#sparked back to consciousness by Eddie's being in danger

[lady-in-the-lair]

Post-TLD Eddie going out on dangerous crusading journalist investigations, putting himself in harm's way, half because he forgets what it's like to be a fragile symbioteless human and half because he doesn't care what happens to him anymore and he may as well go out helping people like Venom did

[dr-shortsighted-owl]

Welcome back to the world of maybe writing things that are not academic

Can you share some thoughts on your

Pacific Rim AU 💜

Oh spots, my spots! thank you for the ask!

I spoke to @try-set-me-on-fire about this fic idea, and @ronordmann too! It has the title 'SATURN IS FALLEN, AM I TOO TO FALL' from John Keats, Hyperion.

A retelling of PacRim With the Lads in a Jaegar called Icarus Hyperion because I need those 'flying too close to the sun' vibes.

It’s like touching an exposed wire, frayed and innocuously dangerous. Buck’s body jerks violently back to consciousness where it’s trapped, ensnared in the cables and harness as he’s spat out the drift, every nerve in his being burning.  

The jaegar above him, surrounding him, lurches and locks at his movement, the sound of grating metal on metal and alarms bouncing round the Con-pods shattered interior. Overwhelming dizziness floods him as he crashes around his own mind; Eddie’s connection is barely holding out but the pain - Eddie’s pain - is all-consuming. His shoulder screams where the nerves snap and spark, where blood pools between his skin and what remains of his suit, red on blue.

Somewhere he can hear the crackling, harried voices of Hen and Chim and Bobby. Their voices echo round his head, Hyperion's head, Eddie’s head.

From the shattered remains of the cockpit screen all he can see on the kicked up blue-stained sand below is the scratched expanse of Hyperions hand, and Eddie's crumpled body cradled in her palm.

[angeldcgs]

devyn wondered if this what what it felt like to be mauled by some sort of predatory animal— the unrelenting pressure of teeth sunk into her throat, and the crushing weight of his body on top of her, the clawing of his hand keeping her pinned. her natural human survival instincts should've been urging her to try and fight back or find some way to escape, and at first, her body had tried. that was the intended purpose of all that squirming, to try and wiggle out of his grasp and have a moment's reprieve from the overwhelming pain, though it wasn't a conscious attempt. her body could tell she was in imminent danger, because it couldn't differentiate between a senseless killer and one with a conscience, the sort who had every intention of leaving his prey intact so that he may get to sample her blood again. eddie wouldn't hurt her— he wouldn't kill her, at least. consciously, devyn knew that, but her body hadn't yet been made aware. just as she was revitalizing him with her very life force, sustaining him and restoring him back to his former glory, her vitality was swiftly draining with every ounce of blood lost. but it wasn't lost, exactly— it hadn't been wasted, or discarded, but rather, it was being used to its full potential. what better form of devotion than to drain her veins in favor of feeding her beloved? had she been capable of cognitive thought while the whole ordeal was taking place, she would've found herself getting sentimental as she remained on the edge of consciousness, finally able to convey her feelings for eddie in a way she'd never be able to articulate out loud, even if she had the guts. to her, it hadn't felt as though their relationship changed once she found out about what he was, because it's not like it was some big secret anyway; he was pretty shit at not acting like a three hundred year old vampire. after this milestone, however, things would most certainly be different. for devyn, she'd be moving forward with the knowledge of what he was truly capable of, and no matter how she claimed to not be afraid, it would forever influence the way she looked at him. what was more worrying was what eddie might feel after, the guilt from having harmed someone he cared for, and the fear of knowing he wasn't in control of himself the way he wished he could be. it seemed more realistic that she'd be the one to be scared off after all was said and done, finding excuses to avoid him until they just stopped seeing each other altogether, but it would be more likely that he would be the one to end their friendship after this. he would claim it was for her own good, and he just wanted to protect her, but devyn wouldn't let him go that easily. if she came out of this in one piece, there would be no separating them for as long as she lived.

