#Halloween with Halsin

[astarioffsimpmain]

Halloween with Halsin

Halsin x F!Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy (not accidental)

Synopsis: You and Halsin oversee the now adopted children from Baldur's Gate as they carve gourd lanterns in preparation for Liar's Night

Author's Note: Happy Half-o-ween part 2! 🎃

Little faces lit up with joy and recognition as you and Halsin wheeled the cart of gourds up to the clearing. "We're celebrating Liar's Night!" A young tiefling boy cried out, jumping up and down in his place. 

"We are!" You replied, and laughed as a myriad of cheers and whoops broke out in response. "Daddy Halsin and I thought you all might want to carve your own gourd lanterns this year, but remember to save those gooey insides and put them in your bucket. We're baking pumpkin bread with it in a few days." Your smile only grew, watching the children gather around to pick out their pumpkins, sharing and swapping much more graciously than many adults you knew.  You sighed and allowed your eyes to fall closed in contentment when you felt your lover's arms encircle you in his warmth. 

"You do so well with them, my heart." He murmured, his lips tickling the crown of your head.

"They make that easy." You replied, then twisted in his arms to allow your own lips access to his cheek, his neck, and his shoulder. You dropped chaste but tender kisses on his sweat-dampened skin before tucking your nose into the crook of his neck. "You make it even easier." He chuckled in your ear and tightened his grip around your waist, pulling you as close as possible. 

"As do you, sweet one. As do you." 

"Daddy Halsin, this one has an ouchie." A young human girl toddled over with a small pumpkin that sported a heavy bruising on one side. The Druid released you with a smile and a wink and bent down to the little girl, taking the gourd and inspecting the aforementioned injury. 

"It seems that it does, little one. Everything in nature will be marked up over time, but that does not mean it is worthless. Let's carve the face right here across this bruise and make it unique and beautiful. Yes?" The little girl nodded, a small smile on her lips, and reached up to drag her little fingers over the scars on Halsin's face before running back to join the other children. 

"She would make a remarkable druid." You noted with a twinkle in your eye as Halsin returned to you. 

"She would. And should she choose to walk that path, I would be honored to guide her." He replied, his eyes soft and warm, trained on the children of every race that you and he had chosen to raise. You gazed around the former Shadow-cursed land with an insurmountable pride in your chest. When you and your lover had departed Baldur's Gate, you had taken with you not only the many orphaned children left from the dearth and tyranny, but the homeless adults as well. You had traveled back to the place Thaniel and Oliver called home, and made a place there for them all. 

And because of Halsin, along with the great help of Jaheira and her Harpers, they had flourished into a thriving and beautiful community. Adults had adopted and taken in children, and no one lived without food or a place to sleep when the rain inevitably fell. This extended to you and Halsin, who lived in a small cottage overlooking the field of vegetables and fruits Halsin grew and, with your help, harvested and used in dishes for anyone who wanted them. Your house was a popular destination for all, adults and children alike, and you had grown used to hosting people from the village many a night each week. 

You had been brimming with excitement for this moment for months. You were the one who had convinced Halsin to celebrate Liar's Night. It was one of the fondest memories you carried from living in Baldur's Gate, and these children having been from there, you knew would recognize it. It was when you reasoned that the children most likely had never been able to participate due to their inability to purchase the supplies for a protective gourd lantern - let alone have a home to protect - that Halsin had relented. "I truly find myself unable to say no to you, my heart." He had raked a hand down his face, but you knew he would enjoy the experience once the time came. 

You were pleased to see how right you were as the large Druid began a self-imposed patrol through the sea of children and their carving work, pausing to help any child that requested it. You chuckled and did the same for the other half, working together until each child held an empty pumpkin with a face carved into the side. "Remember to have your parents or older siblings light the candles!" You called as little legs carried each one of them back to the warmth of their homes. Once you and Halsin had gathered all the buckets containing pumpkin seeds and fillings and pooled them into a sealed container to save for later, the Druid took your small hand in his much larger one and led you back home. 

"You beautiful, wonderful woman." He was muttering lowly in your ear the moment the cottage door closed behind you. His hands found purchase on your hips and he nuzzled into you, breathing in your scent as he explored your form with his palms. 

"I told you that you would enjoy it." You giggled as he glided the tips of his fingers up your spine, causing you to arch up into him. 

"That you did, my heart, and you were right, as you so often are. I love you so deeply that Silvanus himself must feel it beat through my aching heart. He must know by now that half of my prayers are to him and half of them are to you. I have never felt an ardor so great in my 365 years of life." 

"Halsin, I hope you know by now that I feel much the same way, and while I cannot possibly contend with your declarations of poetry, I can give you this." You said softly, taking his hand into your own once again and pressing it to your abdomen. 

His eyes lit up in hopeful recognition, disbelief coloring his handsome features. "My heart, do you mean-?" He paused, as if he was too afraid to voice it aloud. 

"You're to be a father, Halsin." You smiled, your eyes misting over with tears full of adoration for the man that had become your life partner. And you laughed; a beautiful, breathless thing, as you watched tears cloud his eyes to mirror your own. 

