

Alex Johnson

Rosali — Bite Down (Merge)

RE Seraphin —  Fool’s Mate (Take A Turn/Safe Suburban Home)

Uranium Club —  Infants Under the Bulb (Static Shock)

The Spatulas —  Beehive Mind (Post Present Medium)

Yohei —  Echo You Know (Perpetual Doom)

Pardoner —  Paranoid in Hell (Convulse)

NYSSA —  Shake Me Where I’m Foolish (Six Shooter)

Nowhere Flower —  Ruts the Place (Radical Documents)

Sheer Mag —  Playing Favorites (Third Man)

Cindy Lee —  Diamond Jubilee (Realistik Studios)

Oren Ambachi / Johan Berthling / Andreas Werlin —  Ghosted II (Drag City)

Winged Wheel —  Big Hotel (12XU)

Jennifer Kelly

Rosali—Bite Down (Merge)

Mdou Moctar—Funeral for Justice (Matador)

Mary Timony—Untame the Tiger (Merge)

Myriam Gendron—Mayday (Thrill Jockey)

Lupa Citto—S-T (12XU)

James Elkington & Nathan Salsburg—All Gist (Paradise of Bachelors)

Rail Band—S-T (Mississippi)

Winged Wheel—Big Hotel (12XU)

Six Organs of Admittance—Time is Glass (Drag City)

Split System—Vol. 2 (Goner)

Ian Mathers

The Body & Dis Fig — Orchards of a Futile Heaven (Thrill Jockey)

Broadcast — Spell Blanket: Collected Demos 2006-2009 (Warp)

Cassandra Jenkins — My Light, My Destroyer (Dead Oceans)

Chelsea Wolfe — She Reaches Out to She Reaches Out to She (Loma Vista)

Jessica Moss — For UNRWA (Self released)

Laura Masotto — The Spirit of Things (7K!)

loscil // lawrence english — Chroma (Self released)

Myriam Gendron — Mayday (Feeding Tube/Thrill Jockey)

Polar Inertia — Environment Control (Northern Electronics)

Whitelands — Night-bound Eyes Are Blind to the Day (Sonic Cathedral)

Jim Marks

Ben Allison, Steve Cardenas, and Ted Nash — Tell the Birds I Said Hello: The Music of Herbie Nichols (Sonic Camera)

Mary Halvorson — Cloudward (Nonesuch)

Demian Cabaud — Arbol Adentro (Porta Jazz)

Fabiano do Nascimento and Sam Gendel — The Room (Real World)

Francesco Sensi — In Abstracto (WoW)

James Brandon Lewis Quartet — Transfiguration (Intakt)

James Elkington and Nathan Salsburg — All Gist (Paradise of Bachelors)

Juan Pablo Alcazar — Otro Quatuor Pour La Fin Du Temps (Porta Jazz)

Michele di Toro, Yuri Goloubev, and Hans Mathisen — Trinomics (Calogola)

Tony Moreno Trio — Ballads Volume 1 (Sunnyside)

Patrick Masterson

Cindy Lee — Diamond Jubilee (Realistik)

Chief Keef — Almighty So 2 (43B)

Marika Hackman — Big Sigh (Chrysalis)

Water Damage — In E (12XU)

Oneida — Expensive Air (Joyful Noise)

Winged Wheel — Big Hotel (12XU)

Burial — “Dreamfear / Boy Sent From Above" (XL)

Gouge Away — Deep Sage (Deathwish Inc.)

Blues Ambush — Blues Ambush (Radical Documents)

Tei Shi — Valerie (self-released)

Armand Hammer — BLK LBL (self-released)

Donato Dozzy — Magda (Spazio Disponibile)

Bill Meyer

 أحمد  [Ahmed] —Wood Blues (Astral Spirits)

 أحمد  [Ahmed]—Giant Beauty (Fönstret)

Bill Orcutt Guitar Quartet—Four Guitars Live (Palilalia) 

Itasca—Imitation of War (Paradise of Bachelors) 

Lisa Ullen, Heirloom (Fönstret)

Lumpeks—Polonez (Umlaut) 

Matthew Shipp Trio, New Directions in Jazz Piano Trio (ESP-Disk’)

Olivia Block—The Mountains Pass (Black Truffle)

Oren Ambarchi / Johan Berthling / Andreas Werliin—Ghosted II (Drag City)

Rafael Toral—Spectral Evolution (Moikai) 

The Handover—The Handover (Sublime Frequencies) 

Tomeka Reid Quartet—3x3 (Cuneiform) 

Jonathan Shaw

Bad Breeding—Contempt (Iron Lung)

Fuera de Sektor—Juegos Prohibidos (La Vida Es un Mus)

Cindy Lee—Diamond Jubilee (Realistik Studios)

SUMAC—The Healer (Thrill Jockey)

Thou—Umbilical (Sacred Bones)

VR Sex—“Hard Copy” (Dais)

[apprenticestanheight]

All is Well That Ends Well - Lawrence Gordon x gn! afab! reader - Part IV

Annnnnnnnnd, an hour and eleven minutes later, here's part four!! the next parts will be released on the seventh and fourteenth and then, unless I can manage to get a lot of writing done in not a lot of time, there'll probably be a bit of a delay between the end of The Beginning and the beginning of The Middle (I promise better titles will be created for these sections I am just. I am just terrible at titling and pull stuff out of a hat a lot of the time) but at the latest, the Middle will start in late march-early april.

Fic type - this one is so smutty, but it's also fluffy, so it's fluff that leads up into smut

Warnings - minors,, DO NOT FUCKING INTERACT THANK YOU, oral, cockwarming, edging (kind of??) mentions of the loss of Lawrences foot + prosthetics and pain and itching associated with wearing them too long

A few days pass, and on that Wednesday, after all of your classes were cancelled from a snowstorm, you wake up at eight and make a list with Aurelie over the phone of things you need to grab, organized by room for your own convenience.

For your bedroom you need to get a nightstand, wardrobe, a lamp or two, and better sheets and blankets than the ones you’d had for a decade, which were on their last legs as it were.

For the bathrooms—of which there are two, one in the primary suite and the other across the hall from one of the other two bedrooms—you need shower curtains, bathmats, and small bins to hold random essentials like pads, tampons, Band-Aids and anything else someone might need short notice, as well as trash cans and garbage bags accordingly.

The living and dining rooms are where stuff gets pricey—you need a couch, love seat, rocking chair, coffee table, television and a stand, curtains, maybe a rug and definitely a dining table.

For one of the other two bedrooms, you require an additional bed and curtains so that it can serve as the guest space. For the other of the two bedrooms, you need curtains, bookshelves, a comfy daybed, a desk and a rolling chair so that it can act as a library-slash-office space for studying and reading.

Since you figure Lawrence is working, Aurelie helps you get most of it. A lot of it came from IKEA for the sake of your own convenience but you refused, blatantly, to buy a bed or couch or even so much as a rocking chair from there, so it was a fairly cheap trip.

You grab the bed from the same spot you got the one you’d bought for yourself six months before, when the bed you’d had got lumpy and it became clear just how old it was—a local furniture store that was a twenty minute drive out and did same-day delivery fee at no additional cost.

The rocking chair, couch, coffee table, love seat, wardrobe and daybed were purchased from a furniture store one of your bosses had recommended. It was a forty minute drive from the condo but so worth it as they delivered to your apartment for only an additional $20.

Once the furniture shopping is complete you grab groceries and are home to unload them at half past four, making quick work of it because all you want to do is lie on your couch and make a bad decision or two.

You call Lawrence, exhausted but wanting to test out the couch in more ways than just sitting on the damn thing, at five o’clock on the dot. He answers on the second ring.

“How’d furniture shopping go?” He greets.

You bite your lip to fend off a smile. “Aurelie did it with me—sorry for not calling you, I figured you were working and the places I went to for the bigger things do delivery—and now I’m just sitting, lonely. Kind of want to order take out, honestly, but Aurelie has studying to do and I’m assuming you’re still at work.”

“Just left, actually,” Lawrence says. “I can come over if you’d like? We can talk for a bit and, assuming there are groceries in your fridge today unlike yesterday, I can make dinner. Takeaway is decent but food that takes effort is good, too.”

“I didn’t come close to spending a quarter of the rainy day fund,” you say. “I told myself I’d spend five thousand at most, and I spent close to five thousand, yeah, but still. The way I see it, I have sixty dollars to blow on take out and if you really must cook me dinner, you can do so Friday night. I like things more even and unless you’d prefer that I spent the $60 on weed, I’d really like to see you.”  

Lawrence laughs. “I think I’ve realized what you aim to get from me,” he says. “I thought I’d be the one making those types of calls or coming into the condo with my spare key and groping you while you read whichever book you’re reading at that point in time.”

You laugh seductively. “That’ll come up in the next few weeks, I imagine,” you say. “However, right now I am exhausted, need something in my something and this couch is way too big for one person. Grabbed an L shaped one so that I could take a nap on it on a lazier Sunday afternoon but today was not lazy or a Sunday. Today was productive and if I don’t see you in the next thirty minutes, I will drive my ass back to where I vaguely remember your house being and knock on a door, one that I can only I hope is yours so that I can make the first $2000 you’ll give me on whichever day within the next week so worth your while that it hurts.”

“You’ll get it Saturday,” Lawrence says. “The first installment.”

“Get your ass to this condo or so help me God—”

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” Lawrence laughs. “Mouthing me off is not recommended.”

“There can’t be too many punishments out there. I like it when pain gets involved. Being thrown and smacked around just gets me wet.”

“There are ways to torture you without being aggressive. Be a good puppy and wait for me, yeah?”

You roll your eyes. One sexual encounter a few days prior and he knows, already, that calling you his puppy is the quickest way to get you to submit.

“Yeah, Lawrence,” you say. “Of course.”

“Good,” he says. “You can wait fifteen minutes without touching yourself, can’t you?”

Without meaning to, you grind helplessly against the hem of your jeans.

“Mhm.”

“Good puppy.”

And then the call is done, and you’re going to your bedroom to swap your day clothes for something more comfortable—a black hoodie you’d owned since you started in the PhD program at 26 that you’d accidentally ordered around six sizes too big—and strip of everything else.

You head back into the living room, clad in nothing but a baggy hoodie. It leaves your clit, folds, and breasts open to the wintery cold updraft, which forces you to grab a throw blanket and toss it over your legs.

The ten minutes to proceed those events are spent reading a romance novel that you’d put on your coffee table for decoration, and when you hear the sound of Lawrences spare key entering the slot on the door, you grin.

He closes the door behind him lightly, grins when he meets your gaze, and you look him over.

He looks good in a way that makes you almost insatiable—navy blue button up shirt, black slacks, white doctors coat hanging loosely off his shoulders. His hair is handsomely unkempt, and he looks like the picture of laidback professionalism.

He takes the white coat off, drapes it over the top of your loveseat.

“You look cute,” he says. “Waited for me on the couch the entire time?”

You nod, standing up without thinking twice about it. “You said to wait. I did.”

He steps towards you, intentionally walking slowly. “Are you wearing anything beneath the hoodie, puppy?”

You shake your head. “I’m not. I always wear the hoodie like this—it’s comfortable for me,” it’s a lie, of course, but you just have to hope it’s not a very obvious one.

“Is it really?” He asks. When you bite your lip, he laughs.

“I don’t like liars,” he says. “If you decided to forgo anything beneath it because of me, you’re allowed to be honest. I find honesty preferable to lies, even if the way that you bite your lip and how fucking good you look makes me want to bend you over the arm of the couch and use you to my preference.”

You nod. “I wore it like this for conveniences sake,” you admit. “Was a bit warm, too, and needed to cool off, even though I regretted that almost instantly because it's the fucking winter. Figured you’d have an easier time touching me if I wore nothing underneath the sweater.”

Lawrence takes another step and is finally within arms reach.

“I’ll buy us dinner,” he says. “You can use the sixty for a nice lingerie set if you want, or maybe a few new books, but I have to get you back for thinking of how to dress in a manner that conveniences me.”

“You’re giving me four thousand dollars this month. I am not letting you buy dinner.”

“New rule, then,” he says. “Rule number four: in addition to the four thousand dollars monthly, I get to buy you dinner and gifts whenever I please.”

“You’re only doing that out of spite,” you say pointedly. “You said four thousand was the max amount you could give me while living within your means.”

“I said it was the amount I could give you, not the max amount,” Lawrence says. “Realistically I could afford close to five thousand, but I figured that spoiling you to some extent would come into play at one point or the next, so I rounded down.”

“Fine,” you nod. “I accept the rule. What’s your favorite color?”

“That’s a tie between dark blue, dark green, and maroon,” he says. “Why do you ask?”

You bite your bottom lip lightly. “While I am privy to owning a decent set to feel confident once in a while, I do want it to look so good that you can’t resist the urge to see what’s underneath. Your favorite color is the place to start in figuring that out, one would think.”

He puts one hand on your hip, a smirk kicking up the corner of his mouth. “I won’t be needed at work until nine tomorrow morning,” he says. “I’m going to make this worth it for us both, mm?”

You nod. All you want him to do is either start rubbing your clit while he kisses you, or for his fingers to be in your mouth again.

“Hows the oral fixation?”

“Still doing it’s thing,” you say, biting your lip again. “Why?”

“Be a good puppy for me and kneel, Y/N.”

You do as he says without having to think twice, becoming eye-level with his half hard cock and almost moaning as you look at it.

“What do you wanna do from where you are?” Your gaze goes to his.

