#sacha fanfic

[sacha-da-1]

Forgetful - A Dark Eyes fic

This would take place sometime after the events of Dark Eyes, vague spoilers, implications of events that are major spoilers

Relationships: the Eighth Doctor and the the Master (Macqueen), The Master and Sally Armstrong (referenced towards the end, with some angst). Exact nature of relationships can be up to interpretation.

Warnings: Angst, memory loss aka canon-typical amnesia, and (sort of) kidnapping

This was definitely not how the Master had planned for this day to go. He’d finally tracked down the Doctor again and he had everything planned to the exact detail, but just as he had come up from behind him, hoping to surprise the other man saying, “Hello, you! Bet you’re surprised to see me again aren’t you, Doctor?” Instead of an expected scowl or a sharp remark, the Doctor had just stared at him blankly.

Oh no, now the Master was confused. This wasn’t right at all. What game was the Doctor playing? He really shouldn’t have let the Doctor psychoanalyze him on that ship. This was going to irritate him for weeks! And something told him the Doctor must know that. All part of the fun though right? If the Doctor was going to play games, so would he. Who knew that what he said next was only going to help his cause. “Oh please, Doctor, don’t act like you don’t remember me. It’s me, your old friend, the Master! Come on now, there’s something I’ve been just dying to show you!”

After several moments of looking extremely baffled the Doctor lit up just ever so slightly: “We’re friends!?” He asked him excitedly. Excitedly? What was the old bastard up to now?? The Master had to think to himself. This was just ridiculous. “Yes, my dear Doctor, come now! I won’t be putting up with your foolish games today….. You really shouldn’t have disappeared on me like you did, who knows the sort of people you could run into all on your own!” Why was he still playing along? This wasn’t even the Master’s game, how was this going to help? Was this just another (admittedly more obnoxious) manifestation of some sort of odd, friendly banter between the two? Could that be it? Did the Doctor actually miss him or something and decide he wanted to play the fool for awhile? Just to see where the conversation would lead? That’d be silly even for him wouldn’t it?

“I’m so sorry.” The Doctor spoke again. Examining the Master’s face and form as if he was familiar to him, but couldn’t be quite sure. “…. I think I’m having some trouble with my memory again.” Oh no….. was he serious? This certainly would not be out of character for him at all, the Master really should have realized. “But you seem to know who I am….,” The Doctor continued, “Tell me, does this sort of thing happen to me often? Or is this just a particularly bad day?” The Master found it near impossible to hold back his amusement at the whole situation, but after a couple of badly stifled wheezing exhales, he regained his composure and settled instead for a slightly mocking smile. (A fool, such as the Doctor having a bout of amnesia for example, may have even mistaken the look for one of a sort of exasperated fondness. If making such a mistake was truly necessary.)

This could not seriously be happening again. Why was it always this particular incarnation of his old friend who suffered through this so often? Today’s plans might have to be postponed after all, just for a little while. Maybe later things could be set into motion even with him still in this state. Who knows how long the effects will last? “I do know you don’t I?” The Doctor, had suddenly interrupted the Master’s train of thought, seems he hadn’t answered his other question yet either. The Doctor’s blue eyes were filled with glee at the sight of him. Hadn’t seen that in awhile. “Yes,” the Master replied simply, giving the situation some extra thought then continuing with, “And to be completely honest, this certainly isn’t the most unusual circumstances you’ve landed yourself into. By far. No, we are going to have to do something about that head of yours! We can’t have you wandering about aimlessly not knowing who you are can we?” The Doctor seemed to be taking him as being sincere in his concern. “No, I expect not!” The Doctor replied, chuckling just slightly. Just enough to make it sound as if he wasn’t all that concerned. Who knows exactly what he was thinking right now. If much of anything at all.

Until just now, no serious thoughts seemed to have been making their way into his head, but the Doctor was now frowning slightly, looking as though he was formulating something he needed to say: “No one’s letting me stay anywhere, saying they won’t let me if I don’t have any money. I’m feeling kinda tired now, and there’s just been so much noise out here….. Do you know where I live? Can you take me home? Would that be alright?”

The Master wasn’t even sure how to respond to that. This really wasn’t a typical day for them at all. “….I’m afraid, you’re the sort to move around quite a bit, so I don’t know where you’ve placed your current place of residence. But I just came from mine, so if you’d like, you can take a rest there.” What was going on? The Master was beginning to wonder if being in direct proximity to the Doctor was affecting his state of mind as well.

“Oh really?! Oh thank you!” All coherent thoughts immediately stopped short as the Master found the Doctor’s arms suddenly wrapped around him, this was not at all what he had expected. Soon the Doctor let go and the Master said nothing, clearly still in shock from the action. “Which way?” The Doctor’s question had broken through the sudden quiet of the Master’s mind.

“…. Oh. Come, it’s this way.” Turning away quickly he let the Doctor follow after him. The Doctor was nearly skipping behind him. What a damn idiot, he would probably be furious to find out the Master had taken him to his ship when he was like this. Oh well, maybe they could have a nice fight about it after the Doctor’s nap, that could be fun. And maybe after the Doctor has his wits about him again, he could cause even more trouble for him like he had planned. Now he’ll have the upper hand, assuming the Doctor doesn’t run off the second he wakes up.

The Doctor had seemed rather impressed the moment he walked in, fascinated by the interior of his ship. Clearly his wits weren’t so lost that something bigger on the inside caused him to short circuit. No, of course not. He may have caught this latest dose memory loss on Earth, but that doesn’t mean he’d think like someone from there. Thankfully enough. “This is lovely! I’m sure I’ve seen it before, but, it’s nice to see it again!” he said. The Master smiled politely and directed him to a room aboard his TARDIS. He only had so many, three to be exact, though nowadays he only really needed one, and even it was scarcely used. This one was the one which hadn’t been used. “You should find all you need in there, take as much time as you need, the door to the kitchen is right down there, and if you need me, I have some reading to do, so I’ll be in the library. It’s down the hall here, third set of doors on your left.” “I understand, thank you, Master. Really!” It was odd hearing the Doctor using his name so thoughtlessly, and even stranger to hear him thanking him for something without a trace of sarcasm. Without warning the Doctor suddenly had decided to grip him by the arm, “Thank you. I hope I can remember you properly in the morning.” The guilt in his voice was obvious. “Not to worry about that Doctor, get some rest.” The Doctor nodded tiredly, he lingered for a moment then released the Master, and he went inside and closed the door behind him.

The Master opened up a book in hopes of putting his mind onto something else, but the bizarre nature of the situation he’d just found himself in just couldn’t escape him. He’d gone to the kitchen and made himself some tea instead and was wandering back down the hall. It had been a couple hours now, perhaps the Doctor had awoken and went looking for him in the library. To his surprise though, the Master had noticed a door sitting ajar on his way back. But it wasn’t the Doctor’s door and it wasn’t the door to the library either. “Idiot.” He mumbled quietly to himself, though there wasn’t much venom in his voice when he said it. Not even irritation.

He stepped inside and found the Doctor sifting through his wardrobe. Setting down his tea on the nearby table, he cleared his throat loudly, startling the Doctor from his task. “Hello, Doctor! I hope you were able to get the rest you needed. Might I ask what you’re doing in here though?” The Doctor started stuttering now, he must not have remembered who exactly he was with yet. Finally his speech evened out just enough to say: “…. I’m so sorry, I got a little confused on my way to find you, and the clothes in here looked familiar to me, and…. Well curiosity got the best of me, I apologize. I shouldn’t have presumed…. I should’ve thought my actions through, let me make it up to you.” “It’s quite alright,” The Master spoke. “And you’re right, they would be familiar to you, most of this room contains things which I’ve worn recently, maybe even a couple here and there that I once wore long ago.” The Doctor was holding onto one of the Master’s suits again as he looked up at him, he must’ve taken hold of it again after he sensed that the Master wasn’t particularly upset with him. “Huh…” he said quietly. He could see the other man was deep in thought as he looked at it, he was probably trying hard to remember. Then another outfit caught his eye and he grabbed onto it instead, “Even this one?” He asked. It wasn’t a voice of judgement in the slightest, merely curiosity. The humans in this particular period he’d landed himself in would’ve likely stated something about the fact that it was a women’s outfit. And this time around, in a sense, they’d be right, at least it was an outfit that had once belonged to a certain woman. The Master fell dead silent at the sight of it. He hadn’t thought of the fact he’d left it in here….

