kaleidoscope-of-thoughts:

Feels like I haven’t written in a while, so here’s a gift of almost 500 words :)

The carriage bumped and jerked over the cobblestone road, jostling the two passengers inside. The horses were being pushed to the limit to get back to the palace before it was too late.

Whumpee was curled up in Caretaker’s arms, pale and almost lifeless. Their breaths were shallow and their body was burning while simultaneously shivering so much you could hear their teeth chatter. 

“It’s okay, we’re gonna get you home and fix you up,” Caretaker whispered to Whumpee, even though they knew they couldn’t hear them right now.

“This is all my fault, I shouldn’t have let them out of my sight, none of this would have happened,” Caretaker thought while internally kicking themself. The drink had looked so innocuous, not even a strange colour or smell. Whumpee discovered that it was anything but when about five minutes after they had their first sip they collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Caretaker had scooped them up and immediately ran outside to the carriage that was waiting for them.

Now, leaned up against Caretaker, Whumpee moaned and subtly shifted closer to the warm body, their eyes moving rapidly behind closed lids.

“Shh, shh, it’ll be okay,” Caretaker choked out and placed their left hand on the side of Whumpee’s face, coaxing them to relax against their chest. Their thumb rhythmically stroked their cheek and only stopped when they felt something wet run down it. Caretaker shifted their gaze to discover that Whumpee’s eyes were open, barely so, and staring straight into theirs.

“I-I,” Whumpee wheezed as they tried to finish their sentence, but was met with an intense coughing fit.

Caretaker put their hand flat against Whumpee’s chest and started to rub small circles, hoping to ease the discomfort.

When the fit died down, Caretaker’s eyes widened and their heart stopped when they caught sight of blood on Whumpee’s lips. It was at that moment that all their senses shut off. They could no longer feel the bouncing of the carriage, the frigid winter air or the body pressed close to theirs. They couldn’t even hear Whumpee desperately trying to call their name. Their eyes were glued to the deep red liquid that was slowly dripping down Whumpee’s chin and onto the blanket over top of them. 

It wasn’t until they felt a weak tug on their shirt that they noticed Whumpee’s face had a look of pure panic.

“I’m scared,” Whumpee was finally able to rasp out.

“Me too” is what Caretaker wanted to say, but they couldn’t, because once they did the situation would become too real.

“I know,” they settled for instead, “but I’ll be here with you the whole time, I won’t leave your side.”

Whumpee nodded and their eyes shut unwillingly. Caretaker gritted their teeth and held Whumpee tighter, giving their forehead a gentle kiss.

“I won’t let you go, not now, not ever,” and Caretaker was going to make sure that promise stayed true.

Sonja: When I cultivate to immortality…

JGY: Yeah?

Sonja: I would live long enough to travel to Europe and figure out if Goethe and Schiller had something going on. Also, what happened to Schiller’s corpse? How did he die?

JGY: What the heck are you talking about?

Sonja: Why did Goethe take the head out of his grave?

JGY: Is that a new secret language so we can talk about Da-ge’s death or…

Sonja: *ignoring JGY* I need to find out which year we have.

JGY: *just stares at her*

The crime of poisoning, is frequently mentioned in Roman history. Women were most addicted to it: but it seems not improbable that this charge was frequently brought against females without sufficient evidence of their guilt, like that of witchcraft in Europe in the middle ages. We find females condemned to death for this crime in seasons of pestilence, when the people are always in an excited state of mind, and ready to attribute the calamities under which they suffer to the arts of evil-disposed persons.

smellofsnoww:

Take A Hit For You (Pt. 3)

(Part 1)(Part 2)

Kaen and Iya somehow managed to get to Naomi’s house, now she needs to take care of both of them before it’s too late.

Naomi managed to catch Kaen’s shoulders before he could hit his head on the corner of the table, swearing under her breath, she let him lay down on his side, in recovery position, before checking his condition with her power, taking a small gaze at the wounds. 

He was just passed out with exhaustion, and had more time before the poison took effect seriously, unlike Iya. She could feel the pulses of danger from her even without touching. 

“I’m sorry Kaen” she whispered, rubbing Kaen’s cheek gently before getting to her feet, “Just as you said… Iya needs help first, I’ll make it quick alright?“ 

Kaen groaned slightly, but didn’t open his eyes. 

