#which… poor halsin on that truly

[autistichalsin]

Some of my favorite, understated moments with heartbreaking implications for Halsin

1. Halsin threatening to turn into a mouse in the epilogue if the player brags about his achievements- he's so shy and humble that just being acknowledged for LITERALLY BUILDING A COMMUNE HIMSELF makes him want to hide. A mouse is a very symbolic choice here: not only easy to hide, but also easily overlooked and forgotten. The idea of his accomplishments being acknowledged is so terrifying for him that he wants to turn into an animal no one will notice, instead of his usual strong, large, noticeable bear.

2. "Sometimes, I think people look at me and imagine my feelings can't be hurt." This isn't the kind of thing that happens after one or two people act like jerks. This is years and years of cruel treatment, of his emotions being demeaned and mocked because of his size. Of people judging him before even meeting him- and forming an entirely wrong view of him. Halsin is a bighearted, tender, sentimental man, yet because he's big... Well, big people don't have feelings, surely. /s

3. "You and I may struggle to go unnoticed in such environs, Karlach[...] Folk of our stature can be a lure for drunkards seeking a brawl, I have found," combined with, "There is a particular discomfort to besting one you know to be weaker than yourself - even when needs must," from a different scene. People have sought him out and fought him because of his size (which had to have been terrifying, especially the first time), and he feels guilty when he takes out someone he knows is weaker, even if they STARTED it. How many times has the poor guy been traveling and then had to defend himself against someone 1/2 his size, making HIM look like the asshole to onlookers, and reinforcing that whole "people think I can't be hurt" thing?

4. "It was always destined to be so, if we prevailed. But the foreknowledge makes it no less bittersweet..." (About the players' paths diverging post brain battle), combined with "I see... After all my years of living, I know all too well that nothing lasts forever. Yet a parting can sting, nonetheless," if the player breaks up with him in the ending. This poor guy was having the time of his life adventuring with the group (and possibly falling in love there) yet never believed it would truly last (because of his abandonment issues). And then to have it confirmed.... he must have felt so awful in that moment, even if he was being dignified about it.

5. "You came for me... thank you. I feared Orin's accursed smile would be the very last sight I beheld," when Halsin is freed from Orin, combined with, "Orin's blades. I hoped my friends would save me..." If he is killed by Orin instead and Speak With the Dead is used on his corpse. The tone of his voice in the first line, especially added to that bit in the second... he never thought the player was coming to save him. He HOPED they would. Not "believed". Hoped. He thought he was going to die there- just like how he was in the Underdark for THREE YEARS and no one came to save him. And if it's confirmed... Yeah. That. (Sidenote: if you ask his corpse if he has any regrets, he says not telling Thaniel and Oliver goodbye, and not getting to see their land flourish. :( My heart. :( )

6. "I... have not had true confidantes for some time. The Shadow Curse robbed me of almost all my peers, and replaced them with the weight of responsibility. Perhaps that caused me to gild undeserving memories of my youth." Halsin was so miserable and stressed being Archdruid that he romanticized his past as a sex slave, viewing it as a safer, even happier alternative. There were actually times when Halsin thought he might rather be a sex slave than continue to be Archdruid. In a sense, for the 100 years the Shadow Curse was around, Halsin was just as much a prisoner as Thaniel was in the Shadowfell, but Halsin's prison had invisible bars. The Shadow Curse took away his entire support system, and being Archdruid forced him to be the strong one, always, never allowed to be weak or scared, forced him to take control of situations when he hated it, forced him to spend his time sorting out people instead of being in nature. And he was MISERABLE. For 100 years.

7. "You understand me almost perfectly. Only my late mother may have bested you." (Said if you get one question wrong at the love dryad test). He misses his mama. :( Especially when you consider that if you steal Balthazar's "Mother Dearest" and taunt him about it, Halsin disapproves (and is the only one to do so), while returning her gets you approval (which only Halsin approves of). And then the line when you look into a mirror while controlling him, "more like my father, with each passing day..." He really misses them. :(

8. "I am loathe to see anyone behind bars. It reminds me of my time as a guest of the goblins." He is, secretly, still quite traumatized from his time in the goblin pens, but he brushes it off. Just like every OTHER time he is hurt.

9. "I am aware [of having a habit of getting captured]. Perhaps I put too much faith in my skills of negotiation, or want to see good where there is none. It would be easy to resort to nature's fury whenever something stood in my way, yet I cannot help but feel I would be sullying the Oak Father's gifts. Naive perhaps... but I still draw breath." Halsin is aware he gets hurt often because of his desire to see good in people until he has no other choice, but refuses to give up anyway (which is backed up by that letter Gut had on her where she reveals Halsin TRIED to help the goblins, saying he could cure them of their tadpoles, only to be thrown in the cage, with Gut threatening to have his stomach cut open and maggots placed inside it.) Further, even though he is an Archdruid, and one of the most devoted, and explicitly has Silvanus's favor (Halsin says that gaining his favor was the only way he was able to open the portal to the Shadowfell), he still constantly worries about using Silvanus's powers, to the point of wondering if an actual threat to his safety actually merits using his powers. Which... combined with some other stuff, reads like one hell of a problem with self-worth.

10. "At least you were not present. Grim as [the ruined battlefield] is now, it was worse on the day of the battle. A vivid wound upon my memory[...] I was lucky - I lived, when so many did not. It would take me a day and a night to recite the names of all the friends I lost" combined with, "I was [present when the Shadow Curse was unleashed]. Part of my spirit was shorn away from me here, and never left," and, if Last Light falls, "All gone... devoured by the shadows. Oak Father preserve us, it's just like a hundred years ago[...] We are [still standing]. Yet there is a burden to being the survivor... the witness to others' tragedies. It only grows heavier with time." He has so much PTSD and survivor guilt from the Shadow Curse. :( No wonder it's all he can think about- to the point that some of the other companions even get annoyed at him for his obsession.

11. "I never quite realised how burdened I was, until I met you. The threat of the shadow curse, the politics of the grove... I was forgetting who I was, but you lifted the fog. Thank you." Not only does this tie in with the above, with his PTSD from the curse and his utter misery at being Archdruid, but this HEAVILY implies Halsin had depression. Like... that "fog" line hits HARD if you have or have had depression, because that's exactly what it feels like. And the "forgetting who I was" bit too. Not just losing his sense of self to the depression, but to the neverending responsibilities of being Archdruid. I keep repeating myself, but damn, this guy has really and truly spent an entire century being absolutely MISERABLE. :(

12. "Forgive me. I... lost the run of myself. Sometimes, if blood runs hot enough, it's difficult to tame the beast." With that little disgusted groan/sigh, the fury and disgust at himself visible on his face, and the way he rushes to get out the rest of it- he thinks he fucked up so badly that you're about to leave him, maybe forever. And then if you reject him after this? "Ah... I see. Well, of course. Back to camp then." He has the most heartbroken look on his face here, and the way he says "of course" like he just... knew this was coming the instant he accidentally wildshaped. He felt that the first time he let ANY of his imperfections show, the player would leave him. :(

13. "Death is nature's final slumber - it awaits us all. Do not punish yourself over those lost, or give in to despair - not while there are still folk in need of your help." (Said to a Dark Urge if they tell him they're not much of a hero and most people needing them end up dead) Not only is Halsin speaking from experience here, but it's very clear he is STILL doing exactly what he tells Durge not to do, to himself- punishing himself over those who were lost, struggling with devastating survivor guilt.

14. "The grove has cut itself off from the world, to jealously guard its own little pocket of nature. No one shall ever enter or leave again. And I have been evicted from the very place I was charged to safeguard. A telling summary of my time as Archdruid, perhaps..." If the Grove is sealed and you ask him about it later, this is what he says. Interesting that he views being evicted from the place he was in charge of protecting to be a "telling summary." He was forced to take the leadership role there, and yet it was clear he wasn't wanted or respected by a great number of the Druids (exempting Nettie, Rath, and Apikusis). He got a truly thankless job that took damn near EVERYTHING from him emotionally/mentally, causing him to develop depression and causing him to backslide in his previous healing from his trauma from his time as a sex slave, he still gave EVERYTHING to the Grove, and in return...... almost none of his Druids appreciated or even liked him. (I could seriously write at least five metas about how obviously miserable Halsin was at the Grove, despite caring for it deeply).

15. "You could have done anything, gone with anyone... yet you chose me." Said at the epilogue to a solo romanced player who went to the commune with him. There's so many layers of heartbreak here. He is still surprised, six months later, that the player chose him. He even thinks the player will regret it, and will decide they want an adventurer's life after all after seeing everyone else. He doesn't think he is good enough- doesn't think he deserves the player, and yet at the same time he loves them so much that he is heartbroken over the possibility they might agree with him. He thinks that given a chance, there is little chance they would actually choose him again. (He is put at ease quickly when the player promises they picked him for a reason, but even the explanation he gives for why he was so worrie is heartbreaking- that he's so used to a tumultuous life that he thinks something must go wrong. He has been so traumatized so many times over the years that he just has almost no ability to think that true happiness is possible [or deserved] for him.) Something about that is just heartbreaking, even though his ending is one of the happiest of any of the companions.

Someone give this sweet bear man a hug, please :(

[littlejuicebox]

Milk.

Back again for the third time today, this time with some porn with a plot.

I'm really on one with the Dadstarion fics. Something has been unleashed inside me, people.

I need to edit all these headers at some point.

Warnings: babies, angst w comfort, smut, nipple play, breast milk, breast milk drinking, breeding kink, daddy kink, teasing, dirty talk, a bit of soft dom Astarion vibes, 18+ only please

A/N: Most of you already know I'm a degenerate.

-----

Astarion had been uncharacteristically melancholy this week.

Sure, it wasn’t unusual to witness him in one of his moods of irritation or frustration, particularly when some business deal or another was not going particularly well, or a contract he’d already drafted more times than he could count came back to him with more rebuttals.

But to witness this cloud of sadness around your husband, especially after Gale’s birth, was odd. He’d been the picture of domestic joy and fatherhood, completely over the moon in his new role. He even wore the sleeplessness better than you in the first few months, happy to assist where he could so that his little love could get more valuable rest.

However, just recently, his mood had become detached and distant. Everything he did and said seemed tinged with worry or sadness. It reminded you of the spawn version of Astarion from several years ago, almost always caught in a poor memory or concerning line of thought. That version of Astarion hadn’t shown up in a while. You couldn’t be sure what triggered it.

“Gale’s getting quite good at holding his head up,” You inform your husband as you crawl into bed with him after just putting the three-month-old down for the evening.

“That’s wonderful news, darling.” Astarion replies, with that same distant, pensive air he’s addressed you with all week as he focuses on the book in his lap.

You sigh, and put your hand over the book, obscuring the pages and forcing the elf to acknowledge you, “What is it, Astarion? You’ve been in this… mood all week and I’m beginning to worry you’re regretting parenthood.”

Your husband’s eyebrows crinkle as he places the book on his nightstand, staring at you with a mixture of shock, hurt and confusion, “Darling, do you truly think that? What have I done besides absolutely dote on Gale? And on you!”

You realize you’ve misspoken. You see the wounds on your husband’s face as he assesses you, and your hands come to his cheeks, searching his eyes, “No, no I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. I know you don’t regret Gale… I just. I’m worried, Astarion. You seem… sad. Lost in thought in a way I haven’t seen in years and… I don’t know why.”