her breathing had become a hollow rattle in her chest, each inhale more labored and strained than the last, heart beat slowed to a weak thump while she laid flopped back on the bed. there wasn't anything else she could do, physically unable to keep herself going while being actively drained, the ball fully in his court as to whether she lived or died. before she fully lost her grip on consciousness, there was a brief spark that lit her up inside, a sick sense of excitement felt at that prospect. her life was in his hands— clutched in his jaw, flowing down his throat and dribbling down his chin. for a brief moment there was blinding, delirious euphoria, and then a numbness that lasted god knows how long, because the next thing she knew, eddie's voice was echoing faintly in her ears, somehow able to hear his call from whatever far off realm she'd been transported to, but responding wasn't so easy. she tried to move, tried to reach for him, but she couldn't even lift her arm or open her mouth. all she could do was lay there for a moment, finally regaining enough strength to do a few slow blinks as her breathing began to deepen. the first noise she could make was a low, rumbling groan, like the sound of frankenstein's monster first awakening on the slab. still unable to turn her head to the side to look at him, devyn's vision focused in on the wall her head was angled towards, occasionally going fuzzy on and off as she struggled to keep the image clear. "done?" the word came out as a slurred mumble, her tongue feeling too thick and too dry to properly articulate anything. "did you... you get enough?" carefully, like even the most gentle of movement at all was too much for her, she turned to face him, unfocused gaze barely able to take in the sight of his chin dripping in blood before her lashes fluttered and her head flopped back to rest against he pillow.

there was little use to try and slow himself down, he couldn't slow the speed at which her body gave him her blood and to not suck it all up would be a waste, instead dripping out from her neck and down onto the towel to be cleaned up later. even as her convulsions grew weaker, the hand remained film in his hair, gripping his curls tightly like it was her only connection to reality. he knew all too well what it felt like, it was nothing compared to what it was like to be turned but the pain was something else entirely, there were few things a human could relate it to and despite her consent, eddie knew he'd forever feel guilty for being the one to introduce devyn to that kind of awful feeling. in that moment though, he could barely think about the repercussions, could barely think about anything at all other than how amazing she tasted and how incredible it felt to feel his strength coming back to him. her body was bringing him back to life, her blood reinvigorating not only his body but his mind and soul too. it wasn't just food to him, it was symbolic and sacred and he put more emphasis on the precious nature of a human's blood than other vampires he'd met throughout his life had. the fact it was devyn's blood made it the most special of all, for she was the first human in a long, long time whom he had allowed himself to get close with and form a relationship of sorts. she had figured out what he was and not turned away in disgust, instead, she had offered herself freely and in acknowledgement of the risks; she was unlike anyone he'd ever met before. another drunken hum against her lips and before he knew it, the body beneath him fell limp and the hand previously in his hair fell lame against the bed. it was like being awoken from a dream, the sort where you hadn't even realised you'd fallen asleep in the first place. without that pressure keeping him at least somewhat attached to reality, it would've been so easy to forget about everything other than sucking her dry, taking each last precious drop of blood out of her small frame and gobbling it up like the greedy monster he had been made to be. another minute or so and she'd be dry, hollowed out like an abandoned house, a mere husk of what she once was. it took him longer than he wanted to comprehend what had happened, a couple of seconds still sucking her blood but once he'd snapped out of his haze, eddie pulled back from her neck with a shudder. the two fang marks on her neck continued to ooze blood once his fangs had been freed from their place within her and eddie placed his trembling hand over the wounds to try and stop the flow, though feeling her blood hot against his palm while her skin had become cold and clammy was a horrifying revelation. "devyn-" her blood had given him new strength but he felt weak at the sight of her glazed expression, her breathing shallow and her body as lame as the roadkill he'd stolen for food when particularly desperate. her blood smeared across her cheek from his own as he moved to hover above her, her face quickly cupped within his free palm with the harsh desperation of a man unable to face the possibility of what he had done. she was alive, though he hadn't been paying attention to the telltale signs of her body slowing down. if he had, he could've stopped himself before she'd become so weak, barely clinging to consciousness. "devyn, can you hear me? i'm done, i'm all done, okay? you did it. you did such a good job."

