Trying To Get Back Into Drawing After Taking Most Of The Holiday Week Off With A Little Late Night Scribbling.

trying to get back into drawing after taking most of the holiday week off with a little late night scribbling. My partner and i watched all the Saw movies last week, thinkin about boys in head traps.

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thinking about spn yellow fever cat jumpscare but it's specs and tucker

Tip toe thru the tulips with meee 🌷👹

lawrence for the past hours: please... hes good... he deserves to live... he deserves a chance! he survived the game....

john: *sighs* dawg you win. ill get him out

amanda in the doorway after coming back from suffocating adam to death:

idk what to post (it's little scary even for some reason😅)

Gordon Visits the Bathroom.

One day, after a recovery that took hours, then days, then weeks, then a month, Lawrence gathered enough courage to wander down the twisted innards of that wretched house and find..... Him. Well, the bathroom itself might be what he actually set out to see; he was well aware that He never really had the chance to crawl out of the chamber after the doctor. At this point, without food or water, He couldn't possibly be...

Gordon bristled, despite the underground hallways' stuffy and stale atmosphere. The obvious answer as to what happened to Him, sealed away for the last of His days in that lonesome prison of cold tile, always stood out clear as day in Lawrence's mind; dangled teasingly in front of him, hanging from his silent mulling he's grown used to over the past few weeks whenever the subject matter snaked its way up to his throat again and squeezed. Still, he could never bring himself to actually speak that into existence, as if it were never objective truth to begin with. Too much.

Forgotten in a big, grimy blue coffin, its size almost a mockery of His inability to get up and walk free.

Forgotten.

Lawrence didn't take long to realize He wasn't out there in the big world again pursuing his dreams of becoming a veterinary, as he sat in a concrete-hard bed in John Kramer's hideout and pierced his memory back together bit-by-bit. When he asked John about His whereabouts, the older man's silent headshake was enough to churn Lawrence's stomach and immediately empty it of its contents once what the grim gesture implied truly settled on his ears.

For a while, he couldn't even think about Him without a dizzying sense of guilt overpowering his every move, and now, he stood right there. Right there where they met, right there where it all started. Right there where it ended. Right where His body laid unmoving, collecting dust like a discarted piece of meat. Slumped over. Maybe curled up on the ground in an attempt to soothe Himself before His final shuddering breaths left His body and lingered about on the slippery tiles like Lady Death's putrid breath.

His tomb.

Lawrence swallowed. His gloved hand hovered over the large door's handle for seconds that melted into minutes, a whirlwind of regrets and lament wreaking havoc upon his neatly organized mind. He wasn't so sure about this anymore; he wasn't entirely certain he'd be ready to witness everything once again, all at once.

The filthy ceramic. Sickeningly bright LED lights flickering on the ceiling. His... foot. He shifted his leg at the thought, the prosthetic's perfectly polished oxford shoe awkwardly rubbing against the ground in protest.

Adam.

That name. Gordon could feel the faintest hint of bile on the back of his tongue. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Sometime around three minutes into this bout of quiet agony, his shoulder tensed tightly and his arm shot forward, grabbing the handle in a vice grip and violently pushing it aside; metal groaned almost painfully at the aggressive movement after so many days of neglect. Gordon simply had to do it; like a race for the front seat of his brain, he had to do something before his sly, wiser inner voice could talk him out of it. Perhaps it was the angel on his shoulder trying hard to keep him on track, struggling to hold onto any sort of status quo. Lawrence's quite certain he's way past the point of listening to that familiar instinct. Metallic whining seized at that, settling into place out of his way.

So... There it is. The place he so intimately thought about for so long, the place that wormed itself into his dreams most nights, the place he saw inprinted on his eyelids every time he closed his perpetually tired eyes. They were finally face-to-face, in front of one another, in a horrible tension that surprised Gordon by almost humanizing the bathroom in the more instinct-driven parts of his subconscious. It felt like he stood before a venomous snake, its calculated stillness infinitely more disturbing than its quick-as-lightning strike.

Gordon stood deathly still; the only moving parts of his body were his blonde, not-so-neatly combed locks of hair flowing with the wind born from the sudden swing of the door. His head was pointed at the ground, eyes firmly shut as he chased the vertigo out from the forefront of his brain.

This is it. You're seeing Him. You're finally seeing Him. You just need to... look. Up.

...

Nothing.

.....

Look up.

...........

Again; Lawrence's body refused to. He simply couldn't. Tears welled in antecipation for release, involuntary noises of pure sorrow threatening to burst out from his chest. He couldn't.

.................

Look up, you fucking coward.

This is your fault, all your fault. A real man would take on the consequences. He paid for what you've done to him, you selfish piece of shit; now all you have left to do is the easy part. Just look up.

Lawrence took in a deep, stuttering breath. His neck moved slowly, struggling to bring his head back upright like rusty old machinery, but his eyelids remained glued shut.

Another breath.

But something's horribly wrong.

Lawrence could tell the air he took in so greedily came from inside the bathroom; it smelled dreadful. Absolutely disgusting. Like decay. It took over his nostrils and spilled out into his throat, making his eyes shoot open with a shriek and his hand fly up to his throat in a coughing fit. His eyes stung with the aftertaste, certainly reddening by the second as he tried to slowly recompose himself. Thoughts of Him completely vanished for a nearly blissful second or two as he heaved, and maybe that was the push he needed to finally raise his bloodshot gaze towards the darkness sprawling out in front of him without thought and meet pitch-black.

He was staring right at it.

Trembling limbs come to a complete stop at the realization. He raised his head, sight never leaving the shadows, gaping dumbly as if stuck in a trance. There were no alarm bells setting off in his head, not so much as a single logical part of his brain telling him to turn right back around, leave as soon as possible and forget this ever happened. Shivers ran up and down his body, and for once, the sensible Dr. Lawrence Gordon had no idea what to think.