#Oracle Clinic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luvrodite · 2 months ago

Text

ᯓ★ ONE. OCTOBER 1 | FUCK OR DIE

GOT ME CALLING OUT FOR HELP (S-O-S) [3.8k]

in retrospect, it was only a matter of time before you got hit. you should consider yourself lucky — there are worse fates than being fucked like your life depends on it (it’s gotham. of course it does) or: you get hit and jason deals with the fallout

content warnings. f!reader, dubious consent due to intoxication, chemical aphrodisiac, established relationship, dry humping, fingering, penetrative sex, begging, unprotected sex, creampie, prevention of pulling out.

ⓘ minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact, you will be blocked!

<< kinktober masterlist | week 2 >>

It goes like this:

On a monday evening, Pamela fucking Isley decides to take her quarrel with Gotham's newest weapons company – God, could they fucking give it a break? B had only busted the last one a few weeks ago before they'd brought the city down on everyone – to new heights.

Jason's sitting in traffic with a bag of groceries slung around the handle of his bike when he gets the call. He's eager to beat you home, ready to make you dinner and heavily intent on wining and dining you after a long weekend of missing each other.

His fingers tap against his thighs impatiently, impatience sitting beneath his skin like an itch. Spikes of activity during the week had meant his plans for Friday night – dinner and a deserved night off – had been pushed to the backburner. He'd returned home in the early stillness of dawn, unable to get more than a couple of hours with you before your phone had rung, a friend's emergency pulling you out of bed with an apologetic grimace and a promise to reschedule your date night.

The headset in his ear notifies him of an incoming call, the syllables of your name dulled by the clinical, robotic voice of his phone's intelligence system. His mouth curves up into a smile beneath his helmet.

"Hi, baby," he answers immediately. "I'm on my way home, you need anything? I just left the store but I can go back–"

You cut him off in a tight voice. Later, he'll be ashamed that the first thing that comes to mind is, not another fucking postponement. Now, his brows furrow at your tone, stomach dipping uncertainly when it becomes clear that this is something more serious.

Your voice wobbles, high-pitched and tearful. At the same time, the dash on his bike begins to flash in rapid succession, the paging system he'd installed for the bats to communicate with him glaring back at him, blood red.

ORACLE: CHEMICAL LEAK DOWNTOWN. BATS + R.ROBIN EN ROUTE. ALL UNITS STANDBY.

His dread plummets and for a moment his throat closes over. You're speaking to him but he struggles to make it out through the ringing in his ears.

"Jason, I'm – I'm home but I don't – I don't know what to do."

He bites back a curse and tries to swallow the lump in his throat, grappling for words of comfort.

"It's okay," he soothes, straining to keep his voice level. "Listen, sweetheart, can you go lock the door for me? I'm – shit – I'll be home soon, alright? It'll be okay. We'll fix it."

He doesn't give himself time to linger on the call after you confirm you've locked it, barking out a command to dial Oracle that his system fails to pick up twice, only registering after he steadies himself.

She picks up on the third ring. It irritates him how unfazed she sounds when he explains the situation to her. He hears the click of her keyboard in the background, the hum of her monitors. Each passing second as she patches through to Nightwing is agony and the slow crawl of traffic does little to help.

His leg has begun to jostle the bike with the weight of its shaking when she returns to their call.

"You're not going to like this," she says and he feels the bile rising in his throat.

"What." He grits it out through his teeth, unable to manage much more than that. He hears Oracle sigh.

"Looks like an aphrodisiac," she says clinically. "Her plan was to get them caught compromised enough to lose credit publicly."

"Oracle." She hears his growl for what it is – Tell me whether or not it's over.

"It's non-lethal," she affirms and he sighs harshly. The tightness in his chest loosens ever so slightly as she talks. "Ivy let it off near city hall because most of the shareholders were scheduled to hold a meeting – that's where your girl works, right? Alf's working on an antidote but she should be relatively fine until it's ready. Just – keep an eye on her."

Tim joins the line then and Jason startles at the sound of his voice in his ear.

"I don't know what the fuck she wanted to achieve," the boy grumbles. He's a little out of breath and in any other situation, Jason would have something to say about that. Tonight, he's not in the mood for jokes.

"Red," he barks out. The kid makes a distracted noise, and he can hear the sounds of a scuffle on the other end. "You tell Ivy if anything happens to my girl, I'll make sure she's next."

He doesn't wait to hear what's sure to be a non-committal answer at best, kicking off and veering between the lined up vehicles. There's an outroar from the drivers around him, laying on their car horns. Someone pokes their head out of their window to scream at him.

He hears none of it, the blood rushing in his ears keeping him single-minded.

This string that twines him to you isn't new. It wears signs of age, shows the years in the way his fingers reach for yours in the early moments of his day, the turn of your eyes to his in any room. He's seen a few summers with you at his side but the fear –

Blood, coagulating, the cold brush of death, splintered wood beneath nails and a haunting smile

– the fear never stagnates.

A bitter, resigned shard of him breathes out as he speeds through the streets. A veritable sword over his crown, this almost seems expected. Loathing colours the skyline and he, the fool, to think he could hold this one, precious, beloved thing unscathed.

He forgoes the groceries in his haste, leaving the bags in his haste to throw himself up the stairs and out of the parking garage. Pulse thundering in his ears, sweat coating his palms, he scrabbles with the key to your shared apartment.

The door flies open and a hand is grabbing him by the front of his shirt before he can slot it through the lock.

You, wild-eyed and frantic, pull him inside with a bitten off sob.

"Shh, shh, I'm here, come here."

He kicks the door shut, reaching behind him to flip the locks with one hand. The other curls you protectively to his chest, fingers splaying over your back. The sight of you calms him considerably and he chokes out a stuttered breath, the lump in his throat dissolving to give way for a flood of relief.

You're burning in his arms, the thin undershirt you've got on soaked through with sweat, face glowing with perspiration. Eyebrows knitted, you cling to him tighter and he finds himself making noises of comfort.

"Jason, I –"

"Shh. I know, honey, I know," he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours. Your eyes are tearful, salt spilling over lashes and rolling down your cheeks. "Come on, let's get you to lie down."

"No," you whine, pitching miserably as he shuffles the both of you towards your bedroom, face creasing with every movement. "Hurts."

"I know," he whispers, hating the way his voice cracks. His eyes burn painfully. "'ll get you a towel, alright?"

You're deposited on the bed and he makes a turn for the bathroom, wetting a cloth. When he enters the bedroom again you've pushed yourself up, kneeling on the bed. You've shed the pants you'd worn earlier, left now in only and undershirt and your underwear. His name falls from your lips pitifully and he steps forward, lips turning down into a commiserating frown.

You shy away from the cloth when he presses it against your forehead, letting out a hiss as it makes contact with your burning skin. He brings a hand to the nape of your neck and you seem to like that much better, sighing under his touch. Jason takes advantage of this to keep you in place, mopping the sweat off your face and neck, trying his best not to give into your dissatisfied squirming.

"I know, I'm an asshole," he mutters, when you cry out his name, displeasure making itself clear on your face. "Get better so you can yell at me for it, alright?"

"Don't wanna – yell at you," you mumble, wetting your lips as they part.

He clocks the dilation of your pupils a little too late and shakes his head adamantly, trying to draw back but you've got a hold of his shirt, pulling him forward. He catches himself with a hand agains the headboard, a knee pressing into the mattress beneath him.

You stare up at him, mouth turning down into a pained grimace.

"C'mon honey," he mutters, pleading, feeling his face flood with warmth. "Don't do this to me. Be good, you'll be alright, okay? Any minute they're gonna call and tell me Alf's got an antidote ready – shit, maybe we should just drive you there now -"

"No," you sob, face crumpling under the weight of your tears again, pushing up on your knees to fling your arms around his shoulders. The effort of the movement makes you stutter out a gasp and he's forced to band an arm around your waist to steady the both of you.

Your tears wet the skin of his neck, your body pressed flush against his. He becomes aware, regrettably, of the skin beneath his fingers, your undershirt having ridden up to expose the softness of your lower back.

"Please," you hiccup into his shoulder. "Please, Jason – Please."

He'll have to ask Oracle later if second-hand exposure to the toxin is supposed to have an effect on him. At the touch of your chest to his, he feels himself warm all over, mouth drying when you begin to keen, arching up into his touch in an effort to get him to do something.

"Fuck," he curses. "Fuck. Alright, just – come here."

He kicks his shoes off, the sneakers clattering against the floor, and crawls onto the bed properly. Sat up against the headboard, he meets your baleful gaze with a raised brow and reaches for you.

Jason shakes his head when you go to straddle his lap, maneuvering you against his chest until your back rests against it. You let out a whimper, displeased, but he shakes his head.

"This is all you're getting, alright? Just – it'll tide you over until they call."

He spreads your legs until they hang over his own, your thighs bracketing his and leaving you open. His blood thunders in his ears, hand trembling as he reaches it up to your mouth, fingers prodding at the soft plush of your lips.

Your tongue laves at his digits, a muffled moan trapped in the recesses of your throat. One of your hands curls around his wrist, the other perching against his thigh, nails curling against the fabric of his jeans. He can feel you shift against him, hips canting ever so slightly over his own.

Awful, wretched, lecherous, he stiffens under the movement, jeans tightening. His free hand wraps around you hip with the intent of pinning you in place and stopping you. Somehow, he finds himself guiding you back and forth instead.

You tip your head back against his shoulder, baring the soft line of your throat as you drool around his fingers. He can feel the wetness pooling around his knuckles, the softness of your ass against him, separated only by a few layers. If he cranes his neck, he'll probably find your panties sticky with your need. The thought alone makes his eyes flutter.

The room is blanketed in muffled whimpers, the whispers of rustling sheets and his shaky breaths. You've quietened down some since he'd gotten his fingers in your mouth, but the heat seems to have returned with a vengeance when you begin to fuss in his lap again. Your fingers dig into his thigh and you whine, tugging at his wrist in an effort to push his hand where you need it most.

He hushes you with a squeeze to your hip and tips your face to meet his. Bleary eyed, silvery tracks smattered across your cheeks, you're struggling to hold on. He lowers his mouth to yours, a chaste kiss that deepens when you part your lips to lick into his mouth.

"Jason, come on."

"No, don't take it off," he whispers when your hands make to tug your underwear off. You whine and he hushes you again, "Shh, I'm going to take care of you, be patient for me, alright?"

He slips his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and watches you shudder at the first swipe. Similarly affected, he feels himself twitch when his fingers make contact with the soft slickness of your flesh, gliding against silken folds.

