#tiriel of the sunset mountains

[spacebarbarianweird]

Could you please write more about pregnant Tiriel? Your writing about her finding out she's expecting and about Astarion hearing the baby's heartbeat were one of my favorites?

Synopsis: Astarion takes care of pregnant Tiriel.

Tags: dadstarion, pregnancy, fluff

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

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Headcanons

Waiting

“I think I am going to die in childbirth,” Tiriel says, pressing her face to her knees.

Astarion would sigh if he could. Tiriel sits shoulder-deep in a bath of warm water, as the vampire washes her hair and rubs her back.

“You aren’t going to die. You are a half-elf and I am sure the child is rather small. Look at your belly, you are in your last month and it’s not really showing.”

Tiriel turns away. Well, to call her belly small would be an underestimation – her slim body is currently betraying pregnancy. It’s covered in stretch marks that won’t disappear, ever. But again, Astarion has seen many pregnant human women in Daggerlake within the last five years and Tiriel has definitely been spared, carrying someone who takes after their elven ancestors.

But once Astarion thinks he’s managed to cheer her up, Tiriel sniffs.

“What if something is wrong with the baby? You are a vampire! I love you and all that, but you are still undead! What am I even carrying inside? And what if the child is sick? Or deformed? Or…What if it is going to kill me?”

“I can promise you, if something goes wrong, we are saving you,” Astarion splashes water on her hair.

“Thank you.”

He kisses her shoulder. “Don’t worry that much, the last thing you need is to cause a complication.”

Tiriel touches his fingers. 

Astarion adds more soap to the tub. The scent of vomit and sweat still lingers on Tiriel’s skin and Astarion takes a clean piece of rug.

Tiriel has been feeling so bad in the last few days she barely left her bed. Her legs hurt, she couldn’t eat without vomiting, and she hardly slept because of back pains. She finally made herself go out that evening to eat properly, but, the moment Tiriel finished her dinner, she felt nauseous and everything Astarion had cooked for her ended up on her home shirt.

That moment, Astarion had enough of that and carried Tiriel to the bath. 

“I'm sorry,” she says.

“What for?”

“I look disgusting.”

“Nothing is disgusting about a pregnant woman,” Astarion says, rubbing her left ear. “Besides, I’ve seen and done much worse things than giving a bath to someone I’ve knocked up. Your condition is my fault and I am taking full responsibility! Now, let me wash your front.”

Tiriel presses her back against the tub allowing Astarion to get to her belly and legs. Astarion smiles seeing the visible bump and carefully rubs the skin.

He is so close he can hear the second heartbeat. 

It is not clear to him when the child is going to be born. Elves are pregnant for two years, but Tiriel’s body is hardly capable of doing so. Humans need nine months for the same process, but Astarion has learned from the healers in Secomber, the closest big town to Daggerlake, that it’s never clear with half-elves. And it also depends on the child – Astarion tries to think about the baby as an elf with just a bit of human ancestry (still enough to fuck up the gentle elven biology).

But in reality…

The child is half-him, half a vampire anyway. And that should bother him.

He is afraid of that moment. He waits for that moment to come. And he also misses Tiriel in sensual terms. He wants her blood (which is out of reach for him till she stops breastfeeding), he wants her body (they haven’t had sex ever since she got pregnant). 

And he wants her to stop being in such pain daily.

“I look ugly,” Tiriel chuckles. “Don’t try to say it’s not true.”

“It's not. You are beautiful!”

Suddenly Tiriel flicks his nose. “My eyes are here.”

Astarion realizes he’s been staring at her swollen breasts and small droplets of white liquid on Tiriel’s nipples.

“Stop all this nonsense, Tiriel!'' Astarion takes her leg and stretches it to wash it better. “I like caring about you. I like how you look. And I absolutely love that it's me who did this to you. It all feeds my vampiric possessiveness, after all!”

“And I love that it was you who did this to me,” Astarion feels Tiriel’s fingers on his cheek.

“Now, get out of the water before it gets too cold!” Astarion brings towels. “Is food still out of the question?”

“I want something hot to drink.”

“I will make you herbal tea, then.”

Astarion, after making sure she is dry, carries Tiriel to bed.

He looks outside. What he loves about his house in the underground part of Daggerlake is the big windows. There is no point in hiding from the sun, and Astarion can enjoy going outside whenever he wants. Besides, the biggest part of the town is underground too, and Astarion also doesn’t feel like an outcast.

And his neighbors have seen much worse things than vampires who know the law.

Suddenly Tiriel yelps. He turns to her and notices the night shirt she’s put on is wet. 

But wasn’t Tiriel's skin dry when he took her from the bath?

Tiriel hugs her belly and lets out a cry of pain. 

“Tiriel…” Astarion rushes to her. No, not today. He still needs time to get ready.

Tiriel grabs his shoulder. “Go to the healer… I am.. Gods…”

The child has decided to be born today. ------ You can read what happens next in Little Bundle of Darkness --

@tugoslovenka  

@herstxrgirl 

@herdarkestnightelegance  

@vixstarria 

@not-so-lost-after-all  

@marcynomercy  

@theearthsfinalconfession 

@starlight-ipomoea    

@micropoe10 

@astarion-imagine-archive  

@veillsar

@elora-the-slutty-songstress  

@fayeriess  

@lumienyx  

@tallymonster    

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@dajeong

@wilteddreamsofbaldursgate

[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!

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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

[spacebarbarianweird]

Heartbeat

A short fluff for BG3 Winter Holiday Challenge.

Prompt: Snow&Ice

Tags: fluff, pregnancy

Read on AO3

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Headcanons

Astarion gasps as the freezing grasp of the nightmare lets him go. He doesn't remember what exactly decided to torment his mind this time, but it wasn't anything pleasant, that's for sure.

For a few seconds, Astarion can't understand where he is. It's a dark room with a low wooden ceiling. The blizzard howls, threatening to freeze to death anyone who dares step outside.

"Hm?", he hears a sweet sleepy voice. Gentle hands wrap around his body. "Nightmares again?"

Astarion turns his face to you. The warmth of your body returns him to reality, washing away the dirt of the cruel visions.

"It's all right", he whispers back. "Sleep."

You adjust yourself to his body, intertwining your legs with his and placing your head on his chest. You are so close he can hear blood streaming through your veins.

Before, he could ask you for blood. But not now.

Your rounded belly rests on his stomach. Your half-elven body easily betrays your pregnancy - it's visible to everyone with eyes.

And Astarion is scared. That is probably what came to him in the nightmare. Something about this thing that's so natural for mortals and so unnatural for the undead.

Pregnancy.

He caresses the belly trying to concentrate on something else. On something good.

But, gods know, it's difficult.

"Astarion, you are starving. You need to go on a hunt", you whisper to him, finally opening your eyes.

"I didn't know you were so eager to become a single mother", he chuckles. "It's too cold even for me"

"Maybe you will ask someone in the town? They will gladly share animal blood with you."

"Trust me, they tolerate me only because not once in these five years I've tried to feed on something that belongs to them. Vampires can live without food for years, love. I can wait at least a day before the blizzard ends."

You sigh and tug him closer. He can see your freckles, these gorgeous sunmarks. Red hair. Half-elven ears.

He still can't fathom this idea. It's something abstract, unreal. Just a word without a meaning. Your body is changing. Sometimes you have such insane mood swings he has no idea what to do. And you feel so delicate in his arms that he is afraid to hurt you.

"Are you afraid?", you finally ask.

"Yes. I am."

A pleasant silence falls once again.

"Me too. Considering how shitty my own mother was, it's not like I have a healthy maternity example. On the bright side, I have a very clear idea of what I am not supposed to do with an innocent child."

"It will probably be a dhampir, love. Aren't you afraid of that? That it's just a monster inside you?"

"I willingly went to bed with you. What else would I expect?"

You hug him tight and he is lost in your breathing and the heartbeat. So alive. So kind. So brave.

He willingly went to bed with someone whose weapon of choice is a two-handed axe he can't even lift. Someone who could easily pet a dragon. What else did he expect? Of course you aren't afraid of monsters.

But it doesn't mean he isn't scared of the future to come.

"I am cold", you suddenly say.

"I am sorry", he tries to pull away - his cold body isn't a great source of warmth.

"Don't move!" you tighten your muscles not allowing him to go.

"I will make you colder."

"So what?"

He gives up and keeps enjoying your warmth. Does the baby have this warmth, too? Or it's more undead than mortal? It bugs Astarion that he hasn't found any information on how the pregnancy is supposed to progress if the child is a dhampir.

Does it even have a heartbeat?

It seems like you have fallen asleep once again. He smiles, studying your face in the dark.

The sound of a blizzard lulls him so is your breathing. Nothing to be afraid of. The past is past, no matter how horrible it was.

And then Astarion hears another sound.

He can't understand what this is and is surprised that your heartbeat feels so weak.

Then he hears yours, loud and stong.

And the other one, weak and hardly identified by his sharp senses.

It seems like he flinches because you are awake again.

"What is it?"

Astarion sits up and puts his hands on the belly. The tears flow down his pale face and he doesn't try to wipe them away.

"My love, what happened?" you reach out for his curls and touch the tip of the right ear.

"I-", the words are stuck in his throat. "It's the heartbeat. I can hear our child's heartbeat!"

Astarion tugs you closer for a kiss. He laughs joyfully, muttering words of gratitude in Elven as if forgetting how to speak Common all of a sudden.

You spend what looks like an eternity in each other arms. Then, you pull away a bit.

"Astarion. I am so sorry to ruin the moment but I am dying of hunger, too. Can we go downstairs? I will fetch something for myself and the baby."

He chuckles. "Don't be ridiculous, darling. You stay in the warmth under the blanket and I will cook for you."

"You?" you laugh innocently. You've been together for twenty years and Astarion rarely has to cook only if you fell so sick he has to feed you.

"Well, I suppose our child won't drink blood. So, I have a few more months to learn how to prepare food."

"At least let me help you before you burn the house", you reach out for him and he lifts you in the air. "Will you get me back on my feet?"

"No, why should I?"

You put your head on his chest. "All right, then. Carry us downstairs, my beautiful husband!"

--

Tag list

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster@astarion-beloved@lumienyx @fayeriess@elora-the-slutty-songstress@veillsar@astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea@herstxrgirl @theearthsfinalconfession @ashiro20 @not-so-lost-after-alll @vixstarria @wintersire @marcynomercy @tugoslovenka

[spacebarbarianweird]

Astarion Headcanons

Inbox is open for requests.

General Headcanons

Settling Down together after the game events

Bigger Tav x Astarion

Nightmares

Astarion makes a wedding dress for Tav

Astarion having sensitive ears

Dancing Headcanon

Ressurected Astarion Part 1

Ressurected Astarion Part 2

Astarion's twin brother

Widower Astarion

Tav is a cat owner

Astarion Can Purr Headcanons

Astarion x Big-Breasted Tav

Astarion and you are going to the Lliira's Night Festival

Astarion Pre-vampirism HCs

Astariox x Big\Soft tummied Tav

Taking care of their sick partner

SA victim Tav

M!Tav CSA victim

Dadstarion Headcanons

Boy Dad Astarion

Pregnant Tav

Batstarion Headcanons

Batstarion

Batstarion is learning how to fly

Giving bath to Batstarion

NSFW Headcanons

Astarion x Big-Breasted Tav NSFW

Astarion x Small-Breasted Tav NSFW

Bigger Tav x Astarion NSFW

Batstarion Naughty Headcanons

Astarion x Tiefling!Tav (NSFW)

Astarion x Wizard!Tav NSFW

Astarion x Rogue!Tav NSFW

Astarion x Drow!Tav NSFW

Astarion x Changeling!Tav NSFW

Astarion x Tav With Health Related Conditions

Astarion x Autistic!Tav

Astarion x Blind!Tav

Astarion x Chronic Pain!Tav

Astarion x Mute Tav

Astarion x Tav Who Has to Cover Her Face

Astarion x Depressed!Tav

Astarion x Anxiety Disorder!Tav

Astarion x Chronically ill !Tav

Astarion x Deaf!Tav

Tiefling Tav with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome

Astarion x Custom Race!Tav Headcanons

Astarion x Tiefling!Tav

Astarion x Dragonborn!Tav

Astarion x High Elf! Tav

Astarion x Gnome!Tav

Astarion x Dhampir!Tav

Astarion x f!Drow!Tav

Astarion x m!Drow!Tav

Astarion x Drider!Tav

Astarion x Half-Orc!Tav

Astarion x Wood Elf!Tav

Astarion x Curvy F!Human Tav

Astarion x Werewolf!Tav

Astarion x Changeling!Tav p.1

Astarion x Changeling!Tav p.2

Astarion x Changeling!Tav p.3

Astarion x Protector Aasimar!Tav

Astarion x Scourge Aasiamar!Tav

Astarion x Fallen Aasimar!Tav

Astarion x Eladrin!Tav

Astarion x Gur!Tav

Astarion x Fire Genasi Tav

Astarion x Custom Class!Tav Headcanons

Astarion x Barbarian!Tav

Astarion x Wizard!Tav

Astarion x Bard!Tav

Astarion x Druid!Tav

Astarion x Spore Circle Druid!Tav

Astarion x Ranger!Tav

Astarion x Drakewarden!Tav (Ranger subclass)

Astarion x Cleric of Selûne! Tav

Astarion x Cleric of Latander!Tav

Astarion x Cleric of Bahamuth!Tav

Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Astarion x Monk!Tav

Astarion x Draconic Bloodline Sorcerer!Tav

Astarion x Shadow Sorcerer!Tav

Astarion x Blood Hunter!Tav

Astarion x Archfey Warlock!Tav (Patron Niitra Siotta)

Astarion x The Great Old One Warlock!Tav (Patron Zargon)

Astarion x Fighter!Tav

Astarion x Paladin of Ilmater!Tav

Astarion x Artificer!Tav

Astarion x Custom Background!Tav Headcanons

Astarion x Noble!Tav

Astarion x Noble Elf!Tav

Astarion x Pirate!Tav

Astarion x Feylost!Tav

Astarion x Durge

Astarion x Redeemed Durge

Astarion x Evil Durge

Tiriel the Barbarian Headcanons (OC Tav)

Tiriel Hedcanons (get to know OC Tav)

NSFW Tiriel x Astarion headcanons

Alethaine Ancunin, Astarion's dhampir daughter

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Dhampirs and Vampires

Serious issues with vampires

Dhampir Freehold

Vampires in the Underdark

Dhampir-Adventurers

[spacebarbarianweird]

"you came so fast, I barely even touched you" holy shit.

I have no idea where the original list of prompts is but I love your request and here I present you a smut fic about Astarion and Tiriel!

Shadows

Synopsis: Astarion dissociates during sex, believing he "owes" sex to Tiriel.

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Tags: smut, handjob, NSFW, trauma talk

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Tiriel has completely lost herself.

There is nothing in this world but her and Astarion. He’s pinned her to the bed, shut her mouth with his kisses and Tiriel thinks her legs, currently tightly wrapped around his torso, won’t close ever again.

Tiriel grabs a fistful of his curls, making him groan. Astarion pulls away a bit and then pierces her neck with his fangs, causing her to whimper with pain and pleasure.

With every gulp, his thrusts become rougher and harder. He releases her neck and Tiriel smells the iron scent of her own blood.

“Such a delicious little thing,” he growls. “So warm for me.”

Tiriel tries to make eye contact but Astarion turns away. His mind is a thousand miles away.

“Astarion,” she meowls.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he squeezes her wrists harder and rolls his hips.

“Astarion, please,” Tiriel says, but he doesn’t pay attention.

Now it’s not lovemaking, not sex.

Just a mindless fucking, perfect in its performance.

And Tiriel hates every second of this.

“Astarion, let me go!”

He places his palm over her mouth and hushes something pointless in her ear. He speaks of love, passion… He may not mean a word he says.

Tiriel has had enough.

She manages to set her leg free and punches Astarion forcing him to release her at once.

He gasps and moves to the other side of the bed. His cock is still hard and it glistens in the dim light, still coated in precum and her own wetness.

“Did I—Gods!” Astarion covers his face in shame. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s ok, you didn’t hurt me,” She takes his hand in hers. “What happened? You were dissociating again.”He looks at her and then takes a blanket to cover his lower parts, as if embarrassed by his own erection. 

Tiriel studies his perfect face and notices he’s avoiding looking at her.

They spent the last two days apart. Tiriel was offered a job—to help a group of adventurers deal with a banshee, and it was clear they wouldn’t tolerate a vampire. So, Astarion agreed to stay in the Inn with his books—and Tiriel promised to return as soon as possible.

Be it the consequences of the fight or something else, Tiriel was coming back to the Inn with only one desire.

She wanted to fuck.

Astarion quickly caught the scent of her arousal and, while joking about her overall appearance (bruises, sweat, a ripped shirt), he undressed her and gave her what she desired most.

“Astarion,” she caresses his knuckles. “You could have just said you weren’t in the mood.”

Now he looks at her. A bitter smile twists his face. 

“It’s difficult to say ‘no’ to you, darling” He chuckles. “Didn’t want to disappoint you”

Tiriel grabs his shoulders. “Astarion, don’t be stupid! Do you think I like forcing you to do things you don’t want? You think I… Gods, Astarion, you aren’t an object to be used, not a means to an end. You don’t owe me sex or intimacy or anything! We’ve talked about it!”

Astarion turns his head away. “I had a very bad reverie while you were absent, '' he admits. “Really bad one. I will spare you the details and I don't want to talk about it. I didn’t want you to notice and tried to pretend everything was normal. When it wasn’t.”

Tiriel puts her head on his shoulder.

“Astarion, tell me what you want. But be honest. Please.”

He exhales. “Well… I… definitely can’t finish what we started but my body disagrees.”

Tiriel pulls away the blanket. Astarion’s manhood looks painfully hard. She feels a tugging sensation between her legs but she manages to suppress it. Whatever they are going to do won’t be about her.

“Can you just… Sit in front of me?” he asks.

Tiriel nods. She adjusts herself on a pillow so Astarion can see all of her. She spreads her legs a bit and smiles.

“Come for me, love,” she murmurs watching as he strokes himself.

Astarion maintains eye contact fucking his own hand. Tiriel suspects she doesn’t look seductive or particularly appealing, but she’s learned to love herself as she is. If Astarion finds her attractive and desires her, she shouldn’t care about anything else.

Then, he turns away again. The movements become mechanical—he bites his lower lip and tries to keep performing but Tiriel has known him for too long not to notice.

“Astarion?”

“Fuck!” he unclenches his hand.”I can’t.”

“Do you want me to help?” Tiriel leans to him.

He hesitates but then nods.

Tiriel tugs Astarion to her chest making sure he is comfortable between her legs. She kisses his shoulder and then touches his nipples—his body reacts to her fingers, forcing him to squirm.

“I don’t want to hurt you, I don't want you to feel used. I want you to be loved, to be cared for,” she strokes his cock and Astarion moans.

She has never done it before. Astarion often pleasures her in more than one way; his fingers have been inside her not less than his cock. Meanwhile, her role is almost always a passive one.

Well, unless she rides him—but that’s another story to tell.

She touches the sensitive tip and then proceeds to stroke the shaft, enjoying the sensation of silk-like skin under her fingers.

Astarion squirms, he digs his fingernails into the sheet. Tiriel uses her second hand to caress his balls. She squeezes them a bit and the moment she does it thick strings of cum coat Tiriel’s fingers.

“Fuck!” he gasps.

Tiriel pays little to no attention to the mess he’s made and adores his face. His eyes are closed, and his mouth is half open. There is nothing left from his usual smirk and a composed smile—Astarion is just a mindless vampire right now, drowned in his own pleasure.