[19tozier]

wish you were sober pt. two (richie tozier)

part two of this imagine

warnings: swearing, angst w/ a happy ending

[losers + reader are 16+]

as much as you wish it didn’t, that night after the party changes everything.

you don’t really know what to do with yourself. your heart aches to believe what richie said, but the larger part of you knows he was just drunk. he’s been your best friend for years, there’s no way that he actually likes you, let alone loves you. you just need to forget about it.

you don’t really know what to do about it, though. the logical part of you says it would probably be best to avoid richie for a while, at least until your feelings settle down again, but you’re not strong enough to do that. you’ve never gone longer than the weekend without seeing him; you don’t think you’d survive not having him within arm’s length.

but still, your blood burns whenever he’s close, so almost without you realizing it, you put distance between the two of you. not much, not enough to ruin your friendship, but enough to be noticeable. always at least one loser between you at all times, never being alone with him, talking to him really only when there are other people around. you know he has to have noticed and you feel guilty as hell to hurt him like this, but you’re slowly dying and he has no fucking clue.

you do, however, notice when sandy stops eating lunch with all of you. you notice when his jean jacket stretches over his own shoulders again. and you notice how no new girl shows up under his arm. you notice it all, and it makes you think.

hope is a dangerous thing. it can kill you if you’re not careful.

you think you’re doing a pretty good job of it, all things considered; you still laugh at richie’s jokes, you still banter with him over mundane topics, you still team up with him to rag on any of the other losers. you’ve always believed yourself to be a bad friend because of your feelings, betraying his trust and his privacy by being so in love with him. you’re certain you’re obvious because sometimes you feel like your love for him is bursting out of your skin, but you’ve never admitted it in as many words. you’ve never told anyone about your feelings for him, not even bev or stan. it is a secret you intend to take to your grave.

you only realize you’re wrong when the tension between you and richie explodes.

it starts at lunch one day. you’re all sat around your usual table, being as rowdy and out-of-control as all of you typically are. you’re sitting in between bill and bev, laughing at the story eddie tells, consciously keeping your eyes away from richie. any time you look at him, you can’t pull your eyes away because of how beautiful he is.

still, you’re only so strong, and when eddie gets distracted by bill asking him a question, your eyes flick to richie’s face. you jump when you find him already looking back at you.

he raises an eyebrow at you, a cheeky grin spread across his mouth. he’s got his hair pulled back in a bun today, a few unruly curls spilling out against his cheekbones in a way that’s unfairly attractive. you’re stricken by it, especially when he drops his eyelid in a wink. it’s so hot, you want to climb him like a tree and kiss him—

you jerk, ripping your gaze away from him. you desperately refocus on eddie, ignoring the way bev nudges you. your cheeks are flaming, something hot traveling through your chest and down your arms. you can feel richie’s gaze still on you, prickling and too perceptive. you feel flayed out under it, like he will be able to read your love for him in every line of your face.

you very carefully do not look at richie for the rest of lunch.

you almost think you’ve gotten away with it. richie doesn’t try to catch your attention again, and when the bell rings you book it out of the cafeteria before he can try and talk to you. you don’t share any classes together after lunch, and you think you can probably avoid him after school too if you pretend to talk to one of your teachers. you’re fine. it’s fine. you can do this.

you’re still thinking about it when you take your customary trip to the bathroom, the way you always do sometime during fifth period. it’s less actually having to go to the bathroom and more needing to get out of class, still jittery from lunch but starting to crash and burn out from the school day.

you’re swinging the hall pass around your finger, humming to yourself as you take the long way around, when you pass by the janitor’s closet and feel a hand wrap around your wrist to yank you in.

you squeak in surprise, your heart in your throat, before anger takes over and you whirl on who grabbed you. you can’t see in the dark of the closet but that doesn’t matter. “what the hell? not funny, asshole, who do you think you—”

the chain for the light is pulled. your words die in your throat when you find yourself looking up into richie’s face, his jaw tensed and his eyes dark.

“who do i think i am?” richie prompts when you don’t finish, glaring down at you. his arms are crossed over his chest. “well let’s see, who am i? maybe your best fucking friend who you’ve been avoiding? yeah, that sounds about right, doesn’t it?”

you gape at him, your brain still struggling to make sense of what’s going on. your voice is weak when you mumble, “i‘m not avoiding you.”

