Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain.

P a i n .

The endless, monotonous, metallic refrain down the halls of that hellish platform on a ship from Mondas. The last few surviving threads of independence sentience, crying out for compassion, for aid, that never came. The remnants of a human body lost in a suit of vinyl, plastic, steel.

The dream of a few mad fanatics that he took like a political ticket and ran with, refined to a fine science, cultured like a cancer in a petri dish and infected, gorged with grandiosity and self-importance. Cybermen.

A whole hospital full of bits and pieces of the infirm, sent to be healed, fed through a meat grinder of eugenicist experimentation. Children, children, children like his child. Children like HIS child: brains and musculo-skeletal structures retained, sweet little hands and feet and toes and noses and hair in clips and ribbons discarded like waste in a butcher shop.

He didn’t do it, sure. But he allowed it. Even tacitly encouraged it. Just like with the Toclafane: scavenging on their innate proclivity to do wicked and cruel things, in order to ascend to power, and therefore, autonomy, and therefore, safety.

But that was nearly two years ago.

Why is he here now?

It’s dark. the kind of dark that yawns and swallows all form, and bids you, dangerously, sweetly, just sleep. Just sleep. Just surrender …

That’s when Koschei realizes he’s lying on his belly in cold, wet, dewy grass, staring down an empty lift shaft. It might as well be a grave dug straight to hell.

For an army of child-sized Cyberman crawls up the chute, chanting the endless refrain of pain, pain, PAIN.

He’s paralyzed, stabbed through the back by Missy’s blade, straight through the gut, straight through his belly button, and it’s pinioned him into the grass.

The Cybermen draw ever nearer.

The first one to scale the shaft seizes greedily onto his black and red coat.

“Dad-dyyyyy,” the Cyberman who is Zinnia intones, “dad-dyyyy, what. Have you. Doooone?”

The Master lurches awake, soaked in sweat and urine, and can barely stumble to the bathroom in time to vomit.

The Doctor is lounging on the sofa with Zinnia propped up against her knees. Her head lays across the Master’s lap, her silken blond hair draped over his thighs like a satin curtain. Hazel eyes lift to gaze up at him and she smiles. “Remember all those evil schemes I thwarted back in the day? Good times. Good times…”

The Master’s short-shorn untidy head rests against the side of the fresh-painted TARDIS. His hand is in his old friend’s hair, his fingers transferring signals of almost incomprehensible bliss to his brain.

She is here.
She is his.
And she is happy, because of him.

“You’ve strategically pinioned me here, under a hundred or more pounds of domestic bliss, in order to point this out in such a way that I can’t even be irritated by you bringing it up,” he accuses, with a shamelessly doting smirk.

masterfulxrhythm:

Random mainverse headcanons:

–The Master and the Doctor have merged their TARDISes (which is WHY she’s “done up” with a new coat of paint, it’s wild because @mostincrediblechange and I just wrote this happening on Skype and then this week…LOL…the TARDIS rematerializes with a new coat of paint) and also why the interior is “redecorated.”

–The Master is absent from the actual off-TARDIS “adventuring” because he has sustained some unstable Time Vortex energy from Missy’s stabbing, that should have caused him to regenerate. His Regeneration energy is still unstable and if he leaves the TARDIS, where the Doctor has rigged him a wing to the Zero Room, he’ll become very ill, or possibly even die. So it’s kind of like a Shalka scenario, for the next several months.

–The Master has agreed to stay behind in the TARDIS when the Doctor goes adventuring, and he makes the Doctor sack lunches sometimes, or puts crisps in her bum bag. He has also learned how to make fried egg sandwiches.

– Of course he’s also composing whole piano sonatas (Missy’s grand piano is still downstairs), constructing laser everything’s, adding sonic components to his existing laser screwdriver, constructing advanced surveillance and monitoring technologies for the TARDIS exterior, hacking the computer systems of distant alien planets, and, in this verse, taking care of his daughter with the Doctor, Zinnia.

–He also frequently steals custards from the auto dispenser. Which is why he’s developed love handles over the past year.

–The Master is aroused by the Doctor doing Aikido on her enemies. Or just being aggressive and angry in general. Which is not unique to this Doctor, but has only …augmented lol.

–The Master likes Graham (and calls him “Graham Cracker”) because his devotion to Grace reminds the Master of how he feels about the Doctor.

–The Master likes Ryan because they share a tendency to self-isolate and defend themselves as “needing no one” when they’re in pain, and often over some form of disability (my Master is a spoonie).

–The Master likes Yaz because she doesn’t take shit from anyone yet she transparently trusts and supports the Doctor, so he gives Yaz all the directives and “please do A b and C’s” for when he can’t come along on an adventure and keep an eye on his best friend and wife.

