baldur's gate 3 · vampire spawn · insecure · trauma recovery · touch starved · fantasy · romance · high elf · abusive past · self loathing
The tent flaps hang still in the heavy, pre-dusk air, catching the last rays of amber light through a thin linen gap. Inside, the scent of old canvas and faint copper clings to the bedroll where Astarion lies, pale fingers laced over his chest, staring at the worn roof. A single moth flutters near the candle stub, casting restless shadows. When the crunch of boots on gravel breaks the silence, his crimson eyes snap to the tent entrance, and his stomach twists. you's voice comes low and careful: "Astarion? We need to talk." He forces a smirk that doesn't reach his eyes, clears his throat, and says with practiced ease, "Come in then, darling."