#daff was there too

[darkxsoulzyx]

POV: YOU GO ON VACATION, FUCKED AROUND, AND FOUND OUT.

(Made this for a goofy AU me and friends are doing for Dakota/into the y/n verse)

Dakota has two new house cats guys— /lh

@bunmuffin @garbagechocolate @bbonkie @nebuladreamz

[coldblooded-angel]

Post-Saltburn AU!

Where Oliver meets someone who bears an eerie resemblance to the boy he loved put in the ground all those years ago. (aka Bobby Falls, a serial killer running from the law on vacation in the UK)

Oliver had to do a double take.

He recognized the slope of his shoulders, the shape of his legs. His hair was cropped short but he recognized him the same.

He buried the love of his life that summer. So why has he come to haunt him again?

[sirenvrse]

Sj2 au where bugs didn't come back for MONTHS

[imperial-daffodil]

Purple Team is back in business.

They look like a cover of a hard rock band album x)

Squid rock, to be more precise.

[smokedbeans]

It’s six am do I just stop trying to sleep and try again later

[blarrghe]

Haven't really been on Tumblr, haven't been promoting my stuff. Oops. Anyway, Whumptober.

The Purge of Wycome

M | Graphic Depictions of Violence | M/M | Canon-ish | ch. 5/? (Not more than ten on god) | 9,817

Summary: Taren Lavellan has been captured. The Inquisition searches for him in vain as Venatori cultists attempt to extract the secrets of the breach, rather painfully, from his marked hand.

Ch. 5 Snippet:

The Venatori fell easily. Too easily. Dorian wanted a fight. Toe to toe, round after round, firing everything he had against their demons and mages and the worst of their red lyrium-addled warriors. Instead he had The Iron Bull and Vivienne de Fer shattering warriors together like glass, Sera and Varric firing explosive shots to take out crowds of shades, Cole slipping through the lines with his daggers, and Cassandra, Blackwall, and the Commander all swiftly sweeping through the rest. Solas put up a barrier, and Dorian penned in what was left in the tunnel before them with a wall of flames. 

Finally, the twisting tunnels came to a dead end. Dorian stopped a ranting villain with a grotesque projection of red lyrium stuck through his chest from giving his sermon with a bout of walking-bomb. He only kept the barrier up to keep the gore at bay. 

The entire operation was reduced to ash in less time than it took to fix his hair in the mornings. 

Too quickly. He could have done that all day. 

But then they found him, and Dorian could do nothing

[barrenclan]

What did Slugpelt think of Duncan? Also did he and Daffodil grow old together as well?

I think she would have been a little skeptical of Duncan at first, mostly because she was like "this guy seems like a loser... I don't want a loser dating my daughter" but his sweetness and earnestness would make her come around eventually.

Daff and Duncan did grow old together, yes.

Listen, I've had to design literally hundreds of cats over the course of my two Warriors webcomics, I'm gonna repeat some design elements. I clearly have features I favor too; big ears is always a win from me.

[unfashionably-late-comics]

As the younger sibling myself, it was a requirement to put yucky food on my older brother's plate. This is just one of the many Sibling Rules we all must adhere to.

Bonus follow up conversation:

Daffy: Here Bugs, you can have my carrots

Bugs: Aw, thanks Daff~

Daffy, plate now full of non-vegetables: Sure, but you owe me

Yakko: You can have my carrots too!

Bugs: No, you kids have to eat your veggies

Yakko: :(

But Yakko never calls out his baby sibs because he's a good big bro.

[tomorrowsgardennc]

garden update // december 10

we finally have rain, hooray!

i have one 60 gallon rain barrel for about 4 years now that has been amazing since day 1. last year we invested in four 80 gallon rain barrels to capture rain and get us through long droughts and the setup we attempted to do just didn't work out. so for over a year, these 80 gals haven't been collecting anything due to a mixture of physical issues with both myself and hubs and just lack of funds to properly fix it. we finally gave up on the lack of funds and decided to undo the entire system and patch a lot of the work we did. patching is cheaper than trying to fix the setup we tried. we patched one barrel as a test, and it's working!!! so these next few weeks will be slowly patching the remaining three barrels and getting them all connected. only going to take a while because of our physical limitations, but it'll get done!!

speaking of physical limitations... i did NOT expect 200 daffodils to not only be so taxing to plant, but also how much room they would take!! but i wanted them in the ground before all this rain, and i legit cannot wait for spring now to see all of them pop up!

i ordered 100 of the standard yellow daffoldil and another 100 total of various kinds and mixed them all in. i *assumed* 200 daffodils would be the amount i need to take up a 14ft line where the front fence will eventually go... but turns out you only need 100, if even. so i took the rest and lined the raised beds that will have a trellis between them to provide the daffs some shade. there are also some anemones scattered amongst the daffs, and i really want more anemones but those will have to wait until next fall funds.

thats about it, though, for this week. been working on a lot of behind-the-scenes stuff not only for my website to get more online sales and just to make it better but also for an upcoming seed swap and volunteering marketing work for the farmers market too to prep for the 2025 opening. so much going on and i am so excite! later this week will be a lot of greenhouse work, also exciting! so many exciting things coming soon!!

