#( x. event: camping )

[sharplimeade]

Can't stop thinking of reader humming the ballad of the wind fish unconsciously (near legend of course because I am nothing if not cliche) and he of course has like a brain stop and is like how do you know that song

and the reader is freaking out on the inside because they tried so hard not to let anything about their knowledge of the games slip and while they're panicking legend asks again

and they blurt out that they heard in a dream and legend basically shuts down and reader is like oh fuck oh shit I made it worse-

[thechaoticdruid]

Hello! A scene rewrite for your consideration (no obligation of course!):

Astarion’s siblings’ reactions when they break into the party’s camp at the Elfsong Tavern and see Astarion and Winnie cuddling in bed. After the fight, Winnie asks him about not having empathy for the other spawn and Astarion says his line, “No one ever looked out for me. No one ever said a kind thing to me…you’re the only one.”

angst/hurt/comfort?

Thank you for your amazing writing! ❤️

Forever

Pairing: Astarion x Named!Tav (Winnie)

Note: I hope you don't mind, but some of it is word for word from the game while some is changed a bit, but it's pretty much the same context. This is literally one of my favorite scenes in the game! Also please ignore that the photo is not set in the same place as this oneshot. The oneshot takes place in the Elfsong!

Content: Violence, Fluff, slight angst with comfort. Nothing too bad!

Winnie had never thought she'd feel safe enough to sleep peacefully, undisturbed. Not since before the attack on the Lost Grove, her childhood home, did she ever truly feel safe. Today had been particularly tiring since Winnie, Astarion, Jaheira and Karlach had been on the trail of Jaheira’s friend Minsc. Karlach seemed super excited to meet him, apparently he was some great hero or something. Winnie had never been too educated on Faerûn’s heros. They didn't tell stories of them in the Lost Grove. Now she was resting up in their room in the Elfsong, snuggled up in Astarion's arms as he played with her hair, face nuzzled into his chest. The two of them laid on the bed together hidden away from the view of the others as the drapes closed off the room they were in. 

Astarion was awake watching over the human druid as she dozed off in his arms. The sound of the Elfsong’s ghostly songstress lulling her to sleep. Astarion leans over and plants a chaste kiss on her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of lavender and cherry blossoms, the druid’s signature scent. 

For a while she was in a peaceful slumber, but the wicked don't sleep, someone was here to disturb her rest.

Astarion’s pointed ears detected the sound of footsteps and the scent of undeath hit him hard. 

His siblings had come for a visit, slipping in through the curtains that separated them from the rest of their sleeping companions. Glowing red eyes gazed over at the couple in curiosity.

“Astarion? Finally we've found you.” A tiefling female said as she stepped through the curtains. She was followed shortly by what appeared to be a shirtless human male. The two immediately noticed Astarion curled up around his sleeping human love. Astarion mentally cursed himself for allowing his siblings of all people to witness him in such a vulnerable moment. Cazador was the last person that needed to know of his relationship with Winnie.  

“Looks like he found himself a pet mortal.” The man murmured. Astarion slipped away from Winnie and stood in front of her. 

“Oh, her? She's more of a convenient blood bag, really.” Astarion bluffed, hoping his lie would make sure Cazador didn't see Winnie as a means of leverage to use against him. Winnie shifted, exposing the faded bite marks upon her neck.

“Nevermind that brother, you're coming with us.” The tiefling said before she and the male began to corner Astarion.

Winnie slowly shifted, unconsciously feeling around her bed for her lover. Her eyes blinked open as she suddenly heard the sound of shouting. 

“GET THE HELLS AWAY FROM ME!” Astarion snarled. Winnie leapt out of bed now wide awake as she noticed Astarion backing away from two unfamiliar intruders with his fangs barred. 

“Peace brother, we've come to take you home.” The tiefling said. Winnie glared at them and moved over towards Astarion's side.

“The master needs all seven of us for the ceremony, come with us and be reborn. We'll live again.” The man said.

“You're not taking Astarion anywhere.” Winnie growled out, taking a step in front of him protectively.

“Our master needs him for the Rite. He must attend.” The tiefling woman said.

“Oh, I'm well aware of what the master needs. But don't we deserve better?” Astarion spoke up.

“Better? What do you mean?” The other male spawn questioned.

“After these centuries of torment, I know what you all want, more than power, more than to walk in the sun.” Astarion looked at the other two spawn before a devilish grin formed upon his lips. “You want to see him dead.” The other spawn looked at one another as Astarion continued. Winnie rose an eyebrow at Astarion, curious about what he had to say. “The Rite of Profane Ascension will be mine and he won't see a scrap of its glory. I am going to complete the ritual as the Ascendant and then I am going to kill him!” 

Winnie's eyes widened in surprise. He was really still trying to go through with this despite all of her warnings. Winnie wasn’t a stranger when it came to killing, but his siblings were under Cazador's control just as much as he'd been. Whatever their sins were, they weren't their own. At least that's how it was in Winnie's mind. 

“This is your chance. Name me your new master. We will get our revenge and you will live again.”  Winnie could see the lie in his smile, the hunger for power was clear as day. He'd throw them to the wolves for his own gain.  Normally Winnie would be sickened by such a rotten scheme, but being that it was her lover cooking it up she just felt disappointed. 

“Astarion, you can't be this cruel. You're asking them to die for you in that ritual.” Winnie looked at him, eyes saddened. Astarion tensed as he looked back at his lover's round puppy-like eyes, the soft pout of her lips nearly making him cave.

“Don't look at me like that. With the sweet little ‘disappointed I'm not getting cuddly Astarion’ pout. I can't take it.” He glared back at her slightly. “I can't be what you want to see in me.” 

“Die in the ritual? Whatever are you speaking of? We're going to cheat undeath.” The tiefling said, looking quite puzzled.

