📱 “Ask me again. Just. One more time. I’ll say yes. My answer is yes.”

tenthdoctorprettyboy:

The Doctor took a shaky breath as he listened to the voicemail, hanging on to every word that came over the recording. His hearts were pounding, the thought of traveling the stars with his best friend filling him with so much hope he was scared to even believe it.

He ended the message, quickly hitting redial on the number that had made the call. He waited with baited breath to hear the voice on the other end.

It’s as it was all those years ago, when this face was still young and clean-shaven. A flip-phone then, primitive and somehow just prosaic enough for the moment. A smartphone now, as they’re allegedly called, and a finger that trembles more than he’d ever care to admit, slides the green answer icon.

“ … I’m here.”

Koschei waits, pupils dilated, palms moist.

The Master’s potent mind seems to crush all telepathic channels in the vicinity. He does nothing but smile a smile that doesn’t reach flame-flickering black eyes, and flex his hands at his sides. He gauges this Thing inside his beloved, realizing force won’t cajole it into submission. Instead, novelty, amusement, might. So he says what few think the Master capable of: “Take me instead.”

brillicnt:

the demon rose it’s gaze, slowly to the other time lord. it wasn’t used to such willingness. perhaps time lords didn’t have demons on their planet. maybe that was why they were so willing to experience this all. but even with all these perhaps and maybe theories, it didn’t change the fact that it now had a choice.

a choice she was going to explore in the doctor’s mind before anything else.

a small laugh, a chuckle escaped from her. “this meat suit is loved. by so many, all across the universe. never felt anythin’ like it.” a step forward, and she gave a shake of her head. “i know you. i can see you inside of her mind. a killer. insane, that lack of empathy for everyone except the true love of your life. why would i possess someone who is already, even on the best of days, a demon.”

“you’re no fun.”

“For many reasons. Because we demons have our functions, too, don’t we? Our purpose. In a world of frantic radiance, you still need the gloomy dark emptiness where things rest. You need the monster to thank for teaching you survival. The conflict. The driver of the plot. Hardly dull.”

The Master advances another step, the crushing pressure of his telepathic energies growing still more. Physical reality seems to fishbowl around his approaching form. He leers.

“Come on. You can feel it, can’t you? The cloying comforts of familiarity. The rich velvety dark. Come burrow inside my mind a bit. Come see what terrible things my kind are capable of. Not the diluted guilt-ridden ramblings of this would-be murderer, but a TRUE Weaponized Being. She hates guns. I AM a gun. Through and through. Just a moment, friend. Explore me just a moment. I’ll taste delicious.”

I am no longer a demon, foolish parasite.

She showed me a better way, a selfless way, and that’ll be your ruin.

13) “I’m so proud of you, you know that?”

There’s something raw in the Master tonight, something that badly needed to be reassured of his merit, much as he’s loathe to admit dependence on anything or anyone.

He engulfs the Doctor in his arms. eyes squeezed shut. He holds her airtight. He does not let go, and will not, until she insists.

“Thanks, Hearts.”

Why are you so fabulous? Tell me your secrets

“I begin my daily routine by trimming my goatee to perfection with a blade whet by the spite I’ve accumulated over the centuries. I then exfoliate with a scrub containing the bitter tears of my fallen enemies and their futile endeavors to outwit me. My eyeliner is composed of the blackness of my soul. Naturally, as that blackness is darker than the moon’s shadows, and as I am a scientific genius, the contours are mathematically flawless. Indeed, my entire being, inward and outward, is a harmony of Phi, an ode to the Golden Ratio, an ineffably pleasing conglomerate of symmetrical forms. Form follows function, and my function IS fabulousness.”

“You always know how to make me smile.”

There’s a searing note of betrayal in the Master’s eyes, as he looks up from his work.

“Is that so,” he balks, in a tone he’s not used on his best friend for long months. It’s suspicious and it’s wounded. “Then how about how to keep you alive? Why’ve I not puzzled that one out?”

You said you wanted to die. I heard you I heard you I heard you I HEARD YOU….! You self-centered old BASTARD, you’re my WHOLE EXISTENCE, or is that still not clear?

{ You become responsible forever for what you have tamed. }

Yet you would LEAVE ME AGAIN, only in a different form, and a far more permanent manner.

“grip” in a threatening way

missyqueenofevil:

sclfmastery:

send “grip” to grip my muse’s jaw in your muse’s hand; Romantic, platonic or threatening it is up to you!

“ … . oh sis.”

He whispers it almost rapturously, as though bearing reverent witness to the collapse of a great star: himself.

“D’you really hate us so much now, that you’d kill me and erase yourself?”

“No, of course not. But sometimes, the thought is there, deep down. And it’s hard to push it away. I just wonder how it feels to be threatened by your own self, dear. Maybe I’ll remember this?”

Missy kept her grip on her younger self, knowing it could go wrong but of course she didn’t care about it. She would push her luck.

“Would you? Knowing you wouldn’t erase yourself, would you do it?”

“NO.”