“I barely even touched you,” Tiriel playfully says. “And you’ve come so fast.”

His cock is still hard and Tiriel kisses her lover’s lips.

“Please…” he mutters. “Do this… again.”

“Anything for you, love.” 

This time Tiriel squeezes him tighter, her movements rough and passionate. Astarion moans and hisses uncontrollably.

“Hells…”

“I love you so much,” Tiriel whispers in his ear. “I am so lucky to have you. Don’t hold yourself. ”

Astarion rolls his hips fucking her hand. By this moment she doesn’t even have to move— she just holds Astarion the same way she holds a sword handle.

“Come for me, love.” She licks the tip of his ear and then carefully bites it. As she feels his skin on her tongue, he clutches at the fabric of the sheets with such force that he tears it.

Then he opens his eyes wide and cums again.

If he was alive, he would pant loudly and his heart would beat like after climbing up the stairs in a tower.

But his body is silent and Tiriel moves a bit to see his face better.

The image doesn’t disappoint her—Astarion is completely flustered, all in her power, vulnerable, and mindless.

Finally, he looks at her. She smiles and puts her coated fingers to her lips and licks the cum.

“Wild girl,” he murmurs and kisses Tiriel, tasting himself.

“Do you want to cuddle?” she asks.

“Do you really have to ask?” Astarion is back to his common self. “Darling, I thought we'd been cuddling longer than we’ve been having sex.”

“Then how do you want to do it?”

Astarion hesitates, then pushes her onto the bed, forcing Tiriel to lie on her back. He then settles his head on her bare lap, hugging her thigh like a pillow.

“I had a reverie about a woman,” he finally says. “She knew I was a vampire and I was her ‘reward” for doing some… job for him. She was a nobility, a rich girl who always got what she wanted—and she wanted me to be her fucktoy for a month. I should have been grateful because for once I didn’t have to flinch at any unexpected sound or be afraid of torture. Instead of rats, I fed on horses and dogs which was much better than my usual diet. I even could read books in her library and, gods, I spent every spare minute there.”

“But the price was to sleep with her?” Tiriel asks.

“Well, the bitch had very interesting views on sex, and any regular intercourse was too boring for her. Besides, she deluded herself that she asked for permission—but I was ordered to agree to anything she suggested. And the bitch was as inventive as perverted.”

Tiriel caresses his scalp waiting for the story to continue. Astarion’s mind is like a hangman’s archive—Tiriel can never guess which disgusting fact she will learn next, but it is always worse than the previous one.

“I was in her bedroom and… she was forcing herself on me. I wanted to strangle her, to rip her throat. Her touches were acid-like. It was… a deep reverie when I wasn’t aware it was a memory. I was sure I was still there. And then… it all faded away. And then you returned with your arousal and your passion.”

Guilt knots in Tiriel’s stomach.

“I am sorry.”

“Don’t. I should have just told you I wasn’t in the mood. You would have stopped, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course. Without  a doubt.”

He turns around so he can see Tiriel’s face but still uses her thighs as a pillow. 

“You are warm,” he mutters. 

“And you resemble a big cat.”

“Is it a compliment?”

“Yes.”

Tiriel feels like falling asleep. The last thing she sees is Astarion’s crimson eyes that look at her with awe and tenderness.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-alll @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 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @queenofthespacesquids

[spacebarbarianweird]

The Tainted Past

Synopsis: Astarion's daughter learns about her father's past.

Tags: dadstarion, trauma talk, dhampirs, hurt/comfort

Alethaine's age: 14 years old

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Don’t slouch, boy. You know who you belong to.

Astarion’s nails pierce his skin. A scream is stuck in his throat—he can’t make a sound, if he does, the master will flay his skin again.

No, please, don’t beat me!

Astarion collapses on the stone floor. He doesn’t recognize the place—a small dungeon, more like a cellar full of books and scrolls. Is he in some forbidden part of Cazador’s mansion? Or has he gotten lost and will be punished?

The echo of the master’s voice rings in his head and Astarion is hypnotized by it. 

Go. Find. Seduce. Eat the rat or be flayed. Go again. Find. Seduce. Repeat.

It will never end.

Suddenly, he hears another voice. A young girl, probably fourteen years old, in a long black dress. She looks like a young widow—her elven ears twitch a bit as she calls someone.

Run, whoever you are. I can bring only death.

She is scared but for some reason, she doesn’t run.

“GO AWAY!” he screams. “GO. AWAY!”

The girl’s lower lip starts to quiver and he sees tears in the corner of her raven-dark eyes. 

Who am I? Where am I? 

Astarion drowns in the darkness. 

He grabs a heavy volume from the floor and throws it into the wall, as if this act can help him to stay sane.

The girl squeals as if the book were thrown at her. 

“Fuck!” another female voice.

“Mum! What’s happening to Dad?!” The girl hides behind the woman’s back. “I went down and he was … peeling his skin!”

Astarion stands up and stares at the woman. She had red hair, a scar on her face, and a black pattern on her lips.

He knows her name. He must know her name.

“Alethaine, please, go upstairs,” the woman orders. 

“But mum!—”

“Alethaine!”

The girl bares her fangs but obeys. She picks up the hem of her long skirt and walks off up the stairs. 

The woman cups Astarion’s face and makes him look at her.

“Astarion, you are safe. You are at home in Daggerlake. It’s been thirty-four years. Your master is dead. No one is going to hurt you.” She takes his hands in hers and starts kissing his knuckles, one at a time. “It’s me, I am not going anywhere.”

“Tiriel—” he finally manages to say. 

As if her name were an anchor, he manages to return to reality.

The nightmare fades away. 

Tiriel, his wife and his beloved, is kneeling beside him. 

Reality crashes into him like a wave. Thirty-four years, a very solid counterweight to centuries of misery. He was saved by this woman, though she thinks he saved himself. Together, they found a stable home in a distant town far from the Sword Coast. 

And he has a daughter.

“I scared her,” Astarion mutters. “I scared Alethaine”

He remembers the fear and tears on her face. When she was born, Astarion swore she would never learn about his past. If she ever asked he would just make something up. But today she saw the part of him he tried to conceal.

The broken tortured creature he is.

“I will talk to her,” Tiriel says. “Besides, I don’t think she is afraid of you. Considering that her favorite place in town is a graveyard and she prefers the company of the dead to the living.”

Necromancer and a dhampir. And all this mixed with her Fey blood and a quarter of human ancestry. Alethaine probably doesn’t realize what it all means for her.

A fourteen-year-old elf who dresses like a widow, doesn’t breathe, and can walk on ceilings. A fourteen-year-old who prefers to hang out in the graveyard and walk in the underground tunnels to have friends. A very lonely fourteen-year-old who loves books and doesn’t really like people.

“Astarion, are you here?” Tiriel cradles him. “Hush, love, it’s all right.”

“I thought… I thought… I would never have a setback…I thought…”

He thought his torments were finally over. But the Sire’s voice was so loud in his head that Astarion could believe his master returned from oblivion.

The dark waves take him again and he tries to grasp the reality but all in vain. His mind is taken by the nightmares.

And then Tiriel cuts her wrist and puts it to Astarion’s mouth.

Her blood is so sweet, so divine… He sucks her wrist as Tiriel plays with his curls. 

Astarion has to make an effort to let her hand go and not take more than he needs. 

“I thought he was back. I thought I was there, in that wretched place again. I even didn’t recognize you two– ”

“Your mind was playing tricks on you.”

Astarion sniffs. His vampiric senses sharpen as his hunger is satiated. He hears voices from the outside—just passersby who couldn’t care less to have a vampire for a neighbor.

The underground part of Daggerlale is relatively silent—it’s daylight and most of the residents are on the surface. 

And Alethaine eavesdrops standing right above her parents on the first floor of their wooden house. Though her image is very foggy—Alethaine's dhampirism manifests in her ability to hide herself from vampires. 

“Tell me what you want,” Tiriel asks.

Astarion doesn’t know. His mind is empty.

“I can stay with you. I can leave for a time and return to you when you are ready. What do you want?”

Years ago Astarion would torture himself by making her stay even if knew he needed some time alone. Something deep inside him was sure if he asked Tiriel to leave him with his own thoughts she would never return.

“I’d like to be alone right now, my sweet. Just a bit to calm down. And I want to go for a hunt but it’s… daylight.”

“You can go to the tunnels.”

��And hunt there like I am some Drow? No. I will go at night.”

“Ok,” she kisses his forehead. “I need to go tomorrow for a day or two. There is a gang of bugbears who decided it’s a good idea to steal sheep from our people. I will be preparing my weapons and armor in the yard.”

Astarion stays alone. 

He starts mindlessly walking around the basement. From time to time he grabs a book, opens it, and then puts it back. As one hour passes, his mind clears and Astarion is sane again.

He even laughs it all off.

Of course, he is free. Of course, he is safe. All his life is a huge FUCK YOU to his master—Astarion is a vampire who was invited to live among the mortals to protect them from other vampires should they come. He has a wife he can feed on if he needs to but who does not see him as a bloodsucker—when Tiriel is asked who she is married to she says she is married to an elf. A daughter, a beautiful smart girl—who has centuries of life ahead.

He has everything and even more.

“Dad, do you need anything?”

Alethaine walks inside. She is shorter than her mother, only five feet tall—and Astarion suspects Alethaine isn’t going to grow up anymore. His dhampir daughter looks delicate but her look is deceptive. She is as strong as a full-fledged vampire (and she doesn't need blood to be like one) and Astarion still remembers how she dragged home a dead gnoll that was four times her size when she was six. And was very upset that they didn’t let her keep that corpse. 

It remains a mystery if the gnoll had been already dead when Alethaine found it.

“No, princess. I don’t need anything,” Astarion wants to stay alone but he can’t tell Alethaine to go. The little one is going to be very hurt if he pushes her away.

“Are you sure? I’ve never seen you crying like that.”

“It… happens sometimes. Bad memories.”

“What memories?”

Astarion looks at her and feels the darkness coming back again. It is a storm he can’t stop and can’t run away from.

“My past. Nothing to worry about. It’s between me… and the rest.”

Alethaine doesn’t go away. 

“You said you thought your master was back. I’ve read… that when a person is turned into a vampire, they become spawns and don’t have free will. Is this what happened to you? Dad?”

Astarion closes his eyes. 

It’s just a question. She is curious. He had never told her anything about his life before he met Tiriel. She would ask. Sooner or later.

But he doesn’t want to say anything.

He doesn’t want to relive it again. 

“Who turned you? Are they still somewhere?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Alethaine.”

“But why? Did you want to become a vampire or you were turned against your will?”

I don’t remember.

 “Do you really think I would want THIS?” Astarion asks angrily. “Do you really think I would want to stay in the shadows, to drink blood, to suffer from hunger? Do you think I wanted to spend my life in chains?!”

Alethaine flinches.

“I just asked! I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

“Then you should have thought about what to ask!”

“Dad, don't yell at me!” Alethaine cries. She clenches her fists and bares her fangs.

“I am your father, don't tell me what I can and what I can’t do!”

 “Dad! I am not a little child, I want to know!”

“You are and you don’t!”

Astarion doesn’t remember what he says after. He lashes at Alethaine and then the young dhampir starts crying as if he hit her.

It’s the first time ever that Astarion doesn’t want to be around his daughter. Suddenly she is a stranger.

He rushes upstairs and leaves the house.

Suddenly, underground tunnels don’t sound that bad.

**

Alethaine sniffs and leaves the cellar. She has never seen her father like that.

And she has fucked up. 

Ashamed and angry at the same time, she goes upstairs hoping her mother has gone after Astarion.

“ALETHAINE!”

She stiffens. No, Tiriel the Barbarian is at home. And if she uses her rage voice, it’s a very bad beginning.

“Alethaine, I told you not to go to him!”

“I’ve never seen him like that”

“And I’ve not seen him like that for ten years,” Tiriel grabs her daughter’s hand and makes her sit on a bench in the kitchen. “Which part of ‘let your dad be on his own’ didn’t you understand? If you had questions that couldn’t wait, you could have asked me!”

“But—but will he come back soon?”

“I don’t know. When it happened to him before, before you were born, he sometimes would disappear for days. And I had no idea where he was.”

“But why? What is haunting him?”

“His past. His master. His own darkness. It haunts him less often now, but it still hasn’t gone anywhere”

Alethaine looks away. The sense of embarrassment overwhelms and she bites her lip with her fang.

Tiriel is silent. Then she sighs and sits in front of her daughter.

“When you were born, your dad made me swear we would not talk about his past. We start from being stuck on a nautiloid. As if Astarion had never existed before. But he had,'' Tiriel makes a pause. “When a vampire turns a person into the undead, the said person becomes a spawn, a puppet who can’t say no to their master.”

Alethaine gulps. She read about that in one of the books her father stores in the house but for some reason, she thought her father had always been a free vampire.

“Your father was turned by a vile person, an abusive, cruel, violent one. Who had only pleasure in his life—torturing his spawns, including your father. It was just sheer luck that Astarion was kidnapped by mind flayers along with me. And it was even more than sheer luck that the Emperor thought your father could have been useful for him.”

“Yes, you’ve told me a lot about how you hung around Baldur's Gate with that thing in your head.”

“Yes, good old times. The tadpole gave your dad a chance to walk in the sun though it took his strength. But what’s more important, it cut the connection between him and his master. Your father was free for a time and together we killed that wretched creature. End of story”

“How—how bad was it?”

Tiriel looks at her and Alethaine shivers. There is a shadow in her mother’s eyes.

“I don’t want you to know that. Trust me, you don’t want either. Just… Think about what comes to your mind when you think about slavery. Your father went through the worst slavery you can imagine. His mind is a torture master’s archive. You never know which horrible fact you learn, but it will be worse than the previous one.”

Alethaine stares at her mother in shock. Her father was enslaved? Her father, who can fight a horde of enemies? Who can make a pact with a devil and leave the devil without a dime? To whom do the kings of the surrounding lands send messengers to solve some “fey contract” problems? 

She can’t even comprehend it.

“And how long was he a slave?”

“Two hundred years.”

The number sounds like a hammer blow. Two centuries?! Her father was a slave for twenty decades and would still be? How can it be even possible?

“But—didn’t he have relatives? Family? Friends? Who could save him?”

“That’s another cruel thing about your father. He doesn't remember his life before he was turned. Everything was taken from him, including his memories. And I am still surprised he managed to adapt to freedom so fast when we met. He is a strong man. He managed to preserve his sanity where madness was the only way out. But sometimes the shadows come back. And when it happens he needs help. And understanding.”

Alethaine turns her head away, unable to look at her mother. Then she walks up to the ceiling trying to pull her thoughts together.

“Mum, he has scars on his back. Are they…?”

She nods. 

“I am so sorry,” Alethaine whispers.

“When your dad is back, I will talk to him. Just—don’t bring this up anymore, if you have questions I will try to answer them. But don’t bring this up with him. Maybe you think you have a right to know, but you don’t. It’s between him, me, and the darkness.”

“Mum. Do you know everything? Everything you don’t want me to know?”

“Yes. And sometimes I wish I didn’t. But this was a part of the deal—no one can carry this burden alone and I share it with your father.” Tiriel stands right underneath Alethaine. “In case you think we try to conceal some secrets from you like in the adventuring stories you love to read, we don’t. Your father’s past isn’t a heroic character’s background. It’s dirt, misery, and pain.”

Alethaine jumps back on the floor and suddenly feels an urge to hug her mother 

“Do you think Dad will forgive me for what I did?”

“Of course he will,” Tiriel kisses Alethaine’s cheek. “He can’t stay angry with his five-feet-tall princess.”

“It’s five feet and one inch,” Aletaine insists, burying her nose in Tiriel’s chest. 

“As you wish, kitten. Let’s go and have some dinner.”

**

Astarion stops in front of his home.

His hunger is satiated for a few days—he managed to find a lot of food in the tunnels, including a bugbear who decided it’s a good idea to attack him.

Then, he sees Alethaine. 

She goes outside with a cape on her thin shoulders and a basket in her right arm.

“Hi, Dad”.

“Going somewhere?”

“The healer asked to pick up the dragon mushrooms up in the hills. She will pay me ten copper coins for an ounce”

“Remember the rule?”

“Don't ask ‘who goes there’ but stab them right away. If they are good guys they will understand and forgive’.”

“Good girl.”

They are silent for a few moments. Astarion feels guilty, but at the same time he prays Alethaine doesn't ask anything else.

It seems like she isn't going to.

And he also notices something new in her eyes. 

Understanding. 

“Will you teach me how to pick up locks?” Alethaine asks.

“Going to rob someone?” he chuckles.

“I am not answering this question” she giggles. 

She is lovely, his daughter.

When Alethaine was only a baby she used to breathe. Astarion remembers he would put a palm on her chest just to feel how her tiny lungs worked.

When she was five months old, her dhampirism manifested. Fangs pierced the gums, blood lust almost killed her (luckily, Tiiriel realized Alethaine needed drops of blood to make it through) and she stopped breathing.

Astarion remembers how her chest rose and fell for the last time.

He also remembers the moment when he took his last breath before his death.

A vampire and a dhampir. Father and daughter. At least, Alethaine’s beating heart wasn’t taken from her. 

“When you come back I will show you how to pick up locks.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Astarion waves to his daughter as Alethaine disappears in the darkness.

As he goes inside, he immediately finds himself in the arms of Tiriel.

“You weren’t harsh on her, were you?”

“Told her what was necessary. Don't be angry.”

“I won't. It was stupid to think she would have never asked.”

Tiriel kisses his cheek.

“You look like you fought a bugbear,” Tiriel notices, looking at his bloodstained and dirty clothes.

“I did.”

“Oh? So now you are taking work from me? I thought better of you!”

“I think there are plenty of monsters for you to fight.”

Hours later, when Astarion submerges himself in a bathtub, he is sure the darkness has stepped away. It stepped away with the lights of his home, with Tiriel’s touches as she rubbed his back, with Alethaine’s plea to teach her to pick up locks. 

“No one is going to lock you up,” Tiriel whispers in his ear and he closes his eyes as a contented cat.

**

Alethaine’s basket is already full of dragon mushrooms—an ingredient for the healing potions. It’s already night and she needs to go back–she is still not permitted to hang out on the surface after dark—and her father has probably left to find her.

But the night calls upon her—seducing the young dhampir with its secrets.

Alethaine puts the mushrooms on the ground and takes off her hood, allowing the night wind to caress her face.

Suddenly, she catches the scent of a stranger.

All her senses sharpen, as her predator body  gets ready for a fight. Alethaine bares her fangs and reaches for a dagger on her waist. 

An elven girl, she was supposed to be, is scared and wants to run to her safe home.

But the dhampir she is knows that you either fight or die. It’s an innate knowledge engraved into her instincts with her shadow heritage. 

But the attacker is much faster, and a strong hand pushes Alethaine on the ground.

The scream remains stuck in her throat as she realizes no one is going to help her right now.

--

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 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @queenofthespacesquids

[spacebarbarianweird]

Tiny Dhampir

Synopsis: Astarion is spending time with Alethaine.

Tags: comfort, dadstarion, dhampirs, tooth-rotting fluff

Alethaine's age: 3.5 years old

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion meditates.

In his memory he stands in front of his tent. It's dark, and difficult to say if it’s night or day. It's always midnight in the Shadow-Cursed Lands.

He has to tell her. He can’t continue like that.

Tiriel doesn’t deserve to be lied to.

Astarion clasps his hands. She will break up with him, and she will force him to leave the camp. And she will be right to do so.

He hears a loud laughter. Tiriel walks into the camp and waves to him. She is so beautiful in her Drow armor that Astarion can’t take his eyes from the half-elven warrior.

