Of all the Masters, this face is the most openly physically demonstrative, and that’s what compels him to hum fondly at the trust his lost beloved shows him, and to reach out, slowly, to pet his face.
“We’re best friends. You will always be safe with me.”
My love, oh my love, when your memory returns, and it shall, know that I didn’t lie, for all the pain’s squarely, firm as concrete, stored in the inaccessible past. Inaccessible even to time travelers, for we are changed people, no matter where or when your TARDIS takes us.
He laughs a broad cackle when his beloved suggests that he is worthier of the snobby moniker.
“You use the term less to connote a literal physician, luv. More as a bit of sanctimonious twaddle about patching oop the universe. You’re a bit of a prig, but your hearts are truly enormously loving, so after long agonies of feuding, you and I decided to simply be the old married couple that we are… . yes. I said that, yes.”
He quirks his lip at his beloved idiot.
“Don’t you dare flirt with me. Even like this! You cad. I love you.”
He turns a console monitor toward the Doctor on his way to studying the proverbial crime scene.
“You’re MY wiry thin blooshin’ maiden.”
He pinches his cheek, hard, and snaps his teeth “threateningly’ at the tip of his nose.
“And don’t you ever forget that.”
He, the ’Doctor’ apparently though he’s still not entirely convinced that should be a title one gives to one’s self but rather something one earns as time passes, leans into that given touch at his face with a gentle, affectionate hum of his own. His eyes flutter closed and briefly, though not for the first time since this beautiful stranger wandered into the room, he loses himself in ponderings of the dual feeling of thrumming beneath his chest, the scent of the other man, the way it seems as if he isn’t alone even within his own mind.
There’s a presence, just there, lingering in the background, beyond the reach of his thoughts and though he attempts to grasp it he seems unable, which doesn’t surprise him- how does one grasp something entirely intangible, as incorporeal as a specter.
He knows he has a name, a proper name, but he doesn’t ask for it. Instead he’s content to bask in the other’s hand as it travels along his freckled skin, in the other’s words as they soothe and reconfirm. This seems natural to him, this near devout interaction between himself and Koschei, and he can’t help but want it to continue. His eyes flutter open once more, unable to keep them off of the other for long.
The corner of his own mouth tilts upward in a crooked grin.
“Must be a prig if I’ve given the title to myself without having earned it first. Managed to land a bloke like you anyway, but still. Seriously, who- who calls themselves a Doctor simply because they fancy themselves one? It’s- It’s-”
The words stop, sputter off and his breath stills as Koschei continues, as he says the words ’I love you’.
He feels… special, beneath the attention of Koschei. Worthy, somehow, as though by being the object of it was in some way linked to validation. Yes, he is loved but it only matters because Koschei loves him. His mouth falls open silently and he lets out something akin to a soft grunt as he is claimed, as Koschei lays Ownership to him, as he’s ’threatened’ by those snapping teeth so close to his face which is, again, burning crimson.
Only this time, it’s not just embarrassment that’s done it, which he’s thankful isn’t evident due to the way he’s sitting. It’s still rather uncomfortable, though, and he shifts slightly to alleviate the pressure below his waist.
“I’m… I’m yours.”
He repeats this and it’s genuine, memories be damned. He knows it’s true. He can feel it down to the marrow, deeper still beneath, to his very core. It takes him several long seconds to compose himself, but when he does his smile is impish and his umber eyes sparkle with mischief.
“I love you, too, and I’ll flirt with you if I wish. You’re my husband, after all, aren’t you? That gives me exclusive flirting rights. It also means I get to do this.”
Then, against his better judgement and without getting up from the grating, he rolls onto his side, reaches out a hand, and promptly slaps Koschei right on the arse on his way past.
That slap couldn’t be more comforting; the Master barks a laugh.
“You b a s t a r d, got amnesia and still having the time of your bloody LIFE. That is SO you, Thete.”
The Master bares his teeth again at his husband, letting slip the truncation of the Doctor’s school nickname. He smacks down his palms square on each of the Doctor’s thighs and leans in closer still.
“Floppy, pretty, sentimental dandy, you don’t know how happy it makes me that ninety percent of you is still intact.”