There is a moment of silence as Astarion’s eyes flash through several thoughts, filtering through a week's worth of garbled noise within his mind. And then he sighs, “I…” he pauses and blinks, forcing himself to meet your gaze, “I’m worried that I won’t be the right masculine role model for Gale. That I’m not strong enough to show him… to show him how to be a good man.”

Your mouth falls open in shock. You cannot even think of something to say, because this certainly wasn’t the direction you thought Astarion would take. He was always quite self-assured in his talents and never hesitant to be the true version of himself after the parasite fiasco over a decade ago.

He continues, “I don’t live in the woods, or whatever it is exactly Halsin does. I’m not an especially talented spell caster like Gale. And I’m fair with a blade but it’s been years since I’ve had use for one and I don’t have the level of training nor regular practice like Wyll nowadays, dear. I review contracts and make investments; I run the winery. I embroider. I’m not exactly the picture of masculinity in comparison to… others.”

There is a moment of quiet between the two of you. Concerned tears form in your husband’s eyes, which he quickly blinks away.

“Astarion… you are the strongest man I know.” You murmur, running a finger along the elf’s cheek as he scoffs and shakes his head. His eyes jerk away from your face; clearly, he does not believe you.

You gasp in shock as you cup his face harder, willing the elf to understand how serious you are. You continue, vehemently, “My love. You cannot seriously believe otherwise! You have endured more than any of us could ever imagine. Over 200 years of… horrible atrocities. And then you came out on the other side of that, after having sacrificed so much — and Astarion, do not ever forget how much you willingly sacrificed — to be better. To choose differently. To be so much more.”

You are ripping the blankets away and crawling into your husband’s lap now, wrapping your limbs around his torso. His head comes to the side of your neck as you hold him, hoping to convey the love and respect you have for the elf with the warmth of your arms. Your fingers latch into the curls on the back of his neck as you speak in a reverent whisper, urging him to believe you.

“I watched you endure years without the sun in more stride than I could have possibly thought. And you are perhaps softer than you were when we met, yes. But this version of you gives me and Gale everything we need and more. I cannot imagine someone stronger or more courageous than you, my love. And I think you have forgotten how much strength it took for you to become this soft in the first place. I love this version of you. And Gale has a wonderful, loving, strong father in this version. Please do not ever doubt that.”

A quiet hum of acknowledgement comes from your husband, but no other words escape him as he lifts his head from the crook of your neck and envelopes your lips in a soft kiss. A thank you.

Your heart is pounding from the passion with which you spoke, and when Astarion’s lips press into yours, that passion and love begins to flow throughout your body. Pieces of you start to wake.

It had been a while since you two were intimate. Not since before Gale's birth. Days and nights had recently been filled with parenthood and left little time nor energy for much else. But as Astarion pushes forward, wrapping his arms around your back, you feel the stirrings of desire deep in your core. A soft moan leaves you as a fire begins to grow where mere glowing embers had been left several months ago.

Astarion must be feeling the same pull, because his hand trails from your back and sneaks under your nightdress to brush along your thigh. He slowly traces up the length of your leg to cup your bottom while he deepens the kiss with a soft, breathy moan of his own. He’s flexing his hips up toward you, the growing bulge in his trousers begging for further stimulation. Your lover’s tongue swipes along your lower lip, asking for entry, and your mouth opens to accept the swirling heat of desire from the elf.

He explores your mouth and caresses your bottom for a while, tenderly, slowly, and in no rush to further things along despite the mutual growing desire between your two bodies. It’s you that finally breaks the kiss before ripping your night dress over your head, exposing two heavy, milk-laden breasts in the process. Astarion brings the hand not kneading into your ass to cup your breast before thumbing the pert nipple.

You gasp, and your husband’s brows crinkle for a moment as he pauses his ministrations.

“Too sensitive?” He asks, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your other breast.

“No, keep going,” You urge him, closing your eyes and rolling your hips forward to grind into his groin. He bucks forward to meet you instinctively.

He tentatively thumbs the nipple again and you moan in response. Without thinking much about it, Astarion brings his mouth to the other breast and wraps his lips around the bud before sucking gently. You release an ecstatic keen in response when his teeth graze against the tender flesh. You are continuing to roll your hips into him when he suddenly retracts from your chest with a shocked gasp.

Your eyes snap open, and you catch the final glimpse of your husband wiping breast milk from the side of his mouth as his cheeks and ears slowly turn pink. And then you feel your own embarrassment growing as rosy patches flush across your chest and cheeks. You quickly move to cover your breasts.

“I-I’m sorry,” You whisper, “it slipped my mind. I forgot about the…”

You’re thinking the moment’s ruined, and moving to climb off your husband, but he quietly brings his hand to your waist and stills you. His eyes search yours silently for a moment, and you’re still so consumed by your own embarrassment that all you can do is stare dumbly back at him, eyebrows furrowed.

But then Astarion lifts one of his hands to your own, slowly lowering it from where it had been covering your breast. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he once again leans forward and wraps his lips around the nipple, sucking gently. Warm milk flows into his mouth and you inhale sharply, unable to look away as your husband removes his lips from your breast, opens his mouth to show you the white liquid, and then closes his mouth and swallows.

He swallows.

And then he smirks up at you with a self-satisfied, mischievous glint in his eyes that causes the slickness between your legs to instantly double.

Gods, this man.

You are convinced your entire body is flushing red at this point as Astarion slowly brings his other hand up to palm the flesh of your breast.

“Would you like daddy to do it again?” He purrs before his tongue laps circles around the side of your heavy tit.

“I— gods, yes.” You respond, blinking down at the elf.

“Okay. But you have to ask me very, very nicely, little love.” He responds teasingly as he trails kisses to your other breast, waiting for you to say something.

“Please suck my nipple,” You whisper, eagerly rolling your groin into your husband's raging erection.

But Astarion doesn’t do what he’s asked. Instead, he’s teasing the bud with the flat of his tongue and humming contentedly, waiting for something from you.

“Please suck my nipple, daddy.” You amend, and the elf instantly engages his lips around your other breast with a soft groan. He’s drinking with vigor as your hands find the curls at the nape of his neck and take hold. Before long he’s retracting again, his mouth full of liquid gold.

And he pulls the same maneuver. Mouth open, flashing the white liquid as he looks directly into your eyes. Mouth closed. Swallow. Devious smile.

“It’s delicious, you know.” He murmurs as you stare at him, still in shock and still somewhat embarrassed by the fact that you are actually enjoying this. His hands come to either breast, both now significantly lighter, and he fondles the soft tissue.

“You shouldn’t be so surprised that you like this darling, I distinctly remember a time when I made you orgasm by mere nipple play alone.” He whispers, a glint of that cocky rogue playing across his face before he trails kisses up your chest and along your neck.

“Gods, Astarion,” You respond, “I need you inside me, now.”

You’re done with the foreplay. Your husband has you ridiculously hot and bothered, and it’s been far, far too long. You're on your knees, which are straddled on either side of his hips as you urgently tug at the waistband of his trousers, trying to work his pants and underclothes off in one motion. But your husband is purposely resisting and refusing to lift his hips, watching you with that same arrogant smile.

Oh, he's toying with you.

“Darling, why am I always the one dirty talking you?” He asks, pulling back from your neck and cocking his head just slightly as he studies your face.

“I— what?” You ask, still pulling insistently at his waistband.

“I’m always the one charming the pants off of you, dear. In over ten years, it’s never really been the other way around. But you know that I love to hear your beautiful words.” He continues, moving one of his hands to stroke between your still-clothed folds.

“Astarion, please fuck me.” You try as you struggle to keep your composure. The slickness of your cunt is making obscene noises as he expertly maneuvers between your slit, watching your expression attentively as you come undone.

He chuckles darkly as he brings his lips to your breast once again, trailing kisses along the side of the flesh, “I think you can do better than that, my love.”

You groan in dismay as the bastard continues to tease you. Several months without sex and somehow you’re still the desperate one while he’s effortlessly maintaining his cool.

“What do you want daddy to do to you, darling?” He purrs, teasingly, as his other hand that isn’t stroking between your legs trails across your skin to fondle your ass once again.

“I want you to fuck me and fill me with your seed.” You whine as his ministrations on your clit become more insistent. You’re trying to play into his desires, to convince him to stretch you open with his thick cock.

Your legs are trembling now. He’s going to make you come embarrassingly fast. You know it. He knows it.

“Won’t you beg me, my love?” He murmurs as his eyes trail across your chest, admiring your larger-than-usual breasts before his gaze locks back onto yours, fingers still strumming your clit, now adding more pressure, “You know I love to hear your sweet little pleas.”

“Please— Astarion. Please, daddy. Please fuck me. Breed me like your good little wife and fill me with—“

You gasp and then moan as your orgasm rips through you with little warning, drenching your husband’s hand in your arousal. The release causes your legs to turn into jelly, and Astarion uses the opportunity to quickly maneuver you into a new position. You are sitting on the side of the bed, and he is now standing, quickly lowering his trousers.

His cock springs free, and the sight causes your eyes to widen in shock. It’s so engorged that the head is slowly turning from that gorgeous pink to a deep purple, begging for release. Thin rivulets of pre-cum are falling in strings from the tip; much of his shaft is glistening from the same evidence of his arousal.

Astarion glances down at his own erection and then warns, “It’s been a while darling, not quite certain how long I will last.”

“Just get inside me already, daddy.” You plead and that’s enough to make your husband growl as he strokes his own member once, twice, prepping himself. He peels your drenched undergarments down your legs and tosses them aside.

As Astarion’s cock slides between your folds you gasp. Gods, it really has been too long. And then he’s pressing into you slowly, groaning deeply with the amount of effort it’s taking him to not release his spend right upon entry into your tight cunt. When he reaches the hilt, the elf stills for a moment and lowers himself down to kiss your lips before pressing his forehead against yours. And then Astarion is slowly rolling his hips, his mouth hanging open in a gasp at the delicious sensation of your walls clenching around him before he closes his eyes to focus.

It isn’t long before he's losing control. Your husband normally prides himself on being a consummate lover; it’s quite typical that he brings you to orgasm twice before finding his own release. But it has been quite some time and perhaps holding off in an attempt to hear your pleas wasn’t as easy for him as it appeared on the outside.

“Gods, darling. You feel so perfect.” The elf pants, almost breathless, his hips stuttering as he jerkily thrusts into you, trying and failing to maintain some rhythm as the pleasure overwhelms him, “So perfectly wet and tight.”

“Come inside me, daddy.” You whisper as you bring your hand to the side of Astarion’s face.

The command shocks him. Like you, he’s suddenly coming with very little warning. His eyes rip open as he’s spilling into you with a loud groan, his cock jerking inside your walls where he’s instinctively buried himself to the hilt.

“Fuck-- gods, Tav--" He hisses through the waves of pleasure racking his body as his eyes roll back. His thighs are trembling as his member continues to throb, spilling several streams of hot, thick seed into you as you watch his face in awe. Mouth agape, cheeks flushed. You love the way he looks when he loses control.

You smile and kiss your husband gently as he comes down from his high, your hand stroking his cheek. And then he’s laughing and pressing his forehead back against yours. A few of his curls fall haphazardly and you reach up to lovingly comb them back into place.