"Oh," you sigh, sagging slightly into him.

"There you go." He presses a kiss to your sweaty temple, trying to pretend this is just another night together and he's being a loving boyfriend, that you're not delirious with want just because of the toxin running through your bloodstream. "That's my girl."

He presses gentle circles against you, closing his eyes and ghosting his mouth over the curve of your shoulder. The smell of sex is thick in the air, that heady musk and sweat that he could drown in. Your breaths come in pants now as he works you open gently, thumb rolling over your centre.

"Just like that," he rumbles, straining to keep his head on straight. It's difficult, when you arch against him, his name spilling from your lips in adoration coloured mewls. Your arm raises, curling behind you to embrace his neck.

It doesn't take you very long to come, pent up and sensitive – he discovers this when his hand grazes over your chest to stroke your face and you keen so loud he fears he'll come in his pants at the sound, your mouth, bitten raw, dropping open as you moan. A few strokes against your centre and you come apart in his arms, hard. The tremors wrack your body long after the fact, your core pulsing around his fingers.

He, ever the fool, expects this to sate your hunger.

Whatever Ivy's put in her newest concoction is potent. You gather your breath quick enough and it becomes apparent that just the one isn't nearly enough. He's pushed back against the headboard, stunned into silence as you clamber onto his thigh, pawing at him like you can't get close enough.

You struggle with the fabric of his shirt before giving up and any questions he has sputter off into silence when you begin to rock back and forth on him. The denim of his jeans is unforgiving against the thin, sodden material of your underwear, providing a harsh friction that you lose yourself to. He watches, his heart racing, you taking your pleasure for yourself.

It isn't as though you've never done this in front of him – he remembers, blurry, the aftermath of a dinner date that had seen you riding his thigh on the couch, still in your dress.

But this… This feels different.

There's an urgency to this, a franticness running beneath your skin that pushes your hips down harder, more unforgiving. Your face screws up, salt misting your cheeks and neck.

For a moment, Jason almost feels as though he's the one that's been hit. You take on a blurry quality, smudged around the edges like wet paint, wanton, hazy. A gauzy film over his eyes, he blinks, and blinks.

When you come once more, it shatters and he's aware of the stain that's bled into the dark denim on his thigh, a stickiness that's smeared between your thighs. Your panties are ruined and he gulps when he drags his gaze up from between your legs to your face.

Quiet, hungry, you're already staring at him. Your chest heaves with exertion but you remain still otherwise, lips parting in invitation, eyes half-lidded.

"Baby–"

"You said you'd take care of me," you intone beseeching, voice affecting a trembling, delicate quality.

Fuck.

He's never been good at denying you much. Already, he feels the urge to take you into his arms and promise to make it better, but he forces his hand to stay, curling his fingers in the bedsheets.

You crawl forward, until your lips are ghosting over his, eyes swallowing his field of vision until all he can see are the stars in your irises. He feels the

"Jason, please, it still hurts," you whimper quietly, a wounded noise that carves him from the inside out, guilt and shame poisoning his every nerve. He's at war with himself, wanting to ease your pain – he feels responsible for it, in a way – and hesitating similarly. Is this right? Is it okay?

Before he can come up with an answer, you press your mouth to his.

The last of his inhibitions crumbles completely under the plush of your mouth.

He rolls the both of you over, relishing in the gasp you let out, the sight of you splayed against the mattress. He's quick to divest himself of his clothes, tugging his shirt off recklessly, not minding the sound of ripping fabric he vaguely registers hearing. The jeans go next, and his underwear in one, flung to some corner of the bedroom.

Your spit slick mouth curves up into a delighted, drunken smile when he crawls over you, body eclipsing yours with every intent of ravishing you.

Jason holds himself up with one hand, the other reaching to the bedside table and rummaging in the drawer for the box he keeps there. Only, he comes up short and dread dawns over him in a cold wave when he remembers –

He'd used the last of the condoms a few nights ago. It hadn't mattered in the last couple of days, the weekend too busy for the both of you to do much else but curl up next to each other, too exhausted to consider working up a sweat.

"Fuck," he whispers, shaking. "Fuck, baby, there aren't, um…"

Your eyes fill with tears at the unfinished sentence, a hiccuped sob stuttering out of your chest.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he tries to soothe you, a hand smoothing down your face. "I'll just – I'll run to the store, I'll be back before you know it."

"No, please, just–" Watery eyed and upset, you tug him closer as though fearing he'll take off. "I don't care, I don't, I just – I need you, Jason. Please."

He stares at you, heart thundering in his ears. "Fuck you without –"

"Need you now," you whimper, lips tugging down pitifully into a pout that cuts through his chest.

It isn't as though this is his first time fucking you raw –

Tipsy laughter, hushed whispers of it's fine, just once, we'll get the morning after pill.

– but still. This is different, another ballpark entirely.

You stare up at him, desperation in every crease and curve of your face, pleading with him. Too far gone to care, you beg him.

"I'll, um," he rasps out, throat dry, "I'll pull out."

You make some sort of noise that sounds like a vague affirmation, tugging him closer hastily. Poor, pretty girl. His chest aches at the sight of you, needy, looking to him to fix it.

"I'll fix it," he finds himself muttering, lining himself up with your entrance. You've similarly taken to murmuring under your breath, hands carding through his hair, devotion in your every touch.

"Need you so bad, please, please, baby."

The slick that smears against his head, the soft warmth of you, nearly makes his eyes roll back into his head. A drawn out whimper spills from your lips at the press of his hips, the first inches of him pushing into your tight heat.

You sink into the mattress as he notches himself further inside, mouth opening. You paint an obscene picture, your lips bitten raw, naked chest arched. He lowers his head to mouth at your nipples, teeth teasing at the sensitive points. You're warm, so warm beneath him – around him.

He's given only a moment to breathe before you push your hips up, impatient. Fucking yourself against him, your fingers dig into the muscle of his back for leverage, tucking him close enough to you that he brushes against your neck and tastes the salt on your skin.

Jason sets a harried pace, bucking forward against you. You begin to cry out again, every resounding slap of his skin against yours drawing out a moan that curls tight around him and presses down on his stomach. You exchange panted breaths between open mouthed kisses, tongues and teeth clashing messily, muffled pleas that beg for more, more, more.

Filthy, debauched, it doesn't take very long for you to approach your peak. Jason, lost in the wetness of your cunt, feels his own building and knows this is a dangerous game he's playing, toeing the line of recklessness.

"Close," he pants, feeling the tell-tale fluttering of you around him, your orgasm imminent. If he can just hold out until he's gotten you there –

Your legs wrap around him, hold so tight he's not able to do much more than rock against you in desperate, quick rolls of his hips.

"Inside," you warble. Your hands come to cradle his head, coaxing him down to kiss you, licking up into his mouth sweetly, teeth catching on his bottom lip. "Mmh, please, baby? Please? I – Jason – want it so bad, need you inside."

"Oh fuck," he gasps, voice hitching, breath stuttering. His face creases, overcome, and you grin, dazed, drunken, pulling him into another sloppy kiss. What's he to do?

You scream into his mouth at the same time that Jason comes. His vision whitens at the sensation of your pulsing heat, the unforgiving tightening that demands his orgasm. His fingers dig into the soft flesh at your hips, burying himself to the hilt and surrendering to your claim.

Warm and wet around him, the evidence of his debauchery coats the inside of your thighs and clings to the base of him. He's light-headed, a little winded, and it takes him a moment to gather his sensibilities. When he looks down, he finds you a boneless puddle beneath him, eyelids fluttering tiredly.

He should pull out. He knows he ought to – but he's broken so many rules, what's another? Jason gathers you in his arms and rolls over gently, tucking you against his chest, a hand skimming up and down the length of your spine comfortingly.

"Fuck," he whispers out into the air, and you murmur atop him. He glances down, meeting your bleary eyes. "Y'just had to go and get caught in that crossfire, huh?"

"N'my fault," you grumble, pressing your face back into his chest.

"Gonna give me a heart attack," he grumbles, dropping a kiss to your crown. Then, with a look over at the bedside table, he jostles you a bit. "Hey. Don't fall asleep. We still have to get you the antidote."

"Wake me when 's ready," is your answer, tone somehow managing a prissiness unexpected of someone who'd just been fucked to within an inch of their life, and he drops his head back into the pillows, incredulous.

This girl would be the death of him.

first kinktober 2024 fic let's go!! i genuinely didn't think i was going to be able to commit to kinktober this year (i'm still nervous about whether i'll be able to) because finals are literally just around the corner and i'm stressing. but hopefully you enjoyed the first installment to this year's kinktober and the coming ones don't disappoint, either!

#jasonsmirrorball #jay my heart #jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader smut #jason todd smut #x reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #jason todd fanfiction #kinktober 2024

638 notes · View notes

lesbianbarbaragordon · 3 months ago

Text

Still thinking about last night

”No, no, but seriously,” you start, adjusting on your seat, “it wasn’t that bad. At least not by the end. I felt like we had-“ a connection, that you managed to see him as he was for at least the brittlest of moments. But the sentence dies at the tip of your tongue. You prefer to keep that to yourself. pairing: tim drake x reader tags: stalking, average tim behavior, college student reader word count: 1.7k

“Do you look up all your girlfriends?”

Tim doesn’t like the insinuation, but he shoulders on because Barbara’s network is far more extensive than his, far more even than the Batcave’s, and this is a favour, after all.

Your face is on full display, a shot from your ID, taking up the main screen on Oracle’s setup. You don’t look very happy.

Your hair is longer than when he met you the other night, and he sees the fading of some sort of dye on the tips of your hair. 20 years old, born and raised in Gotham, there is nothing outstanding about you.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he replies as an afterthought, his eyes on the screens. You enrolled in GU last year, took up journalism as a major. Why would a college student live in a warehouse?

Because it has to be a warehouse, why else would it have been called like that in the files?

The incident that led him to your apartment is still something that embarrasses him. A mistake on his part, something that shouldn’t have happened.

He keeps going over the details, trying to understand; it was just the criminal of the week, a robbery gone wrong at a jewelry shop, hostages that shouldn’t have been there. He had been sneaky, gotten inside before anyone noticed, and released the hostages in record time (which was good, because when they started shooting, Tim was the only one inside). But one of the rogues got on the defensive when they saw he was one of the bats, had gotten a hit on Tim’s ear, and broken his comms. Then a shot in the darkness and a sharp pain took over his senses.