[marylily-my-beloved]

A little dialouge snippet of Narcissa and Bellatrix talking after Andromeda runs away - 348 words !! @thevampireslovelywife hope you like it <333

--

“Let her leave Narcissa, it’s not like she wants us to chase her anyways. Stay with me, it’s better like this. You know what will happen if you try to escape.” Bellatrix said, trying to keep her voice level. 

“But Bells, she’s our sister. Doesn’t she love us? Doesn’t she even like us? I don’t want her to leave, I’ll miss her.” Narcissa sobbed out, collapsing to the floor. 

Bellatrix knelt down, facing Narcissa, caressing her face, “I know Daff, I’ll miss her too, but shes not one of us anymore, she left us for a guy. You know that she doesn’t love us.” Bellatrix choked up at her words, but stopped her crying quickly, focusing on keeping Narcissa with her, making her think that she’s the strong one. 

Narcissa collapsed into Bellatrix’s arms, sobbing there, “Bells. I thought Andy loved us, why doesn’t she? What did we even do—“ she cut herself off with even more sobs.

“Oh darling Daff it wasn’t what we did, it’s what we didn’t do. She hates people like us, that boy she ran off with hates us too, he brainwashed her. She’s always gonna hate us, it doesn’t matter that we’re her sister's Daff.” 

“I guess you’re right, Bells, it wasn’t meant to be. I’ll never even think of her again, since she hates us so much. Fuck, I wanna kill that little mudblood she’s with. I just, I just don’t even want to see her anymore.” 

“We’ll kill him Daff, we’ll kill her stupid mudblood husband, and I’ll never even mention her again, yeah? Just pretend you have one sister, just me and you against the world now.” 

“Yeah. Just Bellatrix and Narcissa. You’ll always love me right Bells?”

“Of course, always. As long as you don’t become like Andromeda I’ll always love you. Promise Daff.” 

“I’ll never be like her, I could never abandon my family. I could never abandon you, or Regulus, or even Sirius. We’re family. Family stick together.”

“That’s right Daff, family stick together. Me and you and Regulus. And Sirius if you feel like it.” 

--

i hope you guys liked it! because i cried.

[ar-lath-ma-cully]

and it slips through loose fingers - chapter 33

🌻read it here🌻

Rating: E / Fandom: Dragon Age / Pairing: Cullen/OC / WC: 100k / Chapters: 33/?

CW: low self-esteem, depressive thoughts

What happened? She mouthed again, a question in the furrow of her brow. As far as her memory was concerned, it had been Ellana who had almost died. And what of Solas? Cassandra?  “Something incredibly stupid.” Ellana’s voice quaked with anguish though she shed no tears. “You stepped in front of the Despair demon’s attack and took a blow meant for me as if you hadn’t expected the barrier you’d created to do what it was meant to. Did you want to die? Is that it?” Shaking her head, she took her sister’s hand, desperately squeezing it, but—did she? Did she want to die? You will only fail, as you always have, as you always will. Just as you failed all who have laid their trust in you. And you will fail her, too.

DAFF tag list: @warpedlegacy | @rakshadow | @rosella-writes | @effelants | @bluewren

@breninarthur | @ar-lath-ma-cully | @dreadfutures | @theluckywizard | @oxygenforthewicked

@exalted-dawn-drabbles | @blarrghe | @leggywillow | @plisuu | @hekaerges

[coldblooded-angel]

Heeeeey 👋🏽 I heard you wanted to talk about Challengers and I'm here to answer the call so here I goooo

One thing I adore about the movie is that this is truly a love triangle where all parties have incredible tension with each other. With Patrick and Tashi, it's already set up as a rivalry with how he's shocked she isn't going pro and choosing college instead. Meanwhile, imho, Art represents the "safe choice" for both Tashi and Patrick since we see how he tends to follow their leads. Patrick wants to check out the girls' tennis, he wants to go to the party afterwards, and he actively pursues Tashi with Art not being as open or loud compared to his bestie.

But then we see that while Tashi is okay with not being a homewrecker, as her career and love for the game come 1st, we see that Art is jealous of PatrickTashi relationship but he is more focused on Patrick (mentioning that Patrick's still together with Tashi, most of their tension isn't actually centered around Tashi but b/n Patrick and Art)

I'd say more but then this ask would be hella long lol. I do wonder how many almost kisses the boys might've had pre-Tashi and if they ever wondered what could've been if they hadn't gone for the same girl/Patrick choosing Tashi post almost threesome in the hotel room.

NEVER EVER ! APOLOGIZE FOR A LENGTHY ASK EVER !!!

I too am an avid fan of the biblically accurate love triangle. It is one of the best parts (and the literal backbone) of this movie. Like for me, this movie only works because of how strong each point of the triangle is (in relation to their tensions w one another)

I do love the idea that our baby Art is the “safe choice” but mostly because he is the most compliant only to a degree tho cuz we see that kitty’s got claws the instant he picks up he’s being left out. I think Art as safety net only exists as long as he is part of the equation in the first place.

I don’t necessarily think Tashi is a homewrecker but I think she was the first person to ever be perceived as a “threat” to the ArtPatrick relationship. Because prior to this, Patrick is so blasé about other girls so Art doesn’t care, until he does then he has to compete with tennis AND Tashi for Patrick’s attention.