The Doctor examined it again saying: “It’s very pretty. But something’s telling me there’s something different about this one. It’s like I don’t have the same feelings about it…. It’s strange. Is it…” He turned his face towards the Master and saw the dark look in his eyes. And immediately dropped it and let it hang as it had done before he’d taken it into his hands. “Just don’t touch that one again.” The Master replied coldly, eyes piercing through into the Doctor’s. There’s always gotta be something that comes along to ruin the mood of their games doesn’t there? The Master breathed in deeply and pushed the thought as far from his mind as he could, other things to do today. “Never mind that though,” he said trying to appear reassuring, “I have something else if you’d like to wear it, I found some things in my ship that resemble what you’re wearing now if you want some fresh clothes.” The Doctor gave him a sad smile, he knew he’d struck a chord, though he couldn’t tell just which cord that was. He hated seeing his friend upset like this, he hated how he always had to bury his emotions so far beneath and wouldn’t allow himself to just show them to him; no, not hated, no he was just saddened, he wished he could make the Master feel safe enough with him to tell him the truth. And now that his memory was gone how could he help him?? …..Wait. Maybe he had remembered something else about him after all! Oh no. But maybe…. Maybe when he could remember the rest. He promised to himself once he could remember properly he’d try his best to help him again. Perhaps he was grieving. That’s all he could think, or something of the sort surely. And even in his grief, his friend had been so patient with him and let him in his home. Knowing he could do so much damage just by simply being unaware. He realized he’d frozen in thought and quickly answered, “Oh, yes please, thank you.” He quickly abandoned the row of clothing, and walked back toward the Master. The Master, strange name, I wonder why he’s called that? The Doctor wondered to himself as they both slipped out the door. No matter, he’d remember soon enough, and they’d have more important things to talk about.

#dark eyes #the doctor and the master #best enemies #eighth doctor #macqueen!master #the master #sally armstrong #doctor who big finish #big finish #doctor who fanfiction #sacha fanfic #eightmacqueen #eight x macqueen #sacha shortfics

[picnokinesis]

thirteenth doctor and spymaster fic recs

all clear by wreckageofstars (8k, 1 chapter, thoschei/gen) summary: London’s on fire, the Doctor’s trapped in her own head, and only her worst enemy can save her. //I know I literally always rec this author in these lists, I know, but like if you've read these fics, you'll know I'm justified because they are all just brilliant. This one is no exception. The doctor and the master are so wonderfully on point, with this antagonistic push and pull between them both, whilst they both desperately try and avoid the fact that they actually still care deeply for one another - but they also hate each other's guts at the same time! And the master is there to cause problems on purpose whilst the doctor is an absolute mess post-Orphan 55 and making everything worse. An absolute joy of a fic.

the gardener by riptheh (6k, 1 chapter, thoschei/gen) summary: The Master kills because it's all he has left. Until it's not. //I had a reaaaally hard time picking fics for this post, because there are so many fics with thirteen and spymaster that I absolutely adore - but I knew from the get go that this one had to be on here, come what may. It's much more of a character study focused on the master than anything else, but of course anything about the master is also about the doctor - and it's such a beautiful exploration of the master and his relationship with death (and then, life). Just absolutely gorgeous - and surprisingly uplifting by the end? Anyway. This fic got me good, so definitely make sure you check it out.

the art of dying by lupescx (10k, 4 chapters, thoschei) summary: The Master resurfaces into the Doctor's life only to die—one burst of regeneration energy and he's back on his feet. And then he dies again. And again. She can't keep doing this. //The title might have clued you in, but this one is angsty. Extremely angsty. But, wow, it's absolutely brilliant! What a fantastic exploration of the doctor and the master pushed to their absolute limits and unable to escape from an awful, inevitable cycle. It is pretty dark in places (actually a lot of these fics are, so always heed the tags!) but if that's your jive then this story is just such a treat. Highly recommend!

The Frayed by luchia (90k, 16 chapters, thoschei, wip) summary: The TARDIS recruits a rescue team for the Doctor after the Judoon take her away, and the Master really shouldn't go. Particularly if it includes having to hang around a freakish temporal monstrosity like Jack Harkness. Then again, what does he have to lose? He could die, sure, but that means nothing when he always (always always always) comes back, whether he wants to or not. //Okay so, in my humble opinion, this fic is some of the best spymaster characterisation that I've ever seen across the entire fandom. It's exceptional - the prose is just so full of character, brilliantly unreliable and just so SO fascinating and painful in equal measure (can you tell that I like angst? I love angst so much). And also just the imaginativeness of the story itself is absolutely incredible? There's some fantastic things in there about gallifreyan as a language and Time Lord culture and TARDISes - and, of course, the doctor and the master are completely awful in the best kind of way. And if the word count looks too much for you - consider just reading chapter 16. Yep. Just that one. Like, that rewrote my brain. I read it three times the day that it posted, and I've lost count of how many times I've read it since then. So, like, please. But also you should really really read the entire thing because it's brilliant

Ust-Kut by yonderdarling (1k, 1 chapter, thoschei) summary: Unfortunately, the Master survived. Unfortunately, he finds her TARDIS. Unfortunately, he wants to talk. //Okay. So, this fic? Is possibly one of my favourite spydoc fics ever. And you might be thinking "but, taka, it's only 1k, how can it be?" - well, trust me, it just can. Short but sweet but an absolute gut-punch at the same time. Such a fascinating look at the relationship between these two, the push and pull and the knife edge that they're both on all the time - and it's so tactile? I think that's what gets me about it, if I'm honest. Anyway, absolutely beautiful writing - succinct, but boy, does every word count. It's just so so good, guys.

and without you (is how i disappear) by empty_of_dust (4k, 1 chapter, thoschei) summary: “It’s simple,” she says, impassive, like she’s not holding their very history at knife-point. “Start talking, or I start cutting.” //So, funny story, this author only started posting spydoc fic about a year ago, but oh my word, my guys, they are insanely good. They just get these two in a way that drives me absolutely feral, and their writing style is such a joy to read. I was extremely torn on which fic of theirs to rec, but I settled on this one in the end. The sheer concept of it is absolutely brilliant and gut-wrenching in the most spydoc way ever: a mid-s12 doctor uses the history between her and the master as a bargaining tool to get him to tell her what he discovered in the matrix, blood and biting including. But, yknow. just do yourself a favour and read this author's entire body of work because it is extremely worth it. You won't regret it, I'm sure.

i only speak in silences by daring_elm (2k, 1 chapter, gen) summary: The Doctor can't just leave the Master behind, so she sends him a hologram. //do you ever get a fic that you forget exists, and then you find it again and go OHHHH THIS ONE??? That was me with this fic (and, honestly, this author, who has a ton of great stuff that you should all check out). We all know that the doctor and the master are awful at communicating, but this fic is such a wonderful exploration of it - of the ways that they refuse to be vulnerable with each other, the ways that they are so angry with each other, but also can't help but be drawn back to each other all at the same time. An absolute cracker!

awake and unafraid (asleep or dead) by SleepyMaddy (5k, 1 chapter, thoschei) summary: The Doctor has trouble sleeping. The Master, in typical fashion, makes it worse. //There are so many fics by this author that I could recommend on a post like this, but a spydoc rec post has got to have at least one fic on there that plays with O/13, because it's just such brilliant, painful angst in the softest way. And there are a great many fics that explore it, but this one just takes the cake. Impeccable s12 angst wrapped up in o/13 softness, complete with thirteen making terrible decisions for literally the entire thing. Absolutely astounding writing, beautifully in character and just so painful in the best kind of way. This one killed me, guys. It killed me.

chaos theory by BlueLillyBlue (61k, 11 chapters, gen, wip) summary: The TARDIS has crash-landed in England, 2019, and the Doctor is acting cagey. Also, spacetime might be collapsing. So... Yaz's week isn't off to a great start. //Ohhhh man ok ok. This fic. Is a goldmine. This author is just absolutely SPOT ON with how they write thirteen, and their plots are just an absolute delight and tick soooo many boxes for me. They always make the world they're writing in feel so rich and real, whether that's a starving community on a frozen moon or a hotel in Cornwall. But this one is just so up my street because the master is in it, and oh my GOODNESS guys, it's just - it's just so, so good. If you haven't been following this one along already, then get going on that, stat!

together, we average out to dry land by hawkeishest (1k, 1 chapter, thoschei) summary: If she thought about it, really, this was all Ryan’s fault. He was the one who’d touched the statue. Though, to be fair to him, she should have known the temple would have some kind of psychic defence system. And now her head felt like it was cracking open. //I feel like most people have read this one because it's such a classic, but for anyone who missed it or is new to the fandom - this one is a must read. Absolutely fantastic exploration of the doctor and the master's psychic abilities and the connection between them, written with the most gorgeous descriptions. Just brilliant. Go check it out!