“Cazador is lying to you. He needs your souls to complete this ritual!” Winnie exclaimed, “why else do you think he wants Astarion back so badly?”

“The master doesn't need to lie to us. He controls us completely. Why go through the trouble of giving us hope?”

“Oh, I don't know…Maybe because he's a sadistic piece of shit?” Winnie crossed her arms and rolled her eyes at their ignorance.

“Shit. She's right, we're doomed.” The male spawn said. “Alright, we'll help you. Just tell us what to do.” Just as he was about to speak further the tiefling woman began to cry out in pain, her body glowing red.

“The bond’s hold. He owns us. We have no choice, we must obey. Get out of here, Astarion!”  She shouted before the other male began to glow red as well.  Winnie tensed, the sound of the front doors to the connecting rooms slamming open sent her into survival mode. Almost immediately she dropped down, wild shaping into her direwolf form with a loud howl to alert the others. 

Astarion quickly grabbed his rapier from under the bed as his tiefling sister came at him with claws. Astarion's blocked her with the blade, slashing her across the chest and kicking her back. Winnie immediately jumped on Astarion's brother and sank her teeth into his shoulder. While the other members of their group fought with the other invading spawn, they were able to slip right past them and make their way towards the room where Astarion and Winnie were locked in combat. 

They lunged at the transformed druid, sinking their fangs into her flesh and draining her of her precious ichor. Winnie released the spawn, jerking back with a high pitched dog like whine as the other spawns mobbed her.

“Winnie!” Astarion pushed his sister out of the way and rushed over to the druid as she was forced out of her wild shape and into her human form. The arcane trickster kicked one of his siblings off her before casting scorching ray and hitting multiple of them with it. Winnie had to take a moment to regain her composure as her head was spinning from blood loss. 

This is bad….Fuck…If only the sun was….Wait a minute!

“Sol Invictus!” Winnie suddenly cast daylight on one of the nearby chairs, sending intense beams of light at all of the nearby vampire spawn. Their skin began to sizzle and scorch. Astarion's siblings immediately made a run for the exit, disappearing into mist before they could be turned to ashes. Winnie huffed a bit, eyes glancing around at the blood and damage caused by their uninvited guests. 

“What a mess. Well at least you've met my family now.” Astarion sighed, running a hand through his hair. Winnie crossed her arms and glared at Astarion.

“Oh come on, you're not still pouting over this!” Astarion whined.

“That was low Astarion. Lying to them like that.” Winnie huffed out.

“I don't know why you're so upset. They're only six vampire spawn!” 

“Can’t you at least be a little sympathetic to others who suffered the same as you?” 

“None of them would do the same for me! 200 years or torment and no one ever said a kind thing to me! You're the only one.” He said, gesturing towards the brunette haired druid.

“Astarion.” Winnie frowned, a saddened look in her eyes. 

“Other people don't have a heart like you….You're you….No one is like that.” Astarion said softly before suddenly feeling a soft hand on his cheek as Winnie looked into his eyes.

“Star, there are so many wonderful people in this world who will love you as much as I do. You just need to open your heart to them.” Astarion placed his larger hand over Winnie's. 

“Don't sell yourself so short. I'm doing this for you too, you know. To make sure we're both safe. Forever.” Astarion smiled sweetly as he gazed lovingly back at his druid before adding a firm, “for good.” Winnie smiled at him, eyes growing soft.

“Your sweet words aren't gonna change my view on this I'm afraid.” Winnie smirked, “but I am rather happy to hear you want to protect me.” 

“Stubborn little thing.” Astarion murmured before leaning in to kiss Winnie's forehead. “I saw you get bitten quite a few times. Are you alright?” 

“I feel woozy I guess, tired.” Winnie admitted, before receiving another forehead kiss. 

“Wait here, I'll go get you something to eat.”Her vampiric love hummed.

“Ooh! Ooh! Cheese!” Winnie said giddily as her partner rolled his eyes with a smile before walking off to fetch her some food. 

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Taglist for Winnie's during campaign oneshots:

@vixstarria , @paganwitchisis , @kerwin290710

[anon-maly]

Infinite Potential

[comingyourlugubriousness]

A dramatic sword fight to the death! ⚔️

(AKA They both have their edgy dramatic pretend anime sword fight with sticks and then get scolded for not doing what they're supposed to.)

Bonus:

Ref

[zibiscusloon]

The world just asks Azul “This is your man?” on a regular basis

[angelic37]

PETE’S WORLD | Running late... again (insp)

[ghost-proofbaby]

It seems that he picks up on her internal battle before it’s even ended. He sees through all that self doubt, and with a heavy sigh, holds out his palms. “Hand them here.” She instinctively recoils, “I am not giving you my weapons.”  “I’d hardly consider those pieces of charcoal your weapons. More like enemies, after the beheading you served to the first one.”  He wants… the charcoal?

summary: aruna begins to doubt just how skilled she truly is with her daggers, and astarion proves himself useful his first night in camp by offering an act of selfless aid. but not before criticizing her map making skills, of course.

wc: 3.3k+

warnings: continued memory loss, use of daggers (but not for violence), astarion gets a little flirty, and more gameplay recounting (specifically one of the first camp scenes you can trigger with astarion)

a/n: take a shot every time i make astarion say "oh, dear" like a little shit in this fic. also, i promise at some point, this fic will stop being such a play by play of the game lol

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

“You’re Astarion?” 

Aruna swears she’s going to be sick as she stares at the elf with wide eyes. It’s all too much – the leftover adrenaline from having a blade held to her throat, those red eyes boring into her soul, the swirling pressure that squeezes down on her lungs tightly as the realization settles deep inside her bones. 

This is Astarion. 

“I- Yes?” he questions, entirely on guard as his eyes narrow. He’s quick to recover, and all his hesitation is masked behind a certain air of confidence she can see right through, “As I was saying, I was in Baldur’s Gate… when those… those awful beasts…” he loses his focus repeatedly before finally huffing out a sigh, “I’m sorry, just- Have we met before?”

