#c | what can i say? he's no ⱤØ₵₭₴₮₳Ɽ

[untestxd]

ғɪʟᴍ/ᴛᴠ ᴛʀᴏᴘᴇs ɪɴ: ᴛʜᴇ sᴄᴏᴛᴛ ᴛɪʙʙs ᴅᴏᴄᴜᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʀʏ (𝟸𝟶𝟶𝟼)  | ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ

[untestxd]

ғɪʟᴍ/ᴛᴠ ᴛʀᴏᴘᴇs ɪɴ: ᴛʜᴇ sᴄᴏᴛᴛ ᴛɪʙʙs ᴅᴏᴄᴜᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʀʏ (𝟸𝟶𝟶𝟼)  | ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ

[untestxd]

// HC

                 i’ve been re-watching the scott tibbs documentary.                  so many feelings. but the best one had to come from listening                  to the dialogue over the credits.                 “ He was just a fuckin’ asshole, it’s whatever.”                 “He’s just crazy. ---- Do you think he’s gonna smell?”                 “You think?? Smelled before man!”                  “Starving artist doesn’t mean he can’t use soap.”

          ( Scott smells like dirty clothes, stale cigarettes, weed and             really really cheap body-spray.  He smells worse on a night             where they’re performing- thanks to the extra body spray              and the sweat. )

[untestxd]

[ sᴄᴏᴛᴛ ᴛɪʙʙs ɪɴsᴘɪʀᴇᴅ ᴘʟᴀʏʟɪsᴛ ]

Douchebag - Patent Pending

Hayloft - Mother Mother

Vicodin - Rav

Loser Boy - Joseph Dubay

All My Best Friends Are Metalheads - Less Than Jake

We’re All Gonna Die!!! - Baby FuzZ

Rebels - Call Me Karizma

SFDD - Stacked Like Pancakes

Bender - Big D and the Kids Table

Waste Away -Thrashed

When The Sun Goes Down - Artic Monkeys

Cats, Dogs & Rats - Rare Americans

Side Projects are Never Successful - Bomb the Music Industry!

Violent Mood Swings - Spineshank

Head Like A Hole - Nice Inch Nails

Big Problems - Corrosian of Conformity

Nobody Likes The Opening Band - I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

Lights Out - Mindless Self Indulgence

[untestxd]

cutfoot·:

…         this  abode  does  not  welcome  him        (        it  is  not  an  apartment  with  outstretched  arms,   a  family  place  made  whole  by  warmth   :         this  is  clutter  and  filth,   the  unliving  extension  of  scott  tibbs        …        if  he  pried  his  heart  from  his  chest,   this  is  how  it  would  look        ).        there  is  the  thin  layer  of  interests  packed  over  the  filth        …          instruments  and  guitar  picks,   the  falling  pages  of  lyrics.        a  demonstration  that  scott  is  more  than  his  anger.        as  a  doctor’s  coat  had  fit  lawrence  since  his  degree  had  swallowed  him  whole,   he  imagines  that  something  about  scott’s  hands  had  crafted  themselves  around  a  guitar   :        passion,   youth’s  impurity.        better  than  everything  else  that  his  strange  bedfellow  was  gifted  with,   hm?        ‘   a  chore?        let’s  think  of  it  more  like  babysitting        …        without  the  incentive  of  pay.        ah,   yes,   so  exactly  like  a  chore   :       let’s  recall  that  you  asked  me  to  come        …        and  i’m  simply  honouring  your  wishes.   ’

an  escape  is  offered,   the  vague  flicker  towards  the  door        (        and  lawrence  knows  that  he  can  take  it   :        after  all,   he  owes  the  other  nothing        …        less  than  nothing        ).        but  the  truth  is  that  his  curiosity  is  a  malignant  beast.        there  are  only  so  many  firsts  of  his  left  now  he  rockets,   tired  and  loathsome,   into  his  old  age.        and  that  is  what  scott  represents   :        a  sense  of  newness,   no  matter  how  dirty  and  rusted  it  was.        ‘   i’m  fully  aware  that  i  can  leave        …        i  don’t  think  you  have  the  smarts  to  take  someone  hostage.        may  i  take  a  seat?   ’

