#Poisoning TW

[queer-cosette]

I’m sorry, STABBED *DURING* SEX????

oh yeah it was wild. she was like "I'm into knife play" and at this point he's only ever been with his first girlfriend who is both extremely controlling because she has no personal sense of identity and also notoriously boring in the bedroom. like 'vanilla' is too strong a descriptor. 'milk' maybe at best y'know? and so he goes "fuck it okay let's do it" and then she. uh. stabs him. he's been stabbed on two other occasions (because we live in the stabbing capital of the UK and he can't keep his mouth shut when he's drunk) so I'm not entirely sure which stabbing scar was the ex-girlfriend but like a month later he realised she was trying to poison him and was like "ah. okay. I will be going now" and ran for his goddamn life. In comparison I made him cookies on our third date so like. I think I'm doing pretty good.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Febuwhump Day 12: Semiconscious (Warriors & Time)

Ao3

CW for poisoning, vomiting, blood and injury, and a near death experience

————————————

He stopped seeing clearly long ago.

His surroundings are no longer distinctive shapes. No, they are mere colors now, smeared and edged in the glare of lantern light. It is as though someone poured oil out on the street and left it to be trampled.

Warriors stumbles over something substantial and nonexistent. Another wheezing breath tears out of his lungs. Everything tips sideways and he goes with it, tripping over his own feet. He collides with a lamp post, frightens a blurred figure, garners murmurs of “inebriated” and “not right in the mind.”

He doesn’t care. Not much is bothersome, he’s quickly realizing, when you can’t breathe.

Wildly, he glances around. The buildings lean right, then left, their glowing windows seeming to leer at him. The inn…he has to find it. That is where his brothers await, that is where he can get help.

Warriors gulps in air and gains nothing from it. The ground tilts. He goes down, bile rising in his throat. He has already vomited up everything his stomach contained. But his body is desperate, desperate to rid itself of whatever is killing him.

So, it tries again.

He comes up feeling no less dizzy, no less sick. If anything, it is worse now. When he shoves to his feet, his vision goes abruptly dark. For a moment, he is certain that this is it. This is when he collapses, surrendering to the bitter embrace of oblivion. But then it screams back into a mirage of shifting shapes and nauseating shades of vibrancy.

“Captain?”

Warriors blinks rapidly. Someone is standing before him – a woman he thinks. The visible edges of her expression convey worry.

“Are you well?”

He grins and it feels wrong. Lopsided, clumsy, sharp…a grimace more than anything else.

“Not to worry. ‘M fine.”

“Oh.” She frowns now. Or at least, he thinks that she does. Drunk, her silence screams. Irresponsible. “O-oh alright, then. Goodnight to you.”

It’s good a thing, his mind assures him, as Warriors gazes dazedly at her retreating form.

It’s a good thing that they think you’ve drank too much. Better than them knowing. Safer.

…yeah. Safer.

He is certain he’s going to be sick again. His lungs rise and fall, and nothing comes of their efforts. The ground churns like the sea in Wind’s Hyrule. If only it were warm here like it is on that beautiful beach. But no. Here it is icy cold.

He shivers, stops the failure of his equilibrium with a nearby wall.

Just find them. Find…find your brothers.

Darkness tinges his vision again, spreading like an ink blot on cloth. It grows from left to right, and he lists sideways, drifting towards it. Something catches his boot on the way over. He stumbles, fails to catch himself, crashes down in a tangle of long limbs and thick fabric.

“Oh, look what we’ve got here!”

Giant forms move in the borders of his waning sight. Warriors stares up at them, icy heat prickling the back of his neck and head. Everything smells and tastes of iron. Everything hurts.

“It’s the princess’s favorite little errand boy!”

Something flat and harsh connects with his cheek. Warriors’ head snaps sideways. He chokes, coughing blood onto the pavement.

Get up! His instincts screech. Get up and fight!

He ignores them. It’s so easy to do that now. They are usually so loud, so boisterous and unignorable, hardened and loudened by years of experience.

It’s nice to silence them for once.

“He don’t look so good. Looks like somebody already got a hit on ‘im.”

“Poison?”

“Seems like it. He reeks of something rancid and it ain’t whiskey. His breathin’ ain’t right either.”

“Well, then.”

A hand fists in his collar. The next thing he knows, the ground is falling out from beneath him. He hovers somewhere above it, gazing obliviously at the space before him. Something is there – or maybe someone – but he can’t make out their features.