And surprisingly, he returns lewdness with chastity, pecking his beloved on the forehead. He saw the lump in his trousers. He knows. Concealing it is a moot point. Yet he allows his friend his dignity, this once, under extenuating circumstances.
“Right. No more monkey business.”
This time he well and properly disentangles himself, stalking over to the smoking circuitry. He straps on a toolbelt. He pulls a pair of goggles from an overhead cubbyhole and wheels himself under the console. The sound of tightening screws and turning gears is plentiful for several moments.
Then,
“Oh, ZOUNDS. Oh, I got it. Oh golly, I’m clever.”
He wheels out, engine oil on his cheeks and button nose, hair a mess, with an expression of mad enthusiasm.
Those widened-umber eyes scan the room surrounding him, a vastness he can’t quite place settling deep within his psyche and he doesn’t understand the meaning behind what he sees nor why that strange mechanical vibration seems to be apologizing. That was silly- machines couldn’t apologize because machines weren’t alive. So lost is he in his ponderings of the environment and the void within his head that feels both achingly familiar and steadfastly foreign that he doesn’t notice at first when the other man kneels before him.
He doesn’t notice until the gentle whoosh of air carries the scent of the other to his nostrils and they flare, his head turning instantly and his eyes locking onto the face of the man as a hand reaches out with a light touch to his brow. He can’t explain the flush that rises to his freckle-laden skin at the close proximity of this man, nor can he explain why it feels like there are two hearts fighting for dominance beneath his chest in a desperate attempt to escape the cavity they’re contained in. Before he has time to question his own bodily reactions he feels that soft, gentle warmth spreading through him that seems to relax him.
Perhaps that has to do with the touch as well but in that moment as his mind fills with a soft cotton and his veins pump downy-feathers through his body, he is perfectly incapable of caring where the pleasant sensation comes from- just that it is there and shall remain, always. His eyes become more naturally lidded and a crooked half smile appears on his face, nodding dumbly as the man speaks to him of lost memories, of friendship and safety. Of names.
“We’re friends. I’m safe with you.Koschei...”
He whispers the last part, the name, softly- like a prayer of the devout in the most holy of temples, but it sparks no memories to fill the void in his mind. This makes him feel guilty, and he can’t understand why- so he shoves the guilt aside, not wishing to feel it any longer.
“And I’m the Doctor… that’s not a proper name, though, is it. The Doctor. What sort of a man calls himself a Doctor? Bit pompous if you ask me. I don’t think I’m any sort of Doctor. Certainly don’t feel like a Doctor. Why couldn’t I have a normal name, like yours? Koschei. Your name’s beautiful, I want a name like that.”
Blimey, it seems his mouth is keen to move whether he wants it to or not. Snapping his lips closed promptly he attempts to stem the flow of vocabulary, which seems to make his tongue twitch behind his teeth. No thoughts accompany the semantics- they seem to have a mind of their own. Despite this attempt at silence, his mouth opens again and provides more words against his will. He doesn’t get up though- he stays put, as he’s told, on the floor of the vast and unfamiliar room.
“Diagnosing things- sounds more like you’re the Doctor, not me. Diagnosing mechanical issues, diagnosing me with amnesia, taking care of me here on the floor. If I am the Doctor then I’m a rubbish one and I demand a new name immediately- wait. Hang on. Did you say we’re married? Properly together? Oh that’s- that’s brilliant. How’d I land a bloke like you? You’re gorgeous! Certainly better looking than I must be, I mean- I feel all thin and- and wiry and-”
The words stop immediately, silence falling as he claps a hand over his mouth to prevent any more from flowing out. Clearly, regardless of who he is, he certainly has a gob. That flush on his face turns into a proper burn of embarrassment and he’s positive he’s going to melt into the floor. He shan’t be removing his hand from his mouth again any time soon, at least… that’s the plan.
Of all the Masters, this face is the most openly physically demonstrative, and that’s what compels him to hum fondly at the trust his lost beloved shows him, and to reach out, slowly, to pet his face.
“We’re best friends. You will always be safe with me.”
My love, oh my love, when your memory returns, and it shall, know that I didn’t lie, for all the pain’s squarely, firm as concrete, stored in the inaccessible past. Inaccessible even to time travelers, for we are changed people, no matter where or when your TARDIS takes us.