Your tongue pokes out from between your lips, and suddenly thoughts of sucking him off cloud your mind entirely.

“Go on, puppy. Speak.”

“Wanna suck you off,” you whisper. “Wanna—oh my God. Lawrence please—”

“Do as you please, puppy,” he whispers. “I’m not gonna tell you no.”

You lean in, smelling him through his pants before you undo the zipper, button, and pull them and his boxers down, taking his half hard cock into your mouth within seconds.

“Good—holy fuck,” Lawrence moans. “Your mouth is amazing.”

You hum in response, tongue finding the underside of his length and setting a pace that clearly drives Lawrence a little insane. When a hand falls to your hair and he sets a pace of his own, you let him, just enjoying the feeling of his cock in your mouth.

He finishes in your mouth a few minutes later, and you swallow his cum without thinking. It makes him laugh even as he apologises for coming so suddenly, wiping what of it had dribbled to your chin after he’s helped you stand.

He presses his thumb against your bottom lip and you take it into your mouth, getting the cum off of it and grinning slightly when he thanks you for the deed.

He sits down on the long end of the couch, having pulled his boxers and his pants back up.  

His gaze meets yours, and he smirks. “C’mere, puppy. Sit on my lap.”

You do as he tells you, sitting on his lap so that your thighs sit on either side of his. His hands find your hips pretty quickly, and all you want to do is kiss him, but you refrain.

“Did Aurelie offer to help, or did you ask?” Lawrence asks.

“I called,” you laugh a bit. “Defeating the hyper independence one phone call at time, I guess. Plus, she wasn’t working and told me to call her if I needed anything. My mind has been pretty fuzzy since last night, when I tried to think of everything I’d need to buy, and I called her to avoid having a breakdown. Without her helping me figure stuff out and then going with me to grab it I would’ve cried a lot more today, to say the least of it.”

“Good,” Lawrence says. “And you called me because you were alone, horny, and needing company?”

You nod. “I know our first—encounter—was the other day, but I just—”

Lawrence nods like he understands, and part of you believes that he does. “Can I kiss you, puppy?”

“Please, Lawrence.”

And then his lips are on yours, and he’s letting you press his back against the couch as your hands cup his face and sit at the bottom end of his neck, and it’s so, so easy to get lost in it.

Lawrences tongue darts out to your bottom lip while one of his hands moves from your hip to your clit, resulting in the sound of a hushed gasp befalling your lips. Lawrence uses it to his advantage, tongue finding its way into your mouth while he rubs excruciatingly slow circles around your clit.

“Lawrence,” you moan, desperately clenching around nothing in order to avoid grinding down onto him. “Oh, Lawrence. Please.”

“Not yet, puppy,” he whispers, pulling away from your lips just enough to talk. “You got a bit mouthy earlier, yeah?”

You bite your lip, nodding slightly.

“Well, I believe I made a point about there being ways to punish you that don’t involve pain?”

“Mm,” you hum. “You’re not going to be needed at work until nine tomorrow, which means—”

“Realistically, I don’t have a need to be home until around one, which means I have you until at least midnight, which is, what? Six and a half hours out?”

“Lawrence—” you whimper. “Please, sir. Please don’t make me wait that long.”

“Aw, you think using an honorific is gonna make me take mercy? Puppy, I love it when you address me as such, but you did this to yourself, yeah? You can’t tell me what to do, sweetness. I’m the one who does the ordering. Be a good puppy for the next thirty minutes and I promise, the punishment stops and the reward begins, okay?”

You clench around air again, nod and let him go back to kissing you.

He kisses you until your head is spinning, and when he pulls away, you find that it’s only been a few minutes. Your head rests on his shoulder as you catch your breath, both of his hands returning to your hips.

“Take my cock out of my boxers for me, yeah?”

“Had you kept the pants and boxers off, it would’ve been easier,” you sass before you can stop yourself.

Lawrences response is a nod, a kiss to the side of your head. “Do as I say, puppy,” he says. “Good puppies get treats, and if you don’t do as I say, you’ll just be punished until midnight, and when I leave, you’ll have gotten a free dinner but sexually? You’ll be dissatisfied for at least another few days.”

“Sorry, Lawrence.” You lift yourself off him and pull his pants and boxers down, waiting for him to do the last of the work before you sit on his lap again, hovering just over his length.

“It’s okay, puppy,” he whispers, kissing your cheekbone. “You’re allowed to stop hovering.”

“If I don’t, then you’ll—I’ll—do you want us to use condoms?”

“I got a vasectomy in October, and Plan B pills are a thing,” he says. “You said you were clear for STIs, so I’m not worried. Go on, Y/N, but only if you’re comfortable.”

You slide yourself onto him, letting yourself be split open by his length, watching the way that he reacts to it.

The way that Lawrence reacts has to be one of the most attractive things you’ve ever seen—he rests his arms on the back of the couch, and as soon as you’ve taken the tip, his head tilts back.

When you’re close to bottoming out, a long, depraved, drawn out “fuck,” falls from his gorgeous lips.

When you do bottom out, you let yourself moan, let your head fall onto Lawrences shoulder.

“Gotta stay still, puppy,” Lawrence says. “No moving, yeah?”

You whimper, biting down onto Lawrences shoulder in order to keep yourself from doing so.

“I know, Y/N. Twenty minutes until six, mm?” He laughs, one hand slipping beneath the sweater you wear. “You can’t react, either. No clenching, no moving, nothing. Biting, moaning, and whimpering are allowed, though. You’re cute when you get needy, so it seems.”

His hand finds your lower stomach and he presses down, and you have to fight every single reactive urge to do as you’ve been told. Instead, you moan lewdly, the pressure of your bite against his clothed shoulder increasing.

“Good puppy,” he praises, his voice a whisper. “Oh, you really are a good listener. You like how this feels?”

“Lawrence,” you moan desperately. “’M sorry about the bite—I’m scared I might’ve bruised.”

You kiss the area of his shoulder you’d bitten while he laughs.

“You’re just doing as I told you, yeah? The pain wasn’t bad compared to the other stuff I’ve been through.”

At that, you remember his foot, or lack thereof, and just how long he's probably been wearing his prosthesis, which just has to hurt by that point. But no, of course you'd completely forgotten about potential discomfort when horny and wanting, though it was something you had taken account for when you'd talked in not-sexually-driven situations.

“Shit!” You curse. “I’m so sorry—I just—”

“I try not to make a huge deal of it,” he says. “It’s really no concern.”

When he finds that you still look a little unsure, he laughs and presses a kiss to your lips. “It’s all right, puppy. I promise, I'm fine. Nothing hurts, aches, or itches as far as my footless leg is concerned, yeah? Just relax for me, mm?”

You nod, still feeling guilty. Lawrence presses a kiss to your forehead and the next twenty minutes are spent with him letting you thrust once or twice every few minutes, his fingers rubbing slow circles around your clit.

When six hits, Lawrence beams. “You’re allowed to move,” he says. “But don’t come yet, yeah? Wanna spread you out on this couch.”

You do as he says, setting a pace that’s just quick enough to make you teeter along the edge within minutes but not enough to come. When Lawrence has had enough, he tells you as much, telling you to get off of him and lie on your back.

You do as he tells you, watching him take off his shirt and tie like it’s a strip show. When finally his lips are on you again, he’s kissing your thighs and making his way to where you need him most.

Once there, he presses a kiss against your clit, then runs his tongue gently through your folds.

“You’re so wet,” he laughs. “You really do get turned on easily, mm?”

Your response comes as a half-laugh, half whimper, and it just eggs Lawrence on. His tongue attaches itself to your clit and you clench around pretty much nothing, one hand finding your nipple beneath the sweater while the other grips the back of the couch like it’s a lifeline.

“Lawrence,” you moan as his lips and tongue move down to your hole. You pinch your nipple between your fingers and Lawence laughs at how desperate you sound for him.

His nose presses against your clit and you grind against him, moaning lewdly. “You're using your fucking nose—ohmygod,” you moan, having a split second wherein you don’t care about how loud you’re being. “Oh, fuck, Lawrence—”

Although he’d only gotten divorced four, maybe five months beforehand, it’s clear that he knows what he’s doing—whether it’s muscle memory from the early days of his marriage or something he’d picked up in the time since his divorce, you’re glad for it.

“Lawrence—ohmyfuckinggod—” you grind against his face and he laughs, nodding slightly.

“Use me, baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to your clit. “Use my mouth, yeah? Don’t worry about anything, just focus on yourself.”

You do as he says, letting yourself set a pace while Lawrrences hands move up to your stomach.

“Fuck, Lawrence,” you moan, inches away from releasing over his face. “Lawrence—I—”

“Go ahead,” he presses his tongue flat against your clit as you grind against him and that’s basically the final straw—when he buries his face in your cunt again, you cum over his face with your thighs pressing against the sides of it, holding him in place slightly.

He stays with you through the aftershocks and comes up to kiss you once all is said and done, and once again—depraved but so fucking hot because you can taste yourself on his tongue. The kiss is intense but also everything you need to relax, and when Lawrence pulls away, you tell him there are wash cloths in the bathroom and that he’s welcome to take a shower if he sees fit, but you’re exhausted and sprawled out over the couch is the way you aim to stay.

He leaves your side and is back twenty minutes later with a damp washcloth, which he runs over your exposed cunt and then himself. He helps you get to standing and leads you to the primary suite, grabbing you a pair of sweatpants and a baggy sweater after locating them easily in your wardrobe. You wobble back to the living room while Lawrence gets dressed again, plopping into the rocking chair you’ve placed in the corner of the room.

Lawrence checks the couch for stains and both of you are surprised to find that there are none, though Lawrence cleans the area anyway before he calls and orders delivery to your apartment.

“I know we said no staying post-coitus,” you murmur. “But—you have until midnight, yeah? Stay for a while.”

Lawrence nods. “I’ll at least stay for a while after dinner,” he says. You stand, sit in the love seat. Lawrence sits down next to you, wraps an arm around your shoulders. “I do want to get to know you more—I feel like we don’t know each other as well as we should.”

You smirk. “I’m entitled to my secrets, and you are to yours.”

“Yes, that is a fair point, but part of me wants to know everything about you that’s not a secret, Y/N.”

“Don’t forget one of the first rules we made—you’re not allowed to fall in love with me.”

“I wouldn’t hate loving you in the platonic sense of the word,” Lawrence says. “That’s what I aim to do.”

You hum, press a kiss to his shoulder. “’Mkay,” you nod. “Loving me platonically is allowed, says the judge of whatever the fuck this is going to turn into.”

Lawrence laughs.

For a split second, you feel the urge to freeze the moment in time, to treasure the simple domesticity of it.

You want to stay in that pocket of time forever, Lawrences arm wrapped around your shoulders, your cheek pressed just above his chest, so blissful that nothing else in the world matters to you or him, so well hidden away from the rest of the world that nothing can find you or be bothered with looking.

You brush it off quickly—the first rule of the agreement had been that you weren’t allowed to fall in love with each other. You were not going to start falling for a man you could not have, one that would not want you in turn.

[starsailores]

Lucas my beloved Lucas! I am here to regale you with the fact that I understand why they called Saw, well, Saw. Weather is changing and I feel like I am one Lawrence Gordon stuck in the saw bathroom with a chain around his ankle having to get it free. Hurts. That said I think I understand him on a carnal level now and if I had to actually saw off my wrist I too would go Dark Mode. Not a fun experience. I want to write Saw fanfic while watching the movie now. Adore you!!!!!!

cats on every level except physical i am sitting with you beneath some crocheted blankets and watching saw while we discuss themes and motifs and eat homemade brownies. defeating the saw-esque agony in any manner available to us

there is something to be said about the painful humanity of the saw franchise, and the relationship between the horror genre and chronic pain, perhaps. perhaps this is an email dm topic for a better day. for now i am simply kissing you

[moonglowmuses]

"hey, you're hogging all of the POPCORN!" adam playfully shoved lawrence before he cuddled up closer again. there was a blanket covering both of their legs, and it was at this moment that adam knew that he could not live without lawrence gordon. he adored him. he was proud to be his boyfriend. THIS WAS A LIFE WORTH LIVING, he wanted to scream at john kramer. he didn't get to be judge, jury, and executioner. not even in his memories. "what is even going on in this movie?" adam teased, knowing that lawrence enjoyed his ROM-COMS, behind closed doors. "it's so hard to follow the plot!"

