The Master welcomes himself directly into the Doctor’s lap. He drapes a garland of little sparkly ghosts and pumpkins around her neck, to match his own. He’s wearing a pair of Groucho Marx glasses, featuring fake bushy eyebrows, nose, and mustache.
“Trick,” he answers, and then hands her a caramel apple anyway, out of which he’s already taken a bite. “You’ll never guess who I am behind THIS disguise, Doctor.”
And then he takes off the glasses, and puts them on her face, and laughs and laughs.
The Master’s not surprised by the Doctor’s joyful onslaught; he is still thrilled, and his eyes still crinkle in the corners, and his stomach still flurries, and his hearts still dance hopscotch, and his cheeks still burn.
He is so in love, and so very aware that while for her there are many, ever-increasing, numbers of loved ones, because she is wonderful, she is light and innovation and curiosity and compassion, but for him there is only her, and there will only ever be her, and it’s a terrible tragedy in its own way, yet he can’t even bring himself to be sad when she’s kissing him, and smiling at him, and declaring her affection.
“To me,” he murmurs, soft, prayerful, worshiping her with the words of The Little Prince, “you will be unique in all the world.”
//LOL, it was the middle of the night, and he was probably having sex with Lucy, or just rumpled, or he might have been doing the thing he does where he ruffles up his hair when he’s agitated or excited (which Ten also does, interestingly).
“What, landed us at the intended place and time on the first try? Bollocks, open the doors, you fibber!”
The Master dashes toward the TARDIS entrance with a wicked guffaw.
The Doctor rushes towards the TARDIS doors, nearly tripping over herself in her haste to beat him there.
“I proper did it this time! Honestly is it so hard to believe–”
There’s a pregnant pause as she peers out the doors at the chaos on the other side. A swirl of wind and sand, some sort of desert tinged a deep unnatural red. Definitely the wrong place. Immediately she attempts to pull the doors shut again, a deep blush creeping up the back of her neck.
Damn it.
“ … if you’d like I can, ah, pretend to have not noticed you going quiet, and I can sort of, go to the bathroom or something, while you do the Not-Trial-Number-Two. And then come back, and be amazed.”
The Master is trying to sound supportive but he also can’t conceal his amusement, or the way it hitches his powerful baritone to a higher sort of secpn soprano, the more he strives to muffle his laughter.
@masterfulxrhythm *blinks* I’m not sure what that person is talking about. I know plenty of people that identify as genderqueer. The Q in LGBTQ is for queer. So I don’t see a problem.
Okay. That was my understanding too???? I mean. I’m demi so I can identify as queer myself and do so without issue. However I am cis, so if there are people on my dash uncomfortable with genderq*eer I will just avoid using it. I just don’t know what proper alternate terminology is? Just trans? Demi boy or demi girl? Agender? Nonbinary? But my understanding was all those things are separate and not interchangeable with genderq*eer so like. What do I do?
I’m not trying to start anything here, I legit want to know how to proceed without making people who are not cis uncomfortable. My best friend is a trans man and I feel terrible right now.
“Coom’ere, Hearts. The memory loss is temporary. It’s just your Kosch. That’s me. Some of the thoughts you have, the things you feel, they come from me. And mine from you. You’re me because we’re bondmates. Loomed at the same time, in different places, but meant to be in symbiosis. To be soul friends.”
The Master winces, and outstretches a hand. He mirrors the first gesture this person ever made in his direction. He repays her.
“I thought I’d never see you again. But here you are. It can’t be coincidence. Please sit with me. I dunno how long I have, and I need you to be okay.”
The words are uttered by a voice that some distant part of her head tells her is familiar. Tells her is comfort, peace, safety, home.Though her expression remains the mix of devastation and frustration, she listens. Her eyes dart to the hand outstretched to her and after a moment’s hesitation she reaches for it.
Slender fingers brush against the skin of his, traversing the length of his palm before settling in his grasp entirely. Her body follows, moving to sit at his side now. How could she not honor that request.
“You don’t have long and yet..you’re more concerned about me? Do you need a doctor?”
The Master lurches forward and grinds his teeth.
“You are my Doctor. Don’t you see, that’s what you call yourself. Across the whole of the cosmos, that’s the name by which you’re hailed.”
His thumb caresses her knuckles in soothing rhythms.
“Sit with me. And when you’ve calmed your mind, and your hearts, help me. I know you can.”
Icarus 