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writingsofwerewolves · 8 months

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The first 4k words of my Thrawn Fanfic, Fifty Shades of Blue.

Please let me know if you're interested in the whole thing. This sample doesn't include any sex scenes but there are some many later on.

If enough folks voice their interest, I'll post all 131k words to Ao3.

~~~

I had to be dreaming. Dreaming of spinning and falling and being weightless. Dreaming of being on a comfortable bed that certainly wasn’t my own. Dreaming of a warm hand pressed to my temple. Dreaming of the sensation of bile rising in my throat while nausea and dizziness overwhelmed me. Dreaming of gentle hands helping me upright as a can was held in front of me to catch the vomit.

It wasn’t a good dream, that was for sure. But it was a vivid one.

I would have almost believed it was real if not for the fact that when I got glimpses of the person with me, I saw that he had blue skin with red glowing eyes. Thrawn, I knew. Of course I would dream of Thrawn. I’d done nothing but think about Thrawn for weeks. I’d clung to the fictional character as if my very life depended on it. My sanity certainly did, as my physical and mental health spiraled. The only freedom from reality came from indulging in my obsession with the beautiful blue genius.

So of course I was dreaming about Thrawn. Who else would I even want to dream of?

It wasn’t the dream I would have chosen for myself, though. I felt sore and sick from head to toe. Every movement ached and threatened to elicit more vomit. At the same time, though, Thrawn was very attentive in the dream.

“This will pass soon,” I heard him say as his hand smoothed over my brow. “Rest.”

“Yes, sir,” I managed to slur out blearily.

His lips turned up in an amused smile before darkness overtook me.

I was certain I’d spoken several times within the dream, but I couldn’t remember much.

Part of me wanted to wake up because surely when I woke, I wouldn’t feel like absolute shit anymore. But at the same time… Thrawn was there. I saw his face. I saw his smoothed back black hair. I saw the alien ridges of his face, more subtle than the cartoon but still prominent enough to be recognizable. I saw his blue hand holding mine comfortingly. I saw his white uniform, though there were differences between it and what I expected to see. No, I didn’t want to wake up.

I cursed my dreaming mind. Within my dream, I could never keep my eyes open long enough to properly see his face. I wanted to memorize his every feature. I wished I had any visual artistic talent so that I could draw him when I woke. I wanted to keep that image safe forever.

But within my dream, I fell asleep.

I blinked my eyes open as I woke. I sighed sadly as I remembered my dream, suddenly filled with sadness. I’d probably never dream so vividly about Thrawn, or any other character I loved, ever again. And it was over.

Then why in the world did I still feel so sore? Not as badly as I had in the dream, but my muscles still protested as I adjusted myself in bed.

Wait. My bed felt different.

I sat up suddenly, gasping loudly as I looked around the strange room. It wasn’t my room. It wasn’t my bed.

A door slid open and in stepped… Grand Admiral Fucking Thrawn.

Okay, so I was still dreaming. Good? Maybe?

Except I didn’t feel like I was dreaming. Things felt relatively clear in my head. There was a heaviness there, as if I’d slept too long, but I didn’t think I was dreaming.

“You’re awake,” the blue alien remarked gently as he set the tray he was holding down on a cabinet, “How do you feel?”

I didn’t respond, my eyes wide as I watched him carefully.

“Hmm,” his brow furrowed thoughtfully, “You don’t remember how you came to be here, do you?”

I swallowed hard and shook my head, not trusting my voice.

“I see,” he inclined his head and then moved to a chair, sitting down and looking at me seriously, “I am Grand Admiral Thrawn. I found you on the street of the planet Pantora, clearly lost and ill. I brought you here, to my ship, to recover.”

“I… I don’t remember any of that,” I whispered, my mouth completely dry.

Thrawn reached for the tray and grabbed a glass of liquid before holding it towards me. I eyed it suspiciously.

“If I wanted to poison you, I had plenty of chances before you regained consciousness,” he assured me, his glowing red eyes twinkling with amusement, “It’s water.”

I took the glass, carefully holding it with both hands as I didn’t think I had the strength with one just yet.

“Drink slowly. You are still recovering,” he told me.

“Yes, sir,” I said automatically. Then my eyes widened, horrified. I quickly took a sip to cover my embarrassment. I was relieved to find that it was indeed water. Suddenly I was absolutely parched and drank deeply.

“Slowly,” he reminded me, his voice more stern.

My heart fluttered at the command and I lowered the glass from my lips. He gave a satisfied nod.

“What is your name?” Thrawn asked, his voice gentle.

“[Name],” I answered hesitantly.

“A pleasure to meet you, [Name],” he stated before rising to his feet, “I have duties to which I must attend.”

He picked up the tray and set it on the foot of my bed, within my reach.

“If you feel up to it, please try to eat something. Pace yourself, though. I will return in a few hours and then we can discuss the situation.”

I resisted the overwhelming urge to say “yes, sir” and instead just nodded. He inclined his head before leaving out the automatic sliding door.

I took a few slow deep breaths as I processed everything.

It didn’t feel like I was dreaming. But I had to be. But what if I wasn’t? If I was dreaming, then I could do whatever I wanted with no consequence. I could have grabbed Thrawn by his immaculate uniform and crushed my lips to his. But if it was real…

My anxiety forced me to consider the consequences, even if the logical part of my brain wanted to take advantage of the clearly fabricated scenario. There was no possible way I was really on a space ship with Mitth’raw’nuruodo. No possible way.

But just in case… I had to act as if it were real. I couldn’t risk embarrassing myself further.

So. Working under the assumption that it was real… what the fuck was going on?

There was only one possibility in my mind. I’d fallen through dimensions. I was in an alternate dimension where Star Wars was real. Or perhaps I was in the same dimension, but traveled back in time to a long time ago in a galaxy far far away. Either way, Thrawn was real. I was on his ship. And I had no idea how or even if I could get home.

Deep inside me, I somehow knew there was no home to go to. I didn’t know how I knew, but it felt like a fact.

I allowed myself time to mourn. I mourned my life. My friends. My family. My home. They were lost to me. Gone forever.

Sniffling, I wiped my eyes and then looked to the tray of food. There was a variety of options, none of which looked familiar to me. But I was suddenly ravenous.

As I reached for something to eat, I heard Thrawn’s voice in my head. “Slowly.”

I smiled to myself and said aloud, “Yes, sir.”

I’d only managed to nibble on a few food objects, though I’d fully drained the glass of water, by the time the Grand Admiral returned. My stomach was too tense to think about eating much, even though I felt pretty darn hungry.

Thrawn sat, his eyes on the tray of barely touched food as he gave a satisfied nod.

“How do you feel?” he asked, his glowing eyes turning to me. It was a disconcerting experience, being under those strange eyes’ scrutiny.

“Uh… still a little weak and tired,” I said, fighting the urge to say ‘fine.’ He would know that was a lie. It was Thrawn. “But better. Thank you.”

His eyes softened, “I am glad to hear it. Do you perhaps feel up to a conversation about your situation here?”

I gulped. No, not really. I was still hoping my situation was a dream. I didn’t want to consider what it meant if it wasn’t.

“It can wait another day if you would like to rest,” he told me, “I want to be certain you have a clear head first.”

“My head’s pretty clear now,” I replied, “And… I’m not going to rest very well without knowing…”

Knowing what? I had no clue.

“Understandable,” he inclined his head, “As I told you, I found you in very poor condition on the planet of Pantora. I suspect you do not know how you came to be there.”

His glowing red eyes held a question within them, though his words didn’t. I didn’t reply. I didn’t know what to say.

��I also suspect you have nowhere to go,” he continued, “If that is the case, it would be impolite of me to simply leave you on an alien planet to fend for yourself.”

My shoulders fell a little.

He was right. I had no where to go. No resources. Nothing.

“Therefore, I would like to offer you a place on my ship,” Thrawn stated, “You may remain here,” he gestured at the room, “For as long as you need. Or at least for as long as it remains my ship,” he corrected with amusement.

My breath left me in a whoosh, “Oh. That’s… very kind of you… Grand Admiral.”

His lips twitched at my usage of his title.

“I don’t want to inconvenience anyone…”

“It would not be an inconvenience,” he said. “This room isn’t needed for crew members and with a crew of fifty thousand, one more mouth to feed will not strain our resources.”

My eyes widened. “fifty thousand?”

“You should take time to consider my offer,” Thrawn told me, ignoring my question. “I am needed on the bridge.”

He rose and began to leave.

“Wait,” I called and he paused, facing me. I swallowed hard before asking, “What’s this ship called?”

His lip curved into a small smile, “This is the New Republic Star Cruiser, the Chimaera.”

My eyes widened, unable to respond as he inclined his head and took his leave.

New Republic?

Wait a second. That explained why his uniform looked slightly different. It was a New Republic uniform. But… the New Republic didn’t have grand admirals… and the Chimaera was an imperial ship… and Thrawn… Thrawn was supposed to be an imperial.

What the fuck was going on?

Still sore and tired, I didn’t have that much trouble getting more sleep. After napping a little, I felt much more clear headed and even more certain that I wasn’t dreaming. I felt good enough to walk, so I explored the room a little. It was very simple, without much in it. But I did manage to find the connected bathroom or “refresher” I supposed it was called. I was extremely relieved to find it functioned mostly like a normal Earth bathroom. That could’ve been awkward.

I slept more, still recovering from whatever illness had befallen me. Actually, I was starting to figure it out. I decided it was from traveling through time and space. Surely without the proper protection, like being inside a Tardis or something, would leave one very ill after such a trip.

When I woke, I saw that the tray of food was gone, replaced with a fresh jug of water, and there was a neatly folded stack of clothes on the dresser. My glasses were placed delicately atop them. I let out a sigh of relief. I could see without my glasses, but it was uncomfortable and blurry and risked migraines if I wasn’t careful.

I showered before putting on the fresh clothes, grateful for them as mine were feeling sweaty and gross.

But anxiety gnawed at me.

How much did Thrawn know about my situation? He knew I had no where to go… but how? Why? And why offer me a place on his ship? And what did he expect in return? He surely didn’t think I could be a crew member.

If this were a fanfiction, he’d offer me a room on his ship in exchange for sex. I couldn’t help the snort that came from me. I’d have to get thoughts like that under control. That wouldn’t happen, I was certain. Especially when I looked in the mirror. No way Thrawn would be interested in me.

I did wonder if Eli Vanto was on board… and wondered about Thrawn and Eli’s relationship…

I shook my head to clear it. No, no. Bad [Name]. Thrawn was a real life person. No dreaming of fan fiction while aboard his ship.

Not long after I had showered and changed, the door opened and Thrawn stepped in.

“[Name],” he greeted me with an inclination of his head, his hands held formally behind his back.

“Grand Admiral,” I returned.

The ghost of an amused smile passed over his lips before he spoke, “You seem stronger. Your illness has passed.”

“Yes, sir,” I said before I could stop myself, “I think so. Thank you.”

“Have you given thought to my offer?”

I swallowed hard, “I… uh… I don’t see much choice. I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“I understand,” he said and I wondered exactly how much he understood. “You are welcome to stay here until you find an alternative. I will assist to the best of my ability.”

“Thank you. Is… uh… am I allowed to stay on this ship, though?” I asked tentatively.

“I am a Grand Admiral in the New Republic’s Navy,” he remarked coolly, “I decide what is and is not allowed aboard my ship.”

The authority in his voice sent a pleasant shiver down my spine. That was nice. That was very nice indeed.

Part of me wanted to point out that surely there were rules and regulations he had to follow. In the Empire, he often got in trouble for letting people like Admiral Ar’alani on board. But at the same time, the tone of his voice spoke to an end on the subject. If he said I was allowed, I was allowed and that was that.

“Yes, sir,” I whispered, unable to help myself.

I thought it was my imagination that his red eyes seemed to glow brighter.

“May I take you on a small tour of the ship?” Thrawn asked, the increased glow gone before I could be sure it was ever there.

Not trusting my voice, I nodded before pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose slightly.

“Wonderful,” he said, sounding pleased. He pressed a button on the wall and the door slid open. He stepped out and waited for me to join his side.

It was a long empty corridor, with several doors like mine along the wall. There were markings that I was certain were the room numbers, but in a script I didn’t recognize. Some of the numbers looked like Arabic numerals and I recognized the number nine from seeing it so much on The Bad Batch.

As I walked beside Thrawn down the hall, looking at each room number, I realized that part of the string of figures probably wasn’t a number. Probably letters or even words.

I felt Thrawn’s eyes on me and when I looked up at him, sure enough, he was watching me. I felt heat rise in my face and I turned my gaze down to the floor as we continued. It didn’t help when I remembered he could probably see the heat building in my skin. The thought made my whole body go hot with embarrassment. Fuck.

Could I wake up from the dream now, please? Please? No? Great…

I took a few steadying breaths. They didn’t help.

Thrawn slowed to a stop in front of what seemed to be an elevator. He pressed a button and it instantly opened, revealing the small space inside. After we stepped inside, the elevator started to rise and I gripped the waist height support pole to steady myself. I hated Earth elevators enough. I hated space elevators more.

Thankfully it was a short ride and we were stepping out. After stepping off the lift, my eyes were drawn to the large view port. Stars stretched out in the pitch black sky for as far as the eye could see. Every direction glittering at me. And almost below my feet I saw a planet. Millions of lights glinted from the surface in shapes that looked like roads and cities. It looked familiar. Though fear gripped me, the fear of falling through infinite space, I was in awe.

My eyes roved the view before me, wanting to take in every star. Every cloud above the surface of the planet. Every ship I saw soaring in the distance. It was so big. So beautiful. So endless.

“You have never left a planet’s surface?” Thrawn questioned, his voice gentle.

“Never,” I breathed, “I’ve… I’ve never see so many stars.”

Tears suddenly clouded my vision. My fears of traveling through space forgotten in the vast beauty of the universe.

I saw Thrawn’s reflection in the glass, standing behind me with a wistful smile on his lips. I cleared my throat and blinked away my tears.

“Sorry,” I told him.

“It is alright,” he told me, “I have spent my entire life traveling through the stars. I forget to see the beauty in it. Though now what I intended to show you seems small in comparison.”

I raised an eyebrow at him.

“This way,” he beckoned and I fell into step beside him, casting one last look at the view port before focusing on making sure I didn’t trip over my own feet.

We came to a door and when he opened it, I instantly realized it was his office before even stepping inside. I could see artwork lining the walls and standing on podiums. I couldn’t help the wide smile that broke out across my face.