“bull-fucking-shit,” he sneers. “you’ve been avoiding me for like, two weeks now. the only reason we’re talking right now is because i pulled you in here, because if i’d have asked to talk you would’ve just blown me off.”

he’s not wrong; you probably would have. still, you blink at him, your eyebrows furrowing. “how did you know i’d be walking by?”

he glares at you, like he’s furious that’s what you’re focusing on instead of what he’s saying. “you always go to the bathroom during fifth period. you had to walk by eventually.”

slowly, the confusion fogging your brain is clearing, giving you the space you need to throw up your defenses. deflect, you tell yourself. “so what, you decided the best course of action was to skip class and wait for me in a janitor’s closet? you couldn’t have thought of literally anything else?”

“i tried!” he growls, his voice rising in volume. “i tried to talk to you about it last week and you just made some excuse and fucking left! you won’t even look at me, toots, so what the fuck else was i supposed to do?”

“not wait in a dingy ass closet?” you bite back, rising up to your full height. it’s not much, not compared to his, but it makes you feel more powerful anyways. “do you ever listen to eddie when he talks about germs?”

richie ignores you, taking a step closer to you. you mirror that step backwards. “you’ve been avoiding me since that party,” he says like you haven’t even spoken, “so something had to have happened then but i don’t remember anything about—”

anger erupts inside your chest, spilling white-hot through your veins and making your hands tremble at your sides. “that’s the fucking problem, richie,” you interrupt him, your voice cold. “you were wasted and you don’t remember anything.”

he blinks at you, his shoulders tensing slightly. “so something did happen then. what the hell was it?”

all at once you are so sick of this conversation. you wish you could go back in time and not go to the bathroom today. you wish you could go back and not have gone to that party. you wish you could go back and never have met richie. you don’t really mean that, you know you don’t, but in this moment you are so hurt and so tired that you do. you feel tears prick at your eyes.

“nothing,” you say, working to keep your voice cold and not let your exhaustion creep into it. “i’m going back to class.”

you reach for the door handle, intent on getting as far from here as you can, but richie presses his hand to the door to keep you from leaving. you glare at him, tugging fruitlessly at the handle, irrationally furious over the strength of his fucking noodle arms.

“nuh uh, we’re not done talking yet,” he snaps, his eyes sparking hotly. “what happened at the party?”

“nothing happened at the party,” you nearly snarl. it’s true, after all; nothing had happened at the party. it was only when you took him home that he had said what he did.

richie growls, stepping closer again. you take another step backwards, your back hitting the door. he’s so close now you can see the circle of brown in his left eye. “stop fucking lying, (y/n). tell me what fucking happened.”

the heat rising from his skin sets you on fire, the scent of his cologne making your head foggy and adding to the blaze of your anger. it rises and rises inside of you, quickening the pace of your heart and making your stomach clench, before finally, with the suddenness of a rubber band snapping, you can’t hold it in anymore.

“fine! you wanna know what fucking happened?” you hiss, jabbing a finger into his sternum. “i drove your sorry ass home and got you into bed and you fucking told me you wished i was your girlfriend instead of sandy.”

his brow furrows, his nose scrunching slightly as he stares down at you. “that’s it?” he asks. you nearly start screaming before he continues, “you’re mad at me because i told you the truth?”

abruptly, you’re even more angry. richie’s never been a cruel or even a mean person, but this feels like he is willingly tearing you apart. sure, he could be an asshole, but you’d never thought he would make jokes like this at your expense, nor that he wouldn’t know where to draw the line. part of you wants to punch him and part of you wants to cry.

you settle for scowling at him. “stop fucking teasing me, richie, it’s not funny.”

he rolls his eyes at you, frowning. “who said i was joking? (y/n), you’re fucking oblivious if you think i haven’t been in love with you since before we even fucking met. sure, probably shouldn’t have admitted that while i was drunk, but guess i just needed some liquid encouragement.”

his words draw you up short. he looks so sincere but you’re hesitant to believe him, certain it’s a joke. things like this don’t work out for you. you don’t get to have the cliche fairytale moments. you’re certain he’s going to laugh and yell how he’d gotten off a good one, but as the seconds tick by he just watches your face, not even trying to fill the silence that is steadily growing thicker. his expression doesn’t shift from the vulnerable earnestness it had settled into.

finally, you manage to shakily murmur, “but what about all of those girls?”

he sighs, carding a rough hand through his curls. “just a distraction. they were fun and all, but they weren’t you, doll. you’re my best girl. no one could ever compare to you.”

