#orion ancunin

[ineedcoffee-sigyn]

When Filomena gave birth to their child Orion, Astarion remembered a song he once heard long ago, altough he couldn't remember who sung it, as much of his old life is nothing but a blur now.

I couldn't get this out of my mind for 2 days now so I quickly made this little video.

[limielle]

Observant.

(thoughts that went behind this comic under the cut)

I know this idea has been done a lot, but there was a lot of thought that went behind this when I first sketched it after witnessing the mirror scene in my first playthrough and I wanted to talk about it a little... particularly how orion (my tav) isn't an artist at all, and that with her behaviour it's difficult to tell when she is being genuine, though Astarion does discover later on that she's always being genuine!! She's just weird. Anyway, I thought about how Astarion very much dislikes being in the spotlight despite his flamboyant attitude, and how a gesture of what Orion thinks to be a kindness can actually be misconstrued as humiliation for someone who has been subject to verbal and physical abuse/humiliation for so many years. And the necessary subsequent communication to make oneself understood.

idk if i communicated it very well in my comic but ! yeah LOL please look at them i worked hard on this qwq

[speed-demon-doodler]

Act 3 - graveyard scene

----

I've had THIS⬇️ on my mind since the first time Astarion shouted "Ignis" and Orion's heart grew two sizes bigger (it's been months)

*the book

[grappel-writes]

Astarion/Male!Tav (Orion)

Orion wants to spoil his partner, to indulge simple pleasures and let him learn to just enjoy it.

Fluff & smut, handjobs, blood drinking, praise

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50890282

"I want to worship you. I want to treat you like I would myself."

"You worship yourself?" There's a waiver to the jab, betraying Astarion's excitement. Orion smiles into the cool skin under him.

"Why not? I don't see a single reason why I shouldn't. Or a reason why you shouldn't be worshipped, either."

"C'mere…" Orion's hushed, a gentle whisper that Astarion can hear the smile in. His guiding touch pulls the vampire closer.

"Feeling impatient already?" Astarion quips back, but the remark is toothless. He is malleable in his partners hands. Fully, bravely, trusting of whatever Orion has in store for him.

"Very, I want to do something different." And that guiding touch pulls Astarion's hip, turns him so he's leaning back against the half-elf. The fighter's body is always so warm, thrumming with life behind him, and the evidence of his excitement pressed against his own lower back.

"Like this?" Astarion breathes, confused. It's nice, sure, fit between Orion's legs and reclining back against his chest, but hardly where he expected to be after their heated exchange that left their clothes in a trail across the room.

"Just like this." Battle worn hands slide down the front of Astarion's chest, his sides, the front of his thighs as far as Orion's arms can reach. Once they're as far as they can be, he grips the blanket that was pushed aside during their earlier tumble and pulls it up and over them both. "Comfortable?"

"How could I not be?" The tension slips from Astarion, but he's clearly still confused why things made such a sudden shift. "Do you still want to…?"

Orion nods, ducking to place a heated kiss on the top of a much paler shoulder.

"Gods," he sighs, and kisses the same spot again. "I do. I want to worship you. I want to treat you like I would myself."

"You worship yourself?" There's a waiver to the jab, betraying his excitement at the idea. Orion smiles into the cool skin under him.

"Why not? I don't see a single reason why I shouldn't. Or a reason why you shouldn't be worshipped, either." His touch slides inward, light against the sensitive skin of Astarion's inner thighs. The vampire parts his legs instinctively, filling his chest with a shuddering breath.

It's intimidating to let go of the performance and show of intimacy, cut raw and open, Astarion was keenly aware how easy it would be to be hurt in this position. Physically and otherwise. But after everything he and Orion had gone through together, their night on his grave, his commitment to taking everything he wanted from this life, he could do it. It wasn't easy, but it was beautiful to rest in his partner's arms. To be loved. To want this and to let it be fulfilled. The warmth of the touch, Orion's heat trapped in their bed, he could choke on the overwhelming amount of love that was given to him freely. His hand moves under the blankets, finding Orion's own, and lays over the back of it.

Pausing, Orion pulls away from his generous administration of kisses traveling up Astarion's neck. He's quiet, waiting on the next move. With a squeeze of the hand, and a soft smile, Astarion confirms for him, "Then show me."

His response is a pleased rumble from Orion's chest and the continued roaming of his hands. They skirt along the inside of thighs, up his side, flat over his chest, thumbs detouring to brush over nipples just enough for them to come to attention. It's far slower than their usual desparate explorations, and sends the vampire squirming. He hooks a leg over Orion's to spur him along. The hard insistence trapped between them not forgotten either, Astarion arches his back and smiles at the gasp he's rewarded with.

In return, Orion nips the already pinkened shoulder. "Don't- I want to just take care of you tonight."

"So generous, but no need to make that sacrifice. I'm more than capable of being taken care of and returning the favor."

"Astarion-" his voice is thicker with emotion, and he kisses below a pointed ear, "Please."