She doesn’t even know how to explain herself or her outburst. She hadn’t confided in Gale or Shadowheart regarding her letter, and hadn't mentioned Astarion in the last two days. The entire spectacle looks odd to every single one of them; Shadowheart is watching her far more carefully than normal, Gale’s face is twisted up with all that awful curiosity, and Astarion is just… Well, he’s simply plain confused.

He doesn’t recognize her. 

She woke up without any memories, not even so much as her own name, with him being one of the only clues to her past self, and he doesn’t even know her. 

What sick game is the Universe playing on me?

“Do you two know each other?” Gale asks when Aruna doesn’t answer Astarion, but it only earns him a scoff from the pale one. 

“Thank you, for repeating the obvious question I just asked…” Astarion trails off, eyeing the wizard, waiting for proper introduction. 

It takes him a few moments to recognize that Astarion is waiting to learn his name before he jumps to life, “Oh! My apologies. I’m Gale, and this is Shadowheart. And that is Aruna – although, I do promise you, she’s usually far less mute.” 

He doesn’t fucking know me. I have a letter in my pack right now, heavier than any looted armor, instructing me to save him – and he doesn’t even know me.

“Ah, I see,” Astarion’s voice is surprisingly low, nearly musical in cadence as he hums and turns to look at her properly again. There’s still concern behind his eyes, still searching her for some sort of explanation. “Well, I certainly don’t believe we’ve met before, have we?” 

He’s asking something more than just all that he’s voicing. She can pick up on that much; she just doesn’t know what else he really wants from her. 

She can’t simply casually say, “Oh, I have no idea. I actually have no memory of my life before all of this. But, hey, fret not! I actually have a letter with your name on it – a letter telling me to save you, even. Small world, eh?”

Or maybe she could. Far more odd situations have arisen in the last forty eight hours. 

“I don’t think we have,” she says slowly, being sure to enunciate each word with cautious care. They feel wrong, heavy on her tongue as though she’s telling a dire lie. 

But was she the one lying, or was Astarion? If that letter of hers truly was referring to him, he must know her. 

Is it possible he held his blade to her throat because he knows her?

“Well, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” he flashes a charming smile, and she realizes just how disarming he is capable of being. If she weren’t so on guard at the moment, honed in entirely on him for every subtle change, she wouldn’t notice it was an act, “What do you know about these wretched things inside our heads?” 

The rest of the conversation, Aruna only has one goal in mind: Astarion will be joining them in her travels, no matter the cost. She matches his act with one of her own, flourishing with her own set of honeyed words in an effort to garner the barest hint of trust from him. And it proves to not be overly difficult; it’s as though they share the goal as something common between them, because the moment her offer of him joining the small group leaves her mouth, he’s eager to agree. Almost too eager. 

All strange circumstances aside regarding Aruna, it’s still a valid response. They have better chances of survival if they face it in numbers. 

And so Astarion joins them. Brimming with flamboyant movements and an extravagant smile that she notices stays half-closed, he offers to bring up the rear of the group just as Aruna announces the need to go back to camp. 

“Resting again? So soon?” Shadowheart’s face twists as if she doesn’t notice the quickly setting sun, “We haven’t even found a healer yet. Or at least found a lead for one in the area-”

“We can find one tomorrow,” Aruna interrupts, turning to face her small group of rag tags. She can’t stand it – the hope shining in each of their faces, the undeserving faith that lies behind their eyes after just two days. Astarion is the only one resembling something she can stomach, and mostly because he looks entirely bored with the current argument, “I need to update our map and we really should try and put more effort into the camp before we pick up any more…” she trails off, and Astarion finally looks at her, half-smirking as though daring her for an insult. Something fires up inside of her – as though it’s a game, as though they both know she doesn’t mean it when she finishes the thought with a sarcastic quip of, “Strays.”

“Oh, darling,” he puts a hand to his chest, taking a few steps around Shadowheart to be closer to her. When he leans forward, it’s as though he’s sharing a secret with just Aruna, “If you wanted me to purr for you, all you had to do was ask.” 

It’s not a secret, though. Everyone else hears. Gale takes a sharp breath in, and Shadowheart only huffs in disamusement. 

And Aruna has to bite back everything inside of her to not react, to not give him any satisfaction. It’s as though he sees right through her, as if the laugh she had swallowed down had escaped nonetheless, to grace only his ears. 

Neither of their shields are working very well against one another. Their souls already seem to know one another, staring across the vast caverns between them, a whisper of I know you echoing in both sets of ears. 

She doesn’t stand a chance, and she’s hardly known him for a few hours. 

—

Camp is quiet. 

Shadowheart is brooding, Gale is humming to himself as he lays out a rug that no doubt came from his damned bag of holding to claim his corner of the camp, and Astarion has taken to sitting near the fire pit. All lost in their own worlds, all completely silent as Aruna gathers what she needs to complete at least one of the tasks she’d insisted needed to be taken care of. 

The map. She needs to attempt to update it, add to the sad squiggles and lines to indicate that area they explored today. Even if they never return to that beach, she wants to know that it’s there. It exists. 

Charcoal pencils that they had looted from a chest amongst the wreckage days prior are lined up on the stone bench, the surface almost too high for her to comfortably utilize it as a table when she sits on the ground before it. But she’s stubborn, and it’s the best she can do in their current situation, so she makes it perform as a table. 

She’s just started to ponder if she should retrieve one of her daggers to sharpen the sticks of charcoal when Astarion notices. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, sounding more accusatory than curious as she unsheathes a knife, already fisting a pencil. 

“Sharpening my pencils,” she murmurs, mentally pleading with her shaking hands to steady as she brings the edge of the blade a few centimeters from the tip of the art tool, angling it so that she can begin to shave it down to a precise point, “I’m updating the map.”

