28, She/Her, 18+ Only. Hi there! This blog is where I daydream that all my faves love me and I'm God's specialest princess, lol. Most of this is reblogs, but I post some original stuff sometimes too
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one of my most favoritest bg3 fandom ideas is of astarion starting to get close to tav because they genuinely find him funny and just like interacting with him 🥺 would you ever do hcs of him and tav goofing off together and how that would be for him? especially if its with a tav where he would not expect that sort of humor to work. like he makes a frankly rude comment and looks over and that mousy little goodie two shoes is holding back tears of laughter... oh i just love it so... ty either way!!!
YESSS ASTARION REALIZING PEOPLE WANT HIM FOR HIS PERSONALITY AND NOT HIS UTILITY
Astarion's humor (with tav)
i absolutely do think this is something he adores about his dynamic with tav
i see Astarion's humor as something he developed to keep himself afloat, so many of his one-liners slip out without him realizing. he's got a natural wit
so when tav starts laughing at his jokes and noticing them, he notices
initially, it's another way to manipulate you. it's an easy plus for him. you like his humor, so swaying you to his cause will be easier
since he's so used to people using him, i don't think he makes the connection between you liking his humor to you liking *him*
he's grown accustomed to being used. he expects people to consider him a form of entertainment or an instrument of amusement, not a person.
i can imagine that with Cazador, his humor was either exploited or punished. more often punished, i predict, since Astarion most likely developed his sense of humor as a way of claiming some semblance of personhood back from Cazador.
i think Astarion's humor is closely tied to his self-image. and since he expects people to see him as scarce more than a pretty face, i think he imagines his humor to be a similar tool.
just as he values his appearance, he values his humor. they're both assets that he has that he can use as tools.
as your relationship progresses, Astarion relishes in your amusement. not because of manipulation. because it's an indicator that you like some part of him.
his humor is (arguably, to me) one of the more genuine parts of him. he doesn't fake it. so when it charms you, he appreciates that.
he tries to make you laugh. if you do laugh, he feels accomplished. if you don't, he's frustrated, but does take note of how to improve his tactics.
if you start trying to make *him* laugh? he does find it cute, in a way. or annoying. depending on his mood and how close the two of you are.
if he thinks you're funny, your laughter means all the more to him.
speaking of that, i think Astarion's sense of humor borders Shakespearean. wit, insult, detail, and drama. if your humor mirrors this, he treasures having a companion who can keep up with him
he also dies find humor in the misfortune of others. if you steal something from someone, beat someone up, humiliate someone... these will sometimes lead to his giggle
[AN: did you know that Neil Newbon based Astarion's giggle off of Tom Hulce's role of a young Mozart in Amadeus?? fun stuff. Neil is amazing. I can't find the interview i'm thinking of for the life of me, but he said that he wanted Astarion's laugh to mimic a satirical "high class" laugh. this ties in to the ideas about Astarion's humor being part of his image.]
Astarion's ideas of power, influence, and authority absolutely tie in to his humor. finding amusement in suffering places him -- at least, in his mind -- above those who are suffering. it's a separation of roles.
insult is his favorite form of comedy, i think. it goes back to his preference of elevating himself above others. insulting and demeaning other people is a way to do that.
he looooves to gossip. go to his tent, spread a rumor about a campmate, and find a clever way to insult them -- this makes him enjoy your company more. or insult the enemies your fighting. but insulting campmates is more messy, and therefore more fun (to Astarion). just don't believe he'll keep what you said to himself unless you're quite close with each other.
talking shit about people is among his favorite forms of comedy. i'll have to find some voice lines later but... that's what i gather from him.
bonding with Astarion through comedy does often mean putting others down together. but he is rather good at it -- he's hilarious
someone piss you off while you were away from home? he's sat. a friend said something idiotic? the drinks are poured. saw someone in a horrific outfit? he's snuggled in his blankie with a shit eating grin.
