#the camp scamps

[lilywily143]

Camp Scamps Shenanigans

Thank @rusty-corn for this idea above this text :>

[trujellyfish]

if i baby talk at the other cats, my boy cat comes running, pushes in front of them, and just stares at me with his big eyes like "no, i am baby!! do not forsake me!!"

he looks like this 🥺 fr

[davidrossseville]

“If you ever wondered what it’s like to go camping with my kids and the Chipettes, here’s the answer.”

“More fun than any of us expected. But there were ups and downs.”

I have completed the long awaited Dave POV camping fic at last! It’s now available on AO3 and Fanfiction.

Writing as Dave was a CHALLENGE, but it’s a very adorable fic and I am super proud of it. Please give it a read when you can.

[imomnba-x07]

EPISODES CAME OUT EARLY YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS

HERES MY THOUGHTS

SPOILERS OBVIOUSLY

EP 1

- GROVER YOU SWEET CUTIE

- also love that they changed up the office scene to give Percy more of a reason to be mad at Grover

- fight with Ms Dodds was a bit rushed but I think that was intentional for us to feel that same “wtf is happening” feeling Percy feels

- Sally enjoying the Rain, feeling it, feeling connected, was awesome. Such a great visual representation of her connection to Poseidon and the water

- “God? Like Jesus” CRYING ON THE FLOOR THAT WAS HILARIOUS

- “I’m actually 24” Grover. You. Adorable. Nervous. Scamp. Your killing me here 😭😭😭

- ANNABETHS LINE YEEEAAHHHHHH

- THE VISUALS ARE GEORGEUSSSSSSS

EPIODE 2

- ANNABETH SILHOUETTE OVER PERCYS BED RAHHHH

- DIONYSUS CLAIMING TO BE PERCYS DAD IS THE FUNNIEST THING IVE EVER SEEN ARE YOU KIDDING. ONLY EPISODE 2 AND THERES NO WAY THEY CAN TOP THAT SCENES COMEDY THE BAR HAS BEEN SET

- Percy burning the blue candy in hopes of being able to reach his mom and talk to her I am a puddle on the floor I’m deceased I am unwell

- the element of Glory was a genius factor for them to add and it’s makes the characters choices hold so much more value. Everyone has a clear motive at camp now because of Glory and it’s just- MY GOD it’s such a good addition to drive characters actions.

- love that they made Luke and Annabeths relationship a clear sibling dynamic, much better then Annabeths crush in the books

- CLARISSE YOU DID WONDERFULLY AND CAN DO NO WRONG IN MY EYES IM SUCH A STAN

- ANNABETH READING PERCY LIKE A BOOK AND BEING SO SOCIALLY AWKWARD AND ALSO LOOKING AT HIM LIKE 🤨 PLEEEASSSEEEEE THAT WAS SO GOOD

- ANNABETH CALLING PERCY SUNSHINE???? ARE YOU KIDDING ME THAT WAS SO- OH MY GOD

- love that you can visibly see the adrenaline take over whenever Percy fights. His face shows you he doesn’t fully understand how he’s doing this but his body’s natural instincts kick in and it’s just 🤌🏽✨

- ANNABETH PUSHING PERCY INTO THE WATER BECAUSE SHE NEW HE WAS THE ONE TRULY 6 STEPS AHEAD OF EVERYONE

1000000/10 INCREDIBLE PHENOMENAL SHOW-STOPPING AMZING NEVER THE SAME COMPLETELY UNIQUE

[mundo-mundoposting-as-usual]

Uhhmmm your favorite camper maybe if you’re still doing requests? (,’ love the little scamps!

My favorite has to be this fella, he's my son and I will listen to him blather while drawing for 3000000000 hours, when he grows up he should start a podcast (half joke) p.s. it's very hard to pick a favorite when there's so many of the camp kids i think are amazing wejwjifnewjf all of them are kinda my kids or little siblings

[fiberpunk027]

Yenna and Gale Headcannon

It’s well established or believed that Gale is the camp cook. Then along comes the precious little scamp Yenna and her pairing knife. I love to imagine that at first Gale is awkward sharing the cook pot with a small child. Over time however they start to chat, make suggestions for each other’s recipes and eventually they’re a tour de force of culinary prowess. The crew is eating Michelin star meals from then on out thanks to Gale and Yenna teaming up, and possibly due to the plethora of fresh ingredients in the city.

Maybe cooking with Yenna convinces Gale he just might be father material. And suddenly he’s staring at Tav as they’re savoring their latest culinary creation and imagining how they’d look with a child in their lap.

[sohannabarberaesque]

Looks like we've got a Scooby-Doo fan fond of the caravaning life on our hands ...

[masterofthewarcry]

with no textual evidence to support it, i think odysseus and sthenelus don't like each other. very much 'this town aint big enough for the two of us' vibes. there's only room for ONE charming devil in the achaean camp. there can only be ONE roguish scamp with dimples about.

[thestalkerbunny]

If you got any more serial killers oc I would give them death game powers.

Oh let me share some of my little SCAMPS.

Sue. E is a sort of Carrie-esque slasher, instead of just getting blood dumped on her-she had a whole pig head shoved on her head. Her name is a pun on Sooey, which is the noise you make to call a pig.

Calvin Black is also known as Prom King; he was a queer teen who was voted Prom King and then brutally murdered by the Prom Queen's infuriated boyfriend and his crew thinking Calvin's plan was to fuck the Prom Queen. He comes back as an undead revenant hell bent on revenge for his brutalization and torture. Calvin Black is just the masculine form of 'Carrie White' (I like the movie Carrie.)

Ephriam is a relatively harmless slasher. He lives on a pig farm with his parents and a violent accident involving a shot gun is what destroyed his face and ancient power on the property near the woods made him akin to a Shape-a semi-immortal,borderline mute creature with supernatural strength. He accidently wanders onto a porn film shoot and is persumed to be the 'hung talent' they were waiting for. No. He's just the local farmer's son who is very eager and amicable. He's a reference to Vincent from House of Wax and Bubba from Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Mortimer isn't a slasher himself. But he is a happy accomplice to one as well as the enabler. His girlfriend is the sack faced Jackie who essentially is a homeless girl who welds a supernatural talking blade called Slashy that has passed hands of hundreds of 'Jacks' in history. Mortimer is her eager enabler, supporter, and number one fanboy.

