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colderthancoldest · 3 years

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Cattributes

Summary: AU where the Doctor and the Master agree to meet up when they're newly regenerated. This time around, the Master has some cat-like attributes thanks to dormant cheetah DNA lingering in his systems.

Word Count: a tad over 1k

(This was mainly inspired by @the-patrex 's art of Dhawan!Master with fangs so if you somehow haven't seen their work, you should really check them out. I hope they're okay w me tagging them.)

Enjoy X)

"Doctor," the Master greeted his old enemy and even older friend.

They hadn't had the pleasure of meeting each other in these new bodies yet, and the Master was especially eager to meet the latest Doctor. It wasn't every day they regenerated at about the same time.

"Do you prefer 'she' and 'her' now?" the Master asked politely, although his tone remained low and steady.

"I do, and I take it you consider yourself a man again and prefer 'he' and 'him'?" the Doctor replied in a thoughtful hum.

They were pacing about each other, scanning each other over with new eyes. It was an old ritual- to meet early in their latest regeneration's life, and relearn the latest version of the same old person they were already well acquainted with. They had agreed on a hillside in the middle of nowhere this time around; on safe and neutral ground with previously agreed upon terms of civil engagement.

They had decided this was a best way to find what lines were safe to cross, and which were out of the question. If their usual games were to continue, they had to refamiliarize themselves early on to prevent falling out of sync.

It was a ridiculous idea, to pace about like cowboys waiting for high noon, but they were both big believers in the motto: 'it's not crazy if it works'.

Tall, wild grass pulled at their dress shoes and boots respectively as they paced about opposite sides of the same circle. They mirrored each other, in a slow dance, and yet followed each other in the same direction.

"I do, indeed," the Master agreed.

The Doctor gave a firm nod.

The Doctor scanned the Master over. She could easily pick up on the firm but almost rushed steps of his feet, the way he hid the tremor in his hands by locking his fingers together behind his back, and-

"Your teeth-" the Doctor noted, her eyes widening.

She stopped pacing, and so did the Master. His cold expression crumpled slightly inwards as he met her curious eyes with a glare.

It usually took much longer for them to warm up to each other, and therefore much longer before someone broke the familiar dance. The Master wasn't certain if he should be excited or relieved that the Doctor had yielded so early.

"What about my teeth?" the Master asked sharply, wishing he could see for himself.

The Doctor broke their old pattern first by crossing the circle their combined steps had imprinted onto the hillside.

The Doctor approached him, with an intrigued and curious expression in her new and yet same old eyes- but did not pass through the halfway mark of the circle. That was how the tradition went, after all, and she knew better than to break the trust it represented.

The Master stared her down.

He watched the breeze brush through her short, brown and blond hair, and flair up the edges of her coat. It tugged at the wide hems of her pants as the Doctor paused and waited.

The Master hesitated, and after a few seconds he caved. He paced up to meet her in the middle.

The Doctor's hands were quickly on him. She never did have a good sense of how close was too close. The Master raised his hands to defend himself as the Doctor's fingers reached his cheeks and pulled at his mouth.

The Master slowly lowered his fists as the Doctor's curious eyes examined him thoughtfully and he realized he was in no real danger.

"You have fangs!" the Doctor explained with a grin, staring down his teeth with the awestruck gaze of a child seeing a lion yawn for the first time. "How did you manage that?"

"I don't know," the Master hissed. "You're a woman now, after how many thousands of years. How did you manage that? "

"Touche," the Doctor replied. Thankfully, she soon pulled her hands away.

The Master wiped off his mouth on his sleeve.

"You don't think..." the Doctor considered, her eyes somewhere off in the distance.

The Master rolled his eyes after a long few seconds of silence.

"Think what? " he asked impatiently.

The Doctor's hands abruptly reached for him again but this time her open palms flew to his jaw.

Her fingers reached up to the softest bits of his short hair, just behind his ears but above his neck. She lightly scratched her fingertips against his skin.

The Master had expected it to be unpleasant, but he found quite the opposite was true. Her fingers scratched over the short edges of his hairline and moved around his chin until they rested just under his jaw. Her nails made a quiet noise against his short beard, but nowhere near the thrumming noise the Master made in response.

At the Doctor's touch, the Master's eyes instinctually fell shut and a deep grumble rose up from the top of his chest. Something inside him fell away into instinct and he pressed his body closer to her fingers, wherever they traveled.