Also, I like to think their compliance goes both ways because Patrick brings up Tashi to Art, he offers her as a choice and waits for Art to decide. They both implicitly ask each other for permission (only Patrick is much louder and therefore more obvious).

I think in a way Tashi was necessary. Neither of them were willing to make the first move with each other both blind as fuck and probably scared to lose their friendship but Tashi clocked that shit immediately. In a way she gave them permission to just forget everything and just be, they somehow felt safe with her (which is wild cuz THEY JUST MET???)

I am in between the idea that they either have had one kiss (during the first time they jerk off or after) or hook up on the reg to let off some steam and have a sort of understanding that feelings cannot be involved (they are theyre very dumb)

[trulybetty]

new years eve

pairing: dieter bravo x bryony morgan (ofc) word count: 4,565 warnings: nothing major, some angst, smoking & alcohol mentions summary: five new years firsts for Dieter & Bryony and one last New Year's ao3: linked

x. chiffon masterlist

The First New Year's Eve.

Bryony hadn't planned much for New Year's Eve. It was all very much Bridget Jones—sat wallowing under a blanket, a tub of ice cream and the threat of belting out 'All By Myself'. Even the weather outside seemed to mirror her mood. London was cold, damp, and certainly uninviting. She’d already scrolled through Instagram as friends and work colleagues posted pictures of glamorous parties and cozy family affairs.

She nursed her glass of wine as she stared out the window at the Thames, watching the city gather to prepare for the midnight fireworks. Bryony poked at the melting remains of her ice cream; she'd lost her appetite for it ages ago. She had in fact been invited to several parties, but with the way work had been amping up, and more talks of work out in LA, she was too tired to entertain anything. Plus, with Gina in New York now, her brother Rhys up north and her parents choosing to do a tropical New Year's that year—it was just her.

She hadn't heard from Dieter all day. Their relationship—or whatever this thing was between them—had been defined by late-night calls and text messages all the while balancing time zones and erratic schedules. She knew he was in New York, likely at some swanky do thrown by the theatre crowd, the kind she always teased him about. She'd told herself repeatedly it didn't matter if he called or not, but the hollow ache in her chest was very much disagreeing with her.

While pouring herself another glass of white wine and debating on pulling out the bag of prawn cocktail crisps at the back of her kitchen cupboard, there was a knock on her door. No one ever dropped by unannounced, she took a gulp of her wine—especially not on New Year's Eve.

Shuffling to the door in her slippers, she opened it, and her breath caught in her throat.

"Dieter?"

He stood there, his cheeks flushed from the cold, his hair as always messy, and his leather jacket unzipped over a wrinkled sweater. A duffel bag was slung over his shoulder, and in his hand, he clutched a bottle of cheap champagne.

"I got lost on the Underground," he confessed, as if he were apologizing for being late on an expected invitation. "It's a fucking maze down there."

Bryony stared at him wide-eyed, "What… what are you doing here?"

"I couldn't let another year start without kissing you," he admitted, his grin sheepish as his eyes sparkled with an energy that defied the tiredness that surrounded them, "and before you yell at me for being ridiculous," he pointed a finger at her, her mouth open on the cusp of a question, "yes, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision, and yes the flight was stupidly expensive, but I'm here."

She laughed, tears prickling her eyes, "You're insane, you know that right?"

"I know," he dropped his bag and the champagne, stepping closer to her, "but I really, wanted to do this."

Bryony's heart stuttered as Dieter took her face in his hands, his thumb grazing her lip. The countdown began on the TV behind her: Ten, nine, eight…

His lips hovered above hers, Bryony up on her tiptoes, she could feel his breath mingle with hers and she wanted to devour him there and then, but the moment called for savouring. Bryony felt like she was on the precipice of something special, something exciting and something bigger than the two of them.

"Love you, Daff," he whispered, just before their lips met, her arms tangling around his neck as the world outside erupted in cheers and fireworks.

The First New Year's Eve in LA.

The Hollywood Hills were a sight to behold on their own. The glittering city stretched out below as far as Bryony could see. The party, hosted by some rising Hollywood director Dieter had recently befriended, was the definition of excess. It was their first New Year's together in Los Angeles, their first since they had taken a leap on taking chances on their careers in Hollywood, and one another, officially moving in together over the summer.

The sprawling mansion was packed to the brim with celebrities, hangers-on, and the kind of people who hovered in that liminal space between fame and infamy. Bryony had spent most of the night nursing a flute of champagne, trying to take it all in. London, she had thought, had its own kind of excess, but this, this was something else altogether. And Dieter? Dieter on the other hand was in his element, floating effortlessly between groups, charming the room in a way that only Dieter could.

"You look bored, Daff," he murmured, leaning down so only she could hear him.

She raised an eyebrow, "I've lost count of how many pitches I've heard tonight," she took a sip of her drink, "Does anyone around here actually know how to have a conversation?"

Dieter smirked, his fingers brushing her bare arm before he plucked her drink from her hand and drained it completely, "I've got an idea. Follow me."

Before she could protest, he’d grabbed her hand, leading her through the crowd with the kind of casual confidence only Dieter Bravo could pull off. They weaved past a lavishly decorated living room, down a back staircase, and through a heavy wood door that opened up to an expansive wine cellar.