I tragically have no proper art of Undead Ted because I can't settle on a design for him. But he's a Camp Ground slasher. He was once the grounds keeper of a Summer Camp and was well beloved until while trying to intervene on some councilors horrifically abusing a camper resulted in his death and his body being hidden on the property. Now he's violently hunting them down now the summer camp has reopened.

A new one that came up tonight is a Model whose face was corroded by toxic skin care products and as a result, she goes around killing people and harvesting their skin to give herself DIY skin grafts and her named is Scarlet; she's a reference to female rage movies as well as Patrick Bateman. No art of her yet. Maybe later.

[sword93]

Okay these are the final draft designs of next-gen Kids so far.

Starry Dream: the oldest pre-divorce Fluttercord kid! She’s recently become a young adult. She was born when Fluttershy and Discord happened to both wish for a child on the same star on the same night- a star-shaped object fell from the sky, and when discord and Fluttershy both touched it, it transformed into a baby unicorn. Twilight did tests and concluded she seems to be genetically the child of Discord and Fluttershy.

Starry believes her cutie mark to be indicative of her talent for casting extremely difficult spells. The cutie mark appeared when she cast a transmutation spell on an angry Ursa Major in order to save her little sister, turning the beast into a mouse. At her age such a spell should have been impossible. However, she hasn’t been able to perform any extreme magical feats since…

Starry is very dutiful, spending little time on “fun” activities, unless entertaining and babysitting her younger siblings counts. She wants nothing more than to be half as incredible as her mother and step mother, heroes of Equestria, the elements themselves. She’s always been compassionate, eager to please and eager to be helpful, but lately has found herself feeling a bit bitter for some reason, which she promptly stomps down.

She liked to paint and used to often play the violin, but she hasn’t had the time for a few years now. She secretly really likes cliche and trashy romance novels,.

‘Scamp” Scampella Fluttergleam the First: the younger pre-divorce Fluttercord child. Conceived uh…traditionally. Discords moody behavior before and after laying her egg caused an even greater rift in Fluttershy and Discord’s rushed and ill thought out romance and subsequent Las Pegasus marriage. Ultimately a couple months after she hatched, the two amicably agreed to divorce and were much happier as a result.

Scamp is as her name suggests, mischievous, a bit selfish, and sometimes mean spirited, though she’s not usually malicious. She often has trouble controlling her chaos magic. She’s fiercely loyal and quick to act, usually too quick.

Scamp likes to play pranks, participate in sports, and loves watching her step mom perform with and train Wonderbolts. She has a soft side, and likes caring for animals-especially for bugs.

Swift Hue: the youngest of the three by 2 years, Hue is the child of Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy. They are an active child with an even more active imagination, which makes them prone to night terrors and anxious thoughts. They love painting and experimenting with color, but always feel their paintings are missing a certain something. They are very social and have many friends, like to play Sky soccer and are pen pals with many friends they met at various sport and art camps. Scamp and Swift are best friends and Swift is good and keeping their friend in check. In return Scamp is good at helping Swift overcome their fears- both the real and imaginary.

[quordleona03]

Margaret: Why was he in my shower? Hawkeye (out of shot): Isn't it obvious? Mulcahy: Not to me.

A South Korean teenager has been found hiding in the MASH showers when he ran away because Margaret, who was having a shower, started screaming at him. (Understandably so.) Hawkeye and Mulcahy are both looking at Margaret's legs. Margaret has very nice legs.

Margaret suddenly realises she is standing in front of the entire camp naked except for a green towel, exclaims "I'm wearing a towel!" Mulcahy, that scamp, calls after "I hadn't noticed!" And then he smiles.

Honestly, that priest.

[lilywily143]

[ @v-does-silly-stuff ]

Throws SamxDarren at you

Sksjnend

Make this a request if you want..Draw it if you want

how could I not?

Also uh, since this is my au, i'm adding a bonus with their other partner :3

[imperator-titus]

Ghost from the Past [Part 9]

The Gang finally figures out what Eletha's problem is.

Had this one written out for a while. Features a lot of my triggers because I'm fucking insane. Sometimes you just wanna punish yourself, right? That's normal?

CW: General Mental Illness issues, Mentions of past abuse and suicidal ideation, Also the Super Secret Weird Trigger

(Prev)[Part 8] (Next)[Part 10] [Master Post]

No one saw Eletha leave her tent for two days while they braved the shadow curse and all its challenges. Astarion would’ve stayed upset about this if he wasn’t excited about Raphael’s offer of help. Gale told him that they should wait and see before making any deals with devils and now Astarion was giving him the cold shoulder.

Worried and sick of the mood in camp, Gale convinced Bonnet to let him into her mistress’s tent. There he found her in a curious state: not quite elven trance, but not quite conscious either. Tentatively, he shook her shoulder, but she didn’t rouse. Clenched in her hand was a tattered scrap of cloth, perhaps a remnant of some once-fine robe or doublet.

“Pardon me,” he whispered as he decided his next course of action. Reaching out with both magic and the tadpole, he murmured softly, “Do let me know if I’m intruding.”

Something connected and his mind was transported to someplace else. The ground was just a shade different from the sky, creating a sense of boundless emptiness. Here he found Eletha sitting on the edge of- Well, it was a rather large hole with no discernable sides or bottom, just complete darkness.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have any tea or cake,” she told him listlessly, eyes not leaving the hole. Her skin was covered in scratches and her clothes were torn. “Poor reception for a friend. Wizard friend.”

“May I… sit?” Gale asked hesitantly, peering into the hole only to be met with nothing. Eletha nodded and he sat down beside her. “Is this what troubles you?”

“Mm. I’m losing it, aren’t I? Out there.” She didn’t wait for his answer. It was rather obvious that if he was here, he felt that she was in danger. In a haunting sing-song voice she went on, “Down, down, down. Spiraling down. Cracked like an egg, to hatch or to eat? The dry leaves sound lovely, under our feet.”

Well that’s concerning, Gale thought to himself. “What is in the hole?”

“Something old. Something bad. Lorelai.”

“Ah, your childhood name, yes?”

“Bad, evil, mean old Lorelai,” she said by way of answer, using the tone of a child talking about a monster in a book or a hated schoolmarm. Then darkly, like that hated schoolmarm, she added, “Little Lorelai doesn’t know any better.”

