#pls run

an Alpine driver mocking a Ferrari driver

Hello, Dr. Pavlov here.

( @snowinabottle​ / one word prompt )

BLOODY :   my  muse  coming  to  your  muse  with  blood  stains  on  their  clothes  and  hands,  shaking.

    He’s covered in blood. 

    When he cuts sin free, when he feels the skin give way, to the release of that final tear -- of the explosive scream that sometimes dies on removal -- John feels can feel his heart pumping, a welling excitement. It feeds his more twisted nature, while simultaneously letting God’s will work through him. His relationship with pain isn’t avoidance, not his own, not in those who he delivers it to.

    ( pain is clarity, pain is necessary )

    It’s over now. But he’s yet to clean up, practically vibrating. As he returns to the house, he looks at her, pupils dilated, bloodied hands reaching to grab hers. Maybe it was the session itself, maybe the residual effects from the bliss that had been in the air.

    ❝ Amelia, it’s okay -- I’m okay, ❞ he flashes her a smile, but there’s a nervousness behind his eyes, seeping into how up he’d felt. 

Dark stretched himself beneath the borders of the desk, shuffling his arm against the black soaked ground in order to grasp whatever it was he was in search for. When he rose from his hunched position, towering up into his full fledged height, he slugged the chrome baseball bat over his shoulders with a nonchalant grin, laying it behind his neck and sighing.

“But of course.”

He wrung his fingers across the handle of his chosen weapon, letting it glint in reflection to the light that poured from nowhere in particular.