The Doctor scratched around his ears and ran her fingers through his hair and under his chin, which he enjoyed in particular. He barely even noticed what he was doing until the Doctor pulled her hands away and the Master's eyes snapped open to figure out why she had stopped.

She was smiling, with a gentle laugh in the edges of her eyes.

The noise the Master himself was making suddenly registered in his own ears and he quickly slapped his hand over his mouth. The low, grumbling purr immediately ceased.

"Old cheetah D.N.A., still lingering in your systems," the Doctor observed.

The Master buried his face shamefully in his hands.

"We will NOT speak of this again!" he snapped.

The Doctor was clearly putting all her effort into biting back a laugh. She didn't look the least bit afraid of him.

"Alright," she agreed with a warm humor in her voice.

The Master combed his hair back into place with his fingers and tried his very best to fix the mess the Doctor had made of it.

"Just- Don't!" he demanded with deep embarrassment.

The Doctor brought a hand to her face, but it didn't do anything to hide the smile the Master knew was still there.

She was doing her best not to laugh.

"I said: don't! " the Master snapped once more, quickly regaining his confidence.

"Do you want me to pet you again?" the Doctor asked once she had successfully managed to stop laughing.

The Master gasped, deeply insulted.

"How dare you! No, I don't want to be petted. You should be terrified of me! This changes nothing!"

"Alright, alright," the Doctor soothed him, laughter still creeping into the edges of her voice.

The Master turned away, frustrated, and worked out his anger with a furious shake of his head. He locked his fingers tight in fists and meandered about the hillside on his own for a minute.

Once he had a moment to calm down, he returned to the Doctor newly composed.

"You want me to scratch behind your ears again, don't you?" the Doctor asked warmly with a beaming, kindhearted smile.

The Master glared off to the side and then slowly nodded.

#dont judge me lmao it's just a cute idea #dhawan!master #doctor who #dw #thirteenth doctor #spydoc #thoschei #idk how else to tag this lol #catboy dhawan!master #doctor who fic #my post #please lmk what you think <3

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timelxrd-victorious · 2 years

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Gallifreyan & Gaelic Words & Phrases

For those of you who are probably wondering what Teine tends to say whenever he lapses into Gaelic and/or Gallifreyan, here’s a glossary that is in no means complete.

My main resource for Gaelic is Am Faclair Beag (yes, that’s a link). The Gallifreyan phrases seen here were compiled by wildwinterwitch on LJ (thank @nightsangel-75 for sharing the list). I also refer back to the canon-compliant Gallifreyan morpheme salad by the Tumblr fan team of patrexes, charamei, eighthdoctor, dromeianindistress and a few others. The Irish phrases and pronunciation were found in the back of Morrigan’s Cross by Nora Roberts.

Gallifreyan phrases (wildwinterwitch list)

avitanon: forever

far ‘sa ra: don’t let go

fiteo tu sirati?: are you alright?

fitieo lom: I am now

foyemsi'ra sam: come for me

goia dun: good night

ildiem tu faronn: I need you so much

ildiem tu: I need you

imalun'ah: finally, I see you again (Gallifreyan greeting)

imiyatun: total abandonment and bliss as two joined lovers lose themselves in each other in a telepathic link

iyo: parent of my child

kinam'sati: insatiable one

lyansu ‘ra: kiss me

malfan: cold

malialion: describes the Gallifreyan body temperature: cool yet warm

ngarthu sam: my beautiful

ngudia sam: my beloved

ngudia tu: I love you

ngudia'sa lam su mich’t: don’t doubt my love for you

nyasun'sa: don’t cry

rovalionnti: I beg you

salaru: my stupid little ape

sam'ra: mine

satu: stay

satu'sa sam: don’t stay

savira'ra: fuck me

savira tu: to fuck you

semrath ngudia tu ki faro?: Do you know how much I love you?

sham gar'ngun: so sorry

soki: yes

sowaitu shog ra fionn: don’t leave me

soyanlan: an expression of denial or disbelief

tam shia ngarthu: you are so beautiful

tamonn migar ti cayio ni timyi: I want to break your hearts in bliss

tamonn tu: I want you

tri tu miras'tu: don’t worry about me (literally: don’t break your hearts because of me)

tromalfan: very cold; coldest

yamu'sati: very juicy term of enderment for a man

yanapili'sam: my pili-tree blossom

Gaelic

a bheil thu a’ tighinn?: are you cumming/coming?