The force and certitude of the reply is nearly palpable: nearly a wind gale that can be felt against the face. Perhaps that’s because the Master’s mind produces the sentiment–the mind that, with sheer force of will, can bend the thoughts and emotions of others.

It’s enough to dislodge Missy’s hand from his throat. He scrambles away, with a stinging lack of dignity. But then he straightens and affords her a searing glare.

“I was bluffing that day I hit you with my laser, and you SURELY know it! Because here you stand! I only wanted to prevent you from going to the Doctor in such a way that compromised your freedom! That’s not hate, Missy, I LOVE you! All that I HAVE, in my darkest hours, is ME. My will, my beliefs, my dogged determination to survive! And you are one exquisitely beautiful part of that!”

They were no sooner into the Vortex than 13 stormed off to her room, swearing under her breath in a bizarre admixture of Swahili, Old High Gallifreyan and an obscure rural version of Urdu over their just concluded visit among the witch hunts. She was not at all pleased with the King, that much was certain.

watchedcreationburn:

sclfmastery:

As befits an over-achieving Time Lord, the Master is every bit the polyglot that the Doctor is. Her vehement entry signals that he must compensate with calm. He strides over, with a carefully composed look of amusement.

“I’ll hold while you punch?” he ventures, in Urdu.

He produces a handkerchief, fussing over the still-damp parts of her hair and face, following her in her raging circles, a storm-chaser if ever there was one.

She threw up exasperated arms and let them drop. “What t’ bloody hell is wrong with that man? How can anyone be so so flippin’ ignorant, so willfully blind as t’ what’s goin’ on right in front of them?” She gave a huff and sighed, finally beginning to wind down. “Okay, yeah, t’ Earth hasn’t met aliens yet at that point they know are aliens. But why consign your own sufferin’ an’ terrified people to death an’ worse for superstition? They need help, not abuse or fear. Help is what I do. I swear, it’s like I’ve set m’self t’ lookin’ after a planet full of seven billion toddlers, sometimes.”

The Master pauses, and plops into the jumpseat, one leg crossed over the other; all he needs to complete the image of rapt listener is a bag of popcorn. His features remain patiently, wanly attentive. He nods when he should nod, and hums when he should hum, adds the occasional “too right” or “indeed, darling.”

Eventually her diatribe ends and he clicks his tongue.

“I’ve told you a thousand times, love: most sentient life forms’ weakness is their fear. Greater ambitions, and perhaps lesser characters, exploit this ad infinitum. You can only do so much with your audience, no matter their potential, if they’re unwilling to learn.”

He opens his arms to her.

“C’mere. Sit. Even the helpers among us need rest. And if you ever want to use my lax ethics to even out the herd, I’d be happy to dispose of the fear-mongers. Nice and tidy. No one would know I’d meddled with any timeline.”

out of breath and annoyed “why did you run from me?” Donna puts her hands on her hips (hope this good for a start )

gingersrockstheuniverse:

sclfmastery:

The Master, breathless and fatigued from running, spins with dread at the brassy female voice. Horrified alarm becomes amusement and something very implausible, coming from this particular Time Lord toward any human: admiration.

  “Well I’ll be damned. You’re nothing if not persistent.”

He raises both palms in surrender.

“Honestly, Ms. Noble, I’m guessing from the fact that you know exactly who I am, and not in the standard ‘oh my God, you’re that nutter who got Prime Minister and disappeared’ fashion, it means that the Doctor spared your memories and you’re not feeling charitable toward the bloke who turned the whole planet into himself and scared the piss out of you. Long and short of it: self-preservation. Now I must warn you, if you’re armed, I shall have to do something drastic, like gnaw off your face with my bare teeth, because I’ve left my laser screwdriver in my TARDIS.

Is that dead seriousness or a truly perverse sense of humor? Rather impossible to say.

As she tried to inhale from her nose, make herself look less like she’s panting, Donna realized that she was out of shape. It had been nearly 70 years since she had any real reason to run. Her expanded lifespan due to the metacrisis was thanks to that.

“Oh your definitely a nutter.” She grumbled, looking around her for anyone that’s likely to get hurt if things got out of the way. “The Doctor didn’t spare my memories, I found my way back on my own thank you very much.” Yes, it amuses her that he was once elected prime minister, and disappeared.

“I didn’t even vote for you, wasn’t even in the country. Egypt. Not as fun as they made it out to be really. Anyway, I’ll get back to you on the whole scaring the piss out of me- as you called it.”

The sonic pen was inside of her jacket, which she had gotten from Captain handsome when she last saw him. He nicked from the trash after adipose industry happened. “Do I look bloody armed to you? Are you mad, no bleeding way you are gnawing anything you nutter. How about we settle down before one of us ends up on the wrong end of a slap.”

The Master’s seized by a combination of outrage and amusement, as the redhead pontificates. She’s certainly long-winded enough to be one of the Doctor’s pets; he leans against the side of the alleyway, hands folded inside his jacket pockets, forehead wryly wrinkled.

I either scared you, or I didn’t, he muses. It’s not a matter of degrees.

He licks his lips.