“He’s all lonesome out here. Might as well finish what they started. It’ll be easy.”

He should be afraid. He’s not.

Warriors feels nothing now except pain. Well, pain and the curious sensation of drowning. Strange, he doesn’t remember seeing water anywhere around here. But maybe he’s simply floating in it, unknowing, unseeing. That would certainly explain how cold he is.

His body slams back into the ground, and what little wheezing breaths he had managed to garner abruptly flee. Dull panic slices through the haze for a split second – just long enough for him to grab a wisp of air. Then, it’s back, a fog as thick as the stuff hovering over Time’s Lost Woods.

Unavigatable. Unbeatable.

For once, he can’t win this battle. For once, he has an excuse to succumb.

And he’s not one for giving in – his stubbornness is practically unmatched – but throwing in the proverbial towel now…fills him with relief.

“Go on boys! Gut him!”

The words reach his ears, but he hardly hears them. And he certainly doesn’t comprehend. Everything is so very far away…

It’s odd how without oxygen the world grows soft.

His head flops sideways. Lazily, he blinks into the indistinct expanse of Castle Town. The colors run together more than ever now. He can hardly tell them apart anymore.

Its beautiful, he thinks, with a loopy smile. Like Arty.

The soft shink of deadly metal surrounds him. Pain streaks through his abdomen. He coughs. Blood spills down his chin and drapes his tunic in crimson. It is wonderfully warm.

Again, metal strikes. More blood, more warmth. More pain.

His eyes flutter. There is not much to see now. But darkness is beginning to be replaced with dazzling light.

It is as beautiful as Castle Town…maybe even more. It beckons him, envelops him like a hug.

Come, it whispers, in the voice of his mother, come to me, dear child. Rest.

Somewhere, someone screams.

Warriors smiles and it is a soft, gentle thing. He starts to step forward.

“No!”

Hands grasp his wrist, as small as a child’s yet, much too calloused to be. Warriors dares to glance over his shoulder.

Mask stands there, his green clothing even more vibrant in the world of white. Tears have turned his large blue eyes the color of Warriors’ scarf. His lip trembles, despite the way he has it between his teeth. And while his grip is strong, his expression is a rapidly crumbling wall.

Warriors feels the tug again, the call from the endless light. He needs to go. He wants to. Sweet Hylia, he wants to.

“Sprite…”

“You-you can’t!” Mask shouts, stepping closer. He is shaking, Warriors realizes. The child who has faced monsters larger than himself armed with nothing more than a cocky grin and a slingshot is shaking. “You can’t leave me!”

The tears fall and smudge the markings that have now appeared on his face. Shades of blue and red trickle down his cheeks.

Warriors blinks and suddenly, the child’s hands are drenched in blood. He gasps, stumbling back. But Mask holds on.

“Sprite, I’ve got to go,” he says, desperately, because he must see that he can’t remain here. It’s time…isn’t it?

“No. It’s not.”

Mask ducks his head, as a sob tears at his tiny body. Salty water plunks onto the ground. It sounds like raindrops.

A downpour on a sunny day. A child curled beneath his scarf, grinning mischievously. A beautiful woman laughing, face upturned to the sky.

A tear slides down Warriors’ own cheek.

“Oh, Link…”

“Please,” he croaks, soft now, vulnerable. Broken. “Please, don’t leave.”

A single eye meets Warriors’ two. A face marked by a war god crumples, every year, every battle, every loss written in the tears streaming down it.

The captain moves closer. The light seems to dim now, lessened by the aching in his heart. Time…Time should never look like that. If he could reach him, maybe he could make that pain go away.

Time drags in a trembling breath. Crimson-drenched fingers fist in Warriors’ scarf like he did so often as a child.

“I need you, big brother.”

Warriors take another step and another and another. He can’t stop now. The decision seems plain. Whatever is behind him, wonderful though it may seem, is not yet for him. Not when Time is looking at him as though he is his entire world and then some. Not when he can hear them now — the faint pleas of the other heroes.

His brothers. His family.

He reaches out, fingers brushing Time’s cheek. The hero’s breath hitches as he leans into his touch.

“I’m right here, Sprite,” the captain promises. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

With a sob, Time falls into his arms. Warriors closes his eyes and buries his face in his shoulder. And as they cling to each other, the endless white surrounding them comes crashing down.

