#wrongblooded

[maudlxne]

    Rummer has it Ezor was never allowed to play truth or dare again. 

     @wrongblooded - helped give me the inspiration for this. I have never ugly laughed so hard while drawing in my life. 

[obsidianled-blog]

@wrongblooded

The battle with Lotor had left him weary. Even now the wound throbbed as he curled up in his cot. He wore nothing save for boxers. The cell itself was cold, but he’d been running a fever for days now. Doctors had injected him with something—something he assumed was supposed to keep the wound from getting infected—but other than that and some stitches he received little help. They fed him even less since he had technically lost. All in all it was a miserable time. 

He was surprised they hadn’t taken away his cot to add insult to injury.

Shiro pressed his hand against the wound. The skin around it was red and raw, likely from all the dirt that had been packed into it at one point. Things were even more hopeless now. God, he’d kill to see the sky again—to feel the warmth of the sun. The only warmth he felt now was from the fever. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend it was from the sun. Shiro was certain that he was a pathetic fool, playing pretend because he had nothing better to do.

Scars and welts crisscrossed his body. Many of them were from battling in the ring, but many more were from when he first arrived. When he had spoken out of term, the Galra whipped him until he’d bled. They were a merciless species. That he learned the hard way. Even now when he looked upon himself his lip curled in disgust. They had mutilated his entire body—turned him into a creature that even he could barely recognize.

Even if he were to somehow escape—Shiro was certain that no one would ever love him again.  

When the cell door opened he flinched. Were they going to make him fight while he was still recovering? Were they going to punish him for losing? He had never lost before—never felt the sting of defeat—but it wasn’t the usual guardsman or sentry. Shiro forced himself to sit up in his cot. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the fever, but he tried his best to not look pathetic. Somehow, he doubted his best would be good enough. 

[wxteriism]

@wrongblooded

Lance had been wandering the bubbles for a year and a half. He still remembers when he woke up and met with the dead white gaze of Blaytz. The former Blue Paladin gave him a general run down of the Land of the Dreaming Dead and he stuck around Blaytz for the first few months, watching on that same first day as his irises and pupils faded and left behind a blank stare of his own. He was properly dead.

As he was, he had decided that after a year hanging out with the OG Paladins and listening to Alfor’s stories and Zarkon’s dad jokes, he’d wander about on his own. 

So far, he has met mother Teresa, sang a duet with Freddie Mercury, hung out with Ulaz and Thace, and got beauty tips from an ancient Egyptian. He couldn’t pronounce their name.

Now he was roaming and he was looking for a place to sit when he entered a blank bubble. Weird seeing as most bubbles were filled with the memories of people or places they have imagined. In the distance he saw a lone figure sitting on the floor. He decided to approach it. What does he have to lose? He’s dead.

[cairis-in-the-field]

wrongblooded replied to your post: wrongblooded replied to your post: ...

It’s the only movie that’s actually scared me lmao

Having just now read about it on Wikipedia, it would be less scary and more gross and depressing.  =(

[dualitydefined-blog]

     blue irises narrow slightly as a sigh seeps from her lips .

    he isn’t getting any better .  she can finally admit it , at least to herself .  

     there are moments , INSTANCES , when he is just as he was before his body had been left to corrode in the white abyss of quintessence , when his gaze meets hers and she almost deludes herself into thinking that he actually recognises her ... that nothing has changed ... that he actually cares .  almost .  then a whirlwind of emotions may overtake him at any given time , the corruption overflowing and spreading like contamination , speaking with unrelenting disdain or pangs of crippling fear or all-consuming ire , with scarcely a thought of charisma or the many masks he may don upon his face .  it is EXHAUSTING to gauge his moods , to scatter caution with any utterance ; neither can she will herself to leave him or bring him out of his misery .  perhaps she should have found a nice , little territory with ezor and zethrid ... or conquering the empire , just the three of them .  what was once idle chatter now feels so hopelessly out of reach .

     but she had made her choice .

     and it seems every choice she has made from the moment she met lotor is destined to align her path with him .  even when she had left him , she had found him , despite her better judgment .  perhaps they are not meant to BE TOGETHER in the way that the emperor had tried to reason with the ALTEAN PRINCESS , but if she can remain the one closest to him — if she could remain in his memories if not in his heart ... then allow her this small modicum of selfishness , just this once .  so when he asks her one day , when it appears as though he is himself again and not the quintessence-addled beast that rages from within , instead weakened and half-conscious , if she would stay with him , her answer is simple .  she says what she had told him so very long ago when he had asked her the very same question when he made her his general .

     ❝ —— until i die . ❞

     she would come to regret these words in time .

@wrongblooded​ / sc .

[xaldea-blog]

@wrongblooded

She drags his unconscious form out of the wreckage; she even has Zana dress his wounds once they arrive at her shelter. Even still she chains him—makes sure he will not be able to get away so easily. He will be weak, but she’s sure he will live. Her healer assures her of this—but Amaranthine is still not certain. “Leave us.” She commands in her usual deep voice. Amaranthine is all hard edges. It will be hard to convince her to be soft.

The rebel knows who this man is—who doesn’t? The new Emperor of the Galra...though he has been gone for some time. Perhaps he will lose his position already. That would be rich, Amaranthine thinks. When Lotor does eventually stir she places a glass of cold water on the desk beside him. He ought to be able to reach it—barely. His chains are not meant to give much freedom. “You were near death when we found you. You should drink, Lotor.” There is a harshness to the way she says his name. Even though it is Zarkon that took her family from her, she will not give his son forgiveness so easily. 

[maudlxne]

      As much as she wished to deny it, to blame it on instinct, she knew it wasn’t true. The moment she saw him in danger, no matter how pissed off at the ex-emperor she was, she acted. Throwing herself between him and the aimed gun taking the hit instead.  Pain seared its way through her abdomen upon impact. Frame lurching forward a bit in agony. In vain she tried to stop the crimson which began to spill from the wound by using her hand to apply pressure. DAMN IT. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

      A muffled pitched noise of pain fled her through grit teeth. Her free hand raised quickly, using the gun she had stolen off of a sentry to shoot down LOTOR’S would-be murder before the gun slipped from her hand. 

      They needed to keep MOVING there was more on the way and if they stayed here they BOTH would die. She couldn’t let that happen. Not after she spent so long searching for him. Yet, she wasn’t even sure she could walk at this point.  A fact that was only proven correct the moment she attempted to step forward only for her to collapse the second she tried. 

                                                   ❝ LOTOR. . . ❞

    @wrongblooded

[wxteriism]

wrongblooded replied to your post: ash-mun replied to your post: ...

“eXCUse mE”

“If it wasn’t for all that purple you’d be kinda cute. Maybe.”