The elf's chest fills, his heart heavy and happy and aching with these new sincerities. He swallows hard, and lets go. "...okay."

"Thank you."

Again, Orion continues his traveling touches, picking up where he left off. With Astarion's leg captured on his own, he pulls it aside, the tent of Astarion’s impatience now evident through the blanket covering them. Astarion grips the framing thighs, lets his head fall back against the other's shoulder, and relinquishes this. His openness is rewarded with a comfortable hold where he finally needs it. Familiar, but different, Orion's own muscle memory repeated onto Astarion. With slow, gentle strokes, Astarion sinks further against Orion's chest. Like a mantra, Orion mumbles between kisses along perfect skin "I love you," over and over.

The vampire has to fight the urge to twist in the hold, arch his back, he's trying to fall into the habit of performing a duty, but each muttered promise and squeeze at his base chases them away. The fighter's confident touch compels visions of nights he spent alone, in a tent only feet away, bringing himself to this feeling. Astarion's spine numbs at the thought. Seconds roll by and it becomes easier and easier to indulge, to let himself be swept away in the pleasure of it. The stroking quickens, and so does Orion's breathing, as if he were just as affected by the touch. His scent is compelling, the honeyed whiskey of his blood, spiked with arousal, washing over the vampire entirely. Astarion arches back, nudging aside Orion's jaw to gain access to his neck. It's a stretch to press his mouth against the pulse there, but he can hardly feel it with the burning heat in his stomach and crushing emotion in his chest. It's all far too much, mind numbingly overwhelming, and yet his only thought is more.

Teeth prick between kisses against Orion's neck and he groans at the delicious temptations. Astarion's hips begin to rock with the unforgiving pace his partner has set. "I love you." He repeats back, to the blood under Orion's skin, to the burning being gifted to him, to the safety they give each other, and to this feeling in his chest that surely transcends what anyone else has ever felt. "I- I want," he gasps, not even half a sentence finished before the pleasure demands his attention again. It refuses to be denied.

Orion groans and leans forward, making his neck easier to reach. "I want it, too. When you're there, Astarion." His cock jumps at the words, hearing his own name in Orion's heated voice, guided right to the edge just with the words. "I want you to finish with the taste of me in your mouth."

His moan is muffled immediately, teeth finding purchase and eyes fluttering closed as his world crashes around him. A hand shoots back to hold the other side of Orion's tattooed neck, the other hand gripping bruises into a trapping thigh. He arches off the bed and nothing exists, has ever existed, other than this moment. An ascended bliss, full of nothing but all the pleasures that Orion gives him. Blinding red light colors his vision, and wave after wave of pleasure rolls through him with such intensity that Orion has to hold him tightly to place.

Sensations come back slowly, the pulsing abating, the shaking of every muscle drawn taught, his favorite taste dominating all other senses. The loss of the moment is worth mourning, but he knows more than those few seconds and he'd be broken. The hand pressing down on his hips to keep him in place relents, resting easily on him now, and signalling the gentle come down. He releases the bite and eases back into Orion's chest once more, blood he didn't have the dexterity to catch smudged along his mouth. Scarlet eyes flutter open again and he's surprised to find the world is exactly as he left it.

Finding enough control over himself to speak, Astarion surprised himself with a laugh first. "No wonder you're always in such a good mood."

Orion chuckles into white curls, nuzzling closer. "I don't know, you seemed to enjoy that more than I expected."

"Mm," Astarion shifts, turning to see the single dimple of his partner's smile. "The bar's been raised, darling, I will expect nothing less than that from now."

He's met with a quick kiss, the blankets pulled higher over them again.

"Then I'll give it to you. Over and over, as often as you'd like."

Things don't sound so ridiculous when Orion says them, Astarion thinks, impossible promises and pillow talk always made sincere. He follows the fighter's lead, sliding down to properly lay with him under the blankets, resting against his beating heart.

"As long as you let me return the favor. I won't let you turn me into a lazy lover."

"Now? How do you have the energy?"

Astarion considers it, and finds Orion's right. He's spent. He could force through it, rouse himself enough to return the favor, but truly he wants to just float in this feeling. And knows he's allowed to.

"In the morning, maybe. Or maybe when you're deep in thought, in the middle of work…" his voice lowers as he speaks, the exhaustion beginning to take hold. "Whenever I decide you need to be reminded that you're mine. And I'm yours."

"Deal."

[speed-demon-doodler]

furiously typing on feyddit: me(+500) AITA for not letting my partner(~239) ascend?

Astarion's Evil Endings

The Sun King

Conqueror

Chaos and Madness

The Savior

Murderer

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Always Thinking of You

Apologies for yet another interruption of the usual Astarion Ancunin programme. I swear I'm still very into our beloved vampire idiot, it's just that the Transformers brainrot has invaded once more.

Summary: As the base burns down all around him, all Optimus Prime can think about is you. (set in TFP universe)

Optimus couldn't get the look in your optics as you turned away from him out of his processor. You didn't say a word, you didn't need to. He knew you well enough to tell exactly what was on your processor, he knew you were disappointed in him for choosing the humans over Cybertron, he knew you were hurt by his decision to destroy the Omega Lock. Most of all, he knew you were angry that it had come down to this.