Astarion desires to touch Tiriel, to hold her hand, to taste her blood, to feel her warmth.

He doesn’t have a right to do either of that.

“Tiriel!” he finally approaches her. “Tiriel, can we talk?”

She’s just  taken her armor off. “Yes, what is it?”

Tiriel is so close he can feel her heartbeat. Shame burns him; he is preparing himself as if this were   the last conversation between the two of them.

Come what may, Astarion decides.

He confesses. His lies, his ill intentions, his betrayal.

“You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.”

Silence.

Astarion waits for the verdict. It's difficult to decipher Tiriel’s facial expression. Is she sad? Is she disappointed? Will she dump him and go to the wizard’s tent? 

Of course, what did he expect? Tiriel opened up to him and he used her body for his own sake.

“Astarion…” Tiriel says. “I am not stupid. I knew what you were trying to do.”

Astarion stares at her in disbelief. What the hells… He expected any response but not that.

“Are you not angry?”

“Why would I be?” Tiriel stands up and smiles. “Astarion, love, if it makes you feel better, I forgive you, but there is nothing to apologize for. You were trying to survive. And you didn’t know any better.”

“And what does it… mean… for us?”

“It means I love you and want to be with you. It means I want to cuddle with you at night and hold your hand by day. It means I want to help you with your master and I know you can protect me in the fight. If you don’t want to have sex, it’s ok, we can be together without it.”

Astarion is so shocked he can’t say anything coherent. He expected tears, curses, and violence. Instead, there is so much softness he is drowning in it.

Tiriel approaches him, Astarion pulls back, his mind rushes, and he clenches his fists but instead of pain, there is just a gentle hug.

Tiriel holds him in her strong arms, pressing her face against his chest.

Astarion hesitates and puts his arms on her back. He might imagine this but he thinks she is smiling.

That night, she brought her few things to his tent. It was weird to share the bedroll with someone else and not have sex. He remembers listening to her quiet breath, to her heartbeat, and then waking up to her playing with his curls.

Tiriel. His love. His wife. His savior. His partner. His friend. His thiramin.

The mother of his child.

Astarion slowly returns to reality. He finds himself in a comfortable bed, not a bedroll, and with a soft pillow under his head.

Home.

He is at home.

At his own place, his and Tiriel’s, in a distant town far from Sword Coast called Daggerlake.

Astarion feels someone is staring

“Good morning, princess,” he mutters, looking at the ceiling.

A three-year-old girl with long silver hair stands on the ceiling as if she was a bat. Her hair is messy, it looks like she’s tried to braid it herself but couldn’t handle a brush. Her black dress makes her look even smaller than she is.

Alethaine doesn’t reply and keeps staring at her dad.

“How long have you been there?” Astarion elbows up. “Is anything wrong?”

Alethaine’s ears twitch and her lower lip quivers. She looks like she is about to cry.

“Princess, use your words,” Astarion lies back on the bed and reaches his hands up. Alethaine immediately falls in his arms. 

'When will mum return?’ she finally asks. “She's been away for too long!”

Astarion places Alethaine beside him and his daughter immediately nestles in the crook of his right hand. She is so small, so delicate - like a kitten or a porcelain doll, much smaller than the human children in their town.

“She will be home soon. Maybe in a few days. Depends on how stupid her new companions are,” Astarion says and then he hears a fast heartbeat. 

Meanwhile, Aletaine barely breathes and her pale skin is rather cold; she has a natural heartbeat which Astarion adores listening to.

Alive.

Technically, half-alive - Alethaine is a dhampir, after all, but she grows up, she eats, and her heart beats. And what bewilders Astarion is that Alethaine loves being held by him.

“Tell me, princess,  were you standing on the ceiling because you’d forgotten when your mum was coming back or did something scare you?” Astarion takes Alethaine’s tiny hand in his and caresses her perfectly pale fingers.

The lower lip quivers again. 

Alethaine bursts in tears.

Astarion would always freak out when she started crying but with time he got used to the fact that Alethaine cries because she can. Sometimes it’s genuine crying because of a bruised knee, an unfortunate fall from the ceiling, a dead character in a story, or a nightmare. 

But most of the time Alethaine’s cries are her way of communicating she’s been lonely.

Astarion sits up and places Alethaine on his lap.

He manages to decipher a complaint that he’s been sleeping for too long. And also how did he dare not to wake up because she was intensely staring?

“Princess, you are a big girl, look at you, you are almost four! You can spend some time on your own!”

“I am three!” 

“You will be four in two months”

“I am three!” Alethaine insists. She immediately stops crying and now she looks a bit angry. “I am three!”

“All right, all right. Are you hungry?”

She shakes her head. 

“How about you tell me what you want?” Astarion kisses the crown of her head.

The girl sniffs. The other thing that bewilders Astarion is how much she trusts him. She comes to him when she is scared, when she is hurt, when she just wants to play or read. He was sure she would always prefer Tiriel to him - with the warmth of her mortal body. But no! Alethaine’s tiny world consists of two people - her mother and father – and it fits in one wooden house in the underground part of Daggerlake.

Alethaine trusts her father. Alethaine trusts Astarion with her tiny half-dead heart, that he loves her, that he protects her, and that he will never hurt her.

Astarion hopes he will never disappoint her.

The dhampir then jumps to the floor and walks over to the stack of books. She picks up the third one from the bottom, causing the stack to collapse, and hands the heavy volume to Astarion.

It's a book on the geography of the Lands of Intrigue, a faraway southern region – with maps, pictures, and text in different languages.

“This. I want to read.”

“You want me to read to you or you want to read with me?” he specifies.

“Read to me,” she says. “Please,” she quickly adds.

“How can I say ‘no’ to such a well-behaved young lady?”

At first, Alethaine is deeply concentrated on the text studying the detailed pictures of dragons and monsters but with every page, she gets more restless.

She bares her fangs as if trying to yawn and Astarion notices something is off with her teeth. 

“Alethaine, open your mouth,” Astarion asks

Alethaine immediately squeezes her lips and shakes her head. 

“Alethaine.”

“No.”

“Alethaine, I will just take a look.”

Alethaine gives up and obliges. She has a full set of baby teeth but her upper fangs are long and pointy. They grew very early when Tiriel was still breastfeeding her and Astarion suspects those fangs cause a lot of discomfort to his daughter.

The inner part of her lower lips bleeds pierced with the fangs. The upper gums are also irritated as if Alethaine rubbed them.

“Does it hurt?”

Alethaine nods. 

“Why didn't you say that?”

“I don’t know.”

Astarion would sigh if he could breathe. “Let’s go to see the healer.”

It takes an eternity for Alethaine to put on her clothes. She is constantly distracted - either with a spider crawling on the ceiling, with her dolls, or with the book about the Lands of Intrigue. Astarion suspects she does it on purpose.

The most difficult part is to make Alethaine wear warm boots. The dhampir refuses to acknowledge it’s winter and even though snow doesn't fall underground it is cold outside.

Alethaine wants her black shoes - period. And it doesn’t matter that they are intended for summer and that they are already too small for her feet.

“Alethaine, put on your boots,” Astarion repeats for the fourth time.

“No!” Alethaine cries again “I want this!”

“Then we are not going to the healer.”

“Fine! I don't want to!”

“Then your teeth will keep hurting. And you won’t be able to eat sweets. There will be a lot of cakes and candies at Solstice and you won’t be able to taste any of them.”

Alethaine tries to cry once again, but Astarion pretends he is busy studying a spider crawling on the wall. The dhampir realizes she’s lost this round and puts on the winter boots. Then, she stares at her father.

“Is anything wrong, princess?” Astarion gives out a laugh. Alethaine is so stubbornly adorable.

“Daddy”

“Hm?”

“I can’t lace them.”

Astarion kneels in front of her. “And what do we say when we want something?”

“Please”

“Good girl” 

Astarion quickly laces her boots. The rest of the winter clothes are put on without a fight and they finally go outside.

As they walk to the healer's hut, Alethaine rubs her gums, and Astarion catches the scent of droplets of blood. Her blood is different—half-dead. It has a bitter odor, similar to the smell of wormwood. Astarion suspects that the reason dhampirs are immune to vampirism is because vampires get poisoned by tasting the blood of their children.

…The healer, an old halfling woman smokes her pipe outside the hut. Noticing astarion and Alethaine she puts the pipe aside.

“What do you want, creatures of the night? I don’t have blood in storage!”

“Oh I am sorry, I can't hear what you from down there, Kelma”

“Careful Astarion, I am the only healer in this wretched town! Hello, Alethaine, I can see that Dhampirs still feel the cold?”

“Hello,” Alethaine says and smiles, showing her fangs.

The healer invites them inside. Kelma is also the only midwife in the town and it was she who welcomed Alethaine into the world almost four years ago. Astarion remembers that day in every detail. His own fear, the smell of blood, Tiriel’s cries, the newborn’s squeal.

“Where is Tiriel? I thought it was you who made money by dealing with contracts.”

“Tiriel couldn’t say “no” to the prospect of working as a bodyguard in a wyvern-hunting party.”

Astarion sits on the bench and places Alethaine in his lap.

“So what happened?” the halfling asks.

“My teeth hurt,” Alethaine complains. “And my lip bleeds!”

“Open your mouth,” Kelma says and Astarion sees her concern, as she carefully touches the tips of Alethaine’s fangs.

“Is anything wrong?”

“The fangs are too big and scratch her lip. And there is simply not enough space for them.”

“But is it normal?”

“Astarion, you are the only vampire I know and this is the only dhampir I know! I don’t know if it’s normal. All right, Alethaine, I am going to do something, it will hurt for a bit but you will feel better.”

Alethaine glances at her father. Now she looks absolutely helpless.

“Kelma isn’t going to do anything bad,” he assures his daughter.

Alethaine isn’t persuaded.

Kelma takes out a small bottle with liquid and opens it. It probably doesn’t stink that much for the healer but sharpened vampiric senses are immediately averse to it. Alethaine winces.

The halfling touches Alethaine’s gums and rubs the ointment on the delicate skin. The second the healer puts her finger away, the little Dhampir bursts into tears again. Now it’s tears of betrayal because she didn’t expect the medicine to cause an unpleasant sensation. 

“Alethaine” Kelma coo. “You are such a big strong girl, don’t cry.”

“It burns!”

“I know,” Kelma chuckles. “Astarion, don’t let her eat for a couple of hours. And now take your tiny copy, I have work to do”

“What did you say?”

“I said take your tiny copy of a daughter and … oh damn, Astarion, I forgot you can’t see yourself in the mirror. She is your copy. And I am not talking about fangs.”

Astarion shakes his head in disbelief.

His copy? Sure, he knows Alethaine has the same silver hair color and skin tone but the rest?

Does he really see himself in her?

“Daad,” Alethaine pulls his arm when they leave the healer’s hut. “Can we go to the surface? I think it’s already night!”

“Yes, why not?”

As they go to the uppertown Alethaine constantly talks. She speaks about everything she sees, and asks dozens of questions including “Why is Kelma so short if she is an adult”, “Why can’t vampires be in the sun”, and “Why does she have fangs and other children in the town don’t”. It doesn’t seem like she pays attention to the answers but Astarion has an uncanny feeling that everything he says is being engraved in her memory for life. And he should choose words carefully.

“Are you sure mum will come back by the Solstice?”

“I am.”

“Will I be an adventurer when I grow up?”

“If you want.”

It's a chilly night and the prickly stars shine in the night sky. There are barely any people outside—most of the townsfolk are halflings and humans deprived of dark vision. As for dwarves, they prefer the company of each other.

Alethaine’s skin looks almost white in the moonlight.

First, they make a snowman—Alethaine insists on adding pointy ears to its head Then, the dhampir tilts her head up and freezes as if seeing stars for the first time.

Maybe she does. She just hasn’t paid attention before.

“Look”, Astarion points at a constellation. “This is the Circle of Swords - seven bright stars forming a circle. The Goddess Mystra has her divine castle in the center of it. And below it—the Ice Snake.”

Astarion wasn’t into astronomy of any sort but once he and Tiriel hit the night road for twenty-four years after leaving Baldur’s Gate and their former companions behind, he found a lot of comfort in observing the stars. Tiriel taught him all that—how to use stars to navigate in darkness. However, she has always preferred her people’s constellation names: Faeraula instead of the Ice Snake and the Circle of Coins instead of Mystra’s Circle. 

Alethaine listens to him bewildered by the night starry sky. Suddenly her ears twitch and she turns her head away, to the road leading to the town gates.

And then Astarion catches a familiar scent.

“Mum! Mum!” Alethaine cries out.

Astarion doesn’t need to strain his eyes to see Tiriel in the distance. She probably neither sees nor hears them. But both astarion and Alethaine can already distinguish her winter armor, the hood covering her red hair, and a two-handed ax on her back. 

“Mum!” Alethaine cries once again and now it’s enough for Tiriel to hear her.

Alethaine sprints and rushes to her mother. Tiriel kneels, opens her arms and Alethaine jumps in her hands.

Astarion walks toward them as Tiriel smooches Alethaine’s face.

“I suppose I am not the only one in this family who needs to be kissed” Astarion smiles at Tiriel. The warrior stands up holding Alethaine in her arms and kisses him too. First his cheek, then his forehead, and then his lips.

Astarion answers her with the same tenderness. Gods, she is warm even now after spending hours in the freezing winter.

“Dealt quickly with the wyvern?”

“The party couldn’t agree on the strategy and the wyvern burnt them to crisps. I took their loot and left. And the wyvern is flying… somewhere.”

“Oh so you didn’t challenge the wyvern, did you?”

“Hmm, I wanted to fight it alone but then I remembered I have this” she kisses Alethaine’s forehead, “and this,” she kisses astarion once again. “I am a mother and a wife, why take the risk? Besides, there are plenty of monsters I can kill later!”

Astarion takes her bag and the weapon, and all three return to their home under the surface. Alethaine demands to tell her everything about Tiriel’s small adventures and Astarion feels it’s very difficult not to use “bad words” to explain how stupid those companions were.

Astarion grabs Tiriel’s hand tighter, enjoying her warmth. 

Their small family looks normal.

Astarion was stripped away from his normality centuries ago. Dead men don’t have homes. They don’t have wives and daughters. 

But he does.

A gentle ear rub returns him to reality. 

“What happened to her teeth?” Tiriel whispers as they go inside their house. Alethaine naps in her mother’s arms.

“The healer said the fangs grew too early.”

It’s already sunrise on the surface when Tiriel collapses on their bed and asks Astarion not to wake her up even if the wyvern returns and demands a fair duel.

“Come here” Tiriel opens up a thick blanket inviting Astarion. She wraps herself around him like she does since that day they started sharing the tent and immediately drifts to sleep. Astarion tugs her close and relaxes, stealing her body heat.

When she is so close he sometimes thinks his body is warm, too.

--

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 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen

[spacebarbarianweird]

In response to the NSFW request post.

How about some body worship? Astarion x fem!Tav? Maaaaybe some oral sex?

Synopsis: As a Half-Elf, Tiriel has serious body image issues, and Astarion knows exactly how to help her accept herself.

Thanks @tragedybunny for beta-reading!

Tags: smut, oral sex, vaginal sex, sex in front of a mirror, praise kink

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

See Yourself Like I See You

"Biri", an elven woman mutters, glancing at Tiriel as she passes by.

The words hurt like burning coals. Tiriel suppresses the desire to yell at the elf. Or hit her. Violence is always an answer but, probably, beating the shit out of the innkeeper's wife isn't a rational choice, considering you travel with a vampire, who needs shelter in the daylight.

"I speak Elven '' Tiriel says loud enough to attract the attention of the Tel'Quessira.

"Oh? Someone bothered to teach you? I didn't offend you, I just... told the truth. You are only half an elf".

"Biri means trash, not just half an elf."

The elf laughs, and her voice sounds like tiny bells. "You know, in the old times, we forbid our men to mate with... N'TelQuessira. And when it happened anyway, we murdered the children not to doom them to be stuck between two worlds."

Tiriel squeezes the hand of her ax. Her elven father was just a passerby, someone whom her mother found attractive enough to forget about the marriage vows and spend a night with. 

The elf left the village for good, and the woman ended up pregnant with a "fairy bastard," she didn't even bother to give a name.

"What surprises me, biri, is that a High Elf chooses to sleep with you. As if he couldn't find someone more worthy to share the bed with."

With those words, the elf disappears, leaving Tiriel alone. She wishes anger and rage were her companions. But it is only a weeping wound, something she buried so deep within that she thought would never return to the surface.

Tiriel rushes upstairs to the room she  rents with Astarion. The vampire is still outside somewhere, stalking the streets of the town like a shadow.

Good. She has plenty of time to return to her senses. Astarion knows her story well enough - how her family despised her, how her siblings tried to kill her but instead awoke rage in her. 

But it is nothing in comparison to what he was through, and Tiriel doesn’t want to discuss it with him. 

Tiriel places her ax on the floor. She trembles as if the elven woman had beaten her.

All her childhood Tiriel heard the same words. Ugly, unworthy, half a human. Beaten.  Harassed. Tiriel still remembers the dirty looks of the village men who dared to see a little girl as something sexual. Her stepfather cut her right ear to suppress his desires - luckily, a village healer stitched it back.

The only hope Tiriel had was that elves were different. She begged the healer’s husband, an old dwarf, to tell her the same stories over and over again - about his old Wood Elf friend and their adventures. She was sure elves would accept her as one of theirs. 

Apparently, humans are much more accepting. 

Tiriel looks in the mirror. Yesterday, Astarion had a good laugh, standing in front of it. The most useless thing to place in the room with a vampire.

Half-something.

Tiriel undresses as if the fabric of her clothes burns her  skin and studies herself in the mirror.

The more she looks, the more miserable she feels.

Her body is composed of two separate parts. The upper half is elven: narrow shoulders, small breasts. The lower part is the human: wide hips of a woman who is supposed to push kids out of her every year. Strong legs. Pale skin is covered in freckles. The ears - too pointy for a human, too short for an elf. Red hair is too difficult to brush. Scars.

One crosses her eye - a memory of the betrayal when her siblings pushed Tiriel down the cliff, hoping she would die. The other is on her back, a burn from the fight with the Elder Brain.

The tadpole suppressed the pain, but once the parasite was gone, Tiriel almost lost consciousness, feeling her skin burn. When she came to her senses, Astarion was nowhere to be seen, and she was afraid he’d died in the sunlight. She yelled at him when he finally showed up after sunset, resembling a beaten stray cat. 

“Stop screaming at me, Tiriel. I feel like I’ve started developing a degrading kink.”

The burn on her back is probably the most disgusting part of her body. Including the body hair.

"Well, that's how I definitely want to be greeted. '' Astarion chuckles, entering the room. "But I'd prefer to undress you myself. Leave at least something for my imagination."

He wears his leather trousers and a white shirt. His old one was torn apart by a bugbear about a month ago, and Tiriel got him another one, almost identical. Though he still complains it feels off.

"Does something bother you, my love?" he asks, noticing her uneasiness.

"No... Nothing. How was your night?"

Astarion chuckles and, instead, approaches Tiriel and hugs her. In the mirror, it looks like she embraces something invisible. She melts in his arms, feeling safe and protected.

"I can tell when you lie but I will be so kind I won't insist."

"It's nothing, really." Tiriel buries her nose in his chest. Astarion is taller than average elven men and she needs to tip-toe to kiss him.

Astarion pulls away looking at Tiriel with his most adorable smile.

"Gods, you are beautiful."

His words feel like a dagger stuck in a fresh wound. Why now? Why this? Tiriel bursts into tears, not able to control them.

"Tiriel, did I... Did I do something wrong?” Astarion stares at her with utter panic in his crimson eyes. 

