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morgansmornings · 19 days

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[insert all the colours that say how awesome you are 🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈]

This Meme: Accepting @tabbyrp

You know I love you. You know I would absolutely do anything and everything with you. I miss you and you are such a wonderful, flowy light that I will continue to thank until we are old and grey.

#Please Leave a Message | Answered Ask #Answers from the Mun #tabbyrp #Danke Tabby!

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alibonbonn · 2 months

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Kittens season just started and I've got 2 new foster babies to raise!

Meet the wretched beasts, Dilly and Dally

#forgive me if im slow to reply lately! its the babes #i have 4 cats in this house all of them brown tabbies #Odie is sooo upset about it he's scared he's disgusted:((#you idiot this was you 9 months ago! you were the smelly baby!#he doesnt want to sniff my hands it breaks his heart :(#Jojo is a veteran at this point she's more than chill #goes to have a whiff of that dank baby musk once in a while just to gag about it #ali babble

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totallycubetastic · 3 months

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Sippy slurp

#funny memes #best memes #funny #funny post #dank memes #cute cats #caturday #cat #cats of tumblr #tabby cat

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halfway-happyyy · 2 years

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new year’s day (rooster bradshaw)

the result of being purely in my feelings and listening to taylor swift. no warnings, fluff only.

Your home is brimming with friends and a scant few family members, but there aren't enough of them to make it feel like home, to make it feel like San Diego. It’s where you usually prefer to spend the thirty-first of December each year- and you are dismayed to find yourself longing for it, but the decision to stay tucked away in your borough of the city this year had been a mutual one.

Rooster has been the heartbeat of the festivities this evening; an assortment of comfort food from the golden days of his childhood- which he spent the last day preparing- and some of your favourite snacks, lay in an array of dishes on the dining room table. An ancient tabby cat that you had rescued from a dank alleyway a couple of years ago, winds its way through tangles of pant-suited and stockinged legs, blissfully oblivious to the chaos that is about to ensue. His yellowed eyes are keen and utterly uncaring, and you long to follow him to the bedroom at the end of the hall, where you’ll lay down with him on the bed, your fingers lost in oceans of soft, ginger fur. What you really want is to wake up hours from now to the notion that your home is void of people again, the first of January and the rest of the year, laid out before you like a blank canvas.

“You have a beautiful home,” someone tells you as they pass by on their way to the snack table.

You mean to tell them thank you, but they’ve already disappeared into the throng of people.

Clocking the watch face on the underside of your wrist, you take note that you are fifteen minutes away from the countdown and a sigh of relief exits your parted lips in the form of a small puff of air. You couldn’t be sure when the switch had occurred, but at some point in the last couple of years, being around large crowds of people began to deplete your energy in ways you could never have fathomed before. Where you once thrived on the presence of many people, of myriads of conversations, it now exhausted you to every extent.

A pair of arms, warm and utterly familiar in their touch circle your waist and Rooster drops his chin to the curve in your shoulder, his breath fanning out over the back of your neck in warm waves.

“Have you eaten anything tonight, kid?”

You smile and gesture toward the laden food table. “I ate my weights worth in pimento cheese about an hour ago.”

“That’s my girl.” He laughs and presses a chaste kiss to the top of your head.

You turn in his embrace and cock your head to the side, studying his features. There are no readily telltale signs that he misses Fightertown as much as you do, but you also know him better than that.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” You ask, after a couple of minutes.

Rooster grins wide and nods his head, his top-shelf whisky orbs are bloodshot and unfocused with unbridled happiness and the glass clutched in his grasp is a mere sip away from being void of wine completely.

“Can I tell you something?” You ask.

He nods his head.

“You have to come closer though,” You whisper.

He offers you another wide beam and bends his head low so that you can tell him what you need to say.

“I love you, Rooster.”

He pulls away to reveal a shyness you haven’t been privy to in years- and a gruff laugh to match, as he circles his arms around your waist ever tighter.

“I love you too, kid.”