Which one was the lesser evil, running away to seek shelter while he was still lucid? Or detaining the rogues but risking further injury?

The final matter came down to “what would Bruce do?”

So Tim had pushed through, managed to knock them out, cuffed them somewhere the police would find them, and left before anyone else could see him.

The sky was raging, as expected of Gotham, when he stepped foot on the rooftops outside. His breathing was ragged, the pain was excruciating and he had left the Red Bird at the cave.

It only crashed down on Tim as the thunder and lightning erupted around him, shivering and in pain. Once the adrenaline left, it hit all at once-

He was alone.

It only took a second for the gears to kick in. He couldn’t access the Batcomputer, or call anyone who could help. He could take care of it without them, but where would he go? Leslie’s clinic was on the other side of the city, and after retiring it had fallen under new management, would whoever was i charge still treat vigilantes? There were no warehouses around the area either, not ones he remembered anyway, and the longer he thought, the more he started to fear bleeding out in the streets.

What other things did he have access to offline? His suit had prior saves of data, backup files from years prior. Tim accessed them with shaky hands.

As he thought, not many places to go to in the area, but there was somewhere marked as a safe place. Somewhere that wasn’t Bruce’s but that was listed as Bat equipped. He headed there with desperation clawing at his throat, pain drilling at the back of his eyelids.

But he didn’t find what he was expecting. Instead, there was you and a mundane house. Somewhere that looked lived in, rather than a closet stuffed with expensive tech and medical equipment.

He realized too late, that the information was outdated, that he was going to die from a mistake.

Except he didn’t. Except you were there.

And he wants to figure it out, what kind of sane person could possibly do what you had done? He wants to figure you out.

“She isn’t shady,” Barbara supplies unhelpfully. She starts looking over your school records, your extracurriculars, you studied at the same school he did, nothing out of the ordinary; A book club, perfectly good grades, no problems with teachers or classmates. There’s an internship registered under your name at one of Gotham’s local newspapers, and there, a few articles on topics like battok trends or the latest celebrity scandal. The few lines he skims read uninspired.

The only thing Tim finds unusual is paperwork from the year before, for a cat you had adopted.

“I didn’t see any pets.” At least not when he was there. His allergies would have started making him sneeze like a madman otherwise. But what could he possibly get from that?

You’re perfectly ordinary, so ordinary Tim can’t possibly figure out why you’d be living full-time in a Batman safehouse.

And it’s driving him crazy.

Barbara hums, saying your name, and then, she says your second surname, your mother’s maiden name, “Thompkins?”

“Thought it was common,” Tim shrugs because he hadn’t taken notice of the detail during his first research. Barbara sends him a pointed look.

“Who was the safehouse registered under?” It’s a simple question, Tim realizes his slip-up on the next beat.

“Is she related to Leslie Thompkins?”

“Grandniece looks more like,” Barbara supplies, pulling up your mother’s birth certificate. She digs up an old picture, a younger Leslie posing next to a smiling blonde woman, who holding up a med school diploma. Seems like your mother followed in her footsteps.

“The warehouse is registered under her name,” Barbara supplies, pulling up a scan of the apartment’s deed. Leslie Thompkins is clearly written as the owner. It must have been a safehouse for her, and subsequently for Batman, a long time ago. All before you took over. “You satisfied now?”

Tim says nothing at that, gnawing at his lip.

From the screen, your picture stares back.

…

“It was freaking scary.” You complain over your instant noodles. But they’re too hot and they scald, making you hiss. Your friend stares at you from across the table.

”Right.”

None of your high school peers stuck with you after graduation, so your list of friends remains painfully empty. And it would be a name shorter, had Claudia not appeared into your life.

You met during your internship, where she was interning too, at the literature department of the magazine. You’re both close in age and enjoy reading classics, so you spend lunch breaks together and bond over trash-talking your coworkers. She’s one of the few people you talk to in an otherwise silent existence. And she’s quite funny, too.

”It feels like one of those trashy romance novels, right?” She gestures openly, a sandwich in her hand. You’ve been telling her about your encounter with Red Robin for a lack of anything else. It’s the only interesting thing that’s happened to you in a while. “‘The superhero crashed at my place! And oh no, he’s naked!’.”

You snort, slapping her arm, “he was not naked! And it wasn’t romantic at all! I was so scared I’d throw up all over him from the stress!”

She chokes on a piece of ham, then starts to laugh. You start laughing too.

It’s a relief having Claudia to make it all sound less scary.

Her laughing stops when her phone beeps and she pulls it out. Meanwhile, you choose to entertain yourself with your food.

”Is it that twitter account?” You ask half curiously. She hums in response, not looking up from the screen.

”Seems like bird boy hasn’t been seen in a while,” Claudia scrolls down her feed as she talks, quickly liking posts or replying to comments. She runs a popular fan account in her spare time that revolves around Gotham vigilantes, which is not a niche topic. Most of the accounts themed around the bats, much like Claudia herself, are not native to Gotham. Rather, they’re from Metropolis or San Francisco, where the public regularly sees Superman or the Titans. Gothamites don’t have that kind of relationship with their heroes. “Red Robin’s been out of the streets since last Friday.”

”I guess that means you’re not lying,” she says teasing, which makes you blow a raspberry, “how did you do it, though? I would have messed up so bad.”

”Eh,” you start halfheartedly, “I took pre-med classes all through high school. I’ve forgotten most of it, though, but what little I knew came in handy,” you shrug, leaning back against your chair, “he had some pretty useful stuff, too. Super fancy equipment. That definitely helped.”

“Anyone else would have tried seeing under his mask, and you’re telling me what stuck out to you was his equipment?” Claudia laughs. “Maybe your next article will be about the bats’ tools. Does Batman carry around bat-bandaids? What about bat-snacks?”

You choke on your food, pushing down a laugh. It would be better than the stuff you’ve been writing about for these past few months, anyway. There are only so many influencers you can interview without going crazy.

“He was your favorite, you said, no?” Claudia catches on and continues, “I’d be just like you if Nightwing crashed into my apartment too.”

You’re about to retaliate, because-

Because what happened was not without meaning. You had realized he was more than an ephemeral figure or a distant idol, something as tangible as you, and that had made you stop fearing, for better or for worse.

But your boss peeks his head around the corner and takes sight of you both. “Your break is over,” he says and stands in the doorway as he watches you tidy up and throw empty containers and coffee cups into the bin.

Just as you’re leaving you catch something by the corner of your eye. On the TV is a fuzzy image of something humanoid, vaguely red and black.

Wherever you go, the shadow of Red Robin follows.

#tim drake x reader #tim drake #batman #red robin x reader #tim drake imagine #red robin imagine #dc comics imagine #batfam x reader #batfam imagine #batfam x you #tim drake x you #red robin x you #tim drake x y/n #red robin x y/n #dc comics x reader #dc comics x you #batfam x y/n #tim drake one shot

224 notes · View notes

starry-sparky · 3 months ago

Text

I’m currently rewatching Gravity Falls and decided to revisit Journal 3 (all because of Book of Bill ofc, tho I don’t have it yet. Hoping to get it soon tho)

I’ve mostly been skimming Journal 3, saving a full read through for once I’ve finished the show but I wanted to share some observations

1. Ford’s ego is insane, in Journal 3 Ford talks about how Fiddleford keeps reminding him to get some rest (side note: god Fiddleford was so into Ford) and would remind Ford of what happened to Icarus. Ford’s response to this is “He didn’t flap hard enough”, showing exactly how big Ford’s ego is and how he’s taking the wrong lesson from the Icarus tale. It is insane that THAT is Ford’s takeaway

2. In the new GTLive video today, MatPat talked about how Ollie (his son) made a connection between the Oracle in Journal 3 being a possible ex of Bill. (It’s so cute hearing how Ollie has his own theories) I do actually agree with this too based on how she’s described by Ford in Journal 3. Quote from Journal 3: “She [The Oracle] spoke of him [Bill] without anger, but with a calm, steely, clinical resolve to see his reign of terror end.” This to me shows she has a history with Bill, speaking in such a clinical manner may be her just trying to put whatever they had behind her. She’s focused on the now, on bringing him down. It might even be possible that Bill used her somehow, much like he used Ford. Also on the same page, Ford says that The Oracle and him “…spent the entire night partying and drinking…” and I hope they were just talking about their shared toxic ex

#gravity falls #stanford pines #journal 3 gravity falls #journal 3 #gravity falls stanford #billford #the book of bill #bill cipher #fiddleford mcgucket #fiddauthor #gtlive #matpat

149 notes · View notes

whispereons · 1 year ago

Text

Oracle!Reader Part 19

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 18, Part 20

Warning! This chapter has child abuse, neglect, racism/classism and other sensitive topics! This is a imposter sagau so expect these things frequently. Attention! This chapter is extra long as it deals with Y/N's past and present. But I don't want to force a backstory that you guys might not want. Therefore you can read and choose what part of the backstory you want to be 'canon' for your Y/N. Whether be all, parts or none of it. It's your choice.

Your earliest memory was of a hospital. A vase of dying daisies, a child-sized bedding and a window slightly cracked to let in the night breeze were the only things you remember from that day.

A nurse gently knocked before walking in without looking up from the papers in his hands.

"How are you feeling today Y/N? I hope you aren't suffering from nightma-Oh! You're awake!"

The brief exclamation from the startled nurse pieced you in that you weren't supposed to be awake. Or maybe, you haven't been awake for a long time?

Dry cracked lips wheeze out your small plea. "W-Water…" Coming back to himself, the nurse adhered to your request and brought the cup to your lips.

It was a cool relief to your aching throat and the first thing you asked him was.

"Who's Y/N?"

That cup of water and clinically clean blanket was the comfort you had during the next flurry of events.

That day, laying in a bed on the pediatric floor of a hospital, you learned that your parents were dead.

An accident that would have presumably traumatized you had little to no effect on your psyche. When the doctor asked you what happened you didn't have an answer.

You didn't have an answer for most of their questions either. After a series of fruitless questions the doctor and psychiatrist called in, settled on the diagnosis 'Retrograde Amnesia'.

Being stuck in a medically induced coma, you had to relearn how to walk along with other basic info. The photo of your parents, friends and house went ignored on your bedside. Why should you care about people and places you didn't remember? It's not like you were going to go back.

Most of the hospital staff gossiped in poorly concealed whispers as your nurse, Malcohm, walked with you around the floor. It was all the same thing.

"That child's poor parents, to not even be remembered by the one thing left behind."