#doctor who fanfic #doctor who #the doctor #thirteen #best enemies #the master #sacha dhawan #dhawan!master #spymaster #thoschei #spydoc #dw fanfic #dwedit #doctorwhoedit #fic #fic rec #taka edits #AUUUGH GUYS THERE WERE SO MANY AMAZING FICS TO CHOSE FROM THIS WAS HARD!!! #so SO hard!! #but auuuuuugh this was so much fun #i have caught the fic rec edit bug so i might be planning a new one hahaha #but pleaaaaase reblog to share the love!! #and share any fic recs that you have too!! #once again i beg people to read chapter 16 of the frayed SKKSKSKSKS LIKE #WAILS #long post

[thedemonastrophel]

HELLO THIRTEENTH DOCTOR ENJOYERS‼️‼️

I would like to offer you this ao3 profile I stumbled upon with over 35 fics entering on the thirteenth doctor and the majority of them include the Master.

À lot of them are very gory and very angsty, which I myself absolutely adore and the way they're all written makes them so much fun to read

Here is their ao3:

And here is their Tumblr! @picnokinesis

I highly recommend these fics to ANYONE who loves 13 because they're honestly just so incredibly written, and the concepts for some of these are just so perfect.

On a side note: I'm going to be trying to work my way through reading all these fics, but since I finished 13's seasons this will probably be my lifeline.

#Thirteenth doctor #Fanfic recs #13th doctor #Doctor who #Fanfics #Dw fanfics #Ao3 #Jodie whittaker #The master #The master dw #sacha dhawan

[elf-punk]

A Moment of Sympathy (Simm!Master x Reader)

Pairing: Simm!Master x Fem!Reader

Summary: Work sucks and your relationship is falling apart. As you’re walking home from a rough day, you come across a disheveled, blonde man in a black hoodie. His words are erratic and his mannerisms give you the chills, but you’re drawn to him. He is unambiguously and criminally insane, but you can’t help but stop and listen to his tales.

Tales of red pastures, orange skies, and travels through time and space.

Chapter List Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 1 Chapter Word Count: 2.3k

You’d never considered yourself a workaholic, but the last few weeks had seen you holed up in your office, tapping away at a keyboard with coffee cups stacked up to your eyes virtually every evening.

It won’t be like this for long, you naively promised yourself as you texted yet another apologetic “No can do, way too busy tonight” to your partner’s dinner invitation.

You loved them, but life just kept getting in the way.

Dreading the look of resigned frustration that would fill their eyes at your next meeting (and God knew when that would be), you re-oriented yourself onto the final task of the evening: a string of emails which ran away from you during the day. Your fingers blazed across your workspace as you opened, composed, and sent one reply after another, far past the point of checking for politeness. After clicking Send on one final, mind-numbingly dull reimbursement request for your latest conference, you breathed a sigh of relief and exhaustion.

Done for now.

Forcing yourself not to think about the prospect of going home only to wake up and do it all over again tomorrow, you shuffled on your coat and slipped your phone in your pocket, relegating the several texts and missed calls from your partner to the bottom of your parka. You also grabbed the still-packaged fruit and nut bar which lay untouched on your desk, balking at the realisation that seven hours had passed since your last meal or snack. Stepping out of the door, you adjusted to the darkness which now coated your city.

You set a heavy, fast-paced stride away from your building, allowing brief flashes of the day to drift through your mind like waves against a river bank. The endless meetings, reviews, and reports, the idle chatter with your co-workers over a drab sandwich in the staff kitchen appeared as a hazy smudge in your mind’s eye. It was as though you were already asleep, already dreaming. You picked up the pace, descending into a near-jog as your mind focused razor sharp on the prospect of sleep.

That was, until you heard a rustle in the blackness.

You froze dead in your tracks and whipped your head over your shoulder. Your eyes scanned precisely for the source of the sound, but you couldn't see a thing. All that lay in front of you was endless dark stretching out along the path, broken up only by a few flickering streetlights dotted across the horizon.

Probably just a fox, you told yourself, desperately trying to ignore the part of your brain that was screaming danger in big, bright, red letters. You continued to walk down the path, this time with your key wedged firmly between your index and middle finger.

On you walked, relief building the longer you went without being clobbered to your death. Just as you were about to turn a corner towards a busier strip of road and put your key back in your pocket, you heard another sound. Scuttling footsteps to your right—wait no, your left! No, there they were to your right again! Your heart raced as you flicked your eyes between the shadowy garages either side of you, cursing your inability to see a thing in the blackness of the night.

There was definitely someone or something there, but it was impossible to tell what. If it was a person, they would need to be moving inhumanly fast to cross the path so quickly. You scrunched your eyes shut, pinched your arm, and prayed that it would be moments before the world dissolved and you woke up in your bed. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. Your veins turned to ice as you were denied the relief of this being a simple nightmare from which you could jolt awake.

The scuttling stopped, and was replaced with the unmistakable sound of heavy, ragged breathing squarely behind you. The source of the breathing moved closer, and closer still, until it stopped about two meters away from your shivering frame. It was close enough to ascertain that whoever was behind you was male, slim, and about a head taller than you.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you fumbled around for your key and wedged it between your fingers once again. The figure’s breaths began to take on a rasping, wheezing quality, and in one swift motion, you turned.

A thin, hooded figure stood before you, a man so wraith-like in physique and disposition that you wondered if you'd walked onto the set of Ghostbusters. He was clothed in rugged, black clothes and you squinted in the dark as you tried to discern where the blackness of your surroundings ended, and he began. The only fragment of colour you could see was a deep, burgundy t-shirt poking out from underneath his sweatshirt and a sharp jawline dotted with blond stubble which bobbed underneath his hood as he spoke.

“Can you help me?” The figure rasped. “I am so hungry.”

The voice was ravenous, possessing a desperate and carnal quality that curdled your blood. A distinct lack of humanity emanated from the figure. He possessed a human-like stature, yes, two legs, two arms, and a head, but he inspired a cosmic dread that surpassed any horrors the Earth could possibly concoct.

You shook from head to toe, barely registering his words.

“Please don’t hurt me,” you whispered.

The figure grinned, hungrily, mirthlessly and took a step towards you.

“Oh not yet, primate.” A ghostly hand slipped out from under his sleeve and scratched his stubble. “The hurting is yet to come. But for now, I am so very hungry.” The grin split across his face as he advanced towards you.

You felt as though every organ in your body was being stretched, squeezed, and turned inside out all at once. Your stomach tensed and sweat began to bead on your forehead as your baser instincts sprang forth. You were ready to run. The images flashed in your head; you would bolt past the figure, key-in-hand, and hurtle towards the high street, screaming so loud that the Prime Minister would hear. You balled up your fists, took a laboured breath and readied yourself. But then-

“Oh don’t even think about running, my dear,” the figure chuckled darkly. “I see your mind, and you will obey me.”

And in an instant, you sank.

All thoughts of clawing out the man’s eyes with your key and sprinting to the nearest bus stop dissolved into a soft, hazy glow as your thoughts ran quiet. There was no fear, no anticipation, just calm and contentment wrapped around the idle realisation that you would likely die tonight.

“That’s a girl,” he crooned, taking a gentle step forwards.

The “man” who had mere seconds ago, struck deathly fear into every fibre of your very vulnerable and exposed being, now inspired a sense of calm and adoration. You weren’t sure what he had done, but his machinations were such that you no longer feared him—not in the way you previously had.

He was your master, and you would obey him.

Satisfied with the success of his hypnotism, he flicked his hand over his head and his hood came tumbling down, revealing a patch of dirty blond hair and a youthful face—less horrifying than you had anticipated, but unsettling nonetheless. The eyes were sharp and bottomless, the lips perpetually curved into a deranged, lopsided grin.

Mild surprise crept upon you as you realised that the face was familiar.

It couldn’t be!

The man sensed your recognition, and an irritated glare passed over his round face.

“Yes, alright. Get it out of the way! It’s me, your old Prime Minister!” He spat, throwing his arms out theatrically. “Now get me something to eat, ape!”

Finally, at the third time of asking, you realised what he had been saying to you.

Food.

Your hand slammed against your pocket and you produced one untouched Eat Natural bar.

Saxon’s eyebrows raised curiously, and a playful smile tugged at his mouth as he took the bar from your hands and turned it around in his own, as if inspecting a new gadget.

“I would rather something more… substantial,” he quipped, narrow-eyed. “But this will do.”

His nimble fingers tore at the wrapping, shredding and ripping. He shoved the bar against his open mouth and devoured it obnoxiously, barely stopping to chew as if it could be snatched from him at any moment. He spent only a few moments eating—if you could even call it that, before practically licking his hands clean and picking at his nails as if to surrender any last residue of food into his ever-wanting mouth. The sight was monstrous, and bore more resemblance to a ghoul savaging its prey rather than the actions of a sentient being, but in your subdued haze, you merely stood and watched with a soft frown on your face.