“You know, I was quite the scamp back in my day too. That’s how I met Tara. My parents denied me a kitten, so I summoned a tressym instead,” he explained with a fond smile and a twinkle in his eyes. He went on about other ‘naughty’ things he did as a child, such as summoning mephits or destroying things with errant magic. He felt that if he could get her to accept that making trouble as a child was a normal part of growing up, then she might begin to forgive herself for whatever she’d done.

Gale’s happy memories only served to weaken the edge of the hole further, bits breaking off every now and then. While speaking about his mother, how much he loved her, the hole suddenly emitted a disturbing sound. A wail mixed with crying, piercing and discordant. Gale stopped his story, training his senses to make heads or tails of what was happening. The wail faded as voices rose in its stead. Elven voices, melodic and refined, called out “Lorelai.”

“Lorelai, you are too young to make such decisions,” Eletha said in Elvish in a man’s voice. It sounded stern and agitated, almost hostile. “Non Moverē.”

She recited the incantation for a Hold Person spell with perfect precision, but it was only an echo of a memory. Whoever had cast it was highly skilled.

“You must set aside your feelings for the good of us all. I did not raise you to be a brat, A’Sum. This is a blessing,” she said in a woman’s voice. It was sharp and disappointed. This voice called upon the Weave to calm her daughter’s emotions.

“If you cannot behave, then we will make you behave, my blood or not,” a second man’s voice said through Eletha’s lips. It snarled, full of revulsion. “Impero tibi.”

I command you, from the tongue of an expert spellcaster. Young and inexperienced, Eletha would have been unable to resist.

“I… I think I understand,” Gale said after waiting a moment for her to continue. “It will be okay. You have us now. We won’t let that happen.”

“It doesn’t make a difference,” she said in her own voice, streaked with pain. “It’s always been here. It’s not going away this time.”

“What-”

A monstrous black claw shot out of the black hole. Gale threw himself back, only to fall out of Eletha’s tent.

“What in the hells was that about?” Karlach asked, looking down at him with confusion.

“I was trying to help,” he answered, trying to rub the befuddlement out of his head.

“MmMmh, breakfast?” Eletha asked blearily, poking her head out of the tent flap. “Can I have eggs?”

“No, Lethi, go back to sleep,” Karlach told her, pushing her friend back into the tent when she appeared to be asleep sitting up.

“So. What hot gossip did you two discuss?” Astarion purred as he approached Gale’s tent, where the wizard was currently writing in his journal. Despite his attempts to seem otherwise, it was clear that the question came from a place of concern.

“Do you remember anything of your families?” Astarion glared at him.

“No. All I know is what little Eletha has told me. They were semi-important.” Gale hummed in response, distracted. “Why?”

“Nothing. Only something to consider.” Astarion huffed with false humor. Scratching his beard, talking more to himself than Astarion, Gale said, “It’s a shame Cazador made you forget your old life. Of us all, you can relate to her the most…”

“I’m not sure I understand the similarities.”

“Held against your will by someone who claims to love you, to be your family. Made to behave. Bodies not yours to command,” Gale explained rather compassionately. Then he grew pensive again. “What did she do, that necessitated such methods of containment? Is it the action, or the reaction, that is affecting her?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. It’s always ‘I did a bad horrible thing, I’m evil, I can never be forgiven.’ Things like that.” Astarion laughed then sighed a little sadly. “Oh Gale. First a goddess. Now an insane elf. How does it feel to fall so far?”

“Does driving your first lover into the arms of pain and madness hurt worse or less than all the blood on your hands?” Gale sniped. Astarion startled, then bristled.

“That’s not fair,” he warned.

“Any more fair than what you just said?” Gale asked, getting to his feet. Standing tall, he had to look down at Astarion a little bit. 

“Keep your meddling paws out of other people’s business,” Astarion growled.

“Why must you treat me like an enemy? We want the same thing: for her to get better. To do that, I’m afraid we must meddle in her business.”

“It’s not just her business, is it? It’s mine as well.”

“The business of a man buried over two centuries ago.” Gale tilted his head and the harshness left his eyes and voice. “You’re worried that she can’t forgive you.”

“Of course I am!” Stupid wizards. Why did they have to be so smart and also so slow at the same time?

“Mm, I find it unlikely. You hold a special place in her heart, broken or no,” Gale told him rather academically, picking something up from his desk. In his outstretched palm he held the scrap of cloth from Eletha’s tent. With a pair of tweezers, he carefully dissected it, revealing a lock of curly white hair. When his tweezers tried to brush the hairs, they were rebuffed. “A preservation charm. I can only assume that this hair once belonged to you, perhaps the garment this cloth came from as well. With a few tools and a wizard’s expertise, she could have easily found you in Baldur’s Gate.”

“But she didn’t. The one civilized place on the Sword Coast she’s never visited,” Astarion said harshly, hovering between shock and anger.

“There are many possible explanations. Eletha is a proponent of choices. You chose to leave, so she respected your choice. Perhaps she was afraid that you never loved her, or that you hated her for waiting so long to follow.” Gale carefully resealed the token so that it could be replaced in Eletha’s tent. “Perhaps she had no choice but to let you go. There’s no telling until she feels ready to explain.”

“I’ll put it back,” Astarion said after a moment, holding out his hand. Gale placed the token in his palm, only to gently take hold of his hand.

“It is a shame. I was hoping to encourage a relationship between us. Eletha was always interesting, a mix of mysterious and open, having lived a rich life of adventure. I had an impression that she found me interesting as well, but she is so clearly afraid of being hurt again.” Gale looked at their interlocked hands fondly. “I suppose I could say the same for you.”

Astarion clicked his tongue and emitted a soft sound of sweetness before threading his fingers through the loose waves of hair at the back of Gale’s neck. Pulling him down slightly while raising himself up on his toes, Astarion pressed their lips together in a needy kiss.Gale’s mouth opened slightly in a surprised gasp and Astarion found his tongue with his own.

Neither kissed like a novice, but it felt different. Electric. With the orb stabilized by Mystra, Gale didn’t fear the sudden excitement of flesh touching flesh or the sound of someone’s moans in his ears. Even Eletha’s light touches and chaste kisses on his head threatened to explode his heart after so long without a person’s touch.

