“What say you we stop drinking mead and instead have some cocoa or apple cider, my friend? Bob for apples, perhaps? HehHAH, it’s a fun game, really, you never know when you get a chance to dunk someone’s head under and threaten to DROWN them!”
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 swoops down on his stepdaughter dutifully, with a tray of goodies that he (attempted to) cook, he who ordinarily could burn instant ramen. He’s done a miraculously average, competent job, with brownies covered in orange icing and darling Jack O Lantern faces that he would sell his soul for no one outside his family to know he–terror of the cosmos–made.
“Dearest Button, these are organic brownies. Your body is a sacred vessel, and I’ll only feed it holy relics.”
“Yes, EXCELLENT!!!!! Happy Parting of the Veil, happy Transparent Supernatural Membrane Day, Happy Betwixt and Between, Beltane, Samhain, and all that LOVELINESS! HehHAHAH! Oh, golly, don’t you love the ghoulish and strange?”
Typical Master, a bewildering mixture of jolly and terrifying.
“Theta Sigma,” the Master greets the Doctor, with feigned propriety, and then he snatches her around the waist, and pulls her close, with a hungry grin.
The Master’s been staring fixedly at the horizon, on the planet where they’ve stopped their TARDIS. It’s another planet, far, far from the system of Kastobouros, that happens to orbit two suns. They set, now, and the sky is ablaze with blood red: their signature hue.
As his future dozes with her head on his shoulder, he rests his cheek on top of unruly dark hair.
“Careful, someone might just accuse us of being cute.”
Missy chuckled a little as she looked at the view before them. “Oh hush, no one would dare to tell us that, even if it’s true.” She said sleepily, obviously not in her right mind when she was tired. “You’re comfy, Junior”
He turns to look down at her, from their seat on top of the inexplicable giant Greek column that is their TARDIS’s guise. He dons an insulted air, though he’s entirely joking.
“What d’you bloody mean? I’m adorable.”
She shifted a bit to look up at him. “Oi, don’t get all flustered on me, you are adorable alright?” She chuckled and nuzzled a bit onto his neck, feeling all comfy now. She didn’t want to move. “Cute, adorable, is there any other thing you want to add to the list? Cause I can still think of a few while I’m awake.”
“ … .why, my beautiful, dangerous, ingenious minx … ”
The Master’s been staring fixedly at the horizon, on the planet where they’ve stopped their TARDIS. It’s another planet, far, far from the system of Kastobouros, that happens to orbit two suns. They set, now, and the sky is ablaze with blood red: their signature hue.
As his future dozes with her head on his shoulder, he rests his cheek on top of unruly dark hair.
“Careful, someone might just accuse us of being cute.”
Missy chuckled a little as she looked at the view before them. “Oh hush, no one would dare to tell us that, even if it’s true.” She said sleepily, obviously not in her right mind when she was tired. “You’re comfy, Junior”
He turns to look down at her, from their seat on top of the inexplicable giant Greek column that is their TARDIS’s guise. He dons an insulted air, though he’s entirely joking.
Koschei deposits all his work on the long laboratory table and strides over to his husband. He straddles his lap and gazes at him with marmish incredulity.
“Yeah, luv, as soon as you can explain to me how you couldpossibly forget all the reasons. Shall I catalogue them alphabetically or by subject?”
The Master’s been staring fixedly at the horizon, on the planet where they’ve stopped their TARDIS. It’s another planet, far, far from the system of Kastobouros, that happens to orbit two suns. They set, now, and the sky is ablaze with blood red: their signature hue.
As his future dozes with her head on his shoulder, he rests his cheek on top of unruly dark hair.
“Careful, someone might just accuse us of being cute.”
The Master looks up from reading Kafka’s Metamorphosis; the expression on his face is one of mild surprise, at the onslaught of warm affection of which he was already certain.
“Well, Button, luv, I dunno where that came from, but c’mere.”
He closes the book, stands and draws her into a surprisingly capable embrace. He kisses the crown of her head as though she were a child and not a woman expecting a baby. But when he pulls back from her, his gaze makes his fond admiration plain.
“I didn’t get a chance to know my own daughter. Being in your life gratifies me in ways I didn’t know I needed, little one.”
Icarus 