She tries to tell him. That it's not him. But she just can't. The only word she manages to mumble is an insult.

"Biri"

The moment she says it, panic leaves Astarion’s eyes. Instead, there is anger. 

"Who said it to you?"

His voice is deceptively calm. The innkeeper’s wife must consider herself lucky she didn’t insult Tiriel in the close proximity of Astarion. 

"It's ok, not the first time I heard that. Maybe the first time I heard someone tell me you can find someone more worthy than I because I have dirty human blood"

"Do you want me to kill the bitch who told you that?"

"No. It's just true, Astarion. I am...damn look at me, I am all scars and freckles with two parts of my body taken from different races. I got used to it, I just hoped I would accept it. "

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And I have seen a lot."

Tiriel shakes her head, still crying.

"I am ugly as nine hells."

"Careful, darling, you are talking about my favorite person."

She chuckles but still feels miserable.

"Tiriel, my love, look at yourself."

Astarion takes Tiriel’s chin and forces her to look in the mirror.

“See yourself.” He kisses her neck. “The hair, color of fire, sometimes I think I will burn my fingers touching it. Eyes, one is green like a dry leaf. The other is gray like the autumn sky. The hands are so thin and gentle I am afraid to break your bones.” He goes down with his lips. “Breasts I can cup with my palms. Nipple so sensitive to my touches” he pinches one of them and Tiriel moans.

He stands behind Tiriel placing his chin on her shoulder. The mirror shows only the naked woman, but not the man who whispers the words of praise. Astarion places the hand over her stomach.

“Flat but soft - the best pillow for my head” his fingers go down. “The red pubic hair, even more beautiful than what you have up there…”

Tiriel feels his erection through his trousers. Gods, is it all just enough for him? Just seeing her naked?

She notices his kisses getting stronger and more intense. Astarion doesn’t breathe, but Tiriel knows his mouth is open and eyes are closed as he caresses her skin. 

But the poisonous words still sound in her head.

"Do you trust me?" Astarion whispers in her ear.

Tiriel nods. She feels her own burning desire between her legs.

" I want you to look in the mirror. All the time"

"What?"

Before she manages to object, Astarion tugs her to the bed with him and makes her sit on his lap.

The mirror reflects only one person - and Tiriel looks weird as if floating. Astarion kisses her neck and then places his hands below her thighs and lifts her legs up, spreading them as wide as possible.

"What are you doing?" she gasps. It feels deliciously embarrassing. 

"I want you to see yourself, in every detail.”

Tiriel’s folds are open and she can see her cunt in every detail. The invisible fingers touch her  clit and Tiriel lets out a moan.

"I barely touched you and you are already so wet" Astarion murmurs, coating his fingers in her cunt juice.

Tiriel feels weird with her legs spread - she has never seen herself under such an angle. His thumb keeps drawing circles around her bud as his index finger touches her lower entrance forcing it to contract a bit. 

She feels his bulge below her hips, still hidden behind the front laces of the trousers. She moves a bit causing friction and Astarion gets even harder. 

“I want you” Tiriel mewls. “Please…”

“Be patient, my barbaric love…”

She growls with disappointment but lets him keep torturing her. Tiriel studies herself in the mirror but she still can’t decide if she likes what she sees or not.

Then, Astarion frees her and stands up. For a second, Tiriel is surprised he is still fully clothed.

Tiriel reaches out for his shirt to put it off him but Astarion stops her with his unbearable smile.

“I told you to be patient, Tiriel” Instead he unlaces his trousers, freeing the pale length of his cock.

“You have teased me with your fingers, and now your cock is just a few inches away from my mouth! Don’t speak about patience!”

“Your mouth…” he murmurs. “Yes, it will work.”

He grabs her head forcing her lips to kiss the head of his manhood.

“Don't look at me, look in the mirror!”

Tiriel takes Astarion in her hands and touches the base of his shaft with her tongue. Then she licks it, tracing the blue vein up to the head, forcing the vampire to moan.

She turns her head a bit to see the reflection. Her face is burning red, and drool drips off her mouth. Her  tongue licks something invisible. 

“You look ravishing from up here, Tiriel. Take me with these pretty lips of yours.”

Tiriel opens her mouth a bit and in a second his whole length thrusts into her. She almost gags and tears flush down her cheeks.

The burning between the legs is unbearable and Tiriel starts touching herself as Astarion buckes his hips, fucking her mouth and throat. 

“You take me so good, Tiriel. Your eyes are specifically lovely when you are aroused.” 

Then suddenly when she feels like he is going to ruin her mouth he lets her go and Tiriel gasps for air. A thin string of precum and saliva still connects them.

Astarion kisses Tiriel’s lips, tasting himself on her and then finally gets rid of his shirt and trousers. Then, he sits back on the bed. His cock looks painfully hard. By this time, Tiriel can’t think about anything but the emptiness inside her.

“You look the same when you fight. I wonder if this is because battles make you horny? Or because you see sex as a form of combat? Tell me, what do you want?”

She breathes heavily, still staring at the mirror, not at Astarion. Her body is covered in sweat. Nipples are hardened and the mouth is half-open. The woman in the reflection wants to be taken, ruined…

“I want… you…” 

The vampire grabs Tiriel’s hips and pulls her toward  him. Then, he lies on his back, putting his strong arms on her ribs. 

“And I want you to see yourself. Put me inside you.”

Tiriel squeezes his cock adjusting it to her entrance. 

“You are so beautiful, Tiriel…” Astarion murmurs from below. “So desirable… Whoever told you the opposite is a brainless moron…”

The invisible cock stretches her pussy. Astarion’s manhood is so thick that Tiriel can see herself all the way up to the cervix. 

She moves her hips feeling his amazing length inside.

“My woman. Mine. Only… mine”, he grunts.

Her perky tits sway following the rhythm of the moving bodies. Tiriel’s mind is empty and her mouth just makes whimpering sounds.

Astarion tightens his grip around her as his own release gets closer. Tiriel doesn’t feel her legs as the orgasm takes over her. Powerful contractions tear through her body as his cum fills her to the brim.

Tiriel elbows up to see her entrance better. The cock much softer than it was seconds ago is taken away from her pussy and the cum leaks out.

“Look at yourself," Astarion says. “You are completely ruined.”

He tugs Tiriel with his arm and once their faces are in front of each other he starts kissing her cheeks and lips.

“Speak ill about yourself once again, and I am going to fuck you into a state of unconsciousness.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time!”

Astarion laughs and Tiriel finally manages to free herself and lay beside him. He immediately wraps his hands around her.

“But I mean it. I know why you think bad of yourself. But it isn’t true. There is no such thing as an ugly half-elf. And you are… something even in comparison with them. Among the elves, you would be a fucking goddess of war, with your red hair and strong legs. All these talks about dirty blood are nothing, but the frustration of elves who aren’t worthy of anything. Tiriel, promise me, if you feel bad you tell me.”

“I just don’t want you… you know…”

“I am not made of glass, Tiriel. I need you and not only when I have nightmares. But you also need me. That’s the deal, isn’t it? Be there for each other.”

“It’s weird to compare my struggles with yours,” Tiriel admits. 

Astarion gently touches her cheek with his finger. “Struggles are struggles. No one has a right to abuse a little child and call her a freak for what she is. No one has a right to tell a complete stranger she is nothing but trash below the “true people's” feet. Besides, we can always kill people we don’t like.”

Tiriel giggles and buries her nose in the crook of his neck. She feels too sleepy for a bath or any sort of aftercare and allows herself to relax. 

**

Tiriel is sound asleep and she doesn’t wake up even when Astarion cleans her skin of sweat and cum. He studies her body, noticing the fresh bruises and old scars. Then, Astarion lies beside her covering them both with a blanket.

He doesn’t need to sleep but he can spend his hours of reverie right now. 

It still troubles Astarion - the very point of the elven trance is to relive the moments of their long lives to remember, to carve them in memory. But he doesn’t want to remember anything before he became free. Before he met Tiriel. 

Memories flood him and he hopes he will have enough willpower to not see anything nightmarish.

The meadow bathes in moonlight. Astarion stays there, waiting. Waiting for this half-elven warrior to seduce and sleep with. To make sure she protects him, helps. Well, it will probably require some talk, some sweet words - but she will be his. 

“You are an idiot”, Astarion says to himself from the past. “Your simple plan will end up with you not being able to think about anything else but Tiriel.”

“Hello, Astarion.”

He turns around and sees her, the fierce leader of their small group.

Absolutely naked. 

Tiriel looks at him with no fear. With a challenge. He can’t take his eyes off her. Probably, Vandria, the Elven Goddess of War, looks like that without her divine armor. 

Astarion concentrates. He wants to remember the first time he saw Tiriel like that, the first time he had her, even though his intentions were pathetic to the very least.

“And what do you want, Astarion?” she asks, getting closer to him.

The question strikes him. What does he want? He doesn’t remember anyone asking him that. He wants… What? This woman? Revenge? Freedom? He doesn’t know.

Tiriel is so close he can hear her heartbeat. She kisses him. With passion, with desire. 

For the first time. It is the first time she kisses him. 

Astarion embraces the memory. He didn’t know at that moment - but that was when he fell.

The reverie slowly lets him go, and the woman he’s dreamt about is still by his side. 

--

@tugoslovenka@marcynomercyy @wintersiree @vixstarriarria @not-so-lost-after-allafter-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea@micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-belovedd @tallymonsterter @caitlincat-95cat-95 @tragedybunnyy @valepratirati @lynnlovesthestarshestars @marina-and-the-diam0nds-bloge-memes @waking-electricectric

[spacebarbarianweird]

The Dead, the Half-Dead and the Undead

Synopsis: Baby Alethaine is ten and, apparently, the thing she is a dhampir isn't the only problem Astarion and Tiriel have to face.

Tags: dadstarion, dhampirs, necromancy

Alethaine's age: 10

Thanks @queenofthespacesquids for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion immerses himself in one of his books. It is a complex text that has been written by some ancient magic who had probably been completely insane

Necromancy is an interesting subject, but damn difficult for those without an innate aptitude for it.

It's still midday, but out there in the underground part of Daggerlake, it doesn't matter. The city is divided into two parts, above ground and underground. The city is mostly populated

by dwarves, halflings, and humans but for some reason it feels like home for Astarion.

Besides, the town dwellers had decided they'd better have a vampire of their own than be threatened by other undead.

Astarion is still puzzled by this. Yes, these people should be grateful to him and Tiriel for saving them from a particularly nasty fairy pact. But letting them stay? Tiriel, a half-elven warrior, is one thing, but him, a vampire? Do they really want to share the town with him?

But they are fine. They treat him like others would treat some retired wizard or a former mercenary. But he knows he must be careful - one mistake and the neighbors will remember who Astarion truly is and that there is a reason why he never goes to the upper town in the daylight.

And there is a complication Astarion always has to take into account.

“Dad! Dad!”

Astarion looks up and sees ten-year-old Alethaine. She is upside down, but the hem of her dress brushes the ceiling, ignoring gravity. There's a bit of forest dirt on the girl's shoes, and he can distinguish the smell of wood.

“I told you not to go alone,” Astarion says. When she was younger, Astarion often found it difficult to parent her. The moment she asked something or started crying, he was ready to do anything just to make her feel better. It took him time to get a grip and establish boundaries. He is her father. If he wants the best for her, he has to be strict sometimes. Even if the response is tears and anger. 

“I didn’t go to the woods! I was in the meadow. It’s still in the town!”

Fair enough. The meadow is a favorite place for town kids since it is indeed the forest but their asses won’t get whooped by their parents.

“So, what is it, princess?”

Alethaine jumps on the floor with a soft “thump” and she inclines toward him making direct eye contact. Astarion still wonders sometimes if her eyes black because his eyes used to be, too, or because of her dhampirism. 

Dhampir.

Half-undead. Does Alethaine even understand what it truly means to her? Town kids don’t really care and adore her ability to walk on ceilings and steal sweets for them. But will it last long? She is ten. When she and her friends grow up, they will notice things that make her different. Will they start fearing her the same way town dogs start howling if Alethaine or Astarion pass by? Will they avoid her? Will they force her out of town to go seek her own kind?

“I want a kitten.”

“Princess, last time I checked cats don’t really like us, either.”

Alethaine sits beside him and forces him to close the book. “No, you don’t understand! A week ago, I found a kitten! She didn’t like me at first but I’ve been bringing her food. And today Wyv let me hold her! She doesn’t mind me at all!”

“Wyv?” 

“She is albino! She has red eyes and white fur! I think she went missing from her litter. Or maybe her mother's cat forced her to go. Please! Pretty please! She is so tiny, she won’t make it on her own! And I will take care of her!”

Alethaine stares at him with puppy eyes and her elven ears twitch with anticipation.

“Mum won’t mind, she will be happy there is an animal that doesn’t react to me as if I am some evil entity!”

“Princess, there is a very big chance this poor creature will run away once it senses me in the house. Last time I checked I am still undead.”

“And I am half-undead! Wyv got used to me, she will get used to you, too!”

Astarion flicks the tip of her nose. “But if your mother asks, you forced me to say “yes”.

Alethaine squeals and wraps her hands around his neck forcing him to drop the book. Astarion chuckles when he feels the soft prickling of her teeth on his skin. 

“I will be right back!” Alethaine rushes outside, slamming the door.

He had 200 years of pure misery and it still hurts him to see how much was taken from him. But then… Thirty years of something else. Something he hadn’t wished to have.

A woman to hold and to love who is brave enough to trust and care. 

Fifteen years of adventures, when they could go wherever they wanted and do whatever they desired. Then, they were offered to stay in Daggerlake, a small town near the Unicorn Rim.

Home was a concept unfamiliar to both of them and Tiriel sometimes begged him to return to the road.

But he was adamant. He needed a home. He needed a place to stay. To own. He wanted a place to stash all the artifacts and books they'd found, a comfortable bed to sleep and make love. 

Tiriel wanted it, too, though didn’t admit it.

And five years later the thing he’d least expected happened.

He barely remembers how it was - he was so drunk on blood, he felt his undead heart beating. Then he found Tiriel and dragged her home to pin her to the bed.

As a result…

Alethaine.

His daughter. His flesh and blood. 

Sometimes he treats Alethaine as a matter of course. Most men in Daggerlake have children, and usually more than one. But sometimes Astarion gets distracted and forgets where he is, and only comes back to reality when Alethaine taps him on the shoulder and then Astarion looks at her in awe, wondering how he even deserves her.

Ten years. Such a tiny piece of time but Alethaine’s whole life. Astarion can already see the woman she is becoming. The woman he will be proud of, the woman who will have the freedom he had to fight for.

Suddenly, Astarion realizes Alethaine has been missing for far too long. The meadow isn’t really far away and it’s already sunset - Astarion feels it.

Astarion locks the house and goes looking for his daughter.

It's already night when he gets to the meadow. Alethaine is there sitting on her knees with her head bowed.

“Alethaine, what did we talk about not being outside after sunset?”

She doesn’t answer. Astarion comes closer and sees that her face is red as if she has just stopped crying.

“Princess, what happened?” 

“It’s my fault” she sniffs. “I should have taken her with me right away,” her shoulders tremble and Alethaine bursts into tears once again.

Astarion kneels beside her, not knowing what to do. He still hasn’t learned how to react to her tears properly - so he does the only thing that works all the time with both her and Tiriel and also works for him.

He hugs her.

Through her muffled cries Astarion manages to understand that the albino kitten got out of the shelter and someone kicked her with such effort she died instantly. Now the kitten’s body lies in a small hole in the ground with her mouth wide open and stains of blood on the white fur.

'It's not your fault, it’s the fault of whoever did this, not yours.’

“No, you don’t understand! I could have taken her with me! If you had said “no”, I would have given her to the neighbors! And now she is dead! She is dead because of me!” Now Alethaine almost screams with all the sorrow a ten-year-old girl is capable of.

Astarion hugs his daughter tighter. He often stays with her on his own when Tiriel leaves to do some adventuring job - and usually, Astarion has no trouble. But right now the only thing he needs is for Tiriel to be at home. Because she can find the right words. She always can. Because what exactly does he need to tell Alethaine? It’s the first time she’s witnessed death. And it was the vilest example possible. 

An innocent creature was killed for fun. 

Well, maybe he should find that person and break their legs. It won’t help but maybe it will make Alethaine feel better. 

“Alethaine, let’s go home.” 

Alethaine doesn’t answer. 

“Princess, come on,” he repeats.

His vampiric senses feel that something is wrong. As if something eerie, and unnatural has started to happen.

Astarion glances at the dead kitten.

Then the kitten moves.

“What in hell…,” he mutters. 

It opens its eyes which glow an unnatural green color. The paws twitch, and the mouth opens showing small fangs. 

“Dad! Look! Wyv is alive! She was just wounded! And I thought she was dead!” Alethaine exclaims, grabbing the dead kitten. “We need to show her to the healer!”

Alethaine’s eyes glow with the same eerie shade of green.

Necromancy.

Alethaine has just used the “Rise Animal” spell.

A spell so difficult it takes mages years to learn it. 

Alethaine drops the dead kitten on the ground as if it were a poisonous snake.

“No… What is wrong with her, Dad?”

The kitten immediately sits up and freezes. Waiting for orders. 

“She is dead, isn’t she?” Alethaine sniffs. The kitten doesn't move, staring at her with its resurrected eyes.

Necromancer. If being a dhampir wasn't enough for her. Necromancers have always been outcasts with their abilities to raise the dead and cast the darkest of spells.

Alethaine is one of them. Twice an outcast.

“Alethaine '' Astarion makes her face him. “Listen to me carefully. There must be strings, connecting you with the kitten. Like a puppet doll. You need to cut them.”

“But she will die”

“It is already dead. it’s not a life. Put it to rest.”

Alethaine wipes tears and the weird glowing fades. Alethaine concentrates, looks at her hands, and then makes a movement with her fingers as if she were tearing threads.

The dead kitten falls on the ground like a puppet.

Alethaine sits down tired and exhausted. Resurrecting a creature, even small animals, is a difficult spell requiring much energy even from adult mages. For a ten year old it’s the equivalent of hiking in the mountains. 

Astarion takes Alethaine in their hands.

“Dad?”

“Hm?”

“Will you and mum still love me if I am a necromancer?”

“Of course, we will.”

“You can’t get necrotic damage, can you?”

“Well, I am very undead myself. So fear not, you won’t harm me even accidentally”

“And mum? She is mortal, she can get hurt.”

Astarion sighs. Damn, ‘Tiriel should come back sooner, I can’t answer all those questions’.

“You won’t hurt her. Don’t worry.”

Silence. The little dhampir doesn’t believe him. Alethaine sniffs again.

“Did it hurt when you were resurrected?”

Astarion has to make an effort to keep himself composed. It is still traumatic. Still hurts. Two hundred years of pain. Tortures. Isolation. Transformation.

“I am a vampire, not a ghoul. Ghouls don’t feel anything. They are already dead. you resurrected the flesh but Wyv didn’t feel anything.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. Alethaine, promise me you won't try to practice alone, all right? No one must know you are a necromancer. People won’t understand. ”

The rest of the walk home is passed in silence. That evening Alethaine refuses to eat, and all attempts to cheer her up fail. She's heartbroken and scared, and whatever is weighing on her mind, she just can't process it. 

He needs to think something up. The sooner, the better. Before Alethaine harms herself or someone in the town.

**

Alethaine can't sleep. 

It's been a week and she feels terrible. There are whispers on the edge of her mind, dark and frightening, they call to her, they promise her something. 

Alethaine can't shut them up.

She sees threads stretching from her fingers to the dead animals. Worse, she feels the threads leading to living people.

