#tw: profanity

[comatosebunny09]

with a pretty bow on top | astarion a.

summary: you’ve never been particularly good at wrapping things. but you want to ensure your friends have the best gifts of all, including a certain snarky elf who’s difficult to please. genre(s): romance, fluff, modern au, friends to (possible) lovers warning(s): alcohol, profanity, mentions of blood, mutual pining notes: merry chrysler! i hope everyone has a lovely christmas! thank you so much for reading! screenshot credit

For the umpteenth time, the paper rips. 

And for the umpteenth time, you feel this is a lost cause. Deflate like a balloon, a sigh rushing past your lips.

You’ve never been particularly good at wrapping things. Usually had your mother or roommate to carry that burden. 

You routinely opt for gift bags. Easier to drop a present inside, dress it up with pretty tissue paper and a witty card, and go about your business. 

But you made a terrible mistake, forgoing the convenience store in your haste to get to your Airbnb.

It’s a tucked-away cabin in the woods. Secluded and ominous, shrouded by the night. The pristine blanket of snow building outside makes up for its creepiness. It’s nice to be away from the city, too, surrounded by people you adore. People who’ve filled the space between your ribs for years. 

On cue, their merriment reaches your ears, streaming from the kitchen. 

They’re hammered. You should be, too. But you want to ensure your friends have the best gifts of all. Wrapped neatly and tucked beneath the Christmas tree, waiting to be ripped open come morning. 

You huff, balling up another sheet of paper and chucking it. 

Errant pieces of tape litter your clothing. Strips of foil wrapping paper gleam in the light emitted from the fireplace. The ribbons you haphazardly cut shift in the ceiling fan’s breeze. Your battlefield. 

The medium-sized box sitting between your spread legs leers at you condescendingly. You fold your arms, nudging it with your foot. 

“I’m not your bitch,” you mutter, turning your nose up with a scowl. 

“Well, that’s no way to greet an old friend.” 

You start, your attention pilfered by the man wandering towards you. 

He paints an ethereal picture in the firelight, curls flouncing about and glowing like a halo around his head. A bottle of wine and two Bordeaux glasses greet you from between his fingers. He wears that effervescent smirk beneath round frames. Brow pitches up with amusement, gait flamboyant whilst the kitchen blurs behind him. 

You swallow, your lips trembling around a greeting when he plops down beside you. Cross-legged, scooting closer like a friend bearing gossip. Fills your lungs with the smell of brandy and cracked vanilla beans. He’s naturally corpse-cold, but the slightest bit of warmth radiates off his skin, permeating through the layers of your clothes. 

Must’ve fed on something viscous wandering the woods before he found you.

He brings you back when he pushes a glass into your hand. 

“I was wondering where you’d wandered off to,” Astarion purrs, his tone colored with alcohol. With your breath held in your esophagus, you watch as he pops the stopper off the bottle with a pointed tooth. Spits it out. “Mind if I impede on your party of one?”

Your lips twitch. Like you’d ever say no to him. “Course not.”

And no, you do not nearly jump some 50 feet out of your skin when limber fingers curl around yours, bringing the glass up for him to fill it. He catches your stare over the rim, scarlet spun eyes alight with mischief. You look away as heat branches up your neck. 

The dark liquid sloshes about as he fills his own glass. Fizzles, the sweet fragrance curling around your nose. “Finally, some good shit,” you breathe, taking a sip. Release a content sound as it bubbles on the back of your tongue. The burn of it washes over your nerves, loosening them.

Astarion scoffs, leaning back on the hand he positioned behind you. Adam’s apple bobs in your peripheral as he takes a swig. He redirects his attention to you, something of a pout occupying his lips. “Darling, you wound me. As if I would bring anything worse than that cheap excuse for booze you lot rave about. Four Loko, was it?” 

You snicker, nursing your glass. Turn the stem between your fingers, examining the hardwood floor beneath. 

Sure, he’s always had this thing with you. This way of squeezing himself beneath your skin where no one else could, turning you into some flustered mess. But you can’t deny you’ve missed his company. His eccentricities. His smell.

The years have dragged you all apart. Pushed you in different directions, your careers casting you out to sea. But like driftwood, you all floated back to shore. United under the same roof to celebrate Christmas and usher in the new year.

It’s a pleasant sensation, idling with the wine warming your veins.

The hum of his voice eases through your musings. “Mm, what’s this about?” Astarion queries around another mouthful of wine, signaling to the massacre at your feet. 

You shrink. An uneasy smile rounds your cheeks. “Yeah, about that. Kinda got carried away.” 

“Carried away? By the hells, it looks like you got into a fight with a pair of scissors and…lost. Abysmally.”