The space was dimly lit, with rows upon rows of bottles stretching along the walls. The air was cool and the scent of oak and earth lingered. Bryony gave Dieter an amused look as he shut the door behind them.

“Dieter,” she said, her fingers running the bottles in front of her, “if you brought me down here to show some vintage plonk, I have to say, I’m impressed with your dedication to seduction,” she teased.

He grinned, stepping closer until there was barely an inch of space between them, “I could tell you all about the wine Daff, but I think we both know that’s not why I brought you down here.”

Bryony tilted her head, the New Year’s tiara she wore twinkling under the subdued lighting, as she pretended to study the bottles and their labels, “Oh? I don’t know. That 2016 Chablis looks pretty tempting.”

Dieter’s hand skimmed her waist, she was wearing the little black dress she saved for special occasions, the one she’d been wearing the first night they’d met and still managed to make him lustful.

“You know what’s more tempting?” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear, relishing the hitch of her breath.

She turned to face him fully, her hands pressing against his chest, a challenging glint in her eye, “What’s that, Mr. Bravo?”

“You,” he said simply, the single syllable hanging in the air, his voice low and rough, “Always you.”

Bryony felt her pulse quicken as she looked up at him, her fingers curling into the silk of his shirt. For all his bravado and charm, there was an honesty in his words that had a way of undoing her completely. He dipped his head lower, his nose brushing against hers as he pulled her closer. She could smell the faint trace of his cologne and a hint of the champagne on his tongue.

The faint hum of the party upstairs suddenly shifted into a crescendo as the countdown began.

“Ten…nine…”

Dieter’s hand slid up Bryony’s thigh, lifting the hem of her dress with it.

“Eight…seven…”

Bryony’s heart began to race as his fingers skimmed the top of her hip.

“Six…five…”

Dieter cocked his head to the side giving Bryony an amused look at finding bare skin.

“Better make it good Bravo,” she murmured, her voice barely audible above the growing cheers from above.

“Four…three…”

“I always do, Morgan.”

“Two…one…”

His lips crashed into hers as the room above erupted into cheers, clinking glasses and the muffled notes of “Auld Lang Syne” from the keys of the grand piano upstairs played faintly through the floorboards. Bryony clung to him, her fingers tangled in his hair as he gripped her hips, pulling her flush against his body. The kiss was fervent, unrestrained and the anticipation of the start of a new year and of new adventures.

He broke the kiss only to rest his forehead against hers, his breath coming in shallow bursts. “Happy New Year, love,” he brushed aside a stray strand of hair and straightened the New Year's tiara that sat slightly askew on her head.

“Happy New Year, cariad,” she whispered, her voice soft and laden with emotions she didn’t know if she could put into words. But knew that this man could easily be her undoing.

The First New Year's Eve After the Breakup.

Bryony hadn't wanted to stay home—even if it didn't feel like home yet. The small Sherman Oaks house she'd bought in the blur of time that passed after leaving Dieter still felt sterile, hollow, and unsettlingly quiet. Every room was accented by half-opened and unpacked boxes she had no desire to deal with. The only things on display were Sonny and Cher, Dieter's beloved taxidermy raccoons, which she'd taken out of spite when she'd left, but now it just felt like they were mocking her.

Her parents had invited her home to Wales, promising to make things normal again, and Rhys had offered to put her up in London — but she hadn't wanted to face any of them, face their sympathy, nor get into what had actually transpired between her and Dieter.

So, instead, she'd taken Cricket up on her offer to crash a New Year's party in West Hollywood with a group of designers she barely knew, aside from the fact that they were friends of Crickets. But as much as Cricket's presence comforted her, Bryony felt like she was carrying a black cloud above her head. As much as she was trying to be present, she felt distant, causing people to give her a wide berth.

People smiled politely, but there was always a flicker of recognition in their eyes. They knew who she was—or more precisely, who she'd been with. She'd picked up on snippets of conversations around her until someone whispered too loudly about Dieter Bravo and his latest scandal splashed across Page Six.

Bryony had escaped to the kitchen, her stomach churning as the gossip flitted around the house. Another night, another headline. Dieter Bravo, larger than life and perpetually self-destructive. He hadn't slowed down since she'd left, only ramped up. He'd been doing something he shouldn't with someone he certainly shouldn't have been doing it with, and the news had made her stomach turn sour.

"There you are!" Cricket exclaimed, her voice cutting through her haze. She appeared in the doorway, a tequila bottle in one hand and two shot glasses in the other. Her lipstick was slightly smudged, and her curls—which she was embracing after chemically straightening them for decades, were wild from dancing.

Bryony managed a smile, her first real one of the night she'd hazard a guess. She wasn't sure how she would've made it through the past few months without Cricket.

"C'mon," Cricket said, having finished pouring out shots, she pulled Bryony into a tight side hug and nudged a glass into her hand. "It's almost midnight. Let's toast to us leaving this dumpster fire of a year behind us!"

Bryony didn't argue. The two of them shot back the tequila straight as the countdown began, voices echoing through the house. Cricket pulled her in tight again, kissing her affectionately on the top of her head as the house erupted in cheers, holding her in a silent affirmation that everything would be okay. Even if Bryony didn't quite believe it yet.