I followed him inside, my heart racing excitedly as I took in each piece. There were some paintings, some small statues, a few art mediums I didn’t recognize, masks, and so much more. I couldn’t process all of it as quickly as I wanted.

“I am somewhat of a collector of art,” Thrawn explained.

I couldn’t help snorting through my nose, “’Somewhat’?”

“Somewhat,” he agreed, sounding amused.

I spun slowly in place, still looking at everything. But gradually I realized… this wasn’t his office on the Chimaera I knew. The wall behind his desk had carved statues, but they were different from the ones I saw on Rebels. And Sabine Wren’s retaining wall graffiti was nowhere to be found. And the layout of the office was different.

“Can…” I began, choking on my words a bit, “Can you tell me about some of them?”

I was certain his eyes glowed brighter that time.

“Of course,” he inclined his head and then moved towards one of the small statues, “This is a piece from an artist on Onderon, from before the Clone Wars.”

I listened as he spoke of the sharp angles of the shape and how they told much about the culture from which it came. How the scene it depicted was representative of the difficult history of the planet and the artist’s own struggles. I didn’t see everything he saw within it, but I didn’t care. I just listened to his silky voice, suddenly living in an absolute dream come true.

Then he moved on to another piece, speaking of how the limited types of materials used spoke to the scarcity and value of resources in the culture. And then another, speaking of the purpose of each brush stroke.

It was too much for me to take in, but that didn’t matter. Thrawn’s eyes were intense with excitement, perhaps at having someone actually listening to him infodump. I was grateful that he didn’t seem to expect me to fully understand what he was saying. I just listened, a stupidly big smile on my face.

“Is there a particular piece you would like to hear about?” he asked after the fifth artwork.

I frowned suddenly, caught off guard by the question. But there was one. My eyes fell on a rather pitiful piece.

“Ah,” Thrawn nodded and we moved towards it, “I would be curious to hear your thoughts on it.”

“Oh, I don’t have a clue,” I said quickly.

“I find that unlikely. You were drawn to it for a reason,” he remarked lightly.

“I’m probably really off,” I shuffled my feet uncomfortably, “I’m… I’m not very familiar with other cultures’ art so maybe…”

“I promise I will not be offended if you are incorrect,” he assured me, “I would like to know what you think, [Name].”

The soft use of my name almost broke me. I swallowed hard and nodded.

“It… doesn’t look like it’s supposed to look like this,” I ventured, watching his expression carefully. But he gave no sign of whether I was right or not. “I know from my experience with older artworks from where I’m from that some materials age and yellow over time. This looks like it was coated with a varnish or resin that’s aged very badly, but…”

“But…?” he prompted.

I looked closer at the piece. Something looked so off about it.

“I don’t think the resin was put on by the original artist,” I told him, “It looks like the original art had… I don’t know... Some sort of plants on it. And the whole thing is just… coated in that yellowed resin and it looks like the plants were caught within it, probably to keep them in place but the placement where they ended up doesn’t look purposeful. It’s like someone just laid it on its back and dumped the resin on it and let the plants fall where they did.”

“Very good,” Thrawn said, sounding pleased.

My heart soared at the words and I stood up a little straighter.

“This piece comes from Mon Cala,” Thrawn explained, “It is an aquatic planet and therefore most of its art is meant to be viewed under water.”

“So when it was brought to the surface, someone wanted to preserve that effect by dumping resin on it,” I said slowly.

“Indeed. To the work’s detriment, as you can see. The plants are meant to move with the water, not be glued in a static location. In addition, the plants didn’t survive the process and have decayed within. I believe the yellow came from the color of the plants leeching into the resin.”

“That’s unfortunate. I bet this was really beautiful before. The background looks so purposefully done, but it’s covered by dead plants and flattened visually from the resin…”

“Come,” he beckoned, moving to his desk. I followed him and he pressed a few buttons on his desk. Suddenly a hologram floated in front of us. “This is not the exact piece I have here, but it is a similar work.”

I examined the glowing blue image. It certainly was a different piece, but I could see what it was meant to be. The plants flowed with the water, giving the work the feel of being alive.

“If these pieces can’t exist properly out of water, why didn’t someone just… put it in a tank of water or something?” I asked.

“I suspect there are several reasons for that,” Thrawn began, “First is simple practicality. It is much more difficult to move around a tank of water than a static work of art. Secondly, I suspect the plants do not thrive outside of the waters of Mon Cala. The work may last for a time in a tank of the right water, but I believe that it would still degrade. Whoever encased this piece in resin was no doubt attempting to preserve it, but sadly they did more harm than good.”

“Unfortunate,” I sighed sadly as he turned off the hologram, “Looks like it was beautiful before.”

“Yes, I believe it was. Sometimes the method of preservation, even poor preservation such as this, can tell us something, however.”

“I suppose so… at a high cost, though.”

He inclined his head, “Indeed. Thank you for indulging me, [Name]. However I am certain you are still recovering. Shall I return you to your room?”

I nodded and he began to lead the way out of his office. As we came to the elevator, I veered off to look out the view port again. The planet was in a different place relative to the ship than it had been. I looked out at the countless stars, wondering what all was out there. Who all was out there…

“W-what planet is that?” I asked quietly.

“Coruscant,” Thrawn replied. “The capital of the New Republic.”

I nodded my understanding. I suspected it was Coruscant based on the patterns of lights I could see. But… how was it the New Republic? How was Thrawn and the Chimaera part of it?

“Come,” Thrawn called, “You are beginning to look tired. I think you should rest.”

“Yes, sir,” I agreed, stepping onto the lift with him. I didn’t look at the blue alien, but I once again was fairly certain I saw the glow of his eyes intensify.

#unknown's writing

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myfairkatiecat · 1 year

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10, 11, 12, 14, 19, & 40 for the Ask Game!!!! Pick and choose whichever one(s) you'd like, I just got super excited and had to talk myself down from asking all of them :)

I hope you are having a lovely day!! And don't forget to drink some water, please <3

Thank you for the reminder to hydrate as always!

Alright, here we go:

10. Cltr+f "blinks" on your WIP & copy paste the first sentence paragraph that comes up.

Lol I did this and I don’t think this is what was supposed to come up lol. This is from my theater kid Nathaniel Benedict AU:

“This used to be endearing. But now, at the MENTION of a new musical, you’re out the door in the blink of an eye!”

“Multiple blinks, actually, I don’t have superspeed Nicholas.”

11. Link your three favorite fics right now

Alright then:

@nobody33333333 yes this is one of my favorite fics right now and ALWAYS, it’s just too amazing!!

I just stumbled across this while looking through some tags and like—it’s gold?? From like three years ago? I never knew I needed parks and rec references in a tolkein fanfic but here we are. It’s basically Pippin being rich and also he’s never had a real job in his life—

@mvshortcut I’m STILL screaming over this

Of course there are way more fics that I love right now but these are probably my top three atm!

12. how does receiving or not receiving feedback/ support impact you?

Feedback and support is honestly a big part of my motivation. If I love what I’m writing but I’m the only one who loves it, it definitely takes me longer to write then when everyone I know on tumblr and ao3 is sending lovely comments and encouraging my writing. Sophie, your comments ESPECIALLY are top tier motivators!!

14. how do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

I read enough source material and fanfic to seriously immerse me in their emotions, and if I have a sudden epiphany like *guys they’d be feeling that emotion* I post about it vaguely, consume every tag any of my lovely mutuals leave on it, let that feed the writing juices, then just sit in the angst and let the words come to me. I can find the words pretty well once I’ve obsessed over their feelings long enough!!

19. What’s the most used tag on your AO3?

Humor, apparently, which I didn’t realize but actually makes sense. Lighthearted silly fanfic is my specialty! Let’s call humor my major and intense angst my minor ;)

40. If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

I would honestly go insane if anybody made fanart of my Star Wars time travel fic “Rebel Pilot” with just all of the different time traveled people from across the different time periods just standing in the same room looking confused. Also, if anybody made fanart of my fanfic with the Benedict twins hugging—I don’t care which angsty Benedict twin fanfic, just one of the scenes where they hug while both being visibly in tears—I literally would be so happy I’d scream. I’m not really an artist, though I do apparently go through kicks where my mind decides we’re drawing, so someone else putting visuals to a scene I love would be a dream come true!

Thanks for the ask Sophie—this was lots of fun!

#ask game #the mysterious benedict society #tmbs #theater kid nathaniel benedict #lotr #pippin took #parks and rec #star wars #tmbs theater kid au

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rai-knightshade-art · 2 years

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"I missed you."

"....I missed you, too."

Prompt #2, Pitch Perfect RarePair Week

This scene now has a Part 2! Check it out here!

Artist thoughts, links to the other prompt days, and a Close Up under the cut, Image ID in the alt text!

*drags myself in out of sheer force of will, collapsing immediately on the floor, holding this post aloft like a hard-won trophy* I did it. I got the drawing for today's prompt done. Here you go.

So, backstory: this is technically related to what will now be three posts later this week (because there's supposed to be a second part of this drawing based on Prompt #7, "I can't say it so I'll sing it", that will now be posted along with my original unrelated idea for #7 on Sunday), all of which are based on a fanfic I've been writing for a couple months now. Said fic (and two of the three posts) is Jeca-centered, but it's based in a little pocket verse that has a LOT more going on in it than just their whole... Thing, and that includes other RarePairs hanging out and generally being adorable in the background. (This includes all of the rarepairs I'm featuring this week, btw.)

Enter Chaubrey, who have their own side story going on that includes at least one gay panic (Aubrey), years of pining (Chloe, literally from their freshman year at Barden onwards), a mutual realization of "holy shit there might be something here, actually!" (Seen above, more on that below), a few months of hesitant flirting and maybe-sorta-kinda dates, and, finally, a reveal of feelings through meaningful glances during a duet featuring the rest of the Bellas (and a subsequent mutual decision to sneak off and talk things through after... Which may or may not lead to smooching in a broom closet somewhere. Maybe. Yes, Fat Amy finds them, and, no, she never lets them hear the end of it, even at their wedding a year later). It's a lot, is what I'm getting at here, that unfortunately goes mostly unsaid in-story due to the POV(s) I'm writing in, but I felt it was important that y'all know about it anyways because they live in my head rent free. Constantly. So.

Now, as for this scene specifically: set roughly 1 and a half years after PP3, Aubrey and Chloe are helping Beca pick out a wedding outfit as the Chief Bridesmaid and Maid of Honor, respectively (a position that Chloe threatened to fight Fat Amy for until Beca, in fear of "the Kraken has been unleashed!", declared that Chloe was Maid of Honor and Fat Amy would officiate, end of story), a month or two after Beca announced her engagement via a group zoom call (and Chloe's excited reaction subsequently provoked a Gay Panic™ in Aubrey as she suddenly had the realization that "I want to see her smile like that for the rest of my life", a Totally Normal and Measured Reaction to have for your best friend of course). Stacie would help but she's trying to wrangle a flower girl dress for little Bella across the country in New York, and Emily is splitting her time between song writing and helping with other logistics ("I've been researching venues, did you know there's actually an old movie theatre here in LA that can be rented out for weddings?" "rEALLY?!?! 😍" "NO." "Come oooonnnn, Becs, you gotta admit that's cool!" "Not. Happening."), So it's down to Chloe and Aubrey to help find the perfect wedding gown suit for Beca, because, and I quote, "Just because I agreed to a wedding does NOT mean I'm gonna be like every other bride on Say Yes to the Dress or whatever, if we're doing this we're doing it my way, and I'm not wearing a poofy overpriced dress that I can only use once, got it?" ("But, Beca, don't you wanna, I dunno, dress up for your husband-to-be? Go the whole nine yards?" "Are you kidding?! Jesse offered to just go up to the courthouse and be done with it, he's still amazed I said yes in the first place. It was only after I reminded him that you pitches would hunt us down and murder us if we got married without you that he agreed to do an actual wedding." "...Damn. You two really are made for each other huh." "You're also correct, there would be nowhere on this planet you could hide from our wrath if you'd eloped. Fat Amy has connections.")

Anyways.

In the midst of the chaos of trying on outfits and assuring the sales associate at each shop (because there are multiple shops visited, by the way) that, yes, she really does want a suit instead of a dress, and no, she won't be persuaded otherwise, and in trying to find matching bridesmaid outfits for the rest of the girls, Chloe and Aubrey find some moments to just... Talk. They haven't been able to talk much since the tour, at least in person, and they've missed that. They've missed each other. (Hence, the prompt!) Herein comes the realization that they're both single (rip Chicago you'll debatably be missed), and the mutual blushes and unusually shy glances start clueing them each in that, huh. It's almost like... She might... Reciprocate??? My feelings??? But they don't quite get to unpack that because there's still suit shopping to do!

But they'll get there, don't worry! We'll get the resolution to this little storyline on Sunday, because what better way to finally confess your feelings than with the same mashup that first truly brought you and your friends together! 😎

In the meantime, I've got bonus posts going up tomorrow and Thursday (because I couldn't come up with anything for either of those prompts, though I did try), then we're back with the last 4 true Prompt Entries™ starting Friday, with two entries for Sunday!

Days I've participated in (and Entries I've posted):

Day 1 (This is me trying): Link

Day 2 (I missed you): You Are Here!

Day 5 (if honesty means telling the truth... Well then the truth is I'm still in love with you): Link

Day 6 (there's no way that it's not going to happen with you looking at me like that): Link

Day 7.1 (I can't say it, so I'll sing it): Link

Day 7.2 (part 2): Link

Plus a relevant bonus Post for this particular scene can be found here!

Close Up:

#chaubrey #pitch perfect rare pair week #pprpw22 #pprpw22.2 #pitch perfect rare pair week 22 #pitch perfect #aubrey posen #chloe beale #myposts #myart

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kavrillia · 18 days

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The Origins of Kavrillia - Part One

I've been drawing green critters with antennae since I was thirteen years old. They've changed their look through the years, and have inhabited three different fictional universes (including my own, original one), and it's fun to look back and see how they evolved along with my art.

1993

Above left: I drew a crowded pool scene and included two Secret Service aliens guarding a Chelsea Clinton-esque alien. They were the earliest prototypes of Bronzar! Above right: What thirteen-year-old me thought glamorous models wore, or something.

The first iteration of the creatures that eventually became Kavrillians (hereafter "CTEBK") had tentacles instead of hands, green skin, and three legs. Males also had a third eye and unique brown skin markings, and were usually bald. The females always had brown hair to match the males' markings. I remember drawing a blonde one once and thinking it looked very wrong.

During this time period the CTEBK existed in a settling loosely based on John Christopher's Tripods trilogy. The aliens in the books were described as not humanoid but having green skin, three legs, and tentacles. I started with that general concept, made them humanoid, and then ran with my own ideas from there. I had no idea I'd still be drawing these creatures in my 40s!