“You are… still full of surprises, aren’t you?” Astarion asks as he slowly withdraws from you, causing the slickness from your lovemaking to run down your thighs and into the sheets.

“I thought you would like it,” You offer shyly, now somewhat embarrassed at your own crassness as the tides of passion recede.

“Oh, I certainly did, darling.” Your lover reassures you as he bends down to retrieve his trousers from the floor, "You cheeky little degenerate."

Just then, Gale lets out a sharp cry from the nursery. You move to stand up, but your husband stops you with a gentle hand and a soft, adoring smile.

“I’ll go and get him. Don’t waste the seed still inside you, dear. Give it a few more precious moments to try and do its thing, hm?” Astarion says, partly teasing and partly serious as he shoots you a wink before heading out the bedroom door to retrieve the infant.

This one won’t take, you know as much. You aren’t ovulating. But as you watch the love of your life exit the room on his way to retrieve the other love of your life, you think you may actually be ready to start trying for another one sometime soon. You know Astarion is simply waiting for your cue.

Anything for daddy. 

[brewstersbru]

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

[thelikesoffinn]

been thinking about it lately and Ascended Astarion = Dead Dove content and I'm not sure that's really understood, even by the writers. when I finally got around to the character I decided to ascend him with, I was SUPREMELY disappointed by the conversations options following it. it seemed like the dialogue choices were trying to push the narrative on my character that they made this choice w/o considering the consequences and they are bound to regret it. the closest I could get to answering his question of "why did u let me go thru w it?" was "I wanted u to be powerful".

but with that character? my accept Bhaal durge? that isn't the reasoning. at all. (related: "what do u want as a reward?" "ur body" was the closest answer my character could give. otherwise I'd've answered "murder :))")

for context, this run was born of a conversation w my friend discussing supposed content no one had seen bc "no one's that evil". we thought, what's more evil than killing literally every npc? I failed the conceit of the challenge immediately bc I can't handle senseless animal cruelty in my games. killing children? fine (u need a mod to do this in BG3, but I am thankfully plenty delighted to use mods), killing a neutral animal npc? no can do.

so I started this durge (they are the only character that can come close to "killing" Gale with that first interaction) run with the intention of killing everyone except Shadowheart (only a cleric of Shar can truly kill Aylin) and Astarion (bc I need to smooch him). (and there is a mod for playing an origin character as durge, which would have meant playing as Shadowheart, but I MUST smooch Astarion and I don't tend to do het or female romances, unless I'm forced to (*sighs dreamily* oh, Garrus Vakarian). I'm just not interested in that set of equipment in that way, so may as well just make a durge dude.) somehow something went wonky and Halsin ended up joining us and I was so perplexed I just allowed him to stay. (he's meant to attack if u destroy the grove but free him anyway, but instead he just showed up that night and went straight into his Moonrise spiel. is it bc the wolf Silver never aggro'd me and thus survived???) so I fixed the Shadow Curse all while killing every single humanoid and hostile animal in acts 1 & 2. including Thaniel, which makes Halsin's talks later in act 3 of getting news from Thaniel and the Grove hysterical. idk what I did but I sure as hell broke this poor man.

(on a related note, Halsin will give out to u when u accept Bhaal, but will still give u the "u have exceeding my expectations, also we should bang" in the same conversation. I DON'T KNOW WHAT I DID BUT IT'S DARKLY FUNNY.)

in the conversation when Astarion is expressing surprise that u let him go thru w it, my durge is just like, yes my motivation is that I like to kill ppl :))). it's not a sex thing for him (that is separate from the murder!), but he's still fine w the outcome. yes, Astarion looks down on him, but that's fine! he's allowed to be wrong about that, durge doesn't care. so long as Astarion lets him kill ppl he genuinely just does not give a shit.

(I actually had the idea that if Halsin were to ever rediscover his morals and tried to leave he'd ask Astarion to turn him so Halsin would not have a choice. as I said, this durge *does not fucking care*.)

this is probably the only character I will play that would let Astarion ascend bc I enjoy dead dove SOMETIMES, but not always or in large doses, but I get so few dialogue options that convey that in an rp sense! I don't think the writers/devs REALLY took that into consideration, sometimes. like, yeah, there are going to be ppl making fucked up choices but surely no one would go THIS far! for THIS reason! honey, u need to look up the Dead Dove tag on AO3, there are absolutely ppl making choices for those fucked up reasons.

(and I understand the whole "this confirms to Astarion about sex yadda yadda". even if that's not Tav/Durge motivation, that's how ASTARION would *interpret* it.)

(oh yes, and also, don't let Orin abduct Yenna. it doesn't matter whether u find out in camp or the sewers, Grub will not survive. I was devastated. if I'd known, I would have made sure Halsin was available for her, but she won't abduct a party member or someone ur romancing.)

long story short, I want to play a durge that even ascended Astarion finds unsettling. that's the dream.

Hello there, duck!

Your run sounds delightfully evil! I wish I could play one of those, haha, but I'm too soft hearted. My one evil run with my durge Salira was ended before even entering the grove because I felt horrible after getting rid of Gales hand! Seriously, I can barely take killing the squirrel as durge, and I always save Alfira because I feel horrendous otherwise!

(Fun fact, on all five runs I've done Yenna just vanished at some point and grubs was left standing in my camp, which was like...eh?)

And yes, Halsin is always somewhat of an issue, isn't he? He's just running around, causing mayhem in peoples games because he seems slightly bugged out, haha. I had one run, where he wouldn't go to the spot where we save Thaniel because he joined the fight against Marcus at Last Light and somehow got stuck, for some reason. Same run, none of his vocals would play, which was also very interesting. Everybody would make noise when they climbed or got hurt but Halsin was always silent and just there! And in another run the dude really straight up hated me - he was so mean and snappy, I swear to god he wanted my Durge dead - and then he suddenly went: "Hey you're super cool and strong and I just want to gently fuck you beneath the moonlight if you'll let me" and I was like: Say what.

Regarding the dead Dove: I've talked to people of Discord before, and some of them mentioned something similar a couple of times, but personally, I do think the writers actually knew what they were doing here!

Of course, I do agree that it relies heavily on the regret notion and that it somewhat shoehorns you into a certain narrative corner, I noticed that too when I was ascending him for research - I hated doing that, but all for the asks, haha - but I thought it was really fitting for what it is!

The bad ending, that is. I know we all somewhat forget that because of how people view him as a character, but ascension is the bad ending. Even on an evil run, where your character may have considered all options, it is very likely that Tav hasn't accounted for one very important part of being a true vampire.

The obsession.

It's still somewhat mild in the game, though definitely there, but it will only get stronger as time goes on, and it will probably get to the point that the only escape is death. Either his or Tav's. So, in the end, ascension will come with an armload of regret and the writers were making sure we know that.

And, on top of that, even if we let him ascend in a pursuit for power - or in in your durge's special case: murder :) - we still cast spawn Astarion aside because he doesn't fit our needs, thus making it very clear to him that who he is isn't enough and his behaviour is the price we now pay.

It's pretty much the same with all the other companions as well - justiciar Shadowheart and ascended Lae'zel, for example. However, it doesn't bother us as much, because we have different expectations towards ascended Astarion than, for example, dark justiciar Shadowheart. We don't expect a positive narrative here, a narrative where becoming shady-shar's loyal subject isn't an objectively dumb decision to make, so we don't mind the dead dove as much. It's exactly what we've been expecting - and Aylin even warned us how Shadowheart would change upon becoming a dark justiciar - so yepp. This went exactly how we thought it would and this is what we wanted.

Astarion, however, is a somewhat special case, because his bad ending is, by far, the one that gets the most romanticised. He's so heavily romanticised by so many, that the bad parts nearly start to fade, even with those who don't like the ascended ending. It becomes just 'the other ending', if you will.

And yet, it's still the bad ending.

Ascension is the bad ending for a character that we've somewhat given up on. That we misunderstood so deeply, mayhaps, that we traded his entire being for power and, quite frankly, beauty. We showed him that he isn't enough, we let the boy run and hide the only way he knew how and now we're faced with the consequences and yes, it's really dead dove but...what did we expect?

[ravnloft]

act 2 companion milestones with gwendolyn: a summary

got karlach's second upgrade, told her i wasn't really feeling the chemistry anymore, karlach said "you should rethink how you treat people" and i think stepping in front of a bus would have been less painful

rescued minthara, chatted her up, said "yeah but you don't REALLY love blood and guts and violence, right? you're just mad at the cult, right?" and she was like oh no i absolutely love blood and guts and violence lol. (gwen voice) mark me down as scared AND horny

gale, seductively: i'll suck you in a strange and interesting way / gwen, really scared: just the regular suck is okay please

(reloaded immediately because i simply could not follow through. he said I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU and i friendzoned this poor guy on what could have been his last night alive. gwen is fumbling bitches all over the place. i love it)

(i DID feel very bad about his sad wet eyes. this game feeds us so well on the sad wet man front. thank you larian)

astarion gave a harrowing confession about his trauma and how araj made him feel like an object, told gwen "you made me realize i'm strong enough on my own, i don't have to rely on seduction, there's more to relationships than sex and control" and in my head this convo ended with a very long, very tearful, very welcome hug. then immediately after that he said "just so we're clear, your quest for dommy mommy drow pussy has led us to places i wouldn't even go with a gun, and when minthara tries to kill you i will laugh" which is truly the kind of mlm/wlw hostility (affectionate) dynamic i envisioned for them all along

danced with wyll and also kissed him and um. i think i'm going to have to dump him now. gwen does not want a serious relationship with this guy she just thinks he's very sweet and romantic and got swept up in the moment. wyllyam i'm so sorry. wyllyam she just likes to be wooed and fawned over. wyllyam there is a whole hunk of a flaming hot woman right over there named karlach who is CHOMPING AT THE BIT to be kissed and danced with

halsin and minthara have not spoken to each other once and idk if the original/unmodded romance progression will let me date both of them but god damn that is a sandwich gwendolyn wants so badly to be in the middle of. hey queen hey king let me help you set aside your differences and heal from your trauma and feel safe from the shadows and mind control. and kiss

[blackjackkent]

OK so that whole last scene was intense and Hector is VERY UPSET but I have to say it was unreasonably funny that immediately after Orin disappeared a backpack magically appeared in Hector's inventory with all of Lae'zel's stuff.

Anyway, time to walk around the camp and see how everyone is dealing with The Latest Horrors, starting with Yenna who, poor kid, has had a really terrible evening:

"Wha- what happened?"

"There was an intruder in our camp, but she's gone now."

"Is she coming back?"

"I won't let her."

"I want my mum. I want to go home. I want this all to go away. If she does come back, I'm sticking her with my potato knife. Hard! She won't take me again!"

Poor kid. :( Hector says, of course, that he won't let Orin anywhere near them again, but he knows perfectly well (and probably Yenna does too) that there's no way he can really make that promise.

Karlach had dialogue before about playing games and hanging out with Yenna, bc she is a sweetheart; I like to think that some nights if Yenna gets scared or lonely she comes and curls up with her cat in Karlach and Hector's tent to feel a little safer. <3

-----

Wandering around, I notice that not only did Orin kidnap Lae'zel but stole her tent too, which really seems like insult to injury.