“I hope you aren’t allergic to peanuts,” you muttered. You suddenly wondered how you could be calm enough to crack jokes with this abomination, who as it turned out, was the former Prime Minister—the very one who had decimated the President of the United States live on television.

“Mmmph. I hippohhye choo,” he mumbled between licks of his fingers. “Ijjot.”

“What?”

The stranger rolled his eyes in agitation.

“I hypnotised you, idiot,” he said flatly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s why you’re so calm. Think of it as charity,” he said, scowling darkly and swallowing the final morsels of the bar. “your primitive human minds are a disgrace, always darting back and forth between the past, present, and future, like a dog chasing its tail. I’ve—how can I put this—refined it.”

So he could read your thoughts?

“As if it’s that simple,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “The mind isn’t a book that one can simply read at will. I can, however, extract and interpret neural signals from one as primitive as yourself. Think of it like catching stones as they flow along the universe’s dullest river.” he continued boredly.

“That sounds a lot like mind-reading to me.”

The next few moments flashed by in an instant. One second you were standing in the middle of the alley, the next you were backed up against a garage door, held with inhuman strength. Stars exploded behind your eyes and a splitting pain coursed through your head. The calm was gone and you were once again, shaking and crying in fear as your assailant closed in on you, blocking any possibility of escape.

“Look at me,” he growled.

You could barely hear him, but you felt a vague tugging in your mind; a soft force which compelled your eyes upwards.

You opened your mouth to scream.

In the place of the once sharp, but youthful face was a ghoulish and skeletal head from which a harsh, white light radiated. Insanity was chiselled across his features: it had always been there, bubbling and simmering under the surface, but it now stood bare in the unfathomable depths of his sunken eyes.

This was not a rugged trickster who you could talk circles around. It wasn't the dashing and amicable politician who had visited cat shelters, shook hands with the Royal Family, and so smoothly woven his way through the journalists' questions on prime time television.

This was a being who had shed the blood of billions.

You tried to force your eyes away from the mind-bending sight, but to no avail. He kept you fixed upon him, seemingly intent on driving you to the brink of madness.

“You think this is a joke?” The creature spat in a roaring, distorted growl. “Were you under the impression that this was a conversation of equals?”

Finally managing to squeeze your eyes shut, you babbled incoherently, and pleaded for your life through ragged sobs and gasps.

“N-No, please!” You wailed, dropping to the floor. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t kill me!”

Silence.

Seconds ticked by as the killing blow failed to land.

Minutes.

A wild thought rushed through your head: maybe he was gone?

It could have been hours since you’d heard that infernal voice, seen that grotesque face. Moment by moment, you relaxed your eyes, which had been squeezed shut so tightly that the dull throb of a migrane was beginning to set into your left temple. You fluttered your eyes open, and the pit in your stomach opened up again, at the sight of Saxon—no longer an eldritch monstrosity, but still very much there—boredly, and perhaps concernedly gazing down at you.

You choked out a barely intelligible “What are you?” before descending into a babbling fit of trembles and tears.

Saxon pouted.

“Don’t be like that,” he said flatly. “Thought I’d have a bit of fun: this body is burning off my life force faster than I can replenish it. Will probably expire in a few hours, why not scare a few apes to death in my final moments?” He finished, sighing dramatically.

His hypnotism returned in full force, and you sank back into the soft, woolly haze that had characterised your previous encounter. A thin, but strong hand grabbed the fabric of your parka and gracefully lifted you to your feet. You were now standing eye-to-eye, and you didn’t skip a beat before gazing into his eyes, desperate to channel more and more of the calm serenity that his hypnotism brought about. You clawed at it with your mind as though it could disappear at any moment. He noticed, and grinned slyly.

“It is nice, isn’t it? To relinquish your mind to another.” he said softly.

You nodded in response.

“Now, why don’t we get something more substantial to eat?”

#the master #simm!master #simm!master x reader #doctor who #the master x reader #dhawan!master #missy #john simm #sacha dhawan #michelle gomez #fanfic #my writing #dr who #reader insert

[how-masterful]

Chaos

Missy X Reader, Dhawan!Master x Reader

Summary: It's a late night after an eventful day, and in your exhaustion you muse about the Master and his chaos. But the chaos is seemingly just beginning. Notes: Here we are! The fourth annual birthday fic in a row for @plethora-of-imagines! And my first fic in a while! It's been both fun and frustrating getting back into writing, but i'm pretty happy with how this turned out- and where i'm planning for it to go! Don't worry plethora, you'll get your joust soon! Enjoy! (Also reader note, there's mention of Delgado!Master X Reader in here too, just in case that's not your thing!)

To finally rest your head upon a pillow was bliss. The aches and pains of the day that held tight within your bones seemed to melt into the plush duvet, dispersing from your body and leaving you nothing more than an exhausted husk. Today, as ever, had been far more eventful than any plan the Master's brain (or brains? You still weren't so sure about that one) could create. 

It seemed these days, even the simplest of visits would end in a universe threatening scenario- whether it was indeed the Master threatening the universe himself was often a flip of a coin. Chaos trailed behind the Master like a shadow, a tangible shred in the fabric of the universe. No matter his reason for visiting, whatever planet he dared to step his foot onto could never be left in the same state. His compulsion for chaos prevented it. He left destruction like footprints in the sand.

You adored it. You adored him. But some days the chaos felt just that- chaos. A heavy weight that made you crave nothing more than a good night's rest.

You sighed deep into your pillow, turning onto your side as you let out a hefty sigh. Even today, what had started as a simple visit to a museum had ended with utter destruction and you being banished from a whole subsection of space. The Master had, perhaps overnight, developed a strong passion for the correct and morally appropriate relocation of artifacts to their home planets, instead of keeping them in museums on the opposite side of space. From memory, you recalled musing about how strange this new desire was, how… benevolent. The shelves in his own office were crammed and sagging in the middle from the weight of all his stolen keepsakes. Since when was he so bothered about things being where they belonged?

Then you noticed the dangerous twinkle in his eye, his hand stretching outwards to grasp hold of your own, his electrifying touch leading you down the exhibition hall and towards the large glass cabinet housing a weapon of, when put bluntly, targeted mass destruction on a single planetary scale. 

The Master's moral mission to return the artifact had been nothing more than a vehicle for destruction-the weapon was specially designed to implode the planet the moment it made contact with its unique outer crust, which was why the museum across the stars kept it in the first place. To prevent destruction. To show the universe such chaos must be prevented. Be contained. But with the shatter of glass, and a dastardly smile, the Master had taken it into his hands to wipe that planet from the map. 

“That's what they get for working with the Grand Serpent.”

He’d grinned, watching the fire from the safety of his TARDIS, one hand upon your thigh, another bringing his teacup to his lips. He’d never been fond of that slimy old copycat. You’d smiled and sipped from your own cup in return, the curl of smoke in your nostrils a familiar and oddly comforting smell. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, the darkness of your own head far more comforting than the darkness of the room. Sleep had begun to sink deep within your limbs, a welcomed relaxation as opposed to your mental debate.

The chaos, as he’d once said, was a wonderful thing. It was routine yet also unique, that strange unicorn of a lifestyle that tinged the edges of everything you knew. Chaos brewed itself in the smallest of fashions and grandest of scales. Cushions that didn’t match, eclectic mugs that filled up the cabinets, mountains of books yanked from the library and piled in precarious structures, minefields of abandoned and temperamental experimental devices that could go off at any moment scattered around the various labs in the TARDIS.

But it shone deep from within the Master's eyes, his deep browns a perilous vortex you could find yourself falling into at a moment's notice, never wishing to crawl free of him. He was a harbinger of chaos, a walking weapon of catastrophe, anarchy at his fingertips. He could send your body and soul into a frenzy as easy as destroying a dynasty. You could never want him any less.

Sometimes, however, it all became too much to handle. You needed much more rest than the Timelord could bring himself to want, need or take with the amount of adrenaline running through his system. With a kiss to your forehead, a promise to return, and a request to take full advantage of the luxuriously comfy hotel bed, the Master had returned to the labyrinth you’d lovingly called ‘The Timeline Club’- once more meeting with his former self to discuss new business. Business it was essential they’d both be able to remember.

The other Master had started to become a more prevalent part of your existence, arriving to join your plans on occasion, arriving to join your more personal excursions even more. The Master, your Master, with his wide smile and eyes that could soften to a dangerously innocent doe eyed look, had taken such pride in how willing you were to get to know his former self… intimately. A boost to the ego that could never be matched: No matter what body he was in, it seemed you were destined to find it ridiculously attractive- and you weren’t inclined to argue with his hypothesis, considering the other Masters' visits often ended in you providing damning evidence.

