mmm thoughts of private executioner!blade, who is high priestess!kafka's bodyguard. well, more like her guard dog, as many fearfully seem to think.
he is aloof and gruff and rough around the edges, his name capturing it perfectly. when in the eyes of the public he either keeps to himself or stands ready by kafka's side, but when out he lurks in the shadows ready and waiting to carry out her death orders.
you, yourself, haven't had very many pleasant encounters with him... if you can even call them that. that being said, you haven't had many pleasant encounters with anyone. notorious for your... less than pleasant disposition, for a lack of better words, you have more people who'd rather see you run through than those you can call a friend.
in a dog-eat-dog world, you had no choice but to protect yourself. that, however, ultimately became your demise.
"oh? so you're the one sent to kill me. can't say i'm all that surprised."
standing before you is the feared executioner. his sword is tucked inside the sheath attached to his hip, that ever-present dark swirl of an aura stifling the air. he doesn't say anything, instead opting to silently stare down at your slumped and worn-out form. you find that his gaze doesn't bother you; rather, it's oddly comforting knowing someone will see you in your last moments.
"i've never asked you for a favour before, so this will be my first and last request for you." in all honesty, you're not sure where this chattiness stems from. considering you're currently in a holding cell under the crime of attempted murder towards kafka (a poisoned wine you were most definitely framed for, though you can't say you were surprised) and are awaiting for your turn to be under the guillotine for your public execution, you probably should be a little desperate towards the private executioner in front of you.
and yet, your mind is nothing if not peaceful.
with a huff, you relay your request, "can you make sure it's quick? painless, preferably, but i'd rather you just get it over and done with."
silence blankets the cold chambers. moisture accumulated along the cobble ceiling drip in a steady rhythm, like a clock ticking away the seconds. it's unnerving, almost, how there is not a single sound other than your impending countdown.
"why?" comes his low mutter, effectively causing a ripple within the stagnant air. you almost think you misheard him, but his following words cease the thought, "why won't you ask me for help?"
had it not been for the abrupt shuffle and clanging against the metal bars, you would have never looked up to see him in your last moments.
his scarred hands gripping the metal until his knuckles turn a ghastly white and blood dripping from his palms is what greets your sight. as your gaze slowly trails up, you almost let loose a laugh of disbelief; who would have thought blade, the infamous guard dog of the high priestess, could make such a desperate expression? one looking as though his whole world crumbled before him, in which he can do nothing but sit and watch.
(you will never know of the anger and desperation which coursed through his veins the moment he heard of your predicament. had it been anyone else, he wouldn't have cared. but you're not anyone else; you're you — unapologetically, wholeheartedly. it didn't take him long to hunt down those behind it, cutting them down without thought and putting an end to their miserable lives. he rushed as soon as he could when kafka gave him the order, no thoughts other than you, you, you, occupying his mind.
you will never know of the anguish which overcame him when he found you in such a state, your once healthy complexion and defiant gaze reduced to nothing but a tiredness which had always sat quietly behind your disposition. he's almost positive the muscle which unwillingly keeps him alive tore at the seems from your request, the acceptance in which you displayed causing his mind to go astray. even as he damn-near begs you to rely on him for help — to run away with him to some place no one knows of you and start anew there — you merely smile, resigned and peaceful.
you will never know of how much blade is willing to put on the line for you, for you never made it to see the complete and utter carnage he wrecked in your name.)
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thinking about burying your face into shoko's chest when the scary movie is getting a litte too scary during the usual sashisu get-together. suguru is acting all calm, (you know his heartbeat is racing, though. he's not as cool as he thinks) surpressing a little smirk while satoru is clutching onto his sweater for his dear life.
shoko isn't focused on the boys, nor is she focused on the tv screen that's filled with blood and guts – your scrunched up face being way more intriguing. she's trying to be smooth, trying to just catch a proper glimpse of you but it's hard without making a fuss. she needs to turn her head and she knows that's gonna get your attention; she doesn't want that. she wants to look at you without you looking back. she wants to study you and your face, you and you expressions, you and your birthmarks and you and your scars. she can't do that if you're staring up at her. she can't study you like that - she'll get distracted.
but c'mon, you're right there – one hand on her stomach, holding yourself up a little while the other is lost somewhere between your bodies. she has to look at you.
and she does. from what she can see, your face is in fact all scrunched up and it is in fact as adorable as she'd thought it'd be. your eyebrows are furrowed, eyes screwed shut as the screaming and yelling continues booming from the tv. your bottom lip is a little jutted out; shoko's lips twitch. so do her fingers.
her one hand is securely holding wine glass while the other... has somehow found its way to your back. for comfort, she thinks to herself. she didn't even realize it was there. instinct, she thinks to herself.
she leans back a mere inch, eager to see more of your pained face but that's when your eyes open; staring right back at her, you feel small. you feel flustered. she has that effect on you. the fingers on your back have now found a lock of hair, twirling the ends between her fingers; surely tainting you with the faint tobacco smell. you don't care.