@lcvenderhcze

[jigsawfcrged]

WIP.

also, as much as i rag on hoffman bc i dislike him so much -- he loved his sister more than anything or anyone else and would've done anything to protect her if he'd known she was in a dangerous / abusive situation. before her death he was a relatively calm and level headed investigator and was always good at his job even if he wasn't always the most sociable of people. he was thorough and worked pretty well with other detectives and had good working relationships with the other detectives, csi and his boss. he wasn't planting evidence or cutting corners in his investigations etc.

even after his sister's death, he relied on the courts and justice system to do the right thing. it was only after seth was released on a technicality that he begins to spiral and veers to the not legal side of things. and while he was 100% fueled by rage and revenge the process of creating the trap, the frame job of jigsaw, everything was methodical and the product of a highly intelligent person. literally the kind of blade used (and later the analysis of the voice on the tape) was the only thing that eventually led people to believe that it was not actually a jigsaw crime.

that being said, the man is incredibly arrogant and as time goes by and he gets this blanket permission to let the inner darkness that he'd tucked away so neatly the majority of his life loose, he becomes more and more craven and more of his sadistic inclinations do shine through. he was never 'tested' (even the so called test that jill did for him was meant to kill him, so it wasn't truly a test) and he craves the mantle of jigsaw for himself - he wants that legacy, even if no one knows it's him behind it all, which leads him to swapping out john's note for amanda with his own so that he can eliminate her as a potential protégé. he doesn't know about logan, and i do believe he knew lawrence was involved because of the surgeries that went into some of the traps that hoffman was involved in, but i don't think he sees gordon as any kind of actual threat to him, but another tool in his arsenal for future traps, so not a direct threat to hfofman's 'inheritance'.

also;

i do headcanon that hoffman was raised in an abusive home, an alcoholid father, a mother that died early on in her children's lives, possibly from abuse or suicide, but he learned early on to curb his own violent tendencies in order to maintain the social expectations, to protect himself and his sister -- he couldn't afford to let them end up in the system, etc. so he had to keep out of trouble. i'm inclined to think that after his sister came of age, he probably did something to cause his father's death - maybe something like tampering with the dad's vehicle or something similar, but he would've waited until his sister was of age so that he didn't have to worry about them being separated or them ending on the streets.

i don't see him going into the military, necessarily, but probably did a tradesman job for a few years until he worked up enough money to start going to university part time and one way or another ended up in the police academy - still attending classes off and on until he obtained a degree or two, if only out of spite to become something more / better than his father ever was.

[asongformydarling]

SAW FANS STOP SCROLLING!!

I have finally updated my time travel au, based on the wonderful @motherdanger ‘s post, and to commemorate I have decided to post the fic so far here on Tumblr.

Now, I highly reccomend you read on Ao3, because this version will not include italics and certain edits, here’s the link to that:

But for convenience sake I thought I’d put it up on here too! So, without further ado,

Save Him. You Can’t.

by asongformydarling

Chapter One

“Rise and Shine, Doctor Gordon.”

Pulsing, agonising pain surges through Lawrence’s body. His head reels as he forces himself across the bathroom floor, cutting through a thick layer of dust and muck. His arms are weak from blood loss, barely able to propel himself forward. Just as he reaches the door, Adam’s echoing screams fading out from behind him, his vision clouds with ashy black, restricting his sight.

Once out the door, Lawrence doesn’t make it far before he gives up, his head limply falls into the warm crook of his arm as his eyes slip shut. As he lay, waiting for what was to come, he helplessly listens to Adam’s horrific screams followed by the echoing ring of the steel door.

When everything fell dark, still, and silent, Lawrence knew it was over. Yet all he could think of was how sorry he was.

-

Lawrence wakes up in bed, the ache from his body remaining from what felt like moments before, but slowly fades to a rhythmic pulse beneath his skin. When he opens his eyes, the room is overexposed, warm summer light shining in rays through his bedroom window and filling his vision with starchy white. His heart excels, leftover panic rushing through his body and burning against his skin. Against the blanket he feels his leg ringing with buzzy pins-and-needles. Once his energy pools back to his stomach in one thick pour, he jolts up and darts his eyes from side to side.

Six in the morning. Or, at least that’s what the bright red letters on his digital alarm clock read. Right now, he’s not sure what to believe. In bed next to him is Alison, her figure calm and still. God, his stomach twists at the sight of her. Guilt and nausea wash over him as he pictures her, helpless, tied, and gagged with a gun to her head all because of his selfishness. How could he be so cruel?

He pinches the bridge of his nose. He can’t remember anything. Well, he remembers the bathroom. He remembers crawling out and he remembers dying, or, he thought he remembered dying. I guess he just lost consciousness, or maybe fell comatose? Either way, something must have happened to bring him here.

He thinks back to medical school, Amnesia. That’s it. This must be some trauma response. He can’t remember his hospital visit, or returning home, but he did. Surely, he did. Because his leg isn’t aching and he’s back in bed and the ringing in his ears has faded to a gentle hum.

His shaky hand falls on Alison’s shoulder, gently nudging her awake.

“Honey?” He coughs. He’s surprised to feel the dryness of his throat, burning as the word trails from his maw.

She rolls over, annoyance clear in her expression as she wipes ample sleep from her eyes.

“What is it, Lawrence?”

“Are you okay, are you—” He trails off, examining her with a furrowed brow. “Where’s Diana?”

This seems to wake her up, her body twists to give him a proper look. “Are you okay? She’s in her room.”

He huffs out a breath of relief before loosely nodding. “She is?”

“Yes? Where else would she be?”

“I can’t— I'm sorry,” He says despite himself. “I’m having a hard time placing anything right now.”

“Larry?”

“How long has it been since—” The end is inferred.

But much to his surprise, the end isn’t inferred. He’s met with a cold, confused stare. Jesus, how long had it been. Long enough that it wasn’t immediately assumed to be the topic of conversation.

“My game?”

“Your—” Her face is split between annoyance and concern. Sometimes, it feels like she can’t feel anything but frustration toward her husband.

Lawrence stares poker-faced, mouth agape. “Alison, my game. The bathroom.”

“I think you need to go back to sleep.” She dismisses.

“What?”

“Lawrence, go back to sleep.”

As she flips over in bed, Lawrence darts up, taking two desperate strides toward the door before it hits him.

Two strides. With his legs. Both of them.

It takes no time for him to drop to a knee and tear up his pant leg, his stomach twisting as he’s met with the sight of a completely untouched foot. A foot he’d let go of what felt like minutes ago. As he rises back to his feet, he leans against the doorframe, feeling light headed.

“Lawrence, Jesus Christ. What’s gotten into you?”

“What day is it?” He asks frantically, turning to meet her gaze with a panic in his eyes so pure it nearly shatters the glass barrier between them.

“Lawrence—”

“Alison, what fucking day is it.”

“Calm down!” She asserts, frustratedly grabbing her flip phone from the wooden bedside table and reading off the date. “The ninth of September.”

Lawrence freezes. His blood runs cold through his veins, an acidic burn chasing from his throat and threatening to show itself. He wobbles from the room, his weight rushing to his head as he blindly stumbles toward the bathroom. The sound of Alison’s voice fades as he keels by the toilet and aims his stream of puke into the bowl, landing it with a disgusting splash.

When Alison walks in, she watches in horror as the doctor dry heaves over the toilet bowl, his arms and legs shaking like a dog.

“Lawrence, what the hell?” She screams, watching with wide eyes.

He crumbles, his legs rising to his chest as he runs firm hands over his tear-stained face. “I can’t— What—” The words die in his throat, falling loose in the air between them and melting away to nothing.

“Are you okay?” She burns, eyes wide with concern.

“No, I’m not. How the hell could I be?”

“What happened?”

“Everything!” He screams, his voice cracking as tears run like lava down his cheeks. “This can’t be real, this can’t be real.”

“Lawrence, you’re scaring me. You aren’t making sense.”

“This isn’t real. There’s an explanation for this.” His voice is muffled, speaking to himself in melody while the room's energy hangs low.

From behind Alison, Diana emerges, her nightgown draped over her as she rubs a hand through knotted hair. “Daddy?”

“Oh, Diana, go back to sleep.” Alison coo’s, gently resting a hand on the young girl's back.

She resists, shrugging her mom’s gentle touch away and focusing dough eyes toward her mess of a father. “What happened to Daddy?”

“He’s okay, honey.” Alison guides, shooting Lawrence a look. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

Diana’s eyes stay on Lawrence for as long as they can while she’s led back down the hall.

The room spins around him, his hands gripping the toilet rim to stabilise his retching stomach. All the pain had faded, the worst pain he’d ever felt in his life. None of it was real. Was it possible that it had been some hyper-realistic dream? There are studied cases just like this, where trauma is translated from dreams. But, this has to be different.

The details were all too real, he could never come up with such an elaborate scheme. The taste, the smell, the fiery pain as he cut through nerves like loose guitar strings. Lawrence Gordon has had a lot of nightmares, but nothing like this. The only way to prove that any of this was real;

Adam.

The name rushes through his mind like a drug, his heavy head sitting straight against his shoulders as he stumbles to his feet.

If he could find Adam, he could lay this to rest. Better yet, if Adam remembers the bathroom, there’s no denying any of it.

He heards through the living room, slipping on his shoes and fumbling with the door lock. The apartment’s hallway seemed to trail on forever, lined with the doors of prestigious, rich, unfaithful men like Lawrence and their cookie cutter families. He rushes toward the elevator and takes it down to the lobby, regarding the doorman as he barrels onto the sidewalk.

The world around him is dark, the morning sun just barely showing over the horizon.

When he makes it to the end of the street, looking disoriented as he rubs a firm hand across his sweating forehead, he’s broken from his trance by the sound of a camera shutter.

A camera shutter.

He whips around, scanning the area with wide eyes. Where is that little shit.

“Adam!” He calls, “God, where are you?”

The crowd is too blurry, meshed together by the cloudy tears in his eyes. His hands cup his face, another distant camera shutter. He’s not sure if he’s making it up, if he’s making any of this up.

The rest of his day was spent in paranoia, eyes darting from side to side as he observed every street corner he passed. He looked awful, messy hair and bile on his shirt. He wasn’t the man he was a day ago, or, today, but last today. This was hard to place, to navigate. Everyone who passed his wavering frame suddenly seemed so threatening, just as much as if they were wearing that grotesque pigs-mask.

He wandered in and out of stores, sitting on benches and sliding down scratchy brick walls. He spent time in the park, staring up at the blue sky, once so beautiful and now reflecting grey onto his boorish skin. The sun came and went, his stomach unfed and his headache unrelenting.

When the moon shone down onto the flickering streetlights and led him home, he’s struck by another camera shutter, this time accompanied by the flash. He wasn’t making this up.

“Hey!” He called out, his eyes catching a glimpse of the grey flannel as the body ducks behind an alley wall.

Without hesitation, he strides forward, desperation in his eyes. Everything felt so vague, but gut wrenching relief pooled into his empty stomach at the sight of the familiar man.

His face becomes clear as he pans around the corner, and for once, Lawrence sees him as the kid he is. Late twenties, spiky hair. He’s young.

“Hey, get away from me, man!” Adam yells, his brow furrowing as an angry hand waves frantically in the air.

“Are you— what happened!” Lawrence’s tone is drained with frustration, he was completely alone. His eyes dart from side to side, sure that he’ll see the threatening frame lurking behind one of these dark corners.

“The fuck are you talking about, man?” Adam retorts.

He shakes his head, eyes piercing through the younger man. Adam, don’t you remember?

“You need to come with me.” Lawrence blurts, disregarding how creepy it comes off.

Adam takes a weary step back, “Hey, man. Back off, okay? I’ve got a knife in my pocket and— I’ll cut you.” That line. Lawrence is reminded of the bathroom. Is Adam aware of how non-intimidating he sounds?

“You’re stalking me. If you’d rather, I could call the cops right now.”

Technically, Adam’s work breaks no laws. There was nothing illegal about taking pictures of someone in public. That aside, he’s got enough of a criminal record, and one more report might be enough to keep him from getting a real job any time soon.

He surveys Lawrence, crossing his arms and giving a fierce look.

“Where do you wanna take me?” He asks before adding a sharp, “—And why?”

“I just wanna talk, trust me, it’s for both of our safety.”

Adam tilts his head. “We can talk, but only if it’s in a public space.”

Lawrence agrees with a quick nod of the head before pointing out toward a lively cafe across the street, “How ‘bout right there?”

This felt all sorts of wrong, but Adam wasn’t necessarily scared of Lawrence. He’d been following him for days and nothing about this prestigious doctor seemed all that intimidating, apart from how much of a douchebag he seemed to be.

He considers this before pressing his lips together and giving a weak nod.

They make quick work of the cross walk, Adam trailing loosely behind with his hands stuffed into his baggy jean pockets while Lawrence ducks into the cafe, seemily nervous of keeping his back turned. Once they reach a table, Adam thumps down into an uncomfortable wooden seat while Lawrence restlessly paces a foot ahead.

“So— care to tell me what the fuck is going on?” Adam jabs, angry and apathetic, maybe Jigsaw was onto something.

“I’m in danger, and so are you.” He warns, his eyes shot downcast.

“Me?” Adam’s face twists with disbelief and annoyance. “Why?”

“I can’t explain it now, you just have to believe me.”

“Why the hell would I believe you?”

Lawrence drags in a long breath, unsure of what to say. There was no use telling the truth.

“We’re being followed. Both of us.”

“By who?” His voice cracks as his furrowed brow surveys the doctor.

“I can’t tell you now, or—” He scans the room. “—here. But I will tell you, I’ll tell you everything you just— I need you to trust me.”

Adam scoffs, allowing his heavy head to roll back against his shoulders. “You’re fuckin’ full of it, man.”

“I know I sound crazy, alright. I’m well aware. But I’m not crazy, I’m—” This is an impossible situation. “I’m a doctor. I graduated top of my class, and I work at Angel of Mercy. Oncologist.” He sighs. “I have a family and numerous degrees. I’m not crazy, and right now, I need you to listen to me very carefully.”

Adam looks convinced, or at least a little more swayed.

“What?”

“Your apartment, it isn’t— it’s not safe. You can’t go back yet.”

He nods slowly. He did leave his door unlocked. He always did.

“If you need somewhere to stay, you can stay with me. We’re better off sticking together.” Lawrence adds.

He could stay at Scott’s, but it isn’t worth the bullshit.

“I think I’m just gonna go home—” He stands from his seat.

In one sweep, Lawrence meets him there, a hand outstretched to latch around his shoulder as he shouts a desperate, “Adam!”

And they fall still. Adam turns, his face twisted to a confused and stunted look. “How do you know my name?”