Other camp commentary on the whole situation:

Karlach: "That bloody shapeshifting freak! No one takes my githyanki and gets away with it!"

Jaheira: "The great Orin the Red tugs your sleeve, sulking for attention. She might come to regret it yet. Lae'zel will not break easily - but Orin will only enjoy her work the more for that, if we give her time."

Astarion: "You almost pity Orin, taking Lae'zel like that. Give her half a chance and she'll rip out the shapeshifter's spine."

Wyll: "Dammit all, we've got to get Lae'zel back! If that means killing Gortash, nothing would give me greater pleasure."

Shadowheart: "We can't just let Orin take one of our own - even if it's Lae'zel. We have to rescue her... or kill Gortash in order to win her freedom."

Halsin: "Will Orin truly free Lae'zel if we slay Gortash? I am not so sure... a rescue may be in order."

Gale: "Lae'zel was a formidable addition to our party. Our odds without her are diminished. We should consider Orin's terms carefully, however distasteful we may find them."

So... seems like we're all on the same page re: rescuing Lae'zel, although the jury is still out on whether killing Gortash first or going straight to the rescue mission is the best approach. Must ponder.

[invinciblerodent]

I don't know which cuddle-configuration I like most

The "nesting dolls" triple spoon (Shadowheart, spooned by Petyr, spooned by Halsin- making full and very convenient use of the small>medium>large dynamic)

The "Selûnite Salami" (Shadowheart is the meat sandwiched between her two boyfriends, RIP her poor spine- but at least she's getting both a hug, and will likely wake up with a lump against her butt, so it's a win for her anyway)

The "orthopedic mattress-man" (Halsin in the middle, two half-elves using him as essentially a body pillow from each side- he's mastered the art of slipping up- and into a seated position unnoticed so he can actually do something in the four hours after waking up that he's stuck that way)

Or the "double earmuffs; taming of the shrew edition" (in which Petyr wakes up with his head between two excellent pairs of tits, only to realize with bittersweet resignation that he had well and truly been domesticated against his will)

[loverboy-cc]

I think the reason Halsin and Zevlor (and Jaheria but I don’t post about her often) appeal to me so much as characters is bc they’re old and queer. Halsins varied queerness is an inherent fact of his character, and I heavily hc Zev as a cis gay man and jaheria as a straight transfem.

I only recently realized why I like that so much, it’s because it’s incredibly likely I won’t get old.

Tw. Death, graphic descriptions of chronic illness, mention of genocide, violence fuelled by bigotry.

I’m kinda just rambling in hopes that maybe someone like me will get comfort from knowing that they’re not alone.

I’m mixed, visibly queer, physically disabled, chronically ill and poor in an extremely conservative area. One of my only clear memories before 2016 is being told I wouldn’t live to see 13 bc of all the things wrong with me. I could drop dead from any number of physical issues, I could be killed for being queer, I could be murdered as a “joke” (this whole thing was prompted by an article about a group of teenagers who pushed a wheelchair user to her death in front of a train a few months back bc they thought it was funny. I was at the exact station where it happened, in my wheelchair, waiting for the train.) because I’m supposed to use a mobility aid, which means murder is okay, apparently.

I don’t know any old queers either, I’m not fond of adult themed events but there was a time when I forced myself to go anyway. Just to see people who really and truly lived.

And there was no one.

I know why there wasn’t, but still.

The oldest queer person I’ve ever known was 37, and 39 when she was murdered.

I suppose I just want to hope that someone like me will be able to grow old, and be truly and completely happy.

A part of me is guilty about that, in a weird sort of way. Be the change you want to see in the world and what have you, but I quite literally can’t.

Protests rarely stay peaceful here bc of pigs (cops) and violence fueled by bigotry. I cannot move fast enough to get away.

I can’t afford to donate, I have to live with two people who are, frankly, incredibly bad for my mental health bc this province believes $500 a month covers rent (if I had to pay rent and not just utilities my third would be close to $600 with 3 people in a 2 bedroom, we could not find a cheaper place.)

I do my daily clicks for Palestine (one on each device + in incognito), I keep myself as up to date as I can handle without breaking down. (Particularly genocide is something that has been a constant in my life, Ukrainian/indigenous, somehow both the 2nd generation to be born in Canada and the 2nd generation to be born off the reserve. I physically cannot handle reading about it without making myself legitimately sick a lot of the time, I’m guilty about that too.)

My silly little pngs don’t have to worry about that. They’re only sad when I say they are, otherwise they are happy and they are loved. Loved in a way I can’t even understand, really. I don’t know what it’s like to sit on a counter and kiss my partner while I’m cooking, I don’t know what it’s like to be domestic. It feels weird and edgy to say but it’s true, I don’t know what life is like without pain and exhaustion and struggle. I have fought tooth and nail to make myself a safe space and still it does not exist outside myself. I have exactly 10.2 square meters that are truly safe, and even when I am safe I am in pain, my joints ache and dislocate and fight me when I try to move.

So I draw my silly little pngs, and hope that someone will eventually be happy like that. Because even when everyone is shitty hope is really fucking important. And I can do that, dear gods I can hope. As hard as I can I hope for change.

[missizzy]

A Game Novice's Baldur's Gate Log, 78 1/2 Hours In: I got rid of my lag! Mostly

Masterpost

(Note: this will definitely contain spoilers for all I've played through, and probably quite of a bit of the later stuff I've also seen.)

Patch 7 may not actually have come out, but early this week, my game somehow reset its settings. I had to agree to the TOS again, the tutorial instructions started popping up again, and also it reset graphic settings to the highest quality. They were beautiful. They also made the lag worse than ever, and made the crashing when I go to camp happen almost every time. And even when I did get there, Halsin and Volo were both missing, and when the former's arc is now just kicking in.

But now having the certainty that the lag is indeed affected by said settings, and doing a bit more research, I finally did what I probably should've done ages ago, and set all the graphics to low. It hasn't gotten rid of the lag completely, but it's made it much less noticeable. It might not be the finest view, but it's still not at all bad. I feel like I can play a little more normally now.

Last week ended with my still needing to deal with Dolly x3. I had watched one streamer go all the way through the scene with her in the lantern-and not free her. So I was a little anxious when Sara could only get her to agree to help them "duly," dangerously ambiguous for a fae. But ultimately, there was no way she wouldn't free her, especially not after Karlach urged her to. Thankfully her blessing seems to be working quite well so far.

First order of business after that was getting the infernal iron, and so we headed into the mason's guild, which I had already located, but of course couldn't get into on only torch and dancing lights. We wandered through its rooms, looking into every box and barrel I saw, wandered down to the basement, and had one scary moment when Sara got trapped between the portcullises and misty stepped out, but I briefly thought I'd teleported her the wrong way, couldn't misty step again, and realized I hadn't saved since resuming. Thankfully I'd just gotten confused, and I had taken her the right way. When, after that, we went back upstairs and I finally spotted the iron sitting right there on the table, I gratefully grabbed it and waypointed back to the inn.

Then, of course, came the next scene with Dammon, and sharing a very laggy but still very sweet hug with Karlach once he'd done his work. Then he dropped the bad news on us. Poor Sara very badly wants Karlach to live, but she's never going to truly push her towards returning to Avernus to do so. She ultimately tabled the conversation, and right now is telling herself they'll find another way to save her. I don't know what she's going to do when she's finally forced to face that there isn't one.

I wasn't quite sure what to do after that, so I took the party out to explore the Shadow-Cursed lands further, waiting to see if I ran into Moonrise Towers, or the House of Healing, since I knew about its existence. Instead I ran into a haunted house, He Who Was, whose person and attitude towards trying the dead creeped Sara the fuck out, and then enough shadow and shadow-cursed beings that fighting them got us up to level 7. I saved right after leveling up, so when the next fight didn't go quite so well, I just exited without saving, planning to instead go back to camp, come back with Wyll and Karlach swapped out for Astarion and Shadowheart, because I was pretty sure they both had story beats coming up, and try it again then.

Except that this was when my game reset, and when I finally got to camp two crashes later, the lack of Halsin there alarmed me. I went to look up if maybe he'd teleported to the inn on his own, and then learned that I really should've gone into rightward room on the bottom floor. Disoriented further by an evening conversation where Astarion seemed to believe, contrary to all observation, that Sara might have some ambition for power in her, I went back to the inn again the next day without even doing the character swap, which I was glad for when Counselor Florrick turned out to be there. Although it did come off as kind of weird that she was suddenly there, so soon after the Duke was kidnapped from a different inn. I suppose it might've felt less so if that whole sequence had happened earlier, as the gamemakers must've intended.

I was also glad to have Karlach there when she told us about Lord Gortash, and his Steel Watch. When Florrick warned Sara they might not be able to come help, she definitely secretly hoped they wouldn't. I was even tempted to have her promise Karlach they'd take revenge on Gortash, but I don't think she's quite yet ready to commit to going after someone that powerful. But meanwhile, we also got a look at Art Cullagh, and were promptly asked to go tell Halsin about it, which meant needing to be able to talk to him at camp. I saved, tried to go back there again, had the game crash again, and went off to do my research.

I finally got there after changing the settings, although I'm still wondering why going to camp while being in the inn sent us back to one of our Act I camps. At least Halsin was there-until I told him the news, and he promptly told us to meet him at the inn and blinked out of existence. I did my planned character swap before following him back. I wasn't sure about even having Shadowheart in the inn, but just being there didn't cause her to make any trouble. We stayed there long enough to look at Cullagh again with Halsin, and get directed to go to the House of Healing, the location of which was then helpfully added to our map.

En route to it, we first battled another set of shadow-cursed beings, and got to view brief arcane recordings about Sharran oppression that I suppose Shadowheart is probably going to ignore. But having her when we found Arabella did trigger a cut scene, and I was very glad to be rid of the lag as I for the first time I got to watch the flashback of her being found by Shar's supporters and supposedly saved from a great wolf I suspect they actually set on her. Sara might come to suspect it too, but right now, I think she's still processing everything.

We entered the hospital through the children's ward, which meant we found Arabella's dead parents minutes after talking with her. I knew already they were dead, but the quickness of it made it feel much sadder. By the time we reached the receptionist, we had also learned how terrible a person the master surgeon had been even in life. I amused myself by having Sara throw a barbarian tantrum when told to wait in the non-existent line, which got us into the surgery theatre, where I conversed with him and the nurses until I got bored, and they seemed ready to do terrible things to us, so I attacked.

I would say this was the first battle where I kind of shifted tactics partway through it, when it became clear I'd need more firepower to take the surgeon down. Although we managed to do so without him performing any surgery during the combat, which is actually my first official uncommon achievement in this game. Shadowheart went down at one point, and I wondered if being killed by these followers of Shar might have an impact on her after we brought her back, but ultimately we managed to get her back up first.

We looted the lute off the surgeon, but I was aware that bringing it back to the inn would ultimately lead us a certain battle I wanted to be long rested for, so I decided to end the day with a little more exploring. First I just took us out of the hospital, and while attempted to avoid another shadow-cursed group, we got ambushed by Githyanki, and once again I was forced to reload, when I hadn't saved since finishing the battle with the surgeon and nurses. Not wanting to deal with them again, I instead explored the hospital a little more, exited off the roof, and came to the Grand Mausoleum.