The long curtains that hung beside the wide window began to softly sway, caught in a gentle breeze as your brain began to slow, allowing your thoughts to soften. You’d once suggested to your Master, well, Masters now, that you'd felt an ‘off’ button to your brain would be far more effective in getting the amount of sleep you needed when running on such a tight schedule. Your younger Master (definitely younger, despite looking like he should have been the older Master- much like the brains, it was awfully confusing) had a penchant for that sort of thing, his words were able to guide you to such a wonderful rest in less than a minute. Hard as you tried, no sleep you could muster on your own had yet compared to his.

Making a space for him had been almost as easy as breathing. He was so different to your Master, so refined and stoic, yet the hold he had upon you was exactly the same. Your apprehension upon your first meeting had disappeared with the same ease that your mind had now disappeared into a needed slumber. 

That was, until, you heard it. Your eyes barely cracked open at the familiar groan. The groan of the TARDIS, wheezing and phasing into existence. The breeze upon the curtains had swelled into a storm, the fabric billowing as the furniture began to lightly rattle, the cool wind snatching away the warmth of sleep you’d worked so hard to find. 

You sat up slowly in bed, pushing the covers back with balled fists as the TARDIS finally materialized upon the far wall of the hotel room, taking the shape of an elaborate wardrobe, swirling carvings of hissing snakes deep within the mahogany wood.

“Master,” you groaned, rubbing your eyes. “You said you’d be hours, I've only just got in bed.”

The door to the wardrobe swung open, light piercing through the gap and bathing the room in a fierce purple glow. You squinted hard, your eyebrows furrowing. The Master's tardis had a red console unit light.

“Did you change the console room again?” You mumbled, rolling your shoulders. The ache from earlier in the day had finally returned to your joints.

There came no reply from within. Except for the slow click of high heels upon metal inching closer and closer.

“Master?”

“Not quite.”

A figure emerged, bathed in shadow, breaking the glow of the TARDIS with her silhouette. Her voice, a Scottish lilt, made your eyes snap wide open.

“But you’re not far off.”

The other wardrobe door opened, and the figure stepped out of the TARDIS and into the light. Her long brown hair was fashioned into a messy updo of curls, her piercing eyes precisely lined with deep black liner. A pale broach sat perfectly within her white collar upon her throat, her long purple skirt covered by a matching purple jacket, the tops of her sleeves puffing out like a victorian. She smiled darkly with her red rouged lips, brandishing a slender black umbrella in one hand, its metal tip digging into the carpet.

“My my, what big eyes you have.” She teased, stepping closer in her black leather heels.

“All the better to gawk and say ‘what the hell is going on?’ without actually saying anything.”

You inched back slowly, hand carefully creeping towards your phone on the nightstand. The intruder's gaze caught you immediately. She tutted lightly, before raising the umbrella in her grasp and aiming it at your phone. With a loud hiss, the phone jumped from the table and clattered to the floor, an involuntary yelp escaping you.

“That’ll do you no good, dearie.” She teased, shaking her head.

“There's no use calling him, there's no danger. He wouldn’t be so self sabotaging. I should know.”

“Who are you?” You snapped.

The intruder giggled, raising her free hand teasingly to her lips.

“Oh, he hasn’t told you? Typical men, always wanting to keep their shiny things to themselves. Such a boys club, isn’t it?”

“Answer the question.”

“I am!” The intruder replied, gesturing exasperatedly.

“No, you’re really not.”

“Uh, I really am. I’m providing indirect answers through context clues masked with sarcastic commentary! C’mon poppet, you’re letting the side down here.”

You pressed your lips together in a tight line, narrowing your gaze towards the strange woman.

The intruder sighed dramatically, placing her hands on her hips.

“Wow. He really didn’t tell you who I am? I’m offended. Seriously, totally offended. You’d think after promising to let you meet me A YEAR AGO he’d fill you in on the deetz- but no, you’ve been running around making whoopee with the silver fox for months, far too distracted to come and visit little old me!”

You opened your mouth to ask more questions, when memory got to you first. It was a partial haze, the image muddied by alcohol and exhilaration, yet you could still make out the shapes. One year ago you’d visited the Timeline Club for the first time- a year ago, you’d met your other Master for the first time. After your… antics… the Master, your Master, had carried you out and mentioned something about-

“Workshopping…” You said aloud. The intruder tilted her head like a curious cat.

“He’d said he’d be workshopping it… he said I needed to meet…”

The intruder stepped forward, reaching the edge of the bed and smirking expectantly. You looked up, awe slowly spreading across your features. You gasped softly, the tension falling from your shoulders.

“You’re… Missy?”

The Timelady hummed in approval, her hand reaching to cup your chin with her fingertips, lifting your face to meet her gaze.

“That’s Mistress to you right now, pet. We’re still getting to know each other.”

You gaped up at her, unable to pull your eyes away. You could see it within her eyes, that familiar twinkle of danger. It was the same one you saw in your Master's eyes.

“Now come along, we’ve much bonding to do, so little time.”

Missy preened, bringing her face closer to your own, leaning across the edge of the bed.

“I’ve been so looking forward to getting my hands on you, poppet. Those boys have been keeping too short a leash on you.”

The Mistress chuckled, booping the end of your nose with her fingertip.

“Now it’s my turn to have some fun.”

Missy grinned down at you. And in that smile, you saw the familiar storm of chaos.

#dhawan!master x reader #missy x reader #missy!master x reader #delgado!master x reader #the master #master #the master doctor who #bbc doctor who #doctor who #bbc #the master x reader #master x reader #sacha dhawan #michelle gomez #roger delgado #fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #reader insert #doctor who fanfic #doctor who fanfiction #dhawan!master #delgado!master #missy doctor who

[introverted-author]

So I'm writing a modern day Thasmin au and... Does anyone have any ideas for a name for the Master?? I'm so stuck!!

#doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #thasmin #thasmin fanfic #sacha dhawan #the master

[wincheskka]

Miss Him

Pairing : Dhawan!Master x Gn!Reader

Summary : At a companion support group meeting, you think of the Master because you miss him. (I'm so bad at this sorry)

Genre/Warning : Romance, angst, death mention, THE POWER OF THE DOCTOR SPOILERS

A/N : I'm still so sad for the end of the Master in The Power of the Doctor, I want him back right now !!!

English is not my native language so I’m really sorry for the spelling mistakes. (tell me if there are any errors)

You're sitting on a chair in the companion support group, it's been 2 months since you joined the group and also since the Doctor left. You don't talk in meetings, you just listen to their story about the Doctor, and that's what you do today too, listening to Tegan tell a story, you listen without really hearing what she's saying, you're especially lost in your thoughts. Since the Doctor left you feel sad but you are mostly sad because of the death of the Master.

When you met O, you liked him instantly, he was so kind to you and he listened to you more than the Doctor or anyone would, you quickly had a little crush on him, it is the first time this has happened to you when you have just met someone. When he revealed himself as the Master, one of the Doctor's worst enemies, you thought your crush on him would go away, but no, that's even reinforced, because you were always thinking about him during the trips with the Doctor, but also with the gentle touches he gave you when you were on Gallifrey.

You hated leaving the Doctor on Gallifrey, you didn't want her to die and you didn't want the Master to die either. When you were back on Earth, you spent 1 month thinking that both were dead and you often mourned the death of the Master. One day you were crying thinking about the Master, but you quickly wiped away your tears when you heard someone knocking on your front door, you didn't want anyone to see you cry. When you opened the door. you were very surprised and happy to see the Master in front of you with a smile on his face looking at you, what surprises you even more is the Master asking you to come with him to travel and you could not refuse this.

So you traveled with him, for a good while, you enjoyed traveling with him so much it was so different than traveling with the Doctor, what you enjoyed the most was the peaceful moments with him in his TARDIS. Every day you got closer and closer until you both became lovers. It was so nice, you wanted it to last forever but good things never last a long time.

The Master was hiding something from you, you knew it. He had his secrets for him and you respected that because you wanted him to take his time to confide in you, but this time this secret affected you both, he was much more distant from you, he slept less than usual, when you entered in the control room he hides some papers so that you couldn't see them.

It hurt you that he was hiding all this from you, that he was getting away from you, so one day you decided to confront him about this and you wish you hadn't because you had an argument and then he takes you home the same day he took you. He left you at home with a broken heart.

You were hoping every day, every week, every month that he would come to apologize and that you could go back to him, you were hoping until the day the Doctor came back. You went back to traveling with her, you missed traveling with the man you love, but you were hoping you could see him again while traveling with the Doctor and of course you did.

You didn't tell to the Doctor or Yaz about him and you because you knew they wouldn't like it and they wouldn't trust you anymore, but the Master didn't care to tell them.