It didn't bother you much but Malcohm always shooed them away with a scowl. He was kind to you, from helping you remember your name, to remembering what your parents' names were.

It's not like you didn't remember that you had a name or that you had parents. But all the memories you had of them were gone. All your past experiences were gone too.

The doctors were relieved to see that your memory loss was only applied to everything before the accident and not after it too. A date to be discharged was decided and a stoic man came to greet you.

There was no warmth or care in his voice as he introduced himself as Mr. Castio. Not a drop of sympathy as he explained that you would be attending your parent's funeral. That your relatives would be there too, to discuss who would be willing to take you in. All you could do was stare at the newly replaced daisies and nod silently.

If there was one thing you had relearned during your time at the hospital, it was that adults were to be obeyed. With a sad goodbye to Malcolm, you trailed behind Mr. Castio into the shiny black car.

You sat in the first row dressed in traditional and simple black clothing. Multiple people came up to you apologizing for your 'loss'. With a soft nod, you thanked them and they left satisfied. Mr. Castio had already advised you to not bother explaining the situation.

All your relatives spoke fondly of your parents until it came time to name anything they liked about your parents. The whole room went silent before little hesitant whispers floated around the room.

Seems you weren't the only one that couldn't remember.

The silence only got more unbearable once the topic of who you would be going with came up. Older adults volunteering younger family members while they vehemently denied the position.

It was only after one uncle asked what would happen to your parents inheritance that greedy stares bombarded you. Picking at the stray fabric of the cushion, you ignored them all.

Mr. Castio clarified that the money would be untouched until you turned eighteen. Immediately, everyone looked away. No one wanted to raise a seven year old to adulthood without any immediate compensation.

The funeral ended with your parents being incinerated. No one took the urns. It made you wonder why none of your grandparents showed up.

By the end of the day it was your aunt who agreed to foster you. Mr. Castio brought you to your parents house to collect your belongings.

The house was clean and in order but the slight dust showed that it hasn't had a visitor in a while. Entering your room, you noticed how plain it was. Not a single toy, drawing or other personal object in sight.

It unnerved you enough that you packed quick enough to not stay any longer. Curiosity poked at you to find out what kind of parents you had but you were more concerned on what your aunt is like.

She had a son and a husband you haven't met during the months you lived there. Her son was rude but never gave you any personal trouble. It was more common for him to throw a tantrum over one thing or another then bother you.

It wasn't an ideal life, but you weren't miserable. You ate three meals, had a bed and had supplies for school. Everything is fine, life is fine.

That thought was repeated as you sat in school with paper being thrown at the back of your head. The teacher ignored the behavior and your aunt repeatedly told you to not cause trouble. Even as you ate a different meal then your cousin and slept in the cramped closet-like room.

It was fine.

Until it wasn't.

A broken picture frame laid on the ground between you and your cousin, the ball he was playing with rolled to the opposite side of the room. When your aunt walked in, he cried and blamed you for it, saying that he told you not to play indoors.

This wasn't your fault and you said as much, but no matter what you said she just shook her head. You laid in bed with an empty stomach as your cousin’s words echoed in your ears.

"You shouldn't have tried to snitch on me."

School got worse with your cousin instigating more bullying against you. The house got tense as your cousin put all his energy into making you miserable. Day after day your aunt looked more and more stressed.

You still couldn't understand why he kept picking on you. There were no plans of revenge or fights, you relatively stayed neutral and passive. Life wasn't fine but you would have stayed like that until you overheard a conversation.

"-yeah, I'm only getting that much money for fostering Y/N. Shitty, right?"

Inelligle sounds came from the telephone in your Aunt's hand as she stored her jewelry.

"If only my son would stop taking it. He already fights so much with Y/N and I just punish Y/N because a parent should always take their child's side. That child should have just passed away with their parents if they wanted to cause trouble."

Silently, you left back to the closet with the makeshift bed. Staring at the ceiling, you slowly accepted the reality of your situation.

Her wishing you to be dead alongside your parents wasn't the issue. What mattered was that she didn't care about the truth. She knew it was your cousin who started every problem and punished you because you weren’t her kid.

That night, sleep didn't reach you as you spiraled into plans of vengeance.

There was no sadness or shock on your face when you eavesdropped on her phone call with Mr. Castio. You merely noted the date that Mr. Castio would pick you up from your Aunts. You always had a feeling she would give you up, it just took longer than expected.

She and your cousin left to go celebrate whatever made-up achievement he lied about. Leaving you, an eight year old, home alone to your devices. If you ignored the list of chores you had to clean for ‘provoking your cousin into hitting you’, of course.

The house was cleaned to perfection when your aunt returned. The door creaked as she peeked in to see you dusting off the bookshelf in the guest room. She left satisfied as you set a book back on the shelf, covering a broken lock.

That night she told you to pack everything as Mr. Castio would be coming the next day. You simply nodded and left the room as your cousin laughed. You smiled too when he began asking what would happen to the money as your Aunt shushed him furiously.

Breakfast was cold as usual the next day, the mocking jeers your cousin spouted rolled off you with no reaction. Rolling his eyes at your ‘tough act’, your cousin scoffed before opening his lips to spout whatever snarky remark he had. Until the door to your Aunt’s room slammed open. She stormed in and whispered-yelled to him while pulling his ear.

You didn't have to hear to know what was said. All you heard next was-

"I didn't take the money!"

She's too mad to shush him and yells back. "Then who did?!"

He stutters as he glances around the room. His eyes lock onto your stoic face with a frustrated expression.

"It was Y/N, they took it, they took the money!" He points at you as faux tears bubble up, his pathetic little sniffles only earn an annoyed sigh from his mother.

"What money?" You ask, tilting your head. Wide eyed, you stare at them both innocently, confusion emitting from your being all the while.

Mouth agape, your cousin looks back to his mother as she pinches the spot between her eyebrows. "You're grounded until I get back all the money I lost, or until you return it."

He tries to argue more but the ring of the doorbell interrupts the argument. Mr. Castio is let in and he merely motions you to follow him. Your aunt leaves the room with more wrinkles than she came in with.

With no goodbye, you grab your bag and walk to the door. Pausing you glance back at your cousin, a wide smirk is clear on your face. His eyes widen as realization sets in but there's nothing more that can be done as you close the door.

--------------------------------

The sun breaks dawn as a quill scratches against rough paper. The ink is used in elegant strokes as Violetgrass is grounded and packaged. Yellow-slitted eyes read it over once more before folding it and writing the recipient on the exterior.

Pearly white scales glint with the ray of the sun as the snake is woken up gently. Sleepily, she loops around and climbs the outreach hand to hang around the owner's neck.

"It's merely daybreak, who could be needing medicine so dearly?"

"A fever could kill, you know that as well as I do, Changsheng." A smooth, melodic voice comes from the snake-eyed man as he stands from his desk and walks toward the cabinets. The letter is put into one cabinet and another is opened to obtain an opened vial of medication.

"Herbalist Gui stayed the night to take care of this particular patient so I'll give them the last of the medication so he can go home."

Glasses perched and viridian hair tied up, Baizhu walks into the back room and knocks softly. A tired looking Gui startles as a child sleeps on the bed. Her father is slumped on the bed as he sleeps soundly, his eye bags comparable to Gui's from his many nights spent worrying over his daughter.

"Go home Gui and have a proper rest. This should be the last medication she needs, her fever has lasted over the past few days but she's stable."

"Thank you Dr. Baizhu, I'll get going now. Let me just grab my belongings."

Gui stands from the small stool and ambles around the room quietly to not wake the patient. Baizhu stands at the bedside and pours the medication into an infuser.

A low fire begins to burn as the medication is properly prepared. Soon enough, Gui leaves the room as Baizhu brings the cup to the girl's lips for her to drink. It goes down smoothly and Baizhu turns to retrieve any supplements to aid her when-

"Dr. Baizhu, there's an emergency!"

Gui bangs the door open with a troubled look as the girl stirs and her father wakes up with a start. Baizhu smiles at the father as he takes long strides towards Gui.

Gui wouldn't react this strongly unless there's a real emergency. Baizhu has worked with him long enough to tell when something is out of Gui's expertise or life threatening.

"I'll need to step out for a while to deal with this. Please keep watching Yiran, I can assure you that she's past any dangerous stages Mr. Kuan."

Kuan nods his head sleepily and stays in his seat as Baizhu walks out the room. The door closes and Baizhu follows Gui as he asks "What's the situation?"

Gui speaks as fast as he can while walking toward the pharmacy entrance. "Qiqi was missing most of the night, which isn't abnormal, but she's at the front desk crying inconsolable while carrying a person on her back. They're bleeding out heavily and I saw multiple cuts, bruises and arrows in their body."

"I'm sorry to ask this from you but please prepare the treatment room. Once you do so, I can take care of them as Qiqi runs the front. If anything, I'll close the front until the patient is stable."

Gui nods before turning back as Baizhu steps into the threshold of the front. His eyes scan the room and quickly spot Qiqi and the patient she's holding.

Qiqi stands frozen in place as she grips you on her back. Tears roll down her cheeks without stopping, a stark contrast to her blank expression. Baizhu walks closer and kneels down to her level as his eyes dart over your unconscious body.

"Qiqi, I need you to follow me while carrying them. Can you do that?"

"Dr. Bai… Dr. Bai, they need herbs. Dr. Bai, Dr. Bai…"

Qiqi stares past him as if she doesn't register his words. Baizhu recognized the name 'Dr. Bai' easily as her name for him when she was still learning to remember.

Changsheng lifts her head as she hisses in a cooing way. "Qiqi, you want to save them, correct? We have the herbs but you need to bring this patient to the treatment room."

Baizhu reaches toward the zombie child and carefully wipes away her tears. “There’s no need to worry Qiqi, just do as Changsheng says. Remember I love you most.”

Qiqi nods but she doesn’t stop crying much to Baizhu’s surprise. Deciding to leave that for another time, he slowly walks to the treatment room passing by an exhausted Gui who sends a worried glance at you.

“Don’t worry about it Gui, injured patients aren’t the most frequent but I have plenty of experience caring for them. Just go home and rest.” With a sigh, Gui leaves as Qiqi stands next to the clean bed.

You’re quickly transferred to the bed and positioned to lay on your side for a proper inspection. “You should stay outside. Qiqi. I’ll let you see them when I’m done.” Not looking back, Baizhu changes his gloves before gingerly touching the bloody wounds. Bits and pieces of scrap can be felt inside the injuries under his fingers making him frown.