Keep reading

Happy (very belated) Toxin Day everyone! You remember Toxin Dayby@whump-of-the-month? ;) Yes, it was in April. Yes, I also know it’s June now. But I’m glad I got something done in the end, so… enjoy, whatever this is XD

A huge thank you goes to @b0amagination for their help in so many ways, their inspiration, motivation - everything, actually. Without you, this chapter wouldn’t exist <3

CW: alcohol (and the consequences of drinking too much of it), implied emeto, poisoning, mention of broken bones and jaw wired shut, implied mouth sewn shut, and the usual creepy/intimate whumper 

masterlist

~*~

“That’s enough for today,” Vincent purred as he entered the study. His hands snuck under Jonah’s armpits to hug him from behind, making him tense up immediately.

“Don’t…”

“Oh, you don’t want me to remove your handcuffs…?” he teased, tugging at the short chain threaded through the ring in the middle of the tabletop. “Alright, didn’t know you were up for that again yet, but I definitely remember the way your eyes glazed over that first night you came over to visit me… and decided to stay…”

“I didn’t decide to stay, you-”

“Playing coy again, aren’t you? Darling, you don’t need to put on a show for me, I love you just the way you are…”

“Get your hands off me!”

“No….no, I think I won’t…”

And indeed, Vincent’s hands kept exploring Jonah’s body, slipped under his shirt, pulled it up so he could touch his chest, his protruding ribs, his nipples… All the while, the younger one kept fighting the cuffs in a desperate attempt to fight him off.

“Anyway,” Vincent suddenly relented, stretched out his arm to unlock the handcuffs, and stepped back with his hand held out for Jonah to take. “Let’s have dinner, shall we?”

“If you say so…”

Vincent’s hand remained empty.

“Come on. Don’t you want to eat?”

“You’re not going to give me something decent anyway, are you?”

“Have I ever not given you something decent?”

“Do you want me to recall every single time you did?”

“No. I’ll just give you a perfect example now.”

“Yeah, I’m already so excited to find out what that might be…”

“Are you fucking kidding me???”

Jonah stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the kitchen table which was empty except for a large bowl of strawberries.

“Sit down.”

“Where’s our actual dinner?”

“I’ll grab it later. Have a few strawberries while we wait,” Vincent smiled, picked up the bowl, and set it down right in front of him.

Jonah kept staring at the bowl as if it was going to bite him. 

“I’ve had my fill of those–at least for the rest of my life.”

“Oh, maybe it won’t be too long till we reach that point,” Vincent grinned and turned around to leave the room.

“Wait-what?!”

“I’ll tell you if you try some of the strawberries.”

“No, thank you. I still remember the last time I had them.”

“Yeah, you got kidnapped, or that’s what your stupid brain keeps telling you anyway,” the older man laughed.

“Because that’s exactly what happened. And I didn’t like it. At all.”

“I had the impression you liked what I did to you… a lot.”

“Shut- shut it, you-”

“Strawberry?” Vincent smiled innocently, holding one of them out to Jonah, close to his lips.

“NO!”

“Eat it, or I’ll shove it down your throat.”

“You better n- hmpffffff!”

“Tasty, isn’t it? Want another one?”

“What is this all about?!”

“You earning your dinner!”

“If I have to earn it by eating strawberries I’d rather skip dinner…”

“Let’s see if we can get you to change your mind…”

He turned around to see Vincent leave the room just to return a few minutes later, carrying a large tray with 5 different drinks on it–long drinks, fancy cocktails, and something that looked a lot like the cookies and cream frappuccino they had at the coffee shop he used to work at. 

“You’ll get dinner if you manage to find out which one of these is poisoned.”

“I’ll stick to my first decision: I’m skipping dinner.”

“Oh, come onnnnnn… stop being such a killjoy! It’s really easy; you just have to close your eyes and rely on your sense of taste. That’s something I absolutely trust you with, so the risk you’re taking is rather small…”

“Are you actually trying to convince me to drink something you literally poisoned?”

“Yes!” Vincent beamed and put the tray down in front of Jonah.

“What if I refuse?”

He pulled a small vial out of his pocket and held it up so Jonah could see it; he wasn’t able to make out the tiny inscription, but the hazard symbol was unmistakable.

“If you refuse, I will add a few drops of this to every meal you get in the future.”

“So I basically have the choice between starving and being poisoned?”

“No, my lovely turtledove - you’ve got the choice between starving, being poisoned, and enjoying some fancy drinks.”

“Fancy drinks that are poisoned as well.”

“Just a little. And only one of them.”