~

The Master once again takes his head out of the elevator in which he was taken by two UNIT soldiers, you look at him, next to you the Doctor and Yaz do the same :

"Doctor did Y/N tell you that we both traveled together ?" He asks with a smirk.

You feel your blood freeze, your eyes widen. You didn't want to tell the Doctor about it but he had to tell her, you should have known he would. The Master gets pushed into the elevator and then the doors close. You feel all eyes on you, you don't dare look at anyone so you get into the TARDIS.

The Doctor and Yaz enter in the TARDIS and the Doctor's eyes immediately goes to you, she approaches you, you look at her anxiously because you know what she is going to say :

"Y/N is this true ?" She asks with a hope in her eyes that the Master is lying that you couldn't have traveled with him. Yaz approaches the Doctor, she looks at you, like you are the enemy.

"Th-That's in the past now" You just tell her not wanting her to continue with the subject.

You see the hope in the Doctor's eyes disappear at your words, you know she feels betrayed and you didn't want that. Yaz doesn't want to look at you anymore so she turns to the controls of the TARDIS.

"Is this really in the past ?" asks the Doctor with hope still in her eyes.

"Yes, yes it's in the past" You're lying, you are definitely not going to tell her that you love her worst enemy.

The Doctor nods but you knew she didn't really believe you, she turns to the controls and you hear Yaz and her talking but don't listen to what they say, you sigh and close your eyes for a few seconds. Have you lost the trust of your friends ? You think about it, not wanting it to be true.

You are afraid of what the Master is planning, for the Doctor's safety but also for his, you love him and you don't want to lose him.

You won't lose him...Isn't it ?

~

Yaz runs out of the TARDIS after seeing on the TARDIS screen the Qurunx's energy ray is hit the Doctor causing her to be thrown through the air and fall to the ground unconscious.

You are afraid for the Doctor but when you look at the screen you see the Master outside his TARDIS, also unconscious. your heart squeezes painfully seeing him like this with the planet destroying. You too start to run out of the TARDIS but you feel someone grab your arm and stop you from running, you turn to the person and see Kate holding you tight, you frown not understanding why she's doing this.

You struggle with her grip but you see someone else holding you, Ace. You understand then that they don't let you going to get the Master, at this realization you struggle even more, you can't let him die on this planet, the two women still do not let you go, they do it when Yaz has the Doctor in her arms.

When they let go, you run outside but before you can set foot outside, the TARDIS doors close in front of you, you frown and open the door but it won't open. You start to feel the anxiety rising more and more. You try with all your strength to open it but fail, tears start to form in your eyes.

No, no that can't happen.

You can't lose him.

You can't.

"OPEN THIS DOOR !" You shout while hitting on the door without even paying attention to the others. More you hit the door more the realization comes to you, what you didn't want to happen, happens, you lose the man you love.

You feel your knees give way, you fall to the ground sobbing. You hope it's just a nightmare that you'll wake up next to him, that he'll kiss you so you know he's okay, but no, it's not a dream, it's reality. The Master, the man you love is dead.

~

"Y/N" You hear a voice calling you, which brings you out of your sad thoughts, you look to the left and see Graham looking at you, you didn't even notice that Tegan was done talking. "Do you want to tell us something about the Doctor ?" Graham asks with a little smile to reassure you.

"N-No sorry" You answer, you don't want to talk, not now. You hear Yaz sigh, you turn your head to look at her, she's sitting in front of you, she looks at you with anger, every time you came to the meeting she looked at you like that, she doesn't trust you anymore now that she knows that you have traveled with the Master.

"She has a lot more to say about the Master than the Doctor" Yaz said with displeasure and glaring at you. You lower your head and look at your hands on your knees, tears forming in your eyes. You feel so alone now, you feel like no one can understand you.

"She can talk about him if she wants" Graham said with kindness in his voice, you look at him surprised but also with sadness.

"Who would want to hear me talk about him when everyone here hates him" You say looking at every person in this room, you know none of them would understand what you could say about him.

"I don't know him, so you can talk about him, it doesn't bother me" Says Dan on your right, you look at him and give him a sad smile

"Thanks Dan but I…" You lower your head to look at your knees, but the tears blur your vision, you bite your lower lip to stop yourself from sobbing in front of them "I miss him so much" You say with pain in your voice, you take a breath "And I won't be able to see him again because of you" You say looking at Kate and Ace to your right with sadness and anger. "You prevented me from going to see him, from being by his side"

"It was to protect you from him Y/N" Ace tells you, her words make you even more angry, how can she say that without knowing what you and him had.

"I didn't need to be protected from him because I love him" You admit, you see Ace freeze at your confession, there is now no more noise in the room, nobody knew you love the Master, even if some suspected it, tears run down your cheeks, you look away from Ace and look at the ground in front of you. “I love him and I could never tell him again because now he's dead”

"Dead ? Who said I was dead ?" Says a voice you recognize immediately, you raise your head towards the entrance and you see the person you never thought you'd see again, the Master, he's leaning on the door frame.

Your eyes widen in shock, tears this time of joy are running down your cheeks, you can't believe he's here. The Master looks at you with a smile, he wears his beautiful purple jacket that you love so much.

Everyone in the room gets up from their chairs and looks at him. Kate pulls out her gun and points it at the Master, you pay no attention to it, you get up from your chair, this time no one can stop you from going to him, you run to him and hug him, he hugs you too and you cry into his shoulder :

"It's alright love, I'm here now" The Master whispers these sweet words in your ear, you raise your head from his shoulder and look into his eyes.

"I missed you so much" You tell him with tears running down, he takes your face in his hands and looks at you with so much love, you really miss him looking at you like that.

"I missed you too love" He says to you wiping your tears with his thumbs, you look at each other for a few more seconds then he removes his hands from your face and turns to look at the Doctor's former companions and gives them a smirk "I'm not going to kill you, even if what you said to Y/N makes me want to do it, I just came here for Y/N"

His words warm your heart, you look at him with so much admiration and love. The Master looks at each of them then his eyes stop on Yaz, his smirk widens, you look at Yaz too, she looks at him with so much hate :

"Yaz by the way, how's the Doctor doing ?" The Master asks sarcastically, Yaz looks at him with even more hate in her eyes.

You look at the Master, take his wrist in your hand and squeeze it a little, he looks at you, you shake your head wanting him to leave her alone, even if Yaz doesn't see you as her friend anymore, she still is for you. The Master sighs in defeat, he only wants your happiness. He takes your hand in his :

“Are you ready to go love ? He asks you with love.

You look at everyone in the room one last time, then look at him and you nod impatiently and then you both run away together.

You can't wait to see where he plans to take you in the next adventures, but for now you especially want to enjoy being with him and tell him how much you love him and only him. It hurt you so much when he wasn't with you but now that he's here with you it doesn't hurt anymore.

#dhawan!master #dhawan!master x reader #dhawan master x reader #dhawan master #doctor who #doctor who master #the master x reader #sacha dhawan #dw #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #doctor who fanfic #doctor who fanfiction

[kiraoho]

Doctor Who: One Small Change to Flux

This idea has been bugging me for two years now, so now you have to see it. Imagine:

e01: Halloween Apocalypse The Doctor has a vision, we don't see what it is. Naturally, she doesn't tell Yaz anything. Since that vision she starts acting strange: says random things, starts running away, calls Yaz an Ood a couple of times. At one point she urgently, like her life depends on it, sonics at... nothing (I imagine this particular shot taking place on Dan's street). It's not a burst, it's a gradual thing throughout the episode. It ends when the Flux finally hits the TARDIS at the end of e01.

------------------------

e05: The Survivors of the Flux Swarm and the Doctor have a huge discussion about morals.

Swarm: But then again, you wouldn't understand. How could you? How could you possibly comprehend the raw force of time?

The Doctor: I'm a Time Lord. Try me.

Swarm: (laughing) Time Lord... Your people, for all your talks of timeys and wimeys, are still such *linear* creatures. I wonder what it'd be like for you to truly experience time. Just... a touch...

He lightly touches the Doctor's temple. She screams in agony.

--------------------------

e06: The Vanquishers The Doctor is in... the TARDIS?

Yaz: Doctor! Doctor! Have you seen this? It's like the TARDIS is... leaking.

We've seen this already.

The Doctor sonics the leak fluid -- suddenly back she's on the Division station, soniccing around. No signs of Swarm. The station is falling apart.

The Doctor: What? Where is he?

She gets up and starts running sporadically, looking for an exit or a way out.

Yaz: Doctor! Where are you going? What's going on with you?

They're in Liverpool.

---------------------------

For a chunk of this episode (and e01) her timeline's folded on itself. She's experiencing two periods of time simultaneously.