When Raphael showed up at the entrance, and told us about his very dangerous enemy, he may have talked about how he wouldn't try to persuade us from striding in there anyway. But his warning probably would've actually put Sara off going in, if Astarion hadn't then decided to make his deal with the devil, and she pretty much let him. So now we're committed to going in and killing an orthon, but that definitely sounds like another thing we should do after long resting. I'm not sure I won't wait to do it until after Moonrise Towers, especially since we got the hint the Gauntlet of Shar is also in the area, and that's probably the last thing in Act II I'm going to do.

A little further wandering around brought to the area of the Githyanki and shadow-cursed groups again, and this time we got hit by the latter while trying to avoid the former. That fight proved easier, but still drained us enough to call it a day and go back to camp. Sara, still her blunt honest self, told Arabella her parents were dead immediately, and for the second day in a row, she had an angry Tiefling child refusing to believe her, and no idea what she's going to do about that.

I've left off there, and am still a little unnerved that Halsin was not at camp that night either, though Volo was. Near the empty tent that I *think* is Halsin's, so I'm really hoping he's just overnighting at the inn, and that he will return in time to become an official companion, since I know that's about to happen, too.

[thegoldheartmonk]

Ruiz is a light sleeper, and also very uh- prone to violence if awoken abruptly. And while definitely uncommon, they can get some pretty bad night terrors (I think the tadpole has exhasbtated this) And I think this has led to a lot of interesting situations at camp.

Like I imagine one of the companions went to wake them up and was met with a sudden yanking of their ankle which caused them to fall.

Or poor Astarion going to feed and suddenly they scream out while gripping his collar/ruffles.

Truly I think the only people who have successfully not have gotten decked from waking Ruiz up is: Halsin, Jaheria and eventually Gale.

[asterdeer]

i finished it………….holy shit why was beating the literal elder brain easier than fighting cazador and viconia the proper ways. anyway i am Bereft. i miss them already (is about to start a new playthrough as we speak) (and this time i am SAVING LAE’ZEL)

favorite bits

- treeboy was too distraught over the idea of losing karlach so he and wyll moved to avernus with her and they are TRULY tres horny boys (because i made loreleaf a tiefling, get it). based on the dialogue options in the epilogue it sounds like its assumed that was the karlach romance option??? treeboy did not get to brag on his boyfriend at all. but i am into them being a queerplatonic little polycule of sorts so i’m mostly okay with it.

- halsin is still so horny for my treeboy and it delights me. loreleaf got to be so loved on in this game and it makes me very happy. i would literally do another treeboy run just to do a halsin romance (or maybe the halsin/astarion??? i WILL figure out how to make astarion love my boy. i will figure it out. or maybe just write fic about it idk.)

- when karlach says she adores tav as she’s about to die 😭😭😭😭😭😭 i too almost died

- jaheira is soooo slept on she’s such a good character. i adore her.

- i think loreleaf would mount another adventure just to get lae’zel back. she got so fond of him after the party rescued her and i will be daydreaming the second, even more terrifying lae’zel rescue for a while. because i refuse to believe that’s how she ended up, okay, we went through TOO MUCH CULT SHIT to lose a family member to another one

- the emperor is a little bitch baby. “ooh why won’t you kill a man who hasn’t done anything to us, why don’t you trust me, wah wah” even lae’zel let the guy live temporarily, you ass. i’m glad astarion one-shotted you.

- in the final battle i literally lost loreleaf and shadowheart completely and lae’zel knocked herself prone and astarion was too far away to hit the brain, it really was just orpheus doing my dirty work in the end, poor guy.

- uhhhhhhhhh i’m going to cry about halsin if i think about him too long, i’m just. he got his family and his home 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

- i’m a little sad that shadowheart didn’t get more for her epilogue, especially considering how close she and loreleaf were, but at least i got to hug her again (which was very funny because his horns stabbed her directly in the eye both times they hugged)

- i. i love this game. so much. i can’t wait to do it all over again :’)

[autistichalsin]

I think one understated part of Halsin's character is that he was never bad at leadership per se; rather, he was bad at Druidic leadership, and almost all of this was because of a combination of trauma and moral conflict.

The part about trauma has been discussed many times, but suffice to say, Halsin being forced into a leadership position he never wanted or asked for? It was traumatic. He lost the previous Archdruid, a man he admired greatly, to a curse he blamed himself for, which also claimed nearly every friend he had: "it would take me a day and a night to recite the names of all the friends I lost." He then was forced into said Archdruid's role, not allowed to heal from his trauma, and not allowed any confidantes, because the few friends who survived the battle were now his subordinates instead of his peers. He went from Halsin Silverbough to Master Halsin. It is no wonder, then, that resentment towards the role built to the point that he began looking for any excuse not to fill that role, and that's before you factor in the additional motivation of wanting to see the Shadow Curse broken and seeing the Emerald Enclave refusing to help him.

He says himself he hates the role for forcing him to spend less time in nature to handle the other Druids' problems. He would rather be in nature than solve the personal problems of the Druids. And of course, by the time he leaves, this resentment is far from onesided, as now more Druids than not have lost respect for Halsin. Yes, a lot of this is due to Kagha's manipulations, but also? A lot of this is very clearly due to a conflict of ideals.

For example, Druids are supposed to loathe the undead, yet Halsin cherishes Astarion's presence. He views them as worthy of respect and a place in the world, and sees them as distinct from beings that are both unnatural and inherently evil. This is a MAJOR difference in ideals. This likely contributed to many ideological conflicts between Halsin and the others.

And of course, Druidic leadership, at least here, is implied to be somewhat authoritarian in nature; even the Druids who hate what Kagha is doing refuse to make a true stand against her, and will join in on the Druid's side fighting against the Tieflings if the conflict started. It implies an authoritarian, "my leader for right or for wrong" structure.

By contrast, in the epilogue, when Halsin is at his happiest, he is in a leadership role, yet rather than being Master Halsin, he is Alderman Halsin, and he doesn't command the commune; he guides them, with help from others as more of an elder than anything. He is partially in charge of managing conflicts between those at his commune, yet it doesn't take him away from nature, and he feels he has a place there he truly belongs. Because instead of being forced to be something he's not, he is being allowed to use the skills he has to make everyone, himself included, happy. He is allowed to have friends and peers, and is allowed the family/children he was never allowed to have when making endless, unappreciated sacrifices at the Grove.

In short, what Halsin wanted was to be a mentoring sort of leader, not an authoritarian one, yet the Druidic structures forced him to be the latter, when he never wanted the role at all, and after a highly traumatic event to boot, and with him being forced to follow beliefs that were at times contrary to his own values.

Halsin was in many ways a poor archdruid, but he wasn't a poor leader.

[elisende]

The Acolyte

Characters: Halsin/Kagha Rated: E Warnings: Light BDSM, Choking, Suicide Words: 3277

When the wild druid from Kagha's fantasies spirits her away, she exults in achieving her greatest desire. But for such freedom, a price must be paid. Most people assumed Kagha was born into this life.  As though she’d slipped from the earth’s muddy womb to run, unshod, through the pathless forest with feathers in her hair, singing hymns to the Treefather in Wild Elvish under the light of the waxing moon. 

Most people were fools.

She did not used to believe so.  Kagha had been a biddable girl, and once a pliant bride.  She came from a good and ancient family, a line descended from noble Eladrin.  Her family words were Ta selun tor’selu, Highest of the high.  

When they thought no one could hear, polishing the family silver in the kitchen alcove, the servants whispered the words to each other and giggled.  But Kagha heard, and made sure those servant girls were put out on their arses without the day’s pay.  

Her family lived in Alaghôn, a once important city that teemed with once important elven families.  The glory days were long gone but their patina remained; the city stood upon a honeycomb of ancient tombs and palaces, full of relics of a long forgotten age, when dragons reigned and druids wove wild magic in the surrounding hills. Mischance and her incurable curiosity had led Kagha to just such a buried crypt: a druid shrine.  The figures on the walls had danced under the guttering light of her torch, making the mosaics come alive.  Of elf and beast and man all engaged in an ecstatic dance under the shelter of a great oak, from which a deity smiled.  

What captivated her most was the central figure, a wild haired elf, larger than life.  Half bear, even, depicted mid-transformation, his fingers dipped into the open mouth a half-elven acolyte.  His eyes direct, frank, challenging.  Vine tattoos twined up his cheeks, lapping his sensuous lower lip.

She’d discovered the tomb on her wedding night and when the bloom of her marriage faded over the coming months, almost as quickly as the snowy blossom of the dogwoods that proliferated around Alaghôn’s silent streets, she found herself spending most nights in the shrine, under the gaze of the druid, and in her loneliness and misery she fancied that he spoke to her, that she was his acolyte, that he slipped his fingers into her mouth--and more.  Much more.

Kagha recognized him immediately when the same druid came into her husband’s hall, bowed his head to them, drank their wine.  She trembled to see him in the flesh.  She was not gratified, or even pleased.  For she knew the power of her will had drawn him to her; and that had frightened her.  

He had come, he said, to ask a boon.  The key to a lost temple under the foundations of their home.  He spoke in pretty Elvish and he had good manners but he was a wild beast next to her cultured, urbane husband.  Seeing them standing next to each other, she realized her past was standing next to her future.  

Seducing the druid was harder than she thought.  For he, too, was strong willed.  She relished the challenge and where her husband was accommodating, gentle, and predictable, her new lover--for her lover he would be--was stubborn, wild, and prone to rages, like the bear within.  Deploying all of her guile and her considerable beauty, she only barely managed to convince the druid to take her back to his grove to take the trials of a novice.  

She left a single branch of dogwood on her husband’s pillow, its last white petals barely clinging to it.  He was sophisticated, and not unintelligent.  He would understand.

In his grove, the druid Halsin was unguarded, easier to approach.  Her aptitude stunned him, and her unyielding passion captivated him.  After the passing of three seasons she claimed him in a grove of flowering almond trees, planted by some forgotten woodsman.  He kissed her breasts as he came, sighing her name, and on his lips, it had sounded like a great tree cracking down its center and tumbling down.  Kagha.  Her joy in that moment, her triumph, had been unequaled since.  Halsin had a poor memory but Kagha’s was very good.  She could remember the highest point of her life with perfect, painful clarity.

They made love in waterfalls, under the stars in wild glades and secluded bowers, or sometimes even in the caves around the grove.  Halsin made no secret of their affair in the Circle, and, almost as gratifying as having him was the knowledge among the others that he was hers.  Their deference, edged with jealousy.  It was important to Kagha that they knew she was better, separate.  Ta selun tor’selu.

And then, like a towering oak struck down by a sudden clap of lightning, it had all ended.

It ended on a cool autumn day when there wasn’t much to do but lie together.  They rambled out early that morning, he in his bear form, she shivering in little but a filmy shift.  By that time--and through her tireless toil--the forest and wild scrub around the grove had been cleared of the goblin filth that had still infested the land when she joined the Circle.  But now the wood and shore belonged to the beasts and birds, warded by the druids--as it should be.

They found their way to the river and he caught a salmon for them to share in his paws, tossing it to her still flapping.  That was their game: it wriggled and slapped her arms as she caught it, screaming.  He shifted back to his elven form, laughing until tears gleamed at the corner of his eyes.  

