Halsin X Astarion - Tumblr Posts

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♡ halsin x astarion headcanons ♡

Halsin thinks Astarion is utterly beautiful and that's how it begins; through his fascination with a pale elf

and let me say; Halsin is not shy, he will tell Astarion how he feels about him rather quickly, he will be adoring him, showering him compliments and though Astarion may not always show it, he secretly enjoys these

but what Astarion is the most fond of is Halsin's words of devotion, his little assurances that Astarion is cherished and loved

of course he often heard words like these, but it was all a lie, soft words and behind those was lust. But Halsin is not like this, he can't be

Astarion feels good in Halsin's presence. he admires him even, his strong body and he gaze at it unabashed.

sometimes he likes to tease Halsin about his abundant hair (so unusual for an elf), but at the same you can hear a pang of fascination in his voice

Halsin is aware of Astarion troubled past, though Astarion not say much on that matters; Halsin just knows. He can see it, sense it and knows Astarion needs a lot of reassurance, even if he's not communicating it very well

so they play a long game, but Halsin is willing to wait

with kind words and soft touches Astarion slowly opens up, show vulnerability, which is not easy for someone like him

at nights, where there's only them Astarion loves being in Halsin's robust arms, it gives him peace

Halsin caresses his face and he's leaning into his hand like a kitten hungry of affection (which makes halsin's heart melt even more)

sometimes Astarion is snappy, is mean, sometimes he's frustrated and spit his words just to hurt and get a reaction, but Halsin's a true stoic at heart and you can't get him mad like this. he knows Astarion don't want to push him really, he's just scared and lost

Halsin can see through Astarion’s snarky remarks and responding with gentleness (and sometimes sarcasm as well, he can be witty when he wants to)

There is not denying the fact that Halsin is calm and his inner calmness has a soothing affect on Astarion. he slowly learns to accept and live freely

and as for Astarion, he shows his love in small endearing ways I feel

he often surprised Halsin with random kisses, enjoying the simplicity of a kiss being just a kiss

sometimes he sits on Halsin's lap, being in the moment, enjoying his warmth and presence

Halsin allows Astarion to do anything that pleases him basically, he let's Astarion set boundaries in their relationship and he's just enjoying tender moments with his pale lover, no matter what they are

about blood; I think drinking Halsin's blood more often than not ends up in some intimate way, as I can't imagine at lest one of them not getting a boner during the process

Astarion drinks Halsin's blood with such care and eagerness, not letting a drop go to waste and it's hottt

and talking about hot; I feel like they like it rough and intense

like hair pulling, body bruising, wet kind of sex

Astarion often prefers to ride Halsin, enjoying the control and Halsin doesn't mind; if something he thinks Astarion looks breathtaking above him, his milky skin glistening with sweat

his big hands guiding his hips and caressing his body

Halsin want to look into Astarion eyes a lot "let me see those eyes"

and when he comes inside him, he grunts and his hands squeeze Astarion tender flesh, his hips almost quiver

when Astarion is close to climax, he guides Halsin’s big, rough (but skilled!) hand to his own member, whimpering deliciously when he comes

after sex however it's all soft and cozy, Halsin treats Astarion with utmost care and love, cleaning him up and showering him with affectionate words

he kisses Astarion all over his beautiful body, making him feel cherished (as he should!)

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

and here it is, my favourite ship from the game (apart delulu me x halsin of course) ˙ᵕ˙

you can find more of my works about bg3 (especially halsin) ♡here♡

For the Strongest, A Hard Claim ♡

Summary: "Halsin didn’t think it would happen so soon. Dear Silvanus, he wouldn’t have imagined, even in his wildest dreams, that tonight would be the night. The idea that Astarion craved his flesh so desperately was thrilling. Truth be told, everything about Astarion was thrilling for Halsin, but the thought that he wanted to penetrate him, to have his cock buried deep inside him—well, that was unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome..."

in which Halsin wanted to show Astarion just how incredibly satisfying it could be to be thoroughly and passionately taken by someone who truly cared :)

shameless smut with (a little bit of) fluff?