ᴄᴀʟʟᴜsᴇᴅ ғɪɴɢᴇʀs ʜᴇʟᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɢʜᴛᴇʀ sᴛᴇᴀᴅʏ; ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀs ᴄᴀʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴍᴀʀʙʟᴇ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴛɪsᴛ’s ᴘᴀʟᴍs. cold metal and blistering passion poured through strings had torn away at the skin;₳ ₴₳₵Ɽł₣ł₵Ɇ Ø₣ ₣ⱠɆ₴Ⱨ for the sake of art. the tool of choice was propped next to the couch in its case, nestled away and protected from the mercurial safari that scott called home.

the cigarette ignited, a simmering glow that the musician breathed to life. letting that burn crash through his system, his eyes followed the doctor’s stiff movement with surprising patience. like welcoming a new pet to a family home, you always gave it time to adjust to its surroundings before you afforded time for play. uncharacteristic patience from a glutton for gratification. but then again, the situation was just as strange for the guitarist as it was for the doctor. he was sure of that.

lawrence was, by all means, the very definition of incongruousness. as casual, or as comfortable, as the man would care to perform, it was apparent he was in scott’s territory now. the over-eager and bloated tourist had stumbled off the resort and tumbled out into the wilds. he couldn’t help but smirk, smile rich with a muted glee. 

“but there is indeed an incentive.” he harks back, before taking another drag.

“you should consider yourself lucky, y’know. ɪ’ᴍ ᴀ ʙᴜsʏ ɢᴜʏ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴅᴀʏs. there’s a whole buncha cats out there who would do anything to  smoke a bowl with ₴₵Ø₮₮ ₮ł฿฿₴.” a pause as he exhales, “you’re welcome.”

scott pulled his boots off the table, stepping on a discarded empty CD case which splintered beneath his feet, but otherwise goes unnoticed. it had probably fallen from the stack of unused plastic cases haphazardly resting in the corner- just ready for the day that the louts decide to record something.

“ take a seat, my friend. mi casa su casa.”

the doctor continues to hover, clutching that coat of his. he looked as though he was still surveying the pit for disease.  “I’₥ ₦Ø₮ ₲Ø₦₦₳ ฿ł₮Ɇ.” a playful exercise of good will; he removes the cigarette to clamp teeth together hard, a sharp snap as bone scapes down on bone.

@cutfoot·         

[untestxd]

@beautykillertaskforce​  ♥ 'ᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴀ sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀ

“ ʜᴇʏ.  ʜᴇʏ----!”    The first call to the stranger goes unheard, prompting     a second, more physical approach as the musician     taps away at his shoulder. Unlit cigarette hanging from     his lip, he continues to provoke the man at the bar until    he turns to face the musician. 

              “I’m fucking ᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ.   You got a light?”

[untestxd]

                      ɪɴᴄᴏʀʀᴇᴄᴛ ǫᴜᴏᴛᴇs ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ

sᴄᴏᴛᴛ + @blendintowalls

DAVID: I slept for almost 12 hours but I might still be tired so lets go for 12 more just incase. SCOTT:  David, that's a coma. DAVID: Sounds festive.

[untestxd]

hostagefled·:

                                           ‘  here,    dude       ————       a     GLASS    OF    WATER.     it    looks    like    you     need      it.   ‘                       /   @untestxd· 

The room is excruciatingly hot. Must lingers in the throng of bodies herded in, blistering away under the pounding bass of whatever mediocre bastard was on stage.    The woman’s voice had caught his attention, eyes widening as gaze sets upon the bright-haired young woman.         Fucking gorgeous.

Formerly occupied frown twists into a smile looking at the offered glass with  amusement. He takes it, leaning into to hear her a little better. The amount of nights he had spent shadowing pits like this, his hearing was beyond shot.

            “Well shit--- how thoughtful.”

 He grins, leaning back to get a better look of her as he devours the glass in one go, dropping the plastic container to floor when he was done.

           “To whom do I owe the pleasure?” Scott continues,                he certainly would have remembered seeing her here before.

       “sᴄᴏᴛᴛ ᴛɪʙʙs. ₩Ɽ₳₮Ⱨ Ø₣ ₮ⱧɆ ₲ØĐ₴. We’re actually playing the              quaint little locale tomorrow night if you’re around.              Might be able to get you backstage. Pull a few---strings.”

       He lingered on each word with disgusting enthusiasm.

@hostagefled​

[untestxd]

                         ɪɴᴄᴏʀʀᴇᴄᴛ ǫᴜᴏᴛᴇs ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ

sᴄᴏᴛᴛ + xᴀᴠɪᴇʀ @webspin

XAVIER: I PREVENTED A MURDER TODAY. SCOTT: REALLY? HOW’D YOU DO THAT? XAVIER: SELF CONTROL.