if your tav is generally a nice person, he *adores* being the person who brings out your petty side. he likes having something that draws you in.
unfortunately, it takes him a pretty long time to realize that you like his humor because you like *him.* if you told him this, he'd probably give you some attitude about not thinking he's actually funny and be annoyed that you lied about his ability to make you laugh (like when he gets annoyed about some of the comments you make during the mirror conversation... if you say his hair curls around his ears, he says he doesn't need poetry or something)
but it starts to make sense after a while. it's similar to how he likes the way you laugh, or the way you look at him. it's something distinctive. something that makes you the way you are. and he realizes that his humor, something he reclaimed and worked to make his own, is something you see as making him himself. and you love him. gods, is he grateful.
[AN: whether he has this realization without a direct comment or conversation, or how many years it takes him to realize it... i'll leave that up to you]
Kurt gives peak after-the-act cuddles and I refuse to believe otherwise. Man's all sweet words and soft kisses and is probably still touching you all over to show he loves you.
.... okay and maybe to try and see if he can rile you up for a round two if he hasn't drained your stamina lol
He gives both peak after-the-act cuddles and during-the-act cuddles if you ever need them. Sometimes innocent enough cuddles is what gets you two into the act in the first place, because with Kurt Wagner the line gets as blurred and thin as you allow it.
He is sure to get handsy post-coitus, but he does so in a manner that doesn't imply anything if you're not in the mood. He won't just grab your ass or squeeze your breast — but slide the very tip of his tail along the back of your thigh or caress your waist with his thumb. Gentle little teases that may rekindle your interest just as easily as they may lull it to sleep, and he'll be fine with either.
Besides, cuddling with him gives you as much opportunity to touch him too, and Kurt loves being touched. Feeling your nails gently rake down his chest, watching your fingers disturb his fur and make it shimmer under the dimmed light — it seizes his heart with an ache he's yet to tell you about. Sex is intimate, but this is vulnerability in the same manner metal becomes malleable after being heated. Kurt is used to letting his appreciation be known, and he's nothing if not excellent at making you feel desired, admired, loved. Yet having you caress his features and look at them — at this dichotomy of handsome and repelling — with such unmasked tenderness almost makes him feel caught off guard. Him, the ever-confident lady-killer Nightcrawler! Oh, the things you are doing to him. You've no idea.
I need to make out with Kurt Wagner crazy style. Tongues out, gulping down saliva like mad dogs, breaths hot against each other's faces, and moans so loud they quiver, caught between our mouths, almost a palpable thing begging to be bitten. I need his teeth clanking against mine, catching on my lower lip; need the fur on his neck ruffled, hairs standing on end as if electrified by the sheer passion buzzing under his skin; need his hands under my shirt, nails scraping along the underside of my breasts, while my knee presses into his heavy, leaking cock — and I need it now.
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I'm not sure if such a thing as pussywarming exists, but if it doesn't, then Kurt Wagner would be the one to invent it.
And it would be a pure, honest-to-god accident. On normal days hardly anyone can rival Kurt's vigor or match his zeal when it comes to sex: you barely have to do or say anything to get him going, and the times your tricks didn't work on him you can count on one hand. He's easily excited, and such excitement doesn't dull until the very end when he holds you close, soft chest pressed against your own bare breasts, warm breaths intertwining, and bedsheets in a state of shameless ruin. He wants you, plain and simple, and he does so at all times. Even when he probably shouldn't.
The mansion is quiet without him, but every so often it feels even quieter when he's around — home at last after a mission that stretched on too long, completely worn-out. The ever-merry Nightcrawler, a bouncy ball of pure condensed energy, now sluggish and placid. Tail motionless with weariness and eyes narrowed into drowsy crescents. A bright spotlight that's started to flicker. And yet, against all common sense, he still wants you — and what he wants, he gets.
