#Gates of the Mountains

[hiawathab]

Outside Helena.  8:30 AM.  October, 2020

[techdriveplay]

14 Detour-Worthy Things to Do in Montana on a Road Trip

Montana might not be the first state that comes to mind when considering an epic American road trip, but this huge state should be on your travel radar. Having visited over 65 countries, I often say Mongolia is my favorite. Swap the nomadic tribes with cowboys and the sheep for bison, and Montana’s grassland steppe is the closest you’ll find to one of the least visited places in the…

[dougrobyngoold]

Gates of the Mountains - Helena, MT

Another sunny day in Helena, so Carrie and I decided to drive a little ways north of Helena and do the Gates of the Mountains tour. Doug opted out, I think he was hoping to catch up on some things that had fallen to the wayside while he was out on the trail.

We arrived at the ticket office/gift shop and were able to get on the next tour - scheduled in the next hour. We spent a little time just enjoying the gift shop and hanging out on the dock. Our tour guide arrived and we loaded up - ready to check this out!

What a fantastic experience! This 120-minute boat tour up the Missouri River is spectacular. Limestone cliffs shoot up from the river’s edge, towering over the river. The tour takes you up to Mann Gulch - where a raging forest fire killed 13 smokejumpers on August 5, 1949.

Mann Gulch.

From Mann Gulch, the boat heads downstream and back to the dock. Just a lovely way to spend a couple of hours. We did see a couple of bald eagles and osprey along the way.

Impressive limestone walls.

I would highly recommend this attraction - it is just off of Highway 15 between Helena and Great Falls.

[lunian]

pls girls never change

[spacebarbarianweird]

Baby Fangs

Synopsis: Baby Alethaine is severely sick, and Astarion is afraid his daughter is going to die.

Tags: hurt/comfort, dadstarion, dhampirs

Alethaine's age: 5 month

Thanks @queenofthespacesquids for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion has never been so afraid in his life.

Not when he was dying in the streets of Baldur’s Gate. Not when he thought Tiriel had gone. Not when Cazador had inflicted tortures on him.

It just can’t compare to the fear of losing a child.

“She needs to make it till morning,” the healer says. “If she is alive by sunrise, she will get better.”

“But can we do anything?” Tiriel looks as if she is going to fight. “There are healing spells, potions, anything!”

“And most of them aren’t fit for a five month old child. Astarion, Tiriel, I give you my word. I’ve done everything I can. There are probably some clerics and wizards who can heal your child immediately but none of them live in Daggerlake. I am sorry.”

The healer walks away, leaving a dreadful silence in the house.

Astarion sits on the bed, clasping his hands together. Of course, things couldn't be this good. Of course something had to go wrong! How could he have been foolish enough to believe that things could be good for him?

His little daughter, Alethaine, is such a miracle, such a gift. When he first held her in his arms, he dared to hope that everything would be all right from then on. And now they tell him she's dying? That she would be dead by morning?

Alethaine whimpers weakly. She is already too tired to cry.

Tiriel looks terrible. She is a warrior, a fighter, but for the first time in her life, she has no enemy to kill. The enemy is her daughter's fever, and she can't beat it the way she beats monsters.

The baby starts coughing.

Astarion doesn't need to be a vampire to feel his daughter's pain. Her muscles are too tense. Her breathing is ragged and her heartbeat is too weak. Alethaine is suffering at this very moment, and there is nothing her parents can do about it.

Can’t give her medicine. Can’t soothe her pain.

There is a grip of death around her tiny heart and neither Tiriel nor Astarion can unclench it.

Tiriel sits on the bed, cradling Alethaine in her arms. Astarion wraps his hands around them.

“So what do we do?” he asks.

“We wait,” she answers. Her voice sounds exhausted.

He nods.

Yesterday, Alethaine was perfectly healthy. She tried to sit up, but each time her head proved too heavy and she fell on her back. Then her black eyes clouded over and a fever rose. She refused to eat and only cried like a wounded animal.

“What if she doesn’t make it?” Astarion asks.

Tiriel doesn't answer and he sees tears flowing down her cheek. “We will keep living. Could you please bring a blanket?”

Astarion reluctantly lets them go and picks up a thick fur blanket from the floor. Then they sit together with their backs against the wall, covering their sick daughter with the blanket. Only a desperate cough echoes through the room.

Children die all the time. Mostly little kids like Alethaine. Daggerlake isn't a very big town, but Astarion knows that at least three babies have died this year. From disease. Small children like this are too vulnerable. It happens all the time.

There's a chance that tomorrow Astarion will have to dig a grave and put a tiny bundle in there that never had a chance to grow up.

It's so unfair that it makes Astarion want to howl.

"Astarion," Tiriel touches his curls. "Let's talk. The silence is killing me."

“What do you want to talk about, my sweet?”

“I don't know… Anything.” Tiriel places the girl in his hands and Astarion flinches sensing the heat of Alethaine’s body. Fever. A terrible killing fever. “Do you think she is a dhampir?”