[untestxd]

[ peg ] yes im literally copying elliot here but . fuck you i can

‘a—ad—-‘ his name caught, breathless in his throat as their lips part. Heavy lids scoured up at the stars above him, two bright jade lights beaming back down to earth. What a sight Scott must have looked now beneath him. Swollen lips grin up at the other boy, no— other man— straddling the guitarists hips. Oh how unfair this was already. Far from some quick fuck tucked away in his dark room, or a chance encounter drunken and shambling into a bathroom stall. A prepared meeting. A pencilled-in date.

So this was what taking it slow was, huh? The guitarist was certainly enjoying it, but his body screamed otherwise. Already, he was agonisingly hard against the fabric of his boxer-briefs, feeling Adam’s heat bare and slick slowly rutting just below his navel as they made out. Tongue and teeth and everything in-between.

He swallowed hard, groaning a little in wordless plea for him to stay as he climbed off him- hands clumsily trying to hold onto his waist, his arms, anything to keep such blistering heat between them. But as he sits up, raising his head from the pillow he saw exactly why he had decided to pull away. How could have he forgotten. His grin ignites, supernova sparked amongst flushed and pink features as he watches Adam reach for the small bottle left on the bedside.

Like a child with sticky palms, impatient and restless, Scott clambers over to him. He pressed his chest up against the photographer’s back, resting forehead against his shoulder. He snakes his hand around to the delicious slick between Adam’s legs, hot and needy kisses beginning to build across his neck with intangible excitement. As if each were a were a wordless plea for the man to hurry up.

Impatient circles, fidgety digits brush up against him as Scott’s own clothed arousal pokes like bothersome neighbour against his back. His kisses leave fresh marks, suckling against thin thread of neck with an impatient growl, flushed canvas spotted a wonderful indigo. “Come on… Come on…” he panted as digits became webbed with Adam’s own desire.

He could feel the other’s hip push up against his touch, despite how much time he apparently needed to concentrate. How easy it would be now, for Scott to just bend him over and thrust already aching erection inside such wonderful heat. Burying himself, engorged deep in Adam’s cunt as he scrambled desperately for sweet completion. Those miraculous sounds whined straight into his ear, his own name cried out over and over like long forgotten hymn. Just the thought of it was driving Scott wild. He moved his hand to tug impatiently at the strap laced around the Adam’s form. The one thing Adam was still wearing. A new addition; Scott taking him wasn’t their plan for tonight. This would be a glorious change of pace.

‘cut it out. bend over’

The translucent hue had coated Adam’s fingers, and Scott didn’t need him to say anymore to comply, releasing his hold on the other as he removed the last of his clothing. What sweet release as the air hit swollen flesh. But all the more difficult to not just ravage the man now. The excitement in the air was thick and heavy, and Scott couldn’t help but touch himself at the sight of Adam there waiting for his terribly annoying friend to hurry up. He was delaying the inevitable, procrastinating. But after Adam kisses him again, Scott does what’s he’s told.

Desire tinged with nerves as he felt Adam’s hand grasp at his ass. Already Scott’s pushing back eagerly as he feels enshrined digit tease against him, a whimpered moan escaping the guitarist as Adam begins to pry him open, a deliciously unfamiliar sensation as he begins to work. And with time a second digit makes it’s company. “Oh…shit…” He can feel himself being stretched out, pulled and worn in all the right ways. Already his legs were shaking from the adrenaline born pleasure. He lets go of his own cock, afraid to let this be over for him too soon. Instead, sweaty palm claps at bedsheet as he can’t help but rock back onto Adam’s hand. So this was what it felt like. “ f-ffuck…” ’ a stifled curse floods through grit teeth clamped together.

His skin is ablaze, a wild-fire of flesh and messy ink heaving beneath the other man’s touch. This was territory unfamiliar; terra incognita - beyond the wall here be dragons. But Scott was never one to back out of any suggestion, and there was no one else he trusted more than Adam to venture forth with. And he wanted him now. ‘stop—ah, wait—-stop—stop—‘ he stutters out, and the other does.

He turns, moving back to face the photographer and kisses him, over and over, drowning desperately as he drinks him in, pulling him closer down with him as Scott’s back hits the bedsheet. The smaller man above him now, pupils dilate as he feels Adam grip at the guitarist’s thigh. “Please…” he manages to breathe between kisses, a plea not impatient but desperate , unrelenting need to drown in his touch. ‘God… Adam… please… please—-“ name’s tangled with divinity in a moment of weakness.