You snort. “Alright, alright. Take it easy. We can’t all be gifted with our hands like some people, Mister Art Teacher.” 

Your stomach plummets. Blood turns to ice. The double entendre hits you like a sack of coal. You bring your glass to your lips to mask your unease. To mask the shakiness of your limbs. 

Astarion exudes smugness, admiring his nails with a flourish of his fingers. “Well, these hands aren’t just made for sculpting works of art, my dear.”

You sputter, speckles of wine flying everywhere. 

Astarion chuckles, the sound of it smooth as velvet. Leans closer, his elbow brushing your thigh as he reaches for something in front of you. You stiffen, biting the rim of your glass. It’s almost like you two haven’t been friends for years. Haven’t seen each other bleed, cry, piss, for God’s sake. 

“Come,” beckons Astarion, taking up a roll of wrapping paper and plucking the box from between your legs. 

You huff a disbelieving laugh. “What are you doing?” 

He scoffs. Side-eyes you as if it’s as apparent as night and day. “Well, clearly, no one’s taught you the art of wrapping a bloody gift. I mean, look at this. A child could do better.”

Your shoulders touch your ears. Astarion’s disapproval is akin to upsetting your parents. Even after all this time apart, he still knows how to lay the insults on thick. 

It’s kind of comical how he grumbles like an embittered old woman, unraveling some of the paper. Still methodical in everything he does, positioning the box in the center. Concentration pulls his brows together. “Fetch me that tape.”

You give him an incredulous look. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you relent before doing as he demanded instructed. His fingers ghost over your hand in pursuit of the tape, and you bristle. 

Astarion goes into full scholar mode hereon, paper rippling around him as he cuts away. Moves like a butler masterfully laying out a tablecloth. No trace of inebriation lies in the shift of his fingers. It’s as if he hadn’t polished off a bottle of brandy before finding you. 

“Typically, wrapping paper comes with a template. A set of squares or lines you can use to gauge where you need to cut.” 

He gestures for the scissors. You scramble for them like a student eager to please their instructor. 

“Depending on how precise you want the wrapping to be, you must trim off as much excess as possible whilst ensuring you have enough left to cover your parcel.”

“Interesting.”

You angle yourself closer, sitting up on your haunches. The bulb of your glass grows warm, stained with your fingerprints. You nod, genuinely intrigued. Chin finds the pocket of his shoulder—an affectionate gesture amongst longtime friends. 

Astarion tenses. You wince, flinching away.

“Sorry.”

“No, no. It’s quite alright, darling.” He clears some phlegm from his throat. Squeezes your kneecap, presenting you with a fraction of a smile. Dragonflies tickle the lining of your stomach. He resumes his lesson as if his muscles aren’t pulled taut. 

Your lips twitch. Seems Astarion’s not the only one capable of disarming those around him. 

You cant your head along the slope of his shoulder, watching him work with the curiosity of a child.  

“It helps to tape here.” Carefully, he layers a strip of tape near the edge of the box where paper meets cardboard. “So as to keep your paper from shifting.”

As Astarion leads on, you find yourself terribly distracted. Your vision ebbs and flows. Body buzzes. From his proximity or the wine, you’re unsure. It’s a pleasant sensation, nonetheless.

The cacophony of the cabin and your friends fade into a dull hum. Only the rumble of Astarion’s voice fills the wrinkles of your brain. He’s surprisingly nurturing despite how he outwardly projects himself to the world. Soothing as he speaks to you, gaze occasionally flitting your way to ensure you’re still with him.

Try as you might to focus, you find your lids drooping, your vision blurred around the edges. An inebriated smile teases your lips. You could fall below the inky depths of sleep like this, led into it by his voice. Still would feel perfectly safe on your descent, knowing he’d be there to haul you back to the surface. 

You sit up to take him in. To observe the furrow of his brows, the coil of his lashes. The gilded lenses perched on his nose like a librarian. His mouth pulls into a tight line while he focuses. Plump and petal pink. Skin’s still smooth and dewy, glowing in the firelight like he’s descended from heaven. His hands move seemingly of their own volition. Caught in a dance he knows all too well, still pretty and delicate-looking, untouched by time. 

You imagine what they’d feel like, clasped in yours. Thumb cruising over the grooves of your knuckles, pushing reassuring beneath your skin. How he’d look with a careless smile, whispering the sweetest supplications into the crown of your head.

Reality comes pitching forward, the moment ending too soon. 

You blink out of your reverie as Astarion slides the box toward you. It softly thumps against your leg. Expertly wrapped with a bow in its center and ribbons waterfalling down its sides. You stare in awe. You could never master something so intricate. 