When he's in between your legs again, it's not with the cat-like grace and alluring cheekiness you've grown used to. No, his movements are stripped of any poise. He flops down onto your shared bed, wood creaking shrilly, and his face is darker than ever, shadows glum but not quite so much as to hide the sheer exhaustion sharpening his features. Your hand rests unsure atop his curls: you have half the heart to push him away and onto the pillows instead, but his grip on your thighs is so secure that your flesh wells up through the gaps between his fingers, skin dipping under nails that are starting to grow too long.
"Mein Herz, meine Seele, you need rest." You call for him, but it's left to float up under the ceiling, for his tongue is already sliding along the inside border of your panties, one fang catching on the fabric, and there is little you can do when Kurt looks up at you with such plea simmering in liquid gold.
"Then let me rest here." His breath is warm, silky against the crease of your thigh. "Here, where I'm wanted so."
You hesitate — a twitch of fingers — yet the lower part of your body reacts faster, Pavlovian in its readiness. The familiar weight of his face pressing right into your heat, the obscene drag of his inhale, air hiccuping in his throat as it fills with the scent of you: all the things that once made you squirm in embarrassment now ring like a silent bell. Your thighs fall open. Barely ten seconds later you're left bare and soft for him.
The hidden wet rosiness of Kurt's mouth envelops you, hot and gentle like a strike that is followed by a soothing caress. It makes you gasp, it makes him moan, as if the taste of you were the balm for his ache. Nose pressed into the slope of your pubis, he licks in wide, long strokes, but it's lazy, almost meditative, devoid of any need to feel you release around his tongue. As if simply being here is enough. As if his soul found the answer it's been tormenting itself over. His tail lays unmoving, and only unhurried puffs of air melt into the quietness.
You lie there watching the daylight slip off your ceiling, dragged away by the setting sun, and soon the slothful slides of tongue barely make you tremble any longer — you relax so completely, sprawled across downy pillows, you don't even notice at once when they stop completely. Kurt swallows around you, saliva squelching in his throat, and then he only breathes. When you get up on your elbows to glance down at him, the ember glow of his gaze seeps out from under his eyelashes like a thin sliver of light from under a lowered curtain. His face is softened, shadows thinned, lifted under the unruly curls, and you can't help but run your fingers between the arches of his eyebrows, where a worried crease is etched too deep for his age.
At your touch Kurt stirs. Inhales in a hitch. One eye opens just barely and then closes again. He's drowsing, you realize, and something about such a thought licks hotly in your belly. It's uncomfortable, it must be with how his neck is craned, yet as you shake him, shifting your hips, his unrelenting grip on your thighs tightens even more. No, you read in the way a snarl wrinkles his nose — soundless at first, but when you try again with a quiet "Come on, love, let's get you to bed" a rumble floods his mouth and cuts right through your core in a vibration that makes your knees pull together. Oh, alright. The message reads clearly.
You let go of him, hand falling helplessly, body relaxing yet again, and with a quiet resignation you watch Kurt's face smooth out, nose resting cosily in the tangle of hair between your legs, eyelashes unfluttering, and breathing deep, serene. He stays like that for hours, and somehow not even for a second does his mouth slide down your cunt, attached to it as if sewn together, and you let him rest — in his own way.
When he comes to your bedroom a week later, injured in a fight, step heavy with exhaustion, you already have an extra pillow for your hips and a thin blanket for your poor, weary lover. He doesn't ask, and you don't deny him. You simply open your legs, and he falls into you — a man who has finally come home.
Thriving off of the idea that part of the reason Astarion tells Tav the truth about his plan is that Tav constantly laughs at his jokes, comments, jabs - slowly realizing that somebody likes him for his personality and not just his body, then later on in act 3 puts extra effort into making them laugh because their smile and watching them trying to catch their breath from having so much fun is his favorite thing in the world okay thank you
Not if I can help it, you think, seeing the tall, lean man waiting for you at the end of the hall. You don't pause your stride, but you do start thinking.