He didn’t know how bad he wanted this until it was so close to being his; how bad he needed this, how bad he wanted Adam. He wanted to see it, see it all, wanted Adam to see him. How much he wanted him, how Adam and Adam alone could bring Scott to such a state. His words breathed out, lips inches from each other in shared heat. “hurry up and fuck me…before I change my mind..”

[untestxd]

//  ₳Đ₳₥

                      “ “ ʰᵉ ʰᵃᵈ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ᵇʳᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰʳᵉᵉ ᵈᵃʸˢ ᵃᵍᵒ. ᵃⁿᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵒᶠ                                 ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ...ʲⁱᵍˢᵃʷ ᶜᵃˢᵉˢ.  ⁱ’ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ᵖᵃᵍⁱⁿᵍ ᵈᵒ-----”             Had been the words overheard from his hospital bed as a pair of             nurses had walked past his curtain on the ward. Scott’s head had              snapped up so ғᴀsᴛ, he felt a painful tear in his neck muscle. But             that didn’t matter. The whole reason Scott was even in here was              of his morbid obsession with the infamous serial killer.        ɴᴏ             he wasn’t a serial killer. He gave people the ₵ⱧØł₵Ɇ, and these              ‘victims��� ₵ⱧØ₴Ɇ not to take their life into their own hands. These               fuckers who got stolen away to these games all deserved it,               cops, criminals; they were all just as bad as each other.              They all deserved what they got. They were stupid enough to              get caught in the first place. Like.... ᴀᴅᴀᴍ.            ( Ever since the news had gotten out that the guitarist’s best friend              had somehow gotten himself involved in all of this mess, it had              only fuelled this obsession further. Why....him? Why test ʜɪᴍ?              Adam was a nobody, a fucking waste of space, a total pussy.              What made him so sᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ as to be chosen by the Jigsaw Killer?              What made him worthy? What  was         sᴄᴏᴛᴛ    missing? )            Lifting himself up out of his hospital bed, he grit his teeth as the              pain beneath fresh bandages stretched with the effort. The axe had            perforated his skin, but hadn’t gotten deep enough to do permanent            damage. His wrists were another matter, those too laced in white             cotton as the wounds did their best to heal. Ducking around, the             young man spent a good while peeking into each window of the             private rooms, checking charts, keeping to the shadows unnoticed            to hunt down this survivor. Get some more information about their            game, learn more about Jigsaw, indulge in some fucked-up shit.           But what Scott wasn’t expecting was to see that name scrawled on            the chart. Adam. Fucking Adam Stanheight. He felt a strange            ambivalence claw at those axe wounds. He felt stomach acid on            his tongue, the colour drain from his face, but all the while excitement           flare in his veins. 

          Without hesitation, he slammed his palm down on the handle of the           door and strut his way inside, making sure to close it behind him.           Wide eyes drink in the form of the man in the hospital bed, seeing            him asleep. He didn’t        ʟᴏᴏᴋ      too fucked up.   Scott made his           way over and flicked the poor man’s face, with all the excitment of           a child trying to rouse their parents on Christmas Day.

                          ❝ Adam. ₳Đ₳₥, wake the fuck up, man.❞                          ᴀ ɢʀɪɴ ,    “You ₥Ø₮ⱧɆⱤ₣Ʉ₵₭ɆⱤ”

@wantslife​                                     

[untestxd]

extraordinarygrrls·:·

“What? Does Scott Tibbs, of all people, have nothing else to say?” Abigail Cain tried to push down the shaking of her voice, it spread to her hands, thin fingers trembling with anxiety. It was hard, considering she usually felt small enough to step on, crush under a bootheel. It was his fault, some of it was, anyway. He went out of his way to minimise her so much as they developed into adults. He mocked everything about her, looks, voice, hobbies, grades, values.

She felt like she couldn’t even take a compliment anymore.

“You said you had a whole laundry list. Share it.” Fine, he’d already shot her apart once before, what’s another character assassination? But Abby was a patient woman, she’d waited many years, never expecting to see him again, but always feeling like she came up with the perfect comeback after the argument has ended. 

Here they were again. Abby’s guns were drawn. She had the words on her tongue, she just had to release them. “Unless you can’t.” She started. “Unless my thoughts are true. That it wasn’t really me, you could’ve picked any other target who you saw as a threat to your fragile ego. Because you’re a small, angry man who needs to push others down to make him feel bigger.” There was hurt in her words, hurt she felt inside that she was battering onto him, her delivery wasn’t perfect, she could feel herself being a hair away from tears, trying to hold herself together. You can do it, Abby, keep it together.

