Halsin - Tumblr Posts
I want to get more used to writing low stakes lil blurbs so please enjoy this, also posted on ao3 under my pseud brewstersbru :) hopefully being able to post it here will bring the perfectionism anxiety down lol
***
Astarion is perhaps the one of the most interesting, irritating, but somehow undoubtedly kind people Halsin has ever observed. Though he’d flay anyone who had the audacity to tell him it.
The duties of an Arch-Druid are many, and often arduous in nature, but nonetheless rewarding. And it all boils down to watching, observing, noticing little idiosyncrasies in the people he leads. The people who trust him with their lives and wellbeing. Halsin has become well-accustomed to watching, as any good leader must and it is no surprise that the skill has followed him to where he is now, camping with a menagerie of illithid-infected souls, searching for a cure.
Though, with this aforementioned observational skill, Halsin has gotten the distinct impression that many of them seek quite a bit more than a simple cure. Absolution, freedom, a clearer path forward. It is so often in the words they don’t say, rather than those they choose to reveal. For example, Gale never talks of an ‘after’, a concept all of the others seem so enamored with, save Astarion, of course. He simply hums and offers a small melancholy smile when conversation turns to the topic of everyone’s plans after they find a cure. It wasn’t difficult to figure him out, not when Halsin had been paying attention. Gale is convinced that dying is the only way to atone for his sins. To be forgiven.
Halsin’s heart aches at the thought; poor child, it is not a sin to wish to be loved. But he digresses.
Astarion, curiosity that he is, had immediately captured Halsin’s attention when he’d joined camp. On the surface he seemed shallow, and ill-tempered, but Halsin has not gotten this far in life by making quick judgements on a person’s first actions after he’s met them. Sure enough, he’d caught a glimpse of the real Astarion not even two days later.
It had been a long day, brimming with long, arduous battles after which they had all come out exhausted and bloodied. Wyll, with his lion’s heart, had fought especially ferociously. Perhaps too much so. His robe was torn horribly across the front and he’d had to be propped up as they trudged back to camp, unfortunately neither Halsin nor Shadowheart had maintained enough energy to heal anyone.
Astarion had almost immediately wedged himself under Wyll’s arm, curling an arm around his waist while also berating him as they walked. “What in the hells were you thinking jumping out like that! You’re weak, leave the feats of strength to Karlach you dolt!” And on and on. The words were cutting, and not entirely fair, but still, his hands remained gentle against his friends skin and he walked slowly so as not to jostle his injuries.
Shadowheart- exhausted herself, likely with a beast of a headache after all of the concentration spells she’d been slinging- had told Astarion to shut it, only hearing the words and not the worry behind them. He had obliged- another kindness-as his eyes darted around the scrunched pain painted over her expression and his own expression set in resolve. Still, he performed a pout, and everyone took it for what it was- or rather, what he’d wanted them to take it for: Astarion being his usual surly self.
Halsin took it for what it truly was, a man doing his best to aid his friends and keep their spirits high after such a grueling encounter. He’d thought they needed someone to direct their exhausted irritation at, lest they start picking themselves apart instead (something Halsin had noticed, but was unaware Astarion knew of) and offered himself like it was as natural as breathing.
The kindnesses didn’t stop there, either. When they made it to camp he’d taken Wyll to his bedroll as the others collapsed onto their own. Rummaged through the camp supplies until he found a potion of greater healing, then did not feed it to Wyll until he was half asleep and delirious.
“Mmh… Dad?” Wyll had murmured, eyes squinted closed as he moved his head around. Astarion had simply hummed and continued feeding him the potion.
For the rest of the night he prepped ingredients with practiced efficiency and left them next to the communal cooking pot for when the rest of the party woke for breakfast. Halsin had needed to trance for a few hours, loathe as he was to turn away from the scene, and when he returned Wyll’s robe had been mended, folded and placed aside his head. Astarion was nowhere to be seen. Halsin hoped he’d found his way to his own tent for a short trance.
Elves do not need to sleep, this much is true, but even a short trance would have done wonders to refresh and replenish his energy. Astarion had to know that.
Halsin is still unsure what the other elf had done for the rest of that night, but he’d emerged from his tent with just as much practiced, haughty vigor as he’d always had halfway through breakfast the next morning.
“Astarion! Good morning! Thank you for aiding me in our trek back yesterday.” Wyll had smiled at him, something warm and molten in his eyes. Astarion simply huffed and waved it off, “Well, dear, someone needed to lecture you about the dangers of heroism. None of these dimwits were going to do it.” Wyll smiled and the others gave halfhearted protests from where they’d been digging into the breakfast Gale had prepared from the ingredients Astarion had left out for him. There was a sparkle in his eye as he caught sight of them eating it, something almost like pride, if Halsin had to name it.
The others had been dumbfounded, asking around the campfire about who had done it. When no one came forward they’d simply shrugged and taken it to mean that the culprit was too humble to take credit. Besides, who were they to question a miracle such as this. No one asked the vampire if he’d done the deed, why would he have? He doesn’t eat food anymore and he doesn’t even really like them.