“You have a map?”

She sighs, finally lowering the dagger and charcoal. Her hands won’t stop shaking, and Astarion really isn’t helping. 

“Yes, we have a map,” she nods to the piece of paper on the stone before her. Astarion wastes no time in getting up from where he had sat on one of the bedrolls rounding a fallen tree log so that he could take a seat on what was meant to serve as her table tonight, not his bench. 

He looks down at her sorry excuse for a drawing of a forest, the center being camp.  

“Oh, dear. Well…” he leans in closer, squinting at a grouping of dots that were meant to symbolize the beach where she had woken up, “You certainly weren’t an artist before all of this, were you?” 

“Excuse me?” 

He glances up at her through his lashes, lifting a brow as if he was pointing out the obvious, “Don’t get me wrong. The idea of a map is an excellent one, I’ll give you that, but this…. This leaves something to be desired.”

She doesn’t know why she’s taking offense. She knows her art skills are shit. She knows the map is pitiful. 

“It’s not complete yet.”

“Clearly.”

“We just needed some way to keep track of our surroundings.”

“I agree.”

“It doesn’t have to look pretty.”

“Oh, but wouldn’t it be so much nicer to look at if it was more attractive?” he tsks at her.

She hates it. She hates that his criticism, his disapproval, gets under her skin so easily. 

She picks her dagger back up and brings it back to that piece of charcoal in her left hand, more determined than before, “If you hate my rendition so much, make one for yourself. I’m sure you could do a far superior job, right?”

Snap. 

Her hands were still shaking when she struck against the soft black chunk in her hands. The angle had been off, the amount of pressure she was applying was too much. She had been distracted by him and now, she was suddenly holding a broken piece of charcoal rather than a nicely sharpened one. 

They both stare down at the mess she’s created across her palms and weapon for a few seconds, deathly silent. She’s trying to not throw an absolute fit, quickly reaching her breaking point; he’s trying to bite down all his laughter, almost feeling sorry for her. 

“Oh, dear.” 

An echo of his earlier words, this time choked up behind his silent amusement. Slightly more exaggerated, far more taunting than they had originally been. 

“Don’t,” she quietly insists, eyes flickering up to already find mischief burning in his, “Don’t you dare. I-”

“You have wielded those daggers before, haven’t you?” 

She opens her mouth, prepared to bite back with an of course I have, when it hits her that she’s actually not entirely sure. 

Have I? 

She had wielded them in the fight against the brains, hadn’t she? And she’d been able to use them quite well, albeit the fight was against a couple of brains on legs, and she had a powerful wizard and strategic cleric on her side. 

It seems that he picks up on her internal battle before it’s even ended. He sees through all that self doubt, and with a heavy sigh, holds out his palms. “Hand them here.”

She instinctively recoils, “I am not giving you my weapons.” 

“I’d hardly consider those pieces of charcoal your weapons. More like enemies, after the beheading you served to the first one.” 

He wants… the charcoal? 

She doesn’t give herself any more time to question it, grabbing for the two remaining pencils and handing them over before she can even guess what his end goal here is. 

That thing inside of her is still whispering, pleading for her to trust him. She doesn’t understand why – she can’t comprehend how he’s the mysterious Astarion she’s meant to save, or how she could possibly know him without him knowing her. None of it makes a lick of sense, and yet, she’s still handing him the charcoal he requests and not even voicing a single concern outloud. 

He unsheathes his own dagger quickly. His hands don’t shake as hers had. The angle of his blade is precise and his stroke is quick as in mere seconds, he’s taken the chunky stick and shaved it down to a point.

He’s sharpening them. For her, presumably. 

“How did you…” she whispers in questioning as he holds out the newly sharpened charcoal, the one he had yet to turn into a point still resting beside his thigh. Curls of ashen black litter the ground around the two of them. 

“Skilled hands, darling,” the nickname strikes embers inside of her, kindling of flames ready to be fanned into a wildfire if he so pleased, “And some of us know how to use our daggers.” 

She plucks it from his fingers, holding it up to examine the delicate point in the dying light of the day. 

Perfect. She wasn’t about to admit it to him, but his handiship was perfect.

“This is the part where any one with common manners might say thank you,” he muses, condescending as ever as he picks up the second stick and begins to twirl it, marking his knuckles in the faintest grey. 

Against her better judgment, her eyes find his as she all but whispers, “Thank you.” 

It’s more sincere than she had meant. And she can’t understand it herself, but it feels like she’s thanking him for far more than just the charcoal. That quiet voice inside of her teems, preening as she continues to look him in his eyes. Those waves of deja vu are beckoning at her shore again, but this time, she’s almost fearful to dip her toes back in. It had hurt badly enough when their tadpoles connected – she doesn’t know what would happen if she succumbed to that feeling of knowing him, recognizing this scene from what feels like another life. 

What had he done for her in past lives that warranted thanking him so sincerely? What whispers of forgotten memories between them warranted the firm instruction of saving him? 

As she pulls herself away from the useless pondering, she takes note of Astarion’s reaction. He very clearly hadn’t expected her to actually thank him. The shock ripples across his features, he leans back as though she might have smacked him with her genuine words. For just a moment, hard garnet softens and she’s once more reminded of friendship. She could be friends with him; she could be friends with all of them, but especially him. 

Just as she’s leaning into the idea, he’s clearly running from it.

“So, we’re resting here for the night?” he asks in faux nonchalance, effectively changing the subject, “Officially turning in?” 

I could be your friend, but only if you let me in, it seems. 

She’s not blind. She knows pressing the topic any further would probably end badly for the two of them. “Yes. And if all goes to plan, this will be our permanent camp. For however long our journey requires, of course.” 

He’s quiet as he focuses his attention back on the charcoal pencil he had been fiddling with, and with quick movements, he takes to whittling it down just as he had the first one. This time, however, he’s slower. As though he’s begging for the action to fill the awkward silence so he won’t have to. 