"By Silvanus's blessing, I could have asked for no better news!" He boomed, lifting you into his arms to swing you around. Your joined laughter and elation filled the little cottage as the two of you rediscovered one another again and again, falling in love as though it were the first time. 

A blessed Leaffall, indeed. 

fin

Tagging Darlings: @knightofmight01

[mostwantedpotato404]

Something cozy and comforting for Halloween, they're almost ready. Are you? :3

[moonselune]

I have no idea if you will be able to do this in time

But can you throw some Halloween headcanons with all the bg3 main companions! <3

Babe the way I had to SEARCH for this ask in the sea of requests, but I was determined. So I am going to do a halloween scenario but moreso the bg3 companions reacting to you forcing them to dress up for halloween ;)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

BG3 Companions | Halloween

🎃🌙.𖥔 ݁ ˖༉‧₊˚🕯️❀༉‧₊˚.🐈‍⬛

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Karlach narrowed her eyes at you, arms crossed over her chest as she looked down at the costume you’d spent the last few nights putting together. You could tell she was holding back a smirk, but she was still being stubborn.

“A campfire?” she asked with exaggerated skepticism, raising one eyebrow. “Soldier, you want me to dress up as a campfire?”

“Yes!” you replied with enthusiasm, clutching the little bundle of accessories you’d made for her. “Look, it’s perfect for you! You’re warm, you bring everyone together, you light up every room you’re in—and, let’s face it, you’ve got literal flames licking off your skin when you get excited.” You held up the marshmallow sticks you’d crafted. “It’ll be fun! Kids will love it!”

She kept her arms crossed but looked intrigued despite herself, glancing down at the costume pieces in your hands. You could see her hesitation melting bit by bit.

“C’mon, please?” you added, giving her a soft smile. “I swear it’ll be worth it. I’ll even do all the cleanup afterward. And… I’ll owe you for this,” you promised, arching an eyebrow suggestively.

Karlach let out a dramatic sigh, letting you take that as a small victory.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she said, shaking her head, but she finally relented, holding out her arms for you to start putting the costume together.

You beamed and set to work. The base of the costume was a simple brown wrap to resemble logs, snugly wrapped around her waist. Over her shoulders, you draped a soft, red cloak with fire resistant felt flames that flickered and shimmered with the charms you’d enchanted to give her natural flames an extra glow. You attached more flames around her wrists and ankles, creating the effect of a warm, roaring campfire with her at the center. She rolled her eyes when you added the final touches—two wooden sticks with marshmallows glued onto them—but her lips twitched up in a reluctant smile.

She glanced at herself in the mirror, hands on her hips as she looked from side to side, assessing your work.

“Alright, alright,” she admitted with a smile finally breaking through. “Guess I do look kinda… cozy.”

The kids were already gathering by the time you led her to the village, their eyes wide as they spotted Karlach’s flaming costume from a distance. A little crowd started to form, kids cheering and jumping around as they spotted the 'campfire lady'. Karlach’s surprise melted into delight as she held out the marshmallow sticks, laughing as the kids shyly took turns roasting their treats on her flaming hands.

“Whoa, you’re really warm!” one of them gasped, his marshmallow turning golden as he held it close to her hand. Karlach laughed, patting him gently on the shoulder.

“Just wait ‘til you see it when it’s really glowing,” she whispered playfully, letting the flames on her skin flicker up just a bit higher. The kids gasped and cheered, completely in awe of her. One by one, she helped them roast marshmallows to perfection, giving tips on how to achieve the perfect golden brown.

You stayed nearby, watching with a smile as Karlach lit up the entire square, her laughter carrying over the joyful chatter of the crowd around her. She looked down at you, and the affection in her eyes was almost as warm as her flames.

“You win,” she murmured when she finally got a moment with you. “Look at their little faces… they’re eating it up.”

“Told you it was perfect,” you replied, squeezing her hand gently. “Look how happy they are because of you.”

Karlach’s smile softened, and she glanced back at the group of kids eagerly taking turns roasting their treats, some even asking for a second or third marshmallow just to keep the fun going. She was practically glowing now, in every sense of the word.

As the night wound down, her costume had become a sticky mess of marshmallow smudges and crumbs, and her cheeks were sore from hours of smiling. But you could tell she was basking in the warmth of it all—the happiness, the laughter, the looks of awe and wonder from the kids who’d never seen anything like her. She was still chuckling as she helped hand out the last of the marshmallows, patting one of the kids gently on the back as he ran off, marshmallow goo on his face.

Once the square emptied out, Karlach sighed contentedly, her flames flickering down as she took a moment to breathe. She looked over at you, a mixture of gratitude and affection in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, squeezing your hand and pulling you in for a hug. “This was… just the best. They loved it.”

You leaned into her embrace, resting your head against her shoulder.

“Anything for you,” you replied softly. “And hey, I always knew you’d make a perfect campfire.”

She chuckled, ruffling your hair as she kissed the top of your head. “Guess you’re right,” she murmured.

🎃🌙.𖥔 ݁ ˖༉‧₊˚🕯️❀༉‧₊˚.🐈‍⬛

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

“Absolutely not,” Minthara stated firmly, crossing her arms as she eyed the displacer beast costume you held up.