Why had they always found that so funny? she later wondered.  Her past self was like a stranger to her.

With his hunting knife he cut her a bit of the flesh and fed it to her, raw.  Watching her as she ate it.  His eyes seemed to shift colors like the trees in the wind.  He liked to see her like this, untamed and even feral.  Even then, she was distantly aware how it was a salve to his ego, that he’d transformed a high elven matron of Alaghôn to a wild girl with her hair running wild down her back, eating raw fish from the end of his blade.  Wasn’t he the master druid?

He discarded the fish and fell upon her by the water’s edge, hands plunging into her hair, and her nose filled with his scent, cedar and smoke and something sweet, like forest berries, or perhaps the wildflower honey he loved to eat.  Their kisses were lingering, needy; up until the very end, they’d never been able to get enough of each other.  Her hand wandered to his cock to find him already hard, his hips lifted to her touch and he sighed into her ear. 

Kagha broke away with a laugh and ran past him to dive into the river.  Her shift clung to her breasts, hips, and the mound between her legs; she made sure to show it all to him from the high, flat rocks that stood like a platform in the center of the river.  With a growl he leapt into the freezing water, clambering up onto the rocks with such grace a bear of an elf could muster.  She laughed again, was still laughing when he climbed onto her and took her breast in his hand, thumbing her nipple through the wet cloth.  Her laughter became a gasp that he swallowed with another deep kiss, this one more forceful.  

This was the other game they liked to play. 

He shoved her onto her back, pulling her head back by her wet hair to expose her neck and claim it with harsh kisses.  His other hand found the damp mound of her sex and grabbed it, fingers roughly stroking her lips through the cloth.  She hissed and grimly he smiled, his eyes not meeting hers, all his attention focused on her body.  

Impatient with the damp fabric, he ripped her shift up to the hip, exposing her to the chilly air.  His rough fingers found her already wet; he circled and flicked her clit with his thumb as he extended a finger, then two inside of her--not gently.  She gasped and her hands found his cock again, clenching it so punishingly tight it made him groan.  

“Do you want me?” she demanded, her voice low but steady.  When he didn’t answer immediately, she loosened her grip, slid her hands down his shaft, teasing the tip with her thumb when she reached it.  

He sighed.  “Yes.”

“Then take me.”  A crack as she slapped his cheek hard with the back of her hand, its outline raised in red on his left cheek.  He looked angry--truly angry--but that was part of their game, too.  With a snarl, he ripped off what remained of her shift and positioned himself between her legs, even as he took her breast in his mouth, lashing her nipple with his tongue, sucking it as harshly and avidly as marrow from a bone.  

Crack.  She landed another blow.  Now he roared as he grabbed her hips, his hands rough on her skin and grip so tight it would leave bruises that would outlast them, outlast what they had together.  She would see them tomorrow and weep.

But now, there was only pleasure.  He plowed into her, and the world seemed to sharpen, become brighter.  The pain from the tiny pebbles and ridges in the rocks that scraped her back.  The sound of the water rushing all around them.  The glorious sense of fullness between her legs, the sweet throb of her pussy as she took all of him in.

His grimace made a mask of his face: he looked almost ugly, older than his five centuries.  She smiled, overcome by a sense of triumph as he continued to thrust.  She traced a hand down his muscled and scarred chest, then turned her caress into a rebuke with her sharp nails.  They drew blood.  He glowered above her like an angry god.  She lifted her hips from the rocks, taking him deeper, giving herself the pleasure she required of him.

“You know what I want,” she said.  “Give it to me.”

His big hands circled her neck and squeezed.  She choked and gasped, smiling defiantly.  If she had the breath, she might have laughed.  She’d learned how to get him to squeeze tighter.  And he did, and stars swam overhead as every sensation below became enhanced.  She felt every raw inch of him, each thrust pounding like a wave against the shore, a relentless onslaught.  It was the full expression and experience of his power that she lost herself in.  

As always, her climax came first, and forcefully.  Her hips bucked against his grip and she screamed soundlessly, for she had no more breath.  The stars in her vision brightened as she lost control, until she couldn’t even see his face anymore.  She sensed him coming, like a stormcloud loosing its rain from a great distance.  The hands around her neck slackened and gasped, vision returning.  They never held each other, after.  Kagha hated being held; it felt too much like being captured.

Instead they lay side by side, fingertips barely touching.  Kagha watched the rills of water that parted around the rocks, listened to the birdsong, and felt the contentment she was never to experience again.

*

When they returned to the grove, even the air seemed somehow poisoned--too quiet, pregnant with some unsavory possibility.  

Kagha and Halsin exchanged a look; he sensed it too.  At least they were dressed.   They had plucked some clothes from a line by the river; a careless novice who’d left the washing unattended in the sun had saved them from an awkward return to the grove.

“Kagha!  My love!”

She whipped around to the source of the voice, which was coming from a great tree at the edge of the grove.  

The idiot.  Her husband, the scion of a great house and a lord of Alaghôn, had perched in the sacred sycamore and covered himself in some kind of disgusting ointment.  He wore a massive set of antlers on his head, tied together with some string, only they wouldn’t stay up and he kept having to reposition them on his head.  He was stark naked.  

She buried her face in her hands.

Beside her, Halsin sucked in his breath.  “Is that…?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice harsher than she meant it to be.  “It’s Talarion.”

“He looks rather different,” Halsin said mildly.  A novice ran up to them, closely followed by Aelar, another high elf who had recently joined their circle from the High Forest.

“Master Halsin, there is a problem,” Aelar said breathlessly.  

“I had noticed,” he replied, a smile playing on his lips.  

“He refuses to leave until,” the elf gulped, glancing sideways at her, “Until he speaks with Kagha.  He says…”  

“Well, get on with it,” Halsin said, smile broadening.  Damn him, he was enjoying this.  Kagha had never been so mortified.  It was somehow worse than if she herself was naked and covered in filth in the sacred tree.  The idea of being connected with such a pathetic figure filled her with shame.  And rage.

As though he heard her thoughts, Talarion screamed her name again from the tree, desperation reaching new heights.

“The sacred balance of this place has been disturbed,” the novice said, speaking for the first time.  A drow girl with a saucy look about the eyes that Kagha disliked immensely.

“Balance has a way of restoring itself,” Halsin said.  “I don’t think the circle is in danger of irreparable harm.  You were saying, druid?”

Aelar gulped again.  “He... says he is Kagha’s husband, Master Halsin.”

A putrid silence followed this, one she felt obliged to fill.  “And so he is not.  I am done with him.  I am with Halsin now.”

The novice smirked, though she tried to hide her face behind her hand.  Cunt, Kagha thought viciously.

“Nevertheless, I don’t think he’ll respond to anyone else,” Halsin said.  His tone was measured, reasonable--conciliatory even.  That angered as much as the words themselves.  

“He is a fool and not my responsibility,” she said.  “I’m not going to placate a child who cannot accept--”

“O sun of my summer sky!  O sweet dawn of my heart!”  The verses stirred some vague memory in her.  But mostly they served to enrage her further.  The idiot, what could he be thinking?  

“Oh Silvanus’s mercy,” Halsin said.  “He’s reciting Daldorian rhyme now.”  

“He attacked everyone else who tried to come near,” Aelar said.  “One of the novices has a broken arm.  This elf’s magic is actually quite advanced.  But since he’s Kagha’s, er--well, as he knows Kagha we didn’t want to hurt him.”

“You have done well, Aelar.”  He turned to her, merriment still dancing in his eyes.  She could spit at him.  “Kagha, you know what you must do.”

She swore an oath that made the slut of a drow gasp and began to ascend the tree, all the way to its crown nearly a hundred feet in the air.  The sticky honeydew of aphids made her fingers tacky as she climbed.  

Below, the Circle watched.  She felt every stare as though it was a lance in her side.  She imagined she could hear their thoughts.  That she was pathetic, unworthy, ridiculous.  

“I, a simple shepherd under the numberless stars, sing the song of love to the vault of heaven, that the gods may hear my prayers!”

How had she ever cared for such a fool?  As she came nearer, the noxious smell intensified.  He had indeed covered himself in excrement, for reasons beyond anyone’s comprehension.  

Finally, she reached the branch where he paced.  He seemed shorter than she remembered, though in comparison with Halsin, he was bound to seem small.  His fine blond hair was caked with mud and shit.

“Talarion,” she said, sharply.  Perhaps his name would bring him back to his senses.  “What in the hells are you doing?”

“Kagha, my love,” he said.  He reached for her, arms spread wide to embrace her.  She twisted away with an exclamation of disgust.

“You are filthy!  How I could have been fool enough to marry you is an utter mystery to me.  I am done with you, do you understand?”

He hung his head and began to sob, crumpling to his hands and knees on the branch.  “Losing you has broken me.  Have you no pity for one you swore an oath to cherish and love for eternity?”

Gods.  With a mighty sigh, Kagha sat next to him on the branch. The stench was overwhelming.

“I am wretched without you, Kagha,” he whispered.

“You need to move on,” she said, not unkindly.  She patted his mucky leg.  “I am not coming back with you, if that’s what you hoped for.”

“No,” he said thickly.  “I know how bloody stubborn you can be.  I truly know you, far better than you think.”

She straightened her back.  Everyone always thought they knew her so well.

“You are a wild thing.  Out where the wild things belong.  I knew you wouldn’t come back,” he continued, “I suppose I just wanted to see your face.”

“Well,” she said.  “You’ve seen it.”

“Maybe I was hoping the druids would kill me.  Or I’d be eaten by a bear or some poetic end like that.”

She winced.  There wasn’t anything poetic about being devoured by a bear, particularly.  They were not great killers and were apt to eat you while you were still alive.  But of course, Talarion wouldn’t know that.  The only truths he knew were written in hexameter verse.

“I never meant much of anything to you, did I?”

When she didn’t answer, he laughed jaggedly.

Silence stretched out between them.  Finally, she glanced over to see him staring at her with his impossibly blue eyes.  He was handsome, she realized.  Just at the moment the thought surfaced in her mind he slipped from the tree and hit the earth with a wet thud.

No one knew then or afterward if it was an accident or intentional, though it seemed everyone in the Circle had their theories.  Some swore to their dying days that Kagha had pushed him.

Kagha, who had been looking into his eyes at the moment he fell--or jumped--could not guess one way or another.  In a way, she reflected, it didn’t really matter.  The outcome was the same.

Below, the grove rang with screams and Halsin rushed over to Talarion’s body.  But such a fall, from such a height--there was nothing the master druid could do.  His body was shattered, brains spilling onto the muddy earth.

*

It all ended, after that.  There was no tearful scene, no accusations.  Halsin wasn’t disposed to theatrics and Kagha had enough of the grove’s attention.  When he withdrew from her, after that day, she didn’t pursue him.  She refused to humble herself.

She vanished into the forest for a time, a season of reckoning.  

No one knew what happened to the proud elf in that bitter winter, its ferocity remarked upon even a century later.  But she came back from the wilderness hardened and impenetrable.  A honed edge.  And she became ever more comfortable with the lie: that this was what she had always wanted.