“Wow, I’m so relieved…”

“Hey! You’re the one who keeps complaining about the food and drinks I give you, but now that I want to give you a little treat you’re still whining…”

“Poisoned drinks can’t be considered treats.”

“Only one of them is poisoned.”

“That’s one too many.”

“Listen: if I give you a treat, I want you to cherish that. Taste the ingredients. Feel the texture. Be mindful.”

“I’ll do that. You don’t need to poison me,” Jonah tried to convince him, nodding eagerly. Maybe being a bit more compliant would help…

“I want to make sure you will. See if I can trust you next time.”

“You- you can trust me, really, you can-”

“Hey, hey, hey! Hey. Breathe. Can you do that for me?”

He leaned back, closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

“Good boy.”

“Don’t‘good boy’ me!” he hissed.

“Oh, believe me when I say you want to be a good boy for me, darling. If you’re not, I’m going to punish you and you don’t want that either, do you?”

Before Jonah could even react, another strawberry was unceremoniously shoved into his mouth making him choke.

“Stop that!” he coughed, gasping for air.

“Want a drink?” Vincent grinned nonchalantly. 

Jonah finally managed to catch his breath and leaned back in the chair.

“Not gonna happen,” he rasped.

“Okay Jonah,” the older man purred, leaning over the table so his and Jonah’s noses almost touched. “I gave you a choice - I actually still do. You’ll either pick one of the drinks now, or I’ll have to remind you of what I am capable of… You remember what happened to you in the past whenever you disobeyed me, don’t you? And you don’t want these things to happen again, hm?”

Two fingers lifted the younger one’s chin, forcing him to look up into the dark eyes of his captor.

“Do you remember having your jaw wired shut? Do you remember how that felt?”

His fingers traced Jonah’s jawline as he spoke, applying the tiniest bit of pressure.

“You weren’t able to tell me, of course, but judging by how often you cried and pressed your hand against your jaw you must’ve been in a lot of pain… I can do that to you again if you keep being so stubborn…”

Vincent’s fingertips moved on to Jonah’s lips.

“I could even make it worse, my sweet turtledove… I could sew your mouth shut, just like Domenic did… I’d take my time though, placing each stitch exactly where I want it to be, wipe the blood off your lips whenever I push the needle through your sensitive skin, omitting only a tiny spot in the middle, just big enough for a straw to pass through so you can enjoy those tasty protein shakes you love so much… I’d be way more considerate than Domenic of course, I could never disfigure you the way he did… And I’d make sure you’d look absolutely cute… I think I’d use a light blue thread to seal your lips, arranging the stitches in a beautiful pattern while your blood keeps turning the blue into a deep dark red-”

“Stop it!”

Jonah clenched his fists and turned his head around to finally get out of Vincent’s grip.

“All you have to do is choose a drink and describe what it tastes like,” the other man replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, for fuck’s sake, it can’t get worse anyway.”

With that, he reached for the glass right in front of him which contained a clear liquid, crushed ice, mint leaves, and lime and took a sip.

“Go on,” Vincent encouraged him.

Putting the glass down, Jonah looked up.

“What do you mean, go on? I did what you wanted me to.”

“What does it taste like?”

“It tastes like a goddamn mojito!”

Vincent sighed and put his hands on Jonah’s shoulders, applying just enough pressure to hold him down.

“Be more specific, please?”

“Rum, sugar cane juice, lime juice, soda, mint - also known as mojito.”

“Anything else?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you sure you didn’t miss any ingredients?”

“Did I miss the poison?” Jonah snarled and pushed the glass aside.

“Who knows? If you don’t want to finish your drink, why don’t you try another one? The frappuccino, maybe?”

“Absolutely not!”

He aggressively reached for another cocktail glass and took a big gulp that left him coughing.

“..the hell is that?!”

“I think you are the one who’s going to tell me,” Vincent smirked.

“You really want to kill me, don’t you?”

“Of course not! As long as you do what I say, you won’t get harmed. Well, not more than necessary…”

“Harming me has never been necessary.”

“Jonah, we both know this isn’t true. You need me to correct you. And I’ve never done anything that’s been uncalled for.”

“Yeah, everything you did was entirely justified, just a shock here and there, a little poisoning now and then…”

“Maybe it is poisoned, maybe it’s not..,” Vincent chanted.

“Stop that!”

“You haven’t completed your task yet.”

“I don’t know what it is.”

“Take another sip and be mindful this time.”

“I’m not gonna drink that again!” he spat, pointing at the reddish cocktail in front of him.