“And that, my dear, is how you wrap a present.” Astarion pats your thigh with finality before leaning back with a sigh. Looks smug as ever whilst taking a sip of his forgotten wine. 

You smirk. Offer Astarion a half-hearted applause, and he eats it all up.

“I envy whatever bastard receives this, honestly,” he croons around the mouth of his cup. “I outdid myself.”

You chuckle. Your inhibition is thrown to the wolves. You eye the present, your body vibrating with anticipation. Maybe it’s the liquid encouragement urging you forward, loosening your tongue. Whatever the cause, you push on. 

“I mean, I’d hope he likes it. He took his time wrapping it, after all.”

Astarion casts you a sidelong glance. Snorts into his glass. Realization gradually descends on his features. It’s funny watching his face morph into something akin to a confused puppy.

You shrug, caught like a child rifling through a cookie jar. It takes a moment, but his brows finally lift with an unasked question. 

Seriously, they ask. For me? 

You reach for the box, pointedly avoiding his stare. The heat of bashfulness inhabits your cheeks as you carefully slip the box into his lap. Your hand lingers. Fingers tenderly grip the meat of his quad, stars dancing across the stratosphere of your eyes when you muster the courage to look at him.

“Merry Christmas, Starry.”

He sputters. Sits up. Glances between you, the box, and the clock perched above the mantle. It’s midnight. Tradition dictates you open one present at the cusp of Christmas day.  

Astarion laughs, something airy and pleasant. His hand closes over yours, and he squeezes. He’s beautiful like this. Youthful as he glances up at you, his mouth working around a reply.

“You cheeky little shit. Making me wrap my own gift. The gall.”

He acts offended, but you know that couldn’t be further from the truth. 

“Would you rather I have wrapped it?”

You both warily eye your shit attempts at wrapping his gift. 

“Fair enough,” he jests with a resigned drop of his shoulders. 

You share a laugh, the air between you charged with affection. Through it all, you note Astarion’s hand has yet to leave yours. Thumb kneads reassuring circles into the clutch of your hand. Your heart thrums a war cadence in your ears, blotting out the sound of his wine glass clinking against the floor as he sets it down.

He releases a breath. Observes you a moment longer with a warm smile on his lips. Shifts his gift onto the floor beside him. “Come here,” Astarion murmurs, saturating your vision with nothing but him as he leans closer.

You heed his request, and your lids lower, a pleasant shiver sifting through your bones at his glacial fingers at the nape of your neck. You have but seconds to appreciate the flutter of his lashes before he closes in.  

He fuses his lips to yours with such precision. Tender, supple. Just like you always dreamed they would be. He’s frigid, but he scorches you from within. Gently takes possession of your cheek, coaxing your lips to part with the slide of his tongue after your body relaxes. 

You grant him the entry he requests with an abrasive sound easing from your throat. Warmth pools in the chasm of your belly whilst your tongues intermingle and the maple taste of brandy pushes into your mouth. 

His voice vibrates in your mouth as he chuckles something satisfied. He breaks the kiss with a soft click, and you chase his mouth in pursuit of another. 

“Don’t be greedy, darling,” he husks with a teasing tap to your nose.

Your eyes cautiously slide open. Lips still pursed, head still swimming. “What was that all about,” you breathe into the space between your mouths. 

Astarion chuckles, all fangs and mirth. You follow his gaze skyward, a blur of forest green and red nestled between the space of your lashes. Slowly, the distortion works itself into discernable shapes. You laugh at the telltale plant dangling above your head. Held by him.

“Mistletoe,” he croons as if it’s the most obvious thing.

You giggle, your nose brushing along the peak of his whilst you draw him in to press your foreheads together.

The time eases by with you sitting together by the fireplace, your cheek resting on Astarion’s shoulder as you regale stories of a childhood once passed. Hardly notice when you’re beckoned to sleep by the pretty girls of slumber.

[hello-its-j10]

we love posting out of context stuff, right guys??? :D

this is just a little au that im not gonna elaborate on !

[heyhoneyfox]

(When Philip is about to knife fight Caleb)

Philip: it's a coffin

Philip: there's a name engraved on it

Philip: "whore"

Philip: IT'S EMPTY

Philip: AND YOU'RE GOING IN

[small-world-au]

Does Sora curses?

Not really, only a few “damn”, “ass”, and “hell” he drops out there.

[inkypaws15]

I might ship Specimen 4 with one of the canon characters in Avatar out of fun.

The first three mentioned are Jake, Quaritch, and Tsu'tey. The last three can be whoever.