He laughs a broad cackle when his beloved suggests that he is worthier of the snobby moniker.
“You use the term less to connote a literal physician, luv. More as a bit of sanctimonious twaddle about patching oop the universe. You’re a bit of a prig, but your hearts are truly enormously loving, so after long agonies of feuding, you and I decided to simply be the old married couple that we are… . yes. I said that, yes.”
He quirks his lip at his beloved idiot.
“Don’t you dare flirt with me. Even like this! You cad. I love you.”
He turns a console monitor toward the Doctor on his way to studying the proverbial crime scene.
“You’re MY wiry thin blooshin’ maiden.”
He pinches his cheek, hard, and snaps his teeth “threateningly’ at the tip of his nose.
Even as his lover tucks in his chin, the Doctor feels no trepidation, no doubts soaking in to toxify the moment. He knows the Master better than perhaps he knows himself, can read his tells, can go on the journey of discovery with him as the keeper of his hearts sees the ring first. Good. He’s placed the items well, then.
He goes with him to the red fields, when flesh first met flesh, hand first met hand, mind first touched mind. He runs from childhood to adolescence, when the Council was manipulating him to suit their needs and he, hopeless dreamer, was too naive to see it, clinging to a lock of hair in a darkened room after hours with tears in his eyes and a deep fear turning his hearts to stone- their bond hadn’t faded, but it had been used a g a i n s t t h e m. Even further he runs until he’s in orbit around Gallifrey, his home, a place he never belonged, but he is alone and he is desolate, on his knees in front of the open doors of the TARDIS, staring down at the crimson planet where he’s left the only person that’s ever mattered to him, screaming, howling because he thinks he has no choice. Before he knows it they are calling themselves enemies and he is desperate to fix a man who doesn’t need to be fixed, who is p e r f e c t as he is, even through the monstrous acts.
The Doctor has never judged the Master for those acts. Never blamed him. No, rather, the Doctor has blamed himself- but no longer. The pair of them know now that neither of them are to blame but rather the Time Lords. The situation. The time. Their choices were their own but only at the most base and primitive levels. Even through this journey, the Doctor feels no fear in the present, no doubt, not a single drop. He is in love. He always has been in love. He always will be in love and now they’ve shattered the chains that bound them. Now they are free to be in love as they always should have been. The Master has taught the Doctor that there is little to fear about that, aside from losing it- and he will not lose it again.
The words ’put it on me’ are breathed and the Doctor breathes as well, respiratory bypass having engaged without his consent though his hearts remain beating steadily. As steady as his hand is as he reaches out for the ring and slips it on to the Master’s left ring finger to a silent chorus of forever, finally, eternally, yours, mine, yours, mine, everything I want or need, right here.
He knows the Master hasn’t seen the phial yet when he moves to kiss him, and the Doctor’s lips part, unsure whether to let it go or suggest he look twice. Thankfully he doesn’t have to do either, and the goggles tumbling to the grates, the sound of contact uncharacteristically loud in the silence of the room that’s only filled otherwise with their mutually shallow and hitched breathing, lets him know the Master’s realized something else hides within the box. A gentle anxiety begins to weave itself into the Doctor then, but it isn’t negative in nature- even now, unsure as to how the Master will respond to this gesture, he is hopeful. What a strange thing love can do once you accept it and learn that it’s nothing to be afraid of after all.
His knowledge of the other Time Lord comes in handy to quash his own overwhelming emotions as the Master begins to speak and subsequently goes silent. Realization dawns, and the Doctor’s respiratory bypass once again engages, his synaptic system having to temporarily reroute itself in order to avoid the deluge of chemicals that become emotions. What he witnesses is beautiful and his hearts swell, more and more until he feels the legitimate pressure within his chest and thinks it not possible to love another person more than he loves his Koschei in this moment. Gorgeous chaos, enchanting terror, beautiful tears- the reaction the Doctor had been expecting.