[rd-eternity]

Whumptober Day 9: "Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.” | Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | “You're a liar.” WITH THE ALTS OF: Miscommunication | Betrayal

Words: 4.4k

Summary: The McCall pack keeps telling Liam to stay way from Theo, that he's not changed and is prone to backstabbing them again, growing especially concerned when the two start dating. Not long after, Theo disappears, and the pack thinks he’s joined Monroe as a traitor, which Liam doesn’t believe. Until he goes to look for him.

Deeper into the preserve, the scent gets stronger with every step he takes, until the hunters meet up with another group.  Liam could cry.  Theo’s standing next to Monroe.  His arms are bloody, but his otherwise untouched, standing silently like a watchful entity. No chains. No gun to his head. No fearful chemosignals, only ones of confidence and smug pride. A knot twists in Liam’s stomach.  He knows Theo could kill every hunter there with his eyes closed, one hand tied behind his back.  But he’s just standing there.  Next to Monroe, watching her every word.  Liam doesn’t hear her at all.  Nausea fills his stomach, up to his throat.  Theo kneels, opening a hatch in the ground, speaking lowly to the hunters. It’s a Dread Doctors Operating Theater.  And he led them right to it.

[jeks-tgs]

Decaying In Reverse - A TGS Murder Mystery

Part 1: The Impermanence of Death

It was a sleepy autumn morning in London when it occurred. Birds flitted about from place to place, their twittering songs serving as the chorus for the steady building symphony of the city below. As the sun's rays began to warm the brick and cobblestone of the buildings, and those who could spent a few extra hours in their beds, a far less sensible man was finishing the last of a stack of paperwork.

Henry Jekyll was known to many as many things; a perfect gentleman, an accomplished doctor, but most importantly, a workaholic. The Scotsman had spent the entire night slaving away at his desk, as evidenced by the horrible ache in his spine and wrist, and the bone-deep exhaustion weighing his too-thin body down. He failed to stifle a yawn as he added his signature to the final piece of paper, blinking tiredly at it. He squinted, bringing the sheet closer to his face, then nodded, satisfied with the level of neatness the writing possessed. He set the paper to the side, glancing about his office while he tidied up his workspace. Upon noticing the time on the clock he frowned. Had he really worked until five in the morning?

As if to answer him, his stomach growled, breaking the silence of the office in a way that coloured the doctor's cheeks a rosy pink. Right, then. If he wanted to get anymore work done today, he needed to grab something to eat. He could work running on no sleep, and he could work without food in his stomach, but not at the same time as he'd found out the hard way. Decision made, he finally stood from his chair, wincing as his back let out a series of cracks and pops more befitting a man at least twenty years his senior. He swayed slightly afterwards, causing him to grip the desk. Yes, he definitely needed some food, his blood sugar must be a bit low.

The trek to the kitchens was surprisingly peaceful. He'd forgotten how quiet the Society could be when no one was shouting or running around or blowing something up. He found himself smiling, tired and bittersweet, as he reminicsed on the memories of those exact instances. The first time Luckett had blown something up, Robert had nearly had a heart attack. The Lodgers had had a good laugh about that afterwards, and Henry had tried his hardest not to laugh at their dramatized impressions of his friend's reaction. His smile faded as he thought about how those moments quickly faded, the Lodgers absorbed in each other and Henry absorbed in his taxes and debts and legal fees. By the time he'd opened the kitchen doors, he was in a rather melancholy mood, which only heightened his surprise at what was inside.

A little pastry sat on a plate, coated with a pink icing, red writing on top spelling the words 'We're Sorry Jekyll!' He found his eyes stinging as the cornera of his mouth tugged up. Maybe all hope wasn't lost. Maybe their was still time to bond with the Lodgers, to rebuild those friendships, to be the leader they could rely on. Heart thrumming with timid happiness, he raised the treat to his lips and bit into it.

To an untrained tongue, the sweet flavour of the pastry might be mistaken for wild carrot, leading to the assumption they were eating a carrot cake of some sort. As a rather experienced alchemist, Henry immediately identified the taste for what it was.