Meryl was called away early this morning on urgent cartography business, due to the Southern Lands doing what they do best and suddenly turning and twisting away important ports and mines. Milly went with her, stuck to the hip as they are, but not before slipping you a dagger to hide on your person. "A present," she whispered with her sweet smile, "in case I'm not around with my axe!" It is made of mithril, meant to glow faintly when danger is near.
You do not have time to check the dagger, quick as you are coming to Bluesummers. But your mind likes to think it feels a heat from the dagger waking. Something is not right, not with this man.
"Your Highness," his smirk is telling as he bows low to you. Interesting, he hasn't bowed that low before. When he stands, he offers his arm—an invitation.
"I'm afraid I'm meeting my husband here soon," you say.
"Then I shall take only a moment of your precious time," he responds. His arm does not fall to the side. He means to talk with you somewhere else.
You have your papers. And your dagger. You fiddle with the locket around your neck before taking his arm. You're only mildly surprised to not feel actual oil from touching him. "Very well. What is it you want to talk about?"
The man hums as you both start walking. It is a bright day; sunlight dances down the alabaster columns to the left and small bugs buzz through the air. A tangle of ivy creeps up the banisters. "I have a few questions for you, Highness."
He pauses as a maid goes by. She barely glances at you two, hurrying a curtsied bow before rushing away to her duties. You merely nod, noticing the way Bluesummers glares after the woman. "Speak, then."
Bluesummers pulls you forward, barely making you trip. He merely smirks down at you as you fumble and look up at him, peevish. "My apologies, these legs of mine get the better of me sometimes!" When you steady yourself, he continues, "How have you liked the kingdom so far? It has been nearly a year since you wed our dear prince!"
Your lips purse. "I love JuLai," comes your practiced reply, the one you save for curious and well-meaning denizens, "it is a splendor to behold, and King Nai is a fair and kind ruler."
"And your husband? Are you two agreeing with each other?"
Agreeing? "I…suppose? We haven't had any large disagreements, if that is what you mean."
"Then it is both of you who are preventing an heir from being born?"
You stop talking. Bluesummers walks forward a few more steps, then stops walking. Your arm is in the iron grip of his elbow. "That," you say, "is a matter between myself and my husband."
"On the contrary, your Highness: it is the matter of the entire kingdom. The future of the land, I would say." Bluesummers' eyes turn toward you, wolf-gold and hunting. "And matters of the kingdom are my business, after all." He smiles at whatever look you have. "Do tell me, princess—is it an issue with your blood? We have physicians and magicians to help with it. No? Then the intimacy is the issue? I'm surprised, the prince has always seemed so vibrant and vigorous."
Your cheeks heat. You try pulling your arm out of his to no avail. "Tha-That is inappropriate—!"
Bluesummers yanks you close, suddenly, flush against him and his starched clothing. "Or perhaps," he hisses, "it is simply the prince himself? Does he not suite your outlander tastes? Do you wish to conquer us like your barbarian father conquered your own kingdom?" His smile has slipped away. Those eyes glow a dangerous yellow. "I beg of you to remember your place here, princess. The king expects an heir. That is what you agreed to. And if you won't give him one, well…things can be arranged."
There's a threat there. A cold, ancient threat every woman learns to fear. Grinding your teeth, you spit back, "If you're so concerned about an heir, have Nai marry someone and give it!"
"King Nai's seed is too precious to be wasted on the frivolous women of this world."
You reach for your sleeve, the small, thin dagger from Milly hot on your arm. The hilt comes out, but Bluesummers is quick. The blade slices your arm as he takes it from you and points the blue, glowing dagger at your stomach. "Or perhaps we shall go with the original plan: get rid of you, and allow Vash to marry someone more suitable."
You play the part, reaching up to your locket and gasping, subtly unlocking it and touching the paper within. "Marath," you say, and disappear from Bluesummers' sight and grip.
You aren't sure if he screams after you. It doesn't seem his nature. But you collapse on the outskirts of JuLai, just beyond the walls. Your skirts are muddied, and there are a thousand bugs ready to crawl on you as you gasp and try to get air back in your lungs. You hate that spell.