“There’s quite a range of injuries on them. Not counting the bruising and cuts, there are some deep stab wounds.” Changsheng comments from her perch as she stares down at the zombie.

“Their calves have been pierced too, it’s cold to the touch with elemental traces. Someone used a cryo vision on them. Their back isn’t straight and their breathing is harsh, I’m suspecting some broken bones. They must be identified soon so I can heal them.”

As he pulls his hands away, a small metal arrow tip falls out onto the floor. “That one has hydro elemental energy, different then the cryo one earlier. Two assailants means double the bleeding.”

“Baizhu! That can be dealt with afterwards, look at their head!” Changsheng’s sudden hiss pulls Baizhu’s attention to the area in question. The pillow your head is laying has begun to be stained red as a puddle forms. Blood dribbles out of your cracked lips as your breathing becomes strained.

Dendro glows at the tips of Baizhu’s fingertips as he carefully trails his fingers across the wounds. “Changsheng, they don’t have much time left. Their qi is perfectly balanced so I’ll only need to transfer some lifeforce. That head injury is the most pressing injury but I’ll spare some power to temporarily block the bleeding.”

The puncture wounds shine a soft green and the blood on your loose, shoddy bandages slow down. A pained gasp breaks free from your lips at the accident brush against your cracked spine.

Baizhu and Changsheng both peer down at your head, your matted hair knotting from the blood makes him grimace. “Their skull met with great impact but it’s not fatal.”

“Not yet, at least.”

“This mask needs to be removed for proper circulation and examination. More injuries may be hiding beneath it.” Baizhu speaks absentmindedly as he changes gloves and begins to reach toward the bloody mask on your face.

Your eyes snap open, making Baizhu freeze in surprise until you push him with enough force causing him to stumble. Changsheng hisses in retaliation as Baizhu steadies himself.

You stumble off the bed with a sway as blood rolls down your forehead. With glossy eyes and cracked lips you speak slowly. "Don't… touch it…"

Baizhu and Changsheng share a worried look at each other before focusing on you. Taking a step closer, Baizhu raises his empty hands in an act to calm you.

"Now, now, I'm just trying to help you. That mask is obstructing my care and can cause a serious problem."

"I… said… NO TOUCHING!" Your arm flails to the side, knocking over objects and causing a loud crash.

An animalistic yell rises out of your hoarse throat while your limbs swing around in agitation. Baizhu keeps a safe distance away as he watches you.

"This enraged fool will be the cause of their own death!" Changsheng yells over the sounds of vials and glasses crashing.

Baizhu doesn't respond as he stares at you, your every movement is carefully noted under watchful yellow eyes.

Your pupils blown wide, trembling body, and strange movements weren't lining up with a simple blood loss excuse.

A small hand tugs his pant leg as your rampage slows to an end. Baizhu looks down at the red rimmed pink eyes of the zombie child.

"What is it, Qiqi? Do you have something that can help them?"

Changsheng keeps a watchful eye on your exhausted body as your endless mumbles of refusal continue. Your bag in Qiqi's hands is handed over to Baizhu without a word.

"Is this theirs?" A single nod before she steps away to stare at you with a seemingly worried frown.

Baizhu opens the bag to find it completely empty. Not a single speck of dust or dirt can be seen in it unlike your dirty, ripped clothes. But before he closes it, he spots a tag on the inside of it.

'Property of Y/N L/N'

With that new information, he sets the bag down on a farther table and looks back to you. You stand trembling next to the bed as pieces of broken objects litter the ground. With slumped shoulders and eyes threatening to roll back, your voice cracks with every mumble.

"Don't take it off. Can't take it off.. Won't let you take it off…"

"Y/N? Is that your name?"

No reaction comes from you. He tries again. "Y/N, can you hear me? Can you understand me?"

Again nothing, not a twitch, not a flinch or even a slow in your mumbles. With a tired sigh Baizhu makes up his mind.

"Changsheng we have no other choice, I'll knock them out so be prepared to share my life force with them during the struggle."

"No."

Baizhu looks down at the snake in slight surprise, Changsheng speaks in a wary voice.

"For whatever reason, Teyvat is reaching out to me in warning. Don't take off the mask, keep it on and heal what you can."

Baizhu spares one more glance before sighing. "If that's really what you believe then we will do things your way. Perhaps Y/N's body is stuck in a fear response and may actually kill me."

Baizhu carefully steps past the shards and approaches you with a gentle smile. "Qiqi clean up the mess, lest our patient injure themselves on it. As for you Y/N, you can relax. I will not take off your mask, you are safe here."

Immediately your eyes roll back and you collapse to the ground. Baizhu was swift enough to catch you before any injury but your reaction was enough to cause him grief.

"Qiqi, as soon as you are done, manage the front for me. This will take a long while."

-----------------------

Change was something you grew used to during your childhood. You changed schools, caretakers, friends and homes long enough to know the process by heart.

Adapting was another thing you were good at. Shady houses with out of control classmates and unending fights meant that it was a dangerous place. That you had to stay low and be on edge constantly. Everything you owned had to fit in your locked bag or else you would find it missing the next morning.

It was a bit easier in the city where most were working class. Making friends would be too much trouble and fairly fruitless. You were content to stay invisible and deal with any problems outside of public view. Some students just didn't know how to describe you, some were too fearful of what they accidentally saw to say anything about you.

The most and least stressful was the rare times you ended up with a rich family. On one hand every student knew you as an orphan but at the same time, rich kids loved to feel like heroes. All you had to do was play the weak and kind student. Nearly every student flocked to be your guardian angel as you showered them with compliments.

You never lacked lies and stories to tell but you also never stayed in one spot for longer than a few months. Each time Mr. Castio got more and more fed up with you. From a stoic disappointment to a quiet rage filled with belittlement.

It was at 12 years old that you got fostered by your third wealthy family. They already had children, a daughter your age and a son who was barely three. You already knew that you would be their designated babysitter.

After a month of living there, you began to truly enjoy it. There was no mistreatment, obvious favoritism, a nice allowance, and even your own room. Even though you held no love for them, you followed your foster parents requests with no trouble.

Cleaning, babysitting, organization, yard work, sewing and more spontaneous jobs. Not only did they give you a bonus for the work, they also let you buy stuff with it when you asked.

You didn't need to be constantly catered to like their daughter, you were just happy to sleep without fear of getting robbed, an empty stomach or bruised skin.

After a while you began to realize just how much you depended on them. It worried you, you agonized endlessly about getting attached and abandoned. You worked harder at school, gave in to their request full of smiles and got along with their children swimmingly.

The longer you stayed and obeyed, the larger the possibility of them adopting you or at least fostering you till adulthood became.

But, you really should have known better. You’ve gone through it so many times, yet it seemed you still didn’t learn your lesson on who you can trust. The only person who truly had your back was always going to be yourself.

A normal day, a nice lunch and a polite request to do the dishes, something you were happy to oblige in. The sponge absorbed the soap and water letting you wash the dishes with ease. The chore is second nature to you.

Their daughter was out of the house, probably hanging out at a friend's house. Their son was with them in the dining room as their chatter reached your ears clearly.

“I’m so glad we got lucky to foster such a kind child.”

“As am I. They work hard, get along well with everyone, and help us around the house without complaint.”

Their praise was something you were still struggling to get used to. But it made you happy nonetheless. You couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that it was an exaggeration or a lie no matter how many times you chided yourself.

“That’s true, I never expected a kid with that upbringing could be so smart.”

“What child wouldn’t do well with us taking care of them? They struggled a bit at first but they seem to realize what a good deed we did with fostering one of their kind.”

The water running down your fingers felt colder, almost like ice was traveling through your veins. Was that really what they said? Did you hear them correctly? You held onto some semblance of hope that they weren’t speaking about you like that. But the longer you listened, the smaller your hopes shrunk as your doubts grew.

They spoke about you as if you were a pet. Due to what? Being an orphan? The class difference? Your race? Your gender? Or was it just you? All their past compliments and words that seemed innocent are thrust into a new light. One full of demeaning words hiding as kindness.

The dishes in your hands become like dynamite. Just one drop and it’ll set off a whole chain of events where you can tell them off. To scream insults and obscenities from feeling tricked. Yell at them exactly how you feel, how angry it made you to be spoken as if less than human. As if less than them.

Instead, you set the clean dish onto the drying rack. A deep breath is taken and then two more. Impartial rationality is focused on as your wounded heart is shoved away.

You have a good home, you aren’t being abused. Taken advantage of? Yes, but you get paid for it. This isn’t a family, it’s a job. It’s the best foster family you’ve had by far. They were wealthy and if you played your cards right, you could graduate from this upper class school and get a good job.

It’s a good deal. It’s the best deal someone like you will ever get. You should be grateful, you don’t need their affection, love or attention. You just need to survive long enough to support yourself. You shouldn’t ruin a good thing.

Those words play on repeat as the last dish is set on the drying rack. The sink is turned off before you grip the counter tightly. Water is drained down the sink as you tell yourself that you’re just angry. Your blurry vision is just from anger, you remind yourself over and over again.

--------------------

A strong stench of iron permeated the room as skilled hands continued to work on your body. Blood splatters stained Baizhu’s clothes, sweat on his temple as he carefully traced the wounds with Dendro glowing on the tips of his fingers. Life force was continuously given to you as Changsheng stabilized Baizhu’s weakening body.

With the most pressing injuries taken care of, Baizhu examined your bloodstained back. The broken and fractured bones there were the next in line to be treated. Grabbing a pair of scissors from the bedside, he raised them to the midline of your clothes.

“The blood is keeping the clothes stuck to their body. We don’t have time to pull the clothes off carefully.” The small mumbles left Baizhu as he concentrated on not accidentally nicking your skin.

Once done, he set the scissors aside and pulled the remains of your clothes off. A clean wet cloth is gently used to clean the blood off as your skin becomes visible. Simultaneous gasps leave the contracted pair as the cloth is dropped.

“Those scars! Baizhu, this isn’t a mere coincidence anymore. This person is much too similar to The Creator. Those scars are exactly as described in the scriptures.” Changsheng’s frantic hissing doesn’t reach Baizhu as he stares sternly at the marks in question.

His lips part hesitantly as his eyes never leave your body. “We should leave it be….”

“And what reason may that be?” Baizhu reaches an ungloved hand to thumb the old and faded scars as chills run down his spine.

“While it may be true that they are suspiciously similar to the Creator, there is more to this situation. The most widespread theory on why their blood is gold is that their blood is supplied with pure elemental energy and oxygen unlike everyone else that simply wields elemental energy. Even inhuman beings don’t have elemental energy coursing through their veins.”