Word count: 2,600

Tags: anal sex, size difference, power dynamics, shameless smut

Warnings: explicit content (18+)

Author's note: So... I’ve been daydreaming about Halsin taking a more submissive role for a change. I’m all about seeing this big, manly elf enjoying himself like that, not being ashamed of what he wants, so I wrote this for my own delight and figured there might be others with similarly *sophisticated* tastes (hihi)

also! you can read this on ao3 if you prefer it that way ♡

Halsin didn’t think it would happen so soon. Dear Silvanus, he wouldn’t have imagined, even in his wildest dreams, that tonight would be the night. The idea that Astarion craved his flesh so desperately was thrilling. Truth be told, everything about Astarion was thrilling for Halsin, but the thought that he wanted to penetrate him, to have his cock buried deep inside him—well, that was unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome.

Today, the air between them crackled with anticipation since the early morning. Halsin could see the desire in Astarion's eyes, a silent plea for more. Their pace had been slow thus far, but Halsin didn't mind. The kisses were plentiful, filled with passion and when everyone else was sleeping they were nestled close, their bodies basking in the warmth of their shared closeness. Their hands roamed with an insatiable hunger, eagerly exploring each other's bodies with fervent touches and from time to time their mouths worked skilfully, lavishing attention on each other's cocks, providing a delicious satisfaction that eased their cravings…at least for the moment.

“Tonight, Halsin… I want more,” Astarion murmured, his voice a blend of longing and determination. Halsin’s breath hitched at the words and Astarion delicate hand reached around to caress the druid’s firm backside, his fingers brushing against the sensitive area between his cheeks. “I want this,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly with desire.

There was no possibility Halsin could say no to that. The desire in Astarion's eyes, coupled with the urgency of his words, left Halsin with no choice but to agree. “I’ll be waiting for you,” Halsin murmured, his voice thick with promise and suddenly hoarse. He cupped Astarion’s face in his hands, leaning in for a tender, lingering kiss. 

As their lips parted, Halsin’s gaze lingered on Astarion with a profound intensity. In that silent exchange, they both knew this night would be more than mere desire. The promise of what was to come filled the space between them, a soft whisper of the night ahead. “Go,” Halsin said softly, his tone encouraging yet full of longing. “I’ll be here, waiting for you.” He added with a smile. 

With a final lingering look at Halsin, Astarion nodded and headed off with the rest of the party. The desire to remain with Halsin was palpable, making every step away feel heavy. Halsin however, left behind, struggled with meditation, his thoughts irresistibly focused on the night to come, of being with Astarion in such intimate way. It had been a long time since he had been on the receiving end of such vulnerability, but he felt an eager anticipation for this experience with Astarion. He was keenly aware of how much this meant to his lover—how important it was for Astarion to dictate the pace and feel in control. Halsin understood the profound significance of this moment and was more than willing to embrace it, finding deep satisfaction in knowing that he could provide a space where Astarion could fully express his desires and needs.

Hours later, as darkness settled over the land, the door to the room creaked open, revealing Astarion's breathless figure. He stepped inside with a palpable urgency, his entrance marked by an intense, almost tangible desire. He was already naked, his pale skin shimmering softly in the dim light of the room.  The sight of him, disheveled from the journey but radiating raw desire, sent a shiver of anticipation through Halsin.

The room fell still for a second, before his voice broke the silence.

“Come to me,” Halsin said with a neediness. His voice a low rumble that seemed to reverberate through the dimly lit room. He lay on bed, naked too, and proud, his powerful frame stretched out and displayed against the softness of the sheets. His muscular legs spread, his hardened cock resting lazily on his thigh. One arm was propped under his head, giving him an air of confident relaxation. And his eyes, his eyes were full lust. 

The mere sight of him like this—unrestrained and utterly erotic—made Astarion’s dick throb.

“Gods, how much do you exactly work out?” he couldn’t help but ask, though this wasn’t the first time he’d seen him like this, but the small space, dominated by the wooden bed and a simple bedside table, seemed to accentuate Halsin’s imposing presence. His presence filled the room—literally. The druid’s arms alone seemed to rival Astarion’s own thigh in size. 