“She is an elf like I was before I died.”

When Tiriel was pregnant, he read as much as possible about dhampirs. Deadly and fast, half-vampires don’t need blood and can live in the sun. But they have vampiric strength, can walk on ceilings, and regenerate much faster than mortals. No wonder vampires are often jealous of their children.

But at the same time, the life of a dhampir is full of hardships. Neither a vampire, nor a mortal, they are doomed to be alone. Once they feel bloodlust for the first time and fangs replace the canines, they are outcasts often disowned by their own mortal families.

But does it have to be like that? Astarion has been fighting the odds against his vampiric nature for the last twenty years. Why can’t his daughter?

But Astarion is afraid they will never learn the answer to either of their questions. Alethaine opens her mouth and makes a deep breath as if suffocating. Something doesn’t allow her to breathe and she makes hissing sounds. Her little eyes are watery - by this time she can only cry.

So can her parents.

“I wouldn’t want to, I think,” Tiriel says. “If she is dhampir it means she is alone. Even if other spawns have children too, what is the chance she will ever meet them?”

Astarion kisses Tiriel’s cheek. if Alethaine dies, they bury her and leave. Daggerlake is a welcoming town but it will be a place of sorrow for them.

Tiriel adjusts herself a bit.

“Fuck” she mutters. Astarion immediately smells the blood. Tiriel’s thumb is bleeding. “A fucking splinter.”

Alethaine cries at the top of her lungs.

Astarion stares at his daughter with shock. She screams with the strength they didn’t know she posseses. It’s desperate. Angry.

Demanding.

This moment she doesn’t sound like a child. She sounds like a little beast.

Before Astarion makes up any coherent thought, Tiriel puts her bleeding thumb to Alethaine’s lips, making the blood pour into her mouth.

“Tiriel, what are you doing?”

Tiriel doesn’t answer. The girl makes sucking movements as her mother squeezes drops of blood from her finger.

And then her dark eyes turn red.

They glow in the half-lit room like two tiny lights.

Tiriel puts her fingers away and Alethaine makes a disgruntled sound. Her elven ears twitch.

The eyes stop glowing so intensely and return to their natural black color.

And then Alethaine laughs.

She is kicking her legs and stretching her arms to her parents.

The girl is happy. Happy like a well-fed vampire.

“Astarion, look at her gums.”

Two baby fangs. Very small, almost kitten-like.

“It wasn’t a fever,” Astarion mutters. “It was a bloodlust.”

Of course… If she was older she would just try to get blood from somewhere.

But when you are five months old you can’t do a lot of things.

Poor girl, how she suffered those two days.

Is dhampir bloodlust the same as vampiric? Was she feeling her stomach being ripped apart, her throat hurting and bleeding? Maybe it was even worse for her? Maybe her mortal nature was fighting the bloodthirsty monster, causing Alethaine to cry in pain?

Helpless baby alone with her pain and fear while her parents didn't think of the most obvious explanation.

** Astarion sits at the doorstep with a plushie doll in his hands. The toy has white hair and elven ears, and now Astarion is stitching small fangs to its mouth.

The tears prickle his eyes.

He’s condemned his child for a life of hardships. For loneliness, for constant war against herself. If someday Alethaine shows up at his doorstep blaming him for all her tragedies, he will not even try to defend himself.

“No, kitten, I don’t care if you don’t like it! I can’t breastfeed you anymore and I am not giving you any blood! You eat normal food!” He hears Tiriel’s voice from inside the house.

Alethaine isn’t going to comply easily.

Then he hears footsteps from behind.

“What are you doing?” Tiriel asks.

“Adding fangs to her toy.”

Tiriel sits beside him.

“You have mash in your hair.” Astarion notices

“I know. You should see the other girl. How do you feel about giving her a bath?”

“I don't think you should ask. It’s my child. It seems like… even more mine now.”

“Hey, don't be upset. We knew it was possible.”

“I just… Her eyes, Tiriel, you saw them.They were like theirs… My siblings…Cazador… the same fucking glowing eyes as if she was a vampire, too!”

“It’s because of blood. She doesn’t have to drink it, she can eat normal food.”

“We should have found the cure before making a child.”

“But we didn’t find any.”

Tiriel takes a wet piece of rag and wipes her hair. “Astarion, I am going to talk to you seriously and, please, pay attention to every word I say.”

“I am all pointy ears, my love.”

“I was beaten and humiliated daily for who I was. My family didn't even give me a name because they despised me. But when I met elves for the first time they called me “garbage” - Biir. Half-something, half a person. Half elves aren't uncommon. There are surprisingly many in big cities. But I’ve been taught to despise my body, to hate my ears, to be embarrassed of my own existence. And our daughter is a dhampir. And I am sure there aren’t many like her. This world will have a thousand opportunities to shove her differences up to her nose. This world will teach Alethaine to hate herself. I can guarantee you she will try to pull her fangs out or maybe will ask someone to knock them out. She will cover herself not to let people see how pale she truly is. And we must not be a part of her problems.”