Random mainverse headcanons:

–The Master and the Doctor have merged their TARDISes (which is WHY she’s “done up” with a new coat of paint, it’s wild because @mostincrediblechange and I just wrote this happening on Skype and then this week…LOL…the TARDIS rematerializes with a new coat of paint) and also why the interior is “redecorated.”

–The Master is absent from the actual off-TARDIS “adventuring” because he has sustained some unstable Time Vortex energy from Missy’s stabbing, that should have caused him to regenerate. His Regeneration energy is still unstable and if he leaves the TARDIS, where the Doctor has rigged him a wing to the Zero Room, he’ll become very ill, or possibly even die. So it’s kind of like a Shalka scenario, for the next several months.

–The Master has agreed to stay behind in the TARDIS when the Doctor goes adventuring, and he makes the Doctor sack lunches sometimes, or puts crisps in her bum bag. He has also learned how to make fried egg sandwiches.

– Of course he’s also composing whole piano sonatas (Missy’s grand piano is still downstairs), constructing laser everything’s, adding sonic components to his existing laser screwdriver, constructing advanced surveillance and monitoring technologies for the TARDIS exterior, hacking the computer systems of distant alien planets, and, in this verse, taking care of his daughter with the Doctor, Zinnia.

–He also frequently steals custards from the auto dispenser. Which is why he’s developed love handles over the past year.

–The Master is aroused by the Doctor doing Aikido on her enemies. Or just being aggressive and angry in general. Which is not unique to this Doctor, but has only …augmented lol.

–The Master likes Graham (and calls him “Graham Cracker”) because his devotion to Grace reminds the Master of how he feels about the Doctor.

–The Master likes Ryan because they share a tendency to self-isolate and defend themselves as “needing no one” when they’re in pain, and often over some form of disability (my Master is a spoonie).

–The Master likes Yaz because she doesn’t take shit from anyone yet she transparently trusts and supports the Doctor, so he gives Yaz all the directives and “please do A b and C’s” for when he can’t come along on an adventure and keep an eye on his best friend and wife.

“Goose, I’m. So proud of you.”

His voice is thick with withheld emotion, his features radiant as a hearth.

“You are rife with power. You’re incandescent with the power of moving forever forward and celebrating it. You are so beautiful that I’m. I’m … ecstatic . . . to share the light of you with the universe.”

the-captains-table:

masterfulxrhythm:

“I have a question.”

Behind the arrogant bravado, there is a haggardness, borne of loving worry, on the face of the Master.

“What do you know about post-partum depression?”

Romana perks up slightly, though she does actually realise the seriousness of the situation that would warrant such a question. She’s simply thrilled at being consulted by someone whom she so admires.

“Quite a bit,” she says. Naturally, she had done research on every possible avenue once she had heard the Doctor was expecting, and it seems to be reaping it’s benefits now. “Though not from experience, naturally. What do you need to know?”

“I just. I want to know… .”

The Master sits in front of his junior, pupil, and friend, pressing his thumbs into the throbbing bridge of his nose, feeling curiously bleak.

“Say that the mother’s mentioned a sense of insecurity about the
relationship between the baby and the father, versus the relationship
between the baby and herself. She fears she’s insufficient, that the
bond she holds with her daughter is … somehow doomed to fade.
What does the father do–aside the obvious recourse of caring for
the mother, reassuring her? Does he sacrifice more of his time with
the baby, or does that … does that somehow … enable feelings of
jealousy to run unchecked?”

He lifts his face sharply from his hands.

“I’m out of practice, Romana. I haven’t been in a real relationship until
I was reunited with the Doctor. I’ve been married, but it was a sham,
and I’ve had lovers and companions, but they literally betrayed me by
trying to forfeit my life. I want to be a good dad. I want to do this right.”

“I have a question.”

Behind the arrogant bravado, there is a haggardness, borne of loving worry, on the face of the Master.

“What do you know about post-partum depression?”

hey master, if you hate time lords/their society so much, then what better way than to rebel against their teachers and see value in all life and help others the way they would have hated?

“Shh, sweet little hearts. It’s only a guest.”

The Master looks up from the vulnerable cocoon of warmth and nurturance in which he’s caught. There’s startling gentleness in bottomlessly dark eyes. It’s residual from looking at his daughter, but beyond the miracle of a womb-born Time Tot, it’s the months and months he’s spent at the Doctor’s side in rare, honest, open communion, airing and nursing his wounds, and growing past them.

Beyond any miracle, reform is painstaking work.

“Believe it or not … that’s become my goal already. Blame a blonde
goose.”

@forgediinfire tagging you because reasons))