1994

Ah yes, the Big Snout Period. Why did their snouts get so huge and square? Why are the balls on their antennae so huge? I dunno.

During this time period the CTEBK were in the universe of the 1953 film version of War of the Worlds and the War of the Worlds TV series that originally ran from 1988 to 1990, but which I only discovered a few years later in reruns. It was not a very good show, looking back, but at the time I was new to sci-fi and it got my imagination running wild.

I was also inspired by the tie-in novel War of the Worlds: The Resurrection that was written by J.M. Dillard in 1988. You have that book to blame for the glut of X names on Kavrillia, as 14-year-old me really liked Xana and Xashron. Other names from the series that inspired me were Oshar, Horek, Tallick, Ardix, Tila, Xeera, and Konar. (Bayda and Ceeto, not as much. The fact that I can still remember all those names and how to spell them three decades later is...well, either impressive or cringe-worthy. Or both.)

Above: My version of Xana wearing a dress I copied from clipart of Mae West on the plastic bag from a local video rental place. It was definitely the 90s.

Visually, the CTEBK had even less in common with the aliens from the 1953/1988 version of War of the Worlds than they did with the ones in the Tripods trilogy.

While the physical forms had absolutely nothing in common, I did take story inspiration from the final episode of the series, which showed flashbacks to the aliens' homeworld. It is revealed that their leader assassinated the previous one and lied to their people, destroying their planet in his mad rush to avenge the death of his beloved wife in the 1953 invasion. Young teen me ate that melodramatic, angsty, romantic shit up.

I ended up writing a ton of fanfics to explain how no, of course the despotic leader didn't die in the last episode when his secrets were exposed. Don't be silly! Yes, we watched him dissolve into goo, but--hey, look, a squirrel! Anyway, it was all a misunderstanding, and with so few of their people left they grudgingly decided to let bygones be bygones. And what do you know? His wife hadn't died after all! She'd actually been in suspended animation since 1953, just like the aliens that awoke at the start of the TV series. Once reunited, he reforms, they come to terms with the evil he had done in her absence, and they fall in love all over again. They all leave Earth and go to colonize an uninhabited planet somewhere. The former bad guy and his long-lost wife have five adorable children and live happily ever after! ^_^ (Typical teenage girl fanfic stuff, in other words.)

So where does my universe come in?

Well, in fleshing out the characters I decided the despot-turned-devoted-family-man idolized a former ruler of their people, the way some Americans idolize Abraham Lincoln. I looked in a baby name dictionary under X and found Xerxes. Teenage me wasn't sure how to pronounce that so I just took out the extra X and made it Xeres (said like ZEER-ees). When I wrote the fic about my WotW OTP having their fifth child, they named him after that old ruler.

At that point the story had devolved into a sitcom, with all the hijinks and heartwarming moments in a palace filled with cute kids and their over-the-top lovey-dovey parents. I thought about trying to move the story forward into the next generation, but those story ideas never really took off. Instead I started wondering about a prequel...

(Continued in Part Two)

#author rambling #insert clever art tag here

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yuseirra · 1 month

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Do you think we can get more comics based off of scenes from Memento Mori? I really enjoyed that fic and seeing scenes from it drawn in your style is a real treat

HHNGH.. YES, OF COURSE!! Glad to know you liked what I could offer about that!!! I'm just really focused on onk right now, I got pulled right in.. but I have a hunch episode aigis would re-spark my love towards P3 and let me gravitate towards it again. It is THE GAME for me, it's something that holds a special place in my heart. It's that I dedicate my focus onto one thing at a time...

Time flies so fast and it's been a while since I last drew something about it, huh?? I can't believe it... Since I started drawing about it, a part of my brain has been dedicated on thoughts of drawing more of it. Don't worry! I still have scenes I really want to draw. With the P3R DLC coming out, I feel like I'll be able to make an even deeper analysis of the characters of the game and it could contribute to it too, so I'd like to play the DLC as I draw more of it..! AND the work also has its own take of "the answer", doesn't it!! That was so good..I want to compare that with P3R's take.

Memento Mori is a LOVELY piece of work. It's actually the ONLY piece of p3 fanfic I ever read to this day, I don't know what came into me but it just..happened. I'm glad I did. I want to do a good job with it when I have my full attention and passion because it's so worth it!! I was so happy when I was granted permission to draw fanworks about it, you know? The writer was so kind about it too, they deserve something good AS MUCH AS that piece deserves it. I didn't realize there'd be someone waiting for more but I really want to do it!! That's one more reason to hop back in~ Thanks for the reminder!!

I will work on it again, please look forward to it!! ;v;) Oh goodness.. I feel really sorry towards the writer too. I told them there were more scenes to cover, and I left this hanging for awhile after the last shuyuka piece. It wasn't a lie though!!

I'm practicing, and I think drawing for other fandoms also has been helping me grow and learn new stuff... so I feel I'll be able to do even better when I pick this up again. At least, that's what I'm aiming for!

See you again anon! Oh the new P3R song's so good isn't it? It's a bit depressing but that's the game.. I'm excited for the upcoming update. I will draw more persona art for sure!

#asknreply #gosh...AAA..#yeah.. I should #I really love that piece!! it felt like replaying the entire game and watching the movie!#I'm glad you think it's a treat!!!~#you probably see my excitement seeping through this reply huh #I really do like the piece and it's on my mind so more to come eventually I promise!!

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mimuranda · 2 years

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BKDK fic recommendation

23/09/2022

And now that I've expressed all my frustration in previous post, I am going to talk about BakuDeku and THE recommendation of the month.

So, yes, as already stated I love this ship (call me basic, but the rivals to lovers dynamic is one of my favorites) and more since Bakugo seems to have a REAL evolution in the cannon story.

He is exactly the kind of character I love (I accept I have a problem with secondary bad boy characters).

But, as usual, that does not mean I accept everything. My criteria for any prompt -including ships - to be sold to me is it to be well-written. If you are to tell me their relationship, I want you to convince me. And so I am particularly strict with fanfics.

I am a big fanfic lover, and I've been reading fics for SO LONG that I've now come used to filter them so I can find the hidden gems under the high amount of not-so-good stories. I know that fanfics are usually underestimated, and I want to fight that misconception, even if it comes from the fact that, as anybody can write fics, the level is not always that high (still very legitimate for these fics to exists, anybody should write fics if they want too). What I mean is that I am very exigent regarding fics.

And it has been a long time since I read an excellent one. Who could have told me that the first one I would look for in the BNHA fandom would be so PERFECT?

I've already talked about this fic (I shared the first chapters comics one marvelous user made- thanks @twyutd) , but it is time to talk about it properly:

THE WAY YOU USED TO DO , by edema_ruh on Archive of Your Own is the MOST AMAZING THING I have read in a while.

It had me completely scotched to my computer 3-days-long. It is so beautiful, well-written, and the pace! The scenes! The battles! The characters! Their development! The slow-burn love story! The longing! The friendships with the other members of the academy! The angst!!! I WILL REPEAT IT: THE ANGST!!

It is undoubtedly and INCREDIBLY well-written story, but of course, what your preferences are will have an impact on how do you like it.

For me it was perfect jam. Long, very long fic, with slow-burn love story, bkdk-centered, with changing point of view, and with A LOT OF ANGST and a happy ending. AND THE IDEA IS SO ORIGINAL. It is a soul-bound story and I just could think that if one day I want to write a romantic story it should be inspired by this one.

If you like any of this elements, you'll immensely enjoy it.

I am frankly obsessed, only can think about is drawing my fav scenes (omg the bkdk moments... ) I think the author really mastered their personality all that while telling an entertaining story.

The only thing I did not enjoyed that much was the least chapter, I found it too long, but I'll accept it anyway because this is 30 long chapters of GOLD.

Just seriously, if you like BNHA and ship BKDK go, now.

The fic:

Art from @YukarietD on twitter .

"We're really sorry," his father says, in a teary-eyed, wobbly way. "But your friend, Izuku, he's... He's gone, son."

Katsuki can do nothing but blink up at them for moments that feel like an eternity, eyes darting between both his parents in obvious confusion, disbelief, and, more than anything, indignation. "What the fuck are you two talking about? The damn nerd is standing right beside you!"

During a battle, Midoriya gets hit by a villain whose quirk detaches his soul from his body. Stuck in a ghost-like state, the boy enters a race against time in order to save himself from permanently dying. Much to his luck - or lack of it -, the only person who can see and talk to him in this state is no one other than Kacchan.

Alternatively: Deku and Kacchan are soulbound.

The link:

What are you waiting for? I on my own will going praise the author for such an amazing piece of art:

@edema--ruh thanks, thanks, thanks for this!!! I cannot express more my admiration to your AMAZING story.

And if you guys happen to discover and enjoy this story because of me please let me know and share impressions!

(I will maybe create a whole tumblr account for sharing my fav fics... still thinking about that possibility).

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creepychan08 · 3 years

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Aone x reader

Today was your first day with your job as a nurse working at a construction site in Miyagi. Despite boarding the early train, you frowned as you see the crowds of people standing, reminding you of a sardines commercial.

'So hot', you thought, wiping the sweat off your brow.

Your eyes scanned the area hoping for some miracle empty seats. It seems heaven answered your prayers when you see one on the far right.

Its weird though. People should have scrambled for that seat after all no one wants to stand on a crowded train but why is it that it still remain vacant?

Before thinking much further about it, you squeeze your way past the crowd towards the seat and tried to find out why.

Your answer soon came when you see a tall, heavy build man sitting alone beside the empty chair. He had a scowl plastered on his face- or maybe that's just his usual expression? And you see people scooting far away from him as possible.

You felt your heart tug at the scene. Somehow, you wondered how it would feel if you were on the shoes of the man. There is no threatening aura surrounding him anyway, just his intimidating stature.

You made your decision.

"Hi, is this seat available?" You asked, smiling kindly at the stranger. He looked at you, a brief flicker of surprise passed in his eyes. He nodded at your question and you thanked him, before sitting down, glad to finally rest your legs.

"My name is Yn. The train sure is packed today, neh?" You said, making small conversation. The man only grunted in response.

Ah, so he's not much of a talker.

But there's something about him that draws you in. Something that makes you feel the need to just talk and be kind to the stranger.

"Its my first today at work. My first job too so its a bit unnerving for me. What about you? Are you going to work too?"

The man regarded you for a bit before nodding. "Yes. My name is Aone"

Your smile widened even more. He's finally talking!

"Well, Aone-san its nice to meet you!" You enthusiastically bowed towards him while sitting and he does the same. You finally reached your stop and you sighed, knowing that your interaction finally ends here.

"Its my stop. Goodluck on your work!"

You took your things and made your way out the train only to see Aone beside you.

"Oh, is your job nearby too?"

Aone only grunted in reply and you continued chatting with him.

Unknowingly to you, Aone looks at you out the corner of his eyes. His heart feels warm and he felt really glad that someone is not scared of him, even taking the time to converse with his serious persona.

You were really pretty too with your friendly smile and short stature, he thinks with a slight blush on his face.

Soon, you reached the project site where you will be working from today onwards and you blinked confused when Aone stopped right beside you just outside the site.

"Wait, don't tell me this is where you work too?!"

Aone blinked in surprise as well before nodding at you.

A wide grin spreads on your face.

"That's pretty cool! Starting from today, I'll work here as a nurse. So if you need anything just drop by anytime!"

A smile slowly made its way to his lips as he agreed and bid you farewell, both of you in going in separate directions.

Timeskip

It has been a few months after that, and your friendship with Aone grew stronger. You sit with him every morning in the train when your shift coincides and sometimes you both eat lunch together.

You got used to his silent demeanor and accepted him for who he is to which Aone is most certainly grateful for. Whenever you find him distressed, you try your best to help him in whatever you can.

And that goes for you as well. Despite his usual silent and brooding personality, Aone is very perceptive of your emotions. He knows just when you are feeling down and in his own way, tries to cheer you up which in a weird way makes your heart flutter in response.

Your coworkers are constantly teasing you with him but you only laughed it off, thinking you're not pretty enough for him plus you're chubby and really short compared to his height of 6'4.

You saw his abs one time accidentally and you almost had a nosebleed. But then and again that serves to remind you that you were far from perfect to be with him.

You slept with a heavy heart that night.

"Yn-san are you okay?"

You blinked and suddenly were brought back to reality. Aone was sitting in front of you with a concern expression on his face.

"Ah, yes I'm good. Sorry I just spaced out for a while" You laughed in embarassment as you glanced at him. His eyes were intense as he gazed at you and suddenly you felt very hopeless in your attraction towards him.

You knew Aone can never look at you the same way you does to him. Deep inside, you already admits how far you've fallen for the man and for a few months you managed to keep it bottled up inside but you don't know why your emotions are suddenly spilling out of control now.

Aone can never be yours. He will only see you as a friend and maybe you'll just end up pining for him for as long as your heart can take. You wanted him to be yours and for him to claim you as his. But despite your cheery personality, you were very much afraid to confess your feelings.

After all, its better to keep it inside and still have his friendship right? You don't know what to do if you did confess and he ended up rejecting you. Your friendship just might end and you'll forever curse yourself for not keeping your mouth shut.

A finger suddenly wipes your tears and you looked at Aone in shock and confusion.

You're crying..?

"I don't like seeing you cry, Yn-san" Aone confessed, his clear eyes conveying hurt at seeing you in this state.

Your heart twisted at his concern and it takes all of you not to rush in his arms and convey your love for him.

The place had long been vacated by people and it was just the two of you.

Soon, embarassment starts creeping in and you curse at yourself for crying in front of him.

Wiping your face clear of any tears, you were surprised when you felt yourself enclosed in a warm embrace.

A gasp escaped your lips and you gazed upwards to see Aone, looking away with a cute blush on his face as he kept you in his embrace. Your heart started beating hard, you're afraid he can feel it but that concern fades away when he began to speak.

"I.. I don't like seeing you cry Yn-san" He repeated his earlier words then continued, "You're very important to me."

By this time, both your faces had prominent blush as you waited for him to finish.

"I have fallen in love with you for these past months that we spend together. Will you give me a chance to properly continue loving you?"

His hopeful eyes gazed into your own with much sincerity that tears started streaming down your face again. You nodded repeatedly, hiding your face against his chest as you tightened your embrace on him.

"Yes, of course Aone-san. I loved you all this time as well and want to continue loving you in the future. Thank you for giving me this chance."

You gave him a teary smile and he reciprocated before kissing your forehead.