It’s exactly what he wants them to think. Halsin has to give him points for his dedication to maintaining pretense. Wyll doesn’t mention his robe, but his eyes dart from hand to hand trying to scrutinize any bandages or pricks that might indicate a late-night sewing session. It’s a smart move on his part but Astarion, it seems, is a masterful tailor. His fingers are unbandaged and unbloodied.
Everything carefully thought out and executed. Every kindness meticulously planned and hidden. He truly is an enigma. He would rather his friends believe him selfish and cruel, than see him for the gentle, caring man he truly is.
The kindnesses continue, always carefully implemented so as to erase any and all suspicion that Astarion may have had any part in it. He continues to be outwardly difficult and mean so as to cover his tracks. Halsin can do little but watch, as he always has, that is, until Astarion’s little kindnesses eventually and inevitably extend to him, too.
He is not so easily fooled, has seen past the performance that the other man puts on for some reason that he is still trying to parse.
It’s a quiet evening, the battles of the day had been hard, but nothing they were ill-equipped to handle. The shadow curse has been getting to Halsin, though. Seeing his greatest failure in all of it’s unbearable misery has been weighing on him. And he knows his struggle is not invisible to his fellow party members. They seem unsure what to do about it, though, seeing as he is a centuries old former Arch-Druid with life experience they could hardly fathom. He enjoys his time at camp but cannot say with certainty that he is truly close to anyone there. Though he wishes to be, he is afraid they’ve placed him on somewhat of a pedestal after his actions in the grove, forgetting that he is fallible and full of emotion, same as them.
He very nearly misses it, when it happens, too caught up in his thoughts to hear the slight shuffling near the entrance to his tent. Thankfully, he doesn’t, and emerges with a small smile.
Astarion freezes at the sound of his emergence, crouched over something small and wooden at his feet. Then, almost as if possessed, his shoulders relax and he looks up with a devilish grin. “Halsin! My dear, I was just looking for you. Some wretched little thing of a child has gifted me with perhaps the ugliest wooden duck I’ve ever had the misfortune of laying my eyes on. And these things are in no way ‘beautiful’ on a good day. I cannot have something so… distasteful loitering around my tent. You mentioned you liked ducks so I thought it would be of better use here. Otherwise I’m throwing it in the river.” It’s a lot of words, more than the vampire generally tends to use in casual conversation, as much as he pretends he’s an insufferable chatterbox. That’s the second clue Halsin gets that perhaps there’s more to this than Astarion is telling him. The first being the way he froze, as if he hadn’t been expecting Halsin to be there. “Looking for you”, right…
Astarion stands and nods at the duck on the ground. It’s small, a little misshapen, but it’s got hearts carved where it’s eyes should be and for some reason Halsin finds that hopelessly endearing. He kneels and cradles the thing gently in his cupped palms.
When he looks up Astarion is grinning at him, still in that sneering performative way he likes to, but in his eyes that shine of pride makes itself known. Halsin likes the duck, it’s obvious. And Astarion is proud of himself, but he’ll never tell. He’ll never let anyone else be.
The third clue is dripping sluggishly down Astarion’s finger, stark and red against his deathly pale skin. Halsin remembers the first time he’d whittled. His hands had looked much of the same. He smiles.
“Thank you, Astarion. This is very good. Would you like some salve for your hand?”
Astarion’s eyes widen, only fractionally, but noticeable if you’d been looking in his eyes. And Halsin had been. Still, his expression shutters and he pastes another smirk on before turning his nose up at the duck.
“Thank the Gods, that ugly thing is your problem now. And I’ve no idea what you mean dear, my hand is perfectly serviceable.” He rushes away with a perfunctory wave, likely to rob Halsin of the opportunity to call him out on his bullshit. Halsin only smiles and cradles the duck. He’d bloodied his hands for this, for him. The surge of affection that washes through him is entirely involuntary but wholly welcome.
Astarion wakes from his trance the next morning to a gift settled gently at the entrance of his tent. It’s a wooden cat, masterfully carved from a dark oak and undeniably beautiful. Perfectly fitting the vampire’s tastes and sensibilities.
A note lies beside it in what he recognizes to be Halsin’s messy scrawl.
Thank you, Astarion, again for the duck. It thrills and delights me to know that you care. It did make me feel better, you know, and I still have that salve if you need. All you have to do is ask. I thought I’d return the favor, seeing as you do so much for the camp but refuse to let anyone see it, or thank you.
I see you. I thank you.
Yours,
Halsin
More halstarion cuz ive been playing my lil origin run; also happy halloween folks !
Pain. Sharp, dragging, unbearable agony against his back. Astarion huffs a small noise of pitiful discontent before clenching his mouth shut. Quiet. Can’t let him hear you. His fangs tear a little into his gums, but there isn’t enough blood in him for any to really trickle out of the wounds.
A voice- disembodied, but cold and lilting as ever- sounds from behind. “My dear, how prettily you bleed. Even lovelier now, with the poetry I am bestowing upon you. Truly, a gift. And what do we say to gifts, Astarion?”
Astarion moans miserably into the ground- or is it a steel surgical table? He can’t remember, he can’t focus. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. There’s a feeling of hands in his hair, grasping, tearing- the flash of a derisive, fanged grin- “What do we say, Astarion?”