A gentle smile warms his face and at once he steps forward to close the distance that’s been placed between them. Hands lift to cup damp cheeks against his palms, thumbs trailing through the saltwater as he both lifts the Master’s chin and lowers his own, seeking out the other’s eyes. The question only makes that gentle smile widen, and his own eyes mist over as he finds himself incorrect– now, he thinks, now he loves him even more than he did moments ago and he knows that love will only grow deeper. Every moment of eternity is theirs now, and every moment will bring them closer. Every moment of their fixed-point infinity will be spent chasing away fears together.
“Of course I do. Koschei, I’ve never wanted anything more than I want you. As my traveling companion, as my best friend, my lover, my partner, my husband… It doesn’t have to be now, or tomorrow, or even anytime soon but-.. I’d love to have a child with you, Kos.”
It’s with an endearing wistfulness that the Master drops his gaze. A foolish, dreaming smile barely ghosts his lips. It’s obvious: he’s sold.
His fingers trace the silhouette of the phial of blood. The power he’s granted, and he’s so joyfully beguiled that he could never abuse what he’s always connived to possess. Oh, how wonderfully hilarious. He even chuckles, softly, just a few merry breaths of sound.
“But where’re we gonna find a loom, Thete? Gallifrey’s … it’s beyond us.”
Eyes that’ve softened to butterscotch snap up to face his other self, with purest faith that the Doctor will have an answer. Yet the Master finds it intuitively, before his best friend need speak again.
“You really think you and I can BUILD one? From SCRATCH? OHO. Oh, Doctor! Very WELL. Oh, VERY WELL, I ACCEPT THIS CHALLENGE!”
I really really REALLY work hard at it actually, and on the best days it’s really fun to do. I don’t know what made me so protective of this character. Probably the spell the actor casts over all his morally questionable roles. I don’t think I’ve ever fully disliked any role he’s ever played. But beyond John Simm’s charisma, there’s a lot of stuff about a character who’s got an invisible malady that alienates him from others and causes him great internal shame that I….find sympathetic and can even relate to.
So yes, it means a lot to hear this. I know liking him is a challenge for most people, so I’m trying to make him likable and well-rounded without sacrificing his personality.
It takes inarticulable force and menace to curl the Master into a sobbing fetal ball. And yet here he is. What awful punishment has put him in this position, remains undetermined. But as the Doctor burrows his long lanky form around him, Koschei clings to his hands, to his wrists and forearms, happily the little spoon for once in his life, yielding entirely to the only presence he’d now welcome. Shivering violently, he holds fast to the arms encircling him, mouth pressed against the Doctor’s knuckles to muffle his own weeping.
Sturdy digits made callused by ferocious mechanical labor now grace the keys of the grand piano once played by Missy inside the Vault. They rest there, ghosting over notes, until a melancholic, tender melody streams forth. The Master sits there on board the TARDIS and croons, in a competently pleasant, soft second tenor, which startlingly lacks grandstanding of any sort.
“In every heart there is a room A sanctuary safe and strong To heal the wounds from lovers past Until a new one comes along.
“I spoke to you in cautious tones You answered me with no pretense And still I feel I said too much My silence is my self defense.”
He pauses mid song to catch the Doctor’s eye, with contrition and something more remarkable still: meekness.
“And every time I’ve held a rose It seems I only felt the thorns And so it goes, and so it goes And so will you soon I suppose. But if my silence made you leave Then that would be my worst mistake So I will share this room with you And you can have these hearts to break.”
He swallows hard.
“And this is why my eyes are closed It’s just as well for all I’ve seen And so it goes, and so it goes And you’re the only one who knows.”
The music swells.
“So I would choose to be with you That’s if the choice were mine to make But you can make decisions too And you can have this heart to break
“And so it goes, and so it goes And you’re the only one who knows.”
The music had drawn the Doctor in, initially- that gorgeous tinkling sound of keys finally being played once more after laying silent and gathering dust. It was gentle, almost mournful in the way the notes filled the air and drifted through it straight into her ears… into her hearts. The TARDIS had encouraged her to approach the Vault, the sight of which gave her more than a little trepidation. Too long it had been since that dreadful thing had been filled- too long since it hadn’t been a part of the ship itself.