The First New Year’s With a Sober Realization.

The night was cold for LA, and Dieter’s home was eerily quiet, the silence only broken by the occasional crack of fireworks somewhere in the distance—someone was getting an early start on the celebrations. Dieter sat slumped on the uncomfortable leather sofa that he probably paid someone an obscene amount of money to tell him how his home should look, though forgoing any level of comfort.

A glass of gin balanced precariously in his hand, the bottle sat on the coffee table, already half-empty. His phone glowed beside him, the faint light irritated him as it illuminated a phone devoid of any notifications or alerts.

He’d tried calling Pierce, his manager, earlier in the evening, a last-ditch attempt at some semblance of normalcy, but the conversation had been short and brutal. After years of managing Dieter’s chaos, Pierce had finally drawn a line in the sand.

“Dieter, I can’t do this anymore,” he’d said, his tone firm but exhausted. “I’m your manager, not your babysitter. You want to ruin yourself? Fine. But I’m not holding your hand while you do it.”

The sting of Pierce’s words had lingered, not the first time Pierce had put him in his place in the twenty-odd years the two had known one another—but it was the first time he’d told him no.

He was alone, not even the usual hangers-on to the tiny amount of fame his name brought could bring him company tonight. The party invitations had dried up over the past year, his antics finally wearing thin even amongst some of the most shameless in Hollywood. Those who were supposed to be friends had moved on to the next bright and shiny thing, leaving Dieter to stew in his own chaos.

He tilted his head back, letting the gin slide down his throat, the sharpness a burn he relished as his eyes settled on the corner of a photo frame atop his mantelpiece. It was cluttered with relics of a life he barely remembered choosing—awards from films that once mattered, framed magazine covers where his smirk had sold a million copies, littered amongst piles of papers, unopened mail and empty liquor bottles.

He didn’t have to get up to know what picture was in the frame, it was committed to memory. It was from years ago—a candid shot taken at some forgotten celebration at Rhys, Bryony’s older brother’s, apartment in London. Dieter, Rhys and Bryony stood together, arms slung around each other in a moment of unbridled joy.

Dieter cracked his jaw, it had been a while since he’d spoken to Rhys—the two had a bond that had outlasted most of Dieter’s friendships. But even that connection had been strained over the last couple of years. He picked up his phone, his thumb hovered over his contacts. He scrolled through until he hit Rhys’ name—it was impulsive, but then when wasn’t Dieter’s brand as of late?

The line rang three times before Rhys picked it up, “Oi! Bravo! Christ mate, haven’t heard from you in a fucking age! What’s happening man, you bored in your Hollywood palace or something?” Rhys’ familiar Welsh accent was punctuated by cheers in the background as he shouted to be heard above the crowd.

Dieter let out a short, dry laugh as he took a sip of his gin, “Something like that.”

There was some shuffling on the line as Rhys spoke to someone else, “So let me guess then Bravo, you calling to boast about some bombshell you’ve got set up for the night?” Rhys laughed to himself, “A little New Year’s fling? Come on, spill it.”

“Nothing this year,” Dieter replied dryly, “just me.”

Rhys barked a laugh, the sound crackling through the speaker like static. “Jesus Dee, that’s bleak, mate. You’re in bloody Los Angeles. You telling me you can’t throw a stone without hitting a Hollywood Hills party?”

Dieter shrugged even though Rhys couldn’t see it. “Not really feeling the Hollywood types these days.” He took another sip of the gin, the burn sharp on his throat making him sit up. “What about you?” he asked, wanting a change in topic, “Sounds like quite the rager on your hands over there.”

Rhys shouted something unintelligible to someone in the background, then returned to the phone. “Living my best life on the East Coast Brav,” he laughed, the sound of clinking glasses in the background. “In New York for an intercontinental piss-up. With some mates and Bryony and her—” Rhys trailed off, evident that he had let slip something he shouldn’t have.

Dieter froze mid-sip. The glass trembled slightly in his hand. There was no mistaking what was missing in the silence. “She’s seeing someone?” he coughed out, trying to sound indifferent but failing miserably.

There was a beat of silence on the other end, followed by Rhys cursing under his breath, before Rhys’ tone shifted, “Look, mate… I probably shouldn’t have said something,” Dieter heard the sharp intake of breath even over the cheers and the booming music. “Deets, we both know this is not a conversation for now—or ever—that you should be having with me. Whatever is going on with Bryony, well that’s her business. I’m saying this as your mate, right? You’re my boy, always have been. But you’re stuck. Stuck in this self-pitying, self-destructive loop. And honestly? It’s getting old. You can’t keep clinging to things that aren’t there anymore.” His voice softened, almost pitying. “It’s New Year’s, yeah? Maybe it’s time you started thinking about what kind of life you really want for yourself.”

The words hit Dieter like a punch, sharper and harder than anything Pierce or anyone else had ever said to him. “I wasn’t—” He stopped, admitting to himself that anything he said would be nothing but an excuse. “Pretty profound for you, isn’t it?”

Rhys laughed, the lightness returning to his voice. “I know, mate. Don’t know where the fuck that came from. Must be the champagne.” Dieter could hear someone calling Rhys in the background, “Look, I need to go… Happy New Year, Dee, speak soon?”