“I don’t—”

“What the fuck is this? Who are you?” His tone is accusatory, that signature fake-tough-guy act Adam’s mastered.

“Here.” Lawrence rummages through his pockets, pulling out his leather wallet and sliding a key from the card-slot. “This is the extra house key, take it. You know my full name, my address. Stay at my apartment, please. If when you’re there you feel threatened, run to the police for all I care. Just trust me.” He pleads out one last time.

After a sigh of consideration, Adam snatches the key from Lawrence’s palm. “Fine.”

“You’ll do it?” He says, surprise soaking his throat.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Lawrence nods, a relieved smile across his exhausted face.

“I don’t live far from here, but we should still be careful.” He mumbles, leading Adam from the cafe.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

That being said, they’re both on edge, Lawrence taking long strides to shorten the walk. His eyes scan every corner for movement.

-

They safely arrive at Lawrence’s apartment after five minutes of cautious walking. When they get to his floor, Lawrence fumbles with his keys and opens the door just long and wide enough for the two of them to slip through and slam it shut behind them.

From the other side, Alison comes rushing toward the entrance with crossed arms and an exasperated look that rings guilt through Lawrence’s stomach.

“Lawrence!” She calls, “Where the hell have you been?”

Her eyes dart anxiously between the two, Adam cowering uncomfortably in the doorway.

Lawrence steps forward. “Honey, I know this is all confusing but now’s not the time to—”

“Who is this?” Her tone is accusatory, as usual.

“This is Adam.”

She stands still for a moment before shaking her head and jabbing forward. “—Elaborate?”

“He’s not safe, and I’m keeping him safe.”

“Larry, are you okay? You sound out of your mind, can’t you hear yourself?”

Adam backs up a little, averting his gaze.

“I know how I sound it’s just— Ali I need you to trust me on this.”

He feels like a broken record, having pleaded those same words over and over again in just one day. That’s all he needs right now. He needs to be believed.

She seethes a sharp breath through her clenched teeth, air catching in her throat and dismissing with a huff. “Just— do whatever you want. I won’t be here to see it.”

“Honey, what do you mean?”

“I mean I’m spending the night at my parents house, and I’m taking Diana with me.” She jabs. “Larry, you’ve been gone all day. I fed her alone, I put her to bed, I reassured her that daddy was coming home. I’ve had enough.”

“Ali—”

“Save it.” She rushes down the hallway to wake Diana, re-emerging with the young girl holding tight to her mothers firm grasp. “We’ll speak tomorrow, Lawrence.” Alison leans close, her voice low. “Sort your shit out.”

With that, the front door slams and they’re off within minutes. Diana stares back at the apartment as she’s dragged toward the elevator, a glimmer of tears in her dough eyes. Lawrence stands stunned, unsure of his next move.

“Jesus, dude.” Adam blurts, his stance wavering.

“Shut up.”

He swallows, the audible gulp filling the otherwise silent room. “Is this— will you guys be okay?”

“We’ll be just fine. This isn’t the first time she’s stormed out like that.”

“Well, I don’t blame her, Larry. You look like shit.”

Lawrence slowly turns to meet the younger. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, seriously. Go change your fuckin’ clothes.” He gestures toward the bile-covered shirt, dried and disgusting. Lawrence couldn’t have cared less this morning, but now he can admit how vile this is.

“Here.” He says, kicking off his shoes and leading Adam toward the living room couch. “Blankets are in the closet there. I’m gonna run and take a quick shower, but I’ll be back down in a minute.”

Adam absent-mindedly nods, looking around the apartment.

Lawrence stumbles up the stairs, shedding his clothes and discarding them in the laundry hamper for Alison to deal with when she’s back. He turns the shower knob, cold water coating his body in an uncomfortable chill. He couldn’t care enough to change the temperature, allowing his body to be engulfed by the icy touch of the spewing water.

He runs a hand through his rough hair, his head falling heavily back onto his shoulders. Everything is moving so fast, today is moving so fast. Did he lock the door, are all the windows shut, are Diana and Alison safe?

Are Diana and Alison safe?

He shouldn’t have let them leave. He should have grabbed Ali and pulled her back inside where it was safe. Where they were both safe. Instead, he watched helplessly as they ran off into the night where God knows what could happen to them.

Last time he did this, Zepp was already in his house. Could he be there now?

There was so much weight on him. He needed to stop all of this. He didn’t go see Carla tonight, which might have taken some Jigsaw weight off his shoulders, though the true reason he was there was because of how unempathetic he acted toward his patients.

Adam, on the other hand, was there for a few reasons. Lawrence recalls the tape.

He lives life on the outskirts, he was suicidal, he was angry. It was up to Lawrence to save him. He’d do anything to change the outcome. One more chance, he thought. One more chance.

Downstairs, Adam walks curiously around the living room. It was big. For an apartment, huge. Adam’s apartment is dingy as hell, lined with clothes and pot and whatever else he didn’t bother to clean. Last night he came home to an eviction notice pinned to his front door, which he could probably correct, but hasn’t yet bothered to touch.

He imagined what it might be like to be Lawrence. As he walks, he pauses at a table of framed pictures. He lifts one, a family photo. In it; Lawrence, Alison and Diana are smiling in front of a Christmas-themed backdrop. They’re all wearing those ugly sweaters and keeping contact in some way, Lawrence holding Diana’s shoulder with one hand and Alison with her arm wrapped tightly around her husband's bicep.

They look happy. Adam can’t imagine what it must feel like to have such a perfect family. A doctor dad, stay at home mom, beautiful daughter. It must be nice. He wonders how Lawrence could allow them to slip away like he has.

He picks up the next photo, Lawrence holding his diploma. He’s younger, his hair gelled back and a little longer, a few strands falling loose against his forehead. He stands proud, a doctor in training. Adam smiles. He’d always yearned for that feeling. He pictures himself in that image, holding his diploma for veterinary school. It was a pipe-dream, but a nice one nonetheless. Either way, he should have known this is where he’d end up. Unemployed highschool dropout staring at a picture of some young, straight, attractive and successful doctor who’s showering upstairs, probably hyping himself up to murder Adam, or something like that.

If that was the case, Adam wouldn’t mind. He’d tried to do it himself. One more thing he’s no good at.

As he’s looking at the picture, he hears footsteps come trailing down the stairs. Quickly, he scrambles to set the photo back with the others and cover his tracks.

“Hello.” Lawrence announces, suspiciously eyeing Adam.

“Hey.”

“What’re you up to down here?”

Adam shrugs, “Just checkin’ out the place.” He says. “Making sure you’re not a serial killer.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Find any serial killer belongings?”

“Well, there’s a knife block in the kitchen, but that’s about it.”

Lawrence chuckles, joining Adam at the photo table. “Ah.” He huffs, lifting the diploma photo. “What a day.” His eyes fall a few inches over to the skewed family picture, the same one he had a copy of in his wallet. The same one Jigsaw replaced with a photo of them gagged and held hostage.

He remembers that day all too well. It was nearing Christmas, Alison and Lawrence eager to shoot for their holiday cards. They’d hired some big agency to come do it, but they cancelled at the last minute and it was up to them to figure it out. They ended up using wrapping paper as a backdrop and Lawrence’s shitty camera on a timer. It turned out well, for what it’s worth. They couldn’t keep Diana from laughing. For a minute there, everything felt perfect.

“Are you thirsty?” Lawrence asks, turning on his heel and dodging away from the table of memories.

Adam shrugs. “Got any beer?”

Lawrence pops open the fridge. “I’ll get you some water.”

Adam doesn’t bother fighting it, falling onto the sofa and staring up at the ceiling. The glass of water was set onto a coaster in front of him as Lawrence took residence on the armchair ahead of him.

“So, ya’ gonna tell me what’s going on?” Adam presses.

Lawrence sighs, intertwining his fingers and resting them on his knee. “I’ll tell you everything, as long as you keep an open mind.”

A beat of silence hangs between them as Adam lets his head fall to the side.

“Well, spit it out then.”

Chapter Two

“Like a Liar Looking For Forgiveness”

“What the fuck.” Adam spits.

Lawrence sits with a stunned expression dancing across his face. He was surprised with himself, having prepared an evasive story and instead spewing the whole damn thing. Now, he’ll take anything, a simple nod of the head would suffice. But, he’s sure it won’t be that easy.

“Let me get this straight.” Adam adjusts himself accusingly. “You expect me to believe that all of this happened, but I don’t remember it. And then— what? You just— Marty McFlyed back here for shits and gigs?”

“Don’t be so daft,” Lawrence exclaims, a frustrated hand pinching at the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t choose to come back, I woke up here.”

“Oh, right. Thanks for the clarification, Lawrence. That’s so much more believable.”

Adam stands, frustratedly pacing back and forth.

“Jesus, now I’ve gotta walk all the way home. Why am I so fucking trusting?” “Adam—”

“—And I’ve gotta talk to my landlord, develop my pictures, feed the cat—”

“You have a cat?”

“No.” He glares. “It’s a stray that hangs around the complex. I feed him.”

“Right.” Lawrence huffs, letting his gaze meet Adam’s once more. “Listen, I can prove it to you.”

Adam looks at him, perplexed, frustration and confusion swirling through his brain as he waves his hand out in front of him. “Then fucking do that!”

He racks his mind, two fingers firmly pinching the bridge of his nose once more. “Well, you said you wanted to be a vet!” He yells, proudly snapping his fingers to a point.

The brunette freezes, his face dropping.

“—You wanted to be a vet but you felt your grades weren’t high enough— ‘said it was a pipe dream.”

“Yeah.” His voice is soft and questioning, a swirl of nausea filling his head. “How did you know that?”

“You told me yourself! And when you were a kid, your friend—” He squints, trying to remember the name. His brain runs dry. “He stabbed you with a nail, right?”

“Scott—”

“Tibbs! Scott Tibbs, that was it!” Lawrence interrupts.

Adam’s mouth is agape as he lightly shakes his head in disbelief.

“You had a girlfriend, feminist vegan punk, yeah? And you’re not on speaking terms with your family, but you’d like to be.”

They’re both quiet, Adam standing still in the centre of the reeling room as Lawrence scoots in closer, a sweet smile tugging at his lips.

“I know you, Adam.”

“I—” His stance wavers, weight shifting from left to right as he runs an uneasy hand over his head. “I need to sit down.”

“You’re staying?”

“I don’t— I guess so?”

Lawrence smiles victoriously and promises a quick return, leaving to fetch a blanket and a few pillows.

“Will this be enough? I’m sorry we don’t have a spare room.”

“This is fine, thanks.”

Adam looks sick, an arm reached around his gut as he stares blankly at the floor panels below him. His mother always told him he was too trusting, which he was, but something here felt different. There’s no way Lawrence could have known those things. It’s a rare collection of information that couldn’t be translated to him by anyone in his life except himself. Or maybe Scott, but he was on tour, and that wouldn’t make sense.

By the time they’d separated Adam was unable to fall asleep, staring up at the bleak ceiling and tasteless house decor. Shadows cast from the busy streets below sent uneasy shivers down his spine. If Lawrence was telling the truth, this was the night they were meant to be taken. This is the home stretch.

-

As the sun creeps over the horizon, Adam slides on his shoes and heads out the apartment door, eagerly rushing to the lobby.

On the way, he tears a cig from the pack and holds it between his lips. with anticipation, hands rummaging through his pockets for a lighter. When he makes it out the complex doors, his head falls back against the wall as an excited thumb ignites the lighter, torching the end of the cig and pulling the smoke down his throat.

The comfort is so warm it soothes his eyes shut, a soft cloud exhaling to the air around him. When the first cigarette burns away between his lips, he lights a second.

The door near his head is swung open, and with courtesy he takes a half-step to the side, allowing room.

“Leaving rather early?” Comes the familiar voice, leaning up next to him against the crisp September air.

“Oh.” Adam turns his attention to Lawrence, “I was coming back in, I was just— I didn’t wanna smoke inside.”

“Yeah.” Lawrence looks anxiously from side to side. “I don’t know how smart it is for us to be out here, though.”

Adam looks over, a mocking expression creeping to his face. “‘Cause of Mr. Pig-mask?”

Lawrence scoffs. “Yeah.”

“It’s early morning, I think we’ll be fine.”

Adam still hasn’t decided whether or not to believe Lawrence. The story’s insane, but the evidence is undeniable. He couldn’t have known those details without having heard it directly from Adam’s mouth. Plus, he fits the part of a confused time traveller. There’s a look of fear in his eyes so genuine it sends shivers running through Adam’s slim frame.

“Better safe than sorry. Though, either way you’re doomed.” He sighs, gesturing to the cigarette between Adam’s fingers.

“God, you really are a doctor, huh?”

“An oncologist at that. I know a thing or two about that garbage.” He sighs, adjusting himself to face Adam. “Do you know how many patients come through my office because of those things? Patients who wish with everything they have to go back and never start in the first place?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Adam takes a drag, the burn dancing on his tongue as he inhales as much of the smoke as his fragile lungs allow. Lawrence watches tediously.

“I can go make breakfast.” He offers before adding, “If you’re hungry.”

Their eyes meet, surveying each other with caution before Adam gently nods. “I could eat.”

“Alright, well, put that out and let’s go.”

Begrudgingly, Adam obliges, rubbing the butt of the cigarette out against the rough brick wall and following Lawrence through the foyer doors and back toward his apartment.