He was suddenly aware of how clammy his hands had become. His body was shaking and his head felt like it might float away without him. A pit of sickness sat in his stomach and Gale pushed Astarion away just a little bit. Before Astarion could misunderstand, he said shakily, “I think it has been too long for me. I am a starving man eating more than his stomach can handle.”

Astarion’s face went through a range of emotions, from hurt to annoyance and finally thoughtfulness. “Eletha had that reaction too. I just assumed she was drunk, but the only thing you seem drunk on is the taste of my lips.”

“There is some truth to that,” Gale agreed with a light laugh. Holding a hand to his heart, he said, “I assure you, I enjoyed that very much.”

“I should… put this back,” Astarion said hesitantly with a small smile, indicating Eletha’s token. “Maybe I’ll come around later. Discuss… what was it we were reading now?”

“I have no clue.”

“Mm… I have done a number on you,” Astarion purred in self-satisfaction before leaving Gale’s tent.

Thankfully, Bonnet wasn’t sitting in front of Eletha’s tent when Astarion attempted to sneak in. The bear would’ve probably mauled him on sight otherwise.

He sat for a moment, just watching her breathe, fighting some internal demon. Very carefully, he placed the token in her open hand, which closed and retreated to her chest.

---

It was late and everyone was seeing to their evening routines when indecipherable elvish yelling grew louder in Eletha’s tent.

She emerged, a leather wallet in one hand, her face red with anger. Everyone was gathering, but she only had eyes for Astarion. Pointing an accusing finger at him, she yelled, “How dare you go through my things!”

Astarion chuckled nervously, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, like anyone else has an interest in my journals? The place where I keep all my intimate thoughts and memories?” Eletha sneered, narrowing her eyes. Astarion went from nervous to confused.

“I didn’t take your journals,” he insisted, biting off the urge to call her ‘darling’ or ‘my dear’. He knew by now that it could upset her more just as much as it could make her melt. “And even if I did, it would only be to figure out what’s wrong with you so we can move on.”

“What’s wrong with me?!” Those closest to her tensed, preparing to stop her if she decided to settle this with a fight. Those closer to Astarion gravitated towards him, to get between them if anything went wrong.

Instead, Eletha undid the complicated tie of her wallet and dumped the contents out onto the ground. A seemingly endless flood of books, papers, and scrolls fell out. Giving it one last shake to make sure it was empty, Eletha dropped the wallet on the pile.

“They’re yours now. Have fun,” she growled at him before returning to her tent. 

Those nearby rushed forward as a slight breeze caught the papers, threatening to blow them into the campfire. Everyone gathered to deal with the mess.

“Interesting. A bag of holding, but just for paper?” Gale pondered aloud as he inspected the leather wallet before setting it aside. Astarion snatched it up with a little glare. He was pretty sure he just got blamed for Gale’s sticky fingers and he wasn’t about to let the wizard take something Eletha just entrusted to him.

“She certainly needs it,” Shadowheart remarked, gathering some journals into a stack and setting them next to Gale, who immediately started organizing them.

“Wow, so many for this Lorelai person,” Karlach said after a while of picking up letters and putting them into a semi-neat pile. 

“That’s her childhood name,” Gale explained, becoming excited by something he’d noticed. “Elves pick their own name when they reach one hundred years of age.”

“Oh.” Karlach went from confused, to understanding, to confused again. “Why are they all still sealed? Seems weird, keeping letters you didn’t even bother readin’.”

Gale was deaf to the question, reading the oldest of the journals. In a stilting manner, as he not only had to translate Elvish, but a child’s Elvish, he read aloud to himself loud enough for them to hear. 

“Father said that I should keep a journal, so I can always remember what happened to me. Today isn’t my birthday, but another elf was born last week. Mother said they were worried I would get upset that I was no longer the youngest and wouldn’t get all the attention, so they gave me a gift. I don’t think the new baby wants the attention I get. All Father and Mother do is yell at me for not doing what they want, but I don’t understand what they want. Maybe Astarion will understand. But right now he is just a squishy ugly baby with BIG GOBLIN EARS. They are SO BIG. I hope he grows into them, like the hunting dogs’ puppies.”

On the other side of the page was a crude child’s drawing of what appeared to be a fat baby’s head with cherubic cheeks and some rudimentary curls. Attached to either side were massive elf ears. Surprised, Gale guffawed most uncharacteristically and turned the journal to show everyone. They all laughed, except Astarion, who grumbled in embarrassment.

“Mother says I have to take care of Astarion, it is my ‘role.’ All the Mothers tell me that I should prepare myself, even if it might never happen. Having to take care of him makes me feel gross. The way the Mothers talk about babies makes me feel grosser. I tried taking him away from them, so they’d stop making me feel bad and wouldn’t make him feel bad either, but they yelled at me and made me sit in the rocks again. It’s not Star’s fault. He’s just a baby. One day he’ll be my age, will he feel like this too? All the other children are so much older than me, they treat me like a baby too. I feel like I’ve grown up a lot in a year. I have to grow up just enough to protect Star but still be his friend.”

“Oh, that’s heartbreakin’…” Karlach breathed, holding her breath as she listened. The others were listening, reacting in their own little ways. Lae’zel was still cleaning up the mess. Shadowheart knelt, appearing as if in prayer. Wyll took special interest in each thing he picked up so he could put it in the appropriate pile. Halsin listened with compassionate sadness, while Astarion sat like a statue, frozen in place.

Gale skipped ahead, his wizard’s mind able to quickly read and catalog the information, especially as the Elvish got better. Something made him smile. “Astarion keeps stealing my socks. Why socks? At least they’re clean socks. A lot of stuff keeps going missing and showing up somewhere else and I think it’s him. A lot of them let Astarion into their caravan for no reason and let him do what he pleases, but I’ve seen him sneak into our caravan before to steal my socks. Whenever I catch him, he sticks them on his ears and says ‘I can’t hear you! I have feet for ears!”

Everyone but Astarion laughed once more.

“That’s so strange… It looks like she wrote or drew something every day, but there’s a whole year missing. The pages are ripped out.” Shadowheart pointed out, having flipped through a few of the journals herself. “She said Astarion left when she was 35, so the year after is missing.”