“Yeah, Happy New Year Rhys,” Dieter managed to stumble out before the line clicked.

Dieter was about to throw the phone down, but before he did impulsiveness hit again. Quickly shuffling screens he opened Instagram, his fingers under muscle memory found Bryony’s profile with ease. He scrolled through her photos, thumb hovering over each one. At her parents’ in Wales at Christmas, fairy lights glowing in the background and the family’s dog in her arms. A photo of her at some posh rooftop event in London, champagne in hand. And then, there it was—a group photo taken recently in New York. She stood on the far left, her smile soft and glowing, wearing a sleek black dress that hugged her in all the right places. Beside her, the guy. Suit and tie, clean-cut, the complete opposite of everything Dieter was.

Dieter lit a cigarette, the tip glowing orange in the dim light. He took a drag, studying the photo like he was looking for something. His thumb hovered over the call button on her profile for a moment before he hesitated. Instead, he tapped her contact in his favourites, the one he’d stubbornly never deleted.

The line rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

Dieter’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath catching in his throat. He took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly as he waited for it to connect.

“The number you have dialled is not available. Please try again.”

The automated message hit him like a punch to the gut. He stared at the screen, his thumb still hovering over the call button as if willing it to connect as he tried the number again, and then again a third time.

She’d changed her number.

Dieter let out a bitter laugh, dropping his phone onto the table with a clatter. For the first time in years, he felt something crack. He stared at the cigarette between his fingers, the smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling, and muttered to himself, “Happy fucking New Year.”

The First New Year's Eve With Baby Fi.

"She's so tiny," Dieter whispered, his voice filled with the awe that had not wavered since the arrival of Baby Fi less than two weeks ago.

Bryony gave a tired smile, leaning her head against his shoulder, "She's perfect," she yawned.

She hadn't been expected until January 24th, the date circled in bold red Sharpie on the calendar that hung in the kitchen. Dieter had been elated by this news at their first appointment with the OB-GYN. The idea of Baby Bravo possibly sharing a birthday with Fiona the hippo felt like fate, he’d declared, prompting Bryony to roll her eyes. But Baby Bravo had other plans—much like her father, bypassing all etiquette and social norms to arrive five days before Christmas, throwing all of their plans out the window.

The hospital room was a far cry from some of the glamorous parties they had once attended, yet it had become their refuge as Bryony recovered and Baby Fi observed. Dieter had spent his time darting from Bryony’s room to the NICU, his usually chaotic energy subdued by the weight of their new reality.

The good news had been delivered that afternoon. They would be going home the day after New Year’s with both Bryony and Fi doing well. With that promise, a special overnight guest had joined them in the room they now called home. It was cozy, lit by the string lights the nurses had chosen to ignore, alongside the decorations Dieter had brought from home—including a tiny artificial tree that offered a gentle, festive glow.

Dieter pulled Bryony tighter against his side, pressing a kiss to her temple as he brushed back her hair. He hadn’t realized his adoration for the woman—who had given him more chances than he deserved—could grow even deeper, but now his heart burst with a joy he once thought out of reach.

Bryony held Fi in her arms, her tiny form swaddled in layers of blankets with tiny stitched hippos. Dieter watched as Bryony ran a gentle finger over their daughter’s cheek—both of them had agreed that they couldn’t believe there had ever been a time before she had entered their world.

Quiet cheers drifted in from the nurses’ station, where they raised plastic champagne glasses filled with sparkling cider, enjoying the spread of treats Dieter had asked Pierce to arrange, all in thanks for their care.

As the cheers continued to drift through, Dieter turned to Bryony, his eyes shining. “Happy New Year, Daff.”

The Last New Year's Eve…

The night hadn’t gone exactly to plan, but then again, in the Bravo household, when had things ever played out as planned?

The house was quiet, except for the faint hum of white noise over the baby monitor out in the living room. The light above the stove cast a warm glow over the kitchen in tandem with the lights on the large artificial tree that bridged the transition from the kitchen to the family room in the open-plan space. Both illuminated Bryony as she swayed barefoot on the hardwood floor, holding Fi against her hip. The sequined and feather-laden dress she hadn’t yet had the chance to change out of caught the light with every movement, casting tiny flecks of glitter across the room like stars.

Fi was wide awake, her small hand clutching the neckline of Bryony’s dress. Her cheeks were still flushed from the fever that had pulled them home early from the New Year’s party Bryony’s parents, visiting for Fi’s first birthday, had practically pushed them out the door to attend saying they had everything covered while caring for their granddaughter.

But with just under an hour to midnight, the call had come. Fi was restless, her little body too warm to the touch, and before either of them could finish their drinks, they were in an Uber home through the maze of LA’s uncharacteristically quiet streets.

Fi’s eyes were bright as she followed her mother’s every movement, eliciting tired giggles from her lips when Bryony would twirl them both to a song Bryony sang under her breath.

From the arched entrance to the kitchen, Dieter stood silently, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, an almost disbelieving smile on his face. He hadn’t made a sound since coming in from checking the thermostat in Fi’s room and making sure Bryony’s parents were settled; he was too captivated by the sight before him. His wife, radiant even in her exhaustion, her hair loose and wild from the night’s chaos, barefoot and glowing as she danced with their daughter in the glow of the Christmas lights.