[autistichalsin]

That journal passage on Aradin's company strikes me as holding a mirror against the Pc's company. Halsin was so isolated and desperate, in his cause against the curse, and in general, to have to rely on the help of likely dangerous strangers in order to move forward several times, repeating a situation that nearly ended him once already, had him be left to be tortured for days, the bear saving him only so much. How many times might he have tried the same before that entry, knowing full well the dangers, but trying anyway? How many times to also go alone, through the mountain pass, and nearly die?

I also wonder if perhaps the enclave rushed to place him as archdruid on the basis of being, at the time, the most experienced survivor of the first battle against the curse among the grove, what was left of it then. He was their the ad-hoc expert on the ground, his research into the curse further cementing his position over the years, even as the curse stopped spreading, his discontent at the position notwithstanding. Should the curse extend, they had a very experienced sentinel already in place to know best what to expect and survive long enough to give further warning. But that isolated him more, since his call to act was not shared by those that could best help him among his peers and betters.

And he likely also saw that for the best, having witnessed the prior druids die at the hand of the curse.

He truly thought the curse was his burden to bear alone, survivor's guilt spurring him, grieving over Thaniel and the land on his own, and did not insist further for anyone to help. Unless you had a path to those lands without his influence, he would not request anyone attempt to go on his behalf directly. Being so isolated likely also contributed to his disregard for his safety, since he was leveraging his well being against Thaniel's, what he believed to be the last creature to care whether about him he lived or died.

I am consumed by thoughts of this bear druid! What a tragic sort he is...

That is definitely an interesting point and it occurred to me as well; Halsin is in a similar situation that went wrong compared to the player. It's interesting to note there's a party banter that sort of alludes to this as well. Wyll asks how Halsin could have been captured by goblins, and he cites sheer numbers plus the poor choice of traveling companions. Which he says has been "gladly rectified since then."

I am not entirely sure if that was the Enclave's reasoning; he has a note where he mentions they declined to help with the Shadow-Cursed Lands despite his urging. If they were trying to help in any way, I think they would have done more than appoint him Archdruid. I do think the battle had something to do with it, granted- I just think it's because he demonstrated leadership skills in the aftermath by rounding up the survivors, tending to them, etc.

I fully agree about the isolation- it's one of the most tragic parts of his character. :( And him thinking the curse is his burden is also very telling. In an older version of the game, it was possible for the player to collapse the portal after he made it but before he went in; he would scream at the player (justifiably) and specifically say, "I told you this was my burden to carry! Why didn't you listen?" He saw it as not only something he had to face alone, but perhaps as something that no one would even WANT to face with him. The player just might have been the first to truly offer him help- and even then he had to tell them that as much as he'd rather have them by his side, he has to face the Shadowfell alone. (Though now that I think about it, it does seem like excellent fic material, the player accompanying him there. I imagine it wasn't a pleasant experience for him, and though focusing on Thaniel probably made it easier for him to bear, he'd probably have liked to have the player too!

I love the tragedy of his character too; he struggles with so many things but keeps them so quiet compared to other characters, which just makes it all the sadder, knowing he views his burdens as less important than theirs.

[panimi]

This kinda goes back to what I was saying that people can be that super solid person you know them of, but still have some blind spots. That doesn't change who that person is, not at all, merely that they have their own things to work through. You can be a friend and help them navigate or stay hands off.

One thing I want to emphasize is that you can cope or try to heal trauma wrong. I think I took the post-patch 5 dialogue not at all as patronizing and his response being out of character but more of: "thank you for being a friend, also I am now realizing I did not process this hurt quite right. " It's happens! Forgive me if I'm forgetting something, but isn't that the only time it's brought up? So it's a fully optional encounter that just gives a realistic look into someone who is on top of their shit who is productive, focused, and may have coped with a trauma in an unhealthy way. This is very common, and it's why therapy exists.

He still seems fine and not upset afterward, but it is something now that he has a little bit of freedom of responsibility and time to work through with friends and his faith. He doesn't ask anything more of Tav. He is still working on himself and growing. He is the same character as before, but with a very common and relatable flaw that happens a lot, especially in adults who never felt they needed help.

That all said, I get it. That want for a companion who has their shit together. Poor Tav needs to start charging for their talks with the Tadfools. But even with the added dialogue, I truly believe Halsin remains that character. That he was so solid and on top on his shit is the canon reason my Durge dumped Wyll for him. But the added dialogue, at least in my opinion, didn't change that fact at all. Halsin is still that super solid dude who likes honey and whittling. He is still chill and on top of his shit, and that is something unique to him. But everyone's interpretations are different and individual to their canon, which is what makes these kinds of games so fun!

Sorry for the novel. I got lost in the sauce somewhere in there. D:

I really dislike the added dialogue to Halsin's dialogue tree about calling his time with the drow matriarch as traumatic and how he should reflect on it.

As if Halsin isn't quite literally a full grown adult who has 300+ years on most of the protagonists. As if he's a child and needs to be told he needs therapy.

Like wtf. His whole thing is that he meditates and reflects. All on his own. He doesn't need to be told by anyone. Least of all us.

His independence was such a huge relief for me and draw for me. The fact this was the one character who quite literally did not need us. He could do everything we did on his arc alone. But it was just easier with us. I love that. It was a really nice allegory to say not everyone needs your help, but they want you there anyway because they enjoy your company or it's less straining with you there.

That post release addition was such a huge diminishment of his character and his self assurance in his own actions and journey. Not to mention incredibly infantilizing for our character to say that to him.

Halsin should have replied to them sarcastically. "I have," and there should have been negative points to his approval for it. Like way to misunderstand who Halsin is as a character.

[satanicspinosaurus]

(Reaction below, but go read this! It's a super sweet fic at its core about sharing a meal.)

> honestly I just wanted to write this exact scene as is but then the idea uhhhhh well it got away from me

Never apologize for supersizing my fluff order 

>“But me,” he sneers, “cooking? Beyond humiliating." I am chewing on if this is actually his feelings or like, adjacent to feeling like a servant a la Cazador or like dramatic bastard.exe, or perhaps even I like to think him being concerned that most of the party was recently dead. You know, snark to avoid feelings and all. I do love the idea that Astarion will use the “pets” as an audience. Dramatic efl. 

> Scratch soon joins, too, never one to miss out on affection offered freely, and so Astarion has to alternate between petting them both. As he bakes dinner. For everyone in camp but himself.

Oh the contrast. :c Give the boy a hug!!!

> “Can you?”

I am reminded having read through Halsin’s voice lines, that his neutral responses are kind of brutal. Like dang. 

> Astarion found himself directed to a meager stash of ingredients—because the bigger one is located in Gale’s pocket dimension for preserving any and all food, which they now cannot access with the wizard comatose.

This is a nightmare to me as a cook. 

>He’d thrown in the spices they had as well, and by the way the meat smelled, he’d added just the right concoction of those. You can’t smell salt unless it’s really badly over-salted. Blood is actually salty (its salter than seawater fwi) so he might also be right fucked up from that. 

>He hopes, though he’s loath to admit it to himself, that Tav enjoys it, at least.

Oh no, he’s starting to care. Poor baby. 

> It’s then that Astarion cuts in with the announcement that dinner seems to be, by all means, ready. Oh I love dialgoue without tags like this. You got his cadence so well! 

> Gale scowls, unable to accept that they decided to ‘trust dinner to a vampire whose diet only consists of blood and self-glorification,’ rather than wait for his rather lengthy return from nigh-eternal sleep. 

I love Gale. You got his hubris right here. 

> “Hm. Neither did I, but by Vlaakith, it truly does taste… palatable.”

You know, in some cultures, that is high praise. (Not too sweet being a high compliment, for example.) I feel like the Gith would be like that. I think the hesitancy is Lae’zel being afraid to offer up such a sincere compliment. :P

> “Did you steal it?”

I love this section of “our himbo cooked something….HOW”. This was my favorite one. 

> “Then how?” Gale frowns, chewing slowly, so evidently confused as to why he isn’t disgusted by it. OK, this one might be my favorite. Gale’s hubris is so charming to me, IDK what’s wrong with me. 

> “When his father was ever so busy with magistrate business, begging his only son to support his mother in any way he could at home while he worked his way up, growing desperate as their family fortune dwindled. “ Damn. So yeah, I think about Astarion having a charlan background in his official DnD sheet and this is a lovely way to say it. Him being from a family of graspers with back luck makes sense. It’s also tragic because yeah, food is often one of the last memories we lose. It must be horrible to remember you had people you loved this way but can’t remember who they were. Just how much you cared. > Seems like he’s valued after all.

Ah, there’s those insecurity issues! 

> “Oh! Remember that time you crushed me—and Gale by the way—with that bloody sun temple?”

XD 

> ““It’s. Well. Uh. I can taste it.” As an Ace, I cannot think of a higher expression of love than letting a vampire get to enjoy garlic bread again. 

> Tav sneaks a glance at the others, who are all doing a rather piss poor job of ignoring Tav and Astarion’s little moment of closeness. Yeah, there is no healthy boundaries in a camp like this, lol.

Seriously though- how did my little ace heart not thinking about garlic bread???

Could you write something about astarion getting to eat a dish with garlic in it for the first time since he became a vampire?

I assume that the tadpole would let him do that and think getting to experience food youre basically allergic to again is an experience.

Maybe it doesnt taste the way he remembers and doesnt compare to memory (based on my experience with milk based products)

Delectable Treats

A/N: honestly I just wanted to write this exact scene as is but then the idea uhhhhh well it got away from me XD not quite into crack territory (hopefully) but definitely there with a hefty dose of humor and fluff🥺 hope you enjoy✨

Rating: T | Pairing: Astarion/Male Tav | Words: 2,362

Tags: Humor, Fluff, Banter, Astarion Being Astarion, Astarion POV, Appropriate Use of Illithid Parasite Powers

Summary:

Astarion lets out the heaviest sigh he can manage, making it all kinds of dramatic; he has an audience after all. He turns to said audience, looking them straight in the eyes, and says, “Can you believe I’ve been relegated to this? By my own lover, no less.” He only gets a headshake and a slow blink in reply. “Have you nothing to say about my misfortune? At all?"

Or, after a violent altercation that leaves most of the crew dead or incapacitated, Astarion ends up cooking dinner for the newly healed and revivified. It goes as well as you… wouldn't expect, really.

Read on AO3 or under the cut ↓

Astarion lets out the heaviest sigh he can manage, making it all kinds of dramatic. He has an audience after all. He turns to said audience, looking them straight in the eyes, and says,

“Can you believe I’ve been relegated to this? By my own lover, no less.” He only gets a headshake and a slow blink in reply. “Have you nothing to say about my misfortune? At all? And this is after all the treats I’ve given you! Scratch? Tara?”

Scratch barks at him, circling around himself a few times as he wags his tail. Tara keeps staring at him with a calm, collected expression which Astarion can swear is almost sympathetic. She then allows a gentle, drawn-out meow.

“I mean, it’s like we’re just tools for them, aren’t we?” Astarion goes on, lifting the lid to check on his… experiment. Seems fine, for now at least. “You, Scratch, ever bound to chase that muddied pathetic excuse for a ball—remind me to buy a new one next time we’re out, by the way.”

He focuses once more on the spell he has active, heating the metal contraption further as the time is just about up.

“And you, Tara—are you forever fated to hunt down rare scrolls for Gale and be his comfort object?” Astarion goes on. “Well, I mean, that is what cats are—”

Tara cuts him off with a hiss.