“and you’re not—” your voice cracks. you stop, clear your throat. try again. “you’re not joking?”

the smile that spreads across his mouth is soft, sweet, a little bit shy. the way you are suddenly realizing he has never looked with anyone other than you. “no, sugar,” he murmurs. “i am absolutely, 100% not joking.”

your breath stutters out of you, your shoulders slumping against the door. you have emotional whiplash from the past several minutes, abruptly exhausted over what is one of the most insane experiences you have ever had. and you’d bashed in the skull of a murderous demon clown at thirteen. part of you doesn’t think this is real, but if it’s not, may as well take advantage of the dream.

“hey rich?” you whisper, reaching out to touch his ribs. he shudders.

“yeah, doll?” he murmurs roughly.

you smile up at him, brushing your thumbs along his waist. “kiss me?”

he smiles back, reaching to tuck your hair behind your ear. “don’t mind if i do.”

he kisses the laughter right out of your mouth, getting close enough to press you back against the door with the bulk of his body. his hands slide around your hips, his teeth catching around your lower lip, and he whines when you reach up to tangle your fingers in his hair. his mouth tastes like the mint gum he likes to chew and the smell of him is dizzying up close, you think you might drown in it—

the sound of the bell breaks you apart, both of your chests heaving and your lips swollen. you stare up at him for a moment before you both burst into giggles.

“fuck, i love you,” he beams, kissing you again.

you grin back, brushing your thumb along his cheek. “i love you too, tozier.”

his expression goes so soft it hurts to look at, but you can’t look away. he shakes his head, still smiling. “do you wanna ditch the rest of the day and go get milkshakes with me, baby?”

you nod, slipping your hand into his when he offers it to you. “i would like nothing more, rich.”

[k-chapman]

Chapter 4 - The Feast

I find myself lost. Vienna, my home, turned against me. Places of love turned to spaces of pain, in my mind, around my body. The ring of promise, the gift of love from my beloved, cripples my hand. I can hardly walk, and yet I wander.

In a side alley I am discovered. I had halted but for a moment when a man in the dead of night, smoking, speaks to me: "Do you know the pain of lost love? [1] Perhaps you are going to deny the existence of that which you do not see?” [2]

The speaker came into the light of alley. Behind him the gates in a wall seemed to distort as he moves, taking up my whole field of vision. I see his face; it is the rugged face of moments lost. [3] I fumble with my ring out of apprehension and disorientation.

His words bolder now: […] “we find three levels: we see one form closer to matter than to the agent, another closer to the agent than to matter, and another in between.” [4] His eyes darting back forth between me and my ring. Pangs of pain running through me as his needy eyes caress the gold. I thought him for a moment a common thief, but his words begged to differ, his manner was more akin to servant, a butler.

Our eyes met again. From the rugged, beautiful face the word came forth: “What the lover sees is the lost part of himself contained in, enveloped by the Other.” [5]

I could not stop myself from nodding in agreement.

“Come then, let us see, by way of the works and affects of the understanding, how we might be able to find what we are seeking.” [6] He softly opened the gate behind him, and we entered the presence of the house, enveloped by the garden, I felt outside the world. From this point onwards, a new relation between love and unreason began to take shape. [7]

Inside what I first took for statues, where in fact beasts. Cows to be exact. Surprised I stare at my acquaintance as he moved through the lush meadow.

“What of the purity of a man who, content with a farmer’s life, preferred honesty to any amount of gold?” [8] He winked, and he spoke in soft reassuring tones, as I release the grip on my ring, but only slightly. The beasts indifferently watched us, chewing.