"No, I'm the one who's thankful Yn-san. You made me really happy"

Extended ending~

"Now that we're in a relationship, you can call me by my name. No need for honorifics~" You suggested, grinning at the tall man.

"Very well.. Yn" He looked away with a blush as you cheered.

"That sounds better, darling~" You teased, giggling when he turned cherry red.

You happily grin, looking forward to creating more memories with him.

End

Author's note:

Sorry for the long update. I've been busy so much. Anyways lately I've been fangirling over Aone I mean he's so huge and may look scary but is just a big teddy bear.

I read once that his current concern is that no one wants to sit beside him in a train because of his scary appearance and my heart just went awww. I think its best if I write something about him too because I notice he doesn't have much fanfics when I search for it. Hence, the creation of this one!

Anyway, let me know what you think about it! And as always take care!~ :)))

#haikyuu #haikyu #aone takanobu #aone x reader #fluff #timeskip #nurse reader #readerinsert #x reader #wholesome fanfic #anime #aone #takanobu #aone x reader fluff #aone is just a big teddy bear

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oathkeeper-of-tarth · 3 years

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The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

The timing of this whole thing with the campaign is pretty amazing, as it turns out. In the middle of absolute work hell and attempts to sort out my general apartment/living situation, a little while ago I entered a fic into the /r/CurseOfStrahd second annual fanfic contest. It was one of my attempts to kind of write out and process the way our own run through the module went, stretch out some poor, suffering, unused writing muscles, and it was also super duper self-indulgent. So I'm very, very proud to say it won first place amidst some really great competition, and super happy to rep my best girl Ez.

Summary: In the aftermath of Strahd's destruction and the not-quite-loss of her mentor, Ezmerelda d'Avenir sets out to tie up loose ends and lay some ghosts to rest, and continues carving out a path for herself in the Domains of Dread.

Word count: 9999, as there was a 10k limit. I had fun.

Rating/Warnings: T, with canon-typical violence, and dealing with death and loss in a general gothic horror setting. Spoilers for the Curse of Strahd module.

---

The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

Being a compendium of successes, failures, tricks, and warnings relating to detecting, tracking, fighting, and ultimately destroying undead, fiends, lycanthropes, and assorted monstrosities.

1.1. Introductory remarks

Their ride back to town is a quiet one. The silence is broken only once they are sitting, their hunting and travelling gear half-unpacked and strewn about, in the library just above van Richten's herbalist shop.

"Were we in any other profession, this would be a cause for celebration," van Richten's lips twist into a bittersweet wisp of a smile, and he pushes a warm cup of tea into her hands. "A demonstration of pride in an apprentice's first job well done, for all to see and revel in."

Ezmerelda tries to look up at him and meet his gaze properly, but her shoulders, her head, her eyes all feel too heavy. A leaden weight seems to have settled on every bit of her. She is tired, bone-deep, but the very thought of lying down and closing her eyes to attempt to sleep fills her with disgust and no small amount of dread. She knows exactly what she will see. The man, just on the cusp of middle age, entirely unremarkable at first... features quickly twisting into a mask of monstrous hunger, then to wide-eyed horror, and, finally, resorting to desperate pleas for mercy as the stake hits home and his screeching form dissolves to ash.

It feels like the ash still coats the back of her mouth. The tea smells of strong herbs, with just a whiff of something even stronger that van Richten must have snuck in from the liquor cabinet. Her hands clench around the cup, and a burning need to justify and defend herself drives her to finally speak up.

"I was ready," she insists. "I am ready."

"I know," van Richten replies, softly, sadly.

The tea scalds her tongue, but she drinks it anyway.

---

Getting up from the damp, cold floor of the tomb again feels like an impossibility. She can barely keep her head above the ground, eyes stinging with a mixture of blood and sweat and the glare of pure, magical sunlight. The clawed gashes on her ribcage burn with every weak, hard-won breath, and a metallic taste coats the back of her tongue.

But she is not done yet. She has one last lightning bolt left in her, and Strahd and his dusk elf lackey are so beautifully, perfectly aligned. Ezmerelda can't keep her lips from curling up into a smirk as she raises an arm and mutters her incantation, feeling that familiar tickle of static rising all around her.

She holds on, builds it up as much as she can, teeth grinding together, ears buzzing - until she can hold on no longer, and the energy flies from her, the flash near-blinding, the roar of accompanying thunder ringing in her ears.

She sees it hit home, the first traces of foggy vapour swirling around Strahd's convulsing form, and a beautiful satisfaction fills her.

Then, she lets herself go.

An instant or an eternity later someone is shaking her into jarring and painful wakefulness, jostling her head against the rough floor. Her mouth is filled with the bitter aftertaste of a potion, and she grimaces as she feels the familiar residue on her lips and chin.

"Fine, fine, old man, relax, I'm up," she manages, slurring the words, struggling to blink her eyes open and into focus. "I'm awake. Stop it."

But it's not him.

It is Ireena, wide-eyed gaze somehow growing wider still at her words. The reason for this becomes abundantly and agonisingly clear as she points to somewhere behind Ezmerelda... to where Rudolph van Richten lies, very pale and very still, a greater and more profound calm upon him than she has ever witnessed.

"No."

She didn't even see him fall.

"Why didn't you help him?" Ezmerelda knocks the empty potion bottle away, and it clatters loudly against the stone, finally finding rest near a streak of dark ashes. "What are you waiting for, what--"

"I tried. It was... it's too late," Ireena whispers, "I'm sorry."

Ezmerelda feels shame flood her immediately at the misaimed anger. "No. No, I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I'm sorry. I just-- wait." Awareness of just where they are and what they were in the middle of doing suddenly overwhelms her, and she feels panic crawl up her spine. "Is it over? Did you stake that bastard once and for all?"

Ireena nods, mouth curling in visible distaste. "I did, just like you said to. Your last hit - it was enough to force him to turn into mist, and then, when... when he reformed in the coffin, I did it."

The relief Ezmerelda feels at that is so bitter it burns. "I missed it, then," she murmurs, and feels ridiculous immediately afterwards. Ireena shakes her head, and helps her sit up.

She allows herself a few precious moments of rest against the cold, damp wall of the crypt, eyes painfully locked on van Richten's still, still form. As soon as she feels half-capable of moving, she all but drags herself to his side. Feeling for a pulse, a breath, anything at all to help her disbelieve what is plainly before her eyes.

She finds no such thing. He's dead, and it feels like a stake through her own heart. After all her efforts, after getting into Barovia just to get the damned foolish old man off his self-destructive warpath and out, only to lose him now, to fail right at the end...

A pale shimmer falls over the scene before her, like a curtain right before her eyes. Ezmerelda blinks and shakes her head, but can't make it go away. She reaches up, and--

Erasmus all but swoops down to be face to face with her.

It takes her a moment to properly grasp what she is seeing. Erasmus. Somehow still there, his ghostly form hovering over his father's body. Gesturing at her wildly, pointing down at something, and, finally, using his ectoplasmic paint to draw... a circle within a circle, hanging in mid-air.

She follows his wordless instructions to the best of her current ability and, with some painfully suppressed reluctance, looks down at van Richten. And there on his finger is a ring that was certainly not there before.

Erasmus seems insistent and quite unusually agitated, so Ezmerelda takes the ring, trying not to register the coldness of the hand it was on, and puts it on numbly, feeling utterly beyond thought.

Suddenly, cutting through the fog that seems to have descended upon her mind, bubbling up like an idea from her own consciousness, a thought - a voice. A familiar voice.

'Ezmerelda? Ah. I see. Well, that could have gone decidedly better.'

She feels tears welling up in her eyes, an unstoppable burning in her chest. She wants to laugh until she can't breathe, or sob her lungs raw.

Instead, she sits back against the cool stone wall. As the adrenaline wears off, she becomes more aware of the extent of her injuries: the sting where foul claws raked across her midsection and upwards; the burns of magical fire on her palms. She fishes out the last potion from her pocket, and downs it in one greedy gulp. The relief is near-instant.

Her faculties at least somewhat returned to her, she opts for a laugh as she recognises the ring for what it is. Ireena looks at her with some concern, but Ezmerelda waves it away.

"A ring of mind shielding. Protect the mind, and store the soul, should the worst happen. Of course you of all people would come so prepared."

Ezmerelda twists the ring on her finger, marvels at the detailed engraving.

"Should I... we could... there's ways. To get you back. I mean..."

She trails off, and there is a brief pause before the voice in her mind pipes up again. 'No. No, I think, at long last, it is time for me to stop. And rest.'

Even though her entire being wishes to rail against this, to insist on the need for Rudolph van Richten to exist, and protest the injustice (just when she'd gotten him back!), Ezmerelda manages, barely, a soft, "I understand."

'There is still some work to do before that, though, no? Loose ends for us to take care of before, well...'

That, she feels far more comfortable with. It almost comes as a relief. "Yes, of course. First order of business, we will sit down, and we will work out a plan. And we will stick to that plan."

There is a soft chuckle in her mind.

"What's so funny? You love plans."

She imagines, in better, happier days, the old man - only slightly less old - shaking his head at her with a long-suffering smile.

'Thank you for humoring me, is all I'll say. Now, go handle things here properly and finish up, while I think of a list of priorities for us. Miss Kolyana is waiting for you.'

1.2. A brief reflection on personal experience

Ezmerelda is pulled into a room, hand clamped over her mouth. The door slams shut, and she almost stumbles as she is suddenly released.

"What in all the realms are you doing here?" The colourful half-elf carnival master hisses at her in a voice decidedly unlike the one he was just using in the downstairs taproom. Now that they are close, she can see the magical disguise of the Great Rictavio is utterly impeccable, but the eyes... the eyes are unmistakable.

They are also flooded with the closest thing to panic Ezmerelda has ever seen in them.

"I'm here to help you. You don't stand a chance on your own."

"How did you find me?"

Ezmerelda shrugs noncommittally, and doesn't look behind him. "I have my ways."

He shakes his head. "That isn't good enough. If his agents - and there are many, I assure you! - catch even a whiff--"

She finally glances at the ghostly form of Erasmus, just barely visible over Rictavio's shoulder, unable to be perceived by the one man he wishes he could reach out to and reassure. He meets her eyes and holds his finger up to his lips.

"I recognised your horse," she says, at long last.

"Dear Drusilla? Oh..." Rictavio seems to almost deflate at that, though his nervous pacing doesn't slow.

Erasmus' visage shows what has to be gratitude, or relief, or both. Then he closes his eyes, seemingly tired, and the shimmering remnants of him disappear from view.

"Damned stubborn, foolish girl..." Rictavio moves deftly around the small room, securing the shutters on its single window, locking the door from the inside, gaze darting around wildly. Then he reaches up and removes his hat, and Rudolph van Richten, looking more old and more worn than Ezmerelda was perhaps ever prepared to see, stands in his place.

"I had a plan, you know," he sighs, tossing the hat onto the bed. "One that I can now no doubt forget about entirely."

"There's no time for your endless preparation and planning. Any waiting game we try to play is a losing one. There's a young woman who desperately needs our help, a legendary weapon to be found, and there's a monster to hunt, feeding on an entire land. I've been to the castle, scouted out--"

"You've done what?"

Ezmerelda doesn't look at him and chooses to pace a small circle around the room herself. "The castle. Ravenloft. Getting in was a breeze - getting out was the hard part." She suppresses a brief shudder at the memory of her invisibility spell running out and Strahd's eyes boring directly into hers, as if he'd known she was there all along. "But, well, I managed. And more importantly, I found a way into his crypt."

Van Richten sits down on the bed, rubbing circles into his forehead.

"Ezmerelda, you can't be here." His voice sounds pained, almost. "You know you are not safe near me. My curse--"

"Sincerely, fuck your curse," Ezmerelda spits. "After all these years, it can wait a few days before striking. Can't be worse than what will happen to both of us and anyone involved if we can't manage to work together on this. We have to. I tried, by myself, but..."

She tries not to dwell on the terribly brief confrontation, the bite of the cold, cold grasp that seemed to steal the very life out of her, and her rather desperate escape.

"Ezmerelda," van Richten starts again, then pauses, and just looks at her - a long, heavy look. "Why?"

"There are still people who care about your well-being," she replies simply and softly, "no matter what you may believe."

Then she straightens her shoulders and allows the steel back into her voice. "So listen to me. We are going to stake that devil in his lair, and we are going to get out of this cursed land. Together."

For once, he doesn't argue.

---

Their lord and master may be gone, but there are plenty of foul things still crawling around Castle Ravenloft - and occasionally crawling out of it as well.

How lucky for the Village of Barovia, then, to have a monster hunter visiting.

"...so I think that should do it for that particular area of the barracks," Ezmerelda flicks a stray bit of zombie gunk off of her bracer, then casts an apologetic look at Ireena. "But who knows what else he has buried under there."

Ireena Kolyana, the girl haunted, hunted, and tormented by the vampire, deciding she's had enough of running, turning on him and wielding a sword of pure sunlight against him. Poetic justice, if Ezmerelda fancied herself a poet.

Ireena Kolyana, looking exhausted in a very different way, now caught up in burgomaster duties, barely finding time in her overstuffed schedule to hear about the results of Ezmerelda's latest expedition to the castle.

"You know," Ezmerelda begins, eyeing the stacks of papers and growing chaos on the desk between them, "if you ever get really tired of this, and miss life on the road..." she nods towards the window, and the wagon just outside it. "I have room for one more. And could always use a deft hand with a sword."

Ireena smiles, but the sadness underpinning it is palpable. "I can't, not now at least. There is too much to take care of here. And without Ismark..." a shadow falls briefly over her face, then she visibly forces it back. "Some day, maybe. I would honestly love to."

Ezmerelda nods, then moves to stand up, and holds out a hand expectantly. "Come on, you have time for a walk. A minute to escort me out and say goodbye, at least."

Ireena chuckles quietly and shakes her head, but pushes away from the desk and takes the proffered arm.

The sunlight is bright, tempered only by a wisp of white cloud here and there. Ezmerelda feels a light pull on her arm as Ireena stops on the threshold of the house for just a fraction of a moment. The hesitation is brief, barely noticeable, but the pause as if needing to catch her breath and the subsequent dawning joy - pure, almost radiant by itself - as the sunlight hits her skin--

Ezmerelda realises she's staring, blinks, and makes herself look away.

Their stroll is indeed brief, and as soon as they turn the corner and reach the parked wagon, Ireena sighs and stands half-ready to hurry back to her office and her duties.

"Hey," Ezmerelda puts what she hopes is a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I know you can handle all of this. Never doubt that."

This wins her a sincere smile. "Thank you."

Knowing there's no more point in delaying, Ezmerelda pulls away, moves to arrange her things around the wagon and prepare to leave.

