#doubtfulblue

[wistfulvisionary]

My internet won’t let me reconnect on skype. I’m sorry to those who were chatting with me earlier but i will have to go offline and head to bed.. it is past midnight now. I am very sorry for leaving so abruptly.

[glacies-experimentum-blog]

doubtfulblue replied to your post:ooc: Something minutes before class— oh screw it...

box buddyyyyy *feeds meat* hey hey hey i’m doing okay ;w; how about you?

Yoyoyoyoyoyoyoyoo dooooddddddd--- OHEY MEAT!

Fine here and I see that you're wide awake 8D

[flowering-mizuho]

indycotton said: Sleep well Nanii *nuzzle*

「「 Najsdbhfjas Thanks Indy! sorry, I ended up falling asleep oops  But at least I slept wonderfully so it's alright <: *huggles* <3 」」

doubtfulblue said: xx; omg

「「 NNsdjkbjsd I knOW I SAID THE SAME-- 」」

wolftempest said: lol, the idea of Zelos singing made me think about how technically one of the spells he should have as a Chosen is Holy Song.

「「 aCTUALLY I have the headcanon that Zelos, as a Chosen, can sing really good when it comes to casting that kind of spells. But outside of it, sounds like an agonizing whale (cough rrt cough). The magic of the angelic powers. 」」

[sunset-wings]

Oh, look at that. I’ve been impaled. || xx; I'm sorry this was the only one that fit oTL

A quiet, almost casual chuckle escaped the lips of the violet-haired man as he spoke, though a bright droplet of blood appeared at the corner of his lips as his knees buckled beneath him. Zelos had no idea how the guy could be so casual about a life-threatening wound and his stomach clenched at the idea of someone dying for him. Barely deflecting a second arrow with his sword, he dispatched the assassin with a well placed lightning bolt before hurrying to the collapsed stranger. His hand went to the wound, blood immediately soaking his gloves as he tried to apply pressure around the arrow. Pulling it out would make things worse, but he couldn’t heal the younger man with an arrow in his stomach. Gritting his teeth, he stripped off his gloves and cut away the fabric around the wound to see it better.

“Hey. Hey! Focus.” He hissed at the younger man, whose face had gone pale. His pupils were dilated, and though he turned his head slightly toward Zelos when the redhead spoke, he did not seem to really see him. “You idiot, what were you thinking?” Zelos admonished, angry with himself for not noticing the attacker sooner and with this violet-haired stranger for stepping into the path of the arrow. He had nothing to use as bandages but the already bloodstained fabric of his gloves and jacket, but there was no time to hesitate. Each moment that passed brought this stranger closer to death and Zelos was not going to watch him die.

Grasping the arrow shaft with a grimace he felt for the tip to ensure it had not come loose in the younger man’s body. He desperately wished Raine or someone who had more medical knowledge were here, someone whose healing magic had real power behind it. His own mana was already pouring into the wound even as he worked the arrowhead free, trying to negate the damage he was doing by removing the offending projectile. There was so much blood now, on his hands and on the pale, clammy skin of the other man’s abdomen.

“Stay awake!” he snapped at the violet-haired male, whose gaze was unfocused, his breathing growing erratic. “I swear to Martel, if you die on me…” He didn’t finish the threat, turning all his energy and focus into pouring healing mana into the wound. He was not a medic, he was not skilled in healing, but there was no way he was going to sit here and let this person die in his place, killed by a shot meant for him. A sudden burst of inspiration reminded him of the healing gel in his pocket and he pulled it free, forcing it through the blood-reddened lips of the nearly catatonic male.

“Swallow it” he commanded, lifting the male’s shoulders to support him in a better position for following his order even as his other hand went back to the still bleeding wound in effort to channel more magic. “Swallow it!” he repeated, an edge of desperation in his voice.  He hoped fervently that the magic was doing some good inside the wound, because he could not tell through all the blood in the area. As Garry finally complied and swallowed the gooey gel-like substance with a somewhat disgusted expression, Zelos released his shoulders and turned his attention to bandaging the wound again. Magic or no magic, he had to at least suppress the bleeding.

“Hope you like pink” he muttered as he cut jagged strips from the hem of his jacket, rough and uneven in his haste. Clothing was replaceable, a life was not. He used one of the discarded gloves as an impromptu gauze pad on the actual wound and wrapped the makeshift bandages around the younger man’s abdomen.  Garry’s skin was a good deal cooler than his own and he realized he had to get the other man somewhere warmer. Shock could kill him just as easily as blood loss and again Zelos cursed his lack of medical training.

A small crowd of onlookers had gathered and he glowered up at them. “Don’t just stand there! Help me!” he ordered, though there was a pleading edge in his voice. Someone hesitantly offered a coat and Zelos wrapped it around the violet-haired male, who had begun to shiver somewhat. “You! Go get a doctor!” he commanded, singling a member of the crowd out in effort to spur action from them. The man looked taken aback but turned away to do as he was told.

“You still with me?” Zelos asked Garry, hand resting briefly on the younger male’s forehead as he checked his temperature. His mana was nearly depleted now and his adrenaline was crashing. He’d poured everything he could into this stranger and left himself with barely even had the energy to stand. “I’m not going to let you die,” he affirmed quietly, though he was not sure who he was really reassuring at this point, himself or the wounded man. He did not care how disheveled he was, jacket hanging in tatters and blood soaking his pants, not as long as he manged to keep the younger man alive. No one should die in his place.

[reppuu]

to ashes;

A mission, it was simply a mission. With no clear resolve, the God-General is sent out, black boots treading lightly on the dirt road. Regardless of the Commandant's intentions, the loyal knight will abide by his mission--undoubtedly refusing sentiments to deter him off-course. No matter how absurd, atrocious or gory, he's come to hold firmly, as if they were his own, the Commandant's prospects. But what if the unavoidable is unanticipated, impeding him from his mission?

As it was now--a figure stood before the God-General, considering relent was implausible. A frown emerges as the two lock gazes.

"Move."

[canigetout]

яσѕє         ρєтαℓѕ              ƒαℓℓ                         ѕℓσωℓу 

Are you trapped too, doubtfulblue?

She jumped when she heard a noise, was it a painting? A statue? She turned sharply, her mind thinking the absolute worst for a breif second before eyes lit up.

She practically tackled him, just glad to see him. She wasn't alone, she had to remember that. He was here too, a strong and protective brother. She could rely on him.