“Come on, my love,” you coaxed, stepping closer with a grin. “It’s perfect. Even you’ve said you have feline instincts! Just… imagine prowling around like a creature of the night.” You wiggled the tail in front of her, hoping the flickering, eerie lights of the little village might inspire her to humor you.

She narrowed her eyes, clearly unamused by your pitch, though her lips twitched in a way that suggested she might find it a little funny.

“I will not be reduced to childish imitations,” she spat, looking at the sleek, dark-furred costume in disdain. “And I won’t wear it.”

“Oh really?” you challenged, smiling deviously as you watched her flick her gaze from you to the costume and back again. “Because I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”

Her eyebrows shot up, but she barely had a chance to react as you launched yourself at her, pressing her backward and shoving the soft, padded costume onto her shoulders. She let out a startled yelp, trying to shake you off as you shoved her arms into the sleeves and wrestled the hood over her head.

“Oh, for the love of the gods!” Minthara barked, half-heartedly pushing at you as you pulled the furry ears into place. “I swear, I will make you pay for this.”

Once she was securely wrapped up in the costume—whiskers, padded tail, and all—you stepped back to take in the sight. The sleek black fabric hugged her form, with the twin displacer beast tentacles curling over her shoulders and around her waist, giving her an undeniably mischievous look. She was, in short, perfectly suited to it, with her sharp eyes peeking out from beneath the hood.

“Touch it, and you won’t see the bed for a week,” you said sharply, stopping her just as she was about to rip the hood off.

Minthara froze, her fingers twitching as her gaze shot to you, then narrowed into a glare. “You would not dare.”

“Oh, I would,” you replied coolly. “So, you can keep it on, or you can test me.” You raised an eyebrow, holding her gaze with steady determination.

For a long moment, she merely glowered at you, clearly weighing her options. Finally, with a loud, frustrated sigh, she dropped her hands to her sides and adjusted her grip on the costume’s tail.

“Fine,” she growled. “But if any sticky little goblin-child comes near me, I’m dropkicking them into the next village.”

You grinned, throwing an arm around her waist as you pulled her toward the village square. “Deal.”

The festive lights and happy chatter of the town greeted you both as you arrived, with children and adults alike laughing, running from house to house for treats. You walked with Minthara through the little streets, watching her scan every corner as if searching for an ambush—and giving a barely audible growl every time someone giggled or whispered about her costume.

At one point, you turned to compliment a young child on their ghost costume, only to feel Minthara pull away from you. When you turned back, you were met with an amusing sight: Minthara, surrounded by a swarm of wide-eyed children, all grinning up at her with excitement.

“Wow! Are you a real displacer beast?” one kid asked, eyes round with awe.

“By the Underdark no,” she muttered, jaw clenched as the small army of sticky fingers approached her. She shot you a panicked, murderous look as a tiny hand tugged on one of the tentacles.

You bit back laughter, taking a few steps closer and whispering to the crowd with increased urgency as Minthara prepared to raise her leg,“Hey, I hear there’s a house down the street giving out massive chocolate bars! Biggest ones in the village!”

In an instant, the kids cheered and bolted off, racing toward the promise of candy and leaving Minthara in blessed silence once again.

As they vanished into the night, Minthara took a deep, steadying breath, muttering something under her breath about “never doing this again” and “cursed mortal children.” But as you wrapped your arm around her shoulders once more, you felt her hand slip into yours, her grip surprisingly gentle.

“You did great,” you said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “And I think that’s the most fun you’ve had in a long time.”

Minthara huffed, but she couldn’t hide the small, begrudging smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"I hate you."

"I love you too."

🎃🌙.𖥔 ݁ ˖༉‧₊˚🕯️❀༉‧₊˚.🐈‍⬛

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Lae'zel crossed her arms over her chest, staring down at you with a steely gaze that dared you to even try.

"Under no circumstances," she intoned firmly, "am I dressing up as a frog. It is disgraceful."

“Oh, come on, Lae’zel,” you pleaded, holding up the frog costume with hopeful eyes. “Just this once, for me?”

She scoffed, looking as though the very idea of her in a giant frog suit might singlehandedly ruin her reputation among all Githyanki.

"You expect a warrior, Prince Orpheus' comet, to be reduced to… this?” She waved her hand dismissively at the costume, shaking her head in disgust. “No.”

“But think about it,” you said, your voice lilting, knowing you had to play this one carefully. “The kids would love it. It’s Hallow’s Eve! Everyone’s supposed to dress up as something a little fun.”

Lae’zel’s expression didn’t budge, her jaw set as she shook her head, staring you down as if daring you to continue. “I have no use for human frivolities. I won’t degrade myself.”

You pulled out the big guns, stepping closer and widening your eyes, letting your lip quiver just a little. “Please?”

Her expression faltered, only slightly.

“That,” she said slowly, “will not work on me. I am Githyanki. We do not bow to… emotional manipulations.”

You let a single tear slide down your cheek, adding a sniff for good measure.

She blinked, visibly thrown, and as much as she tried to maintain her composure, her brow furrowed just the slightest bit in concern. “Stop that. This tactic is beneath you.”