Still, he watches as you disappear into the swirling vortex that is the Groundbridge, an emptiness filling his chest. He didn't know where he had sent you, didn't know what the future held for you, but that was for you to figure out. His job here would be done in a moment, and seeing you again…he futilely clung onto that silver of hope, knowing that such a day would never come. He would die here, leaving you alone on this Earth. No, not alone. You would still have the other Autobots, and whoever the Matrix chose to be a Prime next.

A single tear slides down his cheek as he turns to face the console, raising the Star Saber high. In the face of imminent death, he finds that he regrets a rather long list of things. He regrets that he parted ways with Ratchet like this, that he parted ways with you like this. He regrets that he'd never get to bring you to the top of Iacon Tower to see the view from there at night, that he'd never get to see how you'd react to the crystal gardens. He regrets that he'd never be able to feel your touch again, to feel your lips on his, to hear your laugh, see the way your optics light up when you lock gazes with him.

But he has to do this. The Autobot cause is far greater than his personal relationships, the both of you knew that. By doing this, he's ensuring your safety as much as he can, he tells himself, even if it's at the cost of his life. He'd meant it, every time he said he'd give his life for you. He feels his Spark constrict, a pang of guilt for being unable to uphold his promise to you.

As he swings the Star Saber downwards, he whispers one last prayer to Primus. He prays that you'll find someone new, someone better, someone who could give you what you needed, not a failure of a Prime who couldn't even keep his loved ones safe.

Then all he feels is the searing heat, followed by white hot pain. The entire base collapses on him, steel beams twisting in the flames and he feels one run through his abdomen as he crumbles beneath the weight and pain of it all. He can feel Energon leaking out of him as rubble cuts through his armour, opening the wires beneath. Everything hurts, his vision is getting fuzzy, he can barely breathe now. Sparks crawl along his arms where his wiring is exposed and he can't feel his legs anymore.

He never thought this was how he would go out. Sure, he'd thought about martyring himself many times over, before and after you came into his life, but the martyring usually came in the form of an execution by Megatron, not…whatever this was.

He finds his thoughts starting to wander to you as his life ebbs away, wondering what you're doing right now, if you've found a safe spot to hide for the time being. He wonders if you'll mourn his death, or if you'll only remember the time he doomed Cybertron with his own servos and hate him for the rest of your life. He hopes it's the former, it pains him to think about the latter. He's enjoyed all the times the both of you had spent together, especially all the stolen kisses in the dead of night when everyone else was asleep or on patrol. Those moments had made him feel like Orion Pax again, his Spark racing as he snuck out to meet you, tingles running up his backstruts as he held your servo, starry eyed and lost in your optics.

He remembers the time you'd thrown yourself in front of a missile for him, screaming for him to move as you slammed into him, taking the full brunt of the impact. He'd been so afraid for you, panic seizing him as he shouted for a medic, cradling your bleeding form. The Decepticon the missile belonged to made the mistake of trying to finish off what they started, and found themselves on the receiving end of his ion blaster. He had never felt such rage in his life before then, was it the same kind of rage that fueled Megatron's conquest? A shudder runs through him at the thought, would he wage such a terrible war for you? Would you do it for him?

At least 70% of his system has shut down at this point. Everything is muffled and his throat feels dry. Fear wraps its tendrils around him, squeezing tightly as thoughts he believed he'd long locked away hear cloud his processor. He doesn't want to die, he wishes he'd never been made a Prime, he wishes he could have a normal life with you, continue to be friends with Megatron, he wishes he wishes, but this is the reality he's in. He hates how he crumbles beneath the burden he's made to carry, hates the way he breaks down in front of you when the burden overwhelms him, hates the way you're made to carry his burden alongside him. Most of all, he hates the way his burden turned friends on each other and destroyed the planet he called home.

Black is creeping around his vision, threatening to devour the world around him. Just before it consumes him, he pictures your smile, the warmth in your optics, and the cold regret of never being able to see them ever again.

When he next opens his optics, the sound of your voice washes over his audials. There's an edge in your tone, and Ratchet says something but he doesn't quite catch it. Wait…your voice? Is he not one with the Allspark yet? Why would you and Ratchet be one with the Allspark? Had he failed?

"He's awake." The ringing in his audials stop.

"I can see that. I'm not blind." You're still as snarky as ever.

"Good. Then watch him while I go and retrieve a couple of items."

"Tch." He hears pedsteps fade away as you come into view. There's not a hint of anger or hatred in your optics. The only thing he can see in them is worry, concern, and love.

He doesn't know what to say. He didn't prepare for this, he didn't expect any of this. You gently touch his helm, gaze soft as you smile at him.

"You're safe now."

"I'm sorry," he rasps. It's the only thing he can say, the only thing that lingers on the tip of his tongue. He feels the lubricant gathering at the corners of his optics, his chest constricting and you simply hold him in your arms, cradling him.