“Why do you ask?” This, she decides, she can press on. She can push him on this topic, “Never slept in the woods before?” 

She doesn’t know why she expects him to keep up a callous act. Expects to be met with resistance and a snarky attitude. But no such thing is on display as he swipes at the charcoal one final time with his blade before he looks up at her, and he’s still softened. Churning ever so faintly, like the calmest of oceans. She knows there’s dangerous depths beyond, a certain darkness she only sees the shadow of behind the look he gives her, but the surface appears so inviting for the time being. Cool, refreshing, reflecting speckles of moonlight in his eyes. 

“It’s all a little... New to me, I admit,” his voice is something softer than usual. Soft, soft, soft. Why does she recognize that softness inside of him so easily? She picks up the brief shrug of his shoulders before he continues, offering her more than she could have asked for, “The night usually means bustling streets, bursting taverns. Curling up in the dirt and resting is, uh…. A little novel.” 

She’s completely bewitched through the explanation. Drinking in every movement, the way he speaks with his hands, the fluctuations in his tone. He dives back into that usual charming voice when he mentions the taverns – his tone brims with youth as his face softens and he says his final three words. The lift of his brows, the nerves of the small smile he pushes forward; she clings to every bit of it, in a damning effort to piece together who exactly the man in front of her was. 

He’s pretty. If she’s learned nothing else, it’s that he’s pretty. The kind of pretty that would ruin her if she wasn’t more careful. 

The kind of pretty that might have already ruined her, if that mysterious letter was any sort of clue. 

“You should try,” she doesn’t know why she’s whispering, but she is. Mostly everyone has retreated to their own spaces, their own bedrolls. They’re the only two left within the vicinity of the fire dying out in the middle of the camp, “Rest, I mean. We’ll need it for whatever tomorrow may bring.” 

He’s quick to shake his head, holding out that second pencil to her finally. It’s as well carved as the first one, perfect for the purpose she had for them, “Oh, no. I’m in no place to rest yet. Today has been a lot. I need some time to think things through, to process this.”

As she takes the pencil, adding it beside the first on the stone, she knows there's a catch yet to be revealed in his words. “Are you sure? I don’t mind taking the first watch.” 

It had been an unspoken agreement – there would always be someone awake, keeping safe eyes on the camp as others rested. 

“I’m positive. Actually, I insist that you rest. I’ll keep watch instead.” 

She shouldn’t trust him. She shouldn’t so willingly put her faith in some random pale elf to keep her safe in her sleep. 

And yet, she does. 

Her logical thinking and her instinctive reactions don’t align. They never seem to do so thus far in her journey, especially with him. It’s more than just the letter reminding her to save him; there’s a twisting in his gut, a burning in the back of her mind, as if she’s known him far longer than the day has been. As if their time together transgresses far beyond the mere hours they’ve been acquainted. She trusts him ardently – to a dangerous level. She can recognize it, but she can do nothing about it. The feeling surely can’t be mutual. Her gut is surely leading her wrong. 

“Thank you. I’ll sleep better for it.” 

There are those two little words again, slipping off her tongue with an earnesty that rattles them both to their cores. At least this time, she hardly looks him in his eyes as she says it. 

“The pleasure is all mine,” he covers up any shock with theatrics, offering a small bow to her, “Sweet dreams.” 

Her dreams are anything but sweet that night. But they do distract her just enough that she never notices the shadow strangely similar to his stature, sneaking out the edges of camp, slinking off into the woods without a sound.

[abysskeeper]

Finally embarked into act 2 with Nox. Chose to go through the Underdark first because meh, variety. I kinda like meeting the Harpers first, that fight really does kind of set the tone for the area. Anyways...finished the fight and...

Yeah...you wanna talk, buddy?

Gale, sir, we haven't even been here for five minutes. You at least had the decency to wait a few fights before springing this on Fi. Though in fairness, I found a new outfit and brought this on myself.

I guess I'd be a little eager too if I was staring at Nox in that all night.

[neoninky]

TWST Shenanigans: League of Antagonists (and some actual Villains)

I'm back with another long winded, stupid thought that I may draw some day but in the mean time, here's this lol (also spoilers for my Sacred Crown fics if you haven't read them?? Just FYI)

Scene: Antagonists from canon TWST side events all hang out in a bar and talk about how they fucked with the main characters for reasons unknown

Ashton Vargas: *reminiscing about the Camp Vargas event(s)* HA HA Man you should have seen their faces! We gave those punks a good ol' fashion trauma haunt in the woods. Classic. Divus Crewel: And we looked damn good doing it too. *Camp Vargas Part 1 and 2 Crewel definitely made those costumes* Vargas: Sigh...of course we got a temporary dock in pay to help provide the whimpier ones with therapy sessions but eh totally worth it. Random group of fairies all sharing a bar stool: *makes a bunch of tinkly noises talking about the Fairy Gala* Translation: That's cool but we almost ruined the entire school's ecosystem because we gave into our baser instincts and stole the mage stone cuz it was shiny... damn those kids for crashing our party with their incredibly well made outfits and near flawless sashays (Crewel: I would be more upset if not for the fact I finally got Kingscholar to have proper posture for at least 14 hours.)