Cause them necrotic damage, the darkness whispers. It is going to be fun! Strike fear in them, make them scream, make them cry! And drink their blood if that’s to your liking!

Tiriel didn’t say anything when she heard what had happened. But Alethaine sees uneasiness in her eyes. Of course, she is afraid! There are strings attached to her as well, one or two necrotic spells and she is dead!

Astarion left two days later - he said he would try to look for something. Alethaine cried and begged to take her with him, but he refused. 

Alethaine has locked herself in her room, barely leaving. But the silence and solitude are the fuel for nightmares. For the darkness. For tempting whispers.

The little dhampir gets out of her bed and goes to her parents’ bedroom. Tiriel is fast asleep under a blanket. Peaceful and quiet.

Alethaine fumbles at the door. She is ten, not three! She is too old to sleep with her mother. But the thought of spending one more night alone with those whispers feels awful.

“Kitten? Are you alright?”

“Mum… can… I…”

“Come here.”

Alethaine gets under the blanket and her mother’s arms immediately wrap around her.

“I am afraid,” Alethaine finally admits. 

“I know, Kitten. Dad will think something up.”

“What if I hurt you while he is away?”

“You won’t”

“How can you know that? I am a necromancer!” 

Alethaine turns around to see her mother’s face. 

“Alethaine, you are also a dhampir and I don’t remember you ever trying to drain me. And you’ve had your fangs since you were five months old.”

Alethaine relaxes and hugs mother back. 

“Mum, did you always know dad was a vampire?”

“Hm, I learned it on the third day I think. Woke up to him trying to bite me. He is lucky I’d already liked him.”

“And you weren’t afraid to be with him?”

“No. Your father was a troubled person, not easy to handle. But he was worth it. I know you are scared. People don’t take it easy when someone can cast dark spells. But it doesn’t mean you have to be alone or be a bad person, even if it’s expected. You will meet people who will accept you for who you are. Who will love you. One of the kindest men I knew was a warlock with a devil pact. Things aren’t always what they seem.”

Your mother’s blood is so warm! You’ve tasted it once, remember? When you were dying of bloodlust! Bite her, take what is rightfully yours!

As if hearing the intrusive thoughts, Tiriel hugs her daughter tighter. 

“Whatever happens, we will always be with you. We will help you, we will support you, and no matter what happens, you can always trust us. Even if you do something really bad. ”

Alethaine sniffs and buries her nose in her mother’s neck. 

The darkness steps away, and the girl falls asleep.

She doesn’t have nightmares for the first time that week.

“Alethaine,” she feels a soft tap on her shoulder. “Wake up.”

Alethaine opens her eyes and sees she is still in her parents’ bed. Tiriel, fully dressed, stands at the doors.

“Hm?”

“Dad is back. Could you go down to the basement?”

Alethaine, still half asleep, dresses up and goes down. Her senses immediately tell her Astarion isn’t alone. 

“Hello, princess,” Astarion strokes her head the moment she gets closer.

A man in a dirty red robe sits on the wooden bench. His head is bald and his right eye is missing. Instead, there is a blue gemstone with intricate runes. 

“Astarion, don’t you tell me she is a dhampir.”

“Oh, she very much is! Alethaine, this is Nris. He is going to be your teacher.”

“Astarion, I deeply appreciate you for saving me from that devil but I am not morally ready to teach a dhampir necromancy!”

“I doubt you will be able to pay me. My services are expensive. And I can always sell you back to the devils. I need you to teach my daughter necromancy. End of story.”

“For fuck sake… How old are you?”

Alethaine steps back. “T-ten”

“Fuck, this is the worst age ever! In a year she will hit puberty and it’s bad even without dhampirism and necromancy!”

Alethaine looks at her father.

“Dad, I don't like him.”

“He is a necromancer, princess. People aren’t supposed to like them.”

“Astarion, I knew I shouldn’t have made deals with you! A devil is better than a vampire! At least with devils, I know what to expect! Alethaine, you know what your father did? He took advantage of my desperate situation and forced me to make a pact with him.”

“Nris, don’t be stupid. It’s a working agreement!” Astarion grins. “And I can summon your former master any time, and, I fear, this time he will be harsher on you.”

Nris curses again, and Alethaine makes a note to use one of the slurs next time she gets into a fight. 

The necromancer stretches his right hand, covered in weird tattoos. “Come here, Alethaine.”

Nris sends a shiver down her spine, but Astarion only nudges his daughter slightly, forcing her to approach the mage.

“Dhampir, necromancer, and all this with Fey blood. You did pick the wild cards out of Tasha’s cauldron. What exactly did you do to make your father save my ass from the devils?”

“I-I revived a kitten.”

Nris flinches. “I hate sorcerers to my guts! I’ve spent decades learning how to revive small animals - and you did it just like that! But good for you that you didn’t resurrect a human because if you had, the townsfolk would have burnt you alive. I was trying to make the darkness talk to me and it still doesn’t answer back but it calls upon you like an old friend. Life is truly unfair, Alethaine Ancunin.”

Alethaine is silent, unable to stop staring at the gemstone in the eye socket. The runes move resembling trapped flies. 

“Very well, let’s start from learning the basics!”

**

Astarion leaves the basement. When he glances back he sees Alethaine drawing runes on the floor while Nris is giving her the lecture.

Astarion is tired. He didn’t have time to rest during the week, and besides, the worry of leaving a ten-year-old necromancer who didn’t understand how to control her powers alone with Tiriel plagued him like a nightmare.

Nris doesn’t look like the most decent or talented mage but he is bound to him by a pact and doesn’t have any desire to return to the devils. So, he is going to live in the secret basement under their house and teach Alethaine as much as he can. 

Wild cards out of Tasha’s dungeon. Yes, that’s true. An unlikely child with dangerous skills. 

Astarion finds Tiriel in the inner yard, throwing axes into the wooden wall. He approaches her and hugs them from behind, placing his chin on her shoulder.

“Tired?” she asks.

“Can I take your blood?”

She touches his curls with her tender fingers. “Of course.”

Astarion indulges his fangs in her neck. Blood streams down his throat, calming him down. Tiriel falters. He immediately releases her neck and takes her in his hands to carry Tiriel to the bedroom.

When they get there they lie together on the bed, their fingers intertwined. Due to sharpened hearing Astarion feels a distant echo from the basement. It seems like Alethaine and Nris have started a screaming match.

“You really didn’t warn him, did you?” Tiriel asks, drawing invisible symbols on his back.

“Maybe. Kind of.”

“Well, at least I won’t be the only mortal in the house.”

“Tiriel, don’t make him your drinking pal, I beg you!” Astarion laughs.

“What? A mug of ale after a difficult day hasn't hurt anyone yet.” Tiriel touches the tip of his ear. “Meditate. I will be with you.”

Astarion nods. Thirty years of happy memories are enough to give him bliss. He concentrates and lets the flow of memories take him to reverie.

Astarion holds Alethaine for the first time. A newborn girl is probably still in pain after being pushed into the world. He hears her fast heartbeat as her living heart pumps half-undead blood through her veins.

He cradles her in his arms. Alethaine is so warm, so delicate, so innocent. It’s not yet clear if she is a dhampir but Astarion knows he loves her. It’s a different form of affection, unknown to him. A selfless love for a child, a desire to make sure she won’t endure the same hardships as he did.

And she must not know.

Astarion gives himself a promise. His daughter will never know about his past. it will never taint her. The pain, the touches, the humiliation, the violence - she will not know a word of it. 

Her mindset will be free of that dirt and of that darkness. He won’t pass it. 

“Thank you, my love,” Astarion whispers. “This is a gift.”

--

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 @locallegume

[spacebarbarianweird]

Touch

Synopsis: Astarion has yet another sexual practice to work out with Tiriel.

Thanks @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate for beta-reading!

Tags: smut, oral sex, trauma talk

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

With a content smile, Tiriel inhales the evening air. It’s such a beautiful place they’ve chosen to put up the tent for a day; imposing mountains stretching in the distance, lush vales as far as she can see.

The half-elf stretches her arms. She has never been a stranger to night journeys—and the shift to the nocturnal lifestyle wasn’t that difficult for her to master. But it still is weird to sleep during the day, hitting the road only once the sun sets. 

Well—it was her choice. Always ever hers.

And she always knew the consequences.

Tiriel gets inside the tent that is just big enough for two people.

Astarion is meditating. He is lying on his back, eyes closed, hands crossed on his chest as if he were sleeping in a coffin. His face is relaxed, peaceful.

Tiriel hovers over him—elves are usually aware of their surroundings during their reverie, though  it seems like Astarion’s thoughts are far away because he doesn’t react to Tiriel’s presence lingering above him.

Tiriel adjusts herself on his chest, touching his curls, testing if she can get any attention from him.

“Hey, Little Star, wake up… It’s almost sunset.”

He still doesn’t rouse from his deep reverie. Tiriel smiles to herself. 

She still remembers how uneasy she would feel around him, once. She thought someone like him would never pay attention to someone like her, an illiterate woman from the Wilderness who barely had any idea how the vast world she was aimlessly roaming actually worked. 

But he is hers now, and she is his—in all ways that could possibly matter.

Before she met him, Tiriel hadn't allowed anyone to see her naked, let alone touch her. She was afraid of any form of sexual intimacy and even tried to persuade herself that she didn’t really need one. Maybe, it was only aftershocks of the numerous, vile harassment she’d endured as a child.

But with him, it turned out differently. She remembers how her heart almost stopped when he’d casually asked her to come join him in his bed.  How good she felt under him—and despite all his tainted and cursed experience, he failed to realize he was her very first.

Tiriel thinks about how he almost cried confessing his deceit to her and how he flinched, probably believing she was attacking him. How his muscles relaxed in her following embrace and how weird it was for both of them to share a tent. Tiriel just brought all her things to his place the same evening he said he wanted things to be real between them.

And how he fell into his Elven trance with his head on her chest.

“Wake up, love,” she repeats, gently touching his ear. Elven ears are extremely sensitive. Sometimes, even sex isn’t as intimate for elves as casual ear rubbing. But Tiriel knows she can touch his ears any time she desires. 

This past year has been quite the journey. She learned a lot about herself—about her own desires, her own body, her own mind. He’s changed, too—for the better. He got less crue, less self-absorbed. Learned to see the good in people as well as in the world around him.

And it’s only the beginning, that she is quite sure of. As a half-elf, Tiriel has about fifteen decades to walk these roads and she wants to walk them together with Astarion.

“If you don’t wake up, I will go to the town's tavern and get into some travel brawl—without you.”

He squints as she rubs his ear once again and smiles. Tiriel loves it when he is like that—already awake and fully present but too much in the reverie’s embrace to try to dominate the situation.

Tiriel can’t help but think that Astaron resembles a sleepy cat.

“You know, it’s rude to wake an elf by tugging at their ears, darling.”

“Oh, but if so, how come you like it so much, then?” Tiriel kisses the tip of his nose, amusement evident in her voice. “Come now, it’s almost sunset.”

He sits up and yawns, making the blanket slip away a bit and Tiriel giggles, realizing he is completely naked.

“What is it, my sweet?”

“I am just happy you don’t cover yourself in tons of fabric anymore.”

“Surely. I wouldn't want you to put in extra effort once the mood strikes…”

“It’s not that, at all,” Tiriel assures him with all the solemnity she can muster.

Then they both burst into laughter. 

“Dress up, we have places to go,'' Tiriel takes off her camp clothes— a pair of trousers and a shirt she keeps borrowing from Astarion. But once her lower part is naked, she notices Astarion’s keen eyes on her.

It’s not exactly lust in his ruby eyes, more like adoration. Awe.

“What?” She asks. “You see me like this every day.”

“I love it when you’re wearing my shirt. Your scent lingers on the fabric, even hours later.”

But Tiriel knows Astarion too well—something is bothering him. Something he can’t put into words.

She observes him for a moment before joining him on the floor again

They sit like that in silence for a while—Astarion,  his bottom barely covered with the blanket; Tiriel with only the thin shirt preserving her modesty. 

“Use your words, love,” Tiriel asks. “Tell me what is troubling you today.”

Astarion promptly turns away. Whatever it is, it embarrasses him.

“Astarion, you’re telling me about disgusting horrors of your past life all the time. What is it I don’t know?”

“No it’s just different…” he gazes at her and Tiriel realizes that he doesn’t look at her face, nor at her chest as he usually does.

No, this time, his eyes are fixated on the triangle of telltale red hair between her legs.

Tiriel feels a shiver run down her spine. 

“It’s just… fuck… Tiriel, listen… I was constantly underfed and starved all these centuries. I barely could keep walking, let alone doing something more complicated. And I still had to seduce and bring victims back…to him. With a very strict rule to fuck them first even if it wasn't necessary.”

Tiriel takes his hand and presses her lips to his knuckles. When he’s reminiscing like this, he’s feeling tainted and unworthy. It’s breaking Tiriel’s heart every time. No, all she can do is listen, try to understand.

“But unfortunately, being starved meant that it was almost impossible to—well… “ he goes on, biting his lower lip.

“Get an erection?” Tiriel ends the sentence.

“Yes. So most of my victims were people with their own cocks. I could just let them fuck me. Use my mouth or hands, do whatever they wanted… I never failed,” he bitterly chuckles.

Tiriel intertwines her fingers with his, trying to anchor him in the present moment.

“Honestly, I forgot how it feels when my own body belongs to me, when everything is working as it should. When I drank your blood for the first time, I felt … strong. Free…and aroused as hell,” he adds.

“I know,” Tiriel smiles. “You went to pleasure yourself in the woods that night, didn’t you?.”

Astarion stares at her in shock. “How the fuck you know that? Gods, I hope no one saw me…”

“It was only me. No one saw you, I promise.”

He lets out a semi-relieved sigh and proceeds. “It’s not like I didn’t have other victims. It was just more difficult with women. I couldn’t be sure I would be able to give them what they wanted. So, when I found myself stuck with them anyway, I used my tongue and fingers to do the job. It was like playing an instrument, I assume. Every evening a new one, an unfamiliar one, but the principle was more or less similar. “

Tiriel touches his shoulder and kisses the pale skin. There was no spot on his body she touched without his consent. 

He was being used, once. Prostituted. Sold. Forced to do things he never even wanted to do to people he never even desired. All this to satisfy the sick whims of someone so truly terrible.

Some people would consider Astarion a dirty whore. As he does himself. But not Tiriel. She doesn’t care about his “lovers”. It doesn’t count when it’s not consensual. He could have been very well a virgin when they made love in that meadow. Astarion can say all he wants that that time doesn't count, since he was performing and manipulating her, but Tiriel disagrees.  It was their first night—one of many to come.

Suddenly, Astarion gets out from under the blanket and sits in front of Tiriel, studying her half-naked body.

“There was a time when I thought I would never want to have sex again. But I realized I like doing this with you. You make me forget whatever the fuck happened to me. Your touch washes all that dirt away. Your voice—when you moan and whimper only for me—it shuts up all the vile noise I heard when my body was used,” Astarion itches forward, his knee slowly parting Tiriel’s legs. 

“I want to eat you out,” he finally says, almost whispering.

Tirel blushes. To call her inexperienced is still quite the understatement. And she hasn’t ever thought about this form of intimacy. Being touched and… licked down there? 

“Please?” He makes his puppy's eyes. “Just a taste?”

“Astarion, I am not sure it’s a good idea.”

“Why? It’s not like anyone did this to you before?”

“No.”

“So let’s just see if we like it or not. And if you don’t like it, you can always kick me like you did when I almost drained you.”

“That was self-defense!”

“Served me right, what was I even thinking of attacking a barbarian?”,

Astarion is getting closer to her. “Come on, love”, he purrs. “Open your legs for me.”

Now it’s Tiriel’s turn to bite her lip. She has never been able to resist Astarion. A few words, a couple of touches and all her self-control is jumping off the cliff.

But she isn’t sure if letting him go down on her is a good idea. Especially considering the reason he gave to her.

He kisses her hip, then her lower abdomen. Astarion could easily open her up himself, as a vampire he is much stronger than her. But he will never do this.

Astarion needs an invitation.

 She's about  to pull the shirt over her head but Astarion stops her when the fabric is about to pool around  her waist.

“Tsk, my sweet, do leave it on...I want to smell exactly what I did to you when we’re done.”

Tiriel turns her face away. How can this man be so tender yet deliciously dominating at the same time? How does he manage to combine the sweetest words with the most vulgar and straightforward commands?

She spreads her legs a bit, opening her pussy to him. Tiriel senses the cold air brushing her labias. Astarion takes the invitation for what it is, his knee itching closer towards her womanhood.

“What a sight. But we can do better than this, can’t we?”

He touches her clit with his cold fingers and she mewls. 

Tiriel senses heat and the growing swell. This man can make her cum by simply kissing her let alone such teasing.

Astarion makes circles with his index fingers forcing Tiriel to sink back onto the bedroll, unable to think straight.

Then, without warning, he dips a finger into her. She curses - he could have at least warmed his body parts! He is just too cold naturally…

Astarion kisses her abdomen once again, tipping his tongue into the valley of her belly button, before he reaches her throbbing pussy.

“Much better, no?” Astarion licks his lips, slowly adding another finger, forcing her walls to clench around the pale intruders.

He puts her legs on his shoulders and then lowers himself, aligning his lips with her womanhood.

Before Tiriel manages to say anything, Astarion dives his tongue into her, forcing her to gasp. 

He eats her out hungrily, sucking and nibbling. Tiriel grabs his hair to pull him closer.

Then his hand wanders up her body again, squeezing her left breast, making Tiriel forget about anything. She moans, curses, whimpers. She can feel her brain melting, and the whole world shrinks to the burning sensation between her legs.

Tiriel squirms under his unrelenting touches, her fingers clawing into the bedroll. 

Nothing has ever felt this good. With a few more of Astarion’s skillful suckles, her vision blurs, and the overwhelming wave of pleasure crashes down on Tiriel with no further warning.

And Astarion doesn’t stop.

Tiriel tries to push him away, just to get a short break but fails. He keeps sucking her pussy, torturing her with his tongue and fingers.

Tiriel clenches her hips around his head and elbows up to gain at least some control over the situation.

Her second orgasm hits her with a single hot wave and she collapses back on the bedroll, letting out labored breaths.

Only then Astarion finally lets her go.

His own cock looks painfully hard, Tiriel tries to reach out for it to bring him his own release but he moves forward a bit to straddle her hips, aligning himself with her belly.

Astarion strokes his cock only a few times before he spills himself over the shirt. 

Gods… Did he like it so much that he came only by eating her out? Is her pleasure enough for him to react in such a way?

Astarion wipes his mouth before collapsing beside her.

“I can’t feel my legs,” Tiriel finally says and immediately realizes it is the most stupid thing to say after receiving such treatment.

Astarion nuzzles his face in the crook of her neck. “My dearest Tiriel, how can you be so sweet and so straightforward at once?”

“I hope you liked it because I don’t mind having this treatment from time to time”

“I loved it, '' he says after a moment. “It’s familiar but different. I didn't want to stop, that's how positively divine you tasted. Considering… how many times I did it I never felt so… good.”

Tiriel turns to him and kisses the tip of his nose. “If trying something else is an offer, I can be persuaded. But before that - someone needs to wash this shirt.”

--

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 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe 

[spacebarbarianweird]

Hello Darling

Summary: Tiriel desperately searches for Astarion as he loses his immunity to sunlight.

Pairing: Astarion x OC (Tiriel)

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, post-game, named Tav, established relationship, f!tav, patch 6 update

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

The burn left from the fight and dulled by the tadpole pierces  Tiriel’s stomach and she falls to her knees, paralyzed by the pain.