Everything moved slower for Lawrence, feeling as though he was living on borrowed time. Last night was the night they were supposed to be kidnapped, but they weren’t. It’s not like he’d done anything all that different. I mean, sure, he hadn’t met with Carla, and sure, he’d stopped Adam’s stalking; but there was no correcting his lack of empathy in the workplace, and he’s sure he’s not Adam’s first gig.

When they arrive back at the apartment, he’s quick to slip through the door and lock it, sliding a chair up and snuggly resting under the knob.

“Jesus.” Adam sighs.

“Would you rather me not take the correct precautions?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but the words die in his throat.

Lawrence fumbles around the kitchen, popping open the fridge and scanning the shelves thouroughly.

“We have bread for toast, eggs, cereal?”

“Toast is fine.”

Adam sits himself on a counter stool.

“So— what did the bathroom look like?”

Lawrence looks nonchalantly up from the bagged bread and shrugs.

“Old. Abandoned. Everything was disgusting to the touch, especially the pipes.”

“There was open piping?”

“Oh yeah, everywhere. That’s what we were chained to.” He thinks a little harder, the memory feeling fuzzy through his morning haze. “Peeling tile walls, a two-way mirror with a camera behind it, the guy between us.”

“The guy between us?”

“In the centre of the room there was a man with a bullet through his head. In one hand he held the gun, in the other was a tape recorder. We were each given instruction tapes.”

Adam listens intently, morbid curiosity swirling through his gut.

“Well, I know why I was put there,” Adam mumbles, nodding toward his camera on the sofa. “But what about you? The affair?”

“That might have had a part in it but— my tape, it mentioned bad bedside manners. It spoke of my job in the hospital.”

“English?” Adam lulls.

“Telling people their life expectancy.”

“That’s it?”

“Guess so.” Lawrence wraps his knuckles against the counter. “We’ve gotta think, fast. Otherwise what’s stopping us from ending up right back in that bathroom?”

“Well, it was supposed to be last night, yeah? We escaped it, didn’t we?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. The game was carefully curated for us two, I doubt they’re off our case that easily.”

Adam’s eyes nervously flicker toward the door before settling back on Lawrence.

“Okay, so, what do we do?”

“Well, the police aren’t an option, they’ll never believe me. We have to figure this out ourselves.”

“How the hell are we supposed to pull that off?”

“I’ve already got a lot sorted.” Lawrence says as the toast pops up from the slits. He slides them out onto a plate and rubs some butter across them. “The guy who was behind it, I think it was a med student of mine.”

Adam tilts his head. “A student did this?”

“Well he’s definitely involved. His name is Zepp. Real creepy type.”

“How was he involved?”

“He was the guy who came in to end the game.” Lawrence considers adding how Adam had dealt with him, but decided against it. It’d do no good.

“And you can get information on him?” The brunette asks, biting off the corner of his toast.

“I can snoop through his file, but there won’t be much. I believe he’s new to the building.” Lawrence thinks back to the game. “The man in the centre of the room seemed— he hadn’t been there long. It’d be worth while to find out more about him and his connections to it all.”

“‘Fuck you mean his connections? He was dead, wasn’t he?”

“Dead by suicide in the bathroom. Trust me, this was no public restroom. I’m willing to bet whoever put us there owns the building.” He says. “That man must have had a reason to be there. Maybe another test victim? The voice on the tape mentioned there being poison in his blood.”

Adam scoffs, his stomach churning at the thought. “Isn’t that cute.”

“Otherwise, I don’t have any leads.”

As his sentence ends, the quiet sound of beeping is heard from under the table. He’s quick to reach for his pager, apologetically facing back toward Adam.

“I’m being called into work.”

“Seriously?” Adam stuffs some more toast in his mouth. “What was the point of me staying over?”

Lawrence makes his way to the front door, sliding on his work coat and shoes. “I wanted to keep an eye on you. I can drive you home, if you’d like?”

“That’d be nice.”

-

That day at work, Lawrence progresses down the hall as usual. An orderly of his makes quick work of rushing to his side, clipboard in hand as she struggles to keep up with his pace.

“Good morning, Doctor Gordon.”

“Morning Nurse Herrington.”

She taps her nail against her board. “Doctor, there’s a tight schedule today. Dismissive paperwork for our discharge down in four-thirty-six along with two patients who need progress documentation and potential surgical intervention in the chemo wing.” She states, nudging the board toward him. He fastens his pace, partially ignoring her.

“Two patients. Got it.”

Frustratedly, Nurse Herrington sighs. “And Doctor Taylor wants a word with you, when you’re free.”

“Uh huh, yeah.”

“And—”

She’s cut off by the sound of Lawrence’s voice, his hand reaching for his office door.

“Janet, please, give me some space.”

“But Doctor—”

The door is shut. Lawrence moves forward, fumbling through his desk files. A few student nurses are directly under his orders, Zepp included. For that reason, his file should be— there.

He grabs the file, flipping open the pages of thick cardstock and slipping out a thin stack of paper. His eyes scan the page for any help.

Since Zepp is new, he only deals with a couple patients at a time. Currently, he’s in charge of simple upkeep regarding two colon cancer patients. Clipped to the file is his ID photo, which is quick to send a ray of shivers down the doctor's spine. His eyes are buggy and lifeless, head tilted slightly to the side with an eerie smile pulling at his chapped lips. Lawrence feels nothing but anger toward him.

When the time comes, he heads through the chemo wing toward his first patient's room. As it turns out, the two patients he’s checking on today are the very patients stationed with Zepp. He pops open the door, faced with the sick twenty-something year old. She’s early in treatment, looking good for a full recovery. Lawrence smiles as he proceeds through the door.

“Good morning Ms. Stewart.” He greets with a smile.

She returns the favour, fiddling with the edge of her blanket. “G’morning.”

“How’re we feeling today?”

“Better.” Her voice is soft and careful, long brunette hair yet to be affected by the chemo.

Lawrence scribbles across her chart before clipping his pen to the top of the board. The checkup is quick, a typical report with positive feedback and little examination. When he concludes the check up portion, he finds himself drawn back to Zepp.

“You’ve been put under the care of Dr. Hindle, correct?”

“Yeah.” She lulls.

Lawrence nods, inspecting her face. “How’s he been?”

“He’s fine? I don’t know. He’s normal.”

There’s a momentary silence before she speaks up again, this time a little quieter.

“He’s sorta weird. When he talks— I don’t know, there’s something off about him.”

Lawrence’s shoulders untense, relaxed at the knowledge that others agree.

“I can have him removed from your care if you’d like.”

“No, that’s okay! It’s not that big-a-deal.” The patient shifts under her weight as Lawrence lightly nods and tucks his clipboard under his arm.

“Alright, well, that should be it.” He smiles. “I’m glad to see you’re doing better, Ms. Stewart.”

-

The second patient, Mr. Kramer was farther into his disease. Unlike Ms. Stewart, he was unlikely to survive the year. Until then, it was Lawrence’s job to keep his heart beating. He steps into the room.

“Good morning, Mr. Kramer.”

He looks up, his words catching in the back of his throat. There he was, Mr. Kramer, asleep, who was the man he’d been treating for months, the man that laid between Adam and him back in the bathroom.

He takes a moment, his step unsteady as he examines the man in the bed. That was undoubtedly him, Lawrence would recognize him anywhere. How did this man end up in the bathroom? Was it simply one more cruel attempt at upsetting Lawrence, or perhaps a metaphor for how little he cared for his patients, not able to recognize one if he was dead on the floor in front of him. Maybe Jigsaw was right.

Lawrence turns, exiting the room without waking him and barreling through the halls. He needs to protect Mr. Kramer from whatever Zepp was planning. As he rushes down the stretch of steril wasteland, he harshly bumps shoulders with a man just as frantically pacing the area.

“Doctor Gordon.”

“Dr. Hindle.” He keeps himself collected, but his heartbeat races despite himself, pounding against his chest cavity. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

Zepp smiles slyly, nodding toward the end of the hall. “Checking up on Mr. Kramer, sir.”

“Mr. Kramer—” Lawrence gulps, “I’m having you removed from his care.”

“Excuse me?”

“Doctors orders. I’ll assign you a new patient, just— work on your paperwork, please.” He states, shoving past him and right out the door. He needed a breath of air.

Chapter Three

You Built a City (All In Your Head)

9/10/2001

Adam spends his day wasting away in his fuck-ass apartment, doing his best to ignore the eviction notice that plagues his front door. As much as he fought to forget Lawrence’s story, it rotted through his brain and soaked every thought in panic and uncertainty. The truth, which he chooses to disbelieve, is that when Lawrence described the bathroom he’d felt a sense of familiarity that couldn’t be brushed past. Without any prompt, a clear view had come to mind. A large bathroom littered with grime and must, a flash of blood pooled out across the floor, streaming from a bald man’s head. Another man across the room, separated by a row of dingy sinks. He even remembered subtle things like the feeling of drywall between his toes, the cold manacle around his ankle and the smell of something putrid filling the tight space.

He pops his headphones over his ears, letting the music tread from his portable CD player and sink in at max volume.

Shriek the lips across a ragged tongue. Convulsing together, sing violently.

Quickly, he wanders down the hall and through his bedroom door. It was nothing short of a mess, clothes coating the greenish carpet, surfaces layered with trinkets and garbage. His walls are covered in posters, displaying his favourite albums. Hellbilly Redux, Melon Collie and The Infinite Sadness, The Formation of Damnation. The same CD’s lay stacked next to his sheetless mattress, which he plops down on with ease. It’s dark, courtesy of his light cancelling blinds. He’s never been fond of the sun forcing itself into every room.

His head bobs to the music as his hand fumbles for the box of cigarettes next to his bed.

The ragged, they come, and the ragged, they kill. Down in the cool air, I can see.

The relief pools in at the sound of the lighter’s flick. Gently, his head sinks into the pillow and his muscles run loose. Nothing but him, the nicotine, and Rob Zombie.

By midday, Adam’s home phone rings. He’s used to this, an answering machine brimming with worried messages from his deadbeat family. With a groan, he drags himself down the hall, lifts the phone off the receiver and slams it back down, letting the line hang dead.

Adam scoffs under his breath, but before he makes it out of the room, it rings again. He swears it’s louder this time, begging to be answered, flinging itself off the hook.

“Christ.” He grumbles, ripping the phone up and against his ear. “Hello, you’ve reached Adam Faulkner-Stanheight. I can’t come to the phone right now but—”

“Adam?”

He coughs, taken aback. “Lawrence?”

“Were you just pretending to send me to voicemail?”

“I, uh,” He clears his throat, adjusting the phone between his shoulder and his ear. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Do you have a minute?”

“With my busy schedule? What’s up?”

“I think I know who he is.”

The line buzzes. Weak signal.

“I thought you already knew. It’s your coworker, isn’t it?”

“No. Well, yes, he must be involved to some degree, but I think the real Jigsaw killer is a patient of mine. John Kramer.”

“Why would a cancer patient—”

“I don’t know, but he has to be.” His voice wavers, it’s clear even through a glitchy line. “I had an appointment with him, but he was asleep, so I checked back up after my break and—”

Adam waits a moment before he’s sure Lawrence isn’t gonna continue. “And what?”

“His voice was the exact voice used on the tapes. It’s unforgettable.” There’s a brief pause before Lawrence adds. “Can you come over? I think I wanna talk in person.”

“Yeah, sure. I can make that work.”

-

Adam shows up around half an hour after Lawrence’s shift ends. Immediately upon entrance, the mood is sharp. Lawrence slams a file down on the kitchen table as Adam slides off his jacket.

“This is his patient file.” He states.

“What ever happened to hello?”

“Hello. This is his patient file.” Adam rolls his eyes, taking place next to Lawrence at the counter. “There’s gotta be something here. Maybe under cooperation— or visitor history.”

Lawrence continues to ramble, but Adam tunes it out, staring blankly down at the closed file. More specifically, the image pinned to the front.

“Lawrence.”

“—or they could have specified more about his personal life, though at his age it’s rare to have extensive family data under—”

“Lawrence!” He repeats, snapping his gaze up toward the flustered doctor.

“What?”

“This picture—” He weakly gestures toward the image. “This is him?”

The doctor hesitates before nodding, curiosity flooding his throat.

“I recognize him.”

With lack of patience, Lawrence nods him along. “From where? Where do you recognize him from?”

“I don’t—” Adam teeters on his sentence, unsure and cautious. “Was he the man from the bathroom floor?”

A murky silence fills the kitchen, gagging Lawrence of any words. He tears the picture from the clip, studying it closely between his pointer and his thumb.

“Yeah.” He says through disbelief. “Yeah, it— it was.” Lawrence’s eyes meet Adams, who refuses contact. “How did you know that?”

“I don’t know. When you were describing the bathroom to me yesterday I had a vision so clear, only it wasn’t a vision, it— I swear it was a memory. Between us laid a man, and that was him. That was his face.”

Lawrence nods. “You remember?”

“No. Not clearly. It’s foggy as hell and I didn’t think it was real but— ‘guess this confirms it, huh?”

“Guess so.”

There’s a shared silence between them, not awkward or stunted, just comfortable. They both stare down at the image, eyes glazed over and hands still as a surgeon. Lawrence is the first to speak.

“The man in the bathroom, he’d shot himself.”

Adam’s response came slow, quiet. “Yeah.”

The file was bleak. Brief description of his treatment, little of anything else. On the back cover page of the file, in the pocket, was a sheet typed informally, typed by Zepp.

‘Patient, John Kramer, is a survivor of suicidal ideation. His ex-wife, Jill Tuck, runs the addiction clinic in town and was the mother of their unborn son. John Kramer displays excellent skills in media arts, and shows great wisdom in average conversation.’