For the rest of the episode, we see her irregular behavior in e01 make sense in e06 events. If the crew decides so, the two episodes could be timed just right in the editing so the episodes can be watched side-by-side, synchronized.

Maybe she's getting hints on what to do in e01 from the e06 events. This does require serious planning, and maybe one day I'll delve into writing it.

---------------------------

e06 epilogue. The Doctor and Yaz finally have a heart-to-heart. The Doctor has her hands behind her back, casually leaning back on the console.

The Doctor: I want to tell you everything.

Yaz: I'd like that.

Yaz leaves the console room to show Dan around.

The Doctor makes sure she's alone, then looks at her hands. She was right -- it's already started. Faint golden glow. She doesn't have much time.

She shakes her hands until the glow is gone. She won't tell Yaz until it's too late.

------------------------------

Also I feel setting this inevitable timer sets a better tone for the specials. Maybe the Doctor's initially happy to be stuck in a time loop with Yaz until she realizes what's going on.

Plus, the time itself wearing the Doctor down is an infinitely cooler cause of regeneration than the Master randomly shooting her.

---------------------------------

Bonus: The Power of the Doctor

The Master: I'm going old school, Doctor. A tribute to our elders. Do you remember the ultimate sanction for breaking our laws?

Pause.

The Master: Forced regeneration. They even did it to you once, didn't they? Well, maybe more than once, who knows? Not you.

The Doctor: You don't have the technology. The power requirements alone would be... colossal!

The Master: Oh, absolutely. Even a whole Cybermoon wouldn't cover it. Unless! The subject is on the brink of regeneration already!

The Doctor looks terrified. The Master is studying her reaction closely.

The Master: Yes. You know I'm right. I can see you doing the calculations in your head already. Don't bother. Already ahead of you.

---------------------------------

And now the whole plot happens because the Doctor was too stubborn to regenerate. It's her own character flaws biting her in the ass! Like fiction is supposed to function!

#doctor who #flux #thirteenth doctor #swarm #the doctor #the master #yaz #power of the doctor #the halloween apocalypse #the survivors of the flux #the vanquishers #jodie whittaker #sacha dhawan #writeblr #fanfic #rewrite #writers on tumblr #fanfiction

[davosmymaster]

Fanfic Masterlist

The Last of Us

No Time to Die - Joel Miller x reader - (9.6k)

Home - Joel Miller x reader - (3.2k)

Moon Knight

Fallen from Heaven, Grown on Earth - Steven Grant x reader ; Marc Spector x reader - (81K)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Epilogue ; (AO3)

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Triggers - Jake Lockley x reader - (6.4k) (AO3)

His name - Marc Spector x reader ; Steven Grant x reader - (2.9k) (AO3)

The Saddest Part of Me - Jake Lockley x reader ; Marc Spector x reader ; Steven Grant x reader - (4.6k+)

Part One, Part Two

Headcanons

The moon boys see your tattoos

Doctor Who

To the ends of the Universe - Dhawan!Master x reader - (6k) (AO3)

#fanfic masterlist #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #sacha dhawan x reader #doctor who x reader #moon knight x reader #davosmymaster

[steddieyes]

Daddy issues, Mommy issues. He's got issues, doesn't he?

Part 1 of my new Arlo fic :)

She drops the fucking cards, all of-

"No- stop that, stop." He sighs leaning forward to rest his face in his hand before getting up with a huff.

"I'm jus' gone have a little bit of private time, jus' one moment.." he says with a faked, happy tone an smile. Not denting that it's faked anymore.

As Arlo walks away and behind the set of hit Tv30 kids show 'Magic FunHouse', all that is heard is a raw, loud "FUUUUUUUUUCK!" before loud footsteps grow quieter and quieter. The show left on and running.

-

"That fuckin' bitch, embarrassing me like that in front of- move!" He mutters to himself as he strips of his disguise 'Mr. Marble', who the fuck even thinks of that, I mean really. A fucking marble is what I could come up with? I'm such a fucking idiot.

"Oh, hey. So Arlo- what the hell!?" Sasha backs up with a sour expression as Arlo shoves by, throwing off his wig and hat as if it was offending him to the highest degree.

"I don’t want to hear it Sacha, fuck off"

And, okay, rude. Arlo's an asshole and all, but he 's never been this bitter towards her, not even when… she's supposed to be his friend.

"Arlo-??"

But he's gone and out of sight before there's any more protest to be had.

-

With stomping feet he rushes past Sasha, save for their fucked interaction, but right now he just want to. Just doesn’t. He can feel like shit about talking to Sasha like that later, right now he just wants to get home and away from all this fucking coulor. Which, great. It was the uber driver that he'd had on the fucking show, way to go numbnuts. Walking home again, aren't you smart.

*

"I don’t want to be heere, my feet huuurt" he whines, tugging on his moms pant leg as he looks up to her with a pout. He never really liked the park, always had to play by himself in the sand. Nobody else wanted to play astronauts with him.

"Who don't you go play with the others, sweetie? I'm sure they wont mind, hun." His mother, Darla, sweetly says. A not-so-there smile on her face.

"But momm-"

"Arlo. You're a big boy now, go play with the others. Daddy said your his big strong boy, okay? Show 'em that you are." She says with a softer tone, bending down to wipe the mud off of Arlo's cheek with the reassurance. But even at six, Arlo knew that wasn't true. Mommy and Daddy fight all the time, Ms.Bory said so too.

With a huff and a deeper pout, he stomps off into the sand. His little feet making a small thud as he marches over to the swing set hoping to find a friend. But nothing's ever been easy for little Arlo, has it. Looking up from his journey to the swings, he sees a little girl getting pushed off some sort of box. So /that's/ where the music was coming from. But before he can come to that full realisation, he sees five kids ganging up on that girl and throwing hackey sacks at her. Her singing was nice, and he didn't like that it was gone now.

Without a second thought, he stands up as tall as he can, and stomps on over to the bullies. Punching one square in the nose just like he seen Daddy do to make the man at the arcade to give Arlo his tickets back. That man was loud, but so is he.

Nodding to himself he moves onto the next one and does the same thing. Quickly moving to punch the other in the gut, uppercutting the next just like he seen that wrestler guy do, and head butting the last boy. Daddys big, strong boy. Didn’t even cry this time, even if he hurt his nose hurting the last boy.

"Thank you, my hero!"

Arlo turn his head to see the girl stepping down off her box with a smile and an arm held out politely.

He nods a little to himself at seeing her and does the same, because that's the right thing he's supposed to do, right?

"I'm Arlo, Arlo Dittman" he says looking down to her hand before quickly remembering 'its not polite to not look someone in the eyes, sweetie'.

"Sacha, Sacha Barbican" the girl says with a grateful smile, shaking Arlo's hand.

"ARLO-!" A voice yells from across the park, breaking the peace and staring at the two as she approaches.

"Arlo, it's time to go, honey" she says with a sweeter… fake, tone. A cracked smile to match with it it, too.

Later that day, Arlo had Sacha over for dinner. Mom heard all about how he was a big boy today and helped Sacha from trouble, but dear old Dad wasn't having it. Especially not when Sacha went as far as to compliment Moms cooking.

"Oh fuck you, /she/ microwaved it-"

He knows better than to act shocked, but he thought that- he thought that his time might be different…

"It's because you haven't fixed the goddamn oven! I am so sick of-"

"OH IM GONNA KILL YA BITCH-!"

Turning to quickly grab Sacha's hand, he knew it was time to go when Mom and Dad started to reach for each others neck over the table. Mom said he wasn’t supposed to know that part happened.

"I'm sorry my Mom an Dad had too much juice today and became expressive.." he says with a slightly sad, but sorry, tone.

"Thank you for rescuing me from my two bad situations today" Sacha says, sitting across from him on the sidewalk with a cool-aid, one of the cool blue ones. But he always preferred the red.

"You can count on me Sacha" he says with a new smile as he raises his red cool-aid in the air to cheers, to celebrate getting out of their situations together.

#arlo dittman #magic funhouse #manjusha magic funhouse #brandon rogers #brcu #am i really gonna have to be the one to feed this fandom #GUYS IM STATVING TOO #arlo you poor guy :( #i love arlo ao much you have no idea #sacha barbican #young arlo dittman #young sacha barbican #fic #ao3 fanfic #:)

[enchantress-emily]

Here’s my first foray into writing fic for When the Angels Left the Old Country. Many thanks to @anonymousdandelion and the other members of the WTALTOC Discord server for encouraging me, especially to Layzer, earlymorningechoes, and Laser Wolf for beta reading to make sure I got the Jewish aspects right!