His name sounds like rot coming from his lips, similar to the way one would utter the word “disgusting” or “vile”. Astarion hiccups with the force of his suffering- it’s simply too much, never before has Cazador been so persistent, never before has he carved so deep, for so long. Astarion’s weak, starving body cannot maintain itself against his tides of cruelty.
There is quiet as Cazador waits for his answer, he knows Astarion will do his very best to give it. Years and years of this torment had to have culminated into something- into an exceedingly loyal dog, he’d hoped. It’s why he tries not to command anything; not only because it takes the fun out of things, but also because it encourages a kind of devotion to the task that a simple order could never elicit. Pain can be such a useful tool, and he’s spent years honing his skill with it.
Astarion gasps, chokes on a putrid mix of saliva and droplets of rat blood as they clog in his throat. “T-Thank you.” He coughs. Cazador hums and pushes his head back down. He runs a sharp nail down the middle of the warm, wet mess on Astarion’s back. It stings like a million tiny needles.
“Thank you, what?”
He digs the nail into one of the runes he’d just finished carving, ever so slightly, and Astarion writhes in agony. His breath comes choppy and ragged, and tears track endlessly down his nose. A moment, two, as Astarion brings a heaving breath in and steels himself against the revulsion he is about to feel.
“Thank you, Master.” The hum this elicits is decidedly pleased and Astarion hates himself all the more for earning it. If only he was stronger, if only he were able to hold out just a bit longer. If only he’d been able to make himself wait; Cazador would have grown tired, would have ordered him, eventually.
Now, he is little more than a lapdog, bereft of even his pride, and the pain will only continue. How he despises the man he’s become, the man Cazador has moulded him into.
The agony in his back resumes, even sharper and more unbearable than before. Astarion muffles a scream behind clenched teeth and wrenches his eyes open to reveal a circling of trees. A cool gust of air swipes across his sweat-soaked skin and he shivers, slightly.
Astarion takes a moment to orient himself. He’d been trancing, curled into himself and facing away from the fire- Gods know why, he could use all the heat he can get with the way his undead body refuses to hold onto it on its own; some lingering self-flagellation, perhaps.
He’s no longer bound to Cazador- for the time being at least- he’s fine. The ‘dream’ or whatever that had been was only a memory. Nothing more. He’s fine.
Sitting up, he swats at the tear tracks on his cheeks and comes face-to-face with a wide-eyed Halsin, who had been whittling, it seems, judging by the knife in one hand and the partially carved wooden-something in the other. Astarion ducks and covers his face with a slender hand.
“What in the hells are you doing, you oaf!?”
“… Whittling?” Halsin’s voice cracks a bit as he stumbles over the word. Astarion tries not to notice how endearing that is. He huffs.
“I gathered. Could you just- turn around? Please?”
Halsin tilts his head to the side, just slightly, and stares at him with furrowed brows, mouth set in a firm line. He speaks carefully, but directly, unable to tiptoe around a subject when they’re both aware of the gravity of it.
“Are you alright, my friend? I don’t mean to pry, it’s just I noticed-“
“Not now.” Astarion’s voice comes out rough, grating, and he cannot bring himself to look Halsin in the eye as he speaks.
“… Alright” There’s a shuffling as- assumedly- Halsin picks himself up and heads back to his tent. Astarion only allows himself a breath of relief when the other man’s footsteps retreat outside of his range of hearing.
On one hand, Astarion is astoundingly, exceedingly grateful to have his wishes honored. On the other, it is so, very quiet, and he can still feel the ghosts of fingers petting, clawing and grasping at his skin. He feels dirty, a vile little thing ought to be left in the dirt.
His back aches- phantom pains, he knows- and even years after their conception his scars throb. It’s not the first time this has happened, but it is the first time he’s been able to focus on it, the first time no other, greater pain can distract him from the dull shock of remembrance. Maybe he’d never healed correctly, maybe it’s his mind playing its usual tricks.
Suddenly unable to stand the scratch of cloth against the raised skin on his back, Astarion wrestles his shirt off of himself. Sharp nails dragging uncaringly against the skin as if trying to sate an itch. He wants the ‘poetry’ off of himself, he wants to be clean.
His scratching becomes more fervent, less careful as his thoughts spiral. A sob works its way up, only to die in his throat, he chokes a little on it. Off. Off. Off. He needs it off. He wishes he could claw the taint away. His skin crawls under his fingernails, even as they scratch past skin. Blood flows, sluggish, down the bony curve of his spine. It is not an unfamiliar feeling.
A sharp gasp sounds, quiet, but cutting in the previous silence that had pervaded the space around the campfire. Astarion does not dare look up from the ground. Great. Another interruption to him losing his fucking mind.
Thankfully- which, who could guess he’d ever think the word in relation to the druid- it’s just Halsin again. Arms now laden with jars and cloth, rather than the sharp woodworking tools he’d left the fire with. The jars are labeled, but his scrawl is too small for Astarion to parse the words.