His eyes widened with terror as he hastily spat the bite out, but it was too late. He tried to suck in a breath to call out for help, but already the poison of the plant was constricting his airways. The founder clawed at his throat until his nails were caked with blood, trying in vain to alleviate the pressure cutting off his oxygen intake. He began searching the countertops wildly; if he could get his hands on a small blade, he could puncture a hole in his esophagus, and while it was a last resort, it would allow him the chance to breathe. That thought had bately registered in his brain before his body seized, and he collapsed to the floor, jerking and twisting as the poison flooded his brain.

Aggravated Hemlock, a plant bred as a more fast-acting and lethal version of the common hemlock plant, could kill a grown in five minutes, which would be filled with the worst pain the victin had ever felt.

Henry Jekyll died after ten.

The clock read five o'clock, on the dot.

Henry sgared at it's glassy surface, his entire body trembling. His muscles still ached from seizing for ten full minutes, and the skin on his throat was an irritated shade of red with thin scabs reaching from beneath his jaw to the collar of his shirt, as if a faded remnant of the bloodied mess it had been after eating the poisoned pastry.

Heart racing in his chest, Henry clutched his head in his hands, trying to come to terms with suddenly being a good thirty minutes in the past after having been murdered by someone presumably living in his building.

[happiestplacehq]

        “ YOU SAID IT YOURSELF...                      ONCE                                         UPON                              A DREAM... ”

                                     MYSTIC WOODS MASQUERADE EVENT

Founder’s Week and the Hollow Hootenanny is an annual event that has taken place in Redwood Hollow for as long as anyone could remember, and through adversity, it returns.

It seems in the past few years that unfortunate events have surrounded Founder’s Week, from break-ins, to theft of important town heirlooms, to suspected poisonings. Then again, weird things have been happening all throughout the past few years, leaving the people of Redwood Hollow more on edge than ever.

The circus’s visit in October was enough to have Mayor Burton question the need for events in town, after it ended so disastrously. For a time, he even considered shutting down the Community Events Committee for good. But advisors assured him that shutting down the committee would be terrible for the community in the long run. If disaster was going to strike, it would strike anyway; there was no point in leaving the town bored and miserable just in case.

And so, with a tentative dip back into a real community event, the Valentine’s Day Blind Date event went off without any real hitches. Food drives, song contests and an art contest here and there and things really seemed to be looking up again.

Queue Founder’s Week. Mayor Burton had been convinced to give the committee the go-ahead in order to boost town morale. The market prepared their stalls, guest artisans prepared their very best wares for the influx of tourists, and the Redwood Hollow Museum put together a special exhibition walking through significant events in the history of Redwood Hollow. Sadly, a space still remains where the infamous stolen book once lay. It now features an explanation of sorts, with the hopes that one day it will be returned to its rightful place in the heart of town.

As always, The Chest of Hope will be open during Founder’s Week, with hopes displayed at the entrance of the Hollow Hootenanny.

Now, Founder’s Week would not be the exciting time that it is, without the beloved Hollow Hootenanny to close the week. Perhaps due to the growing mystery surrounding Redwood Hollow in these past few years, it is fitting (or, perhaps, a little on the nose) that the Hootenanny theme reflects that. This year, all residents and visitors are invited to attend the Mystic Woods Masquerade. That’s right. A masked ball (just what we need when suspicions are already high). Look out your best regalia, revise your waltz step and get practising your fan signals. You will not be granted access if you are not wearing a mask.

Various prizes will be awarded throughout the night, including best dressed, most spectacular mask, and the most mysterious overall look. To add a little mystery, the events committee has suggested that all those invited attend alone, and do not reveal your masks before the party. The true test of your relationships will be in finding your friends and partners amongst the crowd.

When the clock strikes midnight, all faces will be revealed.

                                                ——————

An OOC information post will be made shortly with OOC details for players, and will be linked in the source once posted. This event will take place between Friday 12th and Sunday 28th of May OOC. In character, this event will have taken place at the beginning of April.

If you would like to volunteer your character for any plot drop related business at the event, reply with their name!

Please like this post once you have read it.

[xaspiringbeamoflightx]

Starter for @itspersephxne

Tina had been understandably spooked by whatever had happened to Henrik. Her gut was telling her it wasn't anything good, going by amount of folk who had apparently fallen to this 'illness' or whatever it was before. It hit a bit too close to home, and the thought of paying him a visit in the hospital absolutely turned her stomach, even if she knew that showing up to give Terence a shoulder to cry on was the best thing to do.