“Oh,” you sighed dramatically, looking down at the frog suit with a crestfallen expression. “I just thought… I thought it’d be cute to see you dressed up with everyone. But I understand,” you murmured, holding the costume close to you as if it was your crushed hopes and dreams.

She groaned, something she did not often do, and before she could stop herself, she muttered, “Fine. But I will wield my sword.”

Fifteen minutes later, Lae’zel emerged, reluctantly pulling on the last piece of her frog costume, looking very much the part of an amphibian warrior—frog head, billowing frog suit, and all, though her stern expression and tightly gripped longsword made her look anything but harmless.

You grinned widely, knowing that getting her to dress up had been worth the effort.

“You look amazing,” you said, trying not to laugh. “Really fierce.”

She glared at you, her nostrils flaring slightly, but she couldn’t entirely hide her intrigue when you pointed to a group of children gathered nearby, staring in awe.

“They look scared,” she noted, a hint of satisfaction in her tone.

“You’re a frog warrior, Lae’zel! Of course, they’re a little intimidated. But they’ll love you.” And before she could protest further, you gently nudged her toward the kids.

She turned, moving with that same fierce stance, and the children’s eyes widened as she approached, frog-headed and sword-clad.

“Kneel before me, tiny humans,” she commanded, her voice booming.

The kids squealed in delight and mock terror, darting back a few steps before returning, emboldened, their eyes shining as they circled her. Lae’zel raised her sword with a mock-threatening gesture, and they scattered again, laughing.

You watched her as she continued, enjoying herself more than you’d ever seen. She even leaned down to growl at a particularly bold child who tugged on her frog hood. As the children ran off to continue their candy hunt, she glanced back at you with a rare grin.

“Perhaps this is not such a pointless human tradition after all,” she said, lifting her chin proudly.

You laughed, wrapping an arm around her. “Told you it’d be fun.”

With a satisfied nod, she squeezed your shoulder. “For you,” she muttered, “I may tolerate more… indulgences.”

🎃🌙.𖥔 ݁ ˖༉‧₊˚🕯️❀༉‧₊˚.🐈‍⬛

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Convincing Shadowheart to wear a Halloween costume was proving more difficult than you expected.

"Absolutely not," she said, crossing her arms and giving you a firm, albeit playful, glare. "I am a cleric—not a witch." She added that last word with the distaste of someone who’d just bitten into something sour. “In fact, I hate witches. They’re insidious manipulators, and my faith has been muddled enough.”

“But look,” you said, holding up the sleek black witch’s hat and the carefully layered robes with stitched arcane symbols and starry patches. “It’s not a real witch outfit; it’s just for fun! You’d be my witch, and I’d be your little black cat.” You dangled a set of matching costumes with a playful grin.

She eyed the ensemble, a skeptical frown on her lips. “No,” she said, looking away but unable to hide the faint smile that twitched at the corners of her mouth. “Absolutely not.”

You sighed, dramatically bringing a hand to your chest. “You’d look amazing, Shadowheart, all mystical and dark and mysterious. Besides, you can do whatever you want with me for a whole week if you wear it.”

At this, her eyebrows rose. The idea had clearly sparked something.

“Anything I want?” Her voice was all shadow and intrigue, her usual intensity turning mischievous.

You nodded, maintaining eye contact and trying not to grin. “Anything you want. All yours.”

She raised an eyebrow, mulling it over for only a second before taking the costume from your hands.

“Fine,” she said, her tone cool but her eyes glimmering. “But if I’m going to be a witch, I’m going to be the scariest one anyone’s ever seen.”

Once she was dressed, you put on your cat ears and tail, and you couldn’t help but stare. The dark robes flowed around her elegantly, and the hat sat tilted perfectly, lending her an air of dark enchantment that somehow made her even more striking.

“You know,” you said, giving her an appreciative once-over, “I was right. You do look amazing.”

She laughed softly, casting her hand toward you in mock threat, almost as if she were casting a spell.

“You’ve barely seen anything yet,” she said with a smirk, clearly enjoying herself now. “So are you my little black cat or not?”

You purred playfully in response, much to her amusement, and then surprised her with a whistle.

“What are you doing?” she asked, tilting her head in curiosity.

Just then, Scratch came bounding over, tail wagging, with tiny bat wings strapped to his back. Shadowheart’s face softened immediately as she took in the sight of him, her usual stoic demeanor melting.

“Oh,” she whispered, genuinely moved. “Look at him. He’s… precious.”

Scratch barked, looking between you two as though awaiting approval for his costume. She crouched down, stroking his head and adjusting his bat wings gently.

“Well, aren’t you just the most terrifying little creature?” she cooed, her eyes twinkling with rare, unguarded warmth.

“You almost died from the cuteness just now, didn’t you?” you teased, leaning in beside her as she scratched Scratch’s ears.

She gave you a playful glare, the warmth never leaving her face. “Maybe. But if you tell anyone that, your week of servitude will be much more demanding.”

🎃🌙.𖥔 ݁ ˖༉‧₊˚🕯️❀༉‧₊˚.🐈‍⬛

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

Convincing Jaheira to dress up for Hallows Eve took every ounce of charm and determination you possessed. She gave you an unimpressed look the first time you suggested it, her arms crossed as she tried to resist even the hint of a smirk.