Yet there she found herself, leaning against the metallic framework and staring, enraptured, at the Keeper of her hearts as he began to both play and sing. She remained silent, a swell of devotion wrapped in contentment dissolving into her blood and causing her entire body to grow warm. When he paused and caught her eye she felt that warmth blossom onto her flesh, turning her skin an appropriate color in accordance with the feeling deep inside.
The corner of her mouth tilts up, but it isn’t amusement in her eyes- it’s acceptance. It’s her taking every single word as seriously as he’s singing them, and as the song continues she finds her feet once again moving of their own volition. Before long she’s standing next to the piano alongside him, facing him, never once taking her eyes off of him- barely blinking, as it were. Both hands fold atop the dusty black instrument as the music swells, and moisture springs to her eyes as the song ends and leaves them both in silence that echoes the meaning and sounds even after they’ve gone.
She stands there a moment before slowly joining him on the piano bench, swallowing thickly as her own hands lift to hover fingertips over the keys. It seems only natural to her that she should begin to play, the notes gentle and a little faster than the ones he’d played, but no less haunting. Her eyes gaze down at the keys, at her hands as she begins to sing, voice just as gentle as the notes and wavering softly from the emotion he’s already brought up inside of her.
“I know I wasn’t there When you needed me the most I know I didn’t care And was afraid to get so close Tonight it’s getting hard to fall asleep Cos it’s becomming clear that I broke all into pieces And I cannot reverse it So I’ve got one more thing to say…
“I’m sorry for your pain I’m sorry for your tears For all the little things I didn’t know I’m sorry for the words I didn’t say But what I still do I’m still loving you.”
She takes a breath, her eyes closing and that moisture slipping down her cheeks as she continues.
“I know I let you wait And been away for far too long But now I can relate To everything that I did wrong I stop breathing when I think I’m losing you And there’ll be no excuse So I am on my knees, so listen please Let me hold your hand once again.”
It’s here that she finally looks at him, is finally able to do so, and as she meets his eye he will see the affection, the devotion, just as he always has but now.. now it’s paired with one other raw emotion: repentance.
“I’m sorry for your pain I’m sorry for your tears For all the little things I didn’t know I’m sorry for the words I didn’t say I’m sorry for the lies I’m sorry for the fights For not showing my love a dozen times I’m sorry for the things that I call mine But what I still do I’m still loving you
"I’m sorry for your pain I’m sorry for your tears For all the little things I didn’t know I’m sorry for the words I didn’t say I’m sorry for the lies I’m sorry for the fights For not showing my love a dozen times I’m sorry for the things that I call mine But what I still do I’m still loving you That’s what I will always do…”
He closes the piano lid just as she utters her final line, and shakes his head, and shakes it again, almost so violently that it should do damage to his neck and shoulders. Almost like a child banishing a poltergeist.
He shudders and it seems exorcized, the mood, the memories.
“Oh, enough,” he sighs, turns and seizes her against him. “We’re both so stupid, Doctor.”
The fingers of one hand dig into her scalp, the others into the back of her little rainbow shirt, pulling it tight, clutching a fist full of thick soft bleached hair, evidence that she is real and she is present, evidence that centuries of fruitless struggle, cycling a highway ramp with no exits, have ended.
“I love you. Say you love me. It’s that simple and that complex.”
He smiles at the ceiling.
“Aren’t you proud of me? See, I learn. I even learn fast. You know what I think you should do? What we should do?”
He peels himself off her with great effort, and rests his palms on her youthful, elfin face.
“Let’s demolish this room. Don’t ask the TARDIS to do it. Do it manually. Let’s do a … a cleanse, hm?”
A pause, as his eyes rove the room.
“Except I wanna keep the piano. I like the piano. And. I want a kangaroo. And a license to be a brain surgeon. And … maybe some Jelly Babies.”
Oh, the smirk that spreads across his face, at that declaration; the expression of triumph. Oh, this conquest. He takes the hands around his waist, forces them down and slides his fingers into the Doctor’s. He lifts both joined hands to his lips and kisses, with particular fervor, the left.
“I think you belong to me already.”
He turns his head enough that he can look up, and back, at his oldest friend’s face.
“But I will marry you anywhere and anywhen. So let’s go.”
The Master catches the barb on his tongue before it rolls off: well, it wouldn’t be you and me if we didn’t habitually break each other’s heart.