Oh, hells… 

Halsin chuckled, a rich, velvety sound that sent a shiver down Astarion’s spine. “You don’t look bad yourself, Astarion.” 

At that Astarion’s lips curved into a wicked smile, his eyes gleaming with a lust that matched Halsin’s. “Oh, sure I don’t darling. But you?” He paused, letting his gaze travel slowly over the druid’s body, savouring every inch. “You are something else,” Astarion continued, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. 

Then, Astarion finally moved closer, gravitating towards Halsin’s body. They met in the middle, Halsin kneeling on the edge of the mattress, and Astarion standing before him. Now, their heads were roughly the same height, Astarion’s sightly above Halsin’s. Astarion’s hand slid around Halsin’s waist, the touch possessive. His other hand however moved up, fingers curling around the back of Halsin’s neck, feeling the hotness of his skin and the strength of the muscles beneath. 

Their mouths clasped in a heated kiss, tongues tangling and exploring with an urgency that made their hearts race. Astarion’s grip tightened on Halsin’s neck, pulling him closer until their bodies pressed together, skin against skin. Halsin’s rough hands found their way to Astarion’s back, fingers tracing the path of his scars with a tender reverence before sliding lower. He grasped Astarion’s buttocks firmly, digging his fingers in as he responded to the vampire’s fervent kiss with equal passion. 

When Halsin sucked on Astarion’s tongue, it was too much to take. Astarion moaned softly against Halsin’s mouth, the sweet sound vibrating between them. He could feel Halsin’s arousal, hot and insistent against his thigh, and it only fuelled his own desire. Breaking the kiss for a moment, Astarion’s lips trailed down Halsin’s jaw, leaving a path of burning kisses along his neck. He savoured the taste of Halsin’s skin and the heady scent of his desire, each kiss deepening their connection.

Halsin’s breath hitched as Astarion’s mouth found a particularly sensitive spot just below his ear. “Astarion,” he breathed, his voice a rough whisper filled with longing. The sound of his name on Halsin’s lips sent a thrill through Astarion, spurring him on. A low groan escaped Halsin as Astarion nibbled at his ear, the sensation driving him wild with need.

With a sultry whisper, Astarion leaned in closer, his breath hot against Halsin’s ear. “Tonight, you’re mine, and I’m going to take you hard and deep, my love.” Then, with a commanding yet tender touch, Astarion pushed Halsin onto the bed and slid between his legs.

Halsin felt hazy from Astarion's words, his arousal intensifying, his dick aching desperately for some friction. "I'm glad to see you’re not shy about what you want. Neither am I," Halsin murmured. To prove his words, his hand slid between their bodies, his fingers wrapping around their throbbing erections. He began stroking them with a rhythm that made Astarion moan, the sound sweet and needful. Astarion’s hips rocked instinctively, seeking more of that delicious friction— he knew that if they continued like that he would come before the main dish, so he gave Halsin last sloppy kiss and moved away. He didn’t remember he felt this aroused last hundred years. 

“On your knees love, I want to see you.”

Halsin’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of excitement and compliance. With a fluid motion, he shifted, positioning himself on his knees, his powerful body on full display. Astarion’s gaze roamed over him, drinking in the sight of Halsin’s broad shoulders, the taut muscles of his back, and the enticing curve of his ass.

Astarion’s fingers trembled slightly as he reached for the vial of oil, his eyes never leaving Halsin’s form. The man before him looked astonishing. His rough hands unfolded on the sheets, gripping them tightly. His big feet curled their toes in anticipation. His heavy, thick cock hung between his legs, precum dripping onto the mattress, while his balls rested beneath, taut and full. A dark trail of hair led to his tight, inviting hole, a place Astarion was about to claim tonight. The druid arched before him, panting, his ass raised high and looking so incredibly inviting.

“Don’t make me wait any longer, or I’ll lose control,” Halsin pleaded, his voice breathless and edged with desperation.