“Yes, you will.”

“NO!”

Vincent dashed forward, grabbed Jonah’s jaw and pressed his thumb, his index and his middle finger into the younger one’s cheeks until he opened his mouth reluctantly just to have Vincent apply a few droplets of whatever the tiny bottle with the skull and crossbones contained to his tongue.

The taste was awful, it was incredibly bitter and made Jonah cough again. He didn’t want to swallow it but he wasn’t able to get it out of his mouth either.

“Drink up,” the older man ordered sternly and placed the glass in front of his captive who reached out and took a gulp, if only to get rid of the taste in his mouth.

Instead of swallowing what was in his mouth though, he bent over to disgorge the potentially poisonous beverage; what he didn’t expect was Vincent’s hand over his mouth.

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed, wrapped his other hand around Jonah’s throat and forced his head back until he felt him swallow.

“You’ll take whatever I give you, without complaining.”

Tearing at Vincent’s arm to make him take his hands off his mouth and throat, Jonah struggled and almost knocked the glass over.

“No, no, no, young man, you’re not finished yet.”

He bent over the chair, his hands wrapped around the younger one’s wrists, pressing them against the armrests. 

“You don’t want me to get my sewing kit, do you?”

Jonah’s lips started to tremble.

“N-no, I… I don’t want that…”

“Good. Have a drink, then.”

With shaking hands, he reached for the glass he set down a few minutes ago and took a tiny sip.

“Go on.”

“It’s… too strong, I don’t want to get drunk.”

“Why not?”

“I… because… I just don’t want to.”

“Better drunk than poisoned, right?”

“Please, why do I have to?”

“I already told you. Drink and tell me what it is.”

“I know what it is, I don’t need to try it again.”

“Tell me.”

“What?”

“You said you knew what it was. Tell me.”

Jonah looked away, but Vincent still noticed his jaws tightening; he drew closer.

“Tell me, Jonah.”

“We both know what it is, we both know that I don’t like it and-”

“Why don’t you like it?”

“Because I don’t like peach liqueur.”

“That’s it? Just the peach liqueur?”

“I just hate Sex on the Beach, okay?”

Vincent burst into laughter and slapped him on the back in a friendly manner.

“I’m so sorry you do,” he chuckled, “I thought that might be something we could try…”

“Shut the fuck up!!!”

“You are the one who’s supposed to shut up and drink, young man.”

Jonah stared daggers at the drinks. There were three of them left, the frappuccino-like beverage, something yellowish in a smaller glass and one of his worst nightmares when it came to cocktails. For some reason, he had always assumed that Vincent hated tomatoes just as much as he did… Uttering a low sigh, he grabbed the glass with the yellow liquid in the middle, downed it in one huge gulp, and fell into another coughing fit right away.

“Goddammit, you’re really trying to kill me, huh?”

The other man smirked and sat down in the chair next to him, reached for Jonah’s wrist and ran his thumb over the back of his hand.

“I’m not trying to kill you,” he whispered, bending over to kiss his knuckles. “I could never kill you, you know that, don’t you?”

“But you just said..,” he interjected; his voice sounded slurred.

“What did I say, sweetheart?”

Jonah flinched when he felt the warm hand on his cheek, caressing him and eventually tilting his chin up until their eyes met.

“You s-saiddddd…”

The young man furrowed his brow, blinked and tried to focus on his captor.

“Darling, you sound miserable… have a drink, will you? You need to stay hydrated, get some vitamins… here.”

As soon as the glass with the dark red liquid and the celery stalk sticking out of it appeared in his field of vision, he made a face.

“Noooo, not that,” he whined, “Tha’s disgusting…”

“On the contrary, it’s good for you. Come on, darling, drink up…”

When he felt the rim of the glass being pressed against his mouth, parting his lips just enough for the tomato juice to touch his tongue, he gagged and jumped to his feet. He didn’t stay there for long, though.

Mere seconds after getting up, he found himself lying on the floor, with Vincent towering over him, one arm around his shoulders, steadying his head.

“You shouldn’t have gotten up so fast, silly boy,” he chided, a blatant smile on his face. “Let’s get you back up, shall we?”

“No..,” Jonah moaned as he felt the hands sneaking under his armpits. 

“Yes!” 

His captor downright beamed with joy as he pulled him back up into the chair.

“There are still two drinks to go, my sweet turtledove. You better get started if you want to have dinner tonight.”

At the mention of food, the young man’s face seemed to turn slightly green and he looked away in disgust.