Baizhu focuses his attention back on your bones as Dendro is summoned by his vision again. Changsheng rests herself with a tense posture as she waits for Baizhu to continue.

“Y/N is bleeding red and naturally absorbs my Dendro seamlessly. Furthermore, the scars on them have a strange aura on them.” Changsheng gives a look to Baizhu silently conveying her theory.

He shakes his head in response and clarifies. “It’s not god remains, but it’s similar. If god remains are like a natural poison and plague on a body, then this aura is the cure. The best way to describe this is that they are god cores. I believe it’s connected to the reason their qi is perfectly balanced despite the situation.”

Changsheng settles down at Baizhu's words as she watches him continue to care for you. Your breathing hitches as your bones are healed and snapped back into place. A low wail is all that can leave your throat.

“So Y/N is something in the middle? Will you really care for them even if it means taking care of a potential imposter?”

A heavy silence follows the question as Baizhu’s natural smile softens. The medical supplies that were used during all these hours litter the room in a mess. His gold eyes stare down at your pale, trembling body.

“Yes, I will. They are still a patient that was brought to me. If they truly are an imposter then the Millelith can deal with them after they’ve healed properly here.”

Baizhu cleans his hands and changes gloves once again as he examines the remaining wounds on your body. Smiling down at Changsheng, he speaks smoothly “Shall we begin the final stage of their treatment?”

-----------------------

Middle school reaches its end and the summer before high school came. You had passed with a high grade from your many long nights spent awake. Long days spent babysitting their son while upkeeping the chores while their daughter played leisurely.

You felt proud of yourself to pass with those grades while dealing with them. As the months went by, your foster parents felt less and less of the need to treat you the same as their children. At the end of the day, they still paid you so everything was fine.

Summer was reaching its end and you were creating a list of items you would need for the new school. Halfway through, a soft knock on your door broke your focus. Your foster parents stepped in and asked you to join them in the living room.

Swallowing down your nerves, you nodded and followed them. Were they planning on giving you up? So close to the new school year?

The moment you sat down, they dropped the metaphorical bomb. "We want you to stay back this year and go to high school next year instead."

That wasn't so bad right? You just need to wait another year to start high school. It's not like you could be thrown out at 18 with no high school diploma, left to fend for yourself after giving up a year of school for them.

It's safe to say that you reacted badly to the news. Every 'Why?' was given a half hearted answer that changed constantly, and when you put your foot down and said no, something about them shifted, as if a curtain had been lifted or a coin had been flipped.

The once kind and gentle gleam in their eyes dulled into something akin to annoyance. As if you were doused with cold water, the atmosphere became tense and you just knew that you messed up. You, who had been so careful to stay on good terms and always abide by their request, was looked upon with coldness.

“A child like you should not be giving us this disrespectful attitude.”

“We’ve clothed you, fed you, provided everything in that room. And it’s now with this single request that you’re rejecting us this harshly?”

The lecture goes on and on. Told how grateful, how sorry, how happy you should be. Cruelty laced every word has their arrogant figures towered over you. There was no chance for you to speak up, the helplessness you felt only pushed you down further.

At the end you were sent to your room with the date of your ‘fostering’ decided. The suitcase you took out and began to neatly fill felt foreign. You truly believed that you would be staying here until your 18th birthday. With the room bare and your eyes puffy, you tried to sleep.

Thoughts of what you should have done came to you in waves. You should have just accepted it. Even if only as a facade and found some way to prevent them from alerting the school in time. You wouldn’t have lost anything, if only you weren’t so stupid.

Tears spring up and it’s wiped away harshly as more replace it. Bitten lips begin to bleed as you hold back any embarrassing sobs that crawl up your throat. It’s only as footsteps are heard outside your room that you freeze.

Eyes wide you listen to the conversation as the sadness turns to bitterness. The bitterness wraps around your heart and squeezes as you learn the truth behind the matter. Their precious daughter had failed her grade and they just couldn’t let their child be upstaged.

Teeth grinding, you sit up from your bed and begin to dig through the stash of objects you’ve found throughout your time in this household. A plan forms in your mind that all depends on what opportunity is given to you.

Your ex-foster parents announced a dinner to be held at a fancy restaurant and dropped the responsibility of watching over their son on you. Their daughter cheers happily at the sound of her favorite restaurant being chosen as you go to your room. Curled up in the bed, you try to ignore the stabbing pain in your heart.

The door slowly opens as the house goes quiet, their son toddlers to your bed with wide worried eyes. Chubby fingers pat your cheek softly “Are you okay? You sad?” The broken sentences are cute as he stares at you sadly.

Sitting up, you pet his head and smile at him. Your eyes are a strange swirl of emotions as you reassure him of your well being. The next sentence is a familiar one, just with different intentions than all the times you’ve asked before.

“Do you wanna play a game of hide and seek?” The smile on his face is so bright that you almost feel bad for your actions.

Mr. Castio picks you up the next day, your ex-foster family waves goodbye to you as you enter the car. Their son cries and begs his parents to stop you as they soothe him calmly. Their daughter is the first to leave as you close the car door.

“How could you fuck up such a good deal?” The harsh words are spoken easily now that privacy is ensured. Wrinkles are as clear as his scowl as he drives away and out of the neighborhood.

“I got you to be fostered in a family like this, and you couldn’t just go along with what they asked? I never had much expectations for you, but did the amnesia take away your brain too? Actually, you were probably born this way.”

Curling your knees into your chest, you try to ignore his demeaning words. Round two of being treated like a worthless child began as you endured the long car ride. The more he spoke, the more you shook.

“-really. Making my life harder than it has to be. All because you couldn’t shut your damn trap. Is your useless pride worth more then-”

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up instead?!” That was all it took for the loud argument between you both to begin. You had already tried to play nice with one set of arrogant adults, why should you deal with another?

A pained smirk crawled onto your face as you cursed Mr. Castio out who didn’t hesitate to dish it back. Whether it was being nice and submissive or being rude and blunt, both had the same outcomes.

You sincerely hoped that your ex-foster family would enjoy the gifts you left for them to find.

The drugs you had placed in the nightstand for the strict and uptight breadwinner to find. The photographs of the breadwinners affair you printed and left for the house spouse to find in the cupboard. And finally the positive pregnancy test you set in the liquor cabinet that they never failed to open at dinner time.

By all means, their ‘perfect’ family should fall apart, it was just a shame you couldn’t see the fall out yourself… It didn’t stop the unease and slight guilt you felt for their son who had truly done nothing to you. It’s not like your actions would have too much of an effect on him right? You, you weren’t wrong.

Right?

At the lack of insults, Mr. Castio stopped his verbal abuse. Deep in thought, you stared out the window as the scenery passed by. Where you would go next was not known but it was all right. You would find a way to survive, you always did.

You had to.

-------------------------

Calloused hands smoothened the blanket on your semi-healed body as Baizhu ignored the exhaustion setting in. The sun was high in the sky as the afternoon lull began to set in. Qiqi opened the door slowly as she peeked in, her eyes trained on your bandaged form.

“Dr. Baizhu, is it done?” Her hesitant voice was answered with a smooth smile and a calm voice. “It is, but Y/N needs their rest. You’ve been tense since you brought them in at dawn, that’s not good for you. Go to the courtyard and practice your arithmetics.”

Qiqi gives a small nod before walking away. With a sigh, Baizhu cleans up the remaining mess from the long treatment. “You’re exhausted, Baizhu. Stop acting tough and get some rest.”

Changsheng’s snotty but caring tone is clear to Baizhu as he walks out of the treatment room. “I’ll instruct Qiqi to gather some more herbs once she’s done. Before I can rest, I’ll need to check up on the counter. Gui should have arrived an hour ago.”

Opening the door, Baizhu is greeted with the sight of Gui giving a farewell to the last customer. At the sight of the doctor, Gui perks up in interest. “How is that patient? Did they make it?”

“Thankfully they did, but they’ll need to stay here a few days for the more severe injuries. I believe their name is Y/N, so address them by that name until we can ask them ourselves..”

Gui nods in response as Baizhu looks through what herbs they still had to use. Different prescriptions come to mind as he filters what information he knows of Y/N. What could trigger an allergic reaction, what medicine could have been consumed beforehand? What prescription is affordable without having too many side effects?

Those thoughts consumed his mind as Qiqi returned and he mindlessly instructed her on what herbs to gather according to the prescription of his choosing. Gui leaves deeper into the pharmacy as Baizhu finishes and stores the medical file safely.

Did you have any means to pay the treatment or follow up prescriptions? Any family to contact for visiting and support? You wouldn’t be the first patient to have no one to rely on but Baizhu still couldn’t shake off the feeling of something more going on with you.

It was quite perplexing that he, who took great care to focus on being the best physician and on his own contract, was so drawn in by you. With a tired sigh, Baizhu pushed up his glasses as Changsheng raised her head to look behind him.

A knock on the doorframe only urged him to turn around and look at the unexpected visitor. With weary and suspicious eyes Baizhu stared straight ahead, “Is there something I can help you with?”

Lips curled into an ambiguous smile and with a polished voice, the visitor replies. “I hope so, do you happen to have a patient wearing a mask?”

This chapter was fun to write, what writer doesn't like giving a trunk ton of trauma on their protagonist? I get 18 years to configure to my liking, what did anyone expect? But as always you don't need to consider this your Y/N's backstory. In truth I won't have you think back to these memories much as you have moved on from that past. You have for a long time. This is just the 'canonical' explanation as quite a few of you seemed to like my version of Y/N. Which makes me very happy! My editor approved of this idea, and edited it quickly enough for me to pump it out. I deal with the heavy work and don't need to do the annoying work! Also feel free to ask if anything was confusing. One last thing, after I got rid of the spam/porn bots I saw that I reached 1k followers! That's pretty amazing but I'm not sure if a special should be done or not. And if so, what should I do?

Taglist: Check Masterlist for more details but everyone is welcome to join it!

@vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @liansh3ng, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @shellofthewell, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifoe, @goaudduck, @carminerin, @maddysflowers, @zenith-of-all-zenith, @crazydreamcat, @leafanonsforest, @grimreapersscythe, @leylanx, @sapphireknown, @help-whatdoimakemyusername, @zhonglisfruityass, @mer0n37, @victoria1676, @mochinessss, @sinnful-darling, @emilymikado, @pix-stuff, @esthelily, @luxie963, @emmbny, @millienolife @kbar1013, @xxblackroses623xx, @chxrlxtteee, @aludicpoet, @yandematic, @atrcclovsxoxo, @0lshadyl0, @esthelily, @t-rex-red, @ck123, @steadybreadbluebird, @118gremlin, @stratonia, @time-shardz, @farelady-fate, @valeriele3, @francisnyx, @byakuren100, @waveto-earth, @flyingpansaurus

680 notes · View notes

cupcakesmoothie · 2 years ago

Text

I did all three backstories for Touchstarved (I have 12 hours on this thing and it's only the demo)

Kuras and Vere don't seem to have red options, but Vere does have a secret ending and Kuras... I don't know, holds you for a bit longer?

For Mhin, it really is just picking The Alchemist backstory. You can call them short or whatever and you'll still get it.

For Leander, you have to take the flowers and keep touching him. It's okay if you hold back the first time even.

For Ais, you gotta tell him fuck you and pet the soulless, and after that red option pretty much all yours.

Differences I found between the three backstories:

It is pretty much like how they tell you, Oracle gets premonitions, Hound has experience with people and survival, and Alchemist has knowledge about magic and science, so there's different things you find out with each one.

The Alchemist:

I may be a little bit biased, but think The Alchemist is the most informative (It's also the first one I picked). There's the expected info of noticing that Vere's collar is enchanted, or knowing about how strong Leander really is when it comes to magic, but it's got the added bonus of MC's mentor having been in the Senobium in the past.

Compared to the others, The Alchemist is more familiar with Senobium, albeit through word of mouth. It's interesting how many times the MC says something similar to "I didn't know the Senobium did that." It calls into question whether MC's teacher was lying, or more interestingly (and what I think might be the case), the Senobium has changed a lot recently. It's talked about, even without the Alchemist backstory, that the Senobium used to be somewhere you could go to for help, but now most of the characters you meet do not like the Senobium, so what changed?

The Hound:

The Hound (the least popular option, apparently) was pretty fun. The Hound notices more about Ais, specifically that he's very suited to be a leader, and that the number of scars he has (one) seems suspicious for his temperament (or "how seasoned he acts", as the MC puts it).

One thing that I found very fun was doing Mhin's route as the Hound. They're somewhat able to keep up! They can (or tried to) recognize tells, and noted that Mhin was one of the few people who was able to sneak up on them. They also weren't sure how Vere managed to get their key. They were also prepared to steal to survive.

The Oracle:

While The Hound notices physical things, the Oracle notices... how do you say, otherworldly things. The Seaspring seems to be hiding a lot (of course it is), but the MC notices a heartbeat. A presence. They feel something from Ais. The name Ocudeus means something, they can feel it. They feel like they can see Ais' tattoo move.

Also, the MC feels something from Mhin and Kuras (in his clinic at least), which is interesting!

If I had to decide which love interest was better with which backstory...

Vere: The fact that the Alchemist thought that they could tell what enchantments were on his collar if only they could touch it feels promising! And both their connections (though I mean connection in the loosest term for MC here) to the Senobium makes it feel like you might very well find something.

The Hound might be one of the few who can actually survive this guy if I'm gonna be honest. (I mean you can still get killed by him but. You know.)

Ais: The Oracle's sixth sense makes going to the Seaspring a lot more interesting compared to the others, and the way they can feel something from Ais is very cool.

The Hound can tell his character better than the others, and I wonder how that will come into play later on.

Kuras: The Alchemist knows their way around spell-crafting and alchemy (When I picked this I wondered if they would be able to help Kuras around the clinic, which doesn't happen, but hey it might).

The Oracle seems to also feel something from him.

Mhin: First things first, their red option literally requires you to have the Alchemist backstory. Mhin's precision is noticed by the other MCs sure, but not to that detail.

Watching the Hound observe where they could be was so fun to watch. It feels like this MC will be able to keep up.

The Oracle feels something from Mhin, something inhuman.

Leander: The Alchemist was able to tell that the flash of magic was a barrier spell, and that most magic (or at least the ones they're familiar with) uses an incantation or spell circle. His didn't.

But either way, there will be things to find no matter the backstory you choose, and all of the character's stories are intertwined, so don't let this dissuade you from a specific backstory! There will always be things to find, you just need to look.

Extra: I found it pretty cool how each MC has a different way of knowing what a Groupmind is. Story-wise this makes sense of course, but each of their reactions to it are slightly different, from I heard this from rumours of people in cults (Hound), to I used to be told I could put people in a groupmind (Oracle), to legends suggest it was possible with a strong enough catalyst but it's never been done before (Alchemist).

Also, it's interesting to know what they each think of surroundings (specifically the Amaryllis district). They all have different opinions from I used to be told bizarre things about this place and now I kinda get it (Alchemist), to it's not that different from the place I grew up in (Hound), to it's VERY different from where I grew up in (Oracle).

And if I'm not mistaken, the reason Vere gives for your desperation is different for all of them!

You can find gameplay from me on my Youtube channel, or watch me getting all the red options and secret ending here:

youtube

I didn't read it out loud cause my mic sorta sucks and sometimes it peaks and gets a bit shrill. Also you see how my mouse moves sometimes? It means I'm screaming. I don't think I'd have been able to keep calm enough for this. Also my reading kinda sucks anyway hope you like it lol

#If you guys watch the 3 hour unedited version and find my friend going online please tell me the timestamp #I cannot find it #There are two and I found one of them #It's a fun little easter egg I guess. If you even care #Touchstarved #Touchstarved game #touchstarved spoilers #I had fun doing this #sweetmountainseeds #Oh btw #I may be wrong #Yes I replayed the game four times #But I might be wrong #There might be things you need/don't need to do #I can't really tell anymore #I mean everything here should be right but do correct me if I'm wrong

2K notes · View notes

lanafofana · 6 months ago

Text

The Faithwarden & The Archdruid

Day THREEEEEE of HalsinTavWeek is upon us, fam! Pairing: Halsin/Tav(F) Summary: When she is away, Tav wonders if Halsin misses her as much as she misses him. Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI Warnings/Tag: Voyeurism, Mutual Masturbation, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Post Epilogue No Beta We Die Like Yonas (RIP Yonas) And an AO3 link! For all who celebrate.

If Tav had had any idea of the kind of commitment involved with holding the title of Faithwarden, she might have just killed Khaga in cold blood where she stood. The woman had certainly made it tempting enough without the added threat of being named the equivalent of a druidic mediator, judge, and oracle.

When she said as much to Halsin the former archdruid had only given her the proudest, softest expression and assured her that she was the only druid he had ever met who was well suited to the task. Which might have just been, possibly, the least helpful thing he could have said.

The summons came from all over Faerûn and took her away from home from anywhere between a tenday to months on end. Settling disputes between groves, ousting unworthy leadership, and using her ironclad grasp of Silvanus’ teachings to guide, illuminate, and teach his servants.

Highest honor this. Under the eye of Silvanus himself that. It was godsdamned exhausting, is what it was.

Every time her duties kept her away from home for longer than a few days her skin itched to return. To ensconce herself in their house amongst the trees, rousing from her meditation and rolling on top of her lover, listening to the chatter of nature while she walked barefoot through the forest born anew. These were the things that tugged at her mind most when found herself many miles from home.

Frustratingly, Halsin did not seem to miss her quite as much as she did him. When she returned he greeted her warmly enough, an enthusiastic participant in their lovemaking always, but a part of Tav wondered if she was the only one left pining during their separations.

If she was gone longer than a ten day they would exchange letters or messages through nature, sometimes managing to speak through their meditations though that was rarer. He shared news of the happenings from home, asked after her welfare, and sometimes included messages from the children under their care. All very sweet but the few times she tried to broach the subject in her letters, how she missed him and yearned for his touch, he either said something clinically empathetic about duty or, worse, didn’t address it at all.

The lack of reciprocation of her desires began to chip away at her confidence in their bond. She began to wonder if maybe she was being selfish trying to bring it up all the time. Perhaps he considered the lust she felt in his absence a youthful fault of her own and nothing to do with him at all.

When she takes her leave one day she mentions while he walks with her to the boundary of their home, that if it looks like she may need to stay longer she will send a letter before the tenday is out. He smiles and nods but tells her she need not trouble herself on his account and kisses her softly on the forehead.

Walking away from him, her steps feel heavy, and the words chase themselves in circles in her mind. Hurt blooms like a wicked vine, crawling through her mind with cruel barbs that whisper silky lies that taste like truths. Keeping in contact over long distances is not necessary. If someone should miss her, they surely know how to reach her. He may as well have told her not to come home at all.

It all boiled down to the same thing. My love does not equal your love. Once she had the thought she found it had taken root and would not be burned away. She heard it as she walked, as she lay staring at the stars, and in her troubled meditations that shattered under the weight of it. It took very little imagination to begin to hear them repeat in her mind with his voice. The journey is long and difficult but with dark thoughts dogging her heels she pushes herself as far and as fast as she is able. The grove is surprised to see her arrive so early but readily enfold her to the circle and the reasons they called for assistance.

Two days, one set of bruised knuckles, and a sternly worded letter to an archdruid in Amn later Tav leaves the grove in an even fouler mood than she went in.

“Please, Faithwarden, at least stay another day. Your journey here was most perilous and long, you should take a day and refresh yourself.”

Tav tries to put her best face forward, she really does, but it is extremely difficult after her altercation with the grove’s resident healer left her in such a seething rage the First Druid had been forced to physically hold her back from beating the woman to death. When she whirls on the young novice he flinches back and Tav feels the sharp words turn to ash on her tongue.

She can’t do anything to rid her face of the stern expression that has decided to live there but she does try to curb her tone at the very least. She assures the poor man she was well rested enough thank you very much but must be on her way to her next destination.

The problem was, Tav had no idea where that destination was. Should she go home? Or would it be so terrible to wander for a bit, away from where she was clearly not as wanted as she supposed. Almost as soon as the thought occurs to her she decides no. She has a stack of letters to work through, almost half of them undoubtedly more summons for her aid.

Standing in the middle of a dusty, overgrown road she sighs. The tangle of hurt and anger giving way to sudden weariness. Was this to be her doom? Always wandering, always aiding, and never finding a notch to catch her heel and making her stop and rest. To sooth her loneliness with the fleeting, loveless passion between strangers who desire her body or her position. It turns her stomach. Inside her chest her heart feels splintered with cracks. One more blow and she will crumble.