“Astarion, my friend, please cease this needless self-mutilation!” He rushes to Astarion’s side, carefully placing the jars on the side of his bedroll and gently, loosely grasping at Astarion’s wrists- assumedly to encourage the vampire to pry his claws from his skin. He doesn’t push, simply holds him there.
The warmth is welcome, grounding in the swirl of pain and cold and despair that had previously been clouding Astarion’s mind. He lets out an unnecessary, but comforting breath and allows his hands to be pried away.
“Good. That’s good, my friend, thank you.”
Astarion grouses a discontented sound, to which Halsin huffs a small chuckle.
“Alright- you’re alright. You were looking rather pale- moreso than usual at least- and I had hoped some of my oils or salves could soothe any injuries you’d overlooked, or old aches.” He pauses for a moment and rifles through the pile of goods he’d brought over, “As elves, our ‘nightmares’ are more memories, than anything. I’m more than familiar with a long-forgotten wound making itself known after a particularly jarring remembrance. I am sorry yours were so visceral.”
He’s babbling, Astarion notices, low voice rather quick compared to its usual steady thrum, but he can appreciate the effort in attempting to keep him grounded. His body doesn’t want to move, though, and he simply slumps into himself, gaze steadily forward, hollow, almost in its vacancy.
“Here let me-“ A warmth hovers over the mess of Astarion’s back. Well, this is rather familiar. But it pauses,hesitates. Still, Astarion can feel himself tensing. A short, ragged sound punches out of him, unwitting. Halsin hums.
“Apologies, my friend, it seems my manners have escaped me in my nerves. May I touch you? I wish only to soothe the hurt, I have a balm that should do the trick well and once I’ve applied it, my hands will not touch your skin again should you wish it.”
Astarion takes a moment, another unnecessary breath, then nods. It’s curt, almost imperceptible really, but Halsin had been paying very close attention to his body’s reactions. He thanks him- what for, Astarion cannot even begin to fathom.
It’s quiet as Halsin’s deft fingers tenderly pass a wet towelette down his spine to clean the blood from it. It soothes, cool and stinging against new cuts and Astarion can only hope that at least he’d left new scars. Something to disrupt the carving of pure malice that had lain there, undisturbed, for so long.
“Thank you.” It takes a while, and his voice is fairly destroyed by what he can only assume had been long minutes of screaming and sobbing in his sleep, coupled with the panic attack after waking. Halsin’s fingers continue their deft work.
“Please. No need. If I may I- I hate to see you struggle so. Is there anything that caused it? Anything we can avoid?” His sincerity is sweet, but useless. Astarion shakes his head.
“Comes and goes, really. Used to be able to ignore it with other things. Can’t focus on memories when the present is fucked too, right?” Astarion chuckles, but Halsin does not join in.
It’s quiet for a bit, Halsin’s hands feel almost hesitant against his skin, “I am not a man easily drawn to violence but- well- your old master deserves nothing but the slowest, most painful death possible. I know it means little but I am sorry. You did not deserve his torment. No one could deserve that.”
“I was no angel in life, druid. For a long time, it seemed like a penance.” The words are almost hissed, but the sincerity in them is unmistakable.
“Even penance ends, eventually, Astarion. Forgiveness usually follows. Two hundred years is more than enough time. Especially when you had not even truly lived before being thrust into undeath- I mean thirty-nine? You still bear your child name.” Halsin sounds almost pained, although his hands remain steady, now pressing fingerfuls of balm to each cut, and even the undamaged rune-scars too. Something in Astarion howls, surges forward into an incessant rage at the tenderness.
“And perhaps I was a truly devilish child, druid! Perhaps I deserved it!” Halsin sighs.
“No one deserves that, Astarion. You have to know that.”
“If I allow myself to believe that, then I have to accept victimhood. I have to accept that loss of control. I have to accept that it’s not that I deserved it, it’s that no one cared enough to try to save me. Tell me, druid, which would you rather believe.” With a final, gentle pass of his thumb Halsin retreats. Shamefully, Astarion misses the warmth of his touch. The druid rounds his bedroll, settling criss-crossed in front of him and busying himself with organizing his bottles into a neat pile.
“Well, first, I’d like it if you used my name and not my title. It feels rather impersonal talking to you when you won’t even call me ‘Halsin’. Second, I truly don’t know, but I have always favored the truth over anything else.”
Astarion hisses, “I will call you what I like, not what you tell me to call you.” Halsin simply nods, and something inside him deflates. Backs down from its haunches.
“Oh, alright, you big baby. Halsin. Maybe the truth is that I was- however implausibly- the kind of person to deserve my penance.”
Halsin seems to light up at the sound of his name from Astarion’s lips. Astarion tries to find it dorky and uncool and not hopelessly endearing. Then, “I find that incredibly hard to believe. Had you even chosen an adult name? Had anything in mind?”
Astarion falls quiet at this. “I had an idea, a few, maybe. I remember being excited about them, I thought I was so clever with the word choice… But I cannot remember them. Cazador only called me by this name, when he deigned to adress me, and I did not exactly have the time or energy to care about choosing another.”
Something within Halsin cracks at the admission. To have that rite stolen from him was abhorrent. Heartbreaking.