“Hey, I thought you were hungry! Strawberry?”

He smelled the fruit before it even touched his lips - disgustingly sweet, the pedicel a bit tangy… had he not covered his mouth with both hands, he would’ve thrown up right away.

“Jonah - eat!”

“No!” he whined and tried to bat Vincent’s arm away; it only prompted him to tighten his grip, forcefully shove the fruit into his mouth, and seal it with his hand once more to keep Jonah from spitting it out.

He eventually swallowed the strawberry, but that didn’t end his struggle at all - instead of giving in, Jonah kept fighting against the hands holding him down.

“Take your hands off me!”

“Not until you drink up.”

“I won’t! Lemme go!”

“I made every effort to spoil you, I’m not going to watch you disgorge all the fancy drinks I prepared especially for you.”

“Jus’ lemme go to the bathroom then, ssso you don’ have to watch..,” the younger one hissed; it was getting harder to understand what he was saying.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Vincent sneered, “Too sad it’s not going to happen. Drink. Up.”

“You havvve wha’ you want!”

“Nope, I don’t. I certainly didn’t miss hearing you make an assumption, so I guess we’ll have to continue until you found the right answer to my question.”

“Assumpt-whahhh..?”

“The poison. Did you find out already?”

He gaped at him.

“Did I- did, errrrr…”

“Tell me,” Vincent smiled smugly.

“‘twas the last one, right?”

“Let’s find out! What exactly did you drink there, darling?”

“I… dunno…”

“Wrong answer. Next beverage. Choose one. You’re going to drink both of them anyway, but I’ll let you choose which one to try first, isn’t that nice? I think you should be a little more grateful.”

“Grateful for being… mmmurdered…”

“Stop complaining, you’re still alive. And if you want to keep it that way, you better drink now.”

The dark red cocktail still stood in front of him, but Vincent placed the frappuccino right next to it.

“Make a choice. You might want to consider that one of them only tastes good when served chilled, but I don’t need to tell you that, hm?”

Jonah’s vision was blurred, but the fact that Vincent had been so keen on making him choose a specific drink all the time led him into grabbing the other one, even though he hated everything about it. He removed the celery stick and put it on the table, smiling contentedly as he noticed the stains the red liquid left on the light wood. Oh, how tempting it was to dip his finger into the tiny puddle and draw a funky little pattern… He raised his hand but felt fingers wrapping around his wrist immediately.

“Don’t even think about it.”

But he did. He wanted to touch the wet spot, wanted to paint the whole table with it, wanted to-

As Vincent tightened his grip and twisted his arm behind his back, he cried out in pain.

“None of that now, drink or I’ll make you regret it!”

“Whatcha gonna do about it, huh?”

Vincent pulled him up, twisting his arm even further, and dragged him over into the living room. 

“You don’t want to drink? Okay, you’re not going to drink anything for quite some time, my darling…”

He finally let go and pushed Jonah onto the couch before vanishing into the bathroom.

“Don’t even think about getting up!” he shouted, but even if he wanted to, Jonah couldn’t move at all.

His limbs felt as if they were filled with lead and all he could do was lean back and close his eyes, a wave of relief washing over him - until Vincent returned, a sewing kit in one hand, a hammer in the other.

“I said that I am going to give you a choice and I will stand by my word. Since you don’t want any of the drinks I prepared for you, I’m going to let you choose your punishment now.”

Jonah looked up with glazed eyes.

“Wh-…what?”

“You heard me.”

He raised the hammer and a single needle.

“Do you prefer having your mouth sewn shut or your left wrist smashed?”

The young man crawled away to the other end of the couch, grabbed a pillow and pressed it against his chest.

“N-n-n-nooooo, none of th-that…please…”

“Jonah, I’m so sick and tired of this attitude of yours… I only want what’s best for you, but you keep making things so much harder for both of us… Do you think I like punishing you? I’d be so much happier if I didn’t have to do that all the time, but you leave me no choice with your constant disobedience.”

“I- I will do what you want, I’ll drink the cocktails, all of them, even if… if they’re going to kill me, but pleaaaasssse….”

“Mouth or wrist?”

“No, I’ll…”

He stumbled to his feet and staggered back into the kitchen, his arms swinging back and forth in a desperate attempt to keep his balance. As soon as he sat down in his chair again, he reached for the glass in front of him and emptied it in one go. 

“Jonah, what are you doing there?”

