The monster lives.
fandomless oc. mvrp.
Joined December 2025
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Blood dripping from bandaged hands, crimson extending over white. Before him, a man damn near close to dead; the blood belongs to him.
"Motherfucker. . ."
Spitting on the deformed mess that was once a face, Brad begins to walk away.
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No, the turn on is the blood itself.
Though, yeah. Woulda been sexier if the nosebleed was the result of a 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.
Either way, same result. She looks fuckin' sexy with red on her.
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He not only feels it; he 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘴 the disdain, the judgmental glances the woman gives him. It is both equally amusing and arousing, and he cackles as an arm slings over slender shoulders, forcing damaged body to stand back up.
"I thought you were supposed to 𝗻𝗼𝘁 judge," —
she flinches at his approach —— teeth clenched into a manic grind at his very presence; paranoia filling her senses.
ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑠𝑖𝑛．𝑠𝑖𝑛 𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑．
Lord in Heaven —— she strives to be a good samaritan, ➤
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— feels like Hell on his overworked feet, and between 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 and 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, Bradley stumbled a couple more times, but never fell. The sister's body is stronger than he anticipated.
". . . If it makes you feel any better, I won't die on you. I'm sure— ngh, most of this blood —
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"If the Father will call the cops, you're better off not bringing him into this."
Bradley attempts to take a step to her, but legs give out. Instead, bloodied frame comes crashing down onto the floor after a poor attempt at steadying himself on a pew.
"I'd really rather —
you desecrate the body that Christ has given you; and that is your response?
[ she’s eyeing him warily ——— blood dripping down onto the stone flooring of the chapel. ]
i —- can fetch Father.
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Well, sister, sometimes blood 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 to be spilled.
Be a doll and help him out, will she? He's a mess.
𝐌𝐎𝐗. retweeted
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𝕸ARY JANE WATSON.⁶¹⁶
your favorite g͟i͟r͟l͟n͟e͟x͟t͟d͟o͟o͟r͟.
( #marvelrp. x mdni. )
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"Sir."
This elicits a chuckle from Brad. Despite the injury, he's still able to laugh, to find humor in things. Hell, you could argue it's because of the injury.
He follows to the room, clutching his injured shoulder.
"Got told you're. . . discreet. Hoping that's true."
The clanking of her heels resonate within the walls of her clinic—standing up from her seat to greet the new face; eyebrow raised.
“Follow me. Room to the right, sir.”
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