Everyone was making comments about him, but Astarion was deaf as he picked out a bundle of papers from the pile. One edge of them was jagged. He undid the piece of string holding them together and unfolded them.

“Lorelai will behave. Lorelai will eat. Will drink. Rest. Do as she is told. Stay. Not bite off her tongue. Not use the fire. Not practice the sword or the bow or with hands. She will not talk back, she will not scream or raise her voice. She will speak only when spoken to and always be polite. She will not interact with outsiders. She must always be accompanied. Always be clean. Lorelai will be a good girl. Lorelai will apologize for what she’s done. I am a good girl. I promise to be good. I am sorry for what I’ve done.”

The torn pages lined up with those tears in the journal. The first page after was a depiction of a black circle. Taking the journal from Astarion, Gale pointed at the picture. “I’ve seen that. In her head. ‘Something old, something bad. Evil, mean old Lorelai.’”

Gale flipped past some more drawings and lists of typical adventurer things like how many supplies she had and where she was going. Then it went back to a sane depiction of a journal.

“I am not a good girl. I will not do as I’m told. I will not behave. I will eat and drink to spite them. I will bite my tongue when it suits me, when its sharpness cannot aid me. I will speak loud and clear when I please. I will be alone. I will not apologize. I am not sorry for what I’ve done, my only regret is that I let them control me. I won’t let anyone control me ever again.

“I am never coming back. I will never forgive these transgressions against me. I will not forget them, but I will bury them, in a hole deep and dark and bottomless inside me. The hole they made in me, where my heart and family should be.

“I don’t believe that Astarion left in order to leave me behind. He loves to chase and be chased. But I will always wonder, if that was true, why didn’t he turn back to find me? Maybe they were right. I will grant them this small token of grace. Maybe I was abandoned, as I abandon in kind.

“I am far from my 100th year, but I shake off the yoke of my name. Everyone I meet will know me as Eletha, a name Astarion always liked, and I will fashion myself a Nighstar. Who will ever know it’s not true? I might not ever be important, these might be the only words ever written about me, but when I speak this name, I will know that I am more than what I was meant to be.”

“I can’t tell if that’s sad or brave…” Wyll whispered to himself.

“What’s… E… Sum? Hey, I’m getting pretty good at this Elvish thing!” Karlach said excitedly, holding up a letter she’d been inspecting. Gale, Shadowheart, Halsin, and Astarion went blank-faced.

“It says, ‘To my Son’,” Halsin explained gently and quietly, so Eletha couldn’t overhear them.

“I do not understand. As in a male child?” Lae’zel asked.

“Yes, Lae’zel. And seeing as Eletha is a female child…” 

Shadowheart laughed nervously, pinching Halsin’s arm to get him to shut up. “Maybe it’s for Astarion! And she just… forgot about it.”

“As nice as that seems…” Gale started darkly, holding Eletha’s journal with the pages ripped out, “With the knowledge I have, of all the theories I’ve considered, and the fact that I can recognize Eletha’s hand, it is most likely that this is to her son…”

Everyone sat in stunned silence for a moment. Then Karlach looked at Astarion and offered him a strained smile. “Congratulations?”

“That paper seems awfully old. And it looks like it was never sealed,” Wyll pointed out, taking the letter from Karlach. “She never sent this. Why keep it? I guess it’s like the others. Felt too guilty to burn it? Thrown in the bag and forgotten?”

“We shouldn’t read that, right? Even dictating every event of her life for over 260 years is less personal than that,” Shadowheart insisted warily, carefully taking the letter from Wyll and handing it to Gale.

“It is, however, the center of the problem,” Gale explained firmly. “If anyone is to read it, it should be Astarion.”

“Why should I read it?!” he yelled out, his voice cracking. Some of them leaned away nervously. “Don’t look at me like I’m crazy! This is crazy! This is insane! And not the least bit funny.”

“It is okay to be upset,” Halsin told him gently.

“Of course it’s okay! This is very upsetting! I’m sure for someone like you, this would come as no surprise! Almost two months ago, I was just a vampire spawn hunting for my master. I’ve had an old lover show up who wants to play mindgames, go insane, and now this?!”

“I don’t think it’s mindgames, bud,” Karlach said, going through a journal that appeared to be in Common instead of Elvish, although sometimes the script slipped and she had trouble reading it. “Look. 50 years ago. She met an elf on the road, they hit it off, they try to give it a go, she has a lot of nasty feelings after. Talks about this black pit, yeah? And it gets all hard to read. Then she says someone named Mellia found her and took care of her until she got better.”

“Mmm, sounds much like now. She’s spiraling,” Shadowheart said, taking the journal and reading the same bit like they were in some book club with only once copy.

“Down, down, down, spiraling down. Cracked like an egg, to hatch or to eat? The dry leaves sound lovely under our feet,” Gale repeated in a hollow sing-song voice, stroking his beard in thought.

“That’s right fucked.” Some murmured in agreement. Karlach looked at them all, hoping for an answer. “So what do we do? Hide all the booze? Make her stay awake?”

“Honestly, she was fighting harder before this little… break,” Wyll remarked. “I’d be happy if we could get back to that.”

“Eletha has been avoiding this since the beginning. This is an invitation as much as it is an explanation. She needs to say these words herself, so she might share the burden,” Halsin explained with the dispassion of a healer trying to be taken seriously at the expense of compassion.

“I didn't want to go to that hag, but Wyll was right. Damn those foolish boys and their foolish sister. People go to hags for a reason. They want something and there is payment. They are desperate and stupid and they don't understand that. I left Ethel and Mayrina alone because the girl made her choice. My parents, Astarion’s parents, the whole clan, they took my choice away from me.

“I can still hear that hag’s mockery in my head. ‘A dead dog is a better mother than you. Just as selfish and stupid as this girl. You should be ashamed of yourself, trying to smother a babe before it’s even born.’

“She’s wrong. I made the right choice, to walk away. He didn't deserve a mother like me. No child does. 

“If Mellia turned me, could she make me forget, like Astarion? Could Aluin just say some words, wiggle his fingers, or brew me a potion? Maybe this adventure will be my last and it’ll be some other elf’s problem in a hundred years. I’m sorry for haunting your reveries, my next life.

“I’m sorry, everyone. I wanted to protect you, to be strong for you. I wanted to be a shield against the cruelty of the world, but I’m afraid my steel is brittle and my wood rotten. I can’t be your mother any more than I could be his.”