"I forgive you." You murmur, and he clings to you in response. He was so afraid back then, but the moment you said those words, all his fears melted away.

"Thank you, my spark."

[limielle]

a day out together

[limielle]

honeyed words on a honey moon

[speed-demon-doodler]

(full rotated screen recommended)

Don't have much to say except that I put my whole heart into this! :) (and Orion did too <3 )

Psssst I made another one

[grappel-writes]

Poor Strategy

Orion regales his dying companion with a childhood story like a proper soldier. Except the companion is an overly dramatic undead (who almost certainly can't die from blood loss), and "companion" is a very muddy definition.

Read on Ao3 Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50446567

Astarion x Orion (male tav) Stabbing, gratuitous blood mention, wound descriptions, permanent injuries (not for a major character)

Rocky bluffs, short falls, precarious footing, but good for making sudden dodges, getting into, and out of, the enemy’s range. The sun is setting, creating stark, long shadows that are perfect for Astarion to utilize. Half a dozen opponents block the thin deer path that cuts through the woods shading them. Hooded figures, likely cultists, with only short blades visible. If more weapons or magics were hidden underneath, there was no time to tell. Orion is flanked by Wyll, already summoning his rapier, and Astarion, who leans forward in thrilled anticipation of the blood that’s about to be spilled. Orion’s ax is pulled, grip secured with a calibrating heft, and in sync, they’re off. 

The figure at the lead rushes forward, too, knife over extended and leaving himself open. Orion sees the telegraphed move from a mile away and is already aiming for center mass. The moment before impact, from the corner of his eye, he notices a vital detail. A deadly one, even. An oversight that drains him of all his confidence. Astarion is slipping into the shadows like it’s a habit, but doesn’t see the figure already planted there. Half obscured behind the brush, she’s well behind the path. They had walked right by her without a single notice. The vampire doesn’t even get the chance to turn fully before the lithe, hidden human poses for her target. There’s no time to warn him, not mid motion, and Orion’s ax blade glances harmlessly off of the unseen plate under the traveling cloak of his attacker. Something else he should have noticed, but he’s too concerned for Astarion. He curses, loudly, and tries to reorient himself without letting it rattle him. What else had he missed? Was anyone else in danger?

But again, there’s no time, no time… there’s never enough time. “Fights start and end remarkably fast.” Orion’s voice resonates through the camp the same way the fire in the center radiates light that dissipates into the dark woods surrounding them. “You don’t even realize how many decisions you have to make with each breath, each half a second… each half of a half of a second.” “That’s called a quarter, darling.” “It’s called life or death, fangs.” He’s been poking the fire with a far off look as he’s entranced by the licking flames, musing out loud. “In that ungodly small instant, you have to make so many judgements, each one to save yourself. Or your people. In the time it takes for a sword to unsheathe everything could have changed. And you can only act on what you know… what’s in front of you, what you actually see, hear. Where your focus is.” “You overcomplicate things. Just go in with sharp instincts and sharper blades, it’s always worked out for me.” “If only I had the instincts of a well fed vampire, hm?” The dimpled, healing marks on Orion’s neck betray his fondness. “I have to keep honing that sharpness. Walking onto the battlefield, for me, unprepared is the same as walking in already dead. So, even if we’re ambushed, separated, in camp, or hells, at sea, I want to have a plan.” 

“Ugh, really?”” 

“I know it’s a lot but what you’ll do, what I’ll do, how to save each other… they keep me up at night.” He tosses the stick he’s using to poke the fire into the flames and clasps his hands together tightly. “I don’t just look out for myself, you know I’d protect any of you, but Astarion… I can’t see you get hurt. So, please.” 

The vampire’s quiet for a moment, watching the upturned golden look that reflects the fire back to him hurt and plead silently. 

“Fine. Only because I can’t wait to see what you think I could possibly do on a boat of all things. And because it’ll ease your worries.” 

Gripped by fear and pain, overwhelmed by indecision and the flurry of moments he should be judging now, and now, right now, knowing the more he’s absent the more he’s missing and it’s stacking up faster and faster. Orion freezes. 

The enemy ambusher’s blades flash out with deadly precision, cloak floating back behind her with the motion. Both daggers find their mark deep into Astarion’s side, making him cry out. The side of his carefully mended gambeson immediately darkens with blood. There’s a gruesome noise when the attacker pulls her blade free with a wicked, successful snarl. She’s readying to strike again despite Astarion crouching over to hold his wounds, incapacitated. 

Orion can’t even process a want or fear, an instinct, not even a noise. He’s completely numb, his mind ejecting to some other realm. So far gone, when he’s struck by a battle hammer on the shoulder that jostles his entire frame and pushes his collarbone sickeningly low, he doesn’t even respond to the shooting ache. Distantly, he acknowledges a bolt of raw power that shoots over his shoulder. The smell of ozone registers, but no meaning is placed to it even as Astarion’s attacker is sent flying back off the stone ridge. No longer having to pull his focus between his attacker and the wounds, the vampire falls to his knees. 