But what you hate more is Bluesummers. The lying snake who finally bared his fangs. He who sent that assassin nigh a month ago. You're lucky his poison missed you…for now.
You stand after a moment. Some denizens walking in through the nearby gate pause at your appearance. One, a farmer and his two sons, stop their ox cart and call out. "You alright there, my lady?"
Well, nothing to do about your ruined clothes. You manage a bright smile and walk toward them and the path. "Yes, quite! Just got a bit carried away with my study of the plants."
He gasps. "Your arm..."
Ah. There is that, too. Blood slowly trickles down your skin and drips to the ground. Your lips thin. "Um, yes, do you happen to have bandages?"
As the youngest farm boy wraps your arm with what they have, you pause and look over their wares. "Tell me, are you going to market? Would you mind if I tagged along for a moment?"
The farmer takes off his hat and bows his head. "Be an honor!" He ignores the strange looks his sons give him and clears a bit of the back lip of the cart. "Here, to rest y'er feet!"
You settle on the cart, and you're off through JuLai in a moment. As the cart sways and you bat away the incessant summer flies, you pull out a sheet of paper and whisper the words you write with the pen you hid in your bodice: "Meet in garden. Developments in case." Then, you say the words meant to transfer your message to Vash's own paper on his person. The words disappear as though blown away.
Now, there is only to plan. And hope Vash does not overreact too egregiously.
Thinking about the first time you hold Prince!Vash’s hand
Not while trying to move through a crowd. Not because you’re forced to dance in front of others.
But just because.
You’re out on one of the balconies in the early morning. Air is nippy with fall coming in. It’s been four months since your wedding.
Wolfwood sees you first, walking alongside the Prince in the hall. He nudges Vash and points. “She look lost to you?”
No, you don’t. In fact you look content, leaning against the railing like that, overlooking the distant forests surrounding the city. Vash moves without thinking, opening the doors and coming to your side. Wolfwood nods and takes up post at the doors. No need for someone to interrupt.
You startle at his appearance, but settle just as quickly. “Am I intruding?” He asks.
You shake your head. “Not at all.” One of your shy smiles peaks out. He’s been getting more of those lately. Much better than the blank stare he used to get. Very pretty. “I was just thinking it would be nice if someone was here.”
Bolstered by your invitation, your husband leans against the railing as well. The trees along the horizon have orange and red mixed with their yellowing leaves now. Outside the castle walls is a hammering—probably a blacksmith starting their day. A crisp breeze blows by.
Vash tries to look at you through the corner of his eye. You’re dressed for the day, of course, your hair pulled up and out of your face. It’s a nice face. Very pretty. Need to think of something else to describe her, he scolds himself. Nai would bite his ear off if he knew how dull his speech is getting.
“I used to,” he starts, clears his throat when you look at him, then looks back at the trees, “I used to ride my horse out there. Especially around this time of year. It’s very nice to hear the leaves, very…crunchy.” Vash feels himself flush. You’re talking about dead leaves, of all things?
That shy smile comes back. “My siblings and I would do the same in our forests. I love the crunch of leaves underfoot. Though, my brother would find worms and other bugs in them to terrorize the little ones.”
He feels his blush lessening, perhaps because of the air. “It didn’t bother you?”
You shrug, “Someone had to be the barrier between them when he tried putting the bugs in their dresses. I got used to it.” Though, you do scratch the back of your neck as if feeling a critter crawl there.
Vash hums. "Perhaps we could go riding today?" You look at him again, and he tries to not hunch his shoulders. "It's a nice day, after all."
Your lips press together. "Don't you have meetings throughout the day? I certainly do."
He smiles. "What's the use of our titles if we can't do what we want every now and then?"
The stare you give has his blush creeping up his neck and ears again. Just as he's about to retract his statement, you laugh. It's a wonderful sound; he doesn't think he's heard it before, but it is...nice. Very pretty.