“The rest is… scribbles,” Gale explained in saddened resignation, flipping past indecipherable text and grotesque attempts at artistry.

“Maybe we should put these away,” Halsin said, taking the pouch from Astarion and carefully putting journals in one by one. The others made tidy piles in front of them and passed the pouch around, until Gale was handing it back to Astarion.

“She did say that they were yours now,” he explained when Astarion started to push it away. “Although. A bag of holding just for texts? I would gladly take it off your hands.” 

“No, you can’t eat this one,” Astarion growled, putting his body in between the bag and Gale. Gale chuckled and smiled, easing the tension around the camp.

Astarion sat in his tent, alone, staring at the things in his lap. One was the wallet, and on top of it, the well-worn letter. He fingered its edge in agitation. A little tear formed and he panicked. Very carefully, he set it aside and opened the wallet once more. He placed the letters into little piles. Letters addressed to Lorelai, unopened. Letters addressed to Eletha, in smaller piles by sender. There were quite a few from people named ‘Mellia, Your Sanguine Companion’, ‘Aluin of Suzail’, ‘Tyrlumin, Your Melodic Cha’, and ‘Bromthrum Starkhammer, Provider of Fine Crafts.’ There were miscellaneous letters, some very old, from people thanking her for heroic deeds or just simple acts of kindness. There was even one thanking her for the exceptional quality of a set of mink pelts she provided that went into making a coat for some king Astarion never heard of.

He read them, because he couldn’t help himself. She seemed very close with her humanoid companions, which probably explained why she had so many letters.

Mellia, mysterious and charming, her oldest and possibly closest friend. They met when a pack of gnolls were terrorizing some little farming town. They banded together to slaughter every one. Eletha was just passing by, Mellia was a vampire and had an accord with one of the village leaders. It made his blood boil, he couldn’t think of a higher vampire and not see Cazador, but her letters were so… sweet. Not fake sweet. She would recount some event or vista that made her think of Eletha and their adventures. It was hard to imagine a vampire soaking with an elf in a hot spring up in some monster-infested mountains, but they apparently had 50 years ago. ‘I am glad that I could keep you away from the edge once more, my lovely friend. Maybe it is time you venture to Baldur’s Gate? I will gladly join you, and I know that you have other friends that would answer the call.’ A band of hardened adventurers, showing up at Cazador’s palace, demanding he relinquish his favorite spawn? A story for the ages… 

Aluin the human mage, whose words read nothing like Gale’s. Even as he grew older, his boyish exuberance could still be heard in his retellings of discoveries and mishaps. She lost her eye protecting him from a warg and guided him back to Suzail. To return the favor, he offered her a magic eye. It allowed her to peer into memories of places, things, and people, to see them as they once were. Aluin wanted her to take him on many adventures and he always thanked her from the bottom of his heart for every scrap of artifact she sent to him from her travels. There was a subtle love in his words. 

Tyrlumin, a half-elf bard, whose age she could not discern. He often talked to her like she was a child, but had his own childish penchant for getting into trouble. They met on the road, nothing special, but they were drawn to one another. It seemed he used her for inspiration in some of his songs. He would run into her, seemingly not by accident, and they would travel together until he would disappear in the night, leaving behind a note. It was often a dirty limerick.

Finally, Bromthrum, a purveyor of high-quality dwarven goods, trading to princes, wizards, and thieves alike. She came to his aid upon the road as he was waylaid by bandits. They shared a fondness for drink and smoke. He sounded enamored by her elven beauty and the artistry she employed in battle. She seemed drawn to his complete lack of similarities to elves. He gave her steep discounts on goods and she protected his caravan when she was around.

Astarion didn’t touch the sealed letters. Maybe he had some sense of propriety. They were all so old… It seemed they stopped only 50 years after she left the Dales.

Then there were two. For their E’Sum. For Astarion Ancunin, Baldur’s Gate.

This, too, was old, but not as old as some. Likely, this letter would have never reached him. The furthest it might have gotten was to Cazador, and then what jealous hellfire would his master have rained upon him for receiving a letter from a long-lost lover?

It was meant for him. That meant he could read it, no? It found him, after all these years.

Astarion snuck into Gale’s tent.

“Can I help you?” Gale grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“I need you to read this,” Astarion insisted, shoving the letter at him. Gale moved away, offended as Astarion pressed the piece of parchment into his chest.

“I think you're capable of reading.”

“I can't do it.”

“Then don't read it.”

“But it's for me.”

“Then I shouldn't be reading it.”

“Dammit Gale, can you just do this for me?” Astarion hissed. “Can you stop being an emotionless pompous arse for one minute?”

“I'm not emotionless, I’m exhausted. That wasn’t exactly easy on me, either. I didn’t even tell you some of the horrible things in those journals,” Gale explained, but took the letter anyway. A little hurt he said, “Is that how you see me?”

“Gale, I need the attention now, or I'm going to start stabbing people.”

“How is that different from usual?” Gale muttered as he opened the letter. “Dear Astarion, stop being dramatic and let Gale sleep.”

“You’re aware of how much of an ass you are, yes?”

“My Star,” Gale started, ignoring him. He actually put a little emotion into it. Astarion listened intently. “Aluin says that writing letters is healing, that ordering our thoughts to communicate them helps us understand ourselves as much as it helps others understand us. I’m not as good with words as Mellia or Lumin. I guess you don't know any of these people. They are friends I've made along the way and if we meet again, I want you to meet them. They’ve helped me a lot, taught me that I deserve to be loved and helped. I don’t always believe them, but it is what it is. Do you remember Heilar saything that all the time, when you’d tell him I beat you unfairly during sword practice? I wonder if I still can. 

“I spent a long time hating you, but I always loved you. I never wished ill on you, even when I hated you the most. I always wondered what I did to make you leave me behind. I always wondered if you thought I'd follow. I wanted to, but our parents bade me stay. Then they made me stay.

What is it like, in Baldur’s Gate? I always wanted to go to Waterdeep instead.” Gale's eyes lit up suddenly and he opened his mouth to make some quip, but when he looked up, Astarion was the picture of anxiety, biting his lip, knees to his chest, fear in his eyes. 