 It's over.

The tadpole is gone. She is free. She will never become a mind flayer, she will never have to face  that blasted dream visitor. 

Then, she hears the scream. It's a cry of pain, of despair, familiar and shocking.

Astarion is burning in the sunlight.

His beautiful face is gray like ash, his eyes white as if he were blind. Astarion reaches out his hand for Tiriel as if she could save him from  this peril. She has saved him so many times, she can do it again!

But her own pain pierces her body. Tiriel presses her arms to her stomach. She is going to die, she thinks. They both are.

"Astarion, hide!" someone cries out, and Tiriel loses consciousness.

The blissful darkness takes her.

No nightmares, no horrors, no dream visitors. Nothing. Just beautiful nothingness.

She wakes up in a dimly lit room. Her head hurts as if her skull had been crushed by a hammer. She is half naked, her belly heavily bandaged. The throat is sore and her legs are numb.

Tiriel is so exhausted she could sleep for a few weeks.

Four months of non stop traveling. Of fear, anxiety, and never ending stress. Tiriel had never had to make so many decisions in her life. Excusing orders, negotiating, and planning. She is just a lonely traveler, for fuck sake, not a warlady!

And now she can just rest.

The memories slowly crawl into her head and she remembers Astarion’s desperate cry.

A wave of panic  crushes her.

Where is he?!

Tiriel’s only known him for four months, but she is sure they were meant to meet each other. She had never loved anyone before him. His cold body, his pale skin, his sharp mind, his… radiant hope. 

What if he died?

Tiriel makes herself sit up. The idea that her love turned into ashes horrifies her. He was in such pain, he was so afraid. What if he is gone?

Life is truly unfair, isn’t it?

It couldn’t end well. No happily “ever after” for the undead.

Tiriel makes an effort to calm herself down. There are many places to hide. Basements, houses, debris… The whole city is in ruins, he has enough shadow to hide in…

The other realization makes her sick.

Sunlight isn’t his only enemy anymore. He also can’t go inside without an invitation.

He could have burned down in front of the open door to the darkest room in Baldur’s Gate because no one invited him in!

Still dizzy, Tiriel puts on her camp clothes (no need to attract unnecessary attention with her shiny Drow armor) and rushes outside the inn.

The city has been truly destroyed by the Netherbrain, and whatever future lies ahead Baldur’s Gate will never be the same. 

Tiriel wanders the street for hours—she visits the graveyard, the ruins of the vampire lord’s mansion, dozens of places but  Astarion is nowhere to be seen.

He’s known the city for centuries. Tiriel, whose first impression of the city was ruined by the mind flayers, stands no chance of finding the vampire.

By the end of the night, she feels like a lost child. Tiriel hasn’t felt so miserable since the day she woke up in the mountains all alone and cold. She was fifteen, and her rage blurred her mind making her run away from an abusive household. She wanted to go back, to the warmth of the house, to sit by the fireplace even if her stepfather would have beaten her again. To just be somewhere she belongs, not in the middle of nowhere with no weapons or armor.

The sun is slowly rising above the sea and the skies slowly turn blue. Tiriel sniffs. She's gotten too used to NOT being alone, a very unfamiliar concept to be honest. 

Well, if Astarion isn’t back, if she fails to find him, she will have to go. This city makes her sick, it’s too big, too dirty, too crowded. She will walk the roads of Faerun just like she has ever since she was fifteen. The memories will fade and she will probably question why she fell for Astarion in the first place. He is a difficult person, traumatized, angry, his bruises and wounds are invisible to anyone, and the facade of lies is inseparable from his personality.

Tiriel’s heart sinks at the very thought she might not ever see him again.

A tear flows down her cheek and she immediately wipes it away. She is a warrior. A barbarian. No one must see her cry or in pain. Women like her are alive as long as people perceive them as emotionless marble statues. Weakness turns people like her into victims.

But it felt so nice to be weak in Astarion’s arms. To let him tend her wounds, to cry in his arms… He would never admit it, but she knew he loved protecting her.

The night search exhausts Tiriel and she returns to her room in the inn. The warrior locks the door — she doesn’t want to deal with intruders —and falls on the bed, pressing her face against the pillow.

Astarion is gone. If he is alive, she will never find him. If he is dead, she will never bury him. In any case, Tiriel the Barbarian is on her own again.

She  makes herself a promise not to fall for anyone ever again.

When she wakes up hours later, her head doesn’t ache anymore and her whole body feels rested. 

“Hello darling”

She startles at the familiar voice.

Astarion lies beside her, with the palm of his hand under his cheek. His eyes are soft and tender and he has the stupidest smile shining on his face.

“You…” she gasps. “You are back!”

“Of course I am”, Astarion leans to her and kisses her forehead, and then rests his head on the pillow. “You are so adorable when you sleep.”

“I thought you died,” she whispers. “Where were you?”

Astarion touches her cheek. “I was hiding.”

“But you could have returned to the inn once the night fell! I was looking for you!”

His face darkens. “It’s because of hunger. It…blurred my mind. The sun damaged me and once I got to the shadow I was starving and just forgot everything. Who I was, who you were. I fed on… something… I don’t remember what and my mind returned to me. And I was so embarrassed by what I truly am and was afraid to come back”

“But you did.”

“I did.”

They lay in silence contemplating each other’s faces. Tiriel's heart melts at how adorable he looks. He doesn’t pretend, doesn't play, doesn’t act. That’s him, that’s the real him. Hidden and concealed for two hundred years.

“How did you get inside?” she asks. “This isn’t the room we lived in. I thought you needed an invitation?”

Astarion shrugs. “I do need to be invited if I don't want to bump into an invisible wall I can’t go through. When I picked the lock I was sure I would just stand there unable to enter. But apparently… I was invited anyway.”

Tiriel nuzzles his collarbone and wraps her arms around him.

“Tiriel?”

“Hm?”

“You aren’t going to… break up with me, right?”

His voice sounds so helpless and vulnerable that it makes Tiriel hug him tighter. 

“Of course not.”

He cups her cheeks and kisses her. Tiriel leans to him pressing their bodies against each other.

Then Astarion starts talking.

He speaks about freedom, the future, the places they may visit, and things they can do.

“Tiriel”

“What is it, my love?”

“I need to… rest. Can you stay by my side until I wake up?”

Tiriel kisses the tip of his nose. “Sure. I will be right there.”

Astarion buries his nose in her chest, and Tiriel lulls him to his trance.

As she promised, she doesn’t go anywhere. Time to time she moves a bit not to let her limbs stiff.

Then, she notices Astarion slowly waking up. His eyelids are half-open, his mouth cracks a smile. Tiriel draws an invisible line along his nose.

“Hello, darling,” she whispers to him.

--

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 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen

[spacebarbarianweird]

Memories of Innocence

Synopsis: Astarion sees snippets of his own past through the reverie.

Tags: comfort, dadstarion, dhampirs, reverie, Astarion's memories

Alethaine's age: 3 days

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

The newborn girl squeals demanding to be held and fed.

Astarion leans on the cradle where three-day-old Alethaine cries loudly stretching her arms and legs.

“So, what is it now?” Astarion smiles while taking a thick blanket to wrap around his daughter. He can’t allow her to feel cold—unfortunately, his vampire body isn’t really warm. “Your mother has just gone to sleep.”

Tiriel has been exhausted—first, labor and then a newborn who needs all her attention and also requires her body to survive. Astarion sees a weird irony in the fact that he first fed on Tiriel’s blood and now Alethaine feeds on Tiriel’s milk.

Astarion has been enjoying being a father so far. He loves being with the newborn all the time when Tiriel is asleep—and waking her up only for breastfeeding. He even likes the dirty side of having a child, and he is surprised at himself that it doesn’t annoy him.

It’s his child. His baby daughter.

Elves are so infertile every child is a blessing, and since the process is almost painless (well at least it’s a painless process for an elven mother—Astarion will never forget Tiriel’s cries). Usually, the birth of elves is welcomed by the whole community, and every member of said community wants to hold the newborn. And elves remember that moment even if their whole childhood is forgotten. 

Alethaine was welcomed to the world only by her parents and a halfling midwife. Will she remember her mother touching her ears, so different from her own? Or Astarion’s ugly crying?

Is she even an elf, after all, Astarion wonders.

Alethaine squeals again and Astarion carries her to the next room where, behind a shut door, Tiriel is fast asleep.

“Tiriel, love, I hate to wake you up, but she wants to eat.” Astarion enters the room and sits at the edge of the wooden bed.

Tiriel sighs, still half asleep, and takes Alethaine in her arms. Astarion is mesmerized by how Tiriel tugs the collar of her shirt freeing the swollen breast and puts Alethaine in front of it. How a nipple disappears in the baby’s mouth and how her ears start twitching with every suckling movement.

It’s the nineteenth time Astarion has seen it. 

And he wants to remember every one of these sessions.

“Are you tired?” Tiriel asks. Her eyes are half-open. “And when was the last time you ate?”

“My sweet, I can spend a few days without meditating and eating. I am a vampire-elf, after all,” he chuckles, but the next moment he realizes he actually wouldn’t mind to trance a bit.

Tiriel yawns. “Give me a couple of hours and I will take care of her,” Tiriel stretches her left hand to play with Astarion’s hair.

He closes his eyes concentrating on her touch. 

Sometimes he thinks that’s all an illusion. A cruel trick of his mind. He is still locked in the dungeon, or worse, buried alive in a tomb. But he opens his eyes and sees his beloved feeding their newborn child.

And they are both real.

“Do you think she is normal?” Astarion asks. “I mean… I don’t mind if she is a dhampir, not at all! But do you think she is a mortal like you?”

“Honestly as far as I'm concerned her current species is ‘baby’", Tiriel sounds exhausted. “I think we will know, sooner or later.”

Astarion leans to kiss Tiriel. She answers him with the same passion she has had for the last twenty years.  

He breaks up the kiss and pecks Tiriel’s cheek. 

“A couple more hours, all right?” she whispers.

Astarion nods and then picks up the blanket.

“Astarion, I understand it’s winter and she is a newborn, but don’t you think it’s too warm?” Tiril notices as Astarion wraps the baby.

“I am as cold as a dead man,” Astarion says. “I don’t want her to suffer in my hands.”

Tiriel nods as if suddenly remembering Astarion is a vampire. “If she falls asleep and you need to reverie, come to me. I suffer without your hands on me,” she smiles adjusting the shirt.

Astarion places the baby into the cradle in the other room. Alethaine stares at him with her eyes wide open. 

“I am very lucky,” he mutters. “You don’t understand it, but I am very lucky” he adds in elven.

He is lucky he was outside during the nauthiloid attack. He is lucky he was so paralyzed with fear he didn’t try to run away. He is lucky that the mindflayer, the Emperor, decided Tiriel could somehow benefit from carrying a tadpole in her head. 

He is lucky Tiriel didn’t push him away.

He is lucky they both survived. 

Astarion doesn’t believe in destiny, but it has been such a wild sequence of events leading to him standing in this nursery he finds it all unreal.

He notices stains on his once-white shirt, takes it off, and tosses it to the same pile of dirty fabric on the floor. Astarion will wash all these nappies and clothes later and, no, he isn’t going to let Tiriel do that.

Astarion sits on the floor, pressing his back against the wall. It seems like he can meditate to recover a bit. The last time he managed to do so was a few days earlier and it was interrupted by Tiriel’s muffled cry as she was pressing her hands to the belly. 

Alethaine starts squealing. Her little face is red and her toothless mouth is wide open.

“What is it now?” Astarion asks. It may be the first time he is really tired of hearing her screams. “You are fed and still pretty clean.”

Alethaine squeals again.

Astarion picks up the blanket to take the baby in his arms, but the moment the fur touches her she yells even louder.

“What do you want, Alethaine? You don't like the blanket? Too bad, I can’t hold you without it!”

Another scream. Gods, how is it even possible for such a small child to make such loud noises?!

“My hands are cold, princess. You won't like them. I am not warm like your mother.”

The girl stretches her arms to him. Astarion feels a wave of desperation—it’s just unfair to think about it. His life was taken away from him, his youth, his childhood memories, his family, and even his past lives, if elves are right about reincarnation.

And now he can’t even hold his own daughter.

“Princess, I am going to take you but don’t complain,” he lifts her tiny body and puts Alethaine on his own bare chest. “See? I am as cold as the grave I’ve dug myself out of.”

Alethaine stops crying.

Astarion stares at her in disbelief as the newborn buries her little face in his cold skin.

Alethaine smiles.

Astarion carefully sits back on the floor and takes the blanket to wrap himself. Alethaine is blissful and he concentrates on her heartbeat and breathing.

She is so warm.

“You… wanted me to hold you,” he whispers. “Without blankets or anything else?”

Astarion sniffs. This little bundle in his arms makes him…normal. What is more normal in this world than a father holding his newborn child? He was forced to do the most atrocious things, he had to crawl back from his own grave, and his body was used in the most disgusting ways…

And yet he is here.

In his own home far away from the Sword Coast. With the most amazing woman in the next room. With their child.

Alethaine is so delicate, so innocent… So small. 

“Well, it seems like you are finally asleep. Do you mind if I meditate?” He smiles, touching her baby hair.

He closes his eyes and lets the flow take him.

Astarion drifts in complete darkness. No, not this. Not the memories of being buried. He tries to run away from those memories but can’t. It's only a dream, he reminds himself. Whatever horrors he is going to witness it’s all in the past.

But why is it so dark?

Why does he feel so helpless?

He is still aware of his real surroundings and the tiny bundle in his own hands—but the weird memory takes a grip on his mind and he questions if he should have put Alethaine back in her bed.

The darkness shifts to light. Astarion can’t see anyone but he knows there are people around him. Quiet murmurs in elven reach to his ears forcing him to let out a cry.

Then a pair of hands take him and he hears a loud heartbeat. Long silver hair brushes his head and he sees the face of a tired elven woman whose smile is exhausted yet happy.

Tiriel looked similar three days ago.

“My little star,” the woman whispers to him.

The memory fades away. No more years to witness, no more light. Only darkness, misery, and cold—until he ends up in Tiriel’s arms that promise him safety and warmth.

“And you were afraid she wouldn’t want to be held by you.” He hears Tiriel’s voice as she kneels beside them, “I will take her, all right?”

Astarion, still half in his trance, lets her take the baby and Alethaine makes a disgruntled sound. “Oh, so now you like your dad more than me!” Tiriel laughs. “Was it all right? Your reverie?” 

Astarion finally returns to reality. Tiriel asks him that question any time she witnesses him waking up. Unless it’s obvious he’s seen something really bad and ends up crying in pain. 

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t?”

“I think I saw my mother,” Astarion finally confesses. “She was holding me like you are holding Alethaine right now.”

“Oh?” Tiriel touches his cheek. “I thought you didn’t remember anything”

“I still don’t. It’s like a glimpse.”

Tiriel tugs him, helping Astarion to stand up. “Do you think she is still alive? Your mother?”

“It doesn’t matter. I am a vampire, no one would want to have a vampire son.”

Tiriel nods—she knows when to stop asking. She knows when he feels uncomfortable and uneasy and never pushes his boundaries. And if she does, it’s by sheer accident.

“It’s already dark outside,” she notices. “You need to eat”

Hunger is too painful. Gods, he wishes he could feed on Tiriel—but they agreed he would return to his habits once she stops breastfeeding.

“If you go into the woods, kill something I can eat, too,” she asks. “I am fucking starving.”

“Of course,” Astarion puts on his winter shirt. “It seems like I am leaving the house as a father for the first time. I will be back soon, love,” he kisses her lips, and the moment he pulls away Tiriel points at their daughter. Astarion carefully plants a kiss on her forehead.

The winter night meets him with howling winds and piercing cold. Astarion is on a hunt, he is going to let his predatory nature take the lead once he is in the woods. He needs a lot of blood to compensate for the few days he spent with his wife and daughter, and when he returns to them his body will be temporarily hot.

Maybe it’s for the best that those who mattered to him when he was mortal think he is dead. There are three Astarions—a forever lost soul from Baldur’s Gate, a tortured spawn, and a free elf who fears nothing and no one, who has a home, who has people to love. It doesn’t matter what happened before he woke up on that spelljammer. 

Only what happens next. 

--

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 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @queenofthespacesquids @ednaaa-04 @dajeong

[spacebarbarianweird]

Obsessed with the idea to make Tiriel give Astarion blowjob. Kneeling in front of him, his hand in her hair, her swollen lips around his cold cock, maintaining eye contact. Astarion, giving her instructions how to properly do it. Her, being sloppy and shy because she has never done it before...

[spacebarbarianweird]

Dadstarion prompt:

Caretaker takes the kid to a fair, playground, restaurant or shopping, just spending the day and having fun together

Ha! Take that. Pure fluff. What could possibly go wrong??

Synopsis: Tiriel and Astarion take Alethaine to a fair.

Tags: dadstarion, dhampirs, fluff, a snippet into the future

Another fluffy thing I have written! And there is also a snippet into the distant future with adult Tiri who hasn't inherited her mother's macabre nature!

Alethaine's age - 12-years-old

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Guide on How To Skin Monsters

Tiriel stops at the daggers’ stall. All of them look rather dull and Tiriel decides to search for something better for Astarion. Besides, he prefers to choose weapons for himself and Tiriel can always get something else – a book, jewelry, or a shirt. He always huffs when she brings him gifts, but she knows he is grateful for those little reminders of her care.

“Looking for something?” A merchant, a halfling woman, asks.

“Nothing in particular,” Tiriel says.

The halfling is definitely in the mood for talking and starts gossiping about a feud between two noble human houses, a serious plague “originated by giants” and someone’s wife cheating with an ork.

“Oh, and have you heard? There was a murder in Secomber! The whole family was slaughtered and by whom? A dhampir!”

Tiriel takes her eyes off the daggers.

“Yes! A half-vampire! Can you imagine sleeping with a vampire? But I think their mother was assaulted. Anyway, the dhampir grew up and slaughtered the whole family! Those half-undead are merciless cruel creatures, and they say there are so many of them!”

“Yeah… cruel monsters they are,” Tiriel mutters.

She heard of the slaughter, but there were no dhampirs or vampires involved. Just a young man possessed by a dryad. He was hanged a week later, but someone started spreading rumors his mother fucked a vampire and that’s why her child grew up so bloodthirsty. 

Tiriel feels pale hands hugging her waist from behind. Alethaine presses her face against her back – she is 12 but she is still cuddly as a little child.

“Oh, is this your daughter? Such an adorable little girl. How old is she?”

“Alethaine,” Tiriel touches her fingers.

“I am twelve,” she says, trying not to betray her fangs.

“Oh… I am sorry… didn’t notice she was an elf.” The merchant apologizes and then proceeds  to tell other gossip.  

“Have a nice day,” Tiriel says, taking Alethaine’s hand.

“You too! And beware the dhampirs!”

“Beware the dhampirs my ass,” Tiriel says, moving further away from the obnoxious halfling.

“I can bite her,” Alethaine suggests. She is twelve, but elves mature slower than humans and half-elves and Tiriel notices her daughter sometimes behaves like a younger child.

“No, we are not biting people we don't like.”

“Dad wouldn’t mind if I bit her!”

“Hm, good thing it’s daylight then!” Tiriel rubs Alethaine’s ear. She knows her daughter too well not to notice the merchant’s words upset her. 

Cruel merciless creatures? Alethaine cries her eyes out every time someone dies in the books she reads! Well, she mostly sympathizes with dragons and monsters – but also with orphan children, victims of arranged marriages and curses. 

And little dead animals. 

Little dead animals are a whole different story. It’s been three years, but Alethaine still feels sorry about an albino kitten killed by a stranger. The dhampir accidentally resurrected the pet and now Tiriel and Astarion also face the issue of raising a necromancer.