There was nothing professional about this, was the first thought to cross Lawrence’s mind. This much personal information was never necessary in a medical relationship. Zepp was always getting close with the patients, which is why Lawrence had previously spoken to the hospital about letting him go. That being said, it was more than a little convenient for this situation.

“Survivor of suicidal ideation” Lawrence reads, eyes scanning the sheet before meeting Adam’s. “So, maybe he did just shoot himself?”

Adam shakes his head. “Right before his big game? Seems unlikely.”

“Suicidal people aren’t— they don’t think straight. I’ve seen enough of it at the hospital. He might have seen this as his final show, or something.” Adam scoffs at this, so Lawrence continues. “Besides, he was part of the game. There was poison in his blood. I was meant to use it to poison your cigarette.”

“There’s something off about this.”

“Well, it’s the only sound reason we’ve got. Besides, it would explain the need for Zepp. Someone’s gotta look over the game while the big guy’s gone.”

“Right.”

“His ex-wife runs the addiction clinic. I know that place well. The hospital’s sponsored it more than once, and we’ve recommended a few overdose patients to it post-recovery. That’s interesting.”

“Doesn’t sound that interesting to me.” Adam sighs through heavy lids.

Lawrence clasps his hands across the counter, adjusting himself with a huff of air. “Recovery. Sounds awfully familiar.” He mumbles. “That’s Jigsaw's whole thing, ‘helping’ people recover from whatever wrong thing they’ve done.”

“That’s— true.” His brow furrows. “You think she’s in on it?”

“There’s gotta be a connection there.”

Lawrence slides the sheet back into the folder’s pocket. “This has been surprisingly helpful.”

“Who’da thunk it?”

“I still can’t make sense of it.” The doctor fidgets with his pristine hair, letting a few strands fall out of place. “I mean, why us.”

“Cause I’m a stalker and you’ve got shit bedside manners”

“Right, but there’s people who’ve gotten away with murder? I mean, I’m no different from any of the other doctors in the hospital. The negligence may as well come with the keycard.”

“Yeah but you’re his doctor.” Adam gapes. “He’s got personal beef.”

Lawrence considers this before tapping his nails against the counter and tilting his head. “Then what about you? Why would he care what some college-drop-out is doing with his spare time?”

“Man, tell me what you really think, Lawrence.” His tone is joking, laced with an edge of hurt that only Adam could jab through a wound with such efficiency. Lawrence stumbles on his words.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Your view on me doesn’t make my top twenty priorities at the moment.”

Lawrence slides the file across the table and faces back to Adam triumphantly.

“Well, the good news is, we’re alive. For whatever that’s worth.”

“We are alive.” Adam smiles. “In most time travel movies, that means we’re safe. Though, it’s debatable. The other forty percent say fate is inevitable and even after pushing past death, it’ll always find a way back to you.” He mumbles, miming a gruesome murder with his two hands. When his finger corpse drags itself from the ground, he dips it into his pocket and snags a cigarette.

“Out the window, at least.” Lawrence sighs, past the point of arguing.

“Okay, boss.”

Chapter Four

We Hope Your Rules and Wisdom Choke You

9/10/2001, 11:44 PM

Adam’s eyes are shot wide open, carefully aware of each shadow growing at the ends of his inky room. He used to get this way as a kid, general paranoia with a tendency to spike at night. Throughout his teenage years it was common for him to spend the late hours cornered, lock twisted and waiting for movement under the crack of his door. It’s been a while since he’s felt this panic, but it’s familiar; deeply rooted.

It’s nearly twelve, meaning the day Adam and Lawrence were meant to be tested is almost over. Though, this proves to be haunting as the clock ticks toward a day where fate’s against him.

Ever since Adam was thirteen, around the time his father died, he’s always leaned more toward the fight end of ‘fight or flight.’ Much to his mother’s dismay, every high school argument ended in a black eye or busted lip. In Adam’s mind, it was better this way. He’d rather crack some skin than be seen as a pussy. Now, this doesn’t mean he’d win the fights. He and a few of his douchebag friends would practise in their free time and Adam was often left with the short end of the stick.

In this scenario, Adam’s mind frayed. With a huff, he forgets his naturalistic instinct and ducks out the front door. Tonight, he chose flight.

-

Lawrence left the house at around 11:53 PM, draping his jacket over his nightshirt and slipping into the night. His wife and daughter still hadn’t returned home, but Alison called a few hours back to throw some curse words through the speaker and inevitably slam the line back on the hook. What’s the point? As he descends down the street, he slips his cell from his pocket and dials Adam’s number. It only takes a few rings for a seemingly frantic voice to chime in.

“Lawrence?”

His breaths are fast and the wind in the speaker makes it clear he’s outside.

“Adam, I was wondering if you wanted to come meet me. I’m down Left Stree—”

“Meet me at the bar on Whitney.”

The line goes dead. Lawrence stumbles for thought before making a sharp 180° turn, grinding his heel against the cement and heading straight towards Adam.

By the time he arrives, Adam is perked up at the bar fisting two drinks and making sleazy small talk to the man next to him. The bar is dead, having reached the hour where all that remains is the alcoholic-father types, endlessly falling forward into their glasses.

“Adam!” Lawrence smiles, taking long strides past the sticky tables and toward the recognizable face.

Adam downs his double cranberry and smiles. “Larry! To what do I owe the pleasure?” He follows Lawrence’s gaze to the man at his left before nodding and clicking his tongue. “Right, this is Christopher.”

The hipster-looking guy outstretches a hand, giving an unsettling toothy smile up at the blonde. “Nice to meet you.” He looks to Adam once more, “you’re Adam’s father?”

Both men go pale, stumbling to a response. “You jokester. Lawrence doesn’t look a day over twenty-two.”

Christopher pauses, settling with a closed mouth nod and awkward shuffle to his feet. “I should really get going, did you wanna stop by the bathr—”

“Have a g’night, Chris.” Adam interrupts. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.”

As the seemingly disappointed man drags himself out the door, Adam spins in his stool and slushes back about half of his beef, a sloppy hand coming to wipe away the residue.

“Are you doing alright? What’s this about?” Lawrence asks, gesturing to the drinks.

Adam loosely shrugs, weak eye contact wavering as that familiar alcoholic warmth fills his empty stomach. “I don’t like being home alone anymore. This takes the edge off.”

Lawrence sighs and falls into the seat next to Adam.

“I’m not mopping up any vomit tonight, if that’s what you expect.”

A young bartender bends across the counter, interrupting the men’s shitty banter. “You want something to drink?”

“I’ll take a water.” Lawrence answers before glancing at Adam and correcting himself. “Or, make that two.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

With a harsh blink, Lawrence twists and faces the younger man. “I needed to get out of the house. There’s something off about watching the clock countdown on your death-date.”

“Tell me about it.” Adam groans. “I couldn’t shut my eyes without overthinking. It just feels like I’m on borrowed time.”

“Because that’s exactly it.” Lawrence pauses as he’s handed his water, setting one down in front of Adam. “I stopped back in to see Mr. Kramer again, and he’s still doing fine. He thanked me for the treatment, but there was something in his look that wasn’t right.”

“Well, he is planning your death— so that’s something.”

“You’ve got a point.”

Adam’s smirk fades as he stares into his beer. “Y’know, the more time I sit and let myself think, the more I remember.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Lawrence keeps his eye contact persistent, despite Adam’s reluctance. “What do you remember?”

Adam pauses, unsure of how to phrase his thought. “Was I— was there a point where I was injured? Specifically in my left shoulder?”

More silence absorbs them, Adam feeling uneasy while Lawrence lets a familiar coldness wash over his body. The guilt of shooting Adam is no less persistent now than it was moments after, and facing this is something he can’t bring himself to do. Not yet at least.

“You were shot, yes.”

“By who?”

“By Zepp.”

It doesn’t feel right to lie, but it’s all he could think to do. The truth benefitted nobody.

“Oh.” Adam hums. “It’s like I can still feel it, like a warm sensation all up my arm.”

“Yeah, I feel the same.”

“I never wanna feel like that again.” He admits, speaking through the alcohol. “I’m so scared of being back there. I don't wanna be alone. Not tonight, not ever.”

“You can stay over at my house again, that’s no problem.”

Adam nods, “thank you.”

Once back at Lawrence’s, Adam crashes on the couch. A nausea consumes him as the blonde runs upstairs to take a shower. At this point, it's well past twelve, and they’ve succeeded in surviving the night. Adam can’t tell whether he’s relieved or terrified. Questions absorb his mind, questions he knows he can’t entertain because it’ll only drive him crazy. As Lawrence wraps up in the shower, Adam dozes off. Maybe tomorrow will provide answers, but it’s unlikely.

Adam steps forward into a bleak white void, ground coated in a thin layer of water. He’s unsure how or when he got here, but that’s the least of his worries. Instead, he listens to the sounds around him. The distant sound of a hacksaw clouded by his own loud screaming. He shuts his eyes, squeezing them as tight as he possibly can, hoping that when he opens them—

He’s back in the bathroom, buzzing lights echoing through his ears. His shoulder throbs as he desperately claws across a bloodied floor, overseeing Zepp’s body. In front of him, John Kramer. As Adam stares forward, clouded by fear, the corpse jostles and comes to a stand.

Adam wakes up.

‘It was just a dream,’ he reminds himself. ‘It was just a dream, and it’s over now.’

But no matter how many times he repeats it, it doesn’t make it right. His stomach pooled with that same sensation of déjà vu. Though he can’t rationalise it, he knows it was another memory. Clear as day, the body crawling to a stand before his eyes. In a moment of panic it’s easy to forget your values. Adam reminds himself of being a child and learning to regulate breathing, focusing on the air trailing in through his nose, and out through his mouth.

As Adam calms himself, the stairway light flickers on and Lawrence emerges from the darkness. Adam considers faking sleep, but accepts that eye contact has already been made and there’s little to no wiggle room from here.

“You’re up?” Lawrence asks, standing idly in the corner.

Adam sighs and scoots up, resting on his elbows. “Yeah.”

“You can’t sleep either?”

“Ding-ding.”

Lawrence nods, stepping into the kitchen and flicking on the kettle. “I’m sorry things aren’t better here.”

“Trust me, they are.” He assures through gritted teeth. “If I was at my apartment, I’d have been wheeled out by now.”

“Well, I suppose that’s something.” Lawrence continues in the kitchen as Adam loosely falls back down against the sofa, staring up at the popcorn ceiling. He faintly hums as Lawrence offers him a coffee.

“I think I remembered something new.” Adam admits.

“Really? What is it?” He questions, promptly pausing what he’s doing. “What did you remember?”

“I don’t know if it’s nothing, but it doesn’t feel like nothing.” Adam explains, “I was in the bathroom, exactly like it was in my memory. Only you weren’t there. It was just me and— I think Zepp was there too. But he wasn’t— he was,”

“He was dead.” Lawrence finishes.

“Yeah. He was dead. And just as I started to wake, it looked like the body, the fucking body of your patient it— it looked like it stood up.” Adam’s voice cracks as he squeezes his eyes shut in disgust. “I don’t know, man. It didn’t feel like a fucking dream.”

“It doesn’t sound like it either.” They keep eye contact, Adam’s eyes full of juvenile anger and stress. “When I made it out of the bathroom, I lost all energy in the hall. While I laid there I heard talking and the sound of your screams.” He chokes up, forcing the words out. “Then, I heard the door shut. That’s the last thing I remember.”

“Shit, do you really think he was alive?”

“I don’t know. His head was blown in, it’s impossible. I also can’t see how he could be alive and have poison in his blood?”

“How do you know the blood was his?” Adam perks up, “Besides, if what you said is true, who could have shut the door?”

“You’re right. You have to be right.”

“Wow, I think I need that coffee. I’m pretty worn out from being so damn helpful.”

Lawrence rolls his eyes and stands back up. “Humble yourself.”

“Hey, I’m the one with the psychic dreams!”

“Yeah well, I remember everything.”

The brunette laughs, feeling a tug in his chest. “That’s no help,” he teases, “you left before it got interesting!”

-

9/11/2001, 6:45 PM

Once out of work, Lawrence stops by Adam's house. After receiving no response to his knock, he lets himself in.

Adam is found sitting in his dark room, developing some portfolio shots and humming along to music which blasts through a shitty pair of headphones. When Lawrence steps around the corner, Adam jolts and slides the speaker off his ear.

“Lawrence!” He greets, “Shit, sorry I didn’t hear you.”

Lawrence nods and looks around at the room. “I didn’t know you had this in your apartment.”

“Yeah, um— would you mind?” He gestures to the door.

Lawrence's eyes widen as he quickly fumbles to shut it, letting the light fade from the inky red space. Adam dunks his picture back through the chemical mixture and clips it up onto the wall, hoping it develops.

“You’re very talented.” Lawrence comments as he sifts through a stack of prints. Adam steps closer, cracking a douchey smile.

“You can barely see them. Here.” He guides Lawrence out of the room, letting the hallway light cast onto the prints. Lawrence hums and nods.

“They have an artistic element to them, very creative.”

He can’t help but smile, forcing his hands into his pockets so they don’t fiddle out in front of his chest. “Thanks. I like experimenting with lenses and colours.”

“It pays off, for sure. Who’s this one?”

Adam holds the picture out in front of him. “Oh, that’s Scott up on stage.”

“Rusty nail?”

“That’s the guy.”

“Pretty big audience, is he big?”