The garden was completely overgrown, no discernible organization lay under these grasses. Clearings were only created by the cows stamping weight. Moonlight glittered of the lush follicles as they swayed in the breeze.

“Don't you understand what we owe to this breed of animal? [9] To any breed in fact?” He petted the head of one of the beasts as it chewed slowly. It struck me that purity, and retiring delicacy, are features well contrasted with the rough, but tender disposition of the hero. [10]

“Human body is not animal body. [11] We know too much; such consciousness cannot become dumb and trust again; innocence cannot be regained. [12] We surely by now would have forgotten innocence if it weren’t for the beasts.” But I was only half listening, my eyes drawn to the light from inside the house. I was drawn inside the house, feeling the light and warmth beckon me. I enter and for the first time see the source of the light, a great shining rift.

I feel I am not alone.

“What comes out of that thing can be called flame or soul, charm, consumption, in any case a halo.” [13] The voice resonates throughout the house, as if the walls themselves were speaking. The tones are deep now and hollow. I feel the man’s presence behind me but cannot tear my eyes from the beauty of the pit. Again, he spoke in an ever-increasing boom:

“[..]When the brain’s black vapours have filled the spirit and, with the spirit vibrating, have set into motion horrible forms in the phantasy so that very nearly the soul’s entire power is struck by the novelty of the hideous spectacle and is concentrated in the phantasy, are you surprised if it interrupts its work of contemplating for a while and resumes it only when the vapours have finally dispersed? [14]

[…] Such contemplation cannot rightly take place unless the images have been set aside. [15]

The true task is to see how meaning is corroded from within by an [external] object, an object inherent to it, a stranger within. [16]

Your ring…”

The last vowel shook the windows, like the grumbling of a hungry belly, the light of the pit pulsated, the ring now on the palm of my hand. My love, lost.

“Such a vice does not destroy the soul’s nature, but it does take possession of it. [17]

[…] Should the pain remain distinct or [should it] intermingle? [18]

Don't you know how much the gods like the smell of burnt offerings?” [19]

And with a simple movement the ring fell from my palm into the pit and sparked as it hit the bursting surface and an enormous clap sounded.

Every individual created substance exerts physical action and passion on all the others. [20] Is it through choice rather than through being that the Sun gives light to the world, that fire heats, that the soul nourishes the body? [21]

The release was electric. I was blown back by the heat, the air unbearable, the lightness otherworldly, I am thrown to the ground and find myself at the feet of the stranger.

Around us the house groaned as if in great pleasure, shifting and expanding with warmth. I look up, seeing now the distorted ceiling, covered in organic openings like a frozen dissolving cement. The opening like inhaling vents began to shimmer. The smokey vapours were sucked up and swirled around thousand tiny nostrils in a deep breath. Cool air streamed past the stranger’s feet and my body, I shivered.

He stares at me, his face illumined by the multicoloured glow. Slowly he fixed the sure gaze of his clear eyes on mine, and keeping his mouth tightly shut, he thoughtfully put his faithful hand on my shoulder. [22] Then he spoke with his voice echoing through the house as if they were speaking as one, his voice seemingly modulating the howling rush of air as it pulled past us.

“If [there] were some form superior to matter, why did one need to destroy the matter in order to make this completely unrelated form, which in no sense comes into existence from matter and is produced at a total remove from it? [23] Your eyes’ sparkle, I see clearly ; the waft of your breath I feel warmly, your [pain’s] voice’s singing I hear sweetly:— but what, singing, you tell me, amazed, I understand it not. [24] The victim, not the murderer, is guilty. [25] You were guilty, and you know it! You lingered!”

His lasts words left is face contorted with anger but only for a moment.

He looked to the blaze and in his own voice now, as if to himself, hardly audible past the streaming wind, he spoke:

“In this way whiteness has become corporeal [26]. The whiteness, the pure whiteness.”

Lying on the floor I saw him move towards the unbearable heat and I was taken by lightness, taken by peace. Sound becoming silence as I fall.