He stops himself only because the joyful abandon on the Doctor’s face is too hard-won to sacrifice to his own visceral, latent anger.
He stops himself because he loves him.
Because he always will. Hopeless, hopeless. There will never be an end to it.
He turns his head before his reluctant eyes will even relinquish the sight of his lover. But his hand remains in sweat-dampened hair, stroking it reassuringly. As was once, long ago, their way, it is Theta who can find the way to articulate deep-seated emotions, not Koschei, who is weary at the same time as he rejoices.
Finally, he speaks, but of practical matters, and not feelings; that was ever his way of showing affection, after all.
“You haven’t slept long enough to replenish yourself. If your mind wanders back to that place, I can guide it home again. Rest.”
Theta can sense the barb behind the Master’s lips, and though he expects it he’s also thankful it doesn’t escape.
He isn’t sure at this point if he could withstand it, at least in the sense that it would render his apology entirely meaningless the moment he retaliated with his own barb of equal or greater value. Even before the Academy, it was simply how they operated- trading one sharp twist of the proverbial knife-made-of-syllables for the other until they were both left laughing hysterically at one another’s abilities- or inabilities -to engage in verbal warfare, or left so filled with passionate rage that it instigated, well… some other form of communication entirely.
Right now though, Theta doesn’t think it would do either of them any good to trade insults, especially when Theta knows he deserves them and therefore his own would be far more stinging than usual. Once more in the space of moments, his Koschei has saved him an unsavory fate- first within his nightmares and now here, within their conversation and briefly Theta wonders how in the Multiverse he plans to make up for what he’s done. Perhaps his hearts had it right in that argument that had changed both of their lives. Perhaps all he need do is stay, and prove it, through every wave crash and every vessel torn asunder along the rocks and jagged coral. Perhaps escaping the wreckage of their collective past isn’t the point.
Perhaps surviving it together is. Navigating the storm together, not avoiding it. Embracing it as it is and growing from it, not instigating it as present-tense and running in circles around it. Koschei is right, he is thick. But he’s learning and that’s what counts. He’s one step closer to shedding the past as he gazes at the keeper of his hearts, his expression subconsciously moving into a resting state, a contemplative state. His hands move from below the sheets and seek out the hemline of the Master’s shirt, curling into the fabric as he brings himself closer, closer, until his head is resting in the other Time Lord’s lap with one eye glancing upward.
“I’ll do better, Kos.”
Unburdened by the past though he may currently be, he still knows what he’s like most of the time. It doesn’t escape him that he’s difficult. Cerulean tendrils shimmer on the outskirts and those four words hold a clear message: he’ll do better to open up, to trust, to let go of what he’s done in favor of what he can do. He’ll do better to shed the person he once was in favor of the person he could become. The light. The hope. Someone who smiles and means it every time. Someone worthy of the Master’s forgiveness, his love, his time and adoration because the man Theta is now isn’t quite there yet.
Yet.
Koschei feels the head in his lap, and it inspires an immediate sigh. He rolls his eyes up and then down at Theta’s face, and gnaws on his upper lip.
“Yeah, you will,” he sasses, but the effect is lost in the quiver of his voice. He winces and juts his jaw. He shakes his head.
“You have power over me. Like no one else has. I dunno if that … satisfies, even pleases, you, or frightens you. Probably both. But just bear it in mind. You are everything.”
Those damned words are contraband to the Master, but Koschei? Koschei feels more deeply and with more self-abandon than his calculating, pragmatic exoskeleton will ever show. And all that feeling is aimed with a laser’s singularity, a laser’s precision, at one person.
Always has been.
Always will be.
“I have a child’s simplicity when it comes to my schema of the universe. There is you, at the center. You are the sun. You say I am bad, and I become as bad as I can be. You say I am good, and I rejoice. I want to be the most powerful creature because I don’t want to need you. That’s what it all boils down to. But I DO. I DO need you. I would have to rewrite my personality not to need you. More than that, I would have to die and be reborn a new being, with an idea of existence ascribed anew on my brain.”
He smacks his forehead, for emphasis, suddenly animated, vehement.
“I’m not trying to … to achieve anything in confessing all this, but to say, yes, you must do better. You must be my boy again, as I am yours. Come back to the start with me, won’t you?”