A laugh catches in Adams throat as he gently shakes his head. “No, but they’ve got a niche batch of groupies. I couldn’t tell you why, their music’s shit.”

“Well, the photo is nice.”

Lawrence thumbs through the pictures before pausing on one in particular, sliding it out of the stack.

“When did you take this?” He asks, concern clear in his tone as he turns to face Adam.

“Just a few days ago, why?”

Lawrence pauses, staring deeply into the photo.

“Why?” Adam repeats.

“This is Amanda Young.” He specifies, turning the photo to Adam. “She’s a Jigsaw survivor.”

His face goes white as he snatches the photo from his hands. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, she is. I was used as a witness in her police statement. She believes Jigsaw helped her. What’s the context of you taking this photo?”

“She was in my apartment complex, she said she was visiting a friend. Fuck man, are you serious?”

Lawrence furrows his brow and walks out to the living room, Adam closely in tow. “I had a bad feeling about that girl, she must be involved.” He suddenly turns around. “Which day did you take the photo, specific date.”

“It was the day I met you, just before I left.”

Both men sit in silence, Lawrence exhaling deeply and pinching the bridge of his nose. “This whole thing makes me sick. This game is a lot bigger than I thought.”

“Well no shit, fucker has a whole public bathroom.”

“I don’t know how Amanda and Zepp fit into this, but I’m going to find out.”

Adam shakes his head. “Yeah, I mean it can’t be a coincidence, right? She seemed startled too, like she wasn’t expecting to see me.”

“Yeah, no. Definitely not a coincidence.”

Lawrence paces, eagerly forcing an answer from his head, but nothing quite clicks. The two share dinner before packing up and parting ways, Adam giving a sweet smile as he watches Lawrence head home.

Both men find comfort in the company of each other, especially in such a frantic time. Adam can’t quite place the feeling he gets when he speaks to Lawrence, but it’s nothing short of connection and comfort. He feels a little less alone.

Once pulled into his apartment complex's parking lot, Lawrence takes out his phone and dials a buddy of his from the local veterinary clinic.

“Hey, Todd. Look, can I ask a favour?”

[a-la-folie-et-plus]

Live-blogging my first time watching SAW

- oh shit, starts off full on

- my phone’s on 28%, when it dies I have to stop watching because I’m not doing this on full attention

- NO HEAD! NO HEAD! (Early 2000’s gore is surprisingly bearable)

- why is Laurence Gordon kinda…

- I’ve made it through 6 minutes!! Only 1hr37 left to go and then I can say I’ve survived watching SAW

- what if he just…didn’t play the tape lol

- Adam! (The vine reference…it’s…funny to me)

- oh Lawrence KNOWS they’re gonna kill each other

- puppy dog eyes my beloved

- bathroom’s a lot bigger than I always thought it would be, honestly shit’s SPACIOUS

- if they could just waste as much time as possible trying to get this cassette player that would be great thank you

- honestly what did Adam do

- you could just slide the tape but go off I guess

- it would suck to be Adam, like imagine not being the main character, just being brought in for some guy…objectification

- follow your heart —> kiss Adam

- aww the heart on the toilet it kind of bbg, at least he gave them deco

- Adam why would you pass him the hacksaw. He is trying to kill you.

- great job Adam, now only one of you has a weapon and it’s the one actively trying to murder you.

- workers of the world unite, the only thing you have to lose is your…feet

- I mean, I think he died because he got sawed in half, just a crazy guess

- HE TORTURED A GUY BECAUSE HE TRIED TO KILL HIMSELF??

- maybe I’m just dumb but like how does the razor wire kill him? What even is razor wire

- that is not a jigsaw piece, that is a misshapen lump. Let’s not reach at times like these

- if I were him I would just have like…not picked up that candle

- cancelling Jigsaw for not normalising mental illness, I’m getting problematic vibes from this guy

- getting homoerotic vibes from him painting a naked man’s body with flammable liquid, like…did he NEED to be naked? Or was that just a want.

- hate to say it but Gordon kinda looks better all grimed up

- oh that’s that one guy! He’s in like every crime show. This man has Stable Employment.

- short break to flex my unshackled legs, charge my charger and turn on the light

- honestly this is still fine, more interesting than horrible

- someone survived? People can do that?

- how come she got the horrifying bear trap and all they got was ankle cuffs? Kinda sexist ngl

- make your choice?? I feel like it’s a pretty easy choice

- oh shit that’s a grenade

- so wait how did she survive? Surely that’s impossible

- girl now is not the time to faff around

- OH WAIT HE’S ALIVE!!

- she could’ve just killed him, honestly that’s on her

- I’m pretty sure she’s evil but girlboss, honestly

- here comes this fucking guy, Jesus Christ

- girl he did not help you let’s be real here

- lightheaded from nerves but I’m half an hour in

- my smart little detective bb Adam

- this is the most fun I’ve had without lubricant lmaooooo Adam tell em

- if he kills the daughter I’m gonna riot. I better not see that fuckass puppet right now

- he’s kinda a good dad, like that was cute I can’t lie

- is someone gonna ask the daughter what the man said to her?? I feel like you would definitely at least ASK

- I’m a good chunk through this movie and it’s only mildly unsettling, I’m beginning to think I’m just a pussy

- sneaky, ranks are breaking in the spacious bathroom

- I am simply not afraid of a man wearing a blanket

- if he kills them I will stop being able to tolerate this “jigsaw is morally grey” narrative, they did literally nothing wrong

- actually the child’s kinda annoying, why can she only make one noise

- did he only have 3 prior victims or did they only have the budget to show flashbacks of those guys

- I’d love to be an over-dedicated detective, staying back from drinks to eat shitty Chinese takeaway at my desk and stay up all night in a rumpled shirt, running my hands through my hair over ‘evidence’

- oop he knew they were comingggggggg

- in half an hour I gotta go cook my spaghetti

- if the puppet move’s I’m freaking out

- call me crazy but just shoot jigsaw the minute you see he’s gonna screwdriver lobotomise that guy? Clearly this mans is bad

- arresting him is objectively more important

- at least pull the hood back, I swear to god

- again, I cannot be afraid of this caped crusader, Dungeons-and-Dragons-ass villain

- short break for my mental health (mommy came home) then back to it and feeling strong

- rahhhh death metal as the killer escapes, I simply have to vibe

- oh he survived, that’s rad

- it’s zander!!

- the girls are fightinggggggggggggg

- glow in the dark paint are you fucking kidding me this film is so unserious

- so do Adam and Lawrence fuck or what

- I don’t know how to explain this but Lawrence’s face is so Lana del Rey genderswapped

- ewwwwwwww he’s so ugly in a suit😖😭😖😖😭

- oh lawd he crawlin

- what in the fuck is. That

- Adam choking is genuinely the funniest thing I’ve ever seen, genuinely why does he do that

- the acting is killing me, why is this a comedy movie

- Adam’s literallt just an urban photographer

- let me guess, jigsaw’s right there and it’s gonna show him in the flash (wow, crazy)

- come out I’ll kill you! - he says, with no weapon and zero upper body strength (I love my pathetic babygirl)

- how did time go that FAST, goddamn

- oh Jesus, kidnapped child moment

- ohhhhhhhh, shit boutta go DOWN

- I really thought these SAW traps were a time-crunch, in-and-out thing, it feels like these guys have so much downtime

- vigilante Adam arc

- is the picture of Lawrence drinking a smoothie really necessary??

- Lawrence killed a hooker confirmed

- it’s giving Nicki Minaj phone call

- why does Jigsaw, a stalker, hate Adam, also a stalker

- Adam’s just a girlboss trying to survive in this modern economy

- they have made no progress out of this goddamn bathroom, these guys are utterly useless

- how come everyone else gets these crazy punishments for running out of time and theirs is like…he just fucking comes in there and shoots you

- the I Need You was unnecessary and gay

- why am I suddenly feeling the urge to also watch the sequel

- could he stop yelling

- Adam is yelling because he is an empath

- nooooooooooooooooo Adammmmmmmmmm

- bitch the time was up!! He wasn’t going to let you see your wife and kid!!

- I appreciate the bit of fabric covering up his gross leg

- see, just like I said.

- get his ass, baby

- are they about to kiss

- why does he fucking sound like that

- why do I feel like he absolutely WOULD lie to him, that sneaky bitch. Tricksy

- That’s a bigass bullet wound

- so that’s not even jigsaw

- who the fuck is that wait what who the fuck is that

- I thought that was what happened to the key!!

- no way he lay there that still the entire time that’s crazy

- game over lmao that’s so funny he can’t be serious

[jinxthequeergirl]

Hello... umm... can I request some Lawrence Gordon content please? Like... something fluffy?

Ofc ofc ofc i love writing for the good doctor so enjoy this little drabble.

You could hear keys jiggling from outside the door, the lock clicked and the door poped open. Usually you would be quick to perk up at the sound of your boyfriend walking through the door. But you couldn't bring yourself to even sit up today. instead you figured out a way to burry yourself deeper into the couch yanking the blanket higher up over your body.

"Good morning, dear." You heard Lawrence greet as he entered the room. You groaned in response. he chuckled and you felt him brush some hair away from your face, you sighed as his cold hand pressed against your forehead in an attempt to gauge your temperature.

"How are you feeling?" He asked gently rubbing his humb across your cheek.

"Like death, what are you doing home?" You crocked out forcing a smile, he chukled again as he stood up. "I came home to take care of you. "

"Oh...where are you going?" You asked sitting up.

"How does soup sound?" He asked walking to the kitchen. "Lay back down and rest." You smiled at him. You did as he told you laying back down and staring at the tv that played its usual day time programs, all of which lost your intrest within a few minutes. You continued to glance at the kitchen then back at the tv, then to the kitchen again then to the tv.

Finally you huffed and brought yourself to your feet, having a coughing fit while doing so and pulling a blanket around your shoulders and wondered to where your boyfriend was busy throwing things into a pot. "I thought you where laying down?" He asked raising an eyebrow without even turning to you.

"I missed you?" You rasped giving a light cough following it. He smiled at you over his shoulder and stepped away from the stove top and pulled out a seat. "C'mon you shouldn't be waisting your energy standing like that." He lead you to the chair before grabbing a mug from the cupboard and filing it with hot water and a tea bag.

"How was your day?" You asked lazily bouncing the tea bag in the water, watching it bleed in a wispy pattern.

"Same as usual..." He said, you Hummed and blew on your tea the smell wafting back into your face as you did so. "Theres medicine for you on the counter." He added ladling soup into a bowl for you.

"What would I do without you Doctor?" You asked with a grin as he placed the bowl before you on the table. He leaned over you and placed a soft kiss on the top of your head.

"Who knows?" He joked sitting beside you, placing his own bowl infront of himself. You smiled at him as he began eating his soup.

"What?"

"Nothing...I'm just happy you came home is all." He smiled. "Eat up, before it gets cold."

A few hours later he found you asleep in the living room, the late night television programs casting a soft blue glow across your face. He sat himself on theother end, lifting your feet and gentely placing them back down rubbing gentel circles on your legs.

"Hey doc?" You mummbled sitting up to look at him, He hummed in response. You maneuvered so that your head was lying against his shoulder. "I love you." He lied his head against yours, kissing the top of your head. "I love you too."

[samwis]

6 Characters: Mark Hoffman, Eric Matthews, Jill Tuck, Daniel Matthews, Bobby Dagen, Lawrence Gordon?

Push off a cliff: Bobby Dagen (sigh. just. sigh)

Kiss: Jill Tuck (this milf deserves some affection, poor woman)

Marry: Mark Hoffman (oooooh i'm mentally iiiiill~~)

Set on Fire: Eric Matthews (die <3)

Wrap a Blanket around: Daniel Matthews (poor baby !!)

Be Roommates with: Lawrence Gordon (he'd probably be tidy and wouldn't bother me too much. maybe i'd get him to dad me a little bit)

Thank you Téa!!! :D

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Our moment - Chainshipping - Saw

warning : fluff, kissing, smoking, implied/mentioned sex

Info : So this sweet short One-Shot comes from THIS beautiful picture all praise to @covencritter for posting the picture and the text. Because if not this would have not been written. So dear Saw - Fandom and dearest Chainshipper have fun reading :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was peace and quiet between the couple lying calmly in the large double bed. Unaware of the life outside and oblivious to any alarm clocks they had set for themselves.

The empty wine bottle and the various objects scattered around them were just a tip of the iceberg for a night of fun.

A night to celebrate something to celebrate something they should come to. The younger one had stretched out a little like a starfish, his hand still holding the cigarette he had intended to light.

His husband, on the other hand, was lying almost like a dying man in a coffin, straight on his back with his arms loosely beside him, using his doctor's coat as a blanket that didn't quite cover his body, but that didn't seem to have bothered the doctor a few hours ago.

They were fine with the matter and wanted to sleep in if it hadn't been too long. If it wasn't already late in the afternoon and if it wasn't the day the couple were going to pick up a prize.

Until the next loud ring came not from the cell phone but from the doctor's beeper. A sound he knew more than well and had heard for almost a decade.

Knew it was an emergency and knew he had to get to work. A jolt and a murmur came from the blond who broke out of his rigor mortis and groped blindly for the device, still drowsy.

Only limited light penetrated through the drawn curtains and yet it dazzled the older man. A remnant of his past, just like the prosthetic foot next to the bed that he needed to walk.

Finally grasping the small device and holding it in front of his eyes to see something, it took him almost an eternity to understand that it was not an emergency but a memory, an exclamation and a request to get up.