“Truly you remember nothing?”
Astarion shrugs, “Hard to find that kind of thing important when there are other, more pressing matters. It’s not like the names would fit me anymore, either, two hundred years have taken their toll, after all.” He smiles, a crooked, self-depreciating thing and gestures to himself, the scars on his back. “Thank you, by the way. I wouldn’t have treated them on my own.” The thanks doesn’t even need to be forced from his lips. Halsin smiles at the ease with which it is offered.
“No need. And I know.”
It’s quiet for a while longer. The two of them take the time to simply look at each other. Astarion wonders, for perhaps the millionth time, what Halsin is seeing as he gazes at him with such open fondness and admiration. Surely it cannot be him. Godssakes he hasn’t even seen himself in two hundred years, who knows what kind of effect it’s had on his wrinkles. He tries not to dwell.
“I’m going to read.” Astarion says, when he can no longer stand the thought of just how many lines have been carved in his face, without the help of Cazador’s many painful instruments. Halsin simply nods, but continues searching his face. Astarion is unsure what he’s looking for, but is fairly certain, whatever it is, has long since left him. Nowadays he’s mostly bared teeth and vengeance more than anything.
“Please, go right ahead. If you would not protest, I would very much like to join you. I’ll whittle, stay quiet so you can focus. Would that be alright?” He tilts his head to the side, and, with the way he’s fiddling with a jar, seems so incredibly bear-like in the moment that Astarion has to clamp down on a giggle.
“… Alright. But you had better keep that promise to stay quiet.” Halsin grins, a warm, blinding thing.
“As a mouse. And we druids are rather good at mimicking animals, you know.”
A laugh punches itself from Astarion’s throat as he heads back to his tent and settles on some pillows, his most recent thick tome open in his lap.
It’s not long before Halsin is quietly announcing his presence, shuffling around to settle a few feet away, legs tucked up under him as he situates himself against the nearest surface- a stolen chest from one of the many towers they’d rummaged through.
It’s easy to forget he’s there- or, no, it’s easy to simply exist in a space with him. Astarion doesn’t feel the need to perform or prove anything to him- after all, he’s basically seen him at his worst- and the silence is warm. Interrupted, every so often, by the methodical scrape of metal against wood, or the crisp flipping of a page.
Before he can stop himself, Astarion’s fallen into another trance. This time blissfully devoid of any visions or memories.
He wakes to an empty tent, but his book is neatly bookmarked and stowed beside his bedroll. He, himself had been carefully tucked under a pelt of some sort- a piece he knew was not from his own tent- and next to the book lay a small, intricately carved wooden star. On the back, a careful engraving:
little star, how you shine
It feels like a declaration.
Hey folks so im going to try nanowrimo for the first time this year and thus probably wont be posting a whole bunch on here but if u want to request bg3 (or other fandoms! Im in a lot of them and if i dont know it i just will leave it until i do or not do it altogether) oneshots/pairings/scenes in my askbox, i can use them for warmups or for a bit of a break if i ever get stuck on my novel writing :) thanks for all the love on my bg3 oneshots tho yall ROCK
Im back for a bit I'm getting writers block on my wrimo; have some really bad galehalstarion (?) bloodbearweave (?)
“Goodnight darling.” Astarion purrs, pressing a gentle kiss to Gale’s forehead as he pulls away for the night. Of course, he had been chivalrous enough to clean everything up, Gale included, but not chivalrous enough to stay the night, it seems.
For the past few nights he’s been making his rounds, first to Halsin, now, Gale. Gale suspects it has something to do with their most recent encounter with the drow woman with the vampire fetish where they had both refused to order him to do anything, and instead reinforced his personhood, which, evidently, he hadn’t been anticipating.
Leaving early also likely has something to do with the fact that no one else in camp has any idea that the three of them are in any way… involved. To be fair, they’ve each got quite a bit else going on, outside of petty camp matters. Wyll has his whole complicated thing with Mizora, Karlach’s got her engine to worry about, Shadowheart with her budding religious crisis and Lae’zel with her ongoing religious crisis, after what happened at the monastery.
Which, Gale had thought that would be all the more reason to not have to be as careful as they usually were- preoccupied minds are less perceptive and all- but evidently Astarion is not of the same mind.
He leaves with a roguish grin and cheeky fingers dragging across Gale’s ankle before the tent flap closes behind him. Gale has to take another moment to himself in order to prevent any further blood circulation to unwanted areas before he can fully process what has just happened.
Falling into bed with Astarion is nothing new, really. He, Astarion, and more recently, Halsin have been tangling in the sheets for a good while. Gale can say with certainty that he knows which spots to kiss around to make Astarion flush, to make Halsin groan in contentment, and that the other two know just as much about what makes him tick.
It’s just, usually, he gets a chance to reciprocate. To funnel the pleasure that has been given to him back into his partner(s), often in excess. He enjoys the feeling, having done something- or in this case, someone- so well and thoroughly that there is no room for discontent or unease. Astarion, especially, usually revels in it. Writhes and gasps, grinning still, as he takes what he is given. Halsin always enjoys a good show.