Softly, like feathers caught up in an eddy of air that had passed, [my] thoughts steadied and drifted to rest. [27] Down in this world you allow yourself a thousand peaceful acts: to sleep, dream, talk on and on, relax your attention; all danger moves away from your steps so naturally that you don’t think about it. [28]

[1] Asimov, Complete Robot Anthology

[2] Ficino, Platonic Theology Volume 2 Books V VIII

[3] Zajko, Laughing with Medusa

[4] Ficino, Platonic Theology Volume 3 Books IX XI

[5] Zizek, Less Than Nothing

[6] Ficino, Platonic Theology Volume 2 Books V VIII

[7] Foucault, History of Madness

[8] Alberti, The Family in Renaissance Florence

[9] Alberti, Momus

[10] Homer, Iliad

[11] Zajko, Laughing with Medusa

[12] Sloterdijk, Critique of Cynical Reason

[13] Serres, Statues

[14] Ficino, Platonic Theology Volume 3 Books IX XI

[15] Ficino, Platonic Theology Volume 5 Books XV XVI

[16] Zizek, Less Than Nothing

[17] Ficino, Platonic Theology Volume 5 Books XV XVI

[18] Ficino, Platonic Theology Volume 2 Books V VIII

[19] Alberti, Momus

[20] Leibniz, Philosophical Essays

[21] Ficino, Platonic Theology Volume 1 Books I IV

[22] Zizek, Less Than Nothing

[23] Ficino, Platonic Theology Volume 2 Books V VIII

[24] Kittler, The Truth of the Technological World

[25] Sloterdijk, Critique of Cynical Reason

[26] Ficino, Platonic Theology Volume 1 Books I IV

[27] Asimov, Complete Robot Anthology

[28] Serres, The Natural Contract

[stricklandwitch]

P A R T O N E

-TRIGGER WARNING: Torture, Rape, and Death

Proceed at your own risk-

Drip.

Drip. Drip.

Drip.

That’s all she heard once she finally woke up. She tried to stretch out her stiff limbs but was restrained by metal around her wrists, her ankles. All Persephone could remember dropping TJ off to Leah for a play date with the girls. She deduced that she had been attacked from behind and injected with something that put her to sleep. Her body was cold and achy. The witch looked around. It was dark, but she could make out that she was in some bizarre hospital room. It wasn’t the infirmary. That place was too bright, and all the nurses were frightened little creatures. No, this had to be the basement. This had to be the part of the asylum where people were experimented on. Sepp had heard stories about it but never cared enough to see if it was true.

The jingling of a set of keys made the hairs on Seph’s arm stand up. ‘Danger,’ her body told her. She foolishly glanced up to see a man in a scrub gown smiling gleefully down at her. “Oh, Ms. Strickland, you’re awake! Fantastic!” A chill ran down the witch’s back as she watched the “doctor” grab a few tools. “What we’re going to do is try to get down to the part of you where your magic lies. Now, my coworker thinks it’s in the blood. I personally think it’s in the liver. Let’s see, shall we?” She heard the sound of a drill then the pain started. And her turned black.

The sound of jazz filled the air as the witch woke up. She winced slightly at the light above her. She tried hard not to show it, but the pain from her stomach was blinding; it made her nauseous. The blonde was working at slowing her breathing, steadying it so the pain wouldn’t be much worse. But she was taken off guard when something was shoved into her arm. She squirmed and squirmed, and it made the doctor laugh in amusement. “Go ahead, little witch. The more you move around, the faster the serum will work.” And it did. A couple of minutes later, her body felt as if it were being burned from the inside out.

~

Days went by as Persephone drifted in and out of consciousness. The longer she stayed down there, the more painful it became. Her became stiffer and what was a dull ache turned into blinding pain. She didn’t know how much longer she could take it. In the brief moments she was awake, Seph would think about TJ, how she hoped he was safe with a loved one. And she’d think about her siblings, if they were okay and if they were happy. Then she’d think about her friends. If Jess and Vincent were okay and the kids. If Isobel was happy wherever she was. If Nathan was still his happy self with Millie. Or if Essyn got what she wanted. Tears slowly slid down the witch’s cheeks. She knew she might never get the answers to those thoughts. Part of knew she would die here. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t be going out in a blaze of glory like she wanted.