Until then, until she found enough courage to face another hospital room, she thought she would do the next best thing. She had heard that people were leaving cards and such at Mount Olympus for Henrik, so that was where she went. It was during the day, so the nightclub atmosphere had been mellowed out to 'day drinkers and lunching ladies'. Hell, there were even lights on! Tina, recognising Persephone a mile off as Henrik's... some kind of relation, she couldn't remember... she approached, significantly more cautious than her usual demeanour.

"Hey, uh... I know this has probably been asked, like, fourteen thousand times by now but... could you give this card to Henrik-- I mean-- I know he's not-- I mean, put the card on his bedside table or give it to Terence or something..?" Wow, she was great at this. "Please?"

[sxftriina]

TW for Attempted poisoning/m*rder.

"Do you ever plan on dancing on stage again?"

A question she's been asked at least a million times, and one she knows she'll be asked a million times more.

Of course, naturally, her heart yearns to say "yes". But the heart can often be misguiding. Especially when it comes to those we thought we could trust.

Elora remembers that small cup of tea, and the warm smile that came with it. She thought nothing of it when the warm drink soothed her nerves, as it had done many times before. She wasn't even alarmed by the distinct flavor of marcotte the tea had.

She should've known better. She thought that dance would be her last. And the stage, would be her deathbed.

"No.." She would finally answer after a short moment of silence. "No, I do not."

[happiestmariebeaumont]

Wake me up!

Wow! She never went to a party that ended in the hospital before. When she woke she found herself moving weakly out of the room, looking (prying) in all the other rooms to see who else was infected. She wondered who visited her. Tj? Charlie? Anyone?

waking in an empty room had startled her, and she found herself wandering through the halls looking for someone she recognised.

“Hello?”

@happieststarters​

[henrikhera]

"dreams are for rookies"

henrik opened the door when he heard knocking and thanked the post-man when he handed over the box. waving bye to the post-man, he closed the door and walked through to the kitchen inspecting the box. opening the box, he saw three sachets. "these must be the new protein powers that phill was talking about the other day in the gym." he said to himself.

lifting out one of the sachets, henrik ripped open the wrapper and put it in his protein shake bottle, topping it up with his preferred oat milk. shaking the bottle he lifted it to his lips to take a swig, chocolate, pretty good. henrik took another swig and carried on with his day. he went about his routine of doing this shift at the bar and then returning to the gym for his training sessions with clients before he would do his third training session for the day. he had stopped by phils office to thank him for the protein powers but he wasn't in, so henrik left the gym and made his way home to shower and change to then go see terence.

3 days post protein shake

he work feeling sluggish and apathetic. great, just what he needed right now, a flu. his skull was thumping like he could feel every brain wave pulsing in his head. the back of his eyes and body feeling like he hadn't just had eight hours of sleep. whatever flu was going round, he'd caught it bad. trying to stay in routine he forced himself out of bed, grabbed his morning protein shake from the samples he was sent and begrudgingly went about his day.

6 days post protein shake

calorie count be damned, henrik wanted to eat everything in sight. his stomach felt like it was caving in on itself, eating itself out of pure hunger, it made him want to throw up. sleep was now a distant dream, the headache feeling like his skull was in a vice and its cousin the fever having him burning up to new heights. he spoke to hayden since he was direct family as well as his boss and was keeping in touch with him to let him know how his flu was fairing.

7 days post protein shake

this was hell. this wasn't just a flu, he was sure of it. maybe some sort of chest infection plus flu he thought.

11 days post protein shake

he had long ago told terence, pegasus, travis, phil and anyone else he would normally see to stay away from his place but all he wanted was some sort of conversation - especially from terence. henrik looked at his phone on his bedside table and couldn't muster the energy to lift his arm to pick it up. he couldn't even if he wanted to. food had now joined sleep as a distant dream. he felt like death was genuinely looming over him and he couldn't call terence, his body wouldn't let him. he wanted to tell terence everything he could, for him and for the rest of their friends and family. he wanted to tell him he loved him and a million more things. his mind distracted with his thoughts of terence, his eyes fluttered closed and henrik succumbed to sleep.

12 days post protein shake

henrik never woke and was found by his uncle when he came to check on him after not hearing from him. he was rushed to the hospital and it was determined that henrik hera had fallen into a coma.

[mxmorganmorph]

Morgan had been planning the opening of their salon, Transformations, for months now--coming up on a year! Over and over again there were delays, whether due to shipping issues, construction upheaval, or any myriad of problems they had not foreseen. The mass poisoning of the town’s residents had certainly not been on their bingo card.