He wasn’t sure if it was the haze of the small glass of champagne he’d allowed himself earlier or just the sheer weight of the moment, but his chest ached in a way that made him feel like the luckiest man alive.

As Bryony twirled again, she caught sight of Dieter out of the corner of her eye, his shirt half untucked and unbuttoned—he’d lost the bowtie before they’d even arrived at Pierce’s party. “I think I’m going to have to tap you in soon to help me tire her out before she tires me out,” she laughed, as Fi whipped her head around in glee at the presence of her father.

Dieter stepped forward, the soft soles of his shoes barely making a sound on the floor. “You two look like something out of a dream,” his voice was low, almost reverent.

Bryony rolled her eyes, though the faint flush on her cheeks betrayed her, “I’m barefoot in a dress I’m bursting out of, holding a feverish baby—dreams don’t usually come with teething-induced meltdowns.”

Dieter stopped just in front of her, his smile deepening as he carefully took Fi into his arms. “I don’t know,” he pressed a kiss to the top of Fi’s head before shifting his gaze back to Bryony, “this feels pretty dreamy to me.” His dark eyes were full of a warmth that still had the ability to make her catch her breath as he reached out with his free hand and tucked a stray lock of her dark hair behind her ear.

Bryony shook her head, “Careful, you’re laying it on thick tonight, Mr. Bravo. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to get lucky.”

“Who’s to say I’m not?” Dieter quipped, his grin mischievous as he adjusted Fi in one arm, her tiny hands patting his face. “Though, considering the last time we got lucky…” he drifted off.

Bryony huffed a laugh, “And look what that ended us up with.”

Somewhere, the clock turned midnight and fireworks from the Hollywood Hills could be heard in the distance.

Dieter’s hand moved to Bryony’s stomach, his thumb brushing over the fabric of her dress where it clung slightly tighter than it had the last time he’d seen her in it. His grin widened as he glanced down, then back at her, his voice dropping to a husky murmur, “Well, if this is the result,” he dropped a kiss to the top of her head, “I’d say we did pretty damn well Daff, wouldn’t you?” He pulled her closer, his touch gentle but firm, a man fully aware of the treasure he held. “Happy New Year’s babe.”

[blarrghe]

Rating: M | Category: M/M | Words: 57 707 | Chapters 27/29

Read from the beginning

Summary: 

When Magister Dorian Pavus' expedition meets unexpectedly with a clan of unhappy Dalish elves, First Taren Lavellan may be the unhappiest among them. Unhappier still to be put to the task of helping to see his quest through. This is the tale of how a fortnight in the forests of the Free Marches can change everything.

Chapter 27: A Promise Made

Snippet: 

The paths of the forest opened before Taren like easy green curtains. The wind was with them, the weather too. Dark clouds sat heavy in the distance, but above them the skies were but a misty grey. The morning damp and fog lifted into a shady humidity beneath the cover of the trees, calling the insects to bite, but the way was clear. They followed the line of the cliff’s edge back to the point where the buried entrance of the ruin had collapsed, and then on towards the east, where hunters and horses should have been coming around in full circle to meet them. Progress was swift, easy, and in the correct direction. 

It didn’t make any sense. 

At midday Taren conferred with Aldheraen, asking him to etch their marks into the trees before they marched on. They should have come upon the hunters’ tracks by now. The Imperial highway’s rubble of an overgrown road was not far off. They should already have come upon their men, their horses. 

Taren listened to the air, still and quiet. He sent up a flare of bright magic as the sun began to set. 

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[barrenclan]

i feel a bit bad for cormorant :( im sure this isnt your intent but it almost feels as though hes settled for a life he didnt want

I'm curious what this is in response to - there's two major things I can think of, so let me explore them for a second!

So, if this is in response to the idea that Cormorantleaf wants kittens and Pinewing doesn't; lemme talk about that for a second. I tried to go into it in the last epilogue, but with their late-stage relationship I wanted to address a trope in fiction that really bothers me, especially as someone who doesn't want to have children. Stop me if you've heard it before:

Characters A and B are in a romantic relationship. Character A wants to have kids, but B doesn't, for whatever reason. They struggle, and talk about it, and eventually A says "it's okay, even if we don't have kids, I'll still love you!" It's really nice, and confirms that they love each other even if they don't want. Except, then, B turns around and says "it's so good to know that! It made me change my mind; I got over my 'fears', and now I do want kids!"

That bugs me. It's always the assumption, even if it's established that a relationship would be okay without kids, it's always on the onus of the person who doesn't want children to change their mind. It's never enough to stop at "it's okay if we don't have kids together" - and then they don't. So that's what I wanted to do with Cormorantleaf and Pinewing's relationship, and it's why I had Pinewing talk about his discomfort surrounding children so often and Cormorantleaf's potential to be a father. If Corm wanted kids more than he wanted to be with Pine - he could leave! No stopping him. But Pinewing matters more to him than having kids does. I find it more distasteful that someone would force themselves to raise children if they didn't want to (it's almost like that's a theme of the story... and kind of exactly what happened with Nightberry). Admittedly, I would've liked to rather do that idea with Daffodilcloud and Duncan instead of the main gay couple, but eh, I already had an end-of-arc theme with Daff to wrap up that would've clashed. These are the decisions you make when writing a story.