“Because you never grew up.”

ɪᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴏɴᴇ. That unrelenting self-righteous nasal that brought him right back into those stuffy shirts and near claustrophobic classrooms. A 14 year old kid with swollen eye and uneven collar constantly contending with every other loud-mouthed brat for just a slither of attention. And then she spoke again, and he was 16 with spite on his lips and vomit on his shoes, screaming profanities at the girl in morbid profession borne of bitter envy.

He shifted in his seat, trying his best to look unfazed by the young woman before him. But her determined self-assured assault rest uneasy in his bones. When did she get so….rowdy? Scott’s head tilt slightly at the prompt, the command to unleash whatever horrid hymn that had been left brewing in his chest for the last half-decade.

฿Ɇ₵₳Ʉ₴Ɇ ɎØɄ ₦ɆVɆⱤ ₲ⱤɆ₩ Ʉ₱.

His mouth opened for just a second, as if read to fire back at her- but it closed just as quickly in thought. Rising from his seat, far faster than one would assume he could, he makes his presence very much known. Nearly towering over the woman, half a foot higher, he gets right into her space. His hands are kept to himself, one tucking its way into his jean pocket, the other clamped tight still around his bottle.

“You are still that pathetic little self-righteous, ignorant ₵Ʉ₦₮   that thought she was so much better than everyone.   The same bitch who’s still living out her pathetic little victim    complex.”

His hand snakes out from his pocket, a single digit protruding and finding its way to push into her temple.

“Let’s make one thing fucking clear. ₳ⱠⱤł₲Ⱨ₮?  I have never given a shit about you. No one ever has.   So why don’t you just do us a favour and run the fuck back to   the hole you came out of.”

And then it came. Disgusting, vile, obscene in assault as Scott spat right into the woman’s face. Hot, wet, and horrid. There’s no humour, no hatred anywhere on inebriated features. Just pure revoltion.

“You wanted me to keep going.”

@extraordinarygrrls·

[untestxd]

@spotlessmlnd​ ♥ 'ᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴀ sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀ

  ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ᴘɪᴛʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɴ who had crawled over to this corner of the    city to seek out the musician. How long had they been caught in this   conversation now? How long had Scott left him there dangling the   carrot of information in front of the stranger’s nose- talking so much   but say sᴏ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ.

  He had approached in the hope to learn more about this ongoing    Jigsaw case. Scott had been very vocal in his relation to one of the   many growing number of victims to these deadly games, and it seemed   that unlike any detectives or pigs before him, Will had taken the initiative   to reach out into the victim’s social circle. Unfortunately for him, he had   decided to reach out to ... Scott Tibbs.

                  “ ᴀᴅᴀᴍ?----- Yeah, I know him.”       He breathes the cigarette smoke inhaled into the man’s face, bright eyes        piercing with curiosity, brimming with mutual interest in the case.                           “ Why---? What do you know?                           There’s nothing really to say about him.                                  Other than that he’s a ₱Ʉ₴₴Ɏ.”

[untestxd]

💘 Pull my muse in for a rough kiss. scottwill moments

A heated groan is half panted, half laughed as it stutters out from the guitarists lips. The stranger tastes sweet and he tastes clean. What dazzling canvas the artist has found himself in the dark, digits tugging at the back of his shirt, just above his waist, and pulls him closer still. All the better to sully.

It’s messy and rough, an unexpected but very welcome encounter as soft lips part and he kisses him deeper. He tastes mouth-wateringly good. Breath is blistering in the desperate seconds between teeth and tongue as Scott’s back hits the wall. Probably for the best; the amount of shots he had done that night it was a surprise he was still standing.

His grin is loud and obnoxious, married only with a growl as toothy smile breaks away to paint across the smooth skin of the stranger’s neck. He didn’t know who this guy was, and didn’t know if this guy knew who he was. And in this dark corner of the overly-crowded bar, it really didn’t matter. All he knew was that he didn’t want this to stop. Teeth nip at flesh as he feels the other press against him, a strangled whimper spilling over Scott’s mouth as it finds the other man’s again, capturing him as he indulges in such delightful delicacy. A hand frees itself from the fabric to the forefront, tugging greedily at the stranger’s belt.