“Tiriel, I would never - “

“She is a girl, Astarion. Her image of herself will be formed mostly by you, not by me. The way you will perceive her will be the way she will see herself. And if she sees resentment, if she senses your sorrows that she isn’t a normal child, she will start hating herself. She will feel it. And it will stay with her till her long days are over.”

“Tiriel, what exactly in my behavior tells you that I am going to mistreat her? She is my child! She is…”

“I didn’t mean to ignore the fact she is a dhampir. You must cherish her differences. We must love her for being a dhampir. We must form this idea that it’s good she is a dhampir.”

Astarion chuckles. To be honest, he has never accepted his vampirism. It happened against his will and he would give anything to get rid of it. It is a curse. And now… his daughter is cursed as well.

“Astarion, this is important. Even the tiniest things will affect her. And we will have to deal with the consequences.”

The girl cries for her parents, and Tiriel, planting a kiss on Astarion’s forehead, returns inside.

Several hours later, when a washed and clean-clothed Alethaine is happily lying on her parents' bed and trying to make some coherent movements, Astarion finally finds enough moral strength to accept the reality.

He takes his daughter in his arms and walks up to the ceiling. The girl laughs and tries to bite him.

"Aren't you the cutest dhampir in Faerûn?" he mutters. "I can't wait to teach you how to use those fangs in battle. You will be deadly, my princess! But don't bite your mother, that's my prerogative."

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96

[lostsoulsparadise]

Lost Souls Paradise | Instagram

[emaadsidiki]

Golden Gate via Marin Headlands ੈ࿐♥︎

[ambermaitrejean]

Golden Gate Canyon State Park. Golden, Colorado. Photos by Amber Maitrejean

[mariana-oconnor]

[druizard]

"You are everything to me, and yet our relationship is only a nascent fraction of what it will become. You give me hope, and I've not had that in some time."

[vestaignis]

Замок «Соколиное гнездо».

Чешская Швейцария – это часть Эльбского Песчаникового горного массива, расположенная на территории Чехии. Здесь настолько невероятно красиво, что государство объявило в 2000 году это место национальным парком Чехии. Парк имеет много интересных мест, но самая интересная достопримечательность - это Правческая Брана или Правчицкие Ворота (Pravčická brána), которые  представляют собой самые большие естественные ворота в Европе, образованные из скалистого массива - пролет арки 26,5 м, высота - 16 м.

В 1881 году австрийский принц Эдмунд Клари-Альдринген решил создать на территории своего имения в непосредственной близости от Правчицких ворот одну из самых первых туристических достопримечательностей Европы. Он нанял италья��ских мастеров для строительства внушительного замка под названием «Соколиное гнездо». В нынешнее время в замке на втором этаже расположился музей Национального парка Чешская Швейцария, кстати, единственный. На первом этаже есть ресторан с сохранившейся до сих пор оригинальной отделкой деревянных стен и такими же оригинальными потолочными росписями. Интерьер заведения выдержанн в стиле 100-летней давности.  С замковой площадки открываются чудесные виды на национальный парк.

The Falcon's Nest Castle.

Czech Switzerland is a part of the Elbe Sandstone Mountain range, located on the territory of the Czech Republic. It is so incredibly beautiful here that the state declared this place a national park of the Czech Republic in 2000. The park has many interesting places, but the most interesting attraction is The right Brane or Pravchicka Gate (Pravčická brána), which is the largest natural gate in Europe, formed from a rocky massif - arch span of 26.5 m, height - 16 m.

In 1881, Austrian Prince Edmund Clary-Aldringen decided to create one of the first tourist attractions in Europe on the territory of his estate in the immediate vicinity of the Pravchitsky Gate. He hired Italian craftsmen to build an impressive castle called the Falcon's Nest. At the present time, the museum of the Czech Switzerland National Park is located in the castle on the second floor, by the way, the only one. On the ground floor there is a restaurant with original wooden wall decoration and the same original ceiling paintings. The interior of the restaurant is designed in the style of 100 years ago. The castle grounds offer wonderful views of the national park.

Источник:/m-just-m.livejournal.com/246797.html, /www. tripadvisor . ru/LocationPhotoDirectLink-g274694-d4722298-i130392589-Czech_Saxon_Switzerland-Hrensko_Usti_ nad_Labem_ Region_ Bohemia.html,/pragagid.ru/letnij-zamok-sokolinoe-gnezdo-cheshskaya-shvejcariya-6157,/tired-tourist.livejournal.com/22927.html, /pbrana.cz/ru/,/gidpraga.eu/product/ceske-svycarsko-from-prague/.

[pinkvbay]

Butt study... this was so funnn i love painting with a single brush

[noire-ighaan]

Day 6 - Trek

It's time to take your Durge on a walk

---

Czas wyprowadzić Dark Urga na spacer~!