Those wounds are deep, judging by the length of blood he saw disappear into Astarion. The fighter’s blood runs cold, the idea to shout dies as just a passing thought. His stomach lurches as blood continues to pour out from between the vampire’s clutching hands. The entire side of his companion and the ground under him are a glistening scarlet. Their blood. Shared life and strength that Orion readily gave, that Astarion made his own, was spilling. 

There are other crashes, yelps, and grunts of a fight he can’t seem to pull to foucs. His ax is weightless in his hand he’s so unfeeling, stuck staring uselessly at the elf across the clearing. He could run to help, but how? His legs are more than useless. Besides, he’s no medic. Astarion could die, couldn’t he? And standing here just watching, surrounded by enemies who would love to find out if he could, Orion’s mind is simply blank. A flash of a different fight, in a different life, rainy cobblestones drain the blood he shared with another towards him and again, he was paralyzed. 

“...what are you doing? Orion!?” The still scene in front of him blurs, then shakes violently as Wyll grabs him by the back of his chest plate. The warlock is inches from his face, wielding a rapier of light out to an approaching attacker just to buy them a second. 

“Snap out of it! Orion! We need you in this - don’t lose it now!” Orion blinks, recognizing the one infernal and one stone eye boring into him, commanding him to come to. Wyll was still well, still fighting, and Orion couldn’t let him do it alone. The grip on his weapon tightens, conviction set, but all he can manage to do is look over his shoulder at Astarion anyway. The other man balls tightly onto his knees, making no noise, no movement… “ Now Orion!” Wyll gives the armor another brisk shake, then tosses the fighter directly into the fray. The world snaps back into focus. 

Years of training take over. Decision to be made now - life or death. No time to think. Anything that he had missed would have to remain unnoticed. It pushes Orion back inside. The scared young man who just wants to run to Astarion’s side and scream. Instead, it’s the fighter who stands tall, and before him skulls cleave, armor crumples like foil, crushing its wearers. Blood flies, wounds opened by him are cauterized shut again by the pure energy of Wyll’s spells striking true. It’s a gruesome duet that ends in mere seconds and leaves smoldering, motionless carnage at their feet. Orion doesn’t recall a single moment of it. 

As soon as the last body thuds to the ground, Orion’s ax joins it there. He twists on his heel to sprint to Astarion’s side, his only cohesive thought is to be with him. He falls to the bloody dirt, “Astarion - hold on, not now, not now, notnownotnow… I’m gonna get you back. Come on-” “ Don’t. ” Astarion bites back without looking up, hissing through his teeth. “It hurts. ” each sound is torture, a fight on its own. “Give me. A moment.” Orion’s hand hovers nervously over him, shaking, his mouth dry. “I’m sorry, this was my fault, I shouldn’t have told you… We could have seen her. I’m sorry. Let me do something, I’m not leaving you here.” Panic is mounting as he realizes just how useless he is at this moment. Only good at destroying, not at helping someone once they’re actually hurt. 

All too many commands, curses, and pleas flood Astarion’s mind. They roll around like something barbed, catching each other and ripping and tearing at everything. Unable to speak anymore, they lash out to Orion’s mind, its parasite, directly.

I can’t fucking move. Don’t make me - it’ll hurt worse. I’m not going anywhere. Help me. I’m immortal. Can’t die. Can’t die. I don’t want to die. It. Hurts. 

The half elf recoils at first at the rushed flood of thoughts, but recovers and shifts even closer, heart pounding, lost. He doesn’t look up when Wyll approaches while digging something out of his pack. 

“I know, I know, that looks nasty… here.” He presses a familiar bottle into Orion’s hand, catching it within his own while he speaks to get the frayed fighter to focus. “Give this to Astarion. Stay. Here. Fight off anyone else that comes, I know you can.” Orion nods. Wyll looks to Astarion. “Don’t die. I’ll be back with Shadowheart. We’ll get you right.” the Blade forces a smile, “I won’t let our favorite leech-” “ GO” Astarion’s deep, guttural command cuts through all pretense, all niceties. Wyll blinks, but understands the urgency immediately and takes a couple steps backward before taking off.

The cork is fumbled with a couple times before Orion is finally able to work it free. He holds it under Astarion’s mouth, grateful that his shaking has settled now that he’s been given a task. “You have to.” He can’t help the shaking in his voice, though. 

Astarion groans, sitting up enough to do that would stretch his wounds out, but his energy is fading and he can’t protest more than that. His thoughts are too cloudy to come up with any other idea. 

“I know, but if you can’t do it on your own I’ll have to push you on your side and pour it down your throat. Your choice.” An even more miserable idea than the first… Astarion weighs his optins, and decides that if he’s going to go through excruciating pain again, it’ll be on his terms. A bloodied, pale hand lashes out and grips Orion’s bracer. His grip slides on the metal, but stays, and he pulls the arm closer to himself. “I’ll do it, dammit-!” His breathing is deep, rough, ragged. Blood is dripping from his mouth now as he stares down the potion in front of him as if it’s his newest nemesis. Insufferable pain, or death. How he wished he wouldn’t end up in this situation over and over again like this… But he had done it before, and he could do it again. 