That was all the vampire needed. Astarion moved his oiled finger along the crack of Halsin’s ass, savouring the anticipation as he traced the sensitive skin. When he reached Halsin’s sweet, little hole, he pressed his finger in slowly, relishing the gasp that escaped the druid’s lips. The tight ring of muscle yielded to his touch, drawing a moan from Halsin as Astarion pushed deeper.

The druid’s body responded eagerly, his hips rocking back to meet Astarion’s touch. Encouraged, Astarion added second finger, scissoring them gently to open the man before him further. His every moan and gasp urging Astarion to continue. As he worked his fingers deeper, he angled his movements, searching for the perfect spot inside Halsin. When he found it, the reaction was immediate. 

Halsin cried out, his body shuddering with intense pleasure as Astarion’s fingers brushed against his prostate. The druid’s cock twitched, precum dripping as he teetered on the edge of bliss.

“Astarion… oh gods,” Halsin panted, his voice breaking with raw need. His eyes shout. “Please, don’t stop.”

The sight of this manly body before him, so strong and imposing, reduced to trembling at his touch filled Astarion with a newly discovered sense of power and possessiveness. The vampire’s lean, pale form pressed against druid’s larger, more muscular body, the sheer contrast of it and the fact that he was the one on top, drove him wild with desire. 

He needed to own this man, now. 

“You’re so lovely like this, Halsin,” Astarion murmured, his voice a silky caress. He slowly withdrew his fingers from Halsin’s willing hole, eliciting a needy whimper from the druid. Instead, Astarion’s hand wrapped around the base of Halsin’s throbbing cock, tightening his grip possessively. The sensation made Halsin groan, his body trembling with anticipation.

Astarion leaned in closer, his breath hot against Halsin’s ear. “But I want you to cum with my cock inside you,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. “Filling… you… completely.” Each word was punctuated by a deliberate, teasing stroke along Halsin’s length, making the druid shiver with pleasure.

Halsin was close, dangerously close. 

“You’re so hard for me,” Astarion continued, his tongue flicking out to tease Halsin’s earlobe. “I can feel your pulse, your desire. You want this, don’t you?” 

“Yes, of course” was all Halsin managed to say, his voice a husky whisper filled with raw need. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt like this, completely losing control, consumed by a lust so powerful it made him almost speechless.

His breaths came in short, ragged gasps, his heart pounding in his chest. 

Astarion’s eyes darkened with lust, his own arousal almost unbearable. He released Halsin’s cock, positioning himself behind the robust elf, the tip of his own throbbing erection pressing against Halsin’s entrance.

Part of Astarion wanted to fill Halsin to the balls with one deep, quick thrust, driven by a primal urge to claim him completely. But he forced himself to hold back. Halsin wasn’t used to this kind of penetration, and Astarion remembered all too well how shitty it felt to be taken roughly, without care or consideration. And he didn’t want it for Halsin, he just didn’t wan’t to treat him like an object. 

Now slow. 

With a deep breath, Astarion slowed himself, pressing gentle kisses along Halsin’s back, savouring the feeling of Halsin’s tight heat around him. “You feel incredible, darling,” Astarion whispered, his voice trembling with barely contained desire.

Gods, Halsin felt divine. 

He arched his back, his head now resting on the mattress, his hips raised high. His hole was wet, hot, and inviting, drawing Astarion in with every subtle movement.

Astarion grabbed him by the hips and began to sink in slowly, a puff of breath escaping his lips at the sensation. And Halsin, that devil, impaled himself on Astarion’s cock with a determined push. When Astarion was finally balls-deep inside Halsin, he closed his eyes for a moment to regain his composure, the sheer intensity of the pleasure almost overwhelming him. “Fuck.”

“Hmm…yes, but I wish you’d move already, my love.”

My love? 

Though they were merely words, they made Astarion’s cold heart skip a beat. 

“Gladly,” Astarion did as he was asked, his hips starting to move with a growing urgency. He tried to keep a steady pace, but the sensation of being buried deep within the druid’s enormous body made it difficult. Halsin’s tightness, his heat, his eager submission — it was all too much.