"The offer stands," she says as she climbs into the driver's seat. "Keep it in mind."

"Maybe next time," Ireena replies with another sad smile. But then she pauses for a moment, almost as if thinking something over. Then she darts in quickly, and kisses Ezmerelda's cheek.

"Don't stay away too long," she says, quietly, then draws away again. Ezmerelda nods her agreement, and takes up the reins of her conjured horses.

Ireena waves her goodbye, and stands, looking on, bathed in sunlight.

And then the road turns, and she disappears from Ezmerelda's view.

'Well.'

"Shut up." Ezmerelda can feel her face burning. "Absolutely no need to read into things."

'You know I mean no offense. I only want the best for you.'

"I am perfectly fine," Ezmerelda grumbles. "Besides, this is the last thing she needs right now."

'You don't know that. Ask her sometime, perhaps, to tell you herself. Too many people have assumed too much about that young lady, I think. Myself included.'

"Oh, what do you know..."

There is a distinct sensation of stinging grief, never quite healed, as the voice comes again. 'You seem to forget I was young once. In love once. More... than once. And though it never ended well, like few things in my life did, the only thing I have ever regretted was not acting sooner. And regret is...'

"... the enemy of progress. I know." Ezmerelda sighs, the old man's oft-repeated saying rattling around in her mind as she snaps the reins and takes them down the road westward. "Maybe next time."

1.3. Materials and methods, an overview

Her balance is off still, but the past few weeks have brought incredible improvement. She flicks her rapier upwards, then lunges - back, forth, back, forth, fully and properly bearing weight on her right side in the training yard for the first time in months. The new prosthetic is truly a work of art and a masterful display of craftsmanship. Ezmerelda feels almost giddy at the sensation of ducking and weaving under the wooden limbs of the training dummy, feinting deftly, ignoring the burn in her arm and shoulder. The maneuvers are not yet close to her peak speed and fluidity and elegance, not after the long, arduous recovery she is only now reaching the end of. But it is all so very, very promising.

It also brings to mind - because how could it not, when for the better part of the past half-year she has had more time to think, and remember, and reflect than in her entire life? - van Richten's drills. He was always far more of a theoretician than practitioner of swordfighting, but he was certainly no slouch with a blade. The precision and perfection of form he insisted on instilling in her initially seemed to clash with her more free, improvisational, off-the-cuff approach, but ended up blending with it to great effect in ways that occasionally surprised them both.

She goes through attack patterns he's drilled into her and realises she misses him, the cantankerous old man and all his frustrating ways, and suddenly finds herself fervently wishing she wasn't doing this alone. She spares a moment to imagine the amount of fussing over her he would likely have insisted on, with his overprotective bedside manner that she used to chafe and scoff at whenever one of their hunts went badly for her. She thinks of all the lovely, fleeting drawings Erasmus would have made for her.

Her next step is careless, thoughtless, distracted, and as a result only a little off. The lunge is misaimed, unbalanced, and her knee twists unpleasantly. For the briefest flash of a moment she could swear she can feel the teeth sinking in again, and the horrible tearing.

Ezmerelda winces, fingers clenched around the rapier's handle, knuckles white. Her teeth grit as the wave of pain subsides so very, very slowly, but doesn't quite go away. She remembers, belatedly, that she has an audience.

"Ah, almost there," she calls back to the artisan eagerly awaiting her feedback, voice forcefully kept steady, without turning to face them, and taps her rapier on the metal plating running up from the heel. "We'll need to make another slight adjustment to the ankle joint, I think. But this is definitely and by far the best one yet. Let me get some more practice first, and we can go over the details in the afternoon."

Ezmerelda doesn't wait to see if her words are acknowledged. She hefts the rapier back up.

---

Before she reaches the first crossroads west of Vallaki, she turns the wagon south and into the woods.

"I have some unfinished business of my own to settle first," Ezmerelda states very matter-of-factly, preempting any interrogation from the ring's general direction.

The wagon trail to the top of the hill is easier to navigate than ever, and the camp is abuzz with activity, as it usually is. But this time the feel of it all is a bit different.

Ezmerelda knows it well; the air of a caravan packing up to leave.

Arabelle sees her weaving through the horses, strolling towards the large central tent, and darts towards her immediately, then freezes not three feet away. Ezmerelda can tell plain as the new Barovian day that she is torn between looking dignified and throwing herself at her in a hug.

So she crouches down and opens her arms first, and is almost knocked over when Arabelle rushes in.

"I want to show you something I've been practicing," Arabelle whispers conspiratorially, "but you'll need to lend me a dagger."

Ezmerelda's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but she obliges the girl after only a moment's contemplation, still crouched down and one arm around her narrow shoulders.

The dagger is one of the smaller ones she usually keeps concealed, but even so it seems far too large in Arabelle's hands. Nevertheless, in a few surprisingly dextrous motions with only a couple of moments of hesitation, she seems to make it disappear - then produces it again as if out of thin air.

"Huh. Impressive. Did your uncle teach you that little trick?"

Arabelle nods, but her pride is palpable. "Papa was so mad! He says that both him and you are a bad influence and I am far too young to be handling blades."

"There's no such thing," Ezmerelda scoffs, but motions for her dagger back and tucks it away safely. "Where is your father? I wanted to speak with him."

"Luvash is busy," another voice cuts in cooly, and Arrigal steps out of the fading, scarce shadows, somehow slipping under her notice even with the bright streams of sunlight all around. "But you can speak with me."

Ezmerelda stands up slowly, and can see him sizing her up.

"Run along now, Arabelle," Arrigal says in a much warmer tone of voice, but without taking his eyes off Ezmerelda for even a moment.

Arabelle gives her one last look as she turns to leave, and Ezmerelda tries to give her a reassuring smile - but then she realises Arabelle doesn't seem concerned or reluctant or... anything at all. She seems supremely calm, and not seven years old at all.

Arrigal steps forward and, even as uncannily quiet as he always is, it startles her back into the moment. Then, he reaches out a hand.

Ezmerelda meets his gaze, steps forward, and takes it. The handshake is firm, and she smirks. "Looks like you backed the losing side, cousin."

The term of address rolls off her tongue with some bite of irony in it. Arrigal inclines his head in acknowledgement. "You can't say it wasn't a fairly sure bet. A matter of survival, of course. We do what we must to keep our people safe. But," and he draws a bit closer, as if letting her in on a secret. "I'm glad he didn't send me after you."

Ezmerelda nods, and decides she isn't in the mood for a debate. "You know, so am I. I would have hated having to kill you. Instead, here you are, in an excellent position for a little introspection, changing your ways... much better this way, isn't it?"

He shakes his head with a grin, and finally lets go of her hand. "You are a menace. But we follow the traditions, and you have a place here. Where are you going?"

"Borca," she says, and pointedly doesn't elaborate further.

Arrigal laughs. "Off to more of your grim business right away! Well, one has to admire your tenacity. You can stay, of course, and leave with us tomorrow. We will share the road at least part of the way."

So Ezmerelda stays, and exchanges news of recent caravan routes and planned Mist-traversal with Luvash. The fire roars to life as the sun sets. Tales are told, and she contributes some of her own.

"Regale us, cousin," Arrigal says, grinning wolf-sharp, arms open wide as if to encompass the entire camp, "with the story of the fall of the devil Strahd."

Arabelle is a delight, as always. The truce with Arrigal, if it can be called that, is uneasy, but holds. The ring is quiet.

Arabelle insists on riding with her in the morning ("You did fish her out of that lake... brought her back to us," Luvash grumbles. "I suppose there's no harm... I'll have none of that monster-hunting nonsense, though!"). Her delight at the summoned magical horses is palpable, even as she tries to hide it. Ezmerelda gives her the reins until they need to enter the Mists, and is only slightly surprised to see her managing well, with just a few pointers here and there.

The whole way, Arabelle demands stories of her and van Richten's exploits very matter-of-factly - interrogates, almost, at times. Her eyes are large, intent, focused, as Ezmerelda obliges, for hours.

"I knew you would win," Arabelle says at one point, breaking a rare longer stretch of silence between them. "Uncle didn't want to listen to me, but I knew."

Ezmerelda looks at her, matches her seriousness. "I hope he will learn to listen, one day soon."

1.4. Common pitfalls

Ezmerelda inches back to consciousness more than wakes, and hisses as she almost reflexively tries and fails to sit up. She recognises her own bed in the former guest room above the herbalist shop, but the details of how she got there are fuzzy at best, completely absent at worst. She is, however, very aware of a merciless pounding in her head and that she has most certainly just pulled some fresh stitches.

A swirl of colourful ectoplasm greets her when she next opens her eyes, Erasmus' fleeting but always lovely and cheerful greetings hovering above her.

Well. Ezmerelda forces a pained smile at him, knowing that if he is here, his father cannot be far, and--

Ah. Familiar footsteps on the stairs, and the distinct creak of the second one from the top, as Rudolph van Richten enters the room with uncanny timing.

He doesn't seem to be surprised to see her awake as he gives her a quick look-over, even as concern and frustration clearly war on his face.

"I thought we had reached an agreement," he begins at last, very deliberately calmly.

Ezmerelda doesn't reply.

"I thought," he continues with that same calm tone, "that we had made a plan. That was my distinct impression of our last conversation."

Ezmerelda clenches her teeth, then grinds out, "I couldn't just stand by and let that beast--"

"You could have voiced your disagreements with the plan and brought your concerns to me, instead of running off on your own in the middle of the night," van Richten is clearly struggling to keep his voice level. "You almost died."

"Fine, I am voicing my disagreements. We know it's a wereboar. Just go at it with our silvered weapons, set up an ambush where we found its lair... why wait? Why give it more chances to hurt people?"

"To be absolutely certain we have all the information. That we have looked at it from every angle, that we have not overlooked a crucial detail. Minimise its chances to hurt us."

"But by then it might have mauled half the village to death, or worse!"

Van Richten's gaze on her is sharp. "And if we get ourselves pointlessly killed, are the villagers any safer for our hasty, brash, ill-thought sacrifice?"

"Hasty, brash, and ill-thought. Fine, if that’s how it is, how you think of me," Ezmerelda throws her hands up, and wishes she could march off, slamming a door shut behind her for good measure, as childish as the thought makes her feel.

Van Richten sighs deeply, and pulls up a chair to sit next to her bed. Ezmerelda recognises it as one from downstairs, and feels a small stab of guilt at the thought of him setting up a vigil at her bedside.

"We can't go rushing in on half-checked information," van Richten begins, after a brief silence, looking down at his hands. "We can't, because... because I have done that, in the past. And people - good, brave, dedicated people who chose to stand against evil, people who trusted me - died as a result."

"I have been wrong," he continues, still not looking up. "I have followed faulty sources without the due diligence of thorough enough vetting. I have overlooked things, and I have lost many. I will not and cannot allow that to happen again. We have to be careful, patient, and vigilant, always."

"I'm not advocating for blindly rushing in," Ezmerelda protests, "I'm merely--"

"I won't have you on my soul as well. I have far too many already."

"And I won't have any more innocents on mine! We had all the relevant information two days ago. Four people could have been alive today if we had acted on time. We were right."

"And what about when you aren't, Ezmerelda? What about when you aren't?"

Ezmerelda looks him right in the eyes, steely. "Then I will make sure I am the one who pays the price for my own mistakes."

"Oh," van Richten smiles sadly, "If only that were possible."

---

The letter arrives just as she is preparing, to her great relief, to leave Port-à-Lucine for good. It is hand-delivered by an ostentatiously dressed man in a stylised fox mask, entirely - and Ezmerelda feels her lips curl in annoyance - unassuming and usual for the land of outrageous pretense that is Dementlieu. The way he seems to disappear in the moment it takes for her to glance down at what he has thrust into her hands is also something Ezmerelda finds hard to marvel at anymore.

Overjoyed to be able to return to the relative privacy and safety of her wagon, she tosses away her old harlequin mask in the sincere hopes of never having to put the damn thing on again. Then she throws herself on the bed and focuses on tearing into the sealed envelope, absorbing its mysterious contents.

After she reaches the end of the letter's brief text, she stays very still for a long while.

'Not a name I thought I would see again, if I am to be honest,' van Richten's voice comes slowly, sounding very wary.

Ezmerelda breathes out a frustrated sigh, an unidentifiable jumble of feelings warring in her chest and burning up her throat. She tries to reply several times, then stops, and closes her eyes. Collects herself, at least somewhat, and decides to focus on the practical. "How do we even know this isn't a forgery, or some sort of trap?"

'We don't. But it is a loose end I, for one, am not prepared to simply overlook.'

"She's tried before, but I never... I don't have time for this right now, I--," she throws the letter and the shredded envelope onto the chest at her bedside, and runs an annoyed hand through her hair, again, and again, and again. Thinking, or at least trying to.

'We have time. You and I both know it's not time that is the problem.'

They are nearing the end of their planned journey, finishing up their business with Alanik Ray and Arthur Sedgwick's latest investigations and bidding farewell to Dementlieu. And then it was supposed to be on to Mordent, to call in at the Mordentshire shop briefly, and afterwards to Darkon - to Rivalis, and the villages surrounding the old Richten estate. Some ghouls to fight off, wraiths to purge, ghosts to lay to rest, to help the villagers out, before... well. They'll come to that when they do.

Ezmerelda can't deny the detour would only be a brief one.

"A 'loose end'," she huffs. "Really."

'I am just trying to help you. Don't waste years of your life like I have, either bitter or wondering or fleeing. Confront your - our - past, at least this part. Lay it to rest, if you can.'

"The past does not lie behind us. It is part of what we are, and part of what we always will be," Ezmerelda recites, then sighs again. "Old Vistani saying."

A moment of silence. 'Make sure it is a good part, then.'

Ezmerelda's memory of her mother feels... not fuzzy, but perhaps a bit tweaked and twisted over the years, more by feelings overtaking it than by any fault of recall. The images of what she remembers and what now stands before her don't match, but have a strange, dissonant overlap, leaving visible in the centre a woman Ezmerelda could almost, almost imagine seeing in the mirror. One she hoped to never see again after that night of wordless parting, many years ago.

Years of imprisonment seem to have been surprisingly kind to Madame Irena Radanavich. She has wormed her way into some kind of favour with someone powerful here, no doubt, as has always been her utterly unscrupulous way. The cell is clearly a formality, more of an office than anything, a parlour for receiving agents and lackeys, as well as bosses. There is even a chair - a worn, old wooden frame with faded red upholstery - placed a little ways away from the bars, facing them. Ezmerelda also gets a distinct impression that the guard standing in the corner is not there for any visitor's safety or protection.