But her captivity was made a little easier by a feisty nurse, who she would come to learn was named Dawn. Dawn would come down after the doctor was done for the day with a vial of blood. Persephone would take the blood as Dawn explained each time that it was from a vampire they had down for a while who the asylum couldn’t find after the last freedom days. The blonde thanked her each time, even commenting that if she ever got the chance to meet the vampire, she’d thank him. Dawn seemed like an angel. She would stay down there with Persephone, making her talk and laugh and smile. Persephone found that it was hard not to smile around the beautiful nurse. Seph would tell Dawn about TJ, then Dawn would tell Seph about her own messed up family, how she came from a family of werewolves though she never got the gene. Dawn made the days go by faster every time she visited.

~

Day of eight of captivity passed, or so Persephone assumed. She tried to keep her sense of time, and timed when the doctor would come down and when he would leave. She also knew the time of day when Dawn would come down to visit. But a new face appeared in the basement. A guard, who reminded her of Colin with the same build and the same hair and same blue eyes. She would stay quiet as he checked her wounds and her restraints. Every time he was around, Seph got a chilly, eerie feeling down her spine.

Eddie, the new guard, loved old music. He was always listening to something he called a “classic” when he came down for patrol. Day ten of her captivity was no exception. Eddie came waltzing into the room, earbuds stuffed in his ears. She could hear “I’ll Remember You” coming through his earbuds. She recognized the song. It was from “The Notebook,” the movie Isobel made her watch and fall in love with during a girls’ night. The witch rolled her eyes, feeling a small spark of sassiness still left inside her. Eddie’s eyebrows raised. “Something you wanna say, witch?”

Seph shook her head. “Oh, no, sir. I’m just /appreciating/ the type of music you listen to.” Her words dripped with sarcasm. “I’m confused. Do you listen to that music to be creepy or is it just a coincidence?”

Eddie chuckled and came over to her. A sharp slap resounded against her cheek. “I see you have some spunk in you still. I’m surprised the good doctor hasn’t snuffed that out yet.”

Persephone moved her jaw, working out the pain. She glared up at the guard. “You know what’s sad? That you give up your nights to patrol a basement instead of going out to play with a girl or with friends.”

He shook his head, a dark look crossing over his face, his jaw tense. “Well, I figured I could just play with you. I’m sure that would interfere with the doctor’s experiments too much.” Eddie moved closer to Persephone then leaned down and sniffed her hair. “Mmm, you smell like citrus. Dawn must have been down here.” The blonde froze when he started to undo her wrist restraints. “She’s a nice girl. I have no clue why she would hang out with the likes of you.”

Once her hands were free, Persephone punched Eddie in the mouth with all the force she could put behind it. He stumbled away from the exam table, which gave her a couple of seconds to undo one of her ankle restraints. Seph wasn’t paying attention when Eddie grabbed by the throat and hit her head back on the table. She grunted in pain, little white specks dancing across her vision. “You stupid bitch! Now, I’m really going to teach you a lesson!” Eddie climbed on top of her to keep her from struggling. Seph let out a whimper as he landed a hard blow in her stomach and the wind was knocked from her lungs. With one hand, Eddie pinned her hands above her head and moved his other hand to his pants to undo his fly. He tugged up the hospital gown she was in before spitting on his hand and rubbing it over his length to make it slick. Persephone cried out when he rammed his length inside her forcefully. She felt more blinding pain as her sex started to bleed around him from the blunt trauma. Eddie snapped his hips into her harshly, soft grunts and the sound of Tiny Tim ringing in her ear. Persephone managed to get one of her hands free, and she pushed against the guard to stop him. She tried to sit up to knock him off her, but he pushed her back down, hitting her head against the table again. She screamed out in pain, and to shut her up, Eddie wrapped his hand around her throat. With a few more snaps of his hips, Eddie finished inside her but his hand stayed around her throat. As tears rolled down her eyes, she struggled to breathe, and she heard her heart beat slowing. Her vision started to blur, and as her world turned black, all she heard was a song:

Living in the sunlight

Loving in the moonlight

Having a wonderful time!