,,What is it-oh no Adam!" what had started as a noisy thought process became a worry and a knowledge that in less than an hour they had to get to the town hall to collect their awards. The panic and adrenaline suddenly pumping through his body seemed to make him wide awake.

When he shook his husband awake, he found it much harder to wake up than he did. ,,Adam! Now wake the fuck up!" he shouted and pulled on his prosthesis to rip the blanket off the black-haired man and push aside the curtains.

,,Mhhh let's sleep," mumbled Adam, who had no intention of getting up for the next few hours. Instead, Lawrence decided to get ready first and take a shower to take care of Adam afterwards.

But while the rushing of the shower and the sounds from outside finally seemed to wake Adam, he was still more than beside himself. He had no idea what was going to happen today or why they had to get up late in the afternoon.

Instead, he calmly reached for his fire and lit his cigarette, which he took into the large kitchen. A glance at the pictures and articles on the wall made him smile.

Is the famous Doctor Gordon having an affair? A sugar baby or just a spontaneous date? he read one of the titles and made himself a coffee, still not thinking about what today was.

While the younger man turned to his caffeine and nicotine-rich breakfast, it was Lawrence who returned from the shower to the bedroom with a towel around his hips and grabbed his glasses before picking out a shirt and suit that would fit.

,,Morning...Doctor," he heard a murmuring voice from Adam and he jerked around. The younger man had leaned against the door to watch his partner get dressed and looked at him with a stunned expression.

,,How can you smoke now? Adam, don't you know what today is? We overslept," Gordon said hastily, slipping into the suit pants that had almost caught in his prosthesis as quickly as he could and sitting down on the bed.

He saw Adam take a moment not to be the quickest thinker in the morning and let out a ,,Fuck!" before inhaling the cigarette in one go and disappearing into the bathroom.

That's right fuck, Lawrence thought and hurried to the kitchen himself to down some caffeine to draw the tiredness out of his body.

His bright eyes behind his glasses looked tired and yet hurried, the ring on his hand with Adam's inscription jingling as he clutched the cup and drank it down in one go. Before hurrying into the bathroom to get ready and telling Adam to hurry up.

Which led to a disagreement that resulted in Gordon's actual blue tie getting water on it and him rushing into the bedroom to find a new one.

What didn't fit with what would? A question that drove him mad, but when he felt the kiss on his cheek and felt Adam next to him, he smiled slightly. ,,Here, take these to go with your glasses," the younger man said, holding out a pair that really did fit better.

Adam got dressed and Lawrence watched him more than once. ,,Your quick wit is remarkable" he said and saw the wink from Adam who reached for the walking stick and handed it to Lawrence while Lawrence held out the pack of cigarettes to Adam and the two took each other's names.

Walking out of the house together and hailing a cab, they both managed to stop at the last moment before the entrance.

Knowing that as soon as they got out there would be a flurry of flashes from the press and photographers waiting for them.

,,Ready, darling?" he asked, seeing the smile on Adam's face, who was nervous at first but now felt comfortable in the storm. With his husband's nod, Lawrence got out first and heard the cameras click. He held the door open for Adam, who stepped out after him.

He heard the shouts of his and Adam's names, heard the questions and couldn't help but smile when he saw Adam's slightly loose hair which, unlike his, suggested some other activity they had been doing. But when he put his arm around Adam's side and hugged him and they both smiled into the camera.

It reminded them both of their first appearance together at the beginning of their relationship, but the love they had felt then had become a marriage.

A marriage that would last forever between the older rich doctor Lawrence Gordon and his younger partner photographer Adam Faulkner Stanheight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@callmeklarise

[springloadedspirals]

“you know adam? i think he should wear a choker i think adam would be much more apealable(?) the gen z masses if he looked like an eboy and he wore a choker and he went to hot topic WITH mandy of course. i think he should wear mascara. wouldn’t he be such a hot shot one direction hot boy if he wore mascara and a choker and he was just everyone’s favorite boy and the most murdered little boy in saw history and i think they should have been alive i think if they would let him hold one hand he he would gain 4 mental health for three days. and i think he would have a deersona. he’s the type of boy where if you were dating him you would be on a dark road and you would see him in your headlights and you would be like “that’s my boy” and he’s covered in mud and blood and i’m like that’s my guy gonna put him in a blanket and take him home in my 1992 (insistent about that) range rover (she doesn’t have a car) and i would just hold him by the fireplace and hold him by the fireplace and you have to remember that we’re already dating (that one whacked me upside the head) and this is only one of his midnight outings at this point i’ve gotten lawrence gordon and he’s always thinking about blood and he’s gonna kill an old man (?) with his diamond doctor tools (??) how does he not go to all his patients and say “i’m gonna kill you” “

- @adamslubricant while totally wasted part 2

i hope the old man is john

[voyeur-in-the-mirror]

Alive for Me

Ship(s): Adam/Lawrence Character(s): Adam Stanheight ; Lawrence Gordon Words: 1,922 Warning(s): Mentions of alcohol ; Mentions of panic/anxiety attacks ; Ask to tag A/N: I’ve been writing this one all day I’m kind of proud of it enjoy

Lawrence was the only thing Adam was alive for.

He'd never openly admit that, though. His pride was too great for him to say that, because it would only let him say that he stood for himself, by himself. For the last twenty-some odd years he has been completely independent, doing what needed to be done to live and doing it pretty damn well, but for the last month and almost a half, he has lost nearly all of his independence because, from what not Lawrence but Dr. Gordon observed, Adam cannot live by himself in that shithole apartment. So, he took it upon himself to come on nights when he's able to easily lie to Allison and say he's going to the hospital just so he can spend the night with Adam and be there in person in case of a nightmare or anxiety attack instead of having to talk him through one through the phone which happened quite frequently.

But despite the reason his fridge is filled with food, his apartment’s warm, and he's not as alone as he used to be, Adam still refuses to call himself dependent because a man like him should be able to take care of himself.

Except he can barely leave his apartment without sparking dreadful anxiety in his system. And he can barely acknowledge the existence of his camera, and he can barely look in that old closet where he found pig head, and he can barely do anything without sparking anxiety so bad he ends up shaking where he stands and hoping Lawrence will pick up the phone.

Lawrence has made it a habit to do that very often, even while at work. Due to the severe mental and physical trauma he had faced, he had been reduced down to just paperwork duty until the hospital deemed that he was stable enough to get his original job back. And honestly, he was fine with this arrangement because it allowed him to be there for Adam when he was needed and for him to call Adam when he needs him.

Unlike Adam, Lawrence was somebody people were always dependent on. He always had Allison and Diana to need him. And now that they were in the middle of a divorce of a relationship he had left because ‘I'm no longer mentally stable for a relationship’ (which was true), he could spend time with Adam who, due to his mental condition, seemed like he needed Lawrence more. So Lawrence could continue feeling needed and Adam could continue living without having to go back to his voyeuristic ways.

When the divorce began going underway, that was when Lawrence decided to (ask Adam if it was okay to) move in. That was about a month after leaving the bathroom, and at first, much to Lawrence's surprise, Adam opposed the idea.

“I was able to live here for years alone before that damn bathroom, I'll be good, man.”

“I'm not a damn baby, I'm fuckin’ fine.”

“Dammit, Lawrence, no!”

But he moved in anyways. Lawrence knew that with every excuse and answer he was given, that his Adam was cracking, tearing at the seams, and knew that if he let Lawrence know that then his humility was showing and he just couldn't let that happen. Lawrence observed that in Adam and was easy to not to push him to talk or, generally, feel. He let Adam think he was fine on his own while secretly supporting him.

The first anxiety attack, courtesy of Adam, was only an hour after coming home from the week-long wait for police in what was supposed to be his tomb. He wasn't awake when he was found by police, having passed out from starvation and blood-loss, but when he woke up in the hospital the next day, he was all but screaming for ‘Dr. Gordon- where the fuck is Lawrence?!”

He had never experienced anxiety attacks nor panic attacks before. Sure, hes felt panic and anxiousness, but he'd never had an attack before. Finally back in his apartment, Adam was back to being alone and having nothing. He thought he'd be able to move on so easily from what had happened, and maybe even forget about Lawrence despite his screaming for him in the hospital and the screaming for him in the back of his head. He was proven wrong, though, an hour later when he decided to step into his own bathroom and realized, ‘Oh! I just came out of one of these! These rooms aren't safe!’ and was suddenly hyperventilating on the floor.

He didn't remember to call Lawrence, not like it was a rule or anything. But Lawrence did call him, just wanting to check on him, and the fact that Lawrence had his number didn't even cross his mind. Hearing the doctor’s voice brought so much relief to him it made him cry. Hearing that he was safe and that he, himself, was safe slowly but surely brought him out of his panicked state and allowed him to take a well deserved piss.

He avoided the bathroom as much as he could.

Lawrence did, too. When he was first able to come home after getting his leg and mental health checked, his first motive was to keep himself calm so he knew staying away from the bathroom would keep him that way. It took a lot of aggravated and fake-smiles from Allison’s part to just get her husband into the damn bathroom, but eventually it worked before the day was over.

The first time Lawrence saw Adam in person after the incident, it was at Adam’s apartment. It was when he first started coming over before he had to start lying to Allison about where he was going. She didn't want him seeing Adam often because ‘he'll remind you of what happened, it's unhealthy’, and Lawrence shot back with a ‘he's the only one who knows what I went through’ and the conversation ended there.

They tried staying friendly, he and Adam. Lawrence would come over, give him a free therapy session because even though he wasn't that kind of doctor, he was the only person Adam could trust and for some reason, he felt like he needed that trust or he'd be crushed, and he'd just be there for the younger on the rougher days, which was nearly every day since.

Their first kiss was only a week after Lawrence started coming around. He came over right after work, right after Adam called him telling him something along the lines of ‘Don't come over to my fuckin’ place again’ through panting breaths. He was mindful to not just walk into the apartment, knocking before he did, and was heartbroken to hear broken sobs coming from down a hall. He hurried along, his thoughts convincing him that Adam was somehow hurt further, and it nearly brought him to tears when he saw the younger laying curled up in his bed, shaking and trying to breathe. Lawrence was by his bedside immediately, cupping one of his cheeks and talking to him gently.

“Breathe with me, okay?”

“I'm here. I'm here and I'm never going to leave, I promise.”

“You're here and you're alive, you made it out and I'm so proud of you.”

During his comforting, Lawrence had gotten into the bed, laying down behind him and holding him close. His arm was first around his chest, then it has snaked down to around his waist which is where it made Adam really melt against him. Though he had calmed down, his tears couldn't seem to stop flowing. He felt disgusting and hated himself for needing someone to comfort him like he was a ‘fucking child’, but Lawrence had him lay down on his back to face him, and gently he tilted his chin up to look at him.

“I don't know why you won't let yourself trust me.”

This stung Adam because it was true. He's been let down, hurt, and left by anyone he's ever cared about and he didn't want to care about Lawrence for that reason, he didn't want to trust him, but no matter what he told himself, he trusted Lawrence more than anything.

Of course he did. He had to trust that he'd get him of the bathroom and he did.

Goosebumps flowed down Adam’s body and his stomach tied itself in knots. He knew he wasn't ready for this, Lawrence knew, and they both knew Lawrence wasn't either but they wanted it so bad, to be held and loved and comforted by the one person they could trust. So, slowly, Lawrence connected their lips and kissed Adam gently, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away Adam’s stray tears and make him feel safer than he had ever felt before.

After that kiss- that gentle, soft, loving touch- they were nearly inseparable.

Then there were nights of fighting. Sometimes it was frequent, and sometimes they wouldn’t fight for months. It depended on whether or not Adam was going to lock his emotions away, pretend he was fine, and tell Lawrence to fuck off. Lawrence knew this to be a defense mechanism, something he’d expect in Adam, but it was undeniable that when Adam would briefly act like he couldn’t trust him that it hurt. So, when he started seeming off-put and upset because of Adam, is made Adam get offensive.

“So what? Am I not allowed to be upset, now? I was left in the dark, alone!”

“And I came back for you just like I promised! Because I wouldn’t lie to you! Remember that?!”

These nights, or even weeks, resulted in Adam leaving the apartment for god-knows-how-long to get shit-faced. It’s not doubted that Adam assumes that they had broken up, so Lawrence doesn’t doubt that Adam is also sleeping with a random hooker to take his anger out on, but even that thought stings Lawrence, especially since he doesn’t have the proof. Just assumptions and self doubt that he’s much more easily able to hide.

It’s easy to hide because he can’t have Adam worry about him. That would mess up their dynamic and he can’t have that.

But when Adam comes back, barely knocking on the door, Lawrence doesn’t care about all that. He just cares that Adam is back home, alive, and to him again. When he opens the door and is able to pull his lover into his arms, burying his face in the crook of his neck, and apologize softly to him, his anxiety washes away and is replaced with blankets of relief.

When Adam comes home, it’s when Adam is truly able to sleep without triggering panic attacks from fear of waking up in ice-cold water and with a chain around his ankle. Because instead of waking up on separate ends of the room, Adam can wake up in Lawrence’s arms, cry to himself softly, tell himself that he’s fine, that Lawrence won’t let him get hurt again, and find peace knowing that there’s actually somebody who doesn’t want him dead and wants him very much alive. Because no matter how strong Lawrence acts for him, he’s fully aware that if he left, Lawrence would crumble because he needs him as much as he needs Lawrence, and he’s okay with that, and so is Lawrence.

Adam was the only Lawrence was alive for.

And unlike Adam, because Lawrence can set aside his pride, he’d admit that.

And it makes Adam feel better every day.