He ignored the irritated tone in his captor’s voice and reached for the other glass - it was the only one left. If he managed to drain it without throwing up, he would be okay. Vincent wouldn’t punish him. He wouldn’t hurt him, wouldn’t smash his wrist, would sew his mouth sh-

“What do you think you’re doing there?!”

“‘m doin’ what you want,” Jonah slurred and tried to pry the frappuccino from Vincent’s hands.

The older one was fast enough to hide it behind his back and take a step back though.

“This is not what I wanted. I wanted you to be mindful, instead, you’re getting mindlessly drunk!”

“Are you r-r-really worried about that?”

“Of course I am! You mean a lot to me! Just as much as my furniture does by the way, so you better stop drinking this fast if you’re already feeling sick…”

“I could jus’ ssssstop drinking altogether!”

“Not until you answered my initial question - which one of these beverages is poisoned?”

“Tis the frappuccino, obviously,” Jonah hissed, looked up at Vincent and tried to stare him down - unsuccessfully.

“You haven’t even tried it yet.”

“Is the only one left and seee others didn’ killlll me.”

“I told you that it’s not going to kill you - you have to look for something more subtle.”

“You can shove your subtlety up your a-hhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

He was pulled up from his seat, the hand in his hair tightening its grip even more as he stumbled to his feet.

“At least you made a decision now,” Vincent proclaimed, “Try not to throw up for the next few hours, I don’t want you to choke on your own vomit.”

“What? Vincennnn’, no, Vin…”

He tripped over his own feet and fell flat on his face; when he looked up again, his lower lip was bleeding.

“Don’t ruin that pretty mouth before I get the chance to do it,” his captor smirked and pulled him back up.

“No, nonononononono…”

“YES, my love! I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t forget.”

As soon as he saw the sewing kit in Vincent’s hands, Jonah lashed out at him but missed him time and time again. When he felt the hands around his wrists, keeping him from defending himself, he started to scream mindlessly, his voice hoarse and slurred; he wasn’t able to express a single word anymore. Instead, he defended himself as best he could, struggling and fighting tooth and nail in a desperate attempt to get free, but he only knocked over the glass, spilling the frappuccino all over the table. 

“Ohhhh, that’s too sad,” Vincent mocked, “I think you failed…What are we going to do with you now, hm?”

The very second he loosened his grip, Jonah got up, bent over the table - and started licking up the remains of the drink.

“What the fucking hell are you doing there?!” Vincent yelled in disgust, grabbed him by his collar and pulled him away from the table - well, at least he tried but Jonah attempted to get back immediately.

“Stop that!!!”

He slapped him across the face. Once. Twice. Three times. As if waking from a dream, the younger one looked up at him.

“..is the fra…the frappuccino..,” he mumbled, holding on to the edge of the table.

“What is?”

“The- the poison.”

“Do you really think I still care about that?”

“I didddd…wha’ you wanted me toooo…”

“You actually didn’t. But it doesn’t matter, since you’re wrong anyway.”

“Wh-?”

“The poison. It wasn’t in there.”

“It mus’ve been, the other drinksss were… jus’ alcohol an’…whatever. Stuff.”

“And what do you think alcohol is?”

“I… what?”

“Silly boy, so confused… Alcohol, my dear Jonah, is a toxin that’s destroying cells and microorganisms… that’s why it’s used to disinfect wounds, sterilise needles… you know all that, don’t you? And still, you didn’t figure it out…”

“Figured it out…?”

He didn’t understand. Maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe it was just Vincent’s way of talking to him; whatever it was, it didn’t make sense.

“Don’t look at me like this. You had your chance, you failed, and now you’re going to suffer the consequences.”

With a wide grin on his face, he picked up the sewing kit.

~*~

taglist:@dannys-creative-corner@faewhump@castielamigos-whump-side-blog@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi@starnight-whump@sophierose002@wildlywhumping@myst-in-the-mirror@tropes-for-my-md-daydreams@tears-and-lilies@puffball-lover554@jadeocean46910@goldenhornets@ocean-blue-whump@mylifeisonthebookshelf

Whumptober Day 27!

Link to the Ao3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/34210837/chapters/86584666

Title: Poisoning - Darcie

Prompt: No. 27 ‘I’m Fine, I Prom…’ - passing out, vertigo, collapse

Trigger Warnings: puking, poisoning

Word Count: 1873

There was new protein powder in the kitchen.