On the other hand, if this is in response to the idea that they're traveling around instead of settling down in one place, or that Pinewing is forcing him into the relationship; maybe I was a bit too subtle with what I was trying to get across. Cormorantleaf was actually the first one to suggest that they travel around together, way back in Issue 26:

Corm needs an emotional anchor more than a physical anchor. And this was especially clear in his early development, and how his relationship to Pinepaw was a bit unhealthy (and vice versa, too); he had such intense abandonment issues that he was holding Pinepaw up as a total pillar of support, and believed he wouldn't be able to survive without him.

That's why I wanted Cormorantleaf to have a chance to be on his own during the breakup, and solidfy that he could exist without a relationship, that he didn't need another person to survive. But instead that he could willingly choose a relationship with Pinewing, because it was something he wanted and something he thought would enrich his life rather than an obligation.

All that to say that Comorantleaf's hesitation in the last epilogue is not meant to be presented as "he's being forced into something he doesn't want by Pinewing", but rather "he's scared that them traveling around will cause Pinewing to abandon him, and that makes him panic and lash out".

And Pinewing would have absolutely stayed with him even after Cormorantleaf yelled at him, except that Corm happened to hit on Pinewing's own insecurities that come from his childhood of neglect and feelings that nobody actually wants him around:

You don't have to be un-anonymous to respond to this, and anyways if it's just personal feelings that's perfectly valid and not something I want to try and change. But I never meant to make it seem like Cormorantleaf wasn't happy with where he ended up, or that he 'settled' for something he didn't want.

[scaryfangirl2001]

Sthymmetry (fanfic, 602 WC)

@flufftober

In the middle of Autumn, the cozy burrow shared by Bugs and Daffy is abuzz with activity and instruction. While Bugs is in charge of decorating their home for the season, Daffy has appointed himself as the self-proclaimed director of operations. Autumn had arrived seemingly early this year in a riot of colors, the foliage as thick as the rabbit’s accent. The housemates are in the living room. 

Bugs precariously balances on a tall stool, draping garlands of orange and gold leaves from the ceiling – though he’s mostly just tangling himself in it. 

“You’re doing it all wrong, Rabbit!” 

“Youse wanna come down here and do it then, Daffy?” Bugs huffs, shooting a sideways glance at Daffy, his long ears twitching with frustration as he readjusts the garland for the umpteenth time. "I'm doin' the best I can!" 

The duck plops into the recliner with a melodramatic flair, shaking his head. "Oh, the horror! I leave you alone for one minute, and the place looks like a squirrel's nest." 

Bugs shakes his head and continues decorating. With each decoration, the burrow transforms into a cozy autumn haven. Bugs and Daffy may have their differences and consistently bicker, but it’s like a love language. The warmth of their shared home fills the air, mingling with the spicy scent of cinnamon and the crackling fire in the hearth. 

"No, no, no!” Daffy squawks, “That pumpkin goes on the table, not the mantel.” 

Bugs rolls his eyes but begrudgingly moves the pumpkin to the table as Daffy insists. No sense in arguing over pumpkin placement. He moves back to the mantelpiece with a box of acorns, arranging them as he hums a jovial tune. 

“Those are too big for that sthide!” Daffy orders. "Just a tad to your left, Bugsy! We need sthymmetry here, buddy." 

Bugs playfully winks at the duck but moves the acorn to spread the cheer evenly. “Betta?” 

Daffy scrutinizes the arrangement before nodding in approval. "Perfect! Now, don't forget to hang the fairy lightsth next. And be sure to spacthe the pumpkins evenly, Bugs. We don't want it looking haphazard." 

Bugs chuckles under his breath and proceeds to hang the lights, carefully measuring the distance between each light as per Daffy's instructions. As he works, the scent of nutmeg joins the aroma in the air, mingling with the earthy smell of fallen leaves. 

“Move that end to the left a smidge,” Daffy directs. When Bugs moves them in one direction, Daffy is quick to correct him. “No, no, your other left!” 

Bugs tilts his head, trying to decipher Daffy's instructions, his fluffy tail twitching in annoyance. “Which left, Daffy?” 

Daffy hops out of the chair to guide his friend. And then he’s back to eyeing the decorations with a critical eye. 

"You know, Bugs, maybe we should add some more orange leaves on the right side. It'll balance things out." 

Bugs just nods, “Sure thing, Daff.” 

As the sun sets, casting a golden hue through the window, Bugs and Daffy stand back to admire their handiwork, the perfect blend of Bugs' laid-back charm and Daffy's meticulous eye for detail. The aroma in the air is delicious, the leaves a perfectly aligned, and the burrow is a cozy haven. 

"Looking good, ain't it, Duck?" 

"Yeah, not bad, not bad at all." 

Satisfied, Bugs and Daffy plop on the couch where cider awaits them. 

Daffy gives Bugs a glass and a smug look. "See, Bugsy? With my guidancthe, we've turned this place into a masterpiece!" 

Bugs chortles, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah, Daff. You're the maestro of decorating, no doubt about it."