[lizzieissilly]

why the fuck does this (nearly) match the beats of drop pop candy (rachie n jubyphonic's)

(I am listening to it, depends on the timing)

@stargazingezekiel

He do his little dancey dance

[cosybunny]

Dabi steals the plot for a whole chapter: a More Human Than Human WIP preview

Now that I've finished his unplanned shenanigans, I would like to present some snippets. I feel like it's a good taste of how this fic runs between serious and crack with no breaks for snacks. (there are some breaks for snacks). This round of WIPs is especially dedicated to that wonderful person who said they love this fic. <3 Thank you, it made my whole week.

Tumblr stuffed the image quality into a circus cannon and shot it out of the tent. Click to see high res editions, or click read more for the text versions.

Mind the tags!

MoreHumanThanHuman!Dabi:

Also MoreHumanThanHuman!Dabi:

Bonus round: I really wanted to share this last part because I like to think I'm hilarious and it makes me giggle every time I look over it.

The text versions:

Snippet 1:

He closes his eyes as he brings it to his lips and lights it in his cupped hand. Sucks in the smoke, tilts his head back. Fucking perfect. He holds it inside him for as long as he can, then blows it out, nice and slow. Opens his eyes and feels faintly more cognizant of the goings-on around him. The remnants of that man are smouldering. The scorch mark runs up the wall, across the ceiling. He would’ve brought it down on their heads if he kept going.

That damn kid is still crying.

The cigarette crumples between his clenching fingers. He glares in that direction, straight at the woman who’s got her arms around the snotty brat. The noise makes his head ring. He can’t stand it. Blueflame spits sparks from his hand as he snaps his fingers at them. “Shut your kid up, or I’ll shut him up for you!” Dabi snaps.

Snippet 2:

“Alight. See those?” He points to the vending machines. They’re tall, white, with illuminated shelves and informational stickers plastered all over the sides. It’s branded by Hosu City transportation services. It’s older than it looks; there’s still a picture of Ingenium on the side, and that hero was taken out by Stain before Dabi had even joined the League. Jun nods, so Dabi continues, “Pick something to eat or drink. I don’t care what it is.”

“Um.” Instead of picking something, Jun continues to stare. Did he stare this much when he was a kid? Christ, no wonder he was so punchable. “Your quirk ate that guy. Is your quirk going to eat me?”

Dabi lifts an eyebrow. “My quirk eats snot-nosed brats who don’t do what I say, yes.”

This provides the snot-nosed brat sufficient motivation to stop looking at him and devote his big, shiny eyes towards the tight-packed shelves of the vending machine. “Can I have something for momma, too?”

The idea of getting a snack paid by the villain who burned someone alive and stole her kid makes Dabi snort. Well. It’s audacious. He’s got five hundred yen burning a hole in his pocket and the brand of cigarettes he steals from Jin starts at six hundred a pack, so. “Sure, if you get me something too.”

Snippet 3:

The moment’s there, and then it’s gone. He’s crushing up the empty box and tossing it into a trashcan when his phone goes off with a text. He looks away from the kid so he can check his screen. Gets another buzz. The first text is Duster, telling him in stupid gamer-speak that it’s time to load into the getaway van and burn rubber. The second’s from Spinner, DABI THERE’S A WOMAN SCREAMING IN HERE PLEASE TELL ME YOU DIDN’T LITERALLY JUST KILL HER CHILD WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU OH MY GOD DABI WHAT THE FUCK—

He smirks, sends Shigaraki a thumbs-up and texts Spinner a deadpan ‘what child,’ because he knows it’ll make things so much worse. He mutes his phone before he pockets it. Always the same pocket, doesn’t want to lose it again. He pulls himself upright and strolls over to Jun. Dabi leans over his shoulder, dwarfing him.

He tuts. “You’re supposed to push the marble down,” and does it for him by hitting the top of the bottle. He steals a swig from it, then gives it back to the little brat and pats his head condescendingly. “When the police come, hide the snacks and make sure you cry extra hard if they question you about the big scary villain who took you.”

Jun squints at him. “What if I don’t wanna?”

Dabi sighs, rummages in his pocket. “Well, I’ve already shown you murder, so let me introduce you to something else every villain should have in their toolkit, kid.” He withdraws his closed fist, offers it out. When he reaches out, he opens his palm and turns it, leaving Jun with the paltry sum of change he’s got left. “It’s called bribery, and it’s your best friend.”

[rhys-ravenfeather]

When you try to show a family member evidence that autism has always been around and it still doesn't sink in on them.

[mageofspacemultiverse]

gonna sew her in too? do you actually think of her as a matesprit? you're always in denial about it, good to hear you have the bulge to actually say what you want for once

Here we fuckin' go again. You cunts can't keep yourself from dissecting the shit I say and how I say it. Do I look like some language expert?