"Don’t be so timid, Astarion. I’m not fragile, you know?” Halsin’s voice was a breathy mix of reassurance and challenge, and it made Astarion smile. He started to rock harder. His legs spreading wider for better leverage. His pale hand founding its way to Halsin’s thick hair, grabbing a handful and using it to pull Halsin’s head back slightly, exposing the column of his neck.

Astarion’s thrusts grew more forceful, each movement sending waves of pleasure through both of them. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, the bed was creaking under their weight. Halsin’s moans grew louder, he was clearly enjoying himself. It was all too much. Astarion was close, so close and he could tell Halsin was close as well, by the way his hole was sucking him in and throbbing every time he hit that sweet little spot inside him. 

Wanting to be closer to his…

what? a lover? (a dangerous thought, really)

…Astarion pressed his wet chest against Halsin’s muscular back, his hands moving to brace themselves on the mattress. The intimate contact made every thrust even more intense. Then after couple of needy thrusts he reached around, taking Halsin’s throbbing cock into his hand. He began to stroke it in time with his thrusts, his movements becoming more frantic.

Halsin’s body responded eagerly, his hips bucking against Astarion’s hand, driving him deeper. “Yes, Astarion, just like that,” Halsin panted, his voice a desperate plea.

Astarion increased his pace, fucking Halsin harder while expertly working his cock. The combined sensations were overwhelming, pushing both men to the brink of ecstasy. Astarion could feel Halsin tightening around him.

“Cum for me, Halsin,” Astarion whispered, his voice hoarse with passion. Halsin obeyed. 

With a final, powerful thrust, the druid cried out, his body convulsing as he came, his white ropes of cum spilling over Astarion’s hand and the mattress. The tight, pulsing grip of Halsin’s climax sent Astarion over the edge, and with a shuddering moan, he emptied himself inside Halsin, filling him completely.

They collapsed together, their bodies slick with sweat and trembling with the aftershocks of their shared pleasure. Astarion remained inside Halsin, their bodies glued together, Astarion’s chest pressed firmly against Halsin’s broad back. He continued to rock his hips slightly, milking every last drop of his orgasm, and Halsin responded by rocking back in gentle, synchronised movements, humping on the mattress. His body trembling beneath the pale vampire, his muscles twitching with the lingering echoes of their climax. 

Astarion’s breath was hot against Halsin’s neck, his hands caressing the druid’s sides in soothing strokes. He couldn’t help himself and pressed a tender kiss to Halsin’s shoulder. At that Halsin smiled softly which made Astarion’s face broke into a sincere, delighted smile too— one that even took him by surprise.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

thanks for reading!

you can find more of my works about halsin, astarion, or even more halstarion(!) ♡here♡

Hi, does anyone have a copy or at least the title of an Astarion X Halsin fic that got deleted yesterday?

I don't have nor the author's or the fic name, but it was made by someone who had "Mojojojo" in their username.

It was about Halsin's backstory in the underdark and its resemblance to Astarion's trauma while they deal with their relationship.

It had 30 something chapters, I was in the fifth one when it got deleted suddenly.

Any help is enough for a desperate reader who wants to know what happens next, thank you. ❤️✨

Imagine if Astarion was singing this to Halsin and Halsin just smiling proudly

Saucy!

Nsfw patreon request <3

Lovely ♡

Halstarion kiss by the campfire <3

♡

hhhhggnn injured Astarion is my bread and butterrr. Do you think you could do a Halsin bridal-carrying an injured/unconscious Astarion? (so in love w everything u make btw, u feed us very well lol)

He's okay 💛

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. 

A Very Halstarion Xmas

Here's that halstarion hallmark xmas fic! It got a little away from me ahahaha, happy holidays y'all!!

hhhhggnn injured Astarion is my bread and butterrr. Do you think you could do a Halsin bridal-carrying an injured/unconscious Astarion? (so in love w everything u make btw, u feed us very well lol)

He's okay 💛