[pursuitseternal]

“Use Your Words:” but Astarion prefers action 🔥 nsfw prompt fill: he’s your only companion.

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 3.6K of seductive smut

Anonymous prompt fill: what if he was your one and only companion? I also imagined, what if he discovered you write smutty things about him?

Summary: Your only companion has grown distant after you’ve turned his advances away once. And then Astarion finds your writing, your fantasies and imaginings that give him the inkling you’re not so against his advances as you once were 🔥

CW: wounded-pride vampire, yearning fulfilled, elegant prose about his whiff, banter and seduction, caught in flagrante the next morning…

Ao3 Link | Bites Series on Ao3 |List

Night falls, another evening to yourself as Astarion treads into the forest of the Mountain Pass to hunt. Perhaps your body would finally relax if you had allowed for more company on your journey to finding a healer. Sometimes, you question if you might see that Cleric of Shar or that Wizard again on the road forward. Perhaps this time you would agree… or even beg them… to join you. For days it has been only you two, you and the… vampire. He had made himself known, what he was known, awhile ago it seems.

You almost wish you had one more person with you to keep watch on him during those long, dark hours of night when he was the one on watch.

Of course, he fed on you nightly or daily, an act that ensured he stayed strong enough to protect you, even as you ran around bloodless the next morning. But, after that first night, you insisted he only feed when you are awake. There’s nothing, no one to hide his nature from.

Your camp is quiet, just a humble tent he makes each time in case of rain and two simple bedrolls by the fire. He hunts for your meat, bringing you back fresh kills, even if they are mostly drained already.

While your days are filled with adventure and bloodshed, your evenings are quiet.

Except for that one, a tenday ago already or more. When he suggested that he could give you a little something in return for the daily feeding you allotted him.

Your stomach had knotted, not unlike the way it does every time his fangs pierce your flesh, every time his lips and tongue suck you down over dinner by the fire. When you eat, so does he….

But that night he offered to taste more of you than the veins of your wrist.

No, you had replied. Flustered. Hasty. Head swimming from blood loss as your blood still dried on his chin. It wouldn’t be safe, too risky, too dangerous… too, too.

“A pity,” he had whispered before sliding away to keep watch first that night. “You look delicious in the moonlight…”

Since then, he had built so many walls, found so many excuses to keep himself busy during those quiet hours after dark before you slept. He kept every book you had looted, insisting that perhaps these were more helpful than any plans you had for finding a way to Moonrise Towers. When he wasn’t hunting, he was reading… or feeding…. Or if you caught him from the corner of your eye, glaring at you with some sort of mix of hunger and fear and resentment.

And you… you had taken to writing and drawing with quill and ink in a small leather book you purloined from the Monastery yesterday. Tonight, he turns from the mountain trails, two rabbits already prepped for roasting in his hands. He is silent. Something once so uncommon between you two. His hands work quickly to hang them over the fire, the scent of them cooking making your stomach growl. Astarion isn’t much of a cook, but he does at least continue to give you the consideration of a good nightly meal. His eyes look down at you, his gaze goes from sharp and bitter to… surprised.

“What the hells are you doing?” he demands, that voice just as silken as he judges you as when he tires to seduce you.

You shrug, pulling the small book against your stomach. “Nothing… not really….”

“Come come now, I bring you a brace of rabbits, you could at least reward me with some entertainment….” His eyes shift as he lowers himself to sit beside you on your bedroll. Something he hasn’t done since you rejected him. And you can tell, by the way his tongue rolls, he’s teasing you with just what kind of entertainment you insist on offering him.

Or denying him.

“I’m… not sure,” you hem in hesitation. And for as much as you know in your brain you should lean away as he encroaches on your space, you just… can’t. You missed that easy company he gave you. Before he suggested more. Before his naming you delicious had settled in your brain as a daily moniker you could almost hear him thinking as he drank from you still.

Oh yes, that was what he wanted. You swallow loudly, keeping the journal between your thighs, rolling up the cuff of your nightshirt for him to drink from your wrist. He catches your hand in his, a soft cradle to his fingers, thumb stroking up the sensitive gooseflesh of your inner wrist. As if he were trying to find the perfect spot to bite.

As if he didn’t always bite in the same place.

Before you know it, that small book is pulled from your hiding spot, his velvety voice peeling giggles as he cracks it open where your quill rests. But then he freezes.

“You’re writing… poetry?” He gives you that rakish look, that canted brow and quirking lips, even as you try to snatch it back.

You growl, aggravated. He’s just too quick and too dexterous to fight fair. “Music, if you must know… though I am no bard… just with words.”

He casts a look at you, one of pure judgment, “So, poetry, darling.”

“Does it matter? It’s mine,” you huff, reaching across his lap for your book. He doesn’t waste a second, using your frustration and your momentum to flatten you out over his thighs.

And over other parts of his anatomy you… well, ones you had been observing perhaps more since his advance on you that night.