a’ bhuidheach, na dig!: don’t make me sick!

a chrostag: you naughty girl

a ghràidh!: my love, my dear (term of endearment)

a leithid cheudna dhut: same to you

a mhic an uilc!: you evil bastard (to a man)

a mhic na galla!: you son of a bitch!

an diabhal orm-sa!: bloody hell, fucking hell!

cac!: shit!

cha déid thu ás orm!: you won’t get away from me/escape me!

chan: (/xaN(j)/) no, not

chan eil fear eile air tir nam beò aig a bheil mo spéis air thoiseach ort: there is no man alive that I desire more than you

creid thusa sin ma thogras tu fhéin: you can believe that if you want to

creachaidh tu mi!: you will ruin me!

cum air falbh!: stay away from me!

cum sin a-mach agus creididh dhaoine!: shout it loud enough and people will believe you!

daing ort: hell, for fuck sake!

daingead! (/daŋʲgʲəd/): oh bugger, oh hell!

dàir!: fuck!

dallag na galla!: are you blind, you bastard?

dìomhan: bummer, lazy sod, idle bastard

gráidh (-àidh): (1) love, fondness; (2) lover, beloved object

luranain: pretty boy

ma chreideas tu na chluinneas chan eil sa ghealach ach càise!: don’t believe everything you hear!

mac an diabhail: (1) bastard; (2) damn it! (excl.)

mac bathair fhuilich a tha anmad!: you fucking son of a bitch!

mo thuaireapadh ort: go to hell, to hell with you!

mur eil nas leòr ann, chan aithne dhomh dé nì e.: if that isn’t enough, then I don’t know what will be.

na gabh air falbh!: don’t leave!

na gabh ort gun…: don’t you dare/don’t presume that…

nach ist thu?: (1) won’t you shut up? (2) you don’t say, I don’t believe it!

nighneag: little girl

ó, riabhach!: oh hell, sod this!

rach thusa!: fuck off/you!

’s ann agad a tha am beachd gun creid mise thu!: you surely don’t expect me to believe you!

’s ann ort a tha an dearg-bhathias!: you’ve got some bloody cheek!

’s mi nach creid thu: I don’t believe you

’s mi tha taingeil d’ fhaicinn: am I pleased to see you

sguir a dh’obair orm!: stop teasing me!

tha gaol agam-sa ort fhéin: I love you too.

tha gràdh agam ort: I love you

tha mo ghion ort: I love you with all my heart.

tha sin mór orm a chreidsinn: I find that hard to believe, I have trouble believing that

tha thu cho breugach is a tha luchag bradach: you are a lying bastard

thalla a dh'ifhrinn (/haLə ʝirʲɪNʲ/): go to hell!

thig gu aona cheann: come to a climax

tog thusa do làmh!: take your hands off (me)!

Scots (Source: x)

aye: yes

gaunnie: going to

Sassanack: Englishman

braw: beautiful

dobber: a fool

hammered: drunk

mingin: revolting

houchin: very busy

isnae: is not

hackit: ugly

gads: exclamation of disgust

coo: cow

mony a mickle maks a muckle: saving small amounts

glaickit: not very clever

naw: no

rubbered: drunk

nappeer: head

manky: dirty

stocious: very drunk

droofin: in need of a drink

polis: police

maw: mum

puggled: tired out

numpty: idiot

mither: mother

noo jist haud on: now just stop there

neeps: turnips

kerry oot: take away

dee ye ken?: do you understand?

galoot: clumsy

pure dead brilliant: exceptionally good

dour: miserable

dram: a whisky

swally: to swallow

bampot: idiot

skelp: a slap

wabbit: tired or worn out

keep the heid: misbehaving

slecher: messy or clumsy

zarrafact: is that a fact

tattie: potato

ben: mountain

haud yer wheesht: be quiet

ersed: can’t be bothered

peelly wally: unwell

wingnut: someone with big ears

yer aff yer heid: you are off your head

Scooby: clue

smeekit: intoxicated

I’m fair puckled: out of breath

crabit: irritable

greet: cry

snell: sharp

puss: face

bairn: child

raj: crazy

shooftie: a glance or look

eeejit: an idiot

geggie: mouth

dunderhead: stupid

scrieve: to write

mince: nonsense

mind: remember

howlin: smelly

hoachin: very busy

baltic: freezing

noo: now

thon: that

It’s a dreich day: bad weather

dinnae: don’t

jobby: shit

Irish

a chroi (ah-REE): my heart, my heart’s beloved, my darling (term of endearment)

a ghrá (ah-GHRA): my love, dear (term of endearment)

a stór (ah-STOR): my darling (term of endearment)

miurnin / miurneach: sweetheart (term of endearment)