Ten minutes lapse, and you decide at the last minute to head to the balcony to ring in your new year. You lose yourself in the noise of the city around you, and in the cacophony of everyone else’s celebrations. Though its loud, it’s nothing compared to the inside of your house, and you allow yourself a deep breath of fresh air. A December (or is it January now?) chill stings your cheeks and makes you feel more alive than anything behind you- save for maybe Rooster, ever did. You can hear them all inside now; the choir-like chant of a myriad of voices counting down the final seconds of the year. The balcony door opens, and with it a rush of warmth. Rooster appears beside you, sporting a headband with golden stars that depict the new year, and flop around merrily in the wind. Wordlessly, he adorns you with the same headband and places two glass atop the metal railing.

“It’s almost time, kid.”

He pops a bottle of Veuve Clicquot on five, and pours for you, the distinctive orange label nostalgic to you in every way. You view his figure in the scattered lighting around you, clad in a crisp, white button-up, black pressed trousers and multi-colored socks. Taking a sip of the effervescent alcohol, you revel in the tickle of the bubbles on your tongue, and in the slight sting as they slide down your throat and warm in your belly. The muffled notes of your guests inebriated version of Auld Lang Syne can be heard from inside.

“Three… two… one… Happy New Year!”

He reaches for you then, pulls your frame against his and kisses you like it’s the last time he’ll ever have the pleasure. When he breaks away, you are both breathless and grinning like idiots.

“Happy new year, kid.” He murmurs.

Another gust of warm air as Jake steps out onto the balcony with you, brandishing a polaroid camera.

“Smile, you two!”

Doing as he’s told, Rooster slings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you back into the warmth of his chest. Though sleepy from the bubbles catching fire in your belly, your smile is wide and genuine.

Rooster settles in a few seconds later, eyes fluttering shut as he sinks into the blissfully warm, sudsy water before you.

Your home is void of the last inebriated straggler around one o’clock in the morning. The only indications that they were ever there at all, are in the scattered wine glasses, polaroid photos, and confetti littering the hardwood floor- precious remnants from an evening well spent. You know it all needs to be dealt with, but the hour is nigh, and your bathtub calls out to you like a siren song. Rooster follows you to the washroom down the hall, where nimble fingers work the zipper down your dress, where you shed the useless material with an audible sigh of relief. You settle into the tub running while he discards his own clothing, and sidles in to the near-scalding water with a very audible sigh of relief.

You are quiet as you revel in your first few minutes of aloneness and utter silence, and when his eyes fall open again, he is grinning sleepily.

You quirk an eyebrow in question. “What?”

“You have a piece of confetti on your cheek.” He reaches toward you, a dripping finger brushes the shiny piece of plastic away from your face, leaving a miniscule trail of lavender-scented suds in its wake.

You regard each other with an intensity reserved only for painfully intimate times. Neither of you feel compelled to say much- one of things you love about him (and there are many things) is that the silence never feels imposing.

He reaches for your hand, takes it in his and brings it to his lips, indifferent to the suds that now gather on them.

“I am eternally grateful for you, kid. For our home, for the cantankerous feline that takes up just the right amount of space, for our life together.”

He squeezes your hand thrice beneath the water.

I love you…

Melancholy- caused by the imminent passage of time, had packed ice around your heart all evening, and now, a warmth gleaned from his words and from the tender way he’s looking at you now, helps to thaw it out. You take a deep breath and smile at him, the promise of looming adventures, of boundless laughter to be had with him, warms your heart even further.

“Happy new year, Rooster. I can’t wait to see what this year brings us.”

#rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #tgm #fluff #writing

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highwayphantoms · 1 year

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Happy Friday!! For Cal and shapeshifting, how about ❛ i’m not afraid of you. ❜ 🥺

and another one for @dadrunkwriting :D ty for the prompt! here is the first time Cal and Anders get to have a proper conversation outside the Circle. :3

Warnings: General implications of canon-typical violence, nothing explicitly mentioned. Words: 853

--

Somehow, Darktown seemed less terrifying after dark. Even in the guise of a big, black dog that had, so far, been intimidating enough that even members of the Carta left them alone, Cal felt hopelessly vulnerable traversing Darktown alone. Under any other circumstances, they would not have ventured out alone. With Carver, or perhaps even Aveline, though a guardsman in the bowels of the city would hardly go unnoticed.