Today, though, the vampire had entered his tent with a mission. His movements were purposeful, his voice practiced and purring as he brought Gale to the edge and over time and time again. He was not to be contented until the wizard had spent himself thrice at least. And Gale is in no way ungrateful for this gift, in fact it’s the most well fucked he thinks he’s been in a good long while. It just hadn’t really seemed like it was Astarion, that he was fucking. Rather someone with his face, attempting to act out what he thought Gale’s greatest fantasies were, in order to elicit the best reaction. To be exactly what he thought Gale needed. When all Gale has ever really needed or wanted these past few weeks was to see his lover(s) happy and sated.
He was robbed of that tonight. And Astarion had seemed pleased with himself when he looked down upon Gale and saw the pleasure he had wrought, but he had also seemed a thousand miles away. Gale doesn’t like to speculate on what might have caused that, but the thought is as horrible and inevitable as the man who caused it. Cazador.
Even just an inkling that lying with him had been, in any way, close to what Astarion had experienced with his old, cruel master, was enough to make Gale sick to his stomach. He wonders if Halsin had had a similar experience. He resolves to talk to him tomorrow, without Astarion present, just in case his theory is correct, and they need to stage an intervention.
***
Halsin is expecting him, when he ducks through the flap of the other man’s tent early the next morning. The sun has not even risen yet, but Halsin is fiddling with a knife and a small piece of wood, a pensive tilt to his eyebrows as he works. He sets his tools aside as soon as Gale makes himself known and pats the ground beside him.
“Good morning, my heart. Please, have a seat.” Gale complies, dropping a fond peck to his temple as he does so. Halsin, in turn, wraps an oak-thick arm around his waist and pulls him into his side. Gale cannot help the startled chuckle that this elicits, and smacks his arm, halfheartedly.
“Good morning, love. Stop trying to be mushy I have serious business with you this morning!” At this, Halsin pauses his tender ministrations, then shakes his head.
“First Astarion, and now you. My heart, can we not have a moment solely for the sake of joy and pleasure?”
Gale perks up at the sound of their other lover’s name. “Astarion was here?” He asks, then, realizing that this is a stupid question, amends, “I mean, he did that thing where he came in and set himself to servicing you with a- frankly, quite intense- single-minded focus? Without allowing you breath or movement enough to reciprocate?” Halsin’s head jerks in his direction and Gale knows he’s hit the nail right on the head.
“Yes…” Halsin admits, “Although it was significantly more difficult to restrain me, I would surmise.” Gale allows a short chuckle at this, nodding. Halsin smiles indulgently down at him.
“He’s quite strong, when he is fed. And I am quite weak, after being fed upon.” Halsin seems to find this rather amusing but Gale’s stomach churns a little at the thought of their lover using his nature against them like that, in order to deprive himself of their love, yes, but also Halsin of his autonomy. They definitely need to have a chat.
“We should talk to him about this, right? I disliked not being able to reciprocate.” Gale asks, tentative. Halsin has always been the more level-headed of the three of them, almost to a fault. He allows much that Gale himself wouldn’t stand for. Thankfully he nods his agreement. They decide it best to attempt to corner him the next time Tav leaves them in camp together. It’s their best shot at being anywhere close to alone anytime soon, and he won’t be able to use adventuring as an excuse to not address the problem.
In the relatively short amount of time they’ve all spent in a relationship, that’s one thing Gale’s noticed. Astarion is especially flighty when it comes to talking about his thoughts and/or feelings. They have strategies for that, thankfully. It just takes a tactful hand.
***
It’s not too long after his and Halsin’s conversation that they have the opportunity to act upon their plan. This was to be expected, of course, given that they- save Halsin- are not incredibly physically strong, and are, in fact, quite easy to hit and maim, if cornered. That, and Halsin is a walking signal of betrayal, if Tav had taken him to Moonrise with them, their cover would be immediately blown. Of course, Gale had accounted for all of this when he’d put forth the plan.
Karlach, Wyll, Shadowheart and Tav leave together, towards Moonrise. Lae’zel takes one look at the three of them, makes a face as if she’s just smelt something rotten, and fucks off to sharpen the stash of weapons Tav has been slowly but surely building next to her tent. Everything works out perfectly; with the rest of the camp gone, and Lae’zel otherwise occupied, Halsin and Gale make a beeline toward Astarion’s tent.
The vampire is flipping leisurely through a thick tome just in front of it, settled luxuriously on top of a mess of ornate pillows as he bathes in the sunlight. As they approach, he glances up, and pastes a devilish grin over whatever expression he had been sporting previously. Gale frowns.
“Good morning, my heart! How fortuitous that we are all, as you say, ‘off the hook’ for today.” Halsin decides to greet him first, crouching down and scooping him into his arms as he speaks. Gale reaches a hand to card through his hair.
“Yes, love, we thought it only natural to pay you a visit. We’d also like to talk to you about something, if that’s alright. Could we step into your tent?” Gale is usually the one to beat around the bush, to weave his words in such a complex and convoluted way so as to confuse and disorient everyone not intimately aware of the way he usually speaks. Something about this situation unsettles him, though, puts him on edge. He feels a compulsion to get this conversation over with as soon as possible.