When she is close to Thaniel’s realm she hesitates crossing the border right away. She decides that the temporary succor of reuniting with her lover, for once, does not outweigh the turmoil inflicted by the detachment of his farewell. It hasn’t even been a full ten-day anyway, so no one will be looking for her return. She can steal in through the window in her raven form, collect her stack of correspondence, and be gone again without anyone the wiser.

The sky is dark and silent when she begins her mission. A new moon offers plenty of cover to flit through the dark shadows on her way to the house nestled deep in the center of Thaniel’s realm. Spying an open window she flits though and perches on a chair, cocking her head and getting a read on her surroundings. The house is quiet though; the children are all nestled tight in their beds and the druid is nowhere to be seen.

She wonders at that for a moment, it’s unlike him to leave the children unattended overnight. Though, she concedes, he does like to wander the border in wildshape when he feels like thinking in solitude. She brushes the thought away and sheds her birdform to creep on soundless steps through the dark home.

The letters are not in the study where she expected them to be. The desk is tidy, just how Halsin prefers, but the slot where she usually keeps her stack is empty. She rifles through the drawers but they’re simply not there at all. Huffing an irritated sigh she spends a few extra moments poking around the rest of the room but there’s nothing.

He’s already preparing for you to leave permanently, whispers the acrid voice from before. That makes Tav stop her tracks, her heart and stomach and throat twisting so much she has to put her fist against her chest to assure herself she hasn’t been impaled by an arrow. The cracks within, quiver in expectation but she’s here on a mission, not to feel sorry for herself. She ruthlessly shoves the thought and the accompanying lance of pain from her mind.

The kitchen is likewise tidy, and the living area where Tav is most guilty of leaving her things strewn around, “like a magpie’s nest,” Halsin had oft remarked. The words had seemed teasingly affectionate then but now, wandering the spotless house, Tav isn’t sure.

There’s only one place left to check but at this point Tav wonders if she mightn’t just leave after all. It seems unlikely the druid would move her things there, where they had no proper place like the desk. But there is a dreadful anticipation buzzing under her skin and she realizes she can’t not look, can’t leave without seeing for herself if she has been erased from even that space. If he has packed away the odds and ends, removed the evidence of her existence. If he had truly cut her out of his life so thoroughly.

Her hand on the doorknob, heart in her throat, Tav braces herself. When the door swings open on silent hinges, revealing their bedroom just as she remembered it before she left she lets out a sigh that feels less like relief than she thought it would. Stepping in and shutting the door behind her, her keen eyes can see little that has moved or changed in the few days she’s been gone.

Her robe is missing from the place it usually hangs but that’s not unusual. The children were very fond of donning it for their make believe games of wizards and sorcerers. The little vanity table the druid had carved for her is littered with her trinkets and keepsakes, untouched. She spins slowly, correspondence forgotten for the moment while she looks for something. Anything to either untether the ache in her chest or banish it for good. But there’s nothing. The room is unremarkable, ordinary in every way.

She pokes around a bit and finds her stack of letters in the drawer of her vanity. She gives the room another cursory glance but pauses when she hears a gasp. She freezes, wondering if one of the kids had a nightmare and has found her in their search for comfort but the door is shut. The room still.

Curious, she moves as silent as a shadow towards the alcove where the bed is tucked away from sight by a large screen she brought with her from one of her travels. A very dim light comes into view, a guttering candle more ember than wick left. The view that unfolds beyond the screen however, steals her breath away.

Halsin is naked on their bed, eyes shut tight, with one hand holding her robe to his face while the other works a fierce pace along his erection. His hand rolls over the leaking head, once, twice, smearing the leaking precum from the tip before returning to pumping his thick length. His head drops back on the pillow, his mouth dropping open as he pants, his face a rictus in concentration. He breathes in sharply, another gasp he can’t hold back while he pleasures himself, lost in his fantasy, with her robe acting as the anchor.

She feels…giddy. The sight before her would in any other circumstance be enough to have her naked within moments and joining him but the evidence of his clear desire for her, his desperate gasps and near silent wails are the result of his desperate want of her and she…she can’t look away. Her blood runs hot but she’s frozen.

On the bed Halsin whines, teeth clenching, hips flexing as he tries to fuck his own hand. His heavy breathing is broken by a soft murmur, a whispered litany of words she can barely make out except for one.

“Tav.”

The hand holding her robe clenches and he takes a deep breath through his nose, taking in her scent from the fabric and when his eyes slit open Tav feels her own breath shudder out of her. It’s hot, suddenly too hot. His expression betrays surprise, confusion but when his hand stops moving on his cock Tav’s mouth is moving before her brain can catch up.

“Don’t stop,” she commands with a voice that sounds stronger than she feels. Inside she feels brittle and if he pushes the issue she would crumple immediately but he doesn’t. He nods, chest heaving, and his hand resumes its ministrations, his nearly black eyes on hers further driving her wild with desire.

Not even sure what she’s doing anymore Tav sheds her clothes and positions herself at the foot of the bed. A possession has come upon her, moving her limbs for her while her brain is far away. Abandoning his grip on her robe he uses his other hand to squeeze his balls, his breath hitching and in response she feels herself suck in a breath sharply. When he growls, stare heavy on her, she licks her lips and drags the hot skin of her palm across her nipples, her stomach, before finally dipping between the lips of her sex, seeking the bundle of nerves that throbs for attention.

“Tav,” he utters, breathing thready and she sways.

She drinks up the sight of him; squirming, needy, and skin flushed with arousal. The precum welling up from his tip looks like beads of pearls before he swipes it away to join the wet slick slide of his grip pumping his sex. When his hips start to jut into his hand again her hips jerk to echo it, her fingers swirling around her clit increasing their pace to keep rhythm with his movements.

The silent room has become a chorus of their echoing gasps, groans, and stilted breathing. The lewd wet sound as they masturbate to each other’s pleasure is obscene and Tav nearly comes apart with the force of how much she likes it. She watches with intense hunger, the flex of each muscle as he unravels under her gaze.

“I’m–! “ He breaks off, throwing his head back, the corded muscles of his neck taunt, the column of his throat damp with sweat.

“Y-yes!” It’s all she can manage to choke out before she’s lost to the sensation of her toes curling, jaw clenching.

They orgasm together, the sight of his seed spurting across his hand, his stomach, his chest has her moaning and grinding her finger into her clint until she exhales an aching, guttural sob, vision exploding with stars.

She crashes to her knees on the mattress, throwing out a hand to catch herself from falling face first into the blanket while she blinks away the haze of her orgasm. There’s movement and before she’s fully inhabiting her body again his mouth is on hers, his hands pulling her into his embrace. They’re both sticky and sweaty, but it feels like coming home after being away for a decade and she throws her arms around his neck and plunges her tongue into his mouth.

Breaking apart, still catching their breath they sit entwined, foreheads together while they come back to their senses.

When she finally meets his gaze it’s to find it already on her, soft and warm. The ache in her chest cracks wide open and she bursts into tears.

“My love?” Halsin’s voice is the comforting rumble of a summer thunderstorm and it only makes the tears flow more insistently.

“I–I thought...” The words die in her throat. It’s stupid, it’s ludicrous. How could she ever have even dreamed this sweet man would do the things she had supposed. What foolishness had bewitched her? How did she let her mind come to those awful conclusions? She doesn’t have an answer and speaking the words out loud feels fraught with peril.

Halsin doesn’t press her but cradles her head against his chest, running a hand down her back in a soothing gesture that only makes the tangled mess of her emotions a stronger torrent of tears. He rocks her, humming something slow and soft. He kisses the fevered skin of her forehead, clutching her body to his tightly, securely, until at last she feels her last sob give way to hitching sighs.

“I think…I think I’ve been incredibly foolish,” she admits, pulling away to look at him with bloodshot eyes and a snotty nose.

Halsin takes that in but instead of interrogating her, he thumbs away her tears gently before pressing featherlight kisses against the damp skin of her face.

She breathes in, sucking what courage she can from the air between them and haltingly begins to explain. Halsin’s face goes through several complicated emotions as she speaks before settling on sadness.

When she is done relaying the whole of it. How she thought he did not miss her and how it snowballed so horribly from there, he takes her face in both his hands and kisses her softly.

“I miss you,” he begins firmly, holding her gaze. “I miss you when you are not near, whether that means you have gone to answer a summons to a far away grove, or down to the river to collect the children, or even when you are laying in this bed in a trance close enough to touch. I miss you like the land misses the rain in a drought,” he takes her hands in his and presses them to his chest. “I miss you like the winter misses the sun; the dragon misses his flight; the Tears of Selûne miss the moon when its light is extinguished and they are left to trail along until she returns. Without you by my side I feel my days grow dark and grey and spend too often looking over my shoulder for the moment you might appear and bring the light to shine on me again.”

“But–”

“I miss you,” interrupts Halsin urgently. “With everything that I am. Foolishly I held myself aloof in your absence because I did not wish to burden you with my own selfish suffering. You already found the duty bestowed on you an oppressive one and I did not wish to add myself to your troubles. I see now that was a mistake. One I will not commit again.”

“I’m sorry,” says Tav, looking away. “I should have tried harder to explain what I…what I wanted, I suppose. What I needed from you.”

Halsin smiles and nuzzles her cheek. “We each of us have learned something here today and I think we are the better for it, no?”

“You’re very wise, archdruid,” says Tav with a small smile, the spark coming back into her eyes. “You wouldn’t be interested in becoming Faithwarden, would you?”

Halsin laughs and tugs her into his arm again, burying his face in her neck, and stroking her hair and the bare skin of her back. “I’m afraid I’ve quite retired from druidic duties, my heart.”

“Yeah yeah, rub it in.” She pulls back from his embrace when a thought occurs to her and she scans his wide chest in puzzlement before she spies her rolled up robe cast aside on the floor. “Halsin Silverbough did you use my robe to clean up your– “

He leans in close and snatches a kiss to cut her off. “I will wash it myself.”

“Yes you will, that was a gift I got in Waterdeep! Silvanus protect you if I have to go back to that fetid kingdom of money plagued rats to get another one.”

He grins and snatches another kiss before rolling away and snatching the robe off the floor, backing away to the door. “I’m glad you’re home, my heart.”

“You’re not going to be very glad if you don’t go put that in some water right now!”

“Yes, dear,” he calls, sauntering away

“Cold water, Halsin, I’m serious!” He doesn’t respond and she trails after him in alarm. “Halsin? Are you listening?”

“Always, my heart.”

The End

#halsintavweek #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #halsin x tav #halsin silverbough #smut #bg3 tav

149 notes · View notes