“—I mean, tressyms are for, of course.” Tara’s hiss melds into a threatening growl, which Astarion completely ignores. “But me,” he sneers, “cooking? Beyond humiliating."

Scratch barks his agreement. Tara flaps her wings in another half-hearted threat, before sliding closer to Astarion, no doubt asking for apologetic pets.

With another painstaking sigh, Astarion relents, running his hands through her soft fur. Scratch soon joins, too, never one to miss out on affection offered freely, and so Astarion has to alternate between petting them both. As he bakes dinner. For everyone in camp but himself. 

Astarion supposes it's kind of his own fault for not keeping his mouth shut but he prefers to blame everyone else anyway. Shadowheart for casting her new 'blessing' of a protection spell on them before their party left. Clueless herself that the spell would deal damage to her for every wound the targets suffer, and so she just up and died spontaneously while staying back at camp. Lae’zel up next, killed by a far-too-lucky blast to the head. Gale drained dry of almost all life within him with a necrotic energy so strong that Tav's Counterspell did nothing against it. Karlach and Wyll both trapped by Hold Person and hit by a rock—luckily not quite killed, but very much incapacitated.

The Underdark truly was a place too dark and full to the brim with terrors.

Astarion and Tav managed to avoid most of the damage; Astarion by hiding and Tav with a Globe of Invulnerability that came into effect far too late to protect the others. And so, the both of them ended up dragging dead and disfigured bodies of their friends back to camp, where Halsin, a newly resurrected Shadowheart, and Tav tended to the wounded—and Withers to the dead. The quite gory sight made even Astarion uncomfortable, the spilled blood not inducing any hunger, just crippling anxiety for those he has come to call friends.

“I suppose dinner will have to wait,” Halsin says somewhat grimly, somewhat as a joke as he takes in the gravity of the situation.

“If it’s not anything difficult,” some doubtless evil force prompted Astarion to say, “I can take care of that.”

“Can you?” 

“Really?”

And suddenly, Astarion found himself directed to a meager stash of ingredients—because the bigger one is located in Gale’s pocket dimension for preserving any and all food, which they now cannot access with the wizard comatose. It’s how he finds himself here, now, opening the metal contraption serving as a poor substitute for an oven, kept hot continuously by a Heat Metal spell Tav modified to run past its one-minute time limit. Lying there on the makeshift cooking trays is perfectly cooked, aromatic garlic bread along with a few hefty pieces of beef lathered with the variety of vegetables Astarion had found in the stash. He’d thrown in the spices they had as well, and by the way the meat smelled, he’d added just the right concoction of those.

This is absolute insanity, Astarion decides. Though he can’t help but feel strangely satisfied with his efforts. He hopes, though he’s loath to admit it to himself, that Tav enjoys it, at least.

It all starts to seem even more like a fever dream as Astarion returns to the campfire to find all of his companions in an adequate state of healed or revivified. Some drinking water, some leaning hard on the booze. 

“My painkiller,” Wyll insists, holding tight to his wine bottle. 

“Give it back and eat first,” Shadowheart reprimands him, herself still looking more like a walking corpse than a living being. 

It’s then that Astarion cuts in with the announcement that dinner seems to be, by all means, ready.

There’s skepticism, at first. Gale scowls, unable to accept that they decided to ‘trust dinner to a vampire whose diet only consists of blood and self-glorification,’ rather than wait for his rather lengthy return from nigh-eternal sleep. Tav smiles as he cuts himself his share, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the look in them a bit apprehensive. Karlach says, well, they’ve gotten through the sheer hell sprung up on them in the Underdark, they can survive food poisoning, right?

Astarion simply lounges with his head on Tav’s lap in their childish-looking circle around the fire, wishing he could drop dead a second time in his increasingly agonizing existence. Preferably right there on the spot.

Though when Tav runs his hands through Astarion’s hair, the touch soft, and warm, and perfect—Astarion thinks that maybe that’s payment enough for enduring all this slander.

“I’ll remind you,” he says, waving in Tav and Halsin’s direction, “that you explicitly asked for this.”

“Wait, listen!” Karlach’s eyes grow wide. “Holy hells, this is actually good!”

“What?” and that’s Gale, “I don’t believe it.”

“Hm. Neither did I, but by Vlaakith, it truly does taste… palatable.”

“Palatable? The bread is fucking delicious! Astarion, how did you manage it?”

“Is it a flavor illusion?”

“Did you steal it?”

“Did you hire one of your ghouls to do it?”

“No, ghouls wouldn’t know how to cook, Tav, stop acting the idiot. But maybe he has some imprisoned, tortured chef we’re unaware of?”

“Honestly, sweet Shadowheart.” Astarion lifts his hand to his chest in mock offense. “I would never stoop so low.”

“Then how?” Gale frowns, chewing slowly, so evidently confused as to why he isn’t disgusted by it.

Astarion only grins. “Trade secret.” Mentioning nothing of how he was himself quite concerned about the end result. He hasn’t cooked anything in hundreds of years—what felt like eternity, really. 

But there was a time—and the memory of that time is too precious and painful to be lost even to Cazador’s hold. A time when his mother fell ill of a magical ailment that required a most complex and lengthy treatment. When his father was ever so busy with magistrate business, begging his only son to support his mother in any way he could at home while he worked his way up, growing desperate as their family fortune dwindled. And so, Astarion had to learn to cook from scratch, opting for baking and boiling with just the right concoction of spices to make even laughably simple meals tasty nonetheless. Something his mother could stomach even during the most severe fevers and his father would eat cold as he returned from late nights at the office. Astarion barely remembers either of their faces, barely allows himself to utter their names in his mind, but these flashes of memory stay etched too deep into his brain to be forgotten.

“Well, I admit it,” Wyll says then, returning Astarion’s attention to the present. “I owe you an apology for the mistrust, Astarion. But I honestly thought this would taste like ashes in my mouth.”

“It would only taste like that to me,” Astarion says, “don’t you worry.”

“Oh!” Tav throws him a strange look. Astarion still can’t quite get used to the beauty of those eyes, especially as they reflect the firelight, blue and green reflecting the flame’s auburn hue. “I just wanted to offer you to try. I—I forgot, sorry.”

Astarion shrugs. “No need to apologize, darling,” he mutters, “it's my burden to bear.”

“But it’s literally melting in my mouth, it’s that good!” Karlach persists, quite loudly.

“I’d say it might just be because of the…” Shadowheart motions at the entirety of Karlach. “The heat, but I agree.”

And so commences another round of compliments Astarion can’t quite deny are lifting his mood.

Well. Seems like he’s valued after all. He sees Scratch and Tara watching him through half-lidded eyes as they doze by the fire. Envious, no doubt.

“Listen,” Tav says suddenly, putting away his plate, the food just half-finished.

Astarion asks, “Something wrong?” from where he’s still resting on Tav’s lap.

“Not at all.” Tav has that dangerous glint in his eyes, the same one he gets when he’s describing a new terrifying way he’s bent metamagic to do his (sometimes downright insane) bidding. “I was just thinking.”

“Quite dangerous for us all,” Astarion remarks, lifting himself up to sit facing his lover, “if you’re thinking of doing something… questionable again.”

“When have I ever made a so-called ‘questionable’ choice, love?”

“Oh! Remember that time you crushed me—and Gale by the way—with that bloody sun temple?”

“Anyway.” Tav averts his eyes. Astarion is glad to see he’s still embarrassed about that particular debacle. “What I was thinking is that… the tadpoles allow us to read each other's thoughts, yes? And use the other’s senses—I mean it worked when I showed you your face, right?”

Astarion’s already slow enough heart skips a drawn-out beat as he remembers. Connected to Tav’s mind, resonant with his soul, seeing through his eyes: a reflection Astarion has all but forgotten. Silver curls framing a face that seemed so new yet painfully familiar. Red eyes staring back at him—a prettier shade than the gory blood-red he’s always imagined.

“I remember,” he says, “how could I forget? You insist on showing it to me every day.”

Tav smiles. “Because it makes you happy.” And Astarion can’t help but smile in turn. It does.

Tav opens his mouth as if to say something, then thinks better of it. Chews on his lip, considering. Then finally asks, “Let me in?”

Astarion frowns at the proposition, still unsure of what Tav has on his mind. But he’s long gotten over the initial distrust he harbored. There really is no going back, Astarion supposes, now that he’s shown his cards and revealed just how much he cherishes Tav, relishes his closeness. How thankful he is for Tav's painfully earnest sympathy regarding Astarion’s past interfering with the present. His patience is another precious gift, as Astarion grows used to the simplest touches once more, just now comfortable with all kinds of intimacy that don’t quite lead further, thoroughly enjoying the chastest of kisses.

And so, “All right,” Astarion says. Closes his eyes and opens his mind to Tav’s.

It feels familiar, a rush of warmth that makes him shudder. A foreign presence in his thoughts that’s welcomed, because it comes with peace and no hint of deception.

“Open your eyes,” Tav prompts, then. Astarion does—only to see Tav offering him a piece of the garlic bread from his plate.

“I can’t—”

“Just try it.”

Frowning, quite confused, Astarion still accepts the piece. Takes a tiny bite and—

“Oh.” His eyes grow wide. “Hells. What the?..”

“It worked?” And Tav is smiling at him, that childlike joy illuminating his face as it so often does. “I supposed that the senses we share through the connection aren't just limited to sight. It could be taste as well. How is it?”

“Erm,” Astarion himself is quite speechless, too focused on the taste buds that are finally working the way they’re supposed to. The bread is sweet-tinged with a slightly salty base, so soft it melts on his tongue, buttery but not overly so. “It’s. Well. Uh. I can taste it. ”

“You can.”

“It’s… strange. Such a… unique flavor. I don’t even have a memory to compare it to,” Astarion muses, treating himself to another bite. "It's quite like I'm trying it for the first time." He mirrors Tav’s smile unconsciously, feeling a giddy kind of happiness bubbling in his chest. He can’t quite tell whose it is. Maybe it stems from them both. “But actually—it’s delectable, if I say so myself.”

“See what I mean?” Gale grumbles from someplace too far off to bother Astarion’s reverie. “Thrives on self-glorification.”

“Thank you, my love.” Astarion leans in for a gentle kiss. Draws it out, moving his lips softly against Tav’s, melding their thoughts so that what forms is one unified feeling of contentment. Happiness. Love—the most delightful gift Astarion’s been given. “Still, you make my life all the better,” Astarion whispers as he draws away. “You treat me so kindly and yet ask for no favors in return. I’m feeling increasingly guilty about it, truth be told.”

“Don’t.” Tav shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything. Your happiness is a reward precious enough.”

“And how do I make you happy?” Astarion demands. “Right now, this very moment?”

Tav sneaks a glance at the others, who are all doing a rather piss poor job of ignoring Tav and Astarion’s little moment of closeness.

“Let’s get away,” Tav suggests, voice barely above a whisper. “Enjoy dinner in private. If I get a few more of those kisses out of you—I might just be the luckiest person alive.”

“Darling.” Astarion grins at the idea, though Tav must already feel his excitement through their connection. “Nothing would please me more.”

~~~

thank you for the read💙 I'd love to hear your thoughts if you enjoyed it!🥺

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@spacebarbarianweird, @satanicspinosaurus, @tallymonster, @tragedybunny