"I am far too old for this," she said, voice steady but with the faintest gleam of amusement in her eyes.

"But you’re never too old to be the fiercest dragon in Faerûn," you replied, holding up the costume with a hopeful smile. It was more elegant than over-the-top—a deep green cloak, trimmed with silver threads and sewn to look like scales in some parts, with shoulder pieces that bore subtle, dragon-like wings. The cloak even had a hood lined with intricate, subtle horns.

Jaheira raised an eyebrow, arms still crossed as she examined the costume in your hands.

“You want me to dress as a dragon?” she said, giving you a half-smile. "Just because I am fierce does not mean I wish to look like a… large, scaly lizard."

“Not just any dragon," you said, "but the most fearsome one that guards a priceless horde.” You gestured to yourself, draped in layers of golden fabrics and glittering chains, glimmering bracelets, and rings on nearly every finger. Each piece shone and reflected the light like freshly minted coins. “See? I’m your horde. Your treasure.”

Jaheira’s lips curved into a reluctant smile, and she shook her head with a bemused sigh.

“You’re insufferable,” she murmured, and reached for the costume, the softest of chuckles escaping her lips.

You watched as she draped the cloak over her shoulders, fastening it with an elegant clasp at her collarbone. The fabric rippled like scales as she moved, accentuating the already powerful presence she carried. As she lifted the hood, a subtle yet enchanting transformation took place—suddenly, she wasn’t just Jaheira anymore. She was your fierce dragon, mysterious and mighty, with her eyes glinting like a true creature of legend.

When she turned to look at you, her smile was edged with a bit of playful danger.

“Well, how do I look?” she asked, voice low and almost teasing, as though she already knew the answer.

“Like you were born for this,” you said, unable to hide the awe in your voice. “It’s perfect.”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, caught up in a silence that buzzed with something neither of you wanted to name just yet. Slowly, Jaheira’s fingers reached out to toy with the golden necklace resting on your collarbone. Her eyes roved over the glinting pieces, taking in how they draped against your skin and the way they caught the light.

“My horde,” she murmured with a half-smile, fingers trailing down to the bracelets on your wrist. “Fitting.”

You could see the tension fading from her shoulders, the amusement warming her eyes.

“So… shall we go scare the town as the most fearsome dragon and their horde?” you asked, barely able to keep from leaning in closer. Jaheira paused, her fingers still tracing the edges of your jewelry. She gave you a smile, this time softer, more private.

“Perhaps we should stay here instead,” she said, voice barely above a whisper, her tone laced with affection.

Your hand moved to her waist, fingers slipping under the edge of the cloak as she drew you closer. Her lips found yours in a kiss that was more intense than you’d expected, her touch gentle yet commanding, like the steady, powerful confidence she carried herself with. The night you’d planned on spending out quickly became one spent in each other's arms, with her "horde" all too willing to be claimed by the dragon’s fierce, undivided attention.

It wasn’t long before the costumes were discarded, a trail of glittering gold left across the floor. And though you never left the door that night, it was a Hallows Eve neither of you would soon forget.

🎃🌙.𖥔 ݁ ˖༉‧₊˚🕯️❀༉‧₊˚.🐈‍⬛

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

Convincing Gale to dress up for Hallows Eve took some careful nudging, but once he was finally on board, you couldn’t resist suggesting a costume idea that had you giggling before you even explained it to him.

"A zombie? Really?" he asked, folding his arms in mock disappointment, though there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Of all the magical beings and creatures of wonder in Faerûn, you’d pick something so… single-mindedly undead?"

You stifled another laugh, the logic too ridiculous to resist sharing.

“But Gale,” you said, putting on your most serious face, “you’re a wizard, right?”

“Yes, last I checked,” he replied with a smirk, leaning forward to humor you. "I was fairly certain my profession was clear."

“And wizards have a certain… thirst for knowledge, don’t they?” you continued, a glint of mischief in your eyes.

“Indeed. In some cases, it can be quite insatiable,” he replied, genuinely intrigued now but slightly wary, as if sensing a twist in the logic you were spinning.

You bit back a grin, leaning in closer. “And where is knowledge kept, my dear wizard?”

Gale’s brow furrowed, and he answered slowly, “…in the brain?”

“Exactly! And what do zombies love?” you asked, finally breaking into a fit of giggles as he let out a groan.

“Brains,” he said, the realization hitting him with both exasperation and amusement. "Oh, that’s… it’s dreadful. You’ve managed to connect wizards and zombies on a deeper level than I’d care to admit."

You couldn’t stop laughing, enjoying every second of his feigned outrage, especially with the way his cheeks flushed as he tried to hide his smile. “Come on, Gale! It’s perfect, really. You’re already driven by a pursuit for knowledge, and zombies just… have a more basic approach to that pursuit.”

“Yes, basic indeed,” he muttered with a sigh, shaking his head. But the grin was there, and you could see that he was secretly pleased by your reasoning, despite his protests. “Alright,” he conceded, rolling his eyes with a touch of dramatic flair, “I’ll do it. For the sake of your delightful, albeit tenuous, reasoning. But don’t expect me to groan and stumble like a true zombie. I’ll bring a touch of wizardly sophistication to the role.”