Ghost Princess Eliza: *still boohooing over the Ghost Marriage event though technically she is happily married in the end* I just wanted to marry my perfect prince after years and years and YEARS of waiting!! What's a little first-degree murder in the name of true love?! (Fairies: damn gurl / Crewel: that's a mood.) And those horrible boys just kept coming to ruin my wedding! Accosting me with their unprincely behavior! What kind of man doesn't have a legendary sword or a faithful dog that comes at his beck and call?! (Vargas: she does make a good point...) Oh well, in the end, I did find my real prince so it all worked out. We'll be returning for the baby shower they promised to host! (Crewel: the school and every person on campus has at least three restraining orders against you...) - jaunty music suddenly starts playing out of nowhere and the entire room groans - Fellow Honest: *cane twirls his way on screen, ready to spill the deets on the Playful Land event* Trauma, theft, delusionally murderous courtship? That's cute. I suckered a whole group of those dumbasses into a human trafficking con disguised as a theme park! And I did it so well that I basically hijacked 90% of all social media for MONTHS while doing it! Everyone: *disgruntedly* we KNOW Fellow Honest: *much smug* Did I mention how I also cursed the whole place to turn them into wooden puppets if they broke the backward ass rule system I put in place as well? (Vargas: dude what the actual hell?) Sigh...and it would have all gone off without a hitch if it weren't for those damn kids fucking up the entire park (Crewel: our students are pretty much all assholes, yes.) ...I mean sure, in the end, I did tell my shitty boss to suck it and encourage those brats to do exactly that. But then they dared to extend a hand of friendship and understanding to ME?! Entitled, fancy boys with their fancy schmancy education *grumble grumble* Vargas + Crewel: *side-eye glance at each other at the mention of a shitty boss* ..... *both take long sips of their drinks*

Rollo: *appears with sudden intense mood change in the atmosphere* Hmph. I understand your contempt for those frivolous magic users completely... (Fellow: THANK you!) ...I invited a select few of them onto my campus under the pretense of uniting our schools in harmony and camaraderie. In actuality...I wanted to destroy them by taking away their magic and then wiping magic off the very face of the planet. Fellow Honest: ...ok well damn that's a bit harsh- *the group of fairies moves as far away from Rollo as possible*

Rollo: and I would have gotten away with it too. Had it not been for that Malleus Draconia *name said with such distain Rollo might as well be a friggin Batman villain* ...on the other hand, I did completely get away with it. Cuz they tried to guilt trip me by letting everyone believe I was this upstanding person who isn't capable of heinous acts. (Fellow: HA stupid) ...that is until karma bit me in the ass and then my childhood magical dragon friend that I don't absolutely abhor ended up bonding with the magical dragon that I hate with every fiber of my being... *talking about my OC in Her Devoted Throne hitting it off with Malleus lol* Crewel: To be fair, if watching your BFF get with your sworn enemy after you tried to commit mass genocide of magic is the worst thing to happen, you are one lucky bastard.

Rollo: Oh I'm barely as horrible as they are... *scene pans over to another group seated in the Really Fucked Up OC Villain section*

Queen Alva from Her Ivory Crown: I not only gaslighted and emotionally abused my own daughter into working herself to the bone to prove herself as the heir to my throne, I then threatened her and tried to take everything she fought for away from her the minute she had a meltdown and wouldn't marry the boy I picked out for her. Not to mention potentially damning my own Queendom by trying to deprive them of a far better queen than I in the future....now I'm divorced, shunned from society, and living alone in the countryside, forced to do my own housework *has to fetch her own fainting couch so she can dramatically swoon* Zehn Cavaliar, the 'boy' in question: ...yeah I wouldn't take no for an answer so hard that I harassed the crown princess into an Overblot state which could have killed her. I also attacked and injured her while she was in that condition. Her new boyfriend got all his friends to kick my ass before and after I lost everything.... *has the expression of someone going through a Vietname flashback* Don Muraeni from Her Lost Voice: *sitting in a large fish bowl on the counter as a shriveled up sea polyp* I literally paid and sometimes forced several women to bear my children - who I let abuse and murder each other all in hopes of earning my approval btw. I even killed a guy who owed me money and then took his wife and child, made said wife have another one of my kids - who I also abused and forced to do underhanded tasks through the majority of her childhood. I also tried to use my son to get at my sworn enemy after not shedding a single fucking tear after his brother was brutally murdered by said enemy...*stops to think* More child abuse. Collecting siren mermaids and forcing them to be sex workers. Trapping my wife for several years while letting her children believe she was dead....so yeah all that backfired horribly and now I'm trapped as this weird lil slug thing until I die. Or something. Ghost of Don Muraeni's right-hand guy, Proteus: I was a total creep who abused his power and was brutally murdered for it in the end. Also I stole magic from a defenseless, traumatized child. Everyone else: *staring at all of them in horror* .....JESUS CHRIST

Dark Fire is hot but Hell is hotter *sips tea*

Also tagging people for reasons @iscarlettappel @foxwitchaine @wysteriadelights @nuitthegoddess @victoria1676 @1ndigowitch

[canonical-transformation]

Ah excellent. My slow-burn Ittopaimon rivals-to-allies-to-friends-to-lovers crackship is going well I see

[thats-a-lot-of-cortisol]

nice suit dumbass, did your husband pick it out for you?

[uniquethingtastemaker]

Hello! I think I've got a good one. First off, for the sake of this request, let's pretend that Rook was somehow able to attend Camp Vargas (We're reaching SO far, but it's fine) and he has a male s/o who was also attending the camp (whether he's Yuu or not, I'll leave up to you), but he has serious trauma from being kidnapped by a serial killer when he was younger. And so, when Vargas captures and ties him up, the reader starts losing it and having a panic attack, thinking he's going to die. How would Rook react to this?

Hey, Anon! Thanks for sharing your brain rot ideas regarding Rook, because we love our ridiculous and theatrical hunter. Truly a wild set of circumstances I've been presented, but I love it!

Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if I saw Rook attending Camp Vargas purely because the man is so athletic. He wields a huge bow with great accuracy and is proficient in stealth. He would easily be able to sneak in and just lay in wait, taking pictures secretly in the trees. The reason he would be there in the first place would absolutely be to take photographs.

Honestly, even without the extremeness of "got kidnapped by a serial killer," I can see someone having a panic attack just in general by getting kidnapped. I mean certain traumas can trigger people's fight, flight, or freeze response and it's a big mood.