The fighter lets his arm be controlled, holding it steady through Astarion’s pained quivers. He pushes it up and against the vampire’s lower lip. Ready. 

With a sharp inhale, Astarion sits up fully and pulls Orion’s arm, and the potion, with him to drain it fast. Orion follows through with the motion, tilting the bottle as needed. Sharp, wrenching pain makes Astarion’s vision swim and the world twist as he can feel the gruesome shift of cut flesh against itself. He knows pain like this, and in some fucked up way, it’s a comfort that he isn’t new to this kind of anguish. 

He drinks fast, unable to taste or feel any of it, and releases Orion’s arm with a cry as soon as he’s done. The bottle’s tossed aside, and the elf leans over again, hand ghosting over his own wounds, too sensitive to touch now. They still burn, but now in a sickening way as the potion gets to work to weave flesh back together the limited amount it can. The pain now is less dominating, atleast, no longer fading in and out of lucidity, his mind is his own. 

“Orion.” He gasps, still crouched. Hurts a little less to keep it compressed, it seems. 

“Yes?” “Looks like we’re moving our next night time encounter up quite a bit sooner.” The fighter scoffs, a relieved smile flashing for just as long as he dares to feel that. “Not if you’re going to just let it all go to waste again. No point in filling a bucket with a hole.” “ Don’t. Make me laugh.” Astarion shoots a dagger of a look back up, with the slightest glimmer of mischievous appreciation in the red. “Right, of course.” Orion shifts back, sitting fully in front of him now, in tense silence. It feels like infinity as he watches the growing red on Astarion’s side slow, and then finally, stop. The only noise to accompany them is the shifting of leaves in the woods, the barely there shuffle of the creatures that live in it. They’re deathly still and quiet, as if they’re both waiting to see if the healing reverses somehow. Of course, it doesn’t, and the searing pain finally ebbs away enough for most of Astarion’s other senses to return. A few more moments, and he’s comfortable to move again. If he’s going to be under the careful watch of his mark, he might as well look proper while he is. Sitting back against the bluff, still favoring his bad side, Astarion looks squarely back. Takes in the tight shoulders, the grit teeth of the fighter in front of him.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know. I’ll let you take the blame since I can’t sink something sharp into the actual person that caused it, but you're just taking the fall." The half-elf's brow pinches, and he works to remove his bracers and gauntlets as he speaks. "You acted under my guidance, I contributed at least that way." The removed armor is dropped by his knees, "and again I failed you, when you were caught by someone I didn't see. Then when I couldn’t make it to you… Three moments I could've prevented this, and didn't." Left to watch the self scrutiny, Astarion can only grapple with the roiling confusion of why . Why did he endeavor over this so hard, blame himself, put on this show about it? Orion claims to not want anything more than a cure and to go home, so what's all this effort for? Did he really think that Astarion was worth risking this much for? "Most people would call me a blind idiot for missing the rat myself, and they'd be right. I'm already bleeding out, making me watch you torture yourself too is just depressing." 

That gets Orion to almost roll his eyes, but he relents. "You're right. You don't need to hear me go on." "Of course I’m right.” Astarion rolls his shoulder, wincing at the easing pain, “If you've anything more entertaining to discuss, well, we'll likely be here for a moment." "Mm." Orion shifts, one knee up and the other curled under himself. "Something entertaining… I'm not a very good story teller. I'd read you your book, but it's not in your pack I don't think?" Astarion shakes his head, an earnest, small smile touched by the offer. One that perhaps he’ll have to take him up on later. "What do you want to talk about then?" “You want me to pick? Come now, if you can’t even regale an injured ally in his possibly last moments with a battle story, what good are you as a soldier anyway?” 

Orion slumps back with a disbelieving laugh, “Sure don’t sound like you’re in your last moments… but fine, if you just want to hear me drone on while you die…” 

“Well honestly, I’d rather be in a massive feather bed, wonderfully not stabbed, surrounded by beautiful people, wine, and the bloodiest of dinners but. You’ll do.” The vampire gives a dismissive wave towards the other, as if his company wasn’t one of the most important things in his life right now.  "Let's see… why don't you tell me about how you froze out there?” That red look cuts back up, suddenly razor sharp. “Don't think I didn't see it. I might have been in mortal peril, but even I was able to catch that." Despite his best efforts to needle, his expression softens. The toying lilt fades to something that sounds dangerously close to genuine concern. 

"Really?” 

Even under the pauldrons, it’s easy to see Orion’s shoulders drop. “You were clutching at two stab wounds, and you still noticed?" He rubs a hand down his jaw to hide his embarrassed smile. He tries not to think how that meant when Astarion was hurt, he looked to him. Tries not to think of how that makes him happy. 