“It took me a long time to accept responsibility for what happened. I would always say to myself that you left a mess behind, you did this to me, that it was all your fault. It was best that you left, because if you'd stayed, I don't want to imagine what you would have done. Would you take their side, or defend me tooth and nail? I couldn't bear it if you were just another person I couldn't forgive. But I wouldn’t want our family’s blood on your hands either.

“I don't know his name. I left as soon as I could. I'm sorry that I can't tell you anything about him. I would think that your parents would try to write you, but maybe they think it meant nothing to you. They try to write me, but I can't read them. I don't want to read them, but I can't destroy them.

“No matter how many friends I make, how many people I help, I will always know that I am a callous monster. Despite how rare it is, despite what it would mean for our families and our people, I didn't want to keep the thing you left behind in me. Knowing it was there filled me with a sickness that went beyond any story the Mothers told me. I was no longer myself, I was just a vessel. I found myself repulsive. I tried to find some way to be rid of it, but our mothers caught me. 

“At first they aimed to tame me with guilt and shame. They told me I was irresponsible, cowardly, a disgrace, for trying to throw away this blessing that felt to me like a curse, a punishment. There were only hard eyes and sharp words for me. I became desperate and tried my own ways of removing my curse. When they denied me that, I tried to bite through my own tongue to spare myself the pain of my burden and it the pain of having me for a mother.

“They took turns, holding me with their magic, giving me no choice but to do what they deemed right. I looked out of my eyes on a world that became hostile and full of villains, faces made of cruelty. The body that moved was not my own, but I still felt that awful feeling in my heart, felt trapped in my own skin just as much as in their power.

“I'm not sorry that I left, so why do I feel guilty? Broken? I'm not sorry for being broken. Was this soul always broken, throughout its many lives?

“I made a deal with a fey. In exchange for never bearing children again, I am cursed to burn by the emptiness of the new moon. It hurt, at first, but not as much as that year hurt. The fey thought me mad for requesting such a simple silly thing and not real power. Maybe I am. You have to be pretty mad to make a fey question your request.

“I’m sorry. I love you. I forgive you. I don't expect you to forgive me. I hope you can still love me, as unlovable as I am. 

“Ever yours- Lori”

At some point, Astarion had placed his head in Gale’s lap. So caught up in the letter, Gale didn't notice. Now that he was done, he freed up a hand to pat Astarion’s head. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Gale whispered tiredly, still stroking Astarion’s hair. “It’s going to be okay. Tomorrow is another day.”

[darkhorse-javert]

'News to the Desert'

Introducing Simon 'Sim' Stewart, and to some extent his father Benjamin Stewart (who has made a prior apperance in my writing). Respectively they're Sam's Cousion and Uncle. @blind-dates-fest

North African Desert 1942

A towselled head pops out of the canvas back of the lorry, grins at him, offering a thick bundle in oilskin, “Post has come in, Sir.”

“Righto, Sergeant” He takes the offered bundle, turns to the thick group of his men, cramped together behind him in the path of their camp. They're standing steady, but they're concentrated on the letters in his arms. He pulls them out of the packet, turns up the first one

“Tods, J.” One man presses forwards, takes a bunch of letters wrapped together

“Smith, A J,

“Sergeant Todd..”

It carries on

At last, only one packet is left, a thin one, perhaps only two letters.or a thick one. He pulls off the cover. Two it is, numbered as is the family want.

He pulls out the first, father's familiar handwriting rolling across the thin page, and shimmering through from the other side.

Dear Sim,

We hope you are well out there and in good spirits. We two are quite well here at home, and you probably have heard more of Edwin than we have here, his last letter spoke of being ‘well but dusty’. But then, we suppose, sending post from where we guess you are is not the easiest undertaking.

Things have been very peaceful here, the church choir is carrying on very well, in spite of everything. I confess to being selfishly glad when James Robbins failed his call-up medical a few weeks ago - on account of the rheumatic fever he had as a baby - at least for now we may retain one reliable baritone voice, especially as we lost many of the younger Altos last year. But those are minor matters, and highly selfish in motivation to boot. Services are still well attended here.

‘The two scamps’ send you their luck and good wishes (if we’re being literal, they ask that you “get lots of Nazi’s” - bloodthirsty young pair, I and your mother only ask that you stay safe).

The wider family all report they are well, your Uncle Iain and Aunt Margaret have had no close shaves, despite being on the South Coast. 

By far the grandest item of news from the family is that Samatha is to be married, on 6th November. Her husband-to-be is an RAF fighter pilot, and also the son of the Detective Inspector she has been driving since she was attached to the Police.

He pauses, quietly re-reads the sentences for a moment, then continues the letter.

You may find this news to come out of the blue, but cannot be as surprised as your Uncle Iain was.  If I am reading his letter correctly,  the first he heard of the young gentleman was when a letter from the young man arrived asking for consent to the marriage. It has later emerged that Samantha has been walking out with him, his duties permitting, since the autumn of 1940. And for not one of us to any the wiser to it in the intervening time. 

He smiles at the letter, 

Oh, well played, Sammy, well done indeed. We always think of you as our ‘little cousin’, myself included in that regard. But - he lets his mind drift back to that last pre-war Summer - you were quite grown up back then, the Lady of the Vicarage with Aunt Margaret’s health as it was, joining the forces won’t have hindered that, probably helped. You’re not a girl in plaits anymore, to be trotted out in Sunday Best. Another memory; ginger plaits and a freckled face as he looked down through gaps in tree branches, to see a much younger Sammy determinedly climbing after him 

His father’s pen has paused, and then continued with blacker ink; You may perhaps be able to imagine your Uncle Iain’s reaction to all of this, Sim. 

Chuckles tickle his throat and wobble his shoulders at that. Dear Uncle Iain, as pastorally and kindly minded as he is, will have been roundly knocked for six by the apparently sudden news, and knocked again when Samantha’s ‘deception’ came to light. He almost feels sorry for his youngest uncle, what little of him isn’t childishly egging Sam on in her little flash of independence, perhaps even defiance 

That said his father’s letter continues, Iain has been a little mollified since actually meeting the young man (Andrew by name) in person. He reports he is a very decent and well-mannered young man, who clearly cares deeply for Samantha. I would also add, and your mother reckons similarly, that the depth of feeling is mutual between them, given she has been keeping Andrew so quiet- and away from ‘familial interference’. We await further news as to the location of the wedding and other particulars. We’re planning to get together a hamper here, as a present. If you get this before early November, send a telegram down to Hastings for congratulations would you?