With a gleam of excitement, you began applying some light makeup to him, smudging dark shadow around his eyes, hollowing out his cheeks a little to give him that authentic "undead scholar" look. He humored you as you mussed his hair and added a few streaks of pale gray to mimic age, decay, or perhaps an “undead wizard” who’d spent too many sleepless nights with his spellbooks.

“There, perfect,” you said, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “You’re like a zombie who rose from the grave just to keep researching.”

Gale examined himself in the mirror, shaking his head with mock dismay.

“I look… disturbingly convincing,” he admitted. “My own brilliance, tragically reduced to a brain-hungry husk. Who would’ve thought?” His eyes sparkled with affection as he turned back to you. "Only you would be able to charm me into such a ridiculous costume, you know."

You grinned, brushing a hand down his tattered robes. “And you look perfect. Just the right balance of terrifying and brainy.”

With the finishing touches done, the two of you made your way to join the festivities in the village. Gale remained in character, delivering overly dramatic monologues about his unending 'hunger for knowledge' to anyone who’d listen, pausing now and then to compliment your costume and hold your hand.

It wasn’t long before you had to admit—seeing Gale, the ever-serious wizard, play the part of a hungry zombie all for your sake was nothing short of adorable. And even Gale, in his begrudging way, had to admit he was rather enjoying himself, especially when he saw how happy it made you.

🎃🌙.𖥔 ݁ ˖༉‧₊˚🕯️❀༉‧₊˚.🐈‍⬛

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

Convincing Astarion to think outside the box for Hallows Eve had proved to be a herculean task. As soon as you mentioned costumes, he’d declared, "I’ll go as a vampire, obviously. Dark, seductive, the very spirit of mystery and allure. What else could possibly fit me better?"

“Exactly, Astarion,” you’d replied, stifling a grin, “you are a vampire. You need something different for Hallows Eve, something unexpected.”

He sighed dramatically, reclining with his hands laced behind his head, grumbling as he eyed you in amusement. “Fine, fine, but it better be something worthy of my looks. And what about you? I’ve got plenty of ideas, you know.”

“Oh, do you?” you replied, raising an eyebrow.

He flashed his wicked smile. “Of course. Let’s see… Sexy Sorceress? Sexy Demon? Ooh—Sexy Darkling would suit you perfectly. I’d even consider it a personal favor if you leaned into that one.” His tone was so sincere that it took a few beats before you realized he was utterly teasing, and you had to laugh, swatting at his arm.

“No. You’re the one we’re dressing up today,” you insisted, rolling your eyes. For the better part of the afternoon, you raided chests, examined cloaks, and threw around ideas that Astarion batted down faster than you could conjure up new ones.

As he tossed yet another cloak aside, you had a sudden flash of inspiration.

“…An angel,” you murmured, half to yourself. Astarion’s eyebrow rose, a skeptical look in his eyes as he scoffed.

“An angel?” He chuckled, leaning forward as he looked you up and down. “Is this another one of your schemes to get me into something ridiculous?”

“No, Astarion, listen,” you said, your eyes bright. “You’re the one who always describes this life you were robbed of—the choices taken from you, the light that was snuffed out. You could have been anyone, done anything… Maybe even something truly beautiful. But Cazador stole that.” Your voice softened as you reached for his hand. “So, yes. An angel. For the grace and strength you deserve.”

For a moment, he stared at you, genuinely speechless, his smug smile slipping into something far more vulnerable. He swallowed hard, a rare flicker of uncertainty dancing across his face.

“An… angel,” he repeated quietly, his voice almost reverent. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

You nodded, your expression tender as you reached up, gently cupping his face. “Yes. You deserve it, Astarion.”

His eyes glistened, a touch of softness shining through his usual guarded expression. He let out a disbelieving huff, though the hint of a smile broke through.

“Damn you,” he whispered, his voice choked. “Only you could make such a ridiculous idea sound…”

“Perfect?” you teased softly, a playful gleam in your eye. His laugh was soft, almost self-conscious, as he held onto your hands.

“Yes,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Perfect.”

You spent the next hour piecing together the outfit: an immaculate white tunic with golden accents, a radiant pair of ethereal wings you managed to string together with illusion magic, and even a soft golden circlet to frame his curls. He watched you fuss over each detail, looking at you with a warmth that was rarely seen. The finishing touch was a faint dusting of golden powder along his cheeks, giving him a soft, celestial glow.

When you finally stepped back to admire him, the sight of him took your breath away. Astarion, the vampire, dressed as an angel, a being of light and grace, standing before you with quiet awe.

“You… you look beautiful,” you said softly, almost reverently.

For a moment, Astarion said nothing, just took your hands, holding them as though grounding himself. When he finally spoke, his voice was filled with a gratitude he rarely showed.

“I can’t believe you’d see me like this,” he whispered, looking down as his thumbs brushed over your knuckles. "After everything."

You smiled, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You don’t need to believe it. I’ll believe it enough for both of us.”

He held your gaze for a long moment, a slow, grateful smile spreading across his face. And in that instant, it was as if the weight of all he’d endured softened, even if just a little, by your love and belief in him.