The woman in the cell seems to light up the moment she sets eyes on Ezmerelda strolling into the cell space with a pretense of casualness.

"My, how you've grown! My, and yet-- oh, darling," concern seems to flood her face and voice, and - there, a subtle, wry twist - Ezmerelda thinks she catches a false, even mocking undertone to it. A flash, and it’s gone, and perhaps she merely imagined it, or even wanted it to be there, an ache for some semblance of simplicity to box this woman in. "There's both more and less of you than last time I saw you."

"Really?" Ezmerelda scoffs, and almost wants to laugh. "All those tales I've heard of your vicious, clever, insidious scheming, and that's the best you can come up with?" She crosses her arms, and clicks her metal heel against the floor loudly. "Not an angle you can use against me, I'm afraid. Try again."

"You wound me!" A dramatic hand placed over her chest. "Treating your own mother like that, who has never had anything but your best interests at heart. Who you've never even come to visit."

Ezmerelda slips the opened letter through the bars, letting it land on the hewn stone on the other side. Then she moves to sit down on the solitary chair.

"I'm only here because I got your letter."

"Oh! Good. My dearest Ezmerelda, I was--"

"I am here to tell you I want you to leave me alone," Ezmerelda continues, acting as if she hasn't heard a word. "For good. Forget I exist, preferably. I want nothing to do with you, and I never will. And the only thing I might want to do with your plotting and scheming is foiling it, so it is in your best interest to leave me out of it all. And van Richten..."

The saccharine smile dips down, almost into a scowl. "And here I'd heard you'd finally seen sense and parted ways with that old fool."

"You hear much, I see," Ezmerelda replies, cooly.

"I have my ways. My sources. People loyal to me, who have yet to abandon me."

Ezmerelda feels the swipe like an airy almost-cut of a dagger that just barely misses. "Well, here's something new for you, then. Something your little web-weaving spiders seem to have missed. You'll be happy to hear he's dead."

"And right away you come back to me! Time to end your silly games, eh, Ezme? Good, good. A start--"

"You have no right to call me that," Ezmerelda cuts her off, rapidly losing her will to restrain herself.

"Come now, dear. That's no way to talk to your mother, your own flesh and blood. It's about time we set all this nonsense aside, don't you think? Your family--"

"You're no family of mine."

"Please," she scoffs loudly. "You sound like an angry child. And... oh, really, what kind of name is 'd'Avenir' even?"

"My name," Ezmerelda replies, perfectly matter-of-fact, and refuses to even entertain further discussion of the matter.

"I wonder how you'll do," Madame Radanavich smiles, but this time the threatening edge is obvious, pretense briefly abandoned, "all alone. Playing your little games of pretend with your make-believe name. You'll come crawling back to me yet."

Ezmerelda finds herself thinking of Erasmus, and almost believes she can see him, out of the corner of her eye. Tries not to think of what this confrontation might be bringing back for him. Thinks of the Martikovs welcoming her with open arms and offering shelter even in the darkest and dourest and most dangerous of days; thinks of Ireena with the sunsword and an entire wealth of feeling tangled in a tired, relieved smile somehow brighter than the blazing sunlight itself. Of nights around the fire in the camp outside Vallaki, and little Arabelle pulling on her coat, extorting promises of lessons in both swordfighting and divining. Of Arthur Sedgwick and his honest, caring eyes, and his patient instruction in properly using a flintlock, as his husband gleefully offers detailed scientific explanations of the weapon's workings from the side. She twists the ring on her finger.

"I'm not alone," Ezmerelda says simply, and feels resolute steel pouring back. She stops to consider her next words more carefully.

"I watched your actions and your curse destroy a good man's life. But I want you to know that you wanted to take from him, and in the end you took from me, the daughter you profess to care about so much. And now you crow at me about flesh and blood and expect me to, what? Beg you to let me come back? Back to what? A mouldy cell and as short a leash as the current master feels like giving you?"

"Bold words for one given to following an old wretch around like a sad pup, even as he keeps trying to kick you away," Radanavich sneers, then shifts back to sad pity in the blink of an eye. "Oh, yes, my dear, it's so very tragic... I've heard it all. Look at you - you're wasted on him."

"Oh?" Ezmerelda raises an eyebrow cooly, clamps down on the sting to her pride and the deliberate scrape against old wounds, and almost wanting to scream you are the reason he feared that daring to care about someone would be a death sentence for them. "And what would you prefer to be using me for?"

"How dare you! After all I've done for our family, while you throw your lot in with the man who killed your brother and imprisoned your mother!"

Ezmerelda feels suddenly tired, more than anything. "You know he did no such thing. And I've done very well for myself, despite you."

"Have you, now? What price have you paid for your... profession? What has it cost you already?"

"Nothing I wouldn't be ready to pay ten times over if it meant ensuring the safety of an innocent, or beating back those such as you. You still don't understand," Ezmerelda just smiles sadly, allowing only the slightest undercurrent of danger. "I'm neither lost, nor settling for anything, nor desperately grasping at a chance, nor tragically misguided. This is what I want. This-- this cause, this fight, this is exactly what I was meant to do. And I am very, very good at it."

"Oh, Ezmerelda, if excitement and adventure and glory is what you are after, I know of much that you could do! So many causes that your... talents... would be an excellent match for. You do have a certain reputation, and I know several highly influential actors who'd know exactly where to put your skills to use, no matter how they were acquired. You could do so well for yourself! Rise right to the top of the ranks in the blink of an eye, become truly great."

Ezmerelda shakes her head, and sighs, and moves to get up from the sad, solitary seat.

"Ezmerelda--"

She quickly turns towards the bars and leans in, baring her teeth and grinning widely. "I killed the devil Strahd," Ezmerelda smirks at the look of shock she gets in response. "I think your petty schemes are a little below me, don't you?"

She turns to leave, not waiting for a response. The guard leans back in his corner as she moves away from the bars, waving him off.

"Oh, do feel free to let your masters know," she tosses over her shoulder nonchalantly as she makes her way out. "Though I have to say I haven't really looked into whose lapdog you are nowadays."

Ezmerelda hears a frustrated growl behind her as the sickeningly sweet, pleasant mask falls for good. As the door slams shut behind her, she doesn't look back.

She lets the noise of the city drown out her thoughts as she slowly makes her way back to her wagon, more than ready to be on her way elsewhere. Until, after a while, a familiar voice comes swimming up through her mind.

'How do you feel?'

"I don't know," Ezmerelda murmurs, after a long silence. "Ask me tomorrow."

1.5. Notes on useful classification and categorisation

As she finishes rattling off the information she's gathered on a series of apparent annis hag encounters that van Richten asked her for, he looks-- well, 'impressed' is the only word Ezmerelda can think of to describe it.

In the ensuing moment of quiet, he takes off his spectacles, fidgets with them briefly, polishes off a smudge with his handkerchief. Then, he looks her right in the eye. "You, girl, are a veritable sponge."

Ezmerelda flashes him a smug smile, then remembers the other matter she wanted to bring to his attention. She clears her throat, and begins, with uncharacteristic hesitance. "I've also been looking into some... other things. Another way I can contribute, I think."

The only reply is a raised eyebrow, so Ezmerelda steels herself and decides to go forward with her planned demonstration. She quells the nervous fluttering in her stomach, and instead focuses on the points of her own fingers as they trace well-practiced patterns in the air. With a final flick and a quick mutter of the incantation she's quietly recited so, so many nights in her room when she was supposed to be asleep, the very air around her right hand shimmers with heat. A few tense moments later, a small mote of flame appears in her palm.

Ezmerelda bites back an exclamation of joy at the success, tries to keep her expression fairly neutral, and looks to van Richten expectantly.

His eyebrows are, very amusingly, trying to climb into his hairline. "Where in the world did you learn to do that?"

She lets the little flame dance between her hands, casually skip from one to the other, flickering giddily, and feels an odd sense of relief wash over her.

"I saw it in one of your books. Almost by accident, and it... it just made a lot of sense to me, even just skimming over it. So I thought, why not? If I could get a handle on a few of the spells, I could complement your arsenal quite well. Bring more to the fight."

Van Richten nods, but there is a wary undertone to his words. "As long as you aren't making any ill-advised deals and pacts - which, I'll remind you--"

"-- are all of them. I know. Don't worry. I'm only interested in things I can glean by myself."

"Well, I'm not much of an arcane practitioner, though I am quite familiar with a lot of theory. I'm afraid I won't be able to provide any elaborate training or instruction--"

"That's fine," Ezmerelda rushes to say. "I can continue like this. The research, the books - it's..."

She trails off, not quite knowing how and what to explain. Arcane magic is fascinating, surprisingly enjoyable, and strikes a deeply satisfying balance between being hard-won and feeling like it comes naturally to her.

It also feels... hers.

"It's very engaging material," she finishes after a little while. She moves to close her fist and extinguish the tiny fire, but something stops her at the very last moment.

"Indeed," van Richten replies simply, and gets up from his seat. "Well, I do need to go tend to the shop, but rest assured we will discuss the tactical applications of this later today."

Just as he is out the study door and about to start down the stairs, he pauses, and turns back to look at her, a bright and sincere smile on his face. "Very well done, Ezmerelda."

The flame flickers, ready to fly from her fingers, bursting with potential.

"Thank you," she murmurs long after he is gone.

---

It is deep nighttime when Ezmerelda shakes off the last tendrils of the Mists and sets eyes on the cliffs of Mordentshire. The wagon's wheels clatter over rain-slick cobblestones as she navigates the still-familiar streets of the seemingly unchanging harbour town. The cold sea wind makes her tighten her coat around herself, to very little avail.

She can't say she's missed the weather.

By the time she spies the sign neatly painted with the words Herbalist - Dr. Rudolph van Richten, she feels soaked through and entirely miserable, and spends only a moment giving the place a quick look-over.

The shop is in fine shape - if she didn't know better, Ezmerelda could easily believe its owner closed it up for the night and left just yesterday. The wolfsbane and garlic in the planters underneath each window are flourishing. She makes a mental note to make her first order of business in the morning calling in on the neighbors and discussing further arrangements with Mrs. Polk, in whose capable hands van Richten has been leaving things for years.

In the meantime, she fervently hopes for dry clothes and a workable fireplace.

A quick rummage between two bushy wolfsbane plants - the second and third one on the right - produces a spare key, and Ezmerelda remembers with mild amusement her shock at this mundane weakness in van Richten's usually impeccable and overthought defenses, years ago.

"Keys," he'd looked at her over the rim of his spectacles, "are hardly a problem for things that truly want to harm me."

The little bell chimes as she opens the door. Catching a glimpse of herself in the very precisely placed full-length mirror just opposite the entrance, she wastes no time before going upstairs. The second stair from the top creaks its old, familiar reassurance.

Ezmerelda enters the room that used to be hers, in between harrowing hunting trips and trying adventures, during her years training with van Richten. It doesn't seem to have changed much - nor does it seem to be in use as anything but spare storage space.

She does her best not to think about how empty and quiet the house is, or how she's never truly been alone in it. Instead, she hangs up her coat, rolls up her shirt sleeves, unpacks some of her things, and, by the time she gets a proper fire going, realises sleep is the very last thing she feels like doing. Her eyes alight on the small desk in the corner, and she instead decides to do something she hasn't in a while.

She sits down to write.

First, Ezmerelda takes off the ring and sets it aside, muttering a quick good night, Doctor under her breath. Then she takes out some of her collection, observations accumulated over the years - jotted down on everything from thick parchment to old wrapping paper. Combining it with the wealth of van Richten's remaining material and into something eventually coherent will no doubt be a challenge, but a challenge is not something Ezmerelda d'Avenir has ever shied away from.

It is just haphazard, quick notes on anything of consequence that comes to mind at first, carried by an odd nervous energy. A more systematic approach will have to come at some later point.

While knowledge is a key weapon in any hunter's arsenal, honing one's body as well as mind is absolutely necessary, she writes, tapping her foot on the wooden floor in a way that often drove van Richten to distraction. Many of the creatures of the night become, in their cursed states, inhumanly strong, and in such instances one must be particularly careful of engaging them in close quarters, for even the greatest strongman would be at a disadvantage.

However, not all of these encounters need be solved by violence. Many ghosts

She pauses, pen slowly dripping ink onto the half-filled page before her, and sees Erasmus out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head to face him, and for once in their long and unusual life-and-afterlife-spanning acquaintance, she finds she can't quite read him.

Many ghosts are held in their in-between existence due to unfinished business. Tethered to some regret or incomplete task from their mortal lives, they seek resolution and closure. Many hauntings can thus be resolved by investigation, and what I must term a primarily sympathetic approach. Of course, one must also always be wary and on the lookout for deliberately misguiding spectres who seek to play upon one's pity.

The first signs of dawn creep into the room by the time she has moved on from ghosts to wraiths to trying to sort out her notes about creatures that lurk underwater - old notes that have been, to her chagrin, very appropriately and unsalvageably waterlogged.

Ezmerelda manages to light another candle just before her current one sputters out, and rubs at her tired eyes. Then she pauses, gazing idly at the ink stains on her fingers.

She reaches over for a new page, setting her current work aside. There is something else she wants and needs to write, something other than dry facts or hopefully helpful guidelines. The first few sentences come in fits and starts, but soon enough she finds them flowing out of her pen almost of their own accord.

What I would like to make clear is that this is not an inherently bad place. The lands themselves can be beautiful - wondrous, even. Worth living in, and worth fighting for. And the people who live in them do not deserve to live in fear. I, and many others, could simply leave for some better, tamer prospects, yes - but then what? Nothing is gained if we merely surrender an entire world, a collection of lands so fantastically varied and so full of promise, to a cruel, merciless, hungry night. It can't all be abandoned as collateral damage in a great punishment intended for a horrible few. I can't, and won't, allow this to happen.

Maybe the foes are overwhelming, and the fight endless. But a life saved is a life saved. A victory is a victory. One innocent snatched away from a grim fate, one tendril of darkness beaten back - that is enough. But only if we persist at it, day after day after day. And evil may be impossible to ever completely destroy, but it is far weaker and less widespread than it could and doubtlessly wants to be, in at least some small part thanks to our continued efforts.

A dour prospect? Perhaps, for some. Ezmerelda smirks to herself, and gazes down at her veritable manifesto, and thinks back to that cell in Il Aluk.

What better life is there to lead? None, for her.

I, for one, don't intend to give up anytime soon. I hope that in you, dear reader, I can find one of like mind. And perhaps one day we shall find ourselves standing together.

She lights another candle, and continues.

1.6. Conclusions and remarks on future work

She clenches her hands as she steps into the sitting room that morning, decisions made after a long, sleepless night of contemplation. As if fate is conspiring against her, the first thing she sees is Erasmus, hovering over his father's shoulder. He turns to face her as soon as he notices her, a bright smile he saves just for her on his pale, ghostly face. She knows what a struggle it is for him to manifest this way, how much it takes out of him. The thought of his precious few minutes today being this...

It takes immense effort to speak up, interrupting van Richten's apparent focus on the post strewn about the table in front of him.

"I think... I think it's time for me to go."

"Go? Where?" He blinks, looking up from his papers.

Ezmerelda swallows, but hesitates only for a moment. "I don't know," she answers, chin tilted up, almost proud. "But I know we can't go on like this. I don't want to go on like this."

They butt heads and scrape against each other constantly. Chafe and grate and, and, and. She can't remember the last time they agreed on even the most cursory thing. It has reached a level where she fears his presence will become intolerable, and anything binding the two of them together become irreparably soured and tainted.

She refuses to allow this to happen.

Erasmus has drawn a coin. Two sides. He indulges in a small, semi-teasing pantomime, pointing at the two of them as his shimmering, ectoplasmic drawings hover briefly before vanishing like so much smoke, and Ezmerelda shakes her head sadly.

"I don't want to come to resent you, that is all. I don't think I could bear it if I did."

"If you think it for the best, by all means," van Richten says simply, and leaves it at that. He never turns to fully look at her. There is an undercurrent to his voice Ezmerelda can't quite place - something deeply tired, and far more complicated than plain sadness.

It rains heavily that morning as she sets off, as if the world itself wants her to rethink this. The muddy road squelches almost threateningly under her horse's hooves as she leads him forward.

Van Richten doesn't come out to see her off.

"I'll miss you," she breathes to herself, and half-hopes it somehow reaches both of the companions she is leaving behind. But she has only the rain and her horse's steady trot on the trail for company.

It is quiet.

---

Finally, the familiar mists of Darkon, and the countryside of Rivalis, lie before them. The inevitable, at a familiar estate fallen into quite a state of disrepair.

'No, leave it be,' van Richten said, at her hesitantly presented idea of including returning Richten House to at least some of its former glory on their list of unfinished business and loose ends.

Still, this is where he wanted to come. At the end.

Ezmerelda never saw it in its prime. She was a mere child then, kept well away from her family's machinations. Until she was (inevitably, irrevocably) drawn in, her fate forever entangled with that of the van Richten family. But even now, in all its disrepair, rich traces of what the gardens, the orchard, and the house itself used to be permeate the atmosphere, like ghosts themselves.

She walks across the hills of the grounds, all the way around the mansion to the family cemetery. She slows as she moves up to the two most recent graves, so easy to find, and thinks, briefly, of the body van Richten insisted on being burned before they left Barovia, just in case.

Just in case, she agreed, knowing all he knew about what foul magic and foul intentions could do to physical remains in the wrong hands, and built him a pyre.

The headstones before her are simple but elegant, as is the tidily engraved lettering on them.

Ingrid van Richten

Erasmus van Richten

'Well, here we are.' For a disembodied voice softly projecting into her mind, almost as through a mild haze or over some great distance, it is one of the heaviest things Ezmerelda has ever heard.

'A few words, if I may,' van Richten's request comes, gentle, and she nods, finding herself oddly wordless.

'I am so proud of you,' he begins, and the ferocity of it almost startles her. 'I hope you know this, always. If I have ever made you doubt this, as I pushed you away - I am sorry. I regret many things in my life, as one does, no matter what I like to say - but most of all I regret that I didn't tell you this sooner.

You are the best of my life. But more than that, you have grown far beyond me, into a finer person than most could dream of being. And I am sorry I wasn't there for you, that you had to do so much of it on your own. But know that when I see you... I couldn't be happier, or more in awe.'

There is a very brief pause, and then the voice softens again.

'I love you as my own, and am deeply honoured you would consider me, and that I get to consider you, family.'

Ezmerelda swallows once, twice, struggles, then finally lets her tears fall freely.

'Look at you. You don't need me anymore. And I can only hope your legend will far surpass anything I have ever done - there is so much ahead of you! Your light stands so very bright against the darkness. But I am glad, so very glad - selfishly, perhaps - that we were there together, at the end.'

"So am I," she manages a whisper. "Love you too, old man."

'Now I suppose it is time for me to go.'

Erasmus looks at her, bittersweet pouring from him in waves, and he gives a small nod. His form flickers, and then disappears, and Ezmerelda knows she will never see him again.

She knows how the ring works, too. The soul within it can choose to depart whenever it wants to. She knows she doesn't need to do anything - that she couldn't, even if she wanted to. It brings with it a strange sort of peace.

Ezmerelda inclines her head. "I hope you see them soon." Tell Erasmus I'll miss him, she wishes she could say.

She spins the now-inert ring around on her finger, a habit she will need to break. She wants to tear it off, and throw it as far away from herself as she can. She wants to never take it off as long as she lives.

A soft rain starts up, and Ezmerelda feels oddly grateful for the feel of it on her face, even as she knows there is no one here but her.

It is quiet.

---

With gratitude to the notes and tutelage of the esteemed Dr. Rudolph van Richten, whose guidance and wealth of knowledge have proved invaluable on countless occasions, and whose friendship changed the course of my life more than once.

#ezmerelda d'avenir #rudolph van richten #curse of strahd #dnd #dungeons and dragons #fanfiction #my fic #oathkeeper writes things #erasmus van richten #ravenloft #gonna take my horse to the old svalich road #tabletop

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kanene-yaaay · 3 years

Text

Yellow, Black, Blue and Warmth

Kanene’s note: I am very proud of this sdfghjqswerty.

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to the anime/manga Boku no Hero.

* This is a SFW tickle fanfic. ^w^)b

* This is Lee!Toshinori with Ler!Hizashi + Ler!Aizawa. Platonic or Romantic. Around 4.500 words.

* This has mouth tickles (raspberries, nibbles, tickly kisses...), teasy nicknames, use of the spotlight system (green, yellow and red) and baby talk. If there is anything that needs to be tagged just lemme know!

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any and every advice is very very welcome! \(-w-)/

* Tell someone that makes you feel safe how much they matter to you. If you want, no words are needed. Sometimes just an emoji or ‘this reminds of you’ is needed. Don’t forget you’re especial to someone, as well. <33

[~*~]

“W-wait!”

His arms twitched on their position above his head and, not for the first time, he felt himself starting to lower them in a desperate urge to hide his flaming face adorned by a soft, uncontrollable kind of smile that only a few people in the world could claim the happiness of seeing.

A warm hand rested on the right side of his ribcage and nails positioned themselves under his toes, two playful gazes looking at him, warningly.

“Let’s-” a quiet gasp escaped from his lips when he tried to make a placating gesture with his hands and lowered them further, making the nimbly fingers start to wiggle restlessly on his spots. “I aham sure we can think another solution for this p-problem!”

Goosebumps ran freely across his body in a wave of warm and excitement as the concentrated, evil black eyes blinked lazily at him, their owner not dignifying himself with an answer before he shoved his face back on the right side of his stomach, nuzzling and humming calmly, his nose exploring, drawing shapes on the ticklish skin, the adult being extremely careful and attentive enough so every vibration seemed to buzz on every and any of his so, so sensitive nerves, leading his back to arch with the unbearable sensation and the “attacker” to smirk in his quietness.

“I-I beg f-for you to reconside-eek!” He squirmed harder as a low ‘oh’ was pronounced, trying - with not nearly all his strength, if he was being honest, but no one needed to know that - to dislodge the other adult from the newly found sweet spot right next to his hip, which was currently being rustless attacked with soft, barely there kisses that, no matter how much he buckled, refused to move. “Please, please. Yohou don’t have to d-do this!”

His barriers were starting to crumble, quiet sounds beginning to find their way out of his firmly pressed lips, red growing more on his face as an awed cooing researched his ears and the long, awfully long nails lightly scratched the arch of his feet, making themselves known. They prodded, scribbled and danced skillfully across his sole, circling the weak spots that, for the way the blonde’s grin widened every time he stumbled in a new one, wouldn’t be forgotten that easily.

And then Toshinori giggled.

That was when he realized he was doomed.

“Aw, but I do think we do! Who wouldn’t want to hear more of that cute laughter of yours, my dear squeaky listener?”

“Hi-hizashi-san!”

“Yes, my wiggly wiggley bear? What is the matter? You seem rather smiley today. ~” Hizashi sing-sang, an only one finger focusing at that lovely spot right under the ball of his feet that made him squeal in a poorly hidden delight, his laughter starting to overcome his titters. Especially as Shouta decided to be a little more hands-on and weak, almost maddening touches were spidered on Yagi’s right side, not helping at all the flow of high pitched squeaks escaping from his mouth. “Does that tickle? Huh? Does that tickle tickle tickle you so much that it makes you want to give us all that amazing squealing squeals and cute yelps? Aw, isn’t that so kind of him, Shou?”

“You think that after so much hero work the Symbol of Peace would have gotten at least a bit of a resistance.” Aizawa pointed, not bothering to lift his head so his words wouldn’t be muffled as they hit directly Toshinori’s tummy, not even a drop of remorse on his tune as his act made the aforementioned to crackle, kicking as a series of ‘nonono’s filled the room. “Don’t you agree, Toshinori? Just a few well placed tickles here and there and then All Might would be begging for mercy in a few seconds. Tsk. So ticklish, so helpless, so cute.”

Aizawa didn’t call them cute often. He did, however, reconsider his choice when his gaze quickly locked on Yagi, a nice feeling bubbling in his chest with the other’s half whine, half giggle, his wobbly, happy smile almost disappearing under all the blush that consumed his features.

“Right!” Yamada experimentally squeezed his calf, beaming when a guffaw answered him, the leg tugging halfheartedly on his grip, arms hugging himself to not push them away. “But that is no problem! We are teachers, after all. Teachers very capable of teaching him how to increase his endurance, and I think I have the perfect idea of a lesson to help him.”

Yagi was dying. Part of himself wanted to flee away from all the attention, all the warm, caring touches and compliments and that absurdly insufferable sensation that still tingled his body even now, when Shouta and Hizashi stopped to loom over his form with matching evil smirks, making it almost impossible for him to not hide his face and curl in a silly, rather giggly ball.

The words of the previous finally sank in his mind and he fiercely shook his head, not trusting his own mouth and trying to not let the amusement he felt blooming on him to drip on his move.

“Awesome! Thank you for agreeing, tickly listener. It’s amazing to know you’re also as eager for this just as we are!”

“But I did not-” A true shriek cut his words as Aizawa dug his fingers on his armpits, resulting in a sea of wild giggles to overtake him. The tickles being mean enough to be able to completely dissolve his protests, although also the right amount of light so Yamada’s teasy words would still be able to be heard above him.

“So!” The Voice Hero clapped joyfully, getting even more excited at the other's reactions. “The best way to be prepared for any situation is to train! Practice! You need to be prepared to all resist to any and every trickys tickly tickle technique that exists, which means scribbles, scratches, squeezes, kneads, nibbles, nuzzles, kisses, spidering, nursery rhymes, and ooooh, of course, raspberries!” Hizashi nodded once, determined.

“I can’t!” Yagi threw his attempts of forming entire, coherent sentences out of the window, his brain basically short-circuiting on Hizashi’s first examples. “Please, please, I swear! I cahahan’t!”

“Oh, don’t worry my dear sweet, squirmy listener, it’s really a lot of work to do... But! You will not be doing it alone! Me and Shouta will be here cheering and helping you for hours and hours and hours until you master the whooole lesson. And," the blonde got closer, lowering his tune until his words were just a breath on Yagi's ears, teasing the sensitive spot no matter how much he shrugged and shook his head. "If you get something wrong all we need to do it's just start aaaall over and over again, right, Shou?!”

“Oh gohod.”

“Of course, I don’t waste my time with someone who doesn’t have potential.”

Aizawa’s predator smirk and tone maybe would be scarier if it wasn't broken by Yamada’s loud cooing, the taller coming back to his previous position as he rested a quick squeeze on Shouta's hip, fishing a surprised snort and a warningly glance from the black haired man, who, on his turn received an innocent whistling as an answer. Toshinori chuckled in amusement at the scene, gratefully taking the breather.

“Better be careful,” Yagi’s tune was innocent, with a titter dropping here and there, still, a dangerous shine gleamed intensely on his blue eyes, “so that lesson won’t backfire on you in the future.”

Aizawa stared at him, the tip of his lips curling in a barely there grin that heavily contrasted and complemented Yamada’s dramatic gasp in betrayal.

“Very well.” Eraserhead said, positioning himself on top of his legs, successfully pining him on the mattress. "Let's take care of any riot that might happen right now, then."

Suddenly, All Might senses all the confidence he felt not a few seconds ago to transform in butterflies flying in despair on his stomach. Shouta’s shadow stood above him, the usual bored expression plastered on his features as his face lowered closer and closer of the blonde, stopping just a few centimeters from his ear.

Toshinori held his breath in anticipation.

“Green?”

Something… something he couldn’t really nominate melted in his heart and for a moment he forgot how words worked.

He really loved them both so much.

“Green.”

Shouta chuckled.

"Good." He adjusted himself, resting their foreheads together and capturing those blue eyes to himself. "Giggles, titters, whines… every sound you make I will be able to hear clearly so be very, very careful and don't laugh.”

Toshinori gasped when the feeling of skilled hands, scratching and kneading his side shoot through him. The offending fingers danced slowly, taking their time on each weak spots before switching to another one, a bit too close of his stomach or his spine, completely oblivious to how Toshinori's chest already shook with trapped sounds. Toshinori realized, maybe too late, how their new position prevented him to perceive where Aizawa would attack next, every time the black-haired hero changed his target to an unexpected spot adding a tear in his barriers, the squeaks and crackles getting stronger and harder to contain.

“So, sweetpea, how would you rate your ticklish experience from one to ten, so far?” Yagi couldn’t help the way his body twitched and squirmed involuntarily at Yamada’s voice, his imagination unhelpfully whispering that, at any moment, any moment now, Hizashi would give up from his purely verbal teases and be touchier. “One being ‘That Is All You Can Do?’ and ten being ‘This Is Everything I ever Dreamed About Please Don’t ever Stop?’”

“P-p-lease!”

“That is not a number.” Aizawa observed, jumping in his friend’s teasing at the same time he stopped, thinking about something until his eyes shone. His voice was velvety, almost as a purring. “But that can be helped. Here, I will refresh your memory.” A finger pressed on the lowest rib on his right and the blonde’s eyes widened, a snort flying from his lips, his head shaking from one side to other, a pleading gaze.

“Wait! Aizawa, please, wait! I will do anything!”