“I’ll try not to let your lack of political support keep me up at night, weeping, longing for things that might have been,” he drawls. “Anyway, Donna, Donna of the Gob, if you really traveled with my old friend, however did either of you ever get a word in edgewise, or anything done, for that matter?”

He holds up both hands, elegantly, displaying that he is indeed without a weapon. The gesture is meant to placate.

“A more pressing question, which remains unanswered: Why. Were. You. Chasing. Me?”

The Master’s puckish face slowly illumines with glee: and an undercurrent of something running far, far deeper. His smile grows steady as the approach of wildfire in dry underbrush. It’s a positively grinchy grin. “Doctor,” he breathes. (lol henlo)

tenthdoctorprettyboy:

sclfmastery:

tenthdoctorprettyboy:

“Master.” The Doctor replies, schooling his features to not give away any emotion. He studies the man in front of him, his eyes tracing over his face. He clenches his jaw. There’s a million questions wanting to burst from his lips, but he stays quiet, not even sure where to begin.

Koschei lingers in the doorway with a surprisingly gentle expression.

  “Nice, isn’t it? To have the perfunctory greeting out of the way. Now, to the meat of it.”

He strides authoritatively toward his counterpart, and oldest friend, and dearest enemy.

“I’ve a simple question, really.”

The expression in dark sly almond eyes is halfway between wistful and predatory. One finger reaches up to trace the contour of that clenched jaw. He knows every compulsion the Doctor combats right now. They’re mirrors.

He whispers the question, inches from the face of his other self.

“Are you happy to see me?”

The Doctor’s eyes stay locked on the Master as he makes his way towards him, and he only lets them close when he feels the Master’s finger trace his jaw.

Of course he wants to say. Of course he’s happy to see him. Especially now that they’re the last of their kind. All they have are each other, and it always brings a spark of relief to see the Master again…

But he also can’t ignore the feeling of dread that fills his stomach when his eyes fall on those of the Master. Every time he comes across him, trouble follows. He never knows what their meetings will bring, and he’s far too cautious to let his guard down easily.

“That depends.” The Doctor replies, keeping his face neutral. “Why are you here?”

The question should not be so terrifying. But it renders the Master static. Every limb locks as he contemplates the honest answer, and constructs the face-saving excuses to conceal it, and finally, calculates how great a risk to his hallowed autonomy it is to be sincere instead.

“I.”

The sacred word, that single syllable. But all it really is, is Icarus drawing too near the sun, and feeling the wax of his wings melting.

For some reason, this makes him smile.

“I dunno. Haven’t seen this face in a long time. Been places you’d scarce imagine, since that Christmas on earth. But you, you as you are now, it always draws me back like a magnetic pole. We were so close, in that wasteland. When you heard them. You know.”

He taps his temple.

“No one else had ever heard them. Until that night. But I knew it’d be you. Always did.”

“Koschei..I..I need you.” His chest feels unbearably tight as though his lungs are denying him air. The Doctors brown eyes, usually so wild, are full of anxiety and fear. The hands that reach for his beloved are shaking, an image that matches the quiver in his voice as he struggles to voice his request for help.

auniverseaway:

sclfmastery:

The Master leaves the safety of the TARDIS threshold, and rushes out onto the hostile planet surface. Every sense thrums; he is feral. Nothing and no one will blockade the way to his Bondmate.

He crashes into the Doctor and braces his arms with surprising power, given his comparably smaller stature.

“I’ve got you, Thete, c’mon.”

He hazards a moment to press together their foreheads, and impart what clean, clear, calming energies he can.

You Are Not Alone.

He revels in it, the comfort that briefly distracts his mind. Perhaps it was the dull red grass of this planet or the way two suns could be seen high above the clouds. Though if enough attention was paid, a third could be seen above the pair. Even so. The simple way this planet both was and was not like the home they could never return to had cut him to his core. The renewal of a pain he had long pushed to the back of his mind had trampled any resolve. The bracing arms of his bondmate were all that kept him steady now.

“Why couldn’t I save them Kos?…”

These words, these melancholies they betray, terrify the Master, because they always signify the Doctor teetering over a ledge. And each time it happens, the Master’s rescue mission grows more precarious.

“Because, my darling: look at me. Say it with me: the thing I’ve told you for years, centuries, millennia: you can’t save everyone.”

How hilariously, chillingly ironic that once, he hammered this home to the Doctor by being proof that not everyone wanted to be saved. And now, he’s the one lifting his oldest friend up out of the whitewater rapids of his pain, and guilt, and shame.

He scours the planet that is so like, and unlike, Gallifrey. Like a favorite song in a discordant key. It’s more wrong for being so close. He understands. And he holds his beloved tighter still.

“Come inside with me. Come away. You still have to rest. To do your best next time around, ey?”

Hands grip the Doctor’s tormented young face; his face used to be that young, too. Ah well. He shelters him now with a piercing stare, that draws him into a safe place: within their two minds.

“You could fail them all and I’d still love you. Idiot: You don’t need to be the Doctor in front of me.”