Whatever the thing was that took her, it marked up the back of this ol' thing, and getting through the Barrier. She ain't my mate, but she's the one piece that hasn't been stolen from me. And if she got slaughtered savin' my life I can at least let her death have a bit more dignity than whatever twisted fantasy might be goin' on right where she is.

Even as he recites this coldly and with seemingly little regard for Athena, something about it just feels like bullshit. He let go of a slave for being the same culture as Athena too, after all.

Athena's mine. The coat's mine. Long as you aren't stupid at math, that one shouldn't be hard to figure out.

[samsgoddess]

VENTING POST!!!

I just saw a post that essentially said the OP wanted to ban a particular kink for writers simply because they didn't like it. And this post had nearly 100 likes.

So lemme tell OP and those post likers a lil something...

FUCK THE FUCK RIGHT OFF!!!

That sentiment is many, many things... all of them ugly. Let's see...that's censorship. That's...kinkshaming. That is... rude and stupid and downright damned lazy.

If you are reading on AO3 learn to use the fucking filtering system! If you are reading here on tumblr... block the fucking tag and any other related tags! If an author doesn't tag their works properly and you end up seeing this despite filtering, blocking etc... message them and give them shit for it. Or just nicely say "hey dude tag properly please"... depending.

Some people LIKE certain things and want to see them, want to read and/or write them. Just because YOU do not, does not give you the right to say the rest of us can't enjoy the thing.

I apologize in advance but that post really really got to me and I needed to say something.

[your-daily-snl]

Splash Zone, starring Chris Farley and George Clooney as two guys who try their luck at a sea park and end up making a big splash.

Original Air Date: 1995

[sonhosdostemposperdidos]

Fuck Apollo

[kathegoose]

Because @damion-the-skeleton wanted the meme in the corner 😼👍

(i have no idea of the source, someone pinged me in a discord server to this image)

i love the mimij mimic the mimic huuuytggghghhgjfhhhb mimir

Sometimes when i see mimic content I jump off my bed and start full-on running in my house aimlessly (much to my family's dismay, especially during the late hours) and then I return and start to violently wiggle my legs highschool anime girl style /srs

[aidensm8]

Finally got the motivation to draw another part of Chapter 3. Logan is a mood.

[theloveinc]

OlderDad!Bakugou who gets a haircut and his baby doesn't recognize him and he doesn't want his dad to pick him up 😭😭😭😭😭😭

Bakugou has a cry in the bathroom and you have to spend the rest of the night consoling him.

Also Hiiiiiii, miss u, hope youre gooooood

head in my hands bc of this, just thought abt bakugo growing out his hair a little bit right after baby's birth...takes him months to go and get a real haircut cuz he doesn't wanna burden you more than he already has and by the time he's okay with the thought (but only for "AN HOUR MAX," is what he says), he has a mullet thing going on and all this scruff on his chin🥺🥺🥺

so he gets home with his regular ol' haircut, maybe a little shorter just to account for ... not wanting to go again so soon, and baby's HOLLERING bloody murder as soon as they see him and refusing to be taken out of your arms, doing that thing where they're flipping their face back and forth to dodge a kiss...

it's so tragic bc not even a little cheek nuzzling helps to calm them bc bakugo's CLEAN SHAVEN and smells like aftershave instead of like dad when he tries!!!!!!

and after, you watch him kinda sulk into the bathroom, thinking like aw yeah thats a bummer but also pretty funny, too (esp bc the haircut does look good🫣🤓), AND HE DOESN'T COME OUT FOR LIKE an hour???

....until you finally have to ask him if he's okay in there and you're opening the door to him sitting on the toilet seat, arms crossed and red cheeks a little streaky with tears...

LJFKASDJFADSJK it's the cutest, most sad sight you ever did see!! ofc Bakugo tries to deny it, but the way he tears up again (after you're done assuring him he did nothing wrong) when his baby finally realizes it's him and smiles (and then how he refuses to give them up again until bedtime) has his ass. EXPOSED.

(i love and miss u more than air, earth, water, dirt + HOPE YOU'RE GOOD TOO BESTIE ILY)

[taiga-atetheluck-boom]

missing him while he's on tour ~ stray kids fake texts

members: bang chan

genre: comfort, fluff

warnings: pet names, seperation anxiety, crying, profanity

a/n: for some reason it's not letting me reorder the pics so read the one on the right first

work made by me, reblogs are appreciated but please don't repost.

dividers made by me, please don't use or claim as yours.

post date: 2/7/25

queue post date: 2/9/25