“Now,” you said with a grin, finally breaking the charged silence, “about that Sexy Darkling costume—”

“Oh, darling,” he smirked, his usual charm back in full force, “Have I told you how much I love you?"

🎃🌙.𖥔 ݁ ˖༉‧₊˚🕯️❀༉‧₊˚.🐈‍⬛

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

The plan had sounded so simple when you first proposed it to Wyll: a costume for Hallows Eve, something playful and lighthearted, a chance to see him let loose and have fun. Wyll, ever the gentleman and ever your romantic, had agreed instantly, his eyes lighting up as he imagined himself in an outfit befitting a knight or perhaps a dashing prince. "A hero from a fairytale,” he’d said with an easy smile, practically glowing with excitement.

You hadn’t had the heart to tell him right away that you had something a bit… softer in mind.

“A ram?” he’d said, blinking in polite confusion when you finally explained, taking in your expression with a hopeful, albeit slightly uncertain smile. “As in, horns, wool, and… hooves?”

“Well, yes,” you replied, giving him a sweet smile and lightly tracing his curved horns. “Just think how cute you’d look! You already have the horns to make it work! And besides, I promised the kids that they could be part of your herd. You’d be leading them around as their grand, fluffy ram!”

Wyll looked at you, mouth slightly open, clearly battling an internal struggle.

“So… you want me to be… their flock leader?” His tone was diplomatic, but his face said he was clearly trying to figure out an escape route.

“Oh, please, Wyll?” you pouted, giving him your best puppy-dog eyes, complete with a dramatic little sigh. “It would mean so much to me. And the kids would be so disappointed if you said no. They’re so excited, and I was going to be your shepherd! Just imagine it: me with my shepherd’s staff and you as my sweet, cuddly ram.”

He let out a low groan, rubbing a hand over his face. “You know that I love you,” he said with a resigned sigh, though his eyes were filled with reluctant amusement. “And that is the only reason I’m doing this.”

Soon after, you presented him with a bundle of fluffy white fabric and a headband with cute, spiraled horns to go over his own. Wyll held up the costume with a look of pure disbelief.

“This is… quite the outfit,” he muttered, feeling the woolen fluff between his fingers with a rueful shake of his head. But there was warmth in his eyes when he looked back at you. “I suppose you won’t take no for an answer?”

“Not when you’ll look this adorable,” you teased, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “Come on, the sooner you put it on, the sooner we can get out there and show everyone!”

With one last sigh, he started changing, grumbling good-naturedly under his breath the entire time. When he emerged, draped in the full, wooly monstrosity of the costume, you couldn’t help but burst out laughing. He was covered head to toe in the fluffy, bouncy material, with his horns peeking out just above his ears, and little painted hooves on his hands and feet.

“You… look incredible,” you managed to say, stifling another laugh. He sighed, though a smirk was already forming on his lips.

“Only because I’d never hear the end of it if I didn’t,” he replied, crossing his arms. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“And you’re lucky I have such a good eye for costumes,” you countered, reaching up to adjust one of his horns. “Just wait until you see how much everyone loves it!”

With your shepherd’s staff in hand and Wyll reluctantly donning his oversized, fluffy ensemble, the two of you set out to the village. As you’d promised, the children were absolutely thrilled to see him, cheering and calling out his name as they ran up to pet the soft wool on his costume. They giggled and followed him around like a little flock, tugging on his ‘hooves’ and patting his fluffy sleeves.

Wyll sighed but gave you a resigned smile over the children’s heads, his eyes softened by the sight of their joy.

“You win,” he said quietly, his voice warm with affection. “I’ll admit it’s worth it for this.”

You just grinned, leaning into his shoulder as you watched the children play around him. “And here you thought you’d hate it,” you teased.

He chuckled, pulling you close with a light squeeze. “Don’t be so quick to assume. But next time, I’m going as a knight. Dashing hero. Deal?”

“Deal,” you replied with a smile, squeezing his hand and leading your very own ram back to his happy flock.

🎃🌙.𖥔 ݁ ˖༉‧₊˚🕯️❀༉‧₊˚.🐈‍⬛

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

Convincing Halsin to dress up as a bumblebee took a great deal of pleading, gentle nudging, and some carefully chosen words about certain late night activities, but after much persistence, he’d finally agreed, albeit with a few lingering doubts.

“You know I could just shift into one,” he’d grumbled, watching as you held up a tiny headband with wobbly antennae, complete with a pair of small, transparent wings.

“But where’s the fun in that?” you countered, barely containing your grin. “Besides, with the way you sneak into beehives for honey, consider this an homage to the bees you’ve ‘borrowed’ from all these years.”

That had made him pause, a flicker of reluctant amusement in his eyes, and with a resigned sigh, he finally took the costume from you, muttering something about how ridiculous he’d look. It took him a while to wrestle himself into the striped outfit—he was, after all, a towering druid with muscles to match, and the costume had certainly not been designed with his broad shoulders in mind. But when he finally emerged, you were struggling not to laugh.

This hulking figure of nature, all muscle and authority, stood in the doorway wearing a snug black-and-yellow striped shirt, tiny, flimsy wings that were far too small for his back, and a headband with wobbly antennae that looked especially ridiculous given his usual stoic, serene expression. Halsin gave you a look, raising an eyebrow as if daring you to say a word.