What will come next is just me free writing my ideas for this, so here's y'all's present I guess lol. Also, note that I have not actually read the Vargas Camp event, but have a vague idea of what kinda went down during the event lol.

Oh my god, wait, to elaborate on this idea or whatever. I could totally see Rook in the trees, watching the whole kidnapping thing go down. Then, when Vargas would leave to claim his next unsuspecting victim, Rook would drop down next to you. Cooing in your ear that you were safe and are going to be ok, he would cut the ropes off you. Probably holding you close and just rocking you back in forth lovingly while you calm down from your panic attack. You would probably be clinging onto him and his big muscles like a koala. He would be whispering sweet words of affirmations in your ear, as he moves you to somewhere safer. Aka away from the pile of other victims lol...

You know, he would probably cut the other victims free just to cause some more fun chaos and trouble for Ashton. He probably knows that the person behind the kidnappings was Ashton anyway, because Rook is so perceptive... I could totally imagine him deciding to exact a "friendly" revenge on him for messing and actually traumatizing his beloved by telling the other victims that the culprit was Ashton and maybe some other important information to help them successfully get back at their teacher lol. Rook wouldn't have time in the moment to personally get back at him, because he would be too busy taking care of you!! Ahhh, so sweet! We love our hunter boy. Taking care of us and making sure that we feel ok and safe (in his arms lol). I can imagine that there would be cuddles as you hear the sounds of absolute chaos and screaming in the distance perhaps watching the whole fight go down from afar. The kids rebelling and enacting a revolution to overthrow Vargas. Sounds about right. I wouldn't be surprised if that would happen in game low key lol.

Ohhhh, and you know what would be the cherry on the cake? Having the reader specifically thinking and praying (maybe whimpering lol) while they're getting kidnapped that Rook would save them even though he wasn't at camp or whatever. And then having Rook actually show up?!!! *throws myself on the floor and dies* It's such a good idea. Good job, anon, you've successfully murdered me.

You also surprisingly got me to vaguely write/elaborate on your request low key, and that my dude is a feat within itself. Like I'm truly impressed. *applauds you from the floor*

[picklefics]

Benefits of Camping, or How to (not) Hunt Bigfoot With Your Parents

This was originally posted on Ao3, but I decided I'd see what posting on Tumblr was like for fanfiction :) (https://archiveofourown.org/works/47138986/chapters/118767895)

I already have chapters 1-5, just not gonna put em all up right now as I'm at a coffee shop and need to work on heading home.

Summary:

It could've been a great vacation. Probably. Except there's one tiny issue: Danny's parents have decided to take a break from hunting ghosts, instead supporting their fellow cryptobiologists in hunting Bigfoot. The big problem? They do find Bigfoot. And Bigfoot can talk. (...and has a PhD?)

Chapter 1: Benefit 1-New Cooking Skills

Danny’s folks are usually ghost hunters, but that doesn’t mean they don’t branch out. After all, they’d spent almost 20 years of their life studying a science practically everyone thought of as a paper house in a rainstorm. Surely one of those droplets of evidence would disprove the science as a whole.

Really? Entire beings made of one substance? Supernatural entities?

Absurd .

Maddie and Jack have a great deal of sympathy for cryptobiologists. They also have a tendency to suspect that ghosts are involved every time someone spots Bigfoot or some other being. But really, they’d be happy with either the discovery of a ghost or a new animal to dissect.

Danny, on the other hand, is not in love with either of those two discovery options. He is having a great deal of fun tormenting Jazz, who’d been forced to come along on a trip to the red cedar forests of California. He’d tried to bribe Sam and Tucker into coming along. Sam, with the lure of a new animal (maybe) to check out, and Tucker with peer pressure and lots of grilled meat. Unfortunately, after the reality check that was another fight with a new ghost named Fortuna (self-proclaimed follower of Fortuna, Goddess of Fortune and Misfortune, and with luck-related powers), they’d been forced to concede that having people at home who could fight ghosts was too important to have all three of them on a camping trip.

Thank fuck that Val wasn’t in school right now and that she’d gotten less extreme about ghosts since meeting Danielle. One day Danny might even consider telling her about him, if she doesn’t figure it out first. As a result, there are three competent ghost hunters in Amity Park who don’t actively hate ghosts while Danny is on vacation.

At any rate, Danny is trapped with a bunch of adults who are way too enthusiastic about hunting down rare animals and (in at least one case) killing and taxidermy-ing them. The guy in question keeps tracking new hunters down and showing off pictures of his living room and business, covered in eerie deer, bear, and alligator heads, among other things. There’s even a snake wrapped around a driftwood piece on the table. It reminds Danny of Skulker, and makes him consider yet again whether ghosts might be more likely to form out of these kinds of people. He’s pretty sure his parents were obsessive before they started regularly working with ectoplasm, and after?

They grew much more extreme.

And who knows? It could be due to exposure to ectoplasm, or maybe the obsessiveness causes ectoplasm to accumulate near them. He’s heard theories going both ways.

This guy, Danny could easily imagine dying and becoming a ghost.

At least he helps with setup. The camp takes a while to go up, yellow and beige tents popping up like gophers among the trees. His parents’ tent is a green dome, one of a few splashes of color in the group. Another guy sets up a big grill and a solar panel in a little clearing, one of the few places with sunlight. His incredibly buff partner totes a bag of backup coal to the grill like Mom would carry a sack of flour.

All around the area, people bring up folding chairs and situate equipment. In a big, waterproof, black container, they all put their tech away. The container is anchored with thick ropes to be absolutely certain that nothing can drag it away. It’s flash-flooding season in the area and there’s a river nearby, so they’re concerned that the container could float away, but they had wanted to make the equipment available to everyone, so they aren’t keeping it in anyone’s vehicle. 

A cage goes up towards the far west corner of the camp, away from the fire pit, because they’re worried anything they capture might be unduly frightened by said fire.

With that, a few people sign up in rotation to monitor the grill, planning to bake some potatoes and apples in the fire pit and grill weenies. It’ll be about three hours before supper, but the planning, and a snack, are needed. As the only kids present (apparently many of the others’ kids are nonexistent or at summer camps), Danny and Jazz are put on apple coring and potato poking duty involuntarily. 

Matthew Kapp is their instructor. He practically drags them to the fire pit and tells them how to make the food like he thinks they have infinite memory space for commands, no matter how long the list is.

He explains that potatoes explode when in the ashes without holes, then shows them the basic steps to prepare the food. Essentially, they’re supposed to stab the potatoes with a fork “until it feels right”, wrap them in tin foil, and then yeet them into the fire. Then they have to be surrounded by the ashes and dug out later. Jazz and Danny both work on this, quietly chattering.

Danny grins and with particular emphasis stabs a potato old enough to have green sprouts studded all over its surface. He has to use his right thumb to put enough pressure on the sides of the sprouts that they fall off. He jokes, “If I were Skulker and this potato was me, I’d be so happy right now…”

Jazz raises her eyebrows at him. “Sometimes I worry about the normalization of violence you’ve experienced, Danny.”

Danny is like 90% sure she’s saying that mostly to get on his nerves, but he’s not 100% sure. Ah, the delights of a sister who adores psychology and tormenting her little brother. He rolls his eyes. “Literally everybody in town probably has that. The school has at least one attack every week.”

Jazz retorts, “That’s really not normal.”

“Well it’s normal for me.” 

At that, Jazz changes topics. “Did you remember to bring our tent?”

Danny gives her a thumbs up.

“Great. We don’t have to listen to their snoring!” She cheers. Granted part of the reason they have the tent is because of Danny’s nightmares and occasional power use. Particularly, he’s prone to leaping out of bed and turning intangible the second he gets startled awake because of the sheer number of times ghosts have woken him up.

“Thanks for suggesting it,” Danny offers. Then he adds, “Stabbing the potatoes until it feels right is so…imprecise. How do we know when it feels right?”

Jazz groans sympathetically. “I know, right? I get it for people who’ve baked campfire potatoes before, but we’ve never done this. Mr. Kapp is a scientist, isn’t he supposed to know to be exact for beginners?”

Danny tosses his potato back and forth. “This potato better be good. It’s very hole-y now.” He sets it in the metal bowl to his right and adds, “It’s starting a cult.”

Jazz raises her eyebrows at him. “...why?”

“Holy? Y’know, like saints or whatever?”

Jazz snorts and grabs the tin foil roll. She starts unwrapping it to the familiar crumbly crackle of ripping metal, tearing off pieces big enough for each of the potatoes they’ve prepared. Danny snitches some of the squares and starts wrapping them around each potato as fast as he can. For this part, they don’t talk. The aluminum is too loud anyways. It covers speech pretty well.

After all 14 potatoes are wrapped, they toss them into the fire. Sparks flash into the sky and drift away, and one of the logs collapses into the pit with a soft thud. The white ashes have increased in number, but there aren’t many yet, so they wait to bury the potatoes in the ashes. While they wait, they move on to the apples.

Danny mixes the cinnamon and other spices together and Jazz cores the apples while grumbling about how hard it will be to work on her paper out here. She brought paper so she could handwrite some of it, but out here there isn’t any internet so the most she can do is type on her phone. She isn’t doing that because she’s worried about running out of power and not being able to call if there’s an emergency.

They both stuff the apples with the mixture and then wrap them and toss them in the fire in the same way as the potatoes but to the side. About 15 minutes later, they use sticks to roll the apples out of the fire. The potatoes are saved for later since it will be a few hours before they’re done, while the apples are served as a snack/dessert immediately. 

Having had a long drive and therefore possessing a strong craving for sweets (or any sort of snackage really), everyone swarms the apple pile and as a result only gets one each. Danny plots to sneak another apple into the fire later so he can have seconds, and Jazz wholly supports him. He forgets to eat, and she has to remind him far more often than she’d like.

After the apples are all eaten, some of the people sit down to rest (those who weren’t already asleep) and some of the others begin prowling the area, including Taxidermy Guy (Oscar Polson) and his wife Paloma.

When the two of them come back, they have a map of the area filled with markings denoting where they want to put various kinds of traps. The Polsons are the experts on trap-setting and location, and they’re responsible for deciding which places to put the traps each person brought. With the locations for each trap decided, everyone fixes the last few supper items and sits down for supper as the sun sets, mostly because there’s not enough time to set up the traps that evening.

Next Chapter:

https://www.tumblr.com/picklefics/730299785376104448/boc-chapter-2?source=share

[damonrutherford]

Damon Rutherford spotted by the paparazzi on his way to the 2024 Charity Camp Out at his family's estate.

[batsplat]

Hi Bat, do you know that Chad Reed invited Casey to join him at Vale’s ranch next January in a comment on Casey’s Instagram?

I REALLY HOPE IT HAPPENS😭

(also had a screenshot sent to me ahaha)

would very much love for casey to accept that lol, though I also find it conceptually funny if valentino basically. does not get consulted about this in advance. like probably you can't say 'hm actually no you can't bring one of my former biggest enemies to my ranch' if he's already agreed to it, right, so you do sort of have to go along with it at that point. my sense of the vibe of that rivalry is that valentino would be up for it, but it's STILL quite the move to essentially invite somebody's ex-nemesis to their home. the kind of thing I would love to do for the bit, so I do respect it. doubt it'll happen, but you can always hope casey also finds it a funny idea, enough to actually go. maybe just to satisfy his curiosity!! we know he canonically does have a sort of vague ill-defined curiosity about valentino's whole deal, including his post-motogp life, so. here's your chance, casey. find your truth

[deus-ex-mona]

watching people interact with each other l i k e