Halsin does not pull away from Astarion for another few seconds but he nods when they do finally separate. There’s something iron and unreadable in Astarion’s expression.
“Of course, darlings. Please.” He steps into his tent and gestures for them to follow after him. It’s just as immaculately well-kept and organized as Gale remembers it being. Now that he thinks about it, though, it’s been a while since they’ve all been in his tent. Usually they gather in Halsin’s tent, with all of the warm pelts and useful oils he has stocked. Astarion has added quite a few new books to his collection- likely from all of the abandoned houses and towers they keep rummaging through- his shelves are beginning to rival gale’s own. Gale cannot help but grin as he casts a look around.
Astarion’s sharp voice snaps him from his reverie. “So? Out with it, you’re breaking up with me. The throuple stuff was fun while it lasted but you’ve found that it’s just so much better when it’s just the two of you, right?”
His words drip like venom from his lips, biting and cold in ways he hasn’t been with the two of them for quite some time. Gale finds himself wrong-footed for a minute or so, of all the things he’d been expecting walking into Astarion’s tent, that hadn’t been one of them. Still, he can’t say it’s unfounded, he probably should have been more careful with the way he worded his invitation to talk. Thinking back on it, it had kind of sounded like a preface to a breakup. He cringes at himself and looks to Halsin for support.
The other man seems similarly taken aback, but recovers himself more quickly than Gale can. He steps forward, hand outstretched to grasp at Astarion’s shoulder, but he jerks- flinches, really, and oh doesn’t that sting- away. Halsin slowly retracts his hand, expression attempting to hide how crestfallen he truly is and failing, quite miserably. He’s always been a rather straightforward fellow.
“Astarion,” His voice is low, soft, “of course not. We love you. We wanted to talk about the other night with us.” He gestures between the two of them, “And then the night you shared with Gale, recently.” Gale nods, finally finding his voice.
“Love, no. No, he’s right, we love you so much. I- we- were just worried about how… Distant you seemed the last few times we were intimate.” Gale steps forward but keeps his distance, hoping that his eyes can convey the swirl of love and concern he feels.
Astarion bristles and holds the tension within himself for a moment before crumbling. He sighs, shakes his head and sits heavily on the nest of pillows he’s built on the floor. Halsin and Gale give him a moment, hovering, until he waves his hand for them to sit. At the signal, they rush to his side and- with another slight hesitation before laying any hands on him- nestle themselves into all of his favorite spots.
This seems to make him feel marginally better- his head is still in his hands, but his shoulders relax slightly- and that knowledge alone is enough of a comfort to relax Gale’s own shoulders.
There are another few minutes of tense, suspended silence before Astarion decides to speak again, voice quieter and less stable than ever before.
“I’m sorry… I just-“ He laughs, a little, broken thing, “hells you probably already know- but I just… You were so kind to me, about me, with the drow. I wanted to thank you properly. I wanted to show you that treating me that way would be fruitful, so that you would keep doing it.” He cringes at himself, “Now that I’m saying it out loud, it sounds so manipulative. I’m sorry. I just- I wanted to make it worth it.”
Another near minute of silence. Halsin glances over Astarion’s head over at Gale who has furrowed his brows.
“My heart… We would have done that either way. Anyone here would have. We don’t have to be sleeping with you to care about you.” Astarion shakes his head at this.
“But I liked it! I think. I didn’t need to go away from myself like I did. It felt good, and I was having fun, and, more importantly, you were having fun-“ Gale scoffs and cuts him off.
“Not more importantly, love. Never ‘more importantly’. Come now. And I don’t think it matters if it felt good, if you were so focused on making it good for us. Making sure we enjoyed it so much that you couldn’t let yourself be in the moment.” It seems impossible, but Gale presses himself closer to his lover, skating a comforting hand under his shirt and up his chest.
“Is this okay?” Astarion nods. “Words, please, love.”
He chokes out a wet, “Yes, darling.”
“Good boy. Thank you.” A long shudder works its way through Astarion at the words, but Gale knew that would happen. He’s too keyed up right now, too stressed and worried; Gale couldn’t stand it. Halsin smiles and thumbs at the juncture between his neck and jaw. Astarion hums, content, and blinks sluggishly as he leans into their hands.
“I’m sorry.” He says again, more slurred, and sluggish this time.
Halsin hushes him, moving one of his hands to his lips to dip a gentle finger in and tug at one of his fangs. Astarion’s eyes flutter.
“And we’re sorry, my heart. We should have seen the signs of this much earlier than we did. Next time, let’s just talk to each other, hm?” Both Gale and Astarion hum affirmatives at this.
Gale has climbed more fully into Astarion’s lap, setting himself to work unbuttoning his shirt as Halsin continues to thumb at his sensitive fangs. The vampire pants and drools onto his collarbone, and Gale coos at him.
“Oh, sweetheart. Halsin, let up, would you? Look at him, already half-ruined just from that.” Halsin complies, but not before a final short tug on the fang and a kiss pressed to the area right underneath Astarion’s ear. “Gorgeous.”