And then he voices words which even he cannot know rest upon the Doctor’s mind:
Do you have a favorite AU? My entire blog at this point is an AU, lol. It’s kind of a necessity because I’m committed to this particular iteration of the Master (wonderful as they are in all their faces) and in canon it’s heavily implied that he’s regenerated into Missy by the end of The Doctor Falls. So in the sense that I have AU’s, they are literally all at least canon-divergent after the end of Series Ten. I think my favorite AU’s are those in which he survived Missy’s stabbing and reconciled with the Thirteenth Doctor some time after her own regeneration. Both Simm and Missy have shown us that the Master is capable of contrition and redemption; that combined with the fact that Thirteen has regained the hopefulness that the Doctor lost for several faces tell me that it’s an ideal combination for a real Thoschei reconciliation. Simm has seem the future, has seen his own stupidity, and knows the choices Missy is willing to make on the Doctor’s behalf. With some soul-searching he’d realize that’s what he, too, wants: his friend back. And Thirteen is surely contrite for Twelve’s misguided attempts to “rehabilitate” Missy. They’d both be willing to listen to each other now.
Name one thing you don’t like about your character. I don’t like his limitless capacity for cruelty. Which often makes it difficult to write him, considering it’s such an enormous part of his mature character. But again, the ability to crush his enemies (and friends) and the CHOICE not to, are such a compelling challenge for a writer, that I keep coming back for more.
Name one thing you love about your character. His persistence, and his resilience. His defiance. His certitude that his path is right (which on the flip side can be a reckless arrogance), even if he must tread it alone. His strength of resolve. He is a lion, brutal though he may be.
What one character you’ve thought of RPing but haven’t yet? Oh there are several, LOL. But I’m notorious for multi-tasking past my limits, and having, as a friend recently told me (god, I cringed) “fickle” muses. So I’m trying to limit myself from making still more blogs. For some reason, having a multimuse has never worked for me; I like to fixate singularly on a character, and make sideblogs for weaker or rarer muses. So unless I want literally like 15 blogs…lol…. Anyway the characters I’ve thought of rping. Rhys Griffiths from The Catch is the most recent urge, and he still hasn’t gone away. John Simm plays him, too, but he’s so similar to the Simm Master (with several notable differences, including a way more laid-back, lazy disposition) that despite him being a delightful disaster (my kind of character LOL), I decided instead to make a Mob Boss AU (Rhys is an English mob boss who hands the title over to his sister in favor of working with his best friend, a con man, as a consultant to the FBI). I dunno, I may cave in, aside the fact that the show only lasted 2 seasons and the fandom is nonexistent. Other characters: Sebastian Moran and Irene Adler from Sherlock Holmes. I’ve played Sebastian before, for years, but since I ship him with Jim Moriarty and I have a Jim blog, I’m still hoping someone else’s Sebastian will show up on the regular (and also be of age…cause…yeah I won’t do nsfw threads with minors. EVER.) Irene is like a huge thorn in my side because original books Irene is a goddess but nobody, except maybe the Jeremy Brett series Irene and the Rachel McAdams Irene, has ever portrayed her anywhere close to book canon. So I’m like “FINE, I’ll just do it!” lmao. I’m still seriously considering her.
What fandom do you like but have never interacted with? I can’t think of any honestly. If I like a fandom I pretty much intrepidly dive in. That’s exactly my problem lmfao.
Name one thing about your character(s) that no one knows about. This is also challenging because I LOVE sharing headcanons lmfao. Maybe this: He really liked being a woman before (yeah, I headcanon that Missy isn’t the first Time Lady Master, because it makes zero sense in a nonbinary gender-liberated society???) and looming a child. He would actually like to be a woman again, and even to try old-fashioned pre-looming pregnancy, but he’s very leery of regenerating, because he has ambivalent feelings about becoming Missy (much as he adores and worships her, lol) given his last experience with her. So likely nothing will ever come of this.
If your character(s) were paint colors, what would their paint color names be? (Go silly if you want!)
Black hole; smoldering red resentment; belly fire; absent night; LOL. Terrifying variations on red and black.
Icarus 