"I'm very perceptive. Now, don't deflect. Remember the whole dying and occupying my last moments thing?" "Firstly, you're not dying. Second: of course, Astarion, let me just bare my deepest fears and biggest insecurities to you. For entertainment." "That is precisely what I want, yes." Orion laughs, "One day, I'm going to figure out how to say no to you…" He pushes his hair back to avoid making eye contact. “I’ll take that as a challenge.” Another laugh, and Orion laces his fingers together, staring at them with a fading smile as he pulls the thread on an old memory. 

"It's a whole story - which is exactly what you were hoping for, I think. Some family drama, even…” he glances back up, downright bashful, “I’ll tell you, but you don’t talk about it to anyone else, okay?” “Darling, keeping secrets is what I do, I would never.” Astarion holds a hand over his heart, a swear he’s broken countless times, but something pulling at him says not this time. This one he’ll take to the grave if Orion asked. The other nods, satisfied with the answer because he trusted Astarion far too much.

“I've never frozen like that before, except when I was a kid. I was big enough to think I was grown, but still young enough that I wasn't sure what to do with all the new strength and height yet. Mom always said I reminded her fawn at that age, I guess I get why.” He blinks hard, bringing his thoughts back to the story he’s so used to avoiding. “Anyway, I picked a fight with a merc group." 

"That was stupid of you." 

"Yes, it was. Dad wanted to hire them for something, they turned him down, and it put him in a tight spot. I didn't even bother to ask why they did, or stop to think if there was a better way to help. I just got it in my head that they needed to be taught a lesson." 

Astarion's brows lift in unexpected amusement, never would he have guessed his humble warrior used to be so hot headed. And the eagerness for violence, even at that young of an age? Some people are just born with talents, he guesses. "And I'm assuming you didn't leave them to drain in the streets, mission accomplished?" 

"Hah, no. Course not. I think I wanted to… prove myself? Make my mark? I don’t know. All I actually did was get beaten senseless. Turns out they weren’t interested in going easy on me just because I was young.” He tilts his head with a sheepish chuckle, “I wouldn’t have either after some of the things I had said.” “To be a fly on the wall when that happened…” Orion points that half smile back at him, “Maybe you were. Can you do bugs, as spawn? I know the real things can do bats, wolves… surely a fly is easier, right? You could handle that?” “I’m sorry - I believe we left off at the part where you made a fool of yourself and were then beaten and humiliated in the street for it?” 

Another laugh, bouncing straight from his chest. It isn’t graceful or polite, but Astarion can’t help but smile with him because of it. It’s beautiful. 

“Right, that part…” hands up in surrender, “Face so swollen you couldn’t recognize me, ribs broken, couple joints dislocated…” He motions to Astarion’s wound, “You get it.” “I do.” there are other things he remembers, more in tune with what Orion’s describing, that he can relate to. “Trust me.” The fighter seems to notice, clears his throat, and rubs a fist in two circles over his heart: ‘I’m sorry.’ A quick sign he picked up somewhere, Astarion’s never asked, but he appreciates the brevity of the movement. With the quiet acknowledgement, the moment passes. 

“They… were going to kill me. I think. Until they got bored kicking me on the ground. I stayed there that night, passed out right in the street. You know how Baldur’s Gate is, no one else’s business, so no one even looked twice at some kid in the gutter.” “Ah, yes. Home.” “Hah, yeah. Home. Speaking of, I came home the next morning. Nearly knocked Dallin over while he was running out to go look for me.” Orion’s voice drops, eyes close. “I’ve never seen him so furious. At me, at the people who had done it to me… Dallin liked to fight, too, but he was better at it than me. More skilled… and he did it for the right reasons. ” “Suppose that gallant, knight in shining armor behavior is genetic, then. It’s a wonder either of you made it to the age you did.” Orion’s silent for a moment, studying the ground hard before continuing, acting as if he didn’t hear Astarion’s last comment. 

“He waited a couple days. Pinned down their hideout, figured out who they were and how they fought. Where they liked to drink, the gear they had, casters, abilities… he did his research. I got patched up, braced, bandaged, and he put a sword in my hand again. Told me if I was going to make problems that other people had to fix, the least I could do was help.” His tone darkens, the usual glow to him seems to dim with the rapidly setting sun. In return, the snark dies on Astarion’s tongue. He lets himself be engaged with the rest of the story in earnest. The dull ache in his side not forgotten, but throbbing sympathetically with Orion’s remembered injuries. 

“So we head out. Two kid brothers, with unsharpened swords, and nothing but revenge on the mind. We found them, and got exactly what we wanted. The fight broke out immediately, Astarion… and I froze.” He looks up to the sky, rapidly approaching dark blue, blinking a couple times to force back the burn of his eyes. “I was too far away from Dalin. We didn’t have a plan, we just ran in. So when they kicked him down, there was nothing I could do. I knew I needed to help… the sound his back made. I knew it was bad. But I couldn’t. I stood there and watched until someone knocked me out or I blacked out, I don’t know.” With a shuddery sigh he drags both hands over his face, and he’s quiet for a long time. So long Astarion nearly speaks up to convince him that he doesn’t need to finish the story, but his curiosity wins over, and he waits. 