This was not a conversation that Cal relished having with others listening in. That was, at least, assuming Anders was even in the clinic to begin with. After what had happened in the Chantry earlier in the evening, Cal wouldn’t be surprised if he simply disappeared. But they owed him an explanation. Several explanations.

And Karl…

Cal had not known Karl well, but well enough to be thoroughly horrified at what the templars had done. Using a known associate to lure out a runaway? That fit perfectly with the habits of templars. But to take a Harrowed mage and render him Tranquil?

Carver, Varric, Aveline—they hadn’t understood. How could they? Not one of them knew what it meant to be Tranquil. How the process just removed everything that made a mage a person.

But Cal had known a half dozen Tranquil mages in Kinloch. The idea of doing that to an enchanter was unthinkable. At least, it had been. Uncomfortably aware of the grime collecting between their toes, Cal trotted through the narrow alleys of Darktown to the marginally less dank corner where Anders had set up the clinic. The muck wouldn’t transfer—they’d learned that early on—but the memory of it would itch at them until they bathed. They suppressed a shudder and continued on. The lamp outside the clinic was dark, but the tiny sliver of light under the doors suggested that Anders was indeed present. Cal nudged the door with their nose, hoping it might be unbarred and not surprised to find that it wasn’t.

They sighed and, in the span of a heartbeat, shifted back. Armed with opposable thumbs once more, Cal rapped their knuckles against the door in an old, familiar pattern. One-two, one-two, one-two-three.

Silence answered them. After several seconds, Cal began to doubt their initial assessment of the light under the door, but then they heard the rasp of wood rubbing against wood. Another moment, then the door was pulled open.

His eyes were rimmed with red, but dry and wary. “So you are from Kinloch,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Cal nodded tightly. “May I come in?”

With a humorless laugh, Anders stepped aside. “Might as well,” he muttered. “I’m sure you have questions.” Wordlessly, Cal entered the clinic. Once they were clear, Anders shut the door and slid the bar back across it, then turned to face them. “At least answer one of mine first. Who are you?”

“Calanthe,” they said quietly. “I was one of Wynne’s apprentices.” He peered at them for a long moment, then shrugged helplessly. “I wish I could say I remembered you.”

“You’ve seen that I can become a dog,” they said gently, “but the first shape I mastered was that of a tabby cat.”

Anders frowned. “What are you saying?”

“I believe you called me Mr. Wiggums.”

For a long moment, Anders only stared at them. Then, in a halting voice, he said, “Then—you know—”

Cal shook their head and firmly replied, “I would never breathe a word to anyone else.”

“I—thank you.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, casting his gaze anywhere but at Cal. “Your turn. What do you want to know?”

“You’re possessed,” they said.

“That’s not a question,” he retorted, still avoiding their eyes.

“How long?”

Anders shrugged and said evasively, “A few months.”

“I’m not afraid of you, you know,” Cal murmured, taking a step towards him.

In turn, he stepped back, maintaining what little distance there was between them. “You should be,” Anders countered.

They nodded, just once. “Okay.” Cal took a deep breath, considering their words, and exhaled slowly. “I just… I’m sorry. I should have been honest with you from the start, instead of using my brother to ask you for help. I was afraid. Afraid you’d throw me back to the templars to save your own skin, but…”

“I would never.”

“I know,” they said. “I spent eleven years in the Circle. I’m… I forget that it’s different out here.”

This time, Anders did look at them. “You can trust me,” he said quietly.

Cal smiled tightly. “I should go,” they replied. “My mother will have a fit if I’m not back before morning.”

“That’s probably wise.” He was quiet for a moment, then added, “Thank you. I… seem to owe you a great deal more than I thought.”

“Different world, different rules,” Cal said quietly. “As far as anyone else knows, you and I met for the first time tonight. I would like to keep it that way.”

Anders nodded, and gestured towards the door. “Then it was nice to meet you. And I’ll… see you around.”

“Goodnight, Anders.”

“Goodnight, Hawke.”

#jay writes #dragon age fic #da fic #beep bop boop i go bed now #dadwc #cal hawke

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ahihistyle · 8 months

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