He presses his elbows into your back, points digging between your shoulder blades. “Your words choice is impeccable… gods, when was the last time I read anything with the word effervescent in it… or nefarious…” he pauses; leaning forward to put more of his body weight into where he prods your back. “Oh my, you little scribe of humble poetry… who is this who ‘you wish to inhale the scent of petrichor from his skin?’”

His voice fades quieter. And your stomach sinks as you can feel his pride curling stronger inside him. “Oh, I had no idea darling… and here I was, thinking you just kept me for my looks and that I bring you food for a warm meal each night.” He leans back on his palm, your book still in one hand, and that blastedly smug smirk on his sharp features. “I had no idea you wanted to smell the fresh earth scent on my skin till dawn.”

You cringe, rising back up to your knees. Mortified that he read your drabbles, your little ways of occupying your thoughts, with him so… distant. And you, so alone.

“How long would you let yourself keep pining for me? Yearning for the scent of my skin on yours, hmm?” He smirks so twistedly, his fangs flash in the firelight. “All you have to do is ask, pet.” He gives you a cheeky grin, proffering the book back towards you, “unless…” he yanks it from the tips of you fingers. “Unless you wanted me to find your lustful prose… In which case you might be an even more masterful seductress than I gave you credit for, darling.”

“Give it back….” You whine. Irritated and annoyed. And your skin grows hotter by the second the more those crimson eyes stare into yours.

“Ah, ah,” he taunts and flaunts the book in your face. “I know you are more gifted with words than that. What if we play a game? Let’s see just how prettily you can plead to have this book back in your possession… unless there is something else you wish me to give you?”

“I….” You swallow. Your belly cries out yes, yes there is something else. Your reason however still nags at you that it is too dangerous.

That he is too dangerous.

“I think it might be best if we just eat and go to bed, Astarion,” you whisper. But even your own ears aren’t convinced by that timid tone.

“You think…?” he purrs, setting the book right at the top of your lap. Pushing it against your body. “Sounds rather uncertain for a wordsmith.”

You can’t help the way your eyes flutter shut, feeling his breath down your neck. Cold… like the mountain wind that carries his scent to your nose. That earth-laden scent of his skin masked by his fragrances of sharp citrus and mellow herbs. His hand barely brushes the top of your thigh as he withdraws, not an accident with his skilled hands. And all you're left with as he rises back to his feet is the true night breeze chilling your skin and the scent of roasting meat over the fire.

Astarion smiles to himself, all arrogance and seduction, using his dagger, one you hope is clean, to carve off the freshly cooked rabbit. He places it in the bowl with his own fingers, only looking up at you to lock eyes as he languorously licks the juice from those pale digits.

“You know,” he starts to muse, eyes cast into the night sky. The perfect picture of wistful. “We could have been quite the pair, you and I, aside from the obvious prowess in battle thus far. There’s much about one another I’m sure we would… enjoy… getting to know, many layers of ourselves we could peel off one another….”

You sigh, and he hears it, head snapping down to give you that look like you’re his next meal served up as prettily as the one he starts bringing in your direction. “Shame you haven’t capitalized on two such offers now.”

“Tell me, just how much are we alike? Can’t be that much if your advances have failed twice…” you smirk, feeling a little bratty edge, a naughty tone in your voice.

It makes him smile, and wrinkle his nose in insult all at once.

He settles near you, not so close as before. Waiting for you to pick at your food first before he can reach for your wrist. Instead his eyes seem fixed on your mouth, watching as your fingers place your food inside, the way you suck them clean after each bite. “Alike?” He finally speaks after a swallow and a shift of his body. “No, I think we… complement one another, though we may be completely opposite. You love to write. I love to read. You can't help but follow your instinct to give aid to nearly everyone we encounter, and I keep us going ahead on our adventure regardless. You speak with justice, and I can swindle and rob.” He grins, finally leaning closer to wrap his cold fingers around your wrist. He tugs you, more forcefully than usual. Resting your palm against the hard planes of his chest. “We go well together, lots of give and take…. I can give… if you can take it, darling”

You almost choke on the food in your mouth, his hand landing square in your back, slap after slap as you try to clear it completely.

“I don’t think words would bring you so close to death, darling,” he continues, giving you room to grab your water and drink from the glass neck of its bottle a few times. “I mean, I was hoping I might bring you to a little death, but not that close to that kind…”

You groan. Shoving your wrist in his face you throw him a withering glare. “Please, you think you’re so skilled with your tongue…”

“…and other parts of my anatomy, yes.”

You smack him with your arm in the chest. “Fine, given you know my little secret, that I love words….”

“…not to mention your ever-growing lust for me since you’ve realized your mistake, that secret too.”

Another smack in his chest, this time he half catches it, holding your extended arm tightly.

“Why don’t you use some words instead and tell me what you would do?”

He brings the tender flesh of your wrist against his lips, eyes half closed as he speaks against your skin. “I’ve never been one for poetic flattery as a tool of seduction and a means of conquest.” He runs his tongue up to your palm. “I’m rather limited in where I can demonstrate…” he flashes his eyes down the collar of your nightshirt, “unless you wish to grant me a larger sample?”