He whispers, as he pulls away, eliciting another heavy shudder. Gale, finally having successfully removed Astarion’s shirt, hums to himself.
“Look at you. So beautiful, and to think, you tried to deprive us of this breathtaking sight.” The words are punctuated by a short press of the wizard’s fingernail into the soft flesh of his nipple. Astarion whines high in his throat. Halsin noses at his neck.
“I-ggh- I’m sorry.” He hiccups. Gale hushes him, hand trailing through the soft white hair on his navel. “Hey, it’s okay, sweetheart. We can see you now. Isn’t that right?” Gale, himself, isn’t quite sure who he’s talking to, but both of his lovers nod fervently at the question.
“That’s right, baby. Can I get your pants? Or do you want them on this time?” This is something that happens sometimes, where Astarion will want to partake in sexual activities, without having to bare himself to them completely. Gale actually often prefers these times, because it means he gets to be creative with how he attempts to get him off. Also, being able to focus on the gorgeous look on his face as he comes… Nothing compares. Halsin, of course, prefers it all-natural, but is extremely accommodating when Astarion finds himself at a mental block. As long as his lovers are happy, he’s happy.
It seems today is one of those days, as Astarion slowly and hesitantly shakes his head, then opens his mouth around what Gale is almost certain is another apology.
“Hey.” He kisses him before he can get the chance, “That’s alright, that’s perfect. You’re perfect. You want my hand?” Astarion nods, closing his eyes and throwing his head back onto Halsin’s shoulder.
Halsin rumbles against his back and brings his own hands to his hips, guiding him in his grind against the firm pressure Gale is applying from above. Trapped from both sides, completely out of control and loving it, Astarion lets out a long and wrung out moan. Halsin grins against his neck.
“That’s it, little star. Let it wash over you. Feel our love.”
It’s coming in waves, little shocks of pleasure washing over and over themselves into a slowly building tide as he remembers that it’s Gale’s hand against him, and Halsin who is guiding his hips.
“I-hng- I love you. Ngh!” Astarion gasps, he needs them to know that he feels the same. Needs them to know he’s not just taking from them. Gale is smiling down at him, palm slowly circling the bulge in his trousers.
“We know, my love. Now, I remember how gorgeous you are when you come. Do you think you can show us, again?” It’s a question without a real answer, they all know that he can, and will. So help him, if Gale asked for the very sun in this moment, he would find a way to bottle it for him.
Astarion nods, frantic and eager to please, “I can, I can. Gale- Halsin-“ He pauses, brows knit together in concentration, evidently stuck at the crest of his orgasm. It takes Halsin mouthing against his ear and whispering, “Now, gorgeous boy.” To fully push him over.
He shakes through it, jerking in his lovers’ hold and shaking his head as wave after wave of pure ecstasy rolls through him. Gale does not stop moving his hand until he begins to shy away from overstimulation.
“Good boy.” He says, and pulls Astarion into a cuddle pile when he attempts to return the favor. “Not today, love. This was about you.”
Halsin rumbles his agreement, always slightly nonverbal after a good round in the sack, and wraps himself safely around the two of them. He presses a kiss to each of their heads before falling almost immediately asleep. He really is a bear that one; Gale can’t really blame him, though. It is getting rather cold and dark outside.
Gale makes a few gestures with his hand, imbuing magic into a few words so that Astarion’s pants dry and clean themselves. Astarion hums what sounds like a thank you against his neck and cuddles closer. Gale smiles to himself, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
That was quite a bit easier than he’d thought it’d be.
Huh.
Edit: OK looks like halstarion is coming out on top (dw galerolan lovers I plan on doing both of these this poll was just for which to do first) so after finals next week ill try and get this up asap- i plotted it today and its looking like itll be a longer oneshot so probably will put it on ao3!
EDIT: 2/3/24 ok so i think I'm gonna have to push back the galerolan one guys im sorry this year went totally sideways on the very first day for me and it's been a bit of a mess :( hope you guys liked the halstarion one though!!
A Very Halstarion Xmas
Here's that halstarion hallmark xmas fic! It got a little away from me ahahaha, happy holidays y'all!!
And if I posted baldurs gate 3 content…??
What we thinking??
Evil durge is so silly
i did relationship meme or sheets or whatever this is perhaps you might like it so feel free to use it (p.s. raphael was personal relationship lol)
enjoying the freedom of nature's gifts
When I started BG3 and met Halsin I was like yes I wanna romance this guy, but then I found out you couldn’t until act 3 so I was like meh forget that and switched to Astarion. Well we’re in Act 3, can’t get past high for Astarion and I’ve stumbled into a romance with Halsin 🤷🏼♀️
Halsin and Tav are beautiful but I’m honestly reblogging for the little artist drawing at the bottom 😭❤️
TEE HEE working on fancy looks again 🤭
full here
you know what, i like you *dadbodifies your Halsin*
Since you seemed to love my first Halsin sketches so much <3
Sketch page comm for @/hellh0neyyy on Twitter, featuring her gorgeous Tav and cuddly Halsin <3
Let's sprinkle around some more Halsin love to guide us through this year, shall we?
(full version [minors DNI])
Lovers in the night