But they would not be deterred! Maybe it wasn’t the most appropriate time to open up a new business, but perhaps the town could use a morale booster? At the very least, there were definitely some citizens in need of a massage. They stood behind the counter, drumming their fingers nervously against the granite. While the outside of the building was a humble, brick venue with a large window and coloring “GRAND OPENING” banner hanging over the door--the inside was minimal and spacious, filled with a mixture of aromas ranging from hair care products to lavender oil diffusers. Calming music lilted throughout the space, currently devoid of the life or chatter of any customers.

That calm was broken by the sound of light chimes as the door opened, alerting Morgan to attention. “Welcome, to Transformations!” They announced, dramatically sweeping their arm. “And what is it I can do for you today? Hair? Nails? Eyebrows? We do waxings, massages, facials, just about anything you may need,” they said, gesturing to a little stand with their “menu” listed. Their high energy was a bit of a stark contrast to the calming atmosphere they were going for, but it was also obvious that they were nervous--and trying very hard to hide it.

@happieststarters​

[endorphinmachine]

lyrics NOT under cut because the cut isnt fucking working for some reason. whatever

first day of being stuck in this guy's apartment. i don't exactly like him, but i'm glad to hole up somewhere that i'm not wracked with guilt.

first day of being stuck in this guy's apartment. something's up, but i ignore it and try to make peace with this guy. he's not having it and makes disparaging comments towards me the whole day.

first day of being stuck in this guy's apartment. i'm getting tired of him. over the span of a couple days, i hatch a plan to poison him, just to see what will happen.

first day of being stuck in this guy's apartment. my plan goes into motion. i purch lye from the local department store, which is sometimes used to make soap. i'm not planning to make soap. i put it in a sandwich and offer it to him. he seems pretty suspicious but he accepts. within seconds he's dead on the ground having suffered severe chemical burns to his mouth and esophagus.

first day of being stuck in this guy's apartment. i feel pretty guilty about having killed him but it's more, like, an ethical thing than anything because he's alive and well again now. i just avoid him the whole day until he makes me go do his laundry. it's chill.

first day of being stuck in this guy's apartment. it turns out he's actually a pretty chill guy, when you get to know him and you're not bothering him the whole time. i'm growing close to him, but i remember from past experiences that he's incredibly shut-off and needs more than a day to open up to let alone fall for me. i despair over this for a while, then i go do the laundry.

first day of being stuck in this guy's apartment. i can't keep holding in my feelings, and i don't think there's another way, so even though it doesn't matter in the long run, and sort of because it doesn't matter in the long run, i let it all out telling him i'm absolutely befuddled, enamored, and smitten with him in every way. he stares at me for a long time with a weird look on his face, then he calls me crazy and goes to go do the laundry.

first day of being stuck in this guy's apartment. i can't be sure, but i think the morose look on my face over being rejected caused him to avoid me the whole day. i'm about to go do the laundry when he stops me because he wants to talk to me. he tells me i haven't been the only one stuck repeating the same day in this guy's apartment, and he was thinking about what i said "last" night and he returns my feelings. after i go do the laundry, we spend the night together.

second day of being stuck in this guy's apartment. shortly after waking up with him in my arms, i realize that this means he remembers the time i poisoned him with a lye sandwich and he died painfully. i want to ask him how it felt, but the guilt gets the better of me and i decide to just keep my mouth shut.

[cassguardia]

Well, that escalated quickly.

Back in spring, Cass had been asked to spike a certain cafe owner’s cup with a special substance. She had been told with no uncertainty that it only be ingested by him--lest the consequences be severe. Now, someone else had clearly messed up because a good portion of the town’s residents were in the hospital.

In a lot of ways, she felt for them. Having been one of the first to experience it, she knew how shitty the whole process was. Especially if the substance wasn’t for you--then the coma wasn’t even worth it. You come out the other side no clearer on your understanding of the universe--s than when you started. What a waste.

When she heard about Woody’s hospitalization two weeks later though, she knew what it meant. Who the substance had been for. Despite herself, she found herself walking past the hospital often, lingering, looking towards the wing where she knew he and the others were being kept. It was dangerous, loitering so close to the victims. And yet, here she was again.

Lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t notice the person walking from the other direction. When their shoulders hit, a scowl crossed her face as she whipped around. “Hey, watch it, would you?”

@happieststarters​

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 14: “Feed me poison, fill me til I drown”

Read it on Ao3

- Time & the Chain

- Summary: Time grows ill by no ordinary sickness

CW for poisoning and all the horrifying symptoms that come with it (including vomiting and severe shortness of breath) and kidnapping

———————————-

The inn has become outrageously loud.

Time isn’t certain when it went from the usual hubbub of gathered humanity to an overwhelming cacophony of noise. All he knows is that he needs to get away from it. Now. Before he gives in to the urge to curl up on the floor in fetal position.

Strange. He can’t recall the last time he yearned to do that.

It has been years, to be certain. Years since a small child hid in a Castle Town alleyway because it had all, very suddenly, grown to be too much.

Time drags in a breath that doesn’t fully fill his lungs and pushes himself to his feet. If he steels himself, perhaps, he can look purposeful rather than panicked.

“What’s up, old man?”

Legend is staring at him from where he sits on a bench, wedged between Wild and Hyrule. He raises an eyebrow.

“You heading to bed already?”

Time tries to smile. It comes out feeling more like a grimace.

When had it grown so cold in here?

It feels as though the winds of Snowhead have swept in through the swinging double doors. He shivers slightly and the small movement makes the pounding in his head a hundred times worse.

“I’m actually headed outside,” he says, his own voice sounding strangely far away. “I just need a bit of air.”

They’re all watching him now, varying levels of concern on their faces.

“Are you alright?” Sky asks.

Time nods. “Don’t worry about me. It’s just a bit stifling in here is all. I’ll be back in soon.”

Most of them still look worried, but he can hardly afford to stand here, assuring them of his good health. The room is closing in now and blurring slightly at the edges. If he doesn’t get out soon…

With a desperate sort of abruptness, Time turns on his heel and heads for the door.

The main streets of Castle Town are still busy. The inn is relatively out of the way, though, situated snuggly in the back of the town. Few people come down here and Time is glad of it. With a sigh of relief he leans back against the wall.

…only for his legs to give way seconds later.

The ground tips beneath his feet, his stomach lurches, and suddenly he finds himself on his hands and knees. He stares down at the cold cobblestone, trying vainly to comprehend what has just happened. He had been fine a half an hour ago — he had been fine mere seconds ago, save of course, for the sudden onset of a migraine and the dizziness and cold and the way the room had surged and shrieked like a monster let loose…but those had been…

Time’s eye widens slightly. A series of shives rage through him, sudden and unbidden and terrible. They make his teeth chatter so hard he has to grit them together to keep from biting his tongue.

Something is wrong, he realizes, somewhat dazedly. Very wrong. He has suffered enough illnesses, enough injuries to know this one is not normal.

But his head has begun to feel heavy, his thoughts as sluggish and thick as the fog of the Lost Woods. And though he grasps for it, the answer he seeks hovers just out of reach.

Then, it flees entirely, replaced instead by sheer panic.

He can’t breathe.

He tries, fighting to draw precious air through airways that suddenly feel too tight. But he only manages a half-breath that leaves him feeling dizzy. Desperately, he inhales once more.

But his lungs don’t expand to welcome the air he craves. Instead, the pounding in his head intensifies. And in the next moment, his stomach rebels violently. He pitches forward and vomits.

There’s blood in it, he notes, blearily. That’s more than a little worrying.

Or it would be if he could think past the immediate conglomeration of dizziness and pain and a hazy sort of directionless fear.

A shudder rages through him. His body decides it no longer has the strength to hold itself up. He collapses sideways and his surroundings tip with him, streetlights smearing golden light across a navy sky, buildings elongating unnaturally.

For a terrible moment, he is certain that he’s falling. And maybe he’ll keep falling, down, down, down into endless darkness and he’ll be trapped again, imprisoned in a world that won’t remember him, a world destined to be destroyed.

But then his shoulder connects painfully with something hard and he realizes he is lying on the cobblestones.

Still fighting to breathe. And now to swallow. It feels as though his entire throat is closing itself off. Soon he won’t have any air at all.

This has all escalated rather quickly, he thinks with an absurd, giddy sort of mirth. And to think all he had wanted was fresh air. Unfortunately, for him there is none to be had.