“Use your words first…” you simper, “then perhaps if I’m convinced.”

“I’d rather make little words and sounds cry from your lips instead…” he rasps, skating the edge of his fang back down your arm. A little, breathy moans slips from your mouth, and you feel him laughing. “That’s right, darling. You’re delectable, delicious…” the wet breadth of his tongue sweeps back up to your hand. “You’re tantalizing and succulent….” Your thumb slips into his mouth as he toys with it around that devilish tongue. “Luscious and mouthwatering… even if I wasn’t a Spawn I would no doubt hunger for you night and day….”

You have slid closer, close enough for one of your legs to dart between his muscled thighs. Fingers grip into your thigh, pulling that leg higher, right into the peak of his lap. He’s still caressing inside your wrist, his thumb working one way, his tongue another. You can hear your own breath quicken, your pulse deafens your ears to any sound but your heart and the wet sucks of his mouth.

Just as the swirling rhythm of his tongue threatens to sweep you away with it, his teeth bite into your wrist. The slice of pain through the heat and tingling bliss that gathers in your core shed pleasure exploding from your core. His eyes flare wide, watching as you can’t break your own stare from his mouth on your wrist, on the feeling of your blood melding with his own body.

“Now… you’re a writer of sorts, so im sure you’re familiar with all sorts of flowery terms for all of life’s… delicacies. For instance,” he pauses to drink down more of your blood from your wrist, “imagine all that I did on your poor, unsuspecting wrist but instead…” he pulls you by the wrist until your chest is flush with his, your breasts, unbound under your shirt, rising and falling with your rapid breath. “Imagine I’m… diving for your most precious pearl. Delving into your treasure trove before I… plow your fertile garden.”

“Maybe you should shut your mouth and leave the poetic words to me,” you hiss, barely annoyed and definitely flustered by the sensations in your folds his words alone have stirred.

“Maybe you need to make me shut my mouth, darling,” his hand wraps around to the small of your back. “If you want this, darling, but, given your poetic musings, we both know you do….”

“We both know it, do we?” you pout a bit, a little sneer on your lips.

Suddenly you're laid out in your back, his arms caging over your, thighs pressing on the outside of your own. You laugh, “You’re obscene, Astarion…”

“Come on now, we’ve already established I want you to call me so much worse than that, little poet,” he smirks down on you, taunting mercilessly as you squirm beneath him.

“Shouldn’t we…” you eye your surroundings.

“Why don’t you just forget about all this madness for tonight, let me show you just how complementary we can be, darling.”

You wrap your arms around his long, graceful neck, and pull him down to crush you into the dirt, into your bedroll. Night passes impossibly fast, a dance of limbs and undulations that last the night. You only pause for a drink and to stoke the fire to keep your skin warm against the freezing mountain air. You lose count how many times he takes you, on his fingers, on his tongue, speared relentlessly in every position on his cock.

Your brain is numb from pleasure, your neck numb from his bites, your nipples aching from his lips and well… the rest of your whole lower half strains as you grip your thighs around his waist one more time. His fingers claw into your hips, locking you firmly in place as he thrusts into you. The way his hips grind each time, you’ve already lost yourself in one more wave of sweat and pleasurable fire down your nerves. From the grunts on his breath, he’s not far behind. Astarion’s hips snap quicker, harder. Deeper. Until he’s shuddering and collapsing on your frame for a final time. His sweat covers your skin, and you do breathe deep that scent of wet earth as if it were your own perfume. One more stilted pant and he pulls out of your swollen aching, overused folds.

With a deep recovering sigh, he starts to lift the blanket from your bed… but you catch it, tucking it back around his shoulders. “I was… thinking… it’s cold in the mountains. And…” he rolls over to face you, sharp face furrowed even sharper, skeptical as you finally use your voice for more than moans and screaming his name and how good he feels. “…maybe since you’re already so cold, you could stay?”

He pauses, a bit rigid as he perches halfway out, away from you. Halfway close to you.

“Please, Astarion, it’s cold, and I am warm. There would be no better place for you to rest than between the warm campfire and me….” You leave the offer gently in the air. Rolling on your side to face him, you wait and watch his thoughts flicker behind those crimson eyes. Uncertain, unsure. As if, despite being the consummate lover he had always bragged about being, this was his first invitation to sleep with someone.

Just sleep.

To keep him warm from the mountain air.

Blanketed in all manner of heat for once.

Slowly, he slinks back beside you, perched on his side like you are, his face trying hard to remain just as self-assured. Even though you see his eyes dart, as if waiting for you to change your mind.

“Relax, Astarion,” you whisper, taking the top blanket and wrapping it over the high crest of his shoulders. Tucking him in. “I feel more than complimentary with you now…” you tease. “And you were right….”

“Of course I was,” he huffs dramatically as he lays on his back beside you, head turning to flash you a devilish look. “You’ll have to be more specific though; what was I right about?”