With our prayers for your safety and health, do write when you can

And much love

Your Father and Mother

Simon consults the date on the letter, mid-October. And right now it’s 3rd November. 

He pauses, At least I think it is 

This poor letter has been wandering across the desert at snails pace -or to be more charitable at Post pace, while they’ve been moving at speed after Rommel’s boys. There might be time to get a telegram in before the wedding, if the telegram operators are nearby, and there isn’t anything of greater priority to go down the line. If not, it will have to go by post as a letter, and then be telegramed,but worth a try at least.

[majorbaby]

s10e21 Picture This is my nemesis actually because at the end there Potter paints a pretty picture of the gang when the reality is they're all squabbling and Hawkeye is only there at all because he was emotionally manipulated after his absence becomes a personal inconvenience to other people in the camp. But this is played off as: ah! the lovable scamps! They really do hate each other <3 <3 <3

Like, found family is good but it's bad but it's good by the end again because we said so, cue warm and fuzzies. It's weird to see the show embrace that kind of writing considering how they rallied against the laugh track, which is there to let you know what reaction you should be having. It's not that the laughter is bad or disrespectful, it's that if something truly funny, an audience will engage with that on their own.

[belphegor1982]

Find the word in your WIPs

I was tagged by both @rose-of-pollux and @tuttle4077 for a "Find the word in your WIP" game! Here are the rules: Find the words from the list in your WIPs and post the paragraph they belong to.

Thanks a lot :D They both gave me different words, too, so let's go!

I ended up using What Nightmares May Come (my long HH fic) a lot, if only because it's so long (64k+ words, gah, if only the inspiration could come back!!) but also from The Message (the follow-up to Mon Pays et Paris), three The Mummy WIPs, and one word from a Legend of Vox Machina somewhat long WIP. And since it got so long, I'm putting most of it under a cut ^^'

Tagging @thisstableground, @tinydooms, @laurelindebear, @teashoesandhair, @kabbal and @kaantt 💜

List of (new) words: chase | average | fast | minute | whole

sigh (from The Message, Hogan's Heroes)

“Did you clear that up with Colonel Hogan?” he asked. LeBeau stuck out his chin in a familiar show of stubbornness.

“Of course I did,” he said just a second too quickly.

Kinch shook his head.

“Man, now I know why you won’t play poker with Newkirk. He’d clean you right out.” He sighed. “LeBeau, you can’t just take a radio because you feel like it. Do you know how many of the guys miss listening to the Andrew Sisters or the World Series?”

hint (from A Fifth of Glenlivet, The Mummy)

The tea was light and slightly sweet, with a hint of mint. Egyptian style. Rick – though more of a coffee guy – had to admit that for what he considered to be lightly flavoured hot water, it wasn’t that bad, especially without the obligatory splash of milk generally favoured by the British.

heart (from Manifold, The Mummy)

She waits a little, enjoying the wind on her face and the shade the balloon casts over them; then she asks without looking at him, her voice very low, her heartbeat very loud, “Whom did you fall in love with first: Elizabeth, or Tom?”

toast (from In A Mellow Tone, The Mummy)

“Good Heavens. And I thought my parents had their hands full with me and Evy.” Jonathan put his palm into his hand and grinned. “How much of a scamp were you when you were a kid?”

“Not that much,” Harry said with a sharp smile, “but I usually got away with a lot, even more than Nellie did. You see, I didn’t often let myself get caught.”

“Sound philosophy,” said Jonathan, raising his half-empty pint in a toast Harry met with his own. “So you have four siblings?”

operation (from What Nightmares May Come, Hogan's Heroes)

The conversation in Klink’s office seemed to be over, so Kinch unplugged the coffee pot and replaced the lid. They were all thinking the same thing; all operations would have to come to a complete stop. The absence of the sub already meant they couldn’t go through with their orders of ‘assisting escaping prisoners’; but this meant that the other part, about ‘cooperating with all friendly forces and using every means possible to injure and harass the enemy’, was nixed as well if nobody could set foot outside camp.

_______________________

That's it for Tuttle's words! Now for Rose's :o)

sea (from What Nightmares May Come, Hogan's Heroes)

“Let’s hope that your escape will earn him a one-way ticket to the Russian front,” Hogan grimly quipped, his eyes serious. “In the meantime, you get to stay at the… ‘guerilla Hilton’ for a couple of days, we fit you with civilian clothes and official papers, and you do a little cross-country ‘round the German countryside. There’s a British sub in the North sea, a little off Wangerland. You’ll be in England faster than you can say ‘fish and chips’.”

star (from What Nightmares May Come, Hogan's Heroes)

Hogan whistled between his teeth. “So they’re basically stuck here for God knows how long?”

“Basically.”

“No chance of a plane, I suppose?”

“I asked. Apparently, if our guests were two-star generals, they would consider sending one.” Hogan didn’t miss the discreet sarcasm in his radioman’s deadpan voice.

pleasant (from A Fifth of Glenlivet, The Mummy)

Something loosened in the set of Jonathan’s shoulders.

“Good. Because if you’re planning to steal more toolkits for my sister then it’s better if… Well, you know. She’s had a lot flung at her because she has the gall to be a scholar and a girl, and ‘only half-English’ to boot.”

Something told Rick that particular turn of phrase glossed over many others, much less pleasant. Which both siblings probably had their own share ‘flung at’ them, come to think of it.

walk (from Underture, The Legend of Vox Machina)

Scanlan let his hand fall and rolled his eyes.

“Look, you don’t need to get your panties in a knot. I can see better than you at the moment, so the way I see it there’s only one way you won’t fall behind and get lost.” He walked back to Vax and thrust out his hand with a grin large enough to be obvious even in the dark. “Wanna hold hands?”

linger (from What Nightmares May Come, Hogan's Heroes)

“Oh, perfectly, Major,” Klink muttered in an almost defeated tone, resisting the urge to rub his temples. The lingering headache had been small this morning, the inevitable result of a restless night, but Hochstetter excelled in the art of making migraines in other people’s heads grow in a way even Hogan did not.

Thanks again :o)