"scared?" she whispers. her lips move so smoothly, the dark hue of them inviting you in. maroon; the mixture of her own lipstick and the wine - you wonder how she'd taste.
"maybe..." you whisper back. she hums quietly, trying not to attract attention from the boys a few feet away.
"aw..."
it's hard not to burn at her words, her small coo.
"what about you, hm?" you hum back and she can feel it; feel it start from the back of your throat and make its way through your body and then through hers. you're so close. "your heart is beating pretty fast. you sure you're not scared?"
...
it's not often you, or anybody else for that matter, is able to catch her off-guard. this is... new.
she just blinks down at you a few times, her pretty eyelashes fluttering against her soft pale skin. her lips part, yet nothing comes out. for about twenty seconds, it's just you and her. no blood, no gore, no tv, no boys, no noise, no nothing - only her eyes and your eyes. when your own lips quirk up, ready to bark out a tease at her - satoru screams, pulling your attention from her.
while suguru is muffling trying to muffle satoru's awful noises by slapping a palm in front of his mouth and you're trying to keep your laughter from bubbling up - shoko is still staring at you.
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Jazz thought she knew her parents. I mean they were idiots and stubbornly held their awful beliefs but she always thought that when Danny finally tells them . Reveals his identity they would turn around.
Jazz loved her parents. Even with their ghost obsession. She still believes their love would conquer that. That they would feel regret for their many threats and attacks against Danny
Jazz also loved Danny. She loved how much of an idiot her little brother could be . How he would always try to look out for his friends and sister. Even if he could be a little gremlin.
That illusion shattered when one day when she came home Danny was not to be found anywhere in the house. Weird, there was no news about any fights... He must be out with his friends
Three hours . It took her three hours to realize something was wrong.
A non breathing Danny.
A broken portal.
She just kept hitting Maddie and Jack. They weren't moving anymore.
She needed to get away.
She needed to get out.
She gathered her brother up.
12 pieces.
Too much blood.
Then she woke up in Gotham. It's fine.
She got herself an apartment. A job . She sewed her brother back together. He'll be fine. He recovered from much worse. Before she knows anything he'll be back.
She - his heart still beat so softly that it might as well have been her imagination. BUT still that must be because he's a halfa. It must be it. Otherwise. . . no use thinking that.
There is a smell of rot and burning flesh coming from his room. Must be a halfa thing. If only she had access to the far frozen. She has been trying to build a portal but it's been hard. The blueprints themselves are almost unintelligible, and she can't understand the mad writing of jack and Madeline.
It was another normal day. Ah well the new normal. Jazz had been trying to clean around the areas around the sutures.
"Jazz." She perked up. It had been months. May-
"You can't keep doing this.". Danny was still stiff as a corpse. And that pulse is still as soft as ever. But she knows her little gremlin was still alive as he can be.
"Please, remember? You always told me to take care of yourself. Take your own advice" and Danny was right. Well even if it was just a hallucination. He was right. Jazz should maybe take a break. After all for the last few months she had been only focusing on Danny and the portal.
So came a different routine. That led to meeting Jason.
And they became closer. And he became frequenting her apartment. She made sure to lock Danny's room. The guest room.
After a few months. Jazz finally introduced Jason to her little brother.
Jason found no pulse. He found a corpse on the bed.
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and now for the Persephone update!
We were doing her work up that needed to be done prior to her Purdue appointment. Took the radiographs and Hey! What the fuck is that!? Sent them to a radiologist who said it’s chronic pulmonary effusion.
Now you may be wondering, how long has that been there? I don’t know. What’s causing it? I don’t know. Why isn’t she showing any symptoms? I don’t know. Will it worsen? I don’t know. Will it eventually start to negatively effect her? I don’t know. Will it change the treatment of her thyroid tumors going forward? This answer may surprise you: I don’t know.
For now I’m going to proceed with taking her to her initial Purdue visit and see what they say about the thyroid tumors. I’m worried they won’t be willing to do anything without doing a work up for her pulmonary effusion. And I’d love to pretend I’m the richest person in the world but I’m just not.
As always, I will keep you guys updated. But as of right now we’re proceeding with her Purdue visit on the 30th as normal.
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