“Actions were definitely more fun than just using my words….”

He chuffs a laugh, exhausted and spent and wet from how much of you he’s consumed, blood and arousal still staining his chin. You slide a tinge closer, slotting your body beside him, wriggling yourself in that small space between his arm and chest. Ever so slightly, his hand finds your elbow, bringing it over his chest as his breath deepens for his trance.

He seems happy, contented. Your world reduced to only you two, the only beings in Faerûn it seems, sharing one bed. And you wonder for a moment why you ever turned him down before.

Sleep claims you quickly… but dawn finds you somehow faster.

“Ahem,” a deep voice startles you awake, your eyes flying open to find three faces staring down on you in your bedroll.

You in your bedroll naked… and not alone.

That Druid from the Grove, you almost forgot you told him to join you if they could find you, he smiles at you, a bit cheeky and a bit good-humored. And your cheeks are searing hot. Astarion has already bolted up to sit, dagger in hand from somewhere he had it, just in case.

But he’s already lowered it to the earth at the familiar visitors.

“We did say we would come find your camp in the Pass, didn’t we?” the Druid Halsin chuckles in that big baritone of his.

The other two beside him, the Wizard… Gale and that Cleric whose name has already slipped your sleepy memory look far less approving of catching you on full display after your night’s activities.

“Well, you’ve found us…” Astarion bites acerbically, letting his full annoyance color his silken tones. “Make yourselves at home, if it pleases you.”

He lays back down, tucking himself half on top of you, that long, lean arm of his caging over your bared chest, squashing your breasts beneath it.

Your voice finally returns, even as mortified as you feel for that moment. “Plenty of supplies and food in the trunks.” You try to wave in that direction, but his arm clutches harder, a smile of his lips playfully pressing against your cheek.

The prick.

“Well I certainly hope you have some clean bedrolls,” that Cleric sasses back.

“Feel free to take mine,” Astarion barely lifts his head to call after the three. “Seems I won’t be needing it any longer,” he purrs, pulling you closer to warm his undead, chilled skin.

“You probably will,” you shake your head as you give your reply.

“Not when I can simply give you another demonstration to convince you otherwise,” he smirks, hand slinking fast and nearly imperceptible until it finds the still-slick mess of your night’s pursuits between your thighs.

You give a huff of a laugh, “Do you forget it isn’t just us two any longer?”

Your vampire shrugs. “A boon and a pity in some ways, which reminds me….” A mischievous smirk on his lips before he brings your wrist to his mouth for another suckle. “You will obviously give them the night watch now instead… won’t you?”

You laugh, chiding and yet pleased all at once. “Only if you convince me, and if you use your words this time.”

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts 3 - Olympus

[spacebarbarianweird]

Little Bundle of Darkness

Synopsis: Astarion becomes a father.

Tags: fluff, comfort, dadstarion, dhampirs, pregnancy

Alethaine's age: newborn

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Thanks @lobster-risotto for beta-reading!

Astarion wants to leave the house, just to distract himself a bit. Just to take a break.

A cry of pain pierces the air. 

The vampire starts moving objects in the room mindlessly. He hates dissociating but at this moment he misses this feeling of not being present in the moment.

It's been years since he felt so useless, so doomed. And so scared.

Another cry, louder than the previous one, and Astarion clenches his fists as if being ready to attack an invisible enemy. 

He and Tiriel have been through a lot. He has seen her in blood and pain many times - his fierce warrior-wife who wields a two-handed axe with the same elegance he uses daggers is unstoppable and unbreakable.

But this… this is different. 

"I - I can't!", he hears Tiriel. "It hurts!"

Whatever she wants to say next, drowns in yet another cry.

Astarion casts a glance outside. The sun is still shining so he is locked inside the house. Helpless and useless while Tiriel is suffering in agonizing pain only with a midwife to be by her side.

...He had no idea it was possible. He is an undead. Undead men don't impregnate mortal women. Besides, it had been twenty years since they met. If it had been possible to conceive a child, it would have happened a long time ago.

But – 

One day her blood just tasted different. And Tiriel was so tired she couldn’t lift her weapon on their back home from the wilderness. She was claiming everything was all right and he had to drag her to the town’s healer.

She came back much sooner than he expected, and he immediately sensed something was utterly wrong. Tiriel sat in front of him in the chair, eyes firmly fixed on her hands.

"My sweet, what did he say?" Astarion asked. By this moment he started feeling a wave of his own panic. Tiriel is mortal. She is a warrior, yes, but she isn’t immune to curses and, after all, death. And besides he had never seen her like that.

"Astarion, tell me one thing. Have you heard about children born from vampires?"

"Yes, I have. Dhampirs. It’s like being a vampire without downsides,"he got so carried away that he basically gave a lecture to Tiriel, and then stumbled. "Why do you ask?"

And then she put her hand on her belly.

“He told me I am pregnant.”