“Hey, don’t be sad!” Tiriel leans to a little dhampir. “Do you want anything?”

Alethaine doesn't answer. She stops by the book stall completely enchanted by a huge black volume covered in leather. 

How to Skin Monsters.

Aletaine immediately flips the pages, and Tiriel sees intricate and creepy pictures of the insides of different beasts and monsters. She’d fought many of them in her lifetime (beholders in the Underdark are still one of her worst memories), but never ever did she want to look at their remains, let alone study them.

“Hey, don’t touch it!'' The merchant tries to take the book away from Alethaine’s hands, but the dhampir keeps holding it with her iron grip. “I think this book is rather dark for a little lady like you.”

“Mum, look, the cover is made of human skin,” Alethaine casually says. “No. It’s half-elf actually.”

“No it isn’t!” The merchant protests. “It’s… wolfskin!”

Liar, Tiriel realizes. She has good perception skills, and the merchant lies. And the dhampir necromancer has already passed the verdict. 

Alethaine puts the book away and takes another one �� a green volume with letters in Espruar. 

“Is it just a collection of stories or the real guide on Feywild?’” Alethaine asks. “People who have never messed with fey write all sorts of fairytale stuff about pink unicorns and fairies who grant wishes.” She opens the book which is written with trembling handwriting. “Oh, I see. Looks like a feverish nightmare. So the writer has been there.”

The book merchant looks at Tiriel with a facial expression she knows too well. 

What crypt did you find this child in?

“I have some ballads and traveler guides. Maybe...it is more for your age?” he asks

“Travelers guide on what places?”

“Icewind Dale, but it’s a rather uncomfortable read…”

“I’ve read about Icewind Dale,” suddenly something else attracts her attention and she points at a small book with a dragon on its cover. “Show me this!”

The merchant sighs in relief and reaches for the storybook. Tiriel looks at the pages – even though she still experiences issues with reading, she sees that it's just an adventure story about knights, princes, dragons, and treasure hunting.

Something her daughter stopped reading when she was five or six.

“I will take this too,” Alethaine declares.

“Eighty silver for all three,” the merchant says.

Too much, Tiriel thinks. Alethaine frowns but doesn’t try to bargain. For some reason, she is very shy when it comes to arguments.

“Thirty silver,” Tiriel intervenes. “And we are not telling anyone about the half-elf skin you’ve bound the book with.”

“It’s not made of anyone’s skin!”

“I can hear her screams,” Alethaine whispers, flipping the book pages. “They flayed her when she was still alive!”

The merchant gulps. Tiriel chuckles. So, this is true and the merchant knew it.

“All right. Thirty,” he mutters and Alethaine happily gives him the silver coins. 

Alethaine puts the books in her black bag and wishes the merchant good night. The man mutters something not appropriate for children’s ears.

“Did you catch the scent of the skin or it’s more like your necromancy skills?” Tiriel asks, taking her daughter’s hand as they stand by the stall with needles and threads. 

She shrugs. “I-I don’t know. Maybe both.”

“Do you know if Dad needs something to sew?” Tiriel still can’t really tell apart shades of the same color and all needles look the same to her. 

“Take the black threads,” Alethaine says, touching the samples of fabric. “He’s always out of them.”

Tiriel nods. She doesn’t know why and when Astarion decided to make all his daughter’s wardrobe black, but here they are. Alethaine got from black onesies to black dresses, from black nappies to black skirts, gloves, and coats. Only her shoes and boots aren’t made by Astarion - and they are as pitch dark as everything else.

A few hours later, at sunset, they sit on the grass outside the market. It’s a beautiful summer sunset and Tiriel adores the light. Alethaine sits on her traveling cape and takes out one of her new books. 

“Interesting?”

“Uh-um,” she nods, completely taken away.

Tiriel smiles to herself. She’s never been a stranger to violence and dark things – if you faint at the sight of a blood sacrifice, you won’t survive in the wilderness. But having a child like this takes everything to another level.

Death, dark arts, corpses – they have  a special appeal to Alethaine, the same one Tiriel feels towards fights.

The sun sets and Tiriel sits beside Alethaine. Darkvision allows her to see in gray colors and Tiriel sees a picture of the monster inside.

“All right, now I understand who all these people were who hired me to bring them certain parts of the beasts I killed.”

“Dad is coming,” she says. “Or another vampire, but I think Dad scared all of them away.”

Tiriel smiles. “Good thing vampires hate the presence of each other.” She stands up and approaches the edge of the hill. Yes, Alethaine is right – Astarion has left his daylight shelter in the nearby inn. She can see his silhouette from the distance – white hair and black armor she can’t mix with anyone else.

She waves to him and he quickens his steps. 

“Hello, darling,” he murmurs in her ear the moment he hugs her. Astarion pecks her cheek and Tiriel rubs his left ear.

“Dad! Look what I’ve bought!” 

Tiriel thinks Alethaine will show him the anatomy book, but, instead, she hands him the adventure story.

Astarion studies the first page, then another. Tiriel watches them carefully.

“I just don’t get it,” Alethaine admits. “Is it about how to enter the thieves’ guild or how to smuggle drugs?”

“None,” Astarion returns her the book. “It’s about how to find a job as a bounty hunter in Neverwinter.”

“Oh, I misread the symbols then,” Alethaine pouts.

“Wait, the book is in Thieves Cant?” Triel asks.

“Yes. Hidden deep under snotty stories,” Astarion answers. “And what are these two monstrosities?”

Alethaine proudly opens the anatomy book as Astarion studies the Feywild one. Tiriel barely prevents herself from laughing as she sees Astarion cringing at the pictures. Vampire or not, he saw so many disgusting and cruel things he hated looking at them. 

Then Alethaine yawns. 

“Let’s go home,” Tiriel says. It will take them till sunrise to return to Daggerlake. If they don't hurry they will need to set up a camp for the daylight - or leave Astarion behind which Tirel absolutely hates to do.

It’s not like it’s a big deal right now – thirty-two years since he gained his freedom, he has nothing to fear. More than that, Tiriel is sure there is simply no other monster in the area who could be a threat to Astarion. He is a vampire, an undead, a skilled rogue, a dangerous assassin.

But when he is alone, the nightmares slowly crawl back. The loneliness fuels his memories and there are so many of them. Thirty-two years are simply not enough. Astarion can handle that too – he’s learned to. But Tiriel doesn’t want him to face mental struggles if it can be avoided.

Alethaine walks in front of them and Tiriel takes Astarion’s hand in hers. They are her little family – everything she’s ever wished for. 

She looks at Astarion and notices his lips are squeezed and there is some anxiety in his eyes.

Hunger.

“Go for a hunt, we will wait for you”.

“Nonsense, let’s return home sooner.”

Tiriel doesn’t push it. They agreed years ago that Alethaine isn’t to see him dining on her mother (because it’s absolutely a sexual thing and must remain behind closed doors) and also that she shouldn’t see him feed on animals (because her dhamprisim might get awoken – blood will tempt her and they don’t want their daughter to become more a vampire then she already is).

Of course, she isn't stupid, she knows her father drinks blood. She often sees bite marks on Tiriel when she forgets to cover them – but the process remains out of sight.

It’s already sunrise when they reach Daggerlake and Astarion walks forward not to risk staying in the sun.

By the time they return home, Alethaine rushes upstairs to prepare for sleep. She sleeps a lot, even more than a human would – and Tiriel wonders how much dhampirism affects her sleeping habits.

“So, is the book really about how to be a mercenary?” Tiriel asks closing the door to the bedroom

Astarion has already put off his doublet and now sits on the bed watching Tiriel.

He waits.

“Yes. It was a guide on how to find people who will give her a job as a mercenary,” he slowly answers as if he had to concentrate on speaking. His eyes are focused on her neck. 

“And can she read this book?”

“She thought it was about smugglers and thieves. Her skills aren’t that good.”

Tiriel approaches Astarion and he tugs her closer, forcing her to sit on his lap.

Astarion is no longer a sweet caring elf – his predatory side is on the loose and he pierces her skin with his nails as the fangs are looking for the vein.

Tiriel wraps her hands around his neck and lets herself drown in painful pleasure. 

“Take as much as you need,” she murmurs. “I love you.”

She feels like falling into the warm dark void and, when she almost crosses the border of no return, the tender hands let her go and she finds herself on the bed with Astarion carefully applying a bandage on her fresh bite mark.

“Thank you,” he says, kissing her with his blood-stained lips.

“Will you stay with me when I sleep?”

“Of course,” he chuckles. “Besides Alethaine has occupied the bathroom – she isn't getting out any time soon”

“Oh… and I forgot…” Tiriel points at her bag. “I’ve bought you some black threads and new needles.”

Astarion kisses her cheek. “Such a caring and thoughtful wild girl. Now I have something to occupy myself with while you are asleep.” He takes her nightshirt from the floor. “Do you have anything in mind? I noticed you’ve ripped it.”

“Me? Astarion, you rip my clothes all the time!”

He unfolds the shirt showing the ripped collar. “Yeah, I agree. My fault. So, what patch do you want?”

“Maybe a dragon? A black one?”

Astarion covers her with a blanket – the one she uses when she sleeps alone – and sits on the floor with the shirt and the needle.

“I have a daughter who likes seeing monsters’ inside-outs and a wife who likes murdering monsters. Can someone in this family enjoy nice and cute things?” He pouts.

“Imagine Alethaine having a child who enjoys such things. She will pout then, ‘no one in her family has taste for macabre’”.

Astarion chuckles, and Tiriel wraps herself in the blanket. 

Safe. She feels safe. 

And loved.

**

Sewing has always helped Astarion to concentrate. It’s been centuries since he needed to shut the darkness up. Memories of his enslavement, memories of the misery have faded away and feel like a distant nightmare. 

But habits never truly go, and Astarion enjoys sewing patches and repairing clothes even though the old purpose of that process has long gone.

“You know, for someone who is an elf and was raised as an elf, you are very messy,” Astarion says looking at the ripped cape. It looks like it was chewed by a tarrasque.

“It’s not my fault! I was careful!” Tiri objects. She is making new arrows (as she lost the whole quiver while running from a particularly nasty behir in the Underdark the previous day).

Astarion chuckles. Tiri, his granddaughter, showed up at his place deep in the Fairgheight Range five years ago. Red-haired like her grandmother, she was eager to see the world beyond the Isle of Evermeet – and she still doesn’t show any desire neither to return to her parents nor leave him be and travel alone. 

“What patches do you want?” Astarion asks and takes his sewing kit from the traveling sack. 

“Well, I am an adult independent woman…” Tiri starts.

“You are thirty and you are an elf. You are basically a child.”

“Hm, you were a magistrate and mum would work for smugglers using her necromantic skills. Barely a child activity.”

“So?”

“I want a unicorn patch,” Tiri finally admits. “Or a butterfly. Don’t laugh, ar’o’su!”

“I don’t, damia,” Astarion finds white threads. “Besides, Alethaine has never been fond of cute and nice things.”

“Mum has her own idea of what is nice and what is cute,” Tiri touches a thin tiara on her hair. While all Tiri’s clothes are made according to Wood Elves traditions, her father’s ancestors, the tiara is pitch black and with a small skull in the center. It definitely belonged to Alethaine and then she just passed it to her only daughter. 

Tiri puts the new arrows on the ground and lies on her bedroll to reverie. Her drake, Aurix, immediately nestles on her chest like a cat.

Astarion casts a glance at his granddaughter. She has a certain similarity to Tiriel – and Astarion knows she would have loved her. But half-elves have such an offensive short life span in comparison with elves she had no chance to see little Tiri. At the same time, her facial features are her mother’s and sometimes she speaks like her. There is something else, something unfamiliar – Tiri’s father and their ancestors.

And she loves cute and nice things - and cringes at the sight of monsters’ inside-outs. Necromancy scares Tiri and she admits she’s never been to her mother’s dungeons just because of how uncanny it was for her.  And elves would often joke that their “witch-queen” just kidnapped Tiri because no way someone like Alethaine could give birth to such a sweet young woman. 

Astarion pierces the fabric with the needle.

“Well, so be it, a unicorn.”

-- Tag list

@tugoslovenka  

@herstxrgirl 

@herdarkestnightelegance  

@vixstarria 

@not-so-lost-after-all  

@marcynomercy  

@theearthsfinalconfession 

@starlight-ipomoea    

@micropoe10 

@astarion-imagine-archive  

@veillsar

@elora-the-slutty-songstress  

@fayeriess  

@lumienyx  

@tallymonster    

@caitlincat-95  

@tragedybunny  

@valeprati  

@lynnlovesthestars   

@marina-and-the-memes  

@waking-eyes   

@ayselluna  

@connorsui  

@asterordinary  

@darkarchangel96  

@locallegume  

@brainfullofhotsauce   

@coffeeanddonutscafe  

@my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen 

@queenofthespacesquids  

@ednaaa-04  

@dajeong

@wilteddreamsofbaldursgate

[spacebarbarianweird]

Deep Reverie

Meanwhile I am writing a bday fic for @asterordinary, here is another dadstarion piece!

And there is also a snippet into the distant future just in case you want to see Astarion's granddaughter

Summary: Astarion has a very uncomfortable reverie only to be woken up by his 2-year-old daughter.

Pairing: Astarion x OC (Tiriel)

Tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, dadstarion, snippet of the future

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion falls on the floor. The pieces of the rat he was forced to eat are stuck between his teeth but he doesn’t bother to take them out.

A night of “passion”. An innocent young woman, only eighteen years old. She didn’t want to sleep on their first date, but he persuaded her.

And ended her life by bringing her to Cazador.

As a reward, he was offered a choice. A filthy rat or a razor. For some reason, Astarion decided to fight back. Refused to devour the rat. Besides, the girl was so pure and pretty, didn’t he deserve a treat once in a while?

For that, his skin was flayed.

Long strings of flash were falling to the floor and the wounds immediately healed only to be cut open again.

And again.

And again.

Astarion begged. Cried. He was ready to eat the rat only to be spared from another series of tortures. 

The master was in a good mood.

He allowed him to correct his mistake.

Now, Astarion lies in the corner on the stone floor. It’s cold. The dungeon is cold, and the autumn winds wander the mansion. The walls are covered in mold. His own body is dead and he has no warmth to preserve.

Astarion weeps mourning his own fate.

It will never end, he knows that.

Something touches his bare shoulder. Small fingers – and Astarion thinks it’s his gnome brother who came to him. 

No, it's much smaller.

And warmer.

Astarion turns around and sees no one. But the touches become more intense – small hands shake his shoulder to make him pay attention.

And they are outworldly. They don't belong to this dungeon, to this mansion. They are on another plane of reality.

Astarion sits up. He is still in a dungeon, a cold and damp place. Godey follows his every movement. Someone screams from upstairs – one of his siblings is violently beaten.

Or assaulted.

Probably both.

Another touch, now more like a slap, but the hand is too small, it doesn't cause any unpleasant sensation.

Is he in a reverie?

Most of the time Astarion is aware that what he sees is a memory.  But sometimes it’s such a deep reverie he is sure it’s real.

Astarion tries to concentrate on his body and feels like he is floating. Yes, yes! It was a reverie! A memory! A woman pleading for help, beatings, the dead rat. Everything.

But if it’s reverie, what is real?

Is he going to wake up in the same place? In the same dungeons?

Is he…

Astarion’s reverie ends.

He blinks.

His memories are an absolute mess and he tries to re-arrange his thoughts.

First of all, he is on the floor, but instead of cold stones, it’s a wooden floor. 

Second, the place is unbelievably warm. He lies in front of the fireplace and the pleasant flame casts orange light on his face.

Third, he isn't naked. He wears soft fabric – a shirt, trousers, fur socks. 

His head lies on a pillow.

And he doesn’t feel this horrible hunger. Well, he wouldn't mind blood, but he definitely can feel fine without it.

He notices a half-open book beside him.

Small feet echo through the room. 

A two-year-old girl enters the room carrying a blankie. She approaches Astarion and then puts the blanket on his shoulders. The fabric is warm but very small and covers only the upper half of his torso.

He feels tears pricking his eyes.

Alethaine.

His baby daughter.

“Daddy sleep,” she pronounces, showing her fangs.

“I am not, princess," he answers. I am not. He sits up still holding the piece of fabric to himself. 

Suddenly Alethaine’s lower lip quivers and the dhampir starts crying. She presses her tiny palms against his chest, helplessly pushing him back to the floor.

Astarion is confused for a few seconds and then laughs wholeheartedly.

“Whatever you say, princess,” Astarion lies back, adjusting his head on the pillow.

Alethaine sniffs and then lies beside him pressing her nose to his shoulder.

Her body warmth is a bit lower than it is supposed to be. She also doesn’t breathe, but her heart beats, she grows, and she has warm blood, though for Astarion it has a bitter smell and he knows even a drop of it would make him sick.

The girl in his reverie had silver hair too.

He doesn't remember her exact race or facial features but she was young, very young. And once she was a baby just like Alethaine. Maybe she insisted that her father sleep under a kid’s blankets, too.

And then Astarion found her. Seduced her. Dragged to bed even though she was clearly uncomofortable with sleeping on the first date.

He ruined her. And then Cazador destroyed her.

Astarion gives himself a promise that Alethaine will be able to protect herself. If a handsome stranger approaches her with sweet words she needs to stab him in the eye. She needs to bear her fangs and threaten to call her vampire father for help. Or murder them herself.

At least she is a dhampir. Her blood makes vampires sick. Even if a spawn makes a mistake, a vampire lord won’t dare to touch a dhampir.

For they are their parents’ demise.

Tiriel often mentions that sometimes, when her mind is sleepy, she is scared that there is a monster in her bed. Nothing changes the fact that Astarion is a vampire. Nothing.

Astarion sometimes has this chilly feeling that there is something dangerous in the house. Something that can end him. Something faster, something deadlier.

A two-year-old toddler with two pointy fangs who demands to be held by either of her parents and gets very upset if they are busy.

She is probably the only one in the house who isn’t afraid of no one. Her mortal mother. Her vampire father. The dhampir wants them both and loves them both. 

Trusts.

“Oh, what a sight,” he hears Tiriel’s voice. “Alethaine, it’s time for a bath!” The half-elf leans into them, kisses Astarion, and then takes Alethaine.

“I wouldn’t mind a bath either,” he chuckles. “As long as you are present.”

“We can go there once she is asleep. I will gladly let you wash my hair,” Tiriel smiles softly and leaves the room.

Astarion finally makes himself get up and follows Tiriel to the bathroom. She’s already undressed Alethaine and put her in the small wooden tub. The girl splashes the water and giggles.

In the dim light it’s clear Alethaine has very pale skin.

Tiril splashes water on her long hair and starts washing it.

“Tiriel.”

“Hm?”

“Can I? Please?” 

“Of course but I thought, you…”

“Tiriel. She is growing up. Look at her, she is two! How much time do we have to see her like that? To take care of her like that? It will be three years, four at best, and it will be inappropriate for me to see her undressed, to see her like that. You will have more years, of course, but soon she won't let you do all this. I have less time, but neither of us has much.”

“I see,” she kisses Astarion’s cheek. “Do it. You know, you are better at this anyway.”

“Am I?” Astarion chuckles, using soap to wash the girl’s hair.

“You are more tender. I sometimes make rough movements, she doesn’t like it.”

Astarion can’t imagine Tiril being rough or rude to their child but nods. 

Suddenly Alethaine looks up and her ears twitch. “It’s night,” she declares. Then she makes a clicking sound with her teeth as if to bite something invisible.

Astarion concentrates on his vampiric senses and realizes that, yes, it’s already sunset.