"I suppose," you say, allowing another chuckle out, "we could cancel a meeting or two."
Victory: he both made you laugh and got you to agree to his shenanigans.
Just as he's about to turn back and cause the havoc promised, you do the strangest thing: you take his hand in yours, and squeeze. "Thank you," you murmur. Your hand is cold. He wonders then why he hadn't thought of fetching you a coat. But then he focuses on your grip. Soft. Small compared to his own. The barest of ink stains under your nails. The smile you give is a warm fire on a dark night.
He realizes, distantly, he's never truly felt your hands before; always focused on pulling you through the crowds when out and about, or dancing for everyone to see. There was never any time to consider...well, you.
He decides he likes the feeling of your hand in his. Very much so.
"For...what?" he finally asks.
You shrug. "For being kind. And dashing." You look away shyly at your statement.
His heart does a little lurch dance. His blush is full-force now. But, he does not pull away. Vash's own lips give a shaky smile back. "'Dashing,' huh?"
"Don't get a big head about it," you snip back.
He laughs and settles back on the railing, your side brushing his now, and thinks, maybe I could stay here just a little longer before I ruin Nai's day.
◉ Synopsis; A survivor of the Great Fall- a SEEDS scientist- finds Vash on their journey to endure the harsh conditions of No Man's Land
◉ Content; spoilers for Trigun Stampede, platonic to romantic headcanons, fluff, some angst, gn!reader, slight canon crossover
◉ A/n; these got kinda long, so bear with me lol. Hope you enjoy!
After the Great Fall, you'd lived on one of the surviving ships for a little under a century, going in and out of cryo-sleep. Over time, as the crew that was left pushed the Plants to their limits in order for the remaining occupants of the sip to survive, many of the Plants died. The ones that remained soon rebelled against their abusers
Not long after coming out of cryo-sleep for what you didn't know would be the last time, the sips alarms were blaring. You ran to check on the Plants, but nothing could prepare you for what you were about to experience
Inside the Plant room, each of the Plants pushed themselves to their limit, the energy output threatening to blow up the entire ship
You and the few others who managed to escape the blast were then thrust into a cruel, harsh environment, forced to make difficult decisions for the sake of survival
of the few that survived the blast, you were the only one to make it to the nearest town
the inhabitants of Jenora Rock were wary of you at first, but as you demonstrated knowledge and experience that would aid in their survival, they warmed up to you, and eventually trusted you as a friend and part of the community
Wanting to atone for the sins in your past, you spent much of your time attending to the Plants in Jenora Rock until an issue came up that even you couldn't deal with; One of the Plants was dying from overuse
That's when Vash showed up in town. He performed a miracle you couldn't explain; bringing the Plant back from the brink of death, thereby restoring water and resources to Jenora Rock
Afterwards, the townspeople asked Vash to work alongside you, to help keep the Plants functional- and he agreed, for a time
In the time you knew Vash while he briefly lived in Jenora Rock, the two of you became close. Your thoughtful, somewhat sad nature drew Vash to you, the mystery of what exactly caused your stoic nature eluding him until you decided to trust him completely
You disclosed to him the many sources of guilt that kept you up at night, the nightmares of repeating the mistakes of your past. Vash listened without judgement
In your short time with him, Vash became your most trusted confidant, your friend, and- you hoped- eventually something more
Beneath your stoicism was a powerful current of emotion- protectiveness, regret, passion and a drive to be different- to be better
Vash saw this deep undercurrent in you, and in it, his hope for humanity. That flicker of what humanity could be- the ability to grow and change, to learn from mistakes with grace and treat others with compassion
This affection wasn't one-sided either. However, not knowing of the extent of Vash's feelings for you, you remained quiet until it was too late
The day eventually came for Vash to leave Jenora Rock for reasons he couldn’t- or wouldn’t- explain
Little did you know, you'd see him again some years later travelling with a young woman and an old reporter. Your chance to voice what was never said all that time ago has finally come
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