“When I came to, I was at home. Guards broke up the fight, carried us both back. Should’ve taken us to prison, really, but they knew our parents. And they pitied us. Pitied Dallin.” Voice cracks, but he pulls his shoulders back with a throat clear to compose himself. Astarion sees the man he met off the nautiloid, the one who kept everything hidden behind a soldier’s mask. 

“Dallin couldn’t move his legs. Couldn’t feel them. Whole host of healers revolved in and out and none of them were able to fix it.” 

The last hanging on rays of the sun are clipped, relenting to the smothering navy of the darkening sky. “Don’t be so broken up about it, it’s hardly your fault that he stepped into your fight. One he couldn’t handle, no less. He had to have known something like that was a possibility.” Astarion watches, waits, and seeing no change in that steeled expression, continues. “Not me, though. Your brother is exceedingly valorous, and all the accolades to him for it, but I still expect full protection - and look at the state I’m in! I’ll be holding this against you until you figure out some way to make it up to me.” 

Orion scoffs, trying to force away the smile that pulls from him. Astarion’s getting too good at cracking his composure. 

“I’m sure you will, considering how often you speak on things you’d like to hold against me.” 

“Feeling bold only when I’m hurt? We’ll see if you can keep that up when this gets mended.”

“I’m sure I can keep your teeth off of me just fine, even at your full strength, vampire.” 

“If only it was just fangs we were talking about…” Orion’s look lingers, trained on that red stare that makes him breathless, “If only.” 

The vampire wets his lips, shifting forward, it’s become easier to ignore the burn in his side with this temptation before him. “When we get back-” 

The growing sound of boots crunching on the dirt and gravel path pull both of their attention. Even in the dim lighting, the silhouettes of their companions are clear. Shadowheart’s braid swinging behind her as she moves, Wyll’s proud horns curling above him. “Thank the Gods.” Orion stands, those trailing words from earlier immediately forgotten, and moves to go meet them. 

“Ah-! Don’t just leave me here!” Orion stops in his tracks, it’s unnecessary, they’re only down the path, but he obliges. With only a moment’s hesitation he comes back and takes a knee next to him. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’ll stay right here.” At that, Astarion has no response other than a haughty sound. He was expecting a hand wave or a laugh instead. Not this level of devotion, especially after the story they just shared. He’s grateful he can look at their approaching companions and avoid the soft, golden look that always seems to be watching over him. 

The mending goes quickly, easily. The only residual burning is from the healing magic, and will wane much faster. Astarion shifts his shirts around to examine the bloody scars underneath through the holes left. They’ll be healed within the week. “I just patched this one…” “I know,” Orion slings Astarion’s pack over his shoulder. Wyll and Shadowheart are picking over the bodies for anything useful, just far enough away to be out of ear shot. “But better that than your ribs.” 

“Better I not get stabbed at all.” He continues to run his finger along the torn edge, “You didn’t have to stay with me.” “... I did.” “You didn’t. But you did anyway.” Astarion pulls his shoulders back, lifts his chin. Every part as regal as he was before the wound. Even if it was just a gesture of an age old guilt, a heavy memory Orion was trying to correct, it was also a kindness, and he’s not used to that. “Astarion,” Orion takes a step closer, and from his thick voice the vampire expects a touch on his jaw, in his hair, something he’s not sure he’s dreading or excited for. It never comes. “I would do it again in a heartbeat, over and over. Anything to make sure you’re okay.” 

“Orion! These yours?” He spins on his heel just in time to catch the gloves flying towards him. “Yes! Thank you, I’m all over the place, I would’ve left them…” He flips them in his hands a few times, and again catches Astarion’s look with a near pleading one of his own. “I’ll do better next time. It… makes my heart hurt to see you like that. I don’t want it to happen again.” almost shyly, his look goes back down to his gloves. Just a second though, in the next he’s composed again. That casual smile back, he nods to Astarion and turns. As if he hadn’t just branded Astarion’s safety onto his soul, declaring it to be of utmost import to him, the fighter walks towards his other companions to look over the pile of secured equipment. 

Gone before he can stumble into something witty, Astarion is overwhelmed and overtaken with a feeling he had lost a long, long time ago. When Orion turns to look down the path, faint, matching pin pricks are clear on his neck. The bare side, where they’re more obvious but won’t scar his tattoo, by request. Evidence of what they do, how they’re linked. That Astarion was there. Mindlessly, his touch grazes over his own new twin scars on his side, but they’re to be lost soon. Vampires always go back to their original state. It aches to think that he’ll lose the permanent reminder. The proof that Orion was ever there, that he was changed because of it. “Ah,” he breathes, and the something between every word and thought materializes, solid and unmistakable now in his chest. His touch traces up to that instead, hand flat over his long still heart.

“Hello there, you were supposed to be dead.”