… The next months were intense. Sometimes everything was good. They could even sit and talk about the future – sure, the child was going to be an elf with just a bit of human ancestry on Tiriel’s side. 

But more often than that they both were scared. Tiriel had insane mood swings and she would burst into tears after some innocent mockery from him. He had nightmares and panic attacks. Everything he thought had gone for good returned the instant he’d learned about pregnancy. 

And Tiriel… Well, the thing is women die at childbirth even if the child is mortal. Even if before the woman has challenged the gods.

Cries from upstairs are unbearable to hear. Astarion wants to be there with Tiriel and, at the same time, he wants to be miles away. And it’s all his fault. 

If she dies, it will be his fault.

Fuck it.

Astarion goes up and with a bit of hesitation pushes the door. The smell of familiar blood makes his head spin.

“Go away, idiot! I told you not to come here!” the midwife curses. “There is too much blood!”

“No, please!” Tiriel begs, reaching out for him, “Don’t go!”

Astarion kneels beside her and squeezes her hand. “I am not going anywhere, my sweet.”

What if something is wrong? What if the child is some monster, not even resembling a sentient being? What if…

And suddenly Tiriel goes silent.

A squeal, full of fury and distress, pierces the room.

“Well, this one looks like a healthy girl”, the midwife places the baby in Tiriel's arms. 

The tiny Elven baby with long pointy ears stops crying, feeling her mother’s skin against hers.

Astarion stares at the child in shock.

“Didn’t really take after me, did you?” Tiriel adjusts herself a bit in the bed. “My lovely beautiful girl”, she presses a kiss against the baby’s forehead, “Look at her ears, they are like yours!”

Astarion can’t take his eye off them. His child. His and Tiriel’s. His daughter. Not a monster – just a baby. 

The long pointy ears twitch, and Tiriel starts caressing them.

“Tiriel… My love…”, he finally manages to speak again, “Her ears are very sensitive, don’t touch them too much”.

“Oh, I am sorry”, Tiriel stops. “But they are so cute!”

“They are.”

Astarion can’t decipher what exactly he feels. All these months the child was just an idea, something he couldn’t feel attachment to. But now that the baby is born, the realization that nothing will be the same hits him. That his life has just changed forever.

And this is good. The worst thing that was happening to him all the centuries of enslavement was the understanding that nothing would ever change. Nothing would get better or worse because everything would stay the same. And now, it’s something new. Something natural. Something he thought was available only for normal people, not someone so twisted and ruined like him.

Tiriel touches his arm softly.

“Hold her.”

“What?! No! I am not…”

“It’s your child, Astarion”

Astarion stands up and recoils. “Tiriel, I will hurt her! Look at her, she is small! I will… I will do something to her!”

It seems like his voice scares the newborn and she starts crying again. 

“Sit with me”, Tiriel asks. “Please”

Astarion hesitates but obliges. Before he says anything, the little bundle is already placed in his pale arms.

He freezes. The girl cries even louder demanding to be returned to her mother. Astarion touches her forehead with his fingers – the skin feels delicate like silk”

“Ai armiel telere maenen hir, salen damia”, he whispers in Elven.

And the girl stops crying. She looks at him with her dark eyes and suddenly smiles. The newborn stretches her tiny arms as if trying to reach out for his face. 

And Astarion bursts into tears. Sobbing, he cradles the baby in his arms, hearing the fast heartbeat within her delicate rib cage. 

It’s his daughter. His treasure. The reward for everything he’s been through. The sign that he has been doing the right things all these years.

Tiriel puts her chin on his shoulder and wraps her hands around his waist.

“Thank you, my love”, Astarion says to her. “This is a gift.”

They sit like that for what feels like an eternity. Finally, Tiriel breaks the silence.

“She needs a name.”

Astarion studies the girl’s face as if looking for a hint. Then, the name comes to his mind, though he doesn't know where he could have heard it.

“Alethaine. My love, can we call her Alethaine?”

Tiriel nods. “It’s not like I have any other suggestions. I was scared to death the whole time. It’s beautiful. Let’s call her that”.

It’s already night when the midwife leaves the house. Astarion helps Tiriel to get to the bed with clean sheets and then brings her sleeping Alethaine.

Astarion watches how Tiriel pulls the collar of her shirt freeing swollen breasts and then places the girl that way so her mouth in front of the nipple. The girl makes sucking movements and her ears twitch simultaneously.

Tiriel starts humming – and Astarion recognizes a human lullaby he’s heard from Tiriel maybe only once or twice. 

He carefully puts his head on Tiriel’s lap so he can see both his wife and daughter.

“How are you feeling?” he finally asks.

“Tired. Happy. And you?”

Astarion chuckles. “You pushed a whole Elven baby out of your body and wonder how I am feeling?”

“Actually, yes”

“I feel … alive.”

Tiriel reaches to his silver curls and strokes the hair with her free hand.

“Thank you for giving her to me”, she whispers.

Ai armiel telere maenen hir, salen damia (Elven) - you hold my heart forever, my child

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