“What.” Suddenly the finger was replaced by the whole hand shaped as a claw, the spot where it touched tingled in anticipation. “Did you call me?”

Aizawa was adamant about very few things, actually.

Hizashi chuckled darkly, free of any pity, next to him. “I think he is asking for it, Shou.”

Do not mess with his cats. Do not mess with his kids. Do not wake him up. Do not eat his jelly porches and, of course, if he gave you the permission to call him by his first name, use it.

“No, no, no! I meant! I meheheant Shouta!”

Of course, except for the first two, he didn’t actually care that much for when the others were ignored by his close friends, but - he curled his fingers, watching as Yagi continued to squirm and snicker at every twitch of his fingers - that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have his fun with this slip.

“And also,” again, Yamada pipped in, “he just giggled, didn’t you just said him to not laugh?”

“I did.”

“Please! Anything! Anything you want! Just name it! I will givehe you anythihihihing.”

Aizawa adjusted himself so his lips would rest on Yagi’s neck, he sighed deeply, relaxed.

“Then give me your laughter.”

And he started.

The fingers dug on his spot, prodding and scribbling in attacks which danced in a perfect synchrony with the fast nibbles assaulting all the sensitive skin he could reach, expertly dodging from all the trashing, the attacks seemingly to only be fueled by his shrieks.

“An autograph!” loud, booming laughter exploded, snorts and an intelligible mix of half English and half Japanese painting his words stumbling and falling nonstop from his mouth. Yagi lost track of what he was saying the moment a raspberry was placed right under his chin and the hand tased his side, vibrating and vibrating and vibrating there for what seemed an entire eternity. “Rare merchandise! My house! Anything, I swear, anything but this!”

“Oh my god.” Hizashi braced himself on the wall, his conflicted heart torn between cooing and teasing the other for how much adorable he was being and giggling in joy with his funny reactions. “Oh my god. Shouta, please, don’t ever stop tickling him, this is the most precious scene I witnessed in my whole life.”

Shouta felt tempted to agree, however, after a couple of minutes, he stopped, shoving his face on the other’s shoulder to hide his own soft chuckles, being accompanied by the residual, bubbling giggles. They waited until his breath became steadier before the one with black, deep eyes stared at the watery, gleaming blue ones.

“Shoutahaha…”

“Just one more spot, okay?”

Toshinori closed his eyes, nodding before trying to hide his expression under his hands, being stopped by Yamada, who took each one of them gently and gave a kiss on his knuckles, lacing their fingers, knowing very well Yagi wouldn’t attempt to pry them away like this.

“No hiding your beautiful face, remember?” Yagi wanted to huff in annoyance at the unprompted tease, but it was being said with such lovely care that he couldn’t help but melt under it, especially when Shouta began to bombard the place behind his ear with kisses and small raspberries, descending him in quiet titters and silent laughter sprinkled with sporadic guffaws.

After a few more of kisses, tickles and fast, inaudible giggles he ceased his attack, giving a last nibble on his ear before getting up from him, letting the Symbol of Peace recompose himself between his blush and gigantic smile, offering a cup of water when his laughter stopped to fly across the room, all of them enjoying the silence as Toshinori drank the liquid, thanking Shouta.

“Green?” Hizashi asked, stepping a little closer, a shy grin on his lips.

“Oh my… Why do you have to make me say that?” Toshinori squeezed their hands, huffing and deviating his gaze. “Green.”

The blinding smile that was sent in his way seemed to have enough shine to light up the whole house. “Let’s jam!”

The Voice Hero tried to untwine their hands kindly, blinking in surprise when the other only held them more fiercely. He tried again, same result. Behind them Shouta snorted, amused.

“Giggly bear, my sweetpea, you will have to let go of my hands.”

“Absolutely not, you will attack me.”

Yagi stared at him with a challenge in his face, daring the hero to do something about that.

“Well…” Hizashi winked playfully. “I always have my mouth, and, you know? That wiggly wiggley yummy tummy of yours seems to be asking for a couple or maybe a dozen of raspberries… ~”

“Wait, no!” Toshinori squirmed, instinctively sucking his belly. “Don’t!”

“Aw, but that is such a pity! I was thinking about being a bit merciful today, you know? Maybe some skittering under your knees, being sure to give enough attention to every inch of both of them, I mean, we don’t want anyone feeling left out of the fun, of course! Then I would give one or two squeezes on them, a swift under your wiggly wiggley toes, a few scratches on your squirmy feet and voilá! A happy, silly, giggly Yagi ready to go. But, well, now I believe I don’t have another choice except place all the mean raspberries aaaall over your unprotected stomach and sides and ribs and sides and neck and ribs and-”

“Stop, stop!” Toshinori let go of his hands in order to hug his tingling torso, curling in a defense ball, trying to stop the feeling of the imaginary tickles. “J-just get over it!”

“Aw,” Hizashi placed a kiss on his temple, smiling softly for a piece of moment before letting it turn into an evil grin. “Your wish is an order, my adorably ticklish bear.”

He positioned his hands in each leg, grazing his nails from the bottom of his calves and lightly scribbling their way up to the wonderfully sensitive spot under his knee, taking his time to draw spirals and rivers on the skin, being very content to feel the other squirm under his touches, huffs of laughter puffing from his lips. “Hey, Toshi, can I ask a question?”

“Fuck,” he squeaked when an unexpected pinch was placed on his hip before Hizashi innocently continued his previous attack. “Y-you may.”

“Right! But, first of all, let me take care of this two...” Yamada smiled, completely unfazed as he sat on the bed, holding both ankles and lifting before resting them on his shoulders. “There you go, squirmy toy! All comfy and unable to wiggle away from my curious, tickly fingers!”

“He is going to kick you.” Aizawa rolled his eyes, getting closer until he could get a firm, yet gentle, grip on Yagi’s ankles, truly preventing him from moving them. “Here. Now ask your question.”

“Thank you, babe.” Hizashi relished on the way Aizawa’s ears were painted in red before beaming again at Toshinori, who kept trying to pull his legs away from his predicament, and seeming to take the fact that he wasn’t laughing his head off as a personal offense. He rested his hands on his knees again, one of them squeezing them skillfully while the other scratched the sensitive skin underneath it. “So, Toshinori, what do you think it tickles more? When I squeeze, squeeze, squeeze those adorable ticklish kneecaps or when I tickle tickle tickle them silly?”

“No, no, no!”

“No?! Aw, I am afraid that isn’t really the answer I am looking for, darling… But that is okay! Do you know what I am going to do now, Toshi? Huh? Do you know?”

Yagi just shook his head, knowing pretty well that anything said would just fuel the evil words dripping freely from the other’s mouth.

“Not even a guess?” He changed his technique to lightly tease with plentiful of scribbles the sensitive spot with just the tip of his fingers. “An itsy bitsy tiny guess? Awn.” A fake pout adorned his face. His fingers ascended a bit more, now tormenting the thighs, their owner smiling wide as the squirms began to get stronger, drawing circles around the little weak spots he knew that would fish the wildest laughter. “But I will tell you anyway! Because the Tickle Monster is feeling very kind today. I am going to get those sensitives calves riiiight here!”

“Hizashi!” Yagi tried to pull his legs again, his giggles becoming more frantic as he realized they didn’t even buckle from their spot. “I can’t. I promise you, I can’t! Hihihihizashi!”

“But I do think you can! I believe in you, Toshinori. You’re such a strong, nice tickle bug. I think you definitely can take some good cootchie-coothie-coos right here!” He poked. “And here” Poke. “And here, and here, and here, here, here!”

Suddenly a sea of pokes - just that, just tiny, harmless, quick pokes that shouldn’t be able to make him feel even more ticklish than he already was - assaulted his calves, some surprising pinches and clawing also making an appearance and disappearing just as fast as they came.

“Shut up, please, shut up!” Throwing his head with loud, squealing chortles, Toshinori pleaded, his mind overtaken with how much it tickled and how unbearable it was and how amazing all of this felt.

“Gasp! Toshi! How can you say that? The Tickle Monster thought you loved his teases. Why would you want them to ever stop? Do they make you feel more ticklish? Huh? Do they? Do all my silly teases and tickly attacks make the big, strong Yagi Toshinori become a very lovely and adorable mess of those cute sounds? Huh?”

“Don’t you think how great would it be if we just stayed like this forever? Me, here, playing with you and your awfully helpless toes,” at the mention of the new spot Yamada changed his target, making the other to arch his back and shriek in belly laughter as fingers attacked under his toes, tickling and digging unmercifully at every single one of them. “and hearing this wonderful laughter! Don’t even make me start about your laughter! It is music to my ears.”

When nothing but a series of snorts and loud laughter answered him, the blonde decided to stop his tickles, slowing them until his warm hands just rested there, peacefully.

Toshinori wiped the single tear that traveled to his hot cheek, just a quick glance in Aizawa and Yamada’s general direction being enough to make his giggles start a-new.

“I am not even doing nothing to you.” The tease couldn’t be helped, especially as his giggles got stronger and, consequently, quieter.

“Your hands!”

“My hands? What about them?” Hizashi shouldn’t be allowed to feel that much smug nor powerful.

“They’re just…” A flow of intelligible noises fell from Yagi’s lips, and he decided to try again. “They’re just there! It tickles!”

“Now, it does?”

“I would never have guessed.” Aizawa deadpanned, watching as the other wiggled and squirmed in protest.

“Right? I mean, they’re just chilling there. No moving, no tickling and Toshinori attacks them like that! I would feel wounded, but I guess he is really just a very ticklish giggle bug. Shouta, what are we going to do? The lesson clearly isn’t working… Oh, I wonder if there is something I could do to stop tickling him...”

“Just take them off there!” Yagi gasped when the fingers started to skitter around his ankles, another newly discovered sweet spot that erupted a new round of snorts. “No!”

“I don’t think there is anything that can be done. We could just stop and stare at him and he would be laughing uncontrollably in three seconds.” Aizawa remarked.

“He is just too much sensitive, ya know? Just an itsy bitsy touch and you get him all giggly and blushy.”

“Am nohohot!”

“And helpless too. Cute and helpless.”

“Shouta, plehehease, let me go!”

“Yean, absolutely.” Hizashi agreed, shaking his head with fake sadness, a tiny grin blooming on his lips. “I guess this is our fate, Sho, to hear him laugh and squeal and snort and giggle-giggle-giggle at anything we do.”

“A pity.”

“Enough!” Both stopped, hearing the light of tiredness painting Yagi’s tune. “That- haha, that is enough, please.”

“Yellow?”

“Red.” Toshinori smiled, feeling yet too shy to find their gazes with his. “I'm just an old man with one lung.”

Hizashi snorted, offering him a bottle of water and heading to the kitchen to make his special tea - after all, no one knew a better recipe for tired throats than the Voice Hero himself, - and Aizawa just rolled his eyes, sitting on the mattress and massaging his feet, a calming gesture that helped both to relax as they enjoyed the silence with the phantom laughter and reminiscent giddiness that still ran on their veins.

“Shouta,” Toshinori lightly hit the other’s thigh with his free feet until the black haired one turned his attention to him, not even slightly prepared for the soft, incredibly soft, expression and gleaming, energetic eyes which found his. “Thank you.”

Aizawa scoffed, quickly trying to brush off the warmth engulfing his heart and smile that tried at all cost to appear on his features.

“It was very… enjoyable.” Toshinori pressed further, tipping his head to the side in an attempt to see his expression. “Your technique is very effective! You don’t rely a lot on verbal teases but the way you can mix different attacks and keep track of which spots bring the most reactions is very impressive! Not to mention-” A squeak broke his thoughts when a mean squeeze was delivered on his calf, Aizawa huffing before massaging the local to make the tingles go away.

“Continue with this and I will not be above ganging up with Hizashi to wreck you, again.”

“If it’s Complementing Eraserhead hours and you’re being too stubborn to accept the deserved nice words I think it’s very clear who I will end up helping.” Hizashi remarked as he got into the room, distributing the tea before squishing himself between them, almost spilling the drink as a warning tickle on his stomach made him jump.

“Hey!” The one being called just quirked an eyebrow at him, almost challenging. Hizashi just shrugged. “It would still be worth it.”

“Yagi,” Toshinori blinked, surprised at being pulled on their usual bickering, staring Aizawa above the rim of his mug. “Analyses about Hizashi as the ler.”

An inhumane screech flew from Yamada’s lips. “Don’t you dare!”

When he was over, sneaking one and other praise for Eraserhead here and there, they were all laid on the bed, limbs entangled due both the magnetism that seemed to pull them together and the fact that if it wasn’t for it, Yamada would have already fled from the room on the shine of Yagi’s first word.

“I don’t like you.” The one with long, blond hair complained, grumbling when his sentence only made the others snuggle closer, snickering. “None of you. You’re both very mean and dirty traitors and I am going to scream.”

“Don’t.” Aizawa slurred from somewhere behind Toshinori, his tune showing he was almost asleep. Hizashi, who already forgave them for their “betray” searched for his waist, resting his arm on it and very lightly scratching the base of his back, a spot he knew would make the underground hero absolutely melt. Toshinori captured his free hand, coming close and humming softly as his finger traced the lines on his palm.

Soft. Good. Warm.

At some point of the conversation, someone had turned the television on, and for a few pieces of moment the show playing in the background was the only thing that filled the silence.

“Hey, Toshi.”

“Yes?”

“I know you don’t like a lot of attention when the tickling is over but… thank you.” A quick kiss was delivered on his forehead, happy to see no trace of discomfort on the other’s features, only a tiny, timid smile. “Thank you.”

“Go to sleep, Hizashi.” And then he kissed his knuckles, just like Hizashi did back then, and Shouta murmured something, pulling them closer and Hizashi smiled and the television started to grow more and more silent.

“Ok.”

After that, everything was soft, good, warm.

[~*~]

Inspirations!

* That entire AllEraserMic tickle series that I absolutely live for

* The teases from the fanfics of that amazing author

* A very especific post about cute reactions when the lee is being tickled but I can’t find it so please enjoy Onion’s blog (the op) instead. His blog is gold.

#The warnings makes this looks more serious than it is sdertyuioiuyt honestly they're just tickling each other and having fun xDD #Lee!Yagi #Ticklish!Toshinori #Lee!AllMight #OKAY BUT HE DESERVES ALL THE TICKLES #Ler!Aizawa #Ler!Yamada #Ler!President Mic #Ler!Eraserhead #bnha tickles #bnha tickling #Kanene's Fic #Kanene's Fanfic #if someone knows which post from Onion I am talking about pls send the link I am begging u #/lh #This is so soft I am dyiiing #long boi post #mouth tickles

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