And he can go outside.

“Yes, princess, it’s already night,” he smiles.

“I want to go outside.”

“Kitten, you can’t go outside after a bath. You will catch a cold,” Tiriel finds a toothbrush and kneels beside the small tub.

“I want outside. It’s night!” Alethaine insists. Astarion feels her muscles tense. She protrudes her jaw a bit.

Like the predator she is.

“We can go later,” Astarion splashes more water on her, washing the soap away. 

“I want now! It’s calling me!”

Astarion sees terror in Tiriel’s eyes. Well, a little child insisting that something outside is calling for her is definitely creepy.

“And it can wait.”

“What is she talking about?” Tiriel asks, brushing Alethaine’s fangs.

“We are predators, darling. Night predators. It calls for the hunt. She feels it and wants to go.”

“Is it only about blood?” Tiriel asks.

“Maybe not,” Astarion gives his daughter a glass of water. “Alethaine, princess, what exactly do you want to do outside if we go out?”

“I want… I want … I want to go to the woods! To walk!”

“We can do it,” Astarion smiles. “But a bit later, all right, baby?”

“I want mum to go, too!” Alethaine casts a glance at Tiriel. “We go to the woods!”

Tiriel brings a towel, takes the girl from the bathtub, and wraps the fabric around her. “Alright, kitten, we all go together to see the night. But only once you are fully dry!”

Thanks to their dark vision, the little family sees everything perfectly. Tiriel sits on the grass, holding Astarion’s hand as if not to let him fall into the abyss of his own thoughts.

He is grateful for that. He is grateful for many things Tiriel has done for him, so natural for others, so distant for a creature like him. 

Alethaine happily runs around. 

“Will she remember that? This… night?” Tiriel asks.

“I don't know. Even if she learns how to reverie, such early years are beyond her reach.”

Suddenly Alethaine stands still and then jumps on something in the grass.

The next moment she shows her parents a scared-to-death mouse.

The mouse fights back for dear life, sensing the presence of two undead creatures.

“Princess, let it go,” Astarion says.

“I want it!” Alethakne insists on trying to hold the mouse still.

“Kitten, it’s scared,” Tiriel says.

“It is not!”

Astarion takes Alethaine’s tiny hand.

“Please, Alethaine. No one wants to be held against their will. It is bad.”

“Why?”

Astarion hesitates. It is difficult to explain to the child why imprisoning creatures are bad.

“Because it has a family that is waiting for it”, Tiriel says. “Imagine a giant catching you and dragging you to its lair. And how much we will miss you.”

Alethaine sits on the grass and lets the animal go.

“I would kill the giant," she suddenly says. “I am stronger.” 

“And that's also not a good reason to kill anyone.”

“Unless they want to hurt you, then you are free to do anything," Astarion adds.

Alethaine sits between them, and Astarion brushes his fingers along her hair. 

“I will remember that,” Astarion murmurs.

**

A little elf wanders through the clearance. She is only two and barely understands what is going on in the world around her. She knows that her mother calls her Little Fire because the toddler’s hair is the color of a flame. She also knows that her real name is Tiri and she is named after her grandmother who died centuries ago.

The world fascinates her and even though it’s dark she perfectly sees the tall grass flowers that grow abundant on the elven island which is her home. The toddler sees stars up in the skies and hears dozens of sounds with her pointy ears.

“Little Fire, don’t wander too far,” she hears a soft but stern voice.

Her mother stands a few feet away. Her long silver hair waves in the wind and her dress is as dark as night. Tiri is young, but she already understands her mother is different from other elves. 

There is something different about her – she never goes to the druidic groves and often spends days in her dungeons where she performs something that Tiri’s father calls “necromancy”.  She also has fangs she bares when she is angry.

And she can walk on ceilings. 

Tiri returns to her mother and stretches her arms demanding to be taken in arms. Alethaine lifts Tiri up.

Her mother’s skin is cold but comfortable. Tiri’s vocabulary is still very small but she knows that her mother is a dhampir. But what exactly this word means, she doesn’t yet apprehend.

“You know, Little Fire,” she suddenly says. Tiri leans closer – her mother’s voice is soothing and something is enchanting about it. “I remember walking like that through the night clearance. I caught a tiny mouse, but your grandpa told me to let it go.”

“Mouse,” Tiri repeats.

“Yes, I caught a mouse. It was scared – and I was told to let it go. Weird, I am not supposed to remember such things, but I still do. You know, Tiri, my mum had the same freckles on her face. She would have loved you.”

Tiri senses sadness and buries her nose in her mother’s chest. 

“Are you tired, Little Fire?” Alethaine asks, rubbing her daughter’s ear. The little elf nods and yawns. “Then, let’s you to bed.”

By the time they leave the clearance, Tiri is already fast asleep. 

Alethaine hears her steady heartbeat and soft breath. Her baby is so alive she can’t believe Tiri came out of her half-dead body.

Did her father feel something similar when he was lulling Alethaine to sleep? Holding something that was part of him but much more alive and normal?

She was born with one foot in the grave her father had crawled from. 

And what about her own mother, Tiriel? Tiriel died 170 years ago, her face is something Alethaine desperately tries to grasp, but it fades away. It’s a blurry image from the distant past when the dhampir was young and much more stubborn than she is now. 

What did the half-elf feel when she held her dhampir child? The child who didn’t need to breathe and was cold as dead? Who tried to run away from her up to the ceiling and also had a pair of fangs?

Was she ever afraid? Did she ever feel sorry she married a vampire?

Alethaine knows the answer is “no”.

Her parents loved each other. Her father’s undead heart was shattered in pieces when Tiriel died and, even though he’s lived his undead life fully, they both know some things can’t be compensated.

Tiriel was never afraid. She wasn’t afraid of her husband, she wasn’t afraid of her daughter. She loved her with all the passion and warmth she was capable of. 

Alethaine looks back.

The night calls to her like it has been doing for three centuries, ever since Alethaine was born. It sings, making the dhampir’s body stir and her fangs itch.

“I will come back,” Alethaine whispers into the dark. “But first I need to put my Little Fire to bed.”

--

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[spacebarbarianweird]

Hey! It's my birthday today and it's been really good but it's been kind of the first birthday I've ever properly celebrated with my chosen family and friends in a long time since a lot of trauma/ab*se, and I really hope it wouldn't be too much to ask (take as long as you need obvs) for some headcanons with a Tav that isn't going to celebrate on their birthday, but Astarion makes it special for them somehow and maybe they agree it's Tav's 'first' birthday 🥹🥹🥹👉👈

I love all your work and eagerly await your posts, they make my day 🥰🥰🥰

Hi! Hope you will like it! Now, Tiriel's birthday is also in autumn!

Birthday Gift

Summary: Tiriel has no idea when her real birthday is and she's never receieved birthday gifts. Astarion finds it outrageous.

Pairing: Astarion x OC (Tiriel)

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, post-game, named Tav, established relationship.

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

TW: a mention of abuse

Tiriel looks around.

Autumn.

Leaves are turning red and yellow, the winds are cold and promise winter. 

It’s beautiful, though the barbarian feels uneasy – the childhood memories. Winters are merciless in such wild places as the Sunset Mountains. Hunger, sickness, death… Sometimes her stepfather, a cruel chieftain, would order to leave certain people outside (too old, too weak) – to let them die and not waste scarce food. 

He would often pull Tiriel outside when the autumn winds were particularly harsh and say: “Look at this, pixie girl, I can just order not to give you any food and you will die like a stray cat. But I am merciful – I told your mother I’d save your pathetic half-blood life!” With these words, he would let her go and Tiriel would run to hide somewhere dark and safe.

She was lucky there were no harsh winters during her childhood. She would be the first to be deprived of food and warmth.

Only half a human. The result of an affair between her mother and an unknown elf. She still wonders why she was spared in the first place. It would have been so easy to murder a newborn girl.

They didn’t.

They kept her.

Maybe it was a superstition that elven children would become evil spirits once they died, or fear that Tiriel’s elven relatives would return. 

Those are questions without answers, Tiriel knows that.

Maybe there was a moment when her mother loved her. Maybe there was a moment when Tiriel’s stepfather really did forgive his wife. 

Tiriel doesn’t have happy memories from her childhood. It’s all too dark and miserable.

And autumns like this remind her of it.

“Hello, darling,” Astarion grins, returning to the road from the woods. His shirt is stained and he licks his lips. 

“What was it?” she asks.

“A boar. Didn’t expect I’d jump on it from the tree.”

Tiriel smiles as she wipes his face from blood and brushes his messy curls. Astarion doesn’t see himself in a mirror and, of all forms of intimacy, he especially cherishes being taken care of. Brushing his hair, cleaning his face, making sure he looks beautiful.  

Two years. Two years of her own happy memories. Where she has a person to talk to, to hold, to love. Astarion is a troubled person, but Tiriel loves him at his worst and at his best.

Astarion rubs her ear, forcing her to giggle.

“Let’s go?” he suggests. “The weather is getting worse, I want to spend the next few days somewhere warm!”

“It’s five miles to Longsaddle if I’ve read the map properly.”

Astarion takes her hand, and Tiriel feels how warm it is thanks to the boar blood. 

“Then we will meet the sunrise in a comfortable bed!” Astarion chuckles. “And in each other’s arms.”

“I doubt they have good beds there, so far from Luskan and other big cities.”

“We have low standards, you and I. As long as there is a blanket and a bed, we are fine, Besides I love using your breasts as my pillow.”

Tiriel bursts into laughter and receives a peck on the cheek.

Unfortunately, it can’t stop bad memories.

… Her siblings asked her to help them with something on a cliff. She followed them, only to be violently beaten by her older brothers. Tiriel even thought for a moment they were going to rape her, but, instead, they pushed her down to certain death.

Tiriel woke up in dirt and blood, with her arm broken in half, shivering and coughing. 

And with a cave bear ready to murder her. 

That’s when Tiriel felt rage for the first time.

It filled her veins with fire. Tiriel barely remembers what happened that night but she knows she killed that bear– and was left with facial scars. Then she came back, limping and bleeding. She thinks she fought someone, maybe one of her brothers or the chieftain and then she ran.

She ran into the mountains woods – no armor, no weapon, only rags and bare feet. 

Then she collapsed on the ground, hurt and scared in the middle of the woods, forever lost.

Tiriel remembers that moment vividly. 

A young girl who had barely hit puberty (because half-elves grow slower) woke up all alone and cried like a child. Then she got up and walked, dying of cold and hunger. 

Two days later she was found by a group of adventurers who sort of adopted her as their party child. An old halfling washed Tiriel’s hair and healed her wounds. A water genasi cooked the girl food and offered the warmest blankets. 

And the tiefling paladin asked Tiriel what her name was.

“My sweet, I thought it was me who tends to wander into dark thoughts,” Astarion squeezes. “Remembering your misfortunate youth again?”

“Yes. Just – similar. To what it was back then. The same autumn when I ran from home. The same autumn when I got my name.”

Tiriel, the little girl told the party. My name is Tiriel.

Astarion does the same thing he always does when he wants to support Tiriel.

He gives her a hug.

“Hush, Tiriel,” he murmurs. “You will never be alone again.”

Triel relaxes. That is her Astarion – a simple hug, a kiss, an embrace, and her nightmares perish.

He pulls away and Tiriel catches his most adorable smile – he doesn’t pretend, doesn’t show off, doesn’t perform. That’s real him.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

She nods. They don’t have to ask permission to do things with each other. Kisses, hugs, grabbing hands, touching intimate parts – but they still do.

Tiriel asks if she can kiss Astarion.

Astarion states he wants to kiss her.

Simple as that.

Permission and declaration.

Astarion grazes her lips. He is in his predatory mood, when Tiriel just needs to accept whatever is going to be done to her. His strong hands grab her shoulders and tug at her.

Astarion finally breaks the kiss and stares at Tiriel for a few moments.

“I am not going anywhere,” Tiriel murmurs.

“I know, Tiriel. You are mine and I am yours,” Astarion presses his forehead to hers. 

They go down the hill and find themselves on a road that connects scarce towns and settlements far from the Swords Coast. The road is more or less walkable but it soon will be washed out due to rains. Tiriel notices Astarion’s visible disgust.

“Honestly darling, we should have stayed in Baldur’s Gate and lived a life of comfort!” he chuckles.

“You would die of boredom – besides I thought you’d had enough of that place.”

“True, but there are many other comfortable places! Tiriel, you deserve to wear a nice gown made of the best fabrics and sleep in a huge master’s bed where I will ravish you till you beg me to stop.”

Tiriel turns around to see her partner better. “And then I would die of boredom. Astarion look at us – I am a nomad and you were enslaved for so long you deserve to see the world.”

“It doesn’t mean I can’t whine and complain!”

“You can whine and complain all day long, Astarion. Why even bother to be in a relationship, if you can’t do this?”

They bicker and laugh for the next hour until they see a town ahead. Despite it being close to midnight, the town doesn’t sleep and is rather festive.

“What is going on here?” Tiriel asks a passerby as they enter the town. “Some local celebration?”

“It’s our duke’s first son’s birthday,” the woman shrugs. “Not like we care about the spoilt brat but you can’t say ‘no’ to a celebration right?”

The woman disappears in the crowd and Tiriel points at the stalls.

“Astarion, look! So many sweets! Oh, and there are fireworks!”

Astarion looks distant, as if something plagued his mind.

“Love, what is it?” She asks and feels a wave of anxiety. What if it’s too much? Feasts like this used to be his hunting grounds, what if he has a painful flashback?

Two years against two centuries is almost nothing.

“Tirie,l” he finally asks. “When is yours?”

“What?”

“Birthday. I know this is a huge deal for humans and the ones who grew up with them.”

“I don’t know.”

Astarion looks at her with shock.

“You… what?”

“I don’t know when mine is, I was never told. Neither a date nor a month.”

“Oh,” Astarion didn’t expect this answer. “Well, at least you know the year, right?”

“I don’t.”

Astarion raises his index finger as if wanting to point at something, but then he shakes his head in disbelief.

“We have been together for two years and you are telling me now that you don’t… how old you are?!”

Tiriel ponders a bit.

“Well, I know it was 1472 DR when I ran away, I was told by the party who adopted me… and I had had my first blood only two months before that. But I am a half-elf and it took me longer to grow up… So I think I was… fifteen? Maybe, sixteen… Or fourteen? Definitely not sixteen… Because my older brother was sixteen… Damn, I don't really know. Don’t bother.”

“Darling, I can’t not bother with the fact that I don’t know how old you are!”

“You say it as if I was one of those little girls who look older than they are and get their one-night stands in trouble!”

“It’s not that, Tiriel! It’s just… I don’t know… wrong!”

“It probably is.”

“It is wrong.”

“I cannot do anything about that.”

The wave of sadness drags her to the bottom of her dark thoughts.

Beatings.

Insults.

Hatred.

Pain.

All at once, since she was born.

Suddenly, she is a little girl again – a little girl thrown outside in the autumn rain, in the wind, wearing only a nightshirt. Tiriel thinks she hears her stepfather's laughter from behind a thick wooden door as a seven-year-old half-elf who cries and begs him to let her in.

Tiriel stops. Tears prickle her eyes. Her face burns, and an adult half-elven woman who fought gods and demons starts ugly crying like a child. 

She collapses on her knees not caring about the dirt, wailing and sniffing.

“Tiriel!” Astarion drops his sack and kneels beside her. “Did I do… Did I ask… Oh, hells.”

He puts his arms under her shoulders and presses her to himself, lulling and swaying side to side. He murmurs all the words of love and care he is capable of.

“Let’s take you somewhere warm,” he finally says, helping her to get up.

Despite the fest, they manage to find an inn with a free room, a cheap and simple one. Tiriel has to go inside first to invite Astarion, and then he takes everything in his hands again making sure the innkeeper brings warm blankets and prepares a bath. 

“Love,” he says. “Look at me.”

Tiriel tries not to think about how bad she looks right now with her puffy face and snot but obliges.

“That's much better, now let’s take you to the bath”

An hour later, Tiriel submerges herself into the hot water and expects Astarion to join her, but instead he goes straight to the exit.

“Astarion!” she calls him out.

“I will be back soon, just relax while I am away, all right?”

Tiriel hates being alone. Too many dark thoughts, besides, now she feels guilty. Astarion went through hell and she dares to complain?!

Her past isn’t that bad in comparison with his. She has no right to pity herself. 

Time passes slowly, and Tiriel feels restless. What if something happened? What if there was a vampire hunter? Or something else…

When she finally decides to get out of the bath, Tiriel hears familiar footsteps.

“Close your eyes, little love.”

Tiriel obeys and then feels something soft and plush in her arms.

“Open” Astarion places his chin on her shoulder.

A plushie-owlbear.

Soft and cute, it’s a toy appropriate for a little girl to cuddle with. 

A toy she never had.

“Well,” Astarion explains. “Since you don’t know when your birthday is, it can be… today. 17 of Uktar. Happy birthday, love,” he kisses her cheek. “And I suppose we should decide how old you are.”

“Thirty-eight,” Tiriel says, doing mental math. “Let it be thirty-eight”

“Happy thirty-eight birthday, my lovely, darling girl.”

Tiriel feels like crying again. It’s just a toy, a plushie, a thing for a baby. But she was never treated as a child, she was never given toys or dolls. And this gift… is the best she could have received.

“Do you like it?” he asks carefully.

“Yes… I do love it! Thank you! Did you steal it?”

“I won it from the toymaker. Played cards with her.”

Astarion sits on the edge of the bathtub and Tiriel wraps her hands around his waist tugging him into water. He lets out a laugh.

“Darling, you know how long it will take to fully dry?”

“Eternity! And we will spend this eternity in the inn warm and safe,” Tiriel says. “Astarion, please! I don’t want to go back on the road now, so many bad memories!”

He sits in front of her fully in the water. “Ok my sweet, what else do you want for your birthday? Maybe I could return the favor and let you ride me in some place from your traumatic memories? I’ve seen a rather terrible-looking dirt of mud.”

Tiriel thinks for a while and then says. “I don't mind riding you, but maybe in the bedroom?”

“Whatever you say, darling!”

**

It’s sunlight outside, and Astarion feels the tugging feeling in his undead chest. He misses sunlight, that's true. 

Tiriel is asleep in his arms. They actually didn’t make it to the bedroom and had the first round in the bathtub, and now Astarion needs to repair his shirt and find missing buttons from a doublet. 

It causes him anxiety, but he shrugs it away.

He can lose all the buttons and rip all his clothes, and the only reaction he will receive will be Tiriel’s jokes.

Tiriel hugs him from behind, placing her cheek on his mutilated back. The plushie is pressed between their bodies as his warrior-love has decided to sleep with it. 

He actually didn’t expect her to like the toy. Initially, he was panicking and looking for something appropriate for Tiriel. A ring? A bracelet? Maybe a weapon? Maybe just something sweet? 

Everything he was putting his eyes on was off. Jewelry Tiriel would never wear, a weapon she wouldn’t fight with. 

And then he saw the toys. An owlbear plushie for a woman who is always treated like a brave hero. Who didn’t have a proper childhood? 

The first birthday gift for someone who has never had a birthday.

And Tiriel loved it so much she pressed it to her chest the moment they stopped ‘celebrating’. She wanted to give it a proper name, and they spent at least a few minutes discussing their ideas before they settled on Big Eye.

“Tiriel,” Astarion mutters knowing she is asleep and won’t wake up. “I love you. You will never be alone, I promise. I will be with you unless you grow tired of me, and I am sure you won’t. Thank you for … finding me. Saving. Helping.”

Suddenly he feels her wet lips on his scars.

“I will never grow tired of you,” Tiriel promises.

--

Tag list

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