It was still kept in the same clear generic plastic container, and had the same texture and color too, but it tasted different from her usual stuff. It wasn’t that even that big of a difference - her shake was only slightly chalkier and more metallic beneath the artificial chocolate flavoring. Stormkrigeren put it down to the milk she had used for it - the flavor could change occasionally between batches, but as long as it didn’t look or smell bad, it was usually all right. Not like she couldn’t simply walk off any mild food poisoning that might result.

Stormkrigeren quickly polished off her breakfast of protein shake and fruit salad, washing out her dishes in the kitchen sink before returning to the main Room to perform some warm-up stretches. It was an arms and core day, which were always fun because it meant she could use the punching bag. The bag was usually stored in a cupboard in the storage/kitchen room, but now Stormkrigeren brought it out into her main Room and hung it on the folding steel bar against the south wall in preparation for the workout. Sixty minutes of alternating sprints, boxing drills, crunches, pushups, kicks, and punches. Certainly not the most challenging fitness routine she had ever done, but it was hard enough to make her satisfyingly sore when it was finally over. Stormkrigeren wiped sweat from her forehead as her alarm went off, signaling the end of her workout, and ignored the tenderness around her middle when she did one last crunch before getting up. It hurt a bit more than it usually did - but then again, everything tended to cramp a little bit when her menstrual period was approaching.

Stormkrigeren showered quickly and changed into some clean clothes before pouring herself a glass of orange juice and getting back to work. It was some online organization for one of LexCorp’s foreign subsidies - they were preparing another shipment to New York, and she had been assigned to come up with an analytics report on the proposed method of transporting the cargo. A simple, but not monotonous or necessarily challenging task, but Stormkrigeren still struggled to concentrate and ignore the uncomfortable churning in her stomach. She ignored it, of course, and carried on somewhat-normally for another half-hour or so before the nausea set in.

Abdominal pain, nausea, cramping, and a distinct lack of concentration - all early symptoms of many different sicknesses, but Stormkrigeren’s caretakers had long ago ruled out the possibility of the subject contracting any normal human illnesses. The last time she had ever felt like this had been last year when Mister Wilson had conducted a few ‘poison tests’ to see how she could handle various toxins and gases. Her body had little to no reaction to most of them, but a few of the more potent ones… had felt an awful lot like this. With her headache pounding the way it was, Stormkrigeren could only think of one logical conclusion: she had been poisoned somehow. And she needed to remove said poison from her system as quickly as possible.

“Fuck,” she muttered, stumbling up from her chair and towards the kitchen door, “Fuckfuckfuckfuck, oh shit - didn’t fucking recognize it sooner…”

Her legs were already trembling from the effort of sprinting to the bathroom and gave way beneath her as she crouched on the tile, but she still managed to lift the spotless toilet seat before shoving any stray hair behind her ears. She had not been gassed or injected, that she was sure of - most fumes would cause respiratory symptoms before gastrointestinal, and she couldn’t remember experiencing any needles or sharp pricks since her weekly blood tests a few days ago. It must have been something she ate or drank, and the quickest way to get it out was to make it come back up.

Mister Wilson had taught her how. ‘Just for emergencies’ he said. Comfortable position on knees, hair out of the way, head forward and gentle pressure on the abdominal area. Index and middle fingers in pointer position, pressed into the back of her throat to trigger the pharyngeal reflex and induce vomiting. Remain calm and relaxed, do not panic, never allow yourself to panic.

She eventually managed it, and promptly lost most of the meagre contents of her stomach into the toilet, along with much of her energy. The ordeal left her cold and trembling from the forced effort, muscles burning just from the effort of keeping herself upright. Her vision was swimming now as she clutched at the toilet bowl and tried to brush any loose hairs out of her face, taking deep breaths to calm the panic in her chest. It hadn’t been enough, she hadn’t gotten all of it out, there was still some of the poison inside her-

“One more time,” she panted, giving herself a goal to cling onto when the whole world seemed to be falling apart, “Damnit, one more time, get it all out.”

It wouldn’t do any good, she couldn’t possibly get all of it out this way, but she at least had to try. Stormkrigeren pulled herself up into position, her body trembling from the effort and vision flickering in shades of dark and light. She could feel herself slipping - physically or mentally, she couldn’t tell - slipping, falling, cracking, shattering, and finally slumping to the floor as oblivion took hold.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

Movement woke her - nearby, to her left, footsteps on smooth concrete. Heavy footsteps, likely male, moving closer, stopping right within arms reach and crouching down beside her.