“We should head backstage…”

@schenks

[untestxd]

💘 well,

💘 ᴘᴜʟʟ ᴍʏ ᴍᴜsᴇ ɪɴ ғᴏʀ ᴀ ʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴋɪss

after all their meetings, their discussions, their hours of arguments and eye-rolls that had ticked by--- scott had been no closer in getting the answers he needed. the documentary was all but moot. just another fruitless avenue who’s twisting paths had brought him nothing but more questions and more conflict. the doctor, surprisingly, had been the closest thing so far to just the dilution of such feeling. of what it could feel like. his answers were not in lawrence, but there was potential for them to be. and scott wasn’t giving up on that chance yet, because in reality, perhaps he really was scott’s last chance. 

leg had been left bouncing, heel tap, tap, tapping on the ground as he found himself in the doctor’s company again. this had been becoming a habit now, or was it more a vice? because he never felt any better for leaving the doctor’s company, but he certainly did need it. like that bitter burn that chased you from your throat to your lungs as you inhale shaky drag; digits just itching to chase one after the other.

he’d told everyone else that he was done with the film now; that he’d stopped giving a shit about adam, the jigsaw killer had become far too ‘mainstream’ anyway. so what was this? what was he still doing here? this had become just as much about lawrence now as it had been about the photographer. somewhere along the blurred lines of messy feelings-- angers in scarlet, envy in  jade, the doctor had refracted with that crystal cool diamond of his. a light far too bright and blinding for scott to tell left from right anymore. what we wanted, what he felt, what he needed.

what a messy way to mourn. the doctor’s lips are so much softer that he had ever anticipated them to be. the passion and inexperience of youth fumbling over pink flesh carelessly as he clutches at the man’s shirt to pull him closer. the other hand dares the venture up, past the back of the man’s neatly pressed collar to indulge in the destruction of that perfectly combed hair. it balls itself into the bristles of blonde, pulling him closer still. his lips are rough as they capture the other, cracked and dry as they meet with a fevered desperation. 

fighting with him, talking with him, laughing with him, none of this had brought scott any closer to filling that void so dark and consuming in the pit of his stomach, that void that appeared only when he looked at lawrence. only made itself known in his company. what else was there to try, what other words could desperate lips scream to get this feeling to go away? what else could he try? 

teeth snag flesh as scott pushes himself against the doctor, letting go of his hair to grab at his hip as kisses hot and wet plant themselves on his jaw. that heat of the doctor’s cologne is near intoxicating. so fresh and clean, so unfamiliar, so him.

“doc..” breath is hot in rough pant that seems to find even scott surprised at the course of his own action. but he can’t stop, doesn’t want to stop-- if lawrence is willing. if lawrence dared to know; to learn something about adam that anecdote could not contain.

@cutfoot

[untestxd]

“So you know I’ve been working on this little case now for a few weeks.    Cops are going missing, more criminal’s corpses are being found     splayed out all over the joint. What little’s left of them anyway.     And despite that, there’s still been no sign of that pussy, Adam.    Guess he must be all mangled up somewhere fuckin’ dreadful.     Figures that much.    But that’s why we’re here today. One thing I never told you about Adam?     There’s two of them. Like the fucking Shining. Some Freaky Friday shit;     he’s a twin. This here is a picture of David. Some tweaker who works       over at the hospital our Dear Johnny boy was treated at.      This shit’s all connected, I tell you. ---- Anyway, why am I even bothering      with that right now? So what, he had a brother? Well get this----       not long before Adam went missing, Jigsaw got his bloody little hands       all over him too. But he survived. Bastard’s seen some fucked up shit,      but it turns out it’s just back to business as usual.      So that’s why we’re here. We’re gonna hear first hand what kinda          shit it takes to fuckin’ survive one of these games, and maybe get         some sorta idea on how these are all connected. 

                                              Which fucking sucks, because I can’t                                                  stand the guy.”   

A disgustingly satisfied smirk plasters its way across smug features as Scott reviews the footage on his camcorder. It had been placed up on the dashboard of his car- and the lighting looked pretty good, if  he did say so himself. After one more watch through, he closes the  scuffed up silver frame of the screen with a gentle click and steps out of his car. Cigarette dangling from his lip, like some sort of self-imaged cowboy, he saddled up to the orderly’s apartment and hit record as he knocked on the door.

         ‘Hey David. It’s me. Scott Tibbs. Wrath of the Gods, buddy.            I’m here to talk about Jigsaw.”

[ᴛʜᴇ sᴄᴏᴛᴛ ᴛɪʙʙs ᴅᴏᴄᴜᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʀʏ, ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 𝟶.𝟻] / @blendintowalls