#( gen. | reference )

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queer-dnd-misadventures · 6 years

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diners, drive-ins, & dragons: session 1

the cast: soren @transgirlthor as tove, half-orc hexblade warlock lex @fareexa as shel, orc barbarian dean @queerjew as screech, kenku bard avia @patrexes, DM

the source material: princes of the apocalypse & blatant disregard for PotA’s actual intended plot

we begin our scene in red larch, a small town several days journey from waterdeep, in a bar. tove, shel, and screech—being, as they are, late-teen queer and trans kids—have been here for many, many hours, they’ve been loud, and they’ve been really fucking cheap. so they’re quietly asked to leave.

they get a room at the local motel, sleep off their hangovers, and wake up to a Fantasy Continental Breakfast with some alarming components. tove just starts eating eggs whole. just swallows them. she just vores the goddamn eggs. why not?

the proprietor of the inn, a widowed middle aged woman who’s a bit… well. she senses auras, and she thinks there’s something shady going on. a few of her chickens have gone missing, and she’s pretty sure there’s a nefarious plot at hand. she heard the tarnlar kids were talking about a plague, too, and not to be Fantasy Racist but she’s pretty sure there’s some kinda warlock or wizard to blame.

the trio heads out to the tarnlar house and meet mrs tarnlar, rynessa, who’s a little transphobic but it’s….whatever. her kids have, in fact, been talking about a plague out by lance rock, but they heard it from somebody who heard it from somebody who heard it from somebody, and you know you can’t really trust anything that innkeeper says. she’s not right in the head, you know. in any case, the trio asks to talk to her kids, and they’re waved over to anna, age 7. anna has a very high dex and dreams of becoming a thief one day. she pickpockets one of tove’s daggers.

now, a quick bit of scene setting: tove is a 6 foot tall half-orc with a horrifying str of 22. shel is 8’5” and has the highest wis of anyone in the party but also has 4 int and 1 cha, so that’s where she’s at. she’s really just a farm girl who wants a girlfriend. screech, the kenku, has 2 str. They literally can’t hold themself up on their own legs. they ride on the Tall Girls’ shoulders in turns.

tove tries to grapple the child. fails. screech casts mage hand, gets a nat 20 on a sleight of hand roll, and deftly plucks the dagger out of anna’s hands and lets it hover in the air out of her reach. she jumps for it a bit, unsuccessfully.

tove goes to retrieve it. screech lets it hover a bit higher. tove jumps for it, unsuccessfully.

anyway, anna is enamored by the fact that they’re adventurers and also by the fact that tove and shel are very, very tall. she tries to trade information for the dagger, but is ultimately way too excited and explains that she and her brother kai heard from the milliner that there’s a curse and/or plague out at the cliffs by lance rock. the crew takes some “you’re not chicken, are you?”ing from the seven year old before they eventually decide to bite the bullet and head out to lance rock.

there are a lot of warning signs at lance rock. unfortunately, the only person in the party who can read common is the kenku, who can’t talk, so they continue onwards more or less unknowingly. at this point, your humble DM makes the horrible, horrible mistake of introducing a swarm of spiders as a low level, easy battle to introduce these new d&d players to the mechanics of attack rolls.

tove had to make a death saving throw. shel at one point barrel-rolled and somehow not one single spider got caught under her 8’5”, 450lb frame. screech somehow makes it through this unscathed.

the zombies in lance rock are pretty boring. the crew makes it through well, killing two zombies and very pointedly avoiding waking up any of the rest of them. tove shows off how strong she is by picking up an entire sacrifical altar for literally no reason. they find the signet ring of a noble household from waterdeep on a severed arm and pocket it for a sidequest somewhere further down the line. they sneak past some zombie furries cosplayers. tove tries to convince shel they should put screech in an iron trunk and leave them.

then they get to the endgame of this tiny tiny little encounter casually borrowed with a few changes from princes of the apocalypse and are sneaking up on the mad wizard oreioth in his workshop. how they managed to sneak up on him in the first place? we just don’t fucking know. in any case, screech decides to start this encounter off by using mage hand to knock over a jar on a shelf on the opposite side of the cavern.

your humble DM makes their second mistake: letting dean describe the jar’s contents. it apparently contains a faintly glowing purple liquid, very thick and viscous.

i shrug. it falls on the floor, the jar shatters, and where the contents fall, a portal to the outer planes opens up. think the spell black tentacles. blackness seeps into the room. everything goes cold. a zombie gets grabbed by a few of the undulating, many-eyed tendrils, and pulled in, disappearing fucking instantly. the wizard oreioth screams, very loudly, and takes a couple uncertain, worried steps forward.

roll initiative! or, wait, don’t, i guess, because halfway through shel’s preparation to throw her javelin, tove gets the grand idea to talk to the guy. “hail and well met!” she doesn’t actually say in her vaguely-british accent, but absolutely does in my head since she’s soren @transgirlthor’s baby and is pretty much what it says on the tin. “i’m a warlock too and that totally wasn’t my fault, and um, anyway, we’re kind of? lost?”

tove is nobility. oreioth is also nobility. they’re also both trans, which you had to see coming from a name like oreioth, let’s get fucking real. they knew each other in high school! oreioth is super offended that tove would suggest he was a warlock, like he was anything like her family… doesn’t she remember him?

tove rolls for it. apparently she does.

(screech and shel, who know absolutely nothing about tove’s background, look on in confusion)

the conversation goes downhill! turns out summoning an eldritch abomination and then trying to play innocent doesn’t really tend to... work out. shocker. also, three zombies are shambling their way down the corridor some 60 feet away, and there’s a goddamn eldritch abomination. the DM, very aware at this point that they almost died fighting fucking spiders, is more than a little worried. but hey! maybe it’ll work out!

remember when they rolled initiative, like, ages ago? yeah, so shel rolled 17, the eldritch abomination rolled 16, and tove rolled 14. none of the other numbers matter.

shel throws her javelin. hits oreioth for an amount of damage i no longer remember. as a reaction, oreioth shouts a command word and awakens four more zombies! DM casually begins preparing to five-second foreshadow a deus ex machina while desperately trying to find a spell an eldritch abomination would cast that wouldn’t be a completely inescapable TPK.

dean raises their hand.

dean: talking is a free action, right? avia: yeah dean: cool! i say hello avia: um dean, whose kenku has the haunted one background and some experience with great old one cults: in primordial

so after a mostly-telepathic round of bargaining with a great old one that deals psychic damage to everyone in the room save screech themself (they have a haunted ring of mind shielding, which will absolutely not come up later, definitely not), a deal is struck: the GOO kills everything here, except for the party. in return, screech’s soul? ha. hahahaha. when they die, that’s getting fucking eaten, no take-backsies and no getting brought back.

they are still, at this point, level one. two hours ago they couldn’t even kill spiders.

the eldritch abomination casts, like, a modified version of incendiary cloud. every undead drops, instantly. oreioth is on fire and will be dead by the next round because he has like four HP left. tove’s next in the order, and casts eldritch blast.

oreioth dead in miami

the eldritch abomination pulls their dimensional portal shut with some truly alarming physics that sounded pretty damn cool when i described it three hours ago and don’t really know how to repeat. the crew are left alone to explore the workshop and study. they loot everything, obviously. tove even takes the curtains.

but we’re not quite finished yet. there’s a bloody shrine in the study, see, with a sigil tove recognizes but can’t quite place carved into it. also some severed limbs, which are carefully removed and any jewelry looted, including a beaded friendship bracelet. it’s got two heart-shaped beads and between those, letter beads spelling out the name jemma. screech puts it on their ankle immediately and then splashes some holy water on the shrine. then all three of them touch the fucking thing, in unison, and like—?

listen. i know i’m the one who put it there in the first place, specifically for this to happen. but i didn’t think they’d actually, like, do it.

anyway, screech hasn’t taken any damage this whole time. tove and shel very much have. their wounds, now, reopen. their blood, seemingly of its own accord, finds its way into the engraved sigil. and when the bloody sigil is complete, they drop to the floor. dead? unconscious? simply unoccupied? who knows.

at least they’re level 2 now. and screech is—probably—fine.

a raven crows behind them. shel and tove, in their astral forms, turn around. they roll insight. shel, not particularly quick on the uptake, recognizes something is very, very wrong about the prepubescent half-elf with the raven perched on her shoulder, not there only seconds before. tove recognizes her baby sister.

“mother’s going to kill me,” says lothar.

#long post for ts #spiders cw

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