Her eyes flew open the same moment that Stormkrigeren kicked off the blanket and aimed a blow at the potential attacker - only for Mister Wilson to easily catch her wrist long before it made contact.

Stormkrigeren blinked, taking in the sight of him leaning down beside her, the usual scowl on his face and both of her wrists caught in his grip. She knew him well enough to tell that he wasn’t necessarily angry that she had tried to attack him unprovoked - approving, more like, but he didn’t tell her so aloud. Instead he tightly squeezed her left wrist until she was forced to open the hand, into which he pressed a full waterbottle in a subtle order to drink up.

“Pulse,” he ordered. She obeyed, pushing herself up into a sitting position and tilting her head to one side so he could press two fingers against the side of her throat, taking a moment to analyze her surroundings.

She was on the floor of her Room’s kitchenette, shivering slightly on the cold concrete - which would explain the blanket that had been tossed over her. There was an empty bucket off to her right, likely put there by Mister Wilson along with the blanket, and a warm, spicy, sweet smell coming from the nearby hob letting off small clouds of steam. Rice pudding - the kind with nutmeg in it that her teacher sometimes made.

“Did Dr. Schreyer call you?” Stormkrigeren ventured, finally working up the courage to point out the one small irregularity in the entire situation - it was the medically-approved Lisa and not Mister Wilson who was legally required to nurse the injured Stormkrigeren back to health in the case of an emergency.

“Off duty,” came the reply, “Lee’s the only one in the Watching Room, and he didn’t call me - didn’t even know you were hurting till I arrived for your lesson and politely explained to the bastard that something must be wrong because you hadn’t put your punching bag away.”

Part of her inwardly flinched at the mention - she was always supposed to put her punching bag away when she finished a routine, that was the rule, and somehow she had completely forgotten and broken that rule. There would be punishment for her negligence, there was no doubt of that, but she had no idea what or how severe it would be. Stormkrigeren found herself tensing in preparation, waiting for her teacher’s gentle hand on her pulse to turn into a fist for the inevitable blow. But Mister Wilson only frowned and muttered something to himself about her heart rate being too slow as he removed his hand to return to his place at the stovetop. Stormkrigeren let out the smallest sigh of relief when he stepped away, keeping her gaze trained on him at all times as he continued to rhythmically stir the pot before he finally spoke up.

“What do you think it was?”

“Arsenic?” she hazarded a guess, thinking back on all the symptoms she had shown before losing consciousness. Mister Wilson nodded.

“Likely. I’ll ask Luthor about it when I get the chance.”

It suddenly clicked and Stormkrigeren realized why her teacher was acting more protective than usual, rare worry lines creasing his usually grim face.

“You… didn’t put it there.”

“No,” he answered in a low growl, still stirring the bubbling pot, “But part of me wishes I had just so I wouldn’t have to address that bastard about running poison tests on my student without my permission.”

Mister Wilson snorted softly in annoyance and moved to grab two bowls from a nearby cupboard, “Of course, with the way you’re looking, you’re going to be out of commission for a few days till your body flushes it out. Won’t even be good for some light training, I’d expect - and no, you’re not ‘fine’. You were out like a light when I found you.”

Stormkrigeren swallowed back any protests she had about being well enough to train, knowing that her teacher would shut the argument down immediately with solid logic. Her body needed to recover first before Mister Wilson would even consider letting her do a few minutes of sparring practise, but the best she could do for herself at the moment was restore any fluids she had lost (vomiting tended to be very dehydrating).

She quietly drank from the waterbottle he had handed her earlier, the cool liquid soothing her burning throat as she watched her teacher at the hob. Mister Wilson had finally decided the porridge was thick enough and turned the heat off in favor of scooping rice pudding into the two bowls he had grabbed before finally moving to sit down nearby on the hard concrete floor with a low sigh.

“See if you can keep that down,” he muttered, passing her the smaller portion, which Stormkrigeren took with a grateful nod. It probably wasn’t the best thing to eat after having recently survived an attempted poisoning, but it was comfort food and might help to calm the twisting tension that lingered inside her since the ordeal. She followed orders and ate the pudding slowly, watching her teacher pull a pack of playing cards and an assortment of foreign loose change from his pockets.

“Ever played poker?” Mister Wilson asked, shuffling the cards.

“No, sir.”

He sighed, mildly annoyed and resigned, then smiled softly to himself as he moved a little closer to sit facing his student.

“I came all this way to give you a goddamned lesson,” he chuckled, laying out the cards, “Might as well teach you something.”