Another round of shivers come, tearing his aching body apart, stealing what little breath he still has. It drives away the odd hilarity, brings back the panic of before.

He needs to get up. He needs to find help. But even speaking seems an insurmountable challenge.

Time squeezes his eye shut. His fingernails are sharp against his palm, but the pain grounds him, keeps him awake. And somehow, he knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that he has to stay awake.

Nausea roils in him again. He gags, tasting blood and the remnants of dinner. Dimly, he wonders how long ago it was when he sat with the other heroes, listening to them laugh and tell stories over bowls of warm stew. It feels like an eternity has passed since then. But he doubts that that is true.

Either way, the thought of food makes his stomach protest. There is nothing left in it now to expel. Yet his body tries anyway, violently. Clearly, it wants whatever is inside of him, out.

Poison.

The realization finally breaks through. But it’s too late to entertain the fresh wave of panic. He is fading now, the taste of blood pungent on his tongue, stones cold against his skin. Even if he had the strength to do more than lie here and attempt to breathe, it wouldn't do him any good. He doesn’t know how to deal with poison. He’s never had to learn.

Footsteps sound now. He registers them, distantly, through a fog he can’t find his way out of. Then, voices reach him, muffled by the whirring in his ears.

“Is he dead?”

“No, he’s still breathing. I can hear his wheezing from here. Pathetic.”

“Besides, we never wanted him completely dead, remember? Just very, very close. Now, come on. You know what to do.”

Hands grasp his arms and roughly haul him up. Ropes snake around his wrists and pull tight. A cloth finds its way into his mouth. And all the while his every instinct screams at him to run, to struggle, to fight. But his limbs are leaden, unable to even keep him upright. He slumps heavily in his captor’s grasp.

“He won’t last much longer without the antidote.”

“Well, we don’t have much longer before the others worry and come to check on him. We go now. He’ll last until we get where we need to be.”

They begin to drag him. His feet are uncooperative, unable to even catch on the stones as they move forward. Darkness dances tantalizingly before him. He tries and fails to take another breath.

“It’s better this way,” he hears them say faintly, in the moments before he plunges into oblivion, “to keep him in this state. The Hero of Termina…he isn’t one you should underestimate.”

[sins-of-the-sea]

"Fine. I'll forgive you for stealing my candy. Just know I may not be merciful ag-"

And then Phoebus dies from the drink Safire gives him.

[incaensio]

setting : on the way to the museum, after the interviews with : coriolanus snow @fatefought

kiran suggests they go together on his own lift to the museum with some other gamemakers, but constantinus has an excuse on the tip of his tongue; it is delivered with an apologetic crinkle of the eyes and a salute as means to say see you soon before hurrying to the exit, where the presidential car awaits. he catches the president and the first lady just before she takes the last step, and with a kiss to his grandmother's hand, then her cheek, connie announces he will be joining his grandparents that night because he just hasn't gotten enough of them between his run from the gamemaker seats to the presidential ones. so he scoots in, comfortably between his grandparents.

"grandsire." coriolanus snow receives a bright smile, as if connie is still that nine year old who's star-struck by a man so imposing like the president (his father always made for poor comparison; cornelius snow only gave his only child the time of the day to drag him around by the neckline like a dog, or to whimper his apologies with glazed eyes); a kiss comes too, to the cheek, still like that good natured boy but constantinus pulls himself away quicker than he had with is grandmother. his grandfather smells of death — the same putrid scent from nadia's mouth as he tried and tried to get her to breathe, to no avail (it surprises him everyday that he withstands this; a weaker person may have succumbed to the never stopping anger, but he is cold. he is a snow, after all, and knows he must bide his time, even if he loathes to kiss and pander to a murderer).

the driver takes off, guiding them to the museum; there will be some extra traffic tonight, with all the extra cars around the city going to the same place, and constantinus sucks on his teeth, his annoyance at caesar flickerman the only thing unconcealed in this car from his part. "did you like the scores this year, grandpa?" he queries, casually, as if he's not truly asking the president if he's decided to rig things this year (sometimes, gamemakers have to yield; usually, that's not disclosed between them all, only plutarch would know, but connie knows that some of those scores were not the ones he voted on).

[wcven]

cecelia's reliance on poisonous plants during her games leaves her with continued paranoia about her food being poisoned. her husband is the only one who cooks in their household, she no longer trusts herself and uses poison detection kits when she hasn't watched her food be prepared.