“Well?” he rumbled, crossing his arms. “Is this ridiculous enough for you, my heart?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you replied, struggling to keep a straight face. “I think it’s… adorable. Don’t you feel adorable?”

Halsin sighed, a deep rumble in his chest, but a smile was starting to pull at the corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” he smiled begrudgingly, his voice low and soft. “Yes, I suppose I do feel adorable.”

You stepped forward, cupping his face and planting a kiss on his lips, which softened his gruff expression as he chuckled. "That’s the spirit, my big, bumbling bee."

Just as he was getting used to the idea, you led him out to the Grove, where the surprise you’d prepared awaited. There, all the orphans of the Grove he cared for stood in a little cluster, each dressed as a tiny bee, buzzing and flapping their wings as they ran up to him.

One by one, they came over, reaching out to tug at his costume, laughing and running circles around him, calling out, “Look, Daddy Halsin, we’re just like you!”

Halsin’s stern expression melted completely as he looked at them, pride and warmth shining in his eyes. It suddenly made sense why you’d been so insistent on the costume. He knelt down, arms outstretched, and the children flocked to him, piling onto his lap and shoulders, each a little bee in their own right.

His gaze met yours, full of gratitude and affection. “You planned this, didn’t you?” he asked softly, his smile so tender it made your heart ache.

“I thought it might make tonight a little more memorable,” you said, watching as the children proudly showed off their costumes, making buzzing sounds and flapping their little wings.

Halsin chuckled deeply, pulling you in for another kiss, one arm wrapped around you and the other holding a little bee who clung to his shoulder. “I am surrounded by the sweetest hive I could ever ask for,” he murmured, glancing between you and the children.

You beamed at him, knowing that tonight would be a memory not just for the children, but for him as well—your big, bumblebee protector, with a heart as soft as honey.

🎃🌙.𖥔 ݁ ˖༉‧₊˚🕯️❀༉‧₊˚.🐈‍⬛

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Okay so very cracky and probs a bit ooc but I just could not get this out of my head. Hope you guys enjoyed this and that you all have a very wonderful and safe halloween over the next few days ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[lakefu]

VampireBear & BearVampire! 🐻💜🦇 Costume prompt for bg3 autumn week on twitter 🧡

[waesabie]

Link in bio!

[somethingyoirelated]

Happy Halloween! 🎃

Twitter | Patreon | Pillowfort | Pixiv | Instagram | BlueSky

And here are all the single images!

[beecreeper]

Spooky time part 2! Now with secondary companions + a gort-bot

Individual closeups under the cut

[pinkmeanieofficial]

Shadow Druid (?) - Halsin

Inspiring music : Something in the Woods Somewhere by Hozier // And The Sky Turned Black by Eldrak

[brewstersbru]

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. 

[porekagall]

a vampire 🧛‍♀️

a werewolf 🐺

and a werebear 🐻

happy halloween! 🎃✨

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Let's celebrate Trolltide in Baldur's Gate!

On this day commemorating Waterdeep’s victory in the Second Trollwar, children run through the city acting like trolls, banging on doors and growling, from highsun till dusk. Home and shop owners are expected to give the children candy, fruits, or small items. Those who give no treat can expect to become the target of a trick at sundown. This mischief typically takes the form of “troll scratchings” at doors and windows. Those with more malicious intent sing screechingly in the wee hours, and hurl raw eggs at windows, signs, and the heads of those who try to stop them. Have some candy on hand or some sweet rolls, and all will be calm where you live.

Rainbow dragon once again brings this Autumn/Halloween ask game. The rules stay the same. Send me asks with one of the prompts written bellow, ideally one that contains all three types, and I'll bake you an ooky-spooky ficlet with any character from Baldur’s Gate!

🎃Dialogue🎃

"what do you mean you've never gone tricks-or-treating?!"

"you're like the toughest person i know! am i really supposed to believe that a horror film is enough to have you cowering into my lap?"

“You’ve got leaves in your hair.”

“What are you reading?”

"Here, take my sweater/jacket/coat."

"Your hands are cold."

"Are you scared?"

"You look cold, do you want a hug?"

"I bet you can't catch a leaf."

"You're soaked through!"

"Pumpkin spiced latte, please."

"You think anyone's ever died here?"

"It's sweater season!"

👻Actions/Scenarios👻

carving pumpkins together

baking halloween sweets

going to questionable lengths to decorate their house/apartment

throwing a halloween party

comforting the scaredy cat amongst them

putting an inordinate amount of effort into planning their costume

going to a pumpkin patch

exploring a graveyard

blackberry picking

trick-or-treating

apple picking

🕸️Prompts🕸️

Local bakery

Black cat

Thunderstorm

Coffee date

Fall-mark AU

Cabin retreat

Warmth

Crunching leaves

Halloween party

[fey-wanderer]

by Drakonoart ( Twitter/X )

[queenoftriforce]

Halloween Stickers WIP!

These bad boys will be up on October in my Redbubble store 🎃

[ryewritesstuff]

Holiday AU!

[rhymeswithfart]

@mohammedshehabneww is vetted by 90ghost !

I hope this will help. I'm adding images to tag more things: