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anteroom-of-death · 2 months

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Teacher's Pet part 14

Synopsis: The Reader gets a potential glimpse into her future. She also makes an enemy.

A/n: yeaaayyyy. More fun. Fuckery world building. Thanks to all my readers. I should probably do a tag list instead of zapping ur inboxes. Uhhh....yeah. to my mutuals who have to deal with me and aren't attached to this, I am sorry. I love you and I would donate my organs to you.

Grades were posted. Most were good, nothing to really write home about. You did far better than you expecting. The self-doubt really was deep-rooted, wasn’t it?

Except one. That stupid alien gave you a near-perfect. Just one point shy of an absolutely perfect one-hundred percent.

So much for no favoritism…

You’d take it anyways. And not bring it up…

Work was slow but it was steady.

He even met you between shifts at your park.

You started feeling a tad insane without him. Did love feel like this? You admitted you had little experience with love. Just what you attempted to create in the past. And trashy books and television shows and movies and songs…

You needed him like you needed a cigarette and a stiff drink after a long day.

Bella Swan would be so proud of you, you degraded yourself in your mind.

“How is work going?” The Doctor asked with genuine shine of curiosity in his tone and face.

“The amount of professors in now…I have to dodge them! I do think the statistics professor I had two terms ago recognized me!” You spoke in a shocked, scared tone. You didn’t need that getting out. Could ruin your future plans.

“Oh no!” He chuckled, as he handed you a bit of sandwich.

“You aren’t forgettable.”

You skeptically glared over at him.

“Any who. How was your gig at the student union?”

“No one appreciated the irony of Pink Floyd.”

“And?”

“Everyone loves Doctor Disco!” He flourished then played air guitar.

You burst out laughing. With a quick roll of your eyes, you shook your head.

“You’re such a nerd.”

“I invented the concept!”

“Probably true!” You let yourself think of his time on Earth. Who knew what funk he has spread? You weren’t going to delve into it much more.

Yet.

One day, when you felt brave enough.

“I have to go to London for a while in two weeks. Just maintenance of the Black Archives…I need to streamline some stuff for making it easier for my next few regenerations. And update some things about a plan for proxy since another organization is down to a woman named Gwen and her husband and she’s thinking of retiring the entire engagement. Her…leader hasn’t returned to the planet in ages. I doubt he ever will. This planet has caused him too much pain. Which, ironic, since his ancestors came from here. Talk about mother wounds! Just upload all the databases for UNIT to deal with.”

“Inviting me?” You clarified.

“Yeah…I think it’ll take a week. Especially with the layers of bureaucracy that is in place these days.” He looked over, his hair caught in the wind. “Could you spare a week? No TARDIS, no time travel. Just hop to, hop out, the slow way around.”

You licked your top row of teeth and scraped it back into place.

“Sure?”

“Perfect. I’ll have them ready a room, a better room for us.”

“One with a window?”

“If they do have those.”

You nodded.

“It’s a date!”

“Fantastic.” He smiled but seemed to flash in his eyes some hidden response from just the one word…

You chewed your shared sandwich and sipped your can of Coke Zero. The weather was getting warmer and the sun was actually shining in one of those perfect, photo-ready days.

“The vitamin D feels good, doesn’t it?” You turned your head to face the sun. The heat felt too good on your skin. You let a little moan slip through your lips.

“Perhaps. I might need a sun crème soon.” He replied.

You snorted. He was bone pale, but you didn’t know how alien skin worked yet.

“Yeah, you are pretty pale.”

Your alarm went off and you had to go.

Final good-byes said and you stalked off.

You had to plan out your little London escape. If it was hard work for him, you wanted to kill time in comfort. Do some sightseeing. Nothing major. London had tons of viral cafés and pop-ups.

The time flew by…

And suddenly you were off and away in another fancy armored Range Rover with armed escorts.

He did do you a bit of justice and got you a room with a view. Just not a particularly stunning one…

He went off, rather rapidly if you did say so yourself, because something needed him to submit his DNA and he couldn’t have any radiant interference. Petronella needed to be with him to get her DNA analyzed or something. You were not going to try to comprehend.

Fine by you, you’d nose around. There were so many floor and he gave you some sort of weird blank paper he said would get you through anything you needed.

“It’s psychic paper!” He said, smile up to his ears.

“Looks like a piece of printer paper shoved into an old wallet to me.” You replied as you regarded the object.

Fine by you, you stuffed it in your jean’s pocket.

You found yourself on the first floor, and saw a door open. There was a sign posted on an easel. ‘Companions and Surviving Family Support Group’, it proclaimed.

You put two and two together. It was probably in reference to the man doing who-knows-what.

You weren’t a companion per say. The Doctor assured you as much.

Did you invade? Did you go look at your future? Or a potential future? It mentioned family members…

Your curiosity got the best of you. Like that damn cat!

You walked in, it was set up like a Narcotics Anonymous meeting. Coffee, sweet treats, chairs all in a circle.

There were already a crowd of people.

And your entrance wasn’t exactly planned.

You slid onto the chair that was closest to the door. An east exit if this was too much.

“Oh! A new face!” A woman with a lot of life etched into her face with a kind smile and a mop of white-shock hair, her lips as red as blood.

“Does, is…am I late?” Was the best you could choke out. You could feel your eyes start to bulge. You swallowed hard. All eyes were on you. You didn’t like it. You preferred anonymity.

The mistake was already clear in your mind.

“No, dove. Right on time! We’re still waiting on Ian! I’m Jo!” She scooted her chair closer to you.

You thrust your tongue out and bit it’s side.

“I’m (y/n).”

A short woman with a leather jacket and all the authoritarian air of something that placed your hairs on the back of your neck at attention glared at you and Jo. “Why don’t we save it all for introductions…”

You got up and grabbed a bottle of water and sat back down.

An ancient man wandered in and sat down.

“Oh! Ian, love! We got a new straggler!” Jo said to him and gave him a hug that seemed too strong for her aged body.

The bossy girl cleared her throat. “Now we can start.”

You hated her already. She clearly ran this group with an iron fist.

There was Jo, Ian, the bitch’s name was Yaz, Martha, a woman who called herself Ace, a married couple named Nyssa and Tegan, a grandmother and grandson duo named Graham and Ryan, a Mel, and some young man named Luke…

Quite a big group.

It came down to you, you introduced yourself. And were supposed to give some brief synopsis of your relationship with the Doctor.

You stared off into space.

“Yeah, he’s here…doing something. I don’t know. I’m his…girlfriend. He’s also a professor at my university.” You stared at your left palm and gauged the reaction. “Nothing major. I’ve got his promise that he’s not going to get me in the way of death.” You finished with a shrug. “He introduced me to his…ex recently. Some milf named Missy. Have you lot met her?”

Yaz’s eyes could have make entrails out of you…

“What? Did I not brush my teeth correctly?” You pointed that faux-question towards her.

“She told me she didn’t do relationships.” She spoke in a tiny voice eventually.

“Well, maybe I’m special.” You shot Yaz a shit-eating grin masked as an innocent smile.

“Oh! I heard the Master went female!” Jo broke up your brewing tiff. “He was such a softie towards me! I enjoyed our little battles.”

You laughed and covered up your palm.

The conversations went on. Mainly centered around Missy now. Apparently she was the prime minister and tortured Martha and her family. Also, body-snatched Nyssa’s father. And became a cat. She’d certainly done her fair share of damage. No wonder she was chained up in a basement in Bristol of all places.

That explained her feline nature.

“Which Doctor are you with?”

“I don’t know. Tall? Thin? Scottish? Severe face? Plays guitar? Wild grey hair. Dark roots, too handsome…yeah.” You didn’t know how many or what the Doctor looked like previously.

“Oh. So the one before Yaz and Graham and me!” Ryan piped up. “She mentioned being a grey-haired Scot right before we met her.”

“Oh, so he got his wish of being a chick next.” You affirmed.

“Wonder what happened to you!” Yaz said, venom starting to leak into her voice.

“Nothing I need to know about, okay?” You pressured back. Two could play this game.

She clearly had sour grapes over you getting chosen and not her.

More conversations broke out, more story-swapping. You started to feel beyond way out just out of your depths. You had to keep your calm. Especially in front of your new foe. Any weakness and you were going to be either throwing down with her or she’d do something unspeakable.

She was apparently a police officer, after all!

“So you’ve never gone on an adventure? To space? Not even back in time? Or forward?” Ace spoke incredulously.

“No, I’m not going to put my life at risk. I made him promise to not. He’s retired. He just needs to help UNIT and rehabilitate Missy.”

“She doesn’t stay good!” Yaz spit out. She then told her tale of him and how the only way to break free from him, the Doctor had to hand Missy over to the Nazis.

“Not my problem.” You said, after finally scraping your jaw off the floor.

“And wow, what the fuck happened between now and when? Handing over someone to the literal Nazis?” You shot up an errant hand and glared. “And hanging around cops. No offense. It’s like historical Jesus versus American Jesus.” You made the decision to bite your middle finger nail in a covert attempt to flip her off.

“Maybe you had something to do with it.” She accused.

“Oh, yeah. Blame me.” You said.

Others attempted civility between the two of you.

Martha seemed between two minds here.

“Just remember how powerful your emotions are!” Ian called out. “Especially how deeply the Doctor evokes them in us!”

It dawned on you, and you decided to take the highest of roads. “Yeah, were dealing with some alien. Like…damn. We really are out here getting….cut up over an alien. He’s our weird alien. But yeah.” He was your alien. And you were going to defend your man, but you didn’t want Yaz and her feelings to make you any less powerful. “His body count has got to be in the millions.” You used the term in a way to dig in that the Doctor picked you for the mainstream meaning and not Yaz. But it worked for companions too!

“Who knows how many of us he’s taken a shine to!” Suddenly you felt yourself heart plummet. You knew you weren’t special as part of a group, but you decided to soothe yourself with your marked differences. No magical abduction story. Just a normal, morally-grey student and teacher relationship. Only it was your luck to end up with the most ran-through alien.

And, it did suit you. You too were ‘ran-through’.

You wished he was free and you could get some comfort here…

You felt yourself return to normal, and decided to pass the ultimate catch.

“Sorry for getting heated. The past month or so since he’s revealed his double life to me, has been…shattering. I’ve only recently discovered that he was…you know, not some man I hang out with. I only recently started calling him Doctor. Not Professor Smith.”

The though of him not taking anyone else as a lover after you did fill you with a sense of pride. Whatever impact you had, that was a mark in your favor. Loyal to you…even if you were dead or broken-up or whatever your fate was to mess around with anyone else.

A permanent (y/n)-shaped hole no one could even get close enough to fill.

When he was done with his task you’d have to slap him and then suck him off.

Martha finally put in her two cents.

“Just don’t get hurt. The last time he was in love when I was with him…so bad. The ending was enough to destroy me.”

“Thank you.”

The conversation went back to normal. You really enjoyed Jo’s stories. Apparently he was a white-haired debonair sort for her. You were curious to see what that had looked like. You doubted it could compare to your particular Doctor, but it was probably very close.

You found yourself laughing and getting along with most. Except for Yaz. You both kept finding yourselves shooting daggers at each other.

You tried to rise above it.

However. You were only human…

You heard a sharp rap at the door and turned at the noise.

It was your Doctor.

“Sorry. I was going to the toilets. Heard some nice familiar voices. Smelt the coffee! I love a cup of coffee after genetic sequencing…Hello!”

There were nary a word as he strode over and made a cup, dumping about a dozen sugar packets in.

“I’ll let you all talk amongst yourselves. Oh, and (y/n), I have tickets to walk through the Chelsea Physic Garden at three. Will you join me? And Martha, I am so deeply sorry for all I’ve done to you. It’s weighed on my conscience since I was a young man in a bow-tie. Truly. From the bottoms of both my hearts. And, oh, faces I don’t know yet, catch your laters.” He shot a quick peace sign.

He breezed out with the same ease that he came in with…

You flushed hard and felt yourself wanting to kick your legs hard. The smile that crept up around your face was probably very goofy. You felt suddenly very giddy and lovesick. And embarrassed.

You swore you heard Yaz mutter something about “Daddy issues”.

You wanted to snap and fight her on the floor.

Jo and Ace heckled. “Oh, he’s back to being a groovy gentleman.” Jo said. “I recognize that red jacket!”

After a while, everyone seemed to wrap it up.

You received quite a few warnings about how passionate a relationship with the Doctor is, and how it would eventually run it’s course.

You didn’t know whether to heed it, or believe him. You were airing on the side of him. After all, he could have popped down here in his TARDIS, but he was following your regulations down to the letter. Changed behaviors, and for whatever reason, when you were long gone, and he was a she, the Doctor didn’t take Yaz up on her romantic offerings.

You felt ashamed of your ‘I can fix him’/’I am the only exception’ mindset. You were a rebel to the idea of monogamy usually. You also didn’t believe in true love. Not after all that you’d seen at work and even experienced in your personal life. However, the beating of your heart and the ache in your soul and the throb of your cunt interfered…

You felt like you were his favorite.

Maybe you were.

You were delusional enough, you decided.

With final hugs and you swore you’d get down and learn more about your shared alien, you’d exited to go and text him that you were out front, smoking.

“You know, maybe you died from lung cancer.” Yaz materialized, carrying some stuff to her car. “Or emphysema.”

You blew out a puff in her general direction.

“I don’t need a lecture. He’s already on my ass enough to get me to quit.” You played back.

“So, lady Doctor. What does she look like?” You asked. Curious. You tried a friendly route. “Still Scottish?” The two incarnations of Time Lords you had met had been. It was an honest question. You even tried a cordial laugh.

“No, definitely not Scottish.”

You nodded.

“She’s blonde and has the most amazing eyes! I took her to get her ears pierced. She’s the most incredible and infuriating person I’ve ever met.”

“Apparently that’s par for the course.” You agreed.

She gave you some agreement.

“Does she still play guitar?” You offered an opportunity to bond, girl to girl. You may have hated her, but a cop on your side may come in handy. One day. And you both were tied to each other now.

So…you had to act your age or whatever.

She was a little younger than you. You could remember being her age. Empathy.

“No, she can’t even carry a tune. She sings all the time.”

You had to let a small snort escape.

“He can sing really well.” You cupped a palm to your mouth. “It’s a bit annoying at times, you know. He frequently does during his lectures.”

“So…that hadn’t changed.” You could see the gears in her brain turning.

“Wait, he’s your professor?” She exclaimed.

“Not currently.” You shrugged, as his text saying that he was coming down popped up, absolved of guilt.

“That’s so wrong!”

“Honey, the Doctor abducts barely legal girls with a degree of regularity. I think a tame affair with a student who started uni later than most is the best-case scenario. You included.” You flicked a bit of ash off your cigarettes end. “No offense.”

“Yeah…” You clearly won.

He swanned into the little front garden at the entrance of UNIT. He changed to a hoodie and simple black blazer and a relaxed pair of checked trousers.

It made your heart skip a beat.

“Hey. I was thinking Italian for dinner. Or Thai. In the fifty-second century there’s a great collision of their flight colonies.”

You smacked your teeth together and let out the final puff of smoke.

“You’re the Doctor before my Doctor.” Yaz gazed up, a look of pre-mourning in her eyes.

“As my wife, River, would say, ‘Spoilers, sweetie.’ It’s nice to meet you early. I’ll try to wipe you from my memory to make it easier for my future self.” He gave Yaz’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Yeah, good luck. See you soon?” You called out as you let yourself be swept off your feet by your particular Doctor.

“Sure?” You heard her say.

A few blocks later and going on the Underground, you pulled him close by the lapels. You gave him a firm kiss and slapped his ass. It was a ‘thank-you’ in a small, simple way. You’d never end up, all things go as planned, like any of those perfect victims. Who knew, maybe you’d dump him. It was all open-ended.

You had your entire life ahead of you. More or less.

For now, it was just you, the Doctor, and a walk in a garden with a fabulous dinner date.

“What was that for?” He looked at you quizzically.

“You’ll never know…” You grinned immensely and a little psychotically. You felt your nose crinkle a bit.

“Oh?” He replied back, skeptical in tone.

It was a start.

“Yeah…” You breathed, inhaling this moment. Inhaling the scent of him, you felt sane, safe, stable and most importantly- in love and loved back.

The train pulled up.

A perfect start to a perfect week.

He snaked out the psychic paper and tapped it like it was an oyster card. You entered the platform and smiled up at him...

Yeah, life was beyond awesome.

#personal #doctor who #12th doctor #12th doctor x reader #12th doctor x you #you x 12th doctor #reader x 12th doctor #self insert #teacher student #doctor who fanfiction #u know we need to write more insane women #i am providing this service #i wrote this #yipee #peter capaldi

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kittyball23 · 7 months

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You Can't Harmonize Alone (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: What if there was another little Trolling present at the scrapbook storytime at the end of Trolls World Tour?

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It seemed like no time had passed at all by the time that the rebuilding was done.

All the villages that had been destroyed during Barb’s world tour – their structures, their decorations, their memorials and mementos – had all been successfully restored to their former glory. Only, it was better. Visually, everything had been rebuilt to the colorful manner that it had looked before, but every inhabitant resided within with a new sense of being. Because now, the six musical tribes of Trolls knew that they could live in peace with one another, celebrating their differences instead of living wary of each other.

It was vital that the young came to learn of this notion, and so the Pop Queen had taken it upon herself to educate them, reading from a scrapbook that she had made shortly after the adventure had occurred. It was one that told the history of the Trolls – the true one, that she’d come to learn.

“In the beginning we were divided,” Poppy told the little Trollings. “Our ancestors thought we were just too different to get along. Turns out they were wrong. Very, very wrong.”

The pictures she was showing them had the Troll ancestors depicted, one of them – the Pop ancestor – had a little speech bubble that read “We’re sorry.”

“You have to be able to listen to other voices, even when they don’t agree with you,” Poppy continued with her explanation. “Our differences aren’t bad. Our differences are good. Our differences make us stronger. More creative. More inspired…” She paused, showing the Trollings the pages of the scrapbook and admiring how invested they were in the story.

“So,” Poppy went on, “whether your song is sad and heartfelt, loud and defiant, or warm and funky, or even if you’re a little bit of each… it’s all these sounds that make the world a richer place. Because you can’t harmonize alone.”

Poppy beamed, quite satisfied with her conclusion and grew even happier to see that all the other little Trollings were just as joyful. The Funk, Rock, Classical, Techno, Country, and Pop kids all glanced at each other, all smiles and curiosity.

She sighed, about to close the scrapbook, when the little Trolling who’d been calmly seated upon her lap held the pages open and stared at them with awe.

“Wow!” she asked, and then looked up at Poppy with her large, familiar blue eyes. “Is that really a true story, Mommy?”

Poppy giggled, caressing the girl’s cheek and pushing away some strands of rich indigo hair that was falling into her eyes. Before she could give her an answer, another voice responded.

“Yes, it is.”

The Trolling whirled around, and beamed a little gap-toothed grin. “Daddy!”

Branch, looking quite regal in his leafy king’s crown, bent down and embraced his daughter. He then looked up at Poppy – his queen, and his wife – with a sparkle in his eye that she recognized as one of deep love. She did not resist when he offered his hand to her, and she easily took it, giving it a gentle squeeze. The words she’d just said rang out in her head again: You can’t harmonize alone. Well, that wouldn’t be a problem. Not when she had the best husband in the whole wide world by her side, and their little youngling. She could swoon about it all day, get lost in those ocean-blue eyes and the sweet sound of her daughter’s joyful giggle, though her reverie was broken at a sudden, loud CHOMP!

Poppy yelped, and Branch and their daughter gasped at the sight of Clampers suddenly biting on the scrapbook with her large, gnawing teeth!

“Clampers!” Poppy reprimanded. “Let’s not eat our history!”

The Country Trolling peered at her sheepishly, let go of the scrapbook, and grinned up at the Pop Queen apologetically. “Sorry, Miss Poppy.”

Just then, Tiny Diamond entered into the pod, groovily riding atop of a toy dump truck. “Yeah, yeah, yeah!” he bopped, “I’m done with my nap, and ready to play!” He shot glitter up into the air with flourish, prompting the Trolls to all laugh.

Poppy and Branch’s daughter giggled. “Can I go play with him?” she asked her parents.

“Of course!” Poppy answered brightly, while Branch nodded. “In fact, let’s all go!”

The Trollings in the pod cheered and quickly hurried out after the Pop King and Queen, to celebrate together in a grand party between all of the Troll Kingdom.

And the music never stopped!

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A/N: I'm glad with the way that Trolls World Tour ended, but this scenario came to mind after thinking about the ending scene in Boss Baby (where it had turned out that Tim had been telling his daughter the story all along). Besides, if Broppy had gotten married and had a kiddo that quickly, we wouldn't have seen any proposal or wedding!

#trolls #trolls 2 #trolls world tour #broppy #branch trolls #poppy trolls #dreamworks #fanfiction #kittyball writes

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whatacaitastrophe · 3 months

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Amara x Bloodweave - For Anonymous

Song Inspiration: "Ashes" by Celine Dion

A one-shot I did for someone who asked to remain anonymous, but said I could share it with you all <3 Thanks for requesting this! I had a great time writing it, and thank you for your donation to my Ko-fi!

Would you like me to write a BG3 one shot for you? Check out this post and send me a message <3

TW: depression, intrusive thoughts, mentions of murder, some smut at the end

Amara felt empty.

There honestly wasn’t a better way of putting it. Ever since she’d renounced Bhaal, despite knowing that it was the right thing to do (what she needed to do), she felt…empty. Not because she missed the intrusive thoughts about murdering others, or even the rush that the kill gave her. No, Amara regretted the things she’d done in Bhaal’s name when she did not have a choice. The emptiness she felt came from the fact that she no longer had the ability to transform into her Slayer form, and the greatness of that loss was not something she’d been prepared for.

“If you do this, if you kill the moon cleric Isobel, your master will reward you greatly,” Sceleritas Fel had said. “The gift awaiting you will give you the thing you desire most: to be closer to your draconic heritage.”

He’d been right. Amara had lived with the markings of being a draconic sorceress her entire life; endured teasing from other children, wary looks from strangers, the whole nine. Not that she’d ever cared. Amara thought the markings and her heritage were cool, and it frustrated her to no end that no one could really provide her with any further information about the past. Though Amara regretted that Isobel had to die, Isobel’s death just might be the only one Amara did not regret. Being in the gargantuan, terrifying form of the Slayer was the closest Amara had ever felt to the ancestor’s the half-drow knew so little about, and nothing would make her feel guilty for that.

Especially not when she’d received Astarion’s full support after explaining why. Gods, how grateful she was for Astarion. Meeting the elf was arguably the very best thing that had happened to Amara as a result of being picked up by the nautiloid on that fateful day. Their bond was instant, and Amara knew she’d (at minimum) found a forever friend in him the day that everyone woke up to find the tiefling bard’s brutalized body in their camp. Nobody really believed Amara when she said the damage was done by an animal, but Astarion was the only person who pulled her aside and called her out. Called her out, then told her to just be more careful next time before murdering someone. Amara had liked him ever since.

The vampire intrinsically understood what Amara was going through, the urges that plagued her and being forced to do the bidding of another without much real consent on her part, better than anybody else in camp. He understood how important the knowledge of one’s self, and who you were outside of what your sadistic master wanted you to be, was the tether that kept a person in a situation like Amara’s (and also Astarion’s) sane. He’d been the first person to understand what Amara gave up by renouncing Bhaal. The rest of their companions were so focused on being proud of Amara for resisting the God of Murder and celebrating the restoration of her humanity that no one had realized that while the relief she felt to still be alive was genuine, the happiness didn’t quite reach her eyes. How could it, when knowing by doing the right thing that she’d given up an important piece of who she was?

In the days that followed her resurrection by Withers’ hand, Amara was quiet. When they were out and about in the city she only spoke when necessary, and in the evenings at their suite in the Elfsong Tavern, she kept to the bunk she shared with Astarion (it was easier, since they’d spent most nights together since Moonrise Towers, anyway). Mercifully, her companions recognized that she was in a funk and didn’t really want to talk, and they left her alone for the most part. On the evening they returned from dealing with a supernatural presence haunting the home of the artist they’d met while he was held captive by the Zhentarim mercenaries, everyone decided to go out. Well, Karlach decided to go out, and convinced everyone other than Amara, Astarion, and Gale to go with her. Even though she’d rather be alone, there was no way the vampire and the wizard were going to leave her alone when she was like this. No, her lovers weren’t cruel. Or stupid, for that matter. Moreover, they knew Amara, and they knew she was shutting everyone out.

Gale’s presence in Amara’s life as a romantic partner was a much more recent development. Amara had always assumed the wizard was more traditional in his way of thinking when it came to relationships, as all of his initial flirting ceased the moment it was made obvious that Amara was with Astarion. Needless to say, when Gale approached Amara and Astarion one evening, and expressed that he’d developed feelings for them both, and was interested in pursuing them both, it was a surprise. Yet, somehow, it worked. Gale and Astarion were two sides of the same coin that complimented each other in a way most would assume might make them mortal enemies. Most importantly, they both cared very deeply for Amara, and wanted to make her happy.

Silence was difficult to come by these days, with the additions of Halsin, Minsc, and Jaheira to their camp, and once everyone departed for the tavern below, it was not as welcome as Amara had hoped it would be. When everyone else was around, there was constant idle chatter, and even if she wasn’t paying attention, at least it was there to distract her mind. Silence left her completely alone with her thoughts. That was when the regret crept in. Regret for the people she’d killed, regret that she’d given up the part of herself that made her feel whole, all of it.

Before everyone else left, Amara had already crawled into the bed she shared with Astarion, her back to the rest of the world. She closed her eyes and tried to focus her mind, to push away all of the intrusive thoughts plaguing her about the decisions she’d made, but the more she tried, the louder the voices in her head became. She was a mistake, she’d made a mistake, she deserved the way she felt.

She wished Withers had just let her go.

“Did you mean to say all of that into my head, darling?” Astarion’s voice made Amara jump. She hadn’t realized he was nearby, and she rolled over on the bed to lay on her side facing the suite rather than the wall. Amara was met with the sight of Astarion and Gale, sitting on Gale’s bed with looks of despair.

“Mine as well.” Gale confirmed sadly, and Amara silently cursed herself for forgetting about the damn tadpoles for a moment. Their little friends liked to communicate with each other, and when somebody was feeling any sort of heightened emotion, it was easier for the tadpoles to commune telepathically.

Amara didn’t need to answer them for the answer to be clear: no, she had not intended for her lovers to hear her most intrusive thoughts about the events that occurred in The Temple of Bhaal. “Does it matter?” Amara asked, her voice completely void of emotion. As the words left her mouth, it occurred to Amara that she wasn’t actually talking about the fact that her tadpole shared her thoughts with Gale and Astarion, but about the thoughts she was having overall.

Astarion moved towards her with an elven quickness, crawling over her to place himself between her and the wall, likely so she couldn’t turn away from Gale without having to look at him instead, and Amara sighed. Astarion slid down the mattress so he laid next to her, and he pulled her in close so Gale could join them. The mattress was barely big enough for just her and Astarion, let alone the three of them, but in this particular scenario, neither Astarion or Gale seemed to mind. Admittedly, Amara didn’t mind either. Having them both close was already making her feel a little bit better.

“Of course it matters. Of course you matter.” Astarion told her, the pain in his voice when he spoke was evident. “You are the most important person in my life, and if that old windbag of a skeleton hadn’t shown up when he did…I don’t know what I would have done.” He reached forward to cup Amara’s face in his hands, and he stroked her cheek with his thumb. Behind her, Gale kissed the crown of her head as he draped his arm over her next to Astarion’s.

“I know your Slayer form made you feel more connected to your draconic roots, but think of what it cost you? What keeping it would have cost you?” Gale reasoned softly. “No amount of power is worth giving up your humanity, trust me on that.”

Amara knew Gale was right. They were both right, and the thought of hurting either of them because she was gone, or she’d lost herself, made Amara sadder than the loss of her Slayer form. It was a testament to the hold the wizard and the vampire had on her heart, that she valued their thoughts and emotions as much as she did. “I just wish I didn’t feel so empty.”

“Perhaps we can help with that.” Astarion kissed her forehead, then tilted Amara’s head upwards to capture her lips with his in a deep kiss. Instantly, a rush of emotion swelled in Amara’s chest and she was transported to another universe where only she, Astarion, and Gale existed. A soft moan escaped her mouth as she parted her lips to let Astarion’s tongue enter it to explore. At the same moment, she felt Gale’s hand running along her sides and up to cup her breasts, kneading each of them gently as his mouth connected with her neck, scattering sweet kisses along her neck and jawline.

Amara gripped the fabric of Astarion’s shirt as if it were the only tether keeping her to the universe as Gale’s hands slid further down her body, and he raised the hem of her shirt just enough that she could feel the air on her skin as he traced small circles on her abdomen, and Amara whimpered. Gale’s touch was electricity on her skin, and Amara arched her body to press into his touch. With how little space there was on the bed, Amara’s movements caused her to grind against Astarion, which elicited a moan from the vampire as the kiss became more urgent. Amara wasn’t sure if this was exactly what Astarion had in mind when he suggested they could help her feel less empty, but she wasn’t complaining. Based on the way she felt both men stiffening in their pants on either side of her, they weren’t complaining either.

Astarion and Gale worked seamlessly together, almost to the point that Amara wondered if they were using their tadpole connection to communicate, and Astarion’s hand replaced Gale’s on her abdomen as the wizard reached to turn Amara’s head towards him. They all giggled softly together as Amara did her best to adjust so she was on her back between them– the movements as awkward as to be expected with three grown adults sharing a bed barely large enough for two. Then Gale kissed her feverishly, and any awkwardness Amara might have been feeling dissipated.

“Let us make you feel good, darling.” Astarion murmured against her ear as his fingers slipped beneath the top of her pants teasingly. Amara raised her hips, urging Astarion to go further, and he chuckled. “Tell me what you want, Amara.” Before Astarion, Amara hadn’t really been the type to take orders in the bedroom, but here she was: whimpering beneath his touch, ready to beg for whatever he was willing to give her. Amara broke out of her kiss with Gale just long enough to turn and look at the vampire to say, “You.” Then Gale was kissing her again as Astarion’s hand slid to where she wanted him to be most, and she sighed with pleasure and all of the negative thoughts that had occupied her mind for the last several days disappeared.

This was all she needed, and as long as she had Astarion and Gale, nothing else would matter.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale #astarion #bg3 fanfic #the dark urge #astarion x gale x tav #bloodweave x tav #female tav #bg3 smut #hurt/comfort #angst

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squirrelpatties · 1 month

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Okay, ignoring the incest, the question of Trolls World Taxonomy is pretty interesting (and not something I'm exactly qualified to get into lmao). You've got Trolls, Bergens, Vaycaytioners, Mount Rageons, and the variety of critters. And the Party Crashers as a potential result of Bergen/Troll relations based on what's known about them.

Clearly, we can't judge the species of this world by the taxonomies we know; Trolls have hair and maybe fur like mammals, and likely have a "warm-blooded" metabolism based on how much energy they're able to expend singing and dancing all the time (which then begs the question of how much they must eat relative to their body weight to maintain that energy, but it's possible there's some degree of music-based magic involved somewhere. Or the foods they normally eat are incredibly calorie-dense, like Bugsnax), but they also display non-mammalian traits as well—the most obvious one being eggs, and the most important one (in the movies at least, discounting Delta Dawn) being the lack of mammaries.

Of course, it's not impossible for non-mammalian species to have fur; Trolls could be some form of arthropod, like the fluffy moths of our world. But I think the true answer is, as stated earlier, far stranger, and outside the normal bounds of the taxonomic systems we apply to Earth animals. Take, for example, the Trolls-as-drugs metaphor present in the first and third movies. Yes, the Trolls being eaten and Floyd being drained serve as a metaphor for material consumption and talent being taken advantage of respectively, but from a literal standpoint? Trolls have a recorded emotional effect when consumed and their "talent" can be drained as an essence that works as a performance booster. In-universe, Trolls are drugs.

And then things are complicated further when we remember that Trolls have an inherent connection to music. It's written in their very bones and something they cannot be rid of, and different subspecies emerged based upon differing genres of music. Yes, there were the strings, but the ending of the second movie involved no making of new strings—and, in the history Peppy described (though we must take that account with several pinches of salt due to the inherent biases in his explanation; though it was a cute detail for the scrap-Pop Troll to be the one holding the harp when Peppy said "Trolls grew intolerant of each other's music" in the same way that the Pop Trolls having that original harp was a cute detail alluding to the truth purported by the Funk Trolls and Barb), the strings were described to have been made by the ancestors when they were inspired by the Original Sound. So it's very likely that the strings, for all the power they held, were merely instruments themselves, and that the power of music was inherent to Trolls from the beginning regardless of the strings' existence. But that's entirely speculation, as canon has no real indication towards the truth.

Still, the way that music is so inherent to Trolls can be considered an integral trait of the species; and yes, I am counting all Trolls as the same species. While we haven't seen any intergenre couples in canon, with the way that music develops, evolves, and exists in a variety of ways makes it near impossible to imagine that the different genres would be unable to mix. As for how deeply music is written into a Troll's very being, while it's true that many musical numbers seen in the movies and show are likely rehearsed, there are still plenty more large coordinated groups singing and dancing in tandem with no clear rehearsal or even discussion beforehand. While calling it a sort of "hiveminding" ability feels a bit too far, it's easy to surmise that, due to their inherent nature as creatures of Music first and foremost, it is incredibly easy for Trolls to join in on song and dance they've never heard before and naturally slot into place.

Perhaps it is disingenuous to compare Trolls to Earth animals at all; perhaps the more apt comparison would be to fungi, which are neither flesh nor cellulose and follow their own set of rules. But even then, fungi don't lay eggs, so we are once again brought back to the conclusion that Trolls cannot be defined by the mundane taxonomies of our world. While less is known about the other species (Bergen, Vaycaytioner, Mount Rageon, Critters), it can be assumed the same applies to them. Thus, an entirely new taxonomy would have to be created to apply to these creatures, which is what makes thinking about it so fun! One would have to come up with theories and worldbuilding on the histories and prehistories of the Trolls' world, using what information canon gives us and extrapolating off of that, all while using real world cladistics, taxonomy, and ecology as a basis with which to shape the barest bones of the Trolls' world taxonomy!

*nods dumbly* Yeah yeah 😃 <- (spaced out mid-way through that)

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trollielollie · 4 months

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Now for the Funk elder. Queen Athena Solar Summer.

I heavily based her designs off of disco balls and the 70s. Fun fact. She and Siren were engaged, before siren died. Also it’s clear that there are major changes from her og design to her current. As much as I wanted to keep her jumpsuit and cool cape, I felt her new design fitted my art style better, and instead the jumpsuit design could be used as a somewhat fancier outfit.

This old baddy lives somewhere deep within the funk archives zoned out beyond belief. Like she doesn’t even know what day or year, or that she is even in a ship (relatable)

#funk trolls #old art #trolls #art #trolls world tour #fanfic #trolls oc #my ocs #for the funk ancestor

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secretlilycookie · 1 month

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headcanons of the troll tribes

•Funk

-Their ancestors used to have tails, but as they became more 'civilized' they began to lose their tails.

-They have claws but they prefer to file them since they do not use them and they are somewhat annoying for them.

-they have fangs and their bite is very strong, they will unconsciously show them when they get angry.

-there is no preference between using four legs or two.

-It is taught from adolescence to practice defense, never to attack.

-They will avoid a fight if possible, but if the other throws the first blow they will immobilize him.

-They are quite creative by nature.

-They have a good sense of smell and can distinguish someone by their smell.

-Sometimes they are very egocentric for letting many things be known.

•Country

-They use firearms and only the most trustworthy are taught to use them.

-They have enough resistance and strength.

-The sheriff is the unofficial leader more out of preference than anything else, but if they don't trust him they won't follow him.

-They have to control their strength with other tribes for fear of accidents.

-Never insult his tail or his hair, you will receive a strong kick if you do (do you have any idea how strong are?)

-It has claws but they are very short, they take more care of their hooves.

-They are quite loyal but it is difficult to gain their trust.

•Pop

-Good metabolism for sweet foods.

-They spend a lot of energy so they eat various desserts or fruits.

-When they fight they usually let themselves be guided by their instincts, sponging themselves a little to perceive more.

-They have claws and fangs, they make them notice when they have a strong emotion, sometimes it is unconscious.

-Their tail is similar to that of a lion, varying in length or fluffy, it is quite expressive and helps them maintain balance.

-They are very intense in their hobbies and that makes it difficult for them to accept those of other trolls.

-They are quite playful when they are little and that causes them to get hurt but gives them resistance as they grow.

-They growl when they are angry.

-They can see a little in the dark but not that much, just distinguishing someone from an object.

•Techno

-They can make their body light up or stop glowing completely to hide.

-They can see in the dark even if they are not used to the dark( at least not in the present).

-The techno have a history of encountering other hostile sea civilizations.

-Only a few can control water, it means they are somehow related to their ancestor.

-They have claws and their eyes will turn into slits when they are VERY upset.

-They have to be constantly active (raves), if not then they will become absent-minded and then somewhat aggressive.

-They have a monarchy and two second in command (one of them is bliss marina) from the towns somewhat far from techno reef.

-Only the trollex family can float on land because they are more attached to their string.

-Those who are born with hydrokinesis are educated to control it since they are somewhat dangerous, this generates a certain distrust of them from other techno.

•Classical

-They are very coordinated so they tend to be together often.

-If they feel in danger they will look for company.

-They have high standards depending on their manners and skills for certain instruments.

-They have a short, fluffy tail, with which they can feel the gusts of wind and fly better.

-They are quite resistant and fast with those wings.

-Their diet is based on vegetables and some fruits.

-They are brave and will go down fighting.

-They learned to 'let go' more when they met the other tribes.

-They use their music as a weapon but they can only use it and they have their string.

-They usually only have one child, more would be dangerous for their health.

-They don't usually admit when they can't handle something because of expectations.

•Rock

-When they are puppies they are playful and quite heavy.

-Sharp fangs and retractable claws.

-They resist high temperatures (that's why they live in a volcano).

-Their tail is like a cat's and twitches when they are defensive.

-They use heat as energy, and their city is sustained by the volcano.

-They are spiteful and somewhat stubborn.

-They often have secret hobbies as they may seem 'silly' or 'cute' to other rock trolls.

-They don't share their fears or worries because they don't want to appear weak.

-They are very aggressive when fighting, preferably using their claws

•In general

-They contain their own music that can be used as energy.

-The scars are white (like an absence of color).

-What happened to the ancestors is something that everyone knows (except the pops at the beginning) but ignores (like the elephant in the room).

-Poppy wasn't the only one given advice to be a better leader, Queen Barb was also 'reprimanded'.

-Everyone has a certain ability to shine but not everyone can use their hair like pop trolls do.

#headcanons #trolls headcanons #trolls funk #trolls rock #trolls country #techno trolls #pop trolls #classical trolls #queen poppy #trolls poppy #trolls barb

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atsadi-shenanigans · 6 months

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Feeding Alligators: Ch 3 - PANTS!

And chapter three is up! You find pants! And disappoint your ancestors! Also, Astarion is here now, but with the language barrier, all communication is in charades.

On AO3

Whoever thought up camping needs to get their teeth smashed out with a brick. You’re pretty sure Hammurabi chiseled that into a stone somewhere.

Your ragtag squad of weirdos bustles around a clearing they found just off the trail. You’re far enough away from the wreckage of the butthole ship that traces of the stench only occasionally drift over you when the wind shifts. As night falls, your mental states unclenches. The python strangle the panic has eases enough for you to be aware of how your left side hurts. You’ve been laying, unmoving, for a while now.

But it’s your bladder that does it.

You’ve had funks before, hence the medication (and there’s a fun thought: brain zaps out in the middle of nowhere/space). This episode is shorter than most. You can’t tell if that’s because of all the progress you’ve made (yay, therapy!) or because you’re still very much in a survival situation in which a freakout is entirely warranted (yay, therapy).

Mumu glances up when you push yourself to your feet. He’s got a tent with rugs and baubles all set up. Goth Girl is making a little tipi out of sticks, and Pasty is nowhere to be seen.

There’s not going to be any bathrooms around.

Or toilet paper.

Jesus christ.

Then Mumu is crossing over to you, holding out a pair of pants, and suddenly, he’s your favorite person in the world.

He says something. Smiles. Holds them out.

“Thanks,” you say. You’re sure he doesn’t understand English any more than you understand pigeon, but he seems to get the gist of it.

Now, how to pee in the woods.

Which is a ghastly business. Fancy word, “ghastly.” But accurate! The tunic hitches up easily enough, and you have the foresight to set the pants aside until you’ve finished. Unfortunately, you’ve not super athletic (or flexible), and balancing while squatting and trying not to touch anything ends with piss all over your right calf.

“Kill me now.”

There’s got to be water, somewhere? People camp near water?

That water is the ocean—it is salt water you’ve crashed into. You glance around, find nobody, and shuck off the tunic to give yourself a scrub that almost takes off a layer of skin. There’s no snakes in the ocean; at least not this close to shore. Right? Too late. The salt is going to wreak havoc on your hair. But hey, no more slime or soot or blood, so that’s worth something.

One leg into the pants and you wonder when the last time they were washed. They don’t smell bad? Just neutral? But someone running around with archaic weapons and sleeping in archaic tents is not going to have a washing machine, you fear.

You try really hard not to wonder if Mumu goes commando, and where his junk might have rubbed in here if he does.

The fire’s going when you get back. Goth Girl digs around in a pack and produces what looks like thick crackers. She gives you a cool once-over when you ease yourself down nearby. You’re barefoot, toes dusted in drying sand, your thankfully short hair dripping onto the neck of your tunic. Good thing the night breeze is warm.

She hands you a cracker. You take it and thank her. Eating is a small task you can focus on, an easy achievement.

You smell vaguely of seaweed. No one says anything to you. Mumu talks enough for everyone, it seems. When Pasty slinks in, he doesn’t join your little campfire circle, retreating to the edge of the firelight instead and propping himself up against a large rock.

How does one sleep outside, you wonder as seven generations of Cherokee ancestors stare down at you in Disapproval. Which is rich, considering Cherokees lived in towns for a reason. That reason being that they knew camping was bullshit.

You sleep in the dirt, it turns out. Mumu and Goth Girl both pull a tent out of literal nowhere—magic bags? Is that a thing here?? Some kind of space-warping, bigger-on-the-inside alien tech???

Mumu offers you a sleeping bag, of sorts. It smells a little musty. The night seems clear and warm, so you opt to lie on top of it while the lucky two retire to their individual tents. Leaving you and Pasty outside.

He seems to be about as out of sorts as you. Shifts against that rock of his a few times. Frowns at the dirt and grass. Until he meets your gaze.

Mumu had offered him a sleeping bag too, which he’d declined. He cocks his head at you now. Says something you choose to interpret as, “Greetings, fellow dirt napper.”

You nod back.

He’s not laying down. Seems content to sit cross-legged against his slab.

Now that your head is clear(ish), you can actually look around. One moon hangs in the sky. A lot of stars, but you don’t see any of the three whole constellations you know. And there’s no Milky Way.

When you look back down, Pasty is watching you. His hair is a goofy-looking fluff of silver. His eyes catch the firelight just so, like a camera flash, and reflect back a red glow. Super pale, red eyes. An albino elf? (Elf??)

His clothes look fancy. Spirals of embroidered lines curl around his jacket—is it a jacket? Your schooling sucked and you haven’t sent yourself down a “historical fashions” rabbit hole yet.

Except it would be “alien fashion”, wouldn’t it? And how the fuck do aliens, hell, and what you’re pretty sure is a fucking wizard all mesh together?

You rub your face with both hands.

Pasty says something. “Pasty” is probably insensitive, isn’t it?

“Hmm?” you say.

He repeats himself, gestures to the sleeping bag you sit on. You try hard not to stare blankly at him—”you look like such an idiot when you just stand there”—and end up flapping your hands around in a way that makes even less sense.

Pasty—no, Fancy Pants—stands and dusts himself off. Motions to you—lay down, you think, sleep—and presses a palm to his chest. Then waves to the area around you and then up to his eyes.

Lookout, your brain chimes in. Staying up to keep an eye out.

You really should have realized that sooner. A bunch of UFO survivors camped out near the wreckage need to keep watch. God knows what else could be out here or looking for y’all.

(If you’re all abductees, why do these three all speak a shared language?)

No. Fancy Pants is right. You need to sleep.

“Thank you,” you say, though his vague, unwavering smile shows he didn’t understand.

You’re done thinking for today. You’ve been through enough. It’s time to sleep. Slip into nice, safe oblivion where everything is fine and nothing is wrong and you’re not always two seconds away from another breakdown.

About two hours before dawn, the sky opens in a downpour.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #fanfic #it's a goddamn isekai #i'm not sorry #astarion x tav #slow burn #no betas we die like men #feeding alligators

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hearth-fucker · 18 days

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I'm a transmasc. I don't want to make ukulele sadboy music. I want to make funk so groovy your ancestors start freakin it in their graves

#transmasc

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kemetic-dreams · 11 months

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Egypt bans Dutch archaeology team from Saqqara due to museum’s ‘Afrocentric’ exhibition

A team of archaeologists from a Dutch museum has been banned from carrying out excavations in Egypt’s rich Saqqara necropolis, after the museum mounted an exhibition that drew condemnation from Egyptian authorities.

After the opening of “Kemet: Egypt in Hip Hop, Jazz, Soul & Funk,” the National Museum of Antiquities (RMO) in Leiden received an email from the head of foreign missions of the Egyptian Antiquities Service saying that the museum is “falsifying history” with its “Afrocentric” approach, Dutch newspaper NRC reported on Monday.

Wim Weijland, the museum’s managing director, confirmed to CNN via email that the Egyptian authorities have denied the institution a permit for the next excavation season at Saqqara. He also confirmed that the journalist who wrote the NRC article had seen the email from the Egyptian authorities.

A vast burial ground that sits nearly 20 miles south of the capital Cairo, Saqqara is home to Egypt’s oldest pyramid, the pyramid of Djoser, and has been the site of multiple important discoveries in recent years.

The museum has been carrying out annual excavations there for more than 40 years. Its most recent excavation campaign took place earlier this year, between February 19 and March 23.

“The Rijksmuseum van Oudheden has been working at Saqqara since 1975,” Weijland told CNN. “For the upcoming season, the museum has been denied the permit to excavate here.”

Weijland said the reason for the permit’s denial is the “presumed ‘falsifying history’ in the current exhibition,” adding that the museum is trying to “open the dialogue” with the Egyptian authorities about the matter.

Mostafa Waziri, secretary-general of the Supreme Council of Antiquities of Egypt, did not respond to CNN’s request for comment.

Weijland went on to say that the aim of the “Kemet” exhibition is “to show and understand the depiction of ancient Egypt and the messages in music by African artists,” as well as to “show what scientific, Egyptological research can tell us about ancient Egypt and Nubia.”

Nubia is an ancient region in northeast Africa that extends from the Nile River valley in Egypt, all the way down to Khartoum in modern-day Sudan. The area was once home to the Nubian Kingdom of Kush, or the “African Pharaohs.”

According to its web page, the exhibition, which opened in April and runs until September 3, “embarks on a journey through music history” and looks at “the influence of ancient Egypt and Nubia…in the works of a multitude of musicians of African descent, including icons of jazz such as Miles Davis and Sun Ra and contemporary artists such as Beyoncé and Rihanna.”

In recent days, the museum’s social media posts about the exhibition were flooded with comments, mostly by Egyptians who deemed it disrespectful. Some commented with photos showing light-skinned ancient Egyptian drawings, next to ones with darker skin tones, which they say the museum is propagating.

In response to the controversy, the museum added a note on its website with further information about the show’s content, background and goals. It also said it would remove offensive or racist comments from its social media platforms.

The museum encouraged visitors to “visit the exhibition and form their own opinions,” saying it “welcomes respectful dialogue on the cultural heritage of Egypt and Nubia.”

This isn’t the first time Egypt has objected to the depiction of its ancient ancestors. It recently criticized the Netflix docuseries “Queen Cleopatra,” which portrays the ruler of the Ptolemaic Kingdom of Egypt as a woman of color.

Zahi Hawass, an Egyptologist and former Egyptian minister of antiquities, wrote last month that “no one with even a little education could make a film showing Cleopatra as African

#african #afrakan #kemetic dreams #africans #afrakans #brownskin #brown skin #african culture #afrakan spirituality #north ifriqiya #ifriqiya #cnn #cnn news #nubia #ta meri #ta seti #east africa

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