Note: this is loosely based on a dream I had where I was reading an illustrated story with the same premise. Also included are approximations of the two illustrations I remember from the dream (although the dream ones were in a different drawing style).

***

It was a fine day in New York City, so Little Ash had persuaded Uriel to come out for a walk with him.  They spent the afternoon exploring some neighborhoods they hadn’t yet visited in the year they had lived on the Lower East Side; Little Ash found several small opportunities for mischief and Uriel talked him out of most of them, so they both felt pleased with their day. 

Turning for home in the late afternoon, they walked side by side in silence for a while until Little Ash, whose eyes were always open for such things, noticed quite a number of sins creeping over one of the passersby.  “Look at that man in the checked waistcoat,” he remarked, grinning.  “So much wickedness of his own already, he hardly needs my help, but maybe I should give him a little push?”

He glanced at his chevrusa, expecting it to protest, as usual, that he should not encourage the evil impulse; but the moment he got a good look at it, all thoughts of causing trouble went out of his head.  He had assumed Uriel was silent because it was peacefully listening to the souls around them, as it often did; now he saw that its round face was as drawn and pale as a human after a grueling factory shift.  Its head drooped forward, and it stumbled and swayed as it walked. 

“What’s the matter with you?” Little Ash demanded sharply.  “Did someone hurt you?”  He didn’t like that this was something he had to worry about now, after centuries of trusting that the angel was indestructible, and he certainly wouldn’t have admitted that the extra edge in his voice was due to fear.

Uriel shook its head.  “The rebbe’s… other yahrzeit,” it managed between ragged, panting breaths.  “Today.  Trying to… hold it myself… but it’s too much, Ashel.”

In the privacy of his head, Little Ash comprehensively cursed the rebbe’s memory.  The Shulmans had honored his yahrzeit in the usual way, with a candle and the mourner’s kaddish, five weeks earlier on the day he had been murdered by Reb Fishl; Uriel had been able to provide them with the date, having learned it from the rebbe’s ghost on the ship. 

Ever since then Uriel had been fretting, both silently to itself and aloud to Little Ash, about how to acknowledge the day that the rebbe’s dybbuk had gone into the East River along with Mr. Sullivan.  It knew deep in itself that this was every bit as much a death anniversary as the date of the rebbe’s physical death, but didn’t feel it could explain this to his daughter Malke in a way that she would understand.  For once it had found no guidance in the Talmud; the rabbis of past ages had apparently never encountered such a situation.

So of course, Little Ash thought sourly, its solution was to take on itself the entire spiritual responsibility of remembering the dead that was meant to be shared among a family or community. 

He sighed and reached for Uriel’s arm, draping it across his shoulders.  “Come on, then,” he said.  “Lean on me before you fall down.  Baruch Shemo it’s not far to Hester Street.”

Uriel sagged gratefully against him.  Little Ash winced involuntarily – Uriel was noticeably taller and heavier than he was, and taking its weight on his shoulder did nothing good for his feet and hips, especially after several hours of walking - but put an arm around its waist to help support it.

“Thought an angel… could do it… alone, maybe,” Uriel mumbled.  “I could have before… if I had the right name.  But remembering… all of someone… too big for one person.  So tired…”

Little Ash made an exasperated clicking sound with his tongue.  “And you didn’t even ask me to help?  Fine, I didn’t like your rebbe much, but I was there.  Closer than you, even, at the end.” 

He closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated on his memories of that day a year ago.  The dybbuk inside him, the Holy Names scorching his tongue.  The plunge into the cold river, Mr. Sullivan struggling in his grip.  Feeling the whisper of the rebbe leaving him to cling to Sullivan and be swept downriver with him as Little Ash fought his way to shore. 

He heard Uriel gasp.  “Oh,” it said, sounding relieved.  “Oh, that is so much better.”

Little Ash opened his eyes to find it gazing at him in much the same way as it had when he returned, soaked and shivering, to Sullivan’s headquarters where it sat on the steps holding its bleeding shoulder – like he was a miracle all by himself.  The sight improved Little Ash’s own mood considerably. 

Uriel gave a weary sigh and let its head fall sideways to rest against his.  “Thank you, Ashel,” it murmured.  “I’m glad you are here.”

“So where else would I be?” Little Ash said, steering it around a peddler’s cart.  “If you’re going to go around getting yourself into trouble like this, you need someone who knows about trouble to get you out of it.”

“And you do know that, you wicked creature,” Uriel said affectionately.  “Will you do the rest of the yahrzeit with me?  It’s until sunset, only.” 

Little Ash let his arm tighten around its soft waist for just a moment.  “Of course I will.  You have to ask?”

They walked on, not very quickly – Little Ash was limping by now, and Uriel was still leaning on him and stumbling slightly with exhaustion - but in the comfortable silence of people who are happy just to be near each other.  Between them, like a heavy load made lighter by being shared, they carried the memory of the old rebbe of Belz. 

Also on AO3

#when the angels left the old country #sacha lamb #fanfic #fan art #little ash #uriel federman

[picnokinesis]

Some art of the Master from chapter 3 of my fanfic, Disarmed, which I just posted on ao3! I feel like I could give context for this but all you need to know is, yes, he did bite someone. This chapter was super hard to write but I genuinely worked my way towards this moment in the story because I was looking forward to it so much, it was just SO funny to me.

#doctor who #doctor who fanart #the master #sacha dhawan #dhawan!master #doctor who fanfic #spydoc #spymaster #taka draws #SKSKSKSK this moment is so funny to me #i showed maddy the sketch for this and she was like #is this 'teeth then?' SKSKSKSK AND I WAS LIKE SURE IS #as for WHO he bit #you'll have to read and find out but i'll give everyone one guess lmao

[anteroom-of-death]

Put Me in a Movie...

Synopsis: The Master comes to terms...sort of. Set after the Doctor abandoned him in Nazi France.

Warnings: grooming, white supremacy, harsh language, introspection...

(Proof I write on occasion...)(also for reference listen to Put Me in a Movie by Lana del Rey if ur not familiar...)

Lights, camera, act-ì-on…

The Master stood at attention for these mere humans. The Doctor left him in the hands of humans that, without his special little perception filter, wouldn’t even listen to his charms or even basic hypnosis. Obviously, this body, no matter how svelte or pleasant to look at wouldn’t go over well as say….his body previously to his female form last go…or a few of his bodies especially the smirking, tall, one. The blue-eyed alabaster dandy wouldn’t even go over well…

Especially considering the environment: Paris, at the height of Nazi occupation.

If (s)he likes me, takes me home…

She left him there, knowing Earth history probably better than everyone else of their species. Knowingly abandoning him here, with these people. Well, why wouldn’t she? She’s always been deeply selfish, especially in regards to him and his needs. He had realized that thousands of years ago. When she first abandoned him for that wife of hers and living a charmed life. Before she got bored, stole that sub-par TARDIS, and ran off.

Selfish fucking bastard. Every body. Always.

So much for a childhood friend and blood pacts sworn in dark nights when you’d protect each other and be there for each other until the literal end of time…

And who’s there for poor Koschei?

No one, not ever.

He didn’t know he’d have this much fun…

No one, that much was clear since he looked deep into the void of all time and all space, and received the Drums.

The fate of all the species rested in a tiny eight-year old boy…and guided in such a way all throughout training and well into adulthood. Groomed into perfection to be the only one mad enough to try little tricks to break the reality of time and space at the most crucial time of war during a personal mental breakdown.

The Master broke his reverie as the lead SS officer trafficked him into a medical bay. Obviously he was master of deception- how’d he pretend and fool, quite literally their entire upper echelon into thinking he was the literal übermensch to get the ability to use their networks to find the Doctor.

The vivisection and tests were enough to bring him to regeneration’s door. It took him all the strength he held to not. He needed to keep that secret held to his chest. That knowledge could let these people win and erase much of his own past. He couldn’t risk it. No, not at all.

Come on you know you like girls (boys)…

He escaped as the Allies closed in and his captors fled their posts. Cowards, more so than the Bitch who abandoned him there, more so than the President who stayed comfy in his office as a war raged on, instead making a small child in the past the ultimate weapon. More so than his parents that ignored his many messages home that the drumming noises in his head were ravaging his mental health and causing him to make himself sick and wracking his body raw.

He was free, just had to deal with the consequences of this all. Just wait it out until the time-lines coincided with the main event.

Listlessness filled his hearts.

He wouldn’t dare do therapy. For obvious reasons: the cost of being remotely near anything medical mentally again would far outweigh the possible benefits of maybe a prescription for any lithium or barbiturate or diet meth the industry would churn out in the relevant coming future.

You know I can’t make it on my own…

Still he persisted on, focused on just waiting to actually enact the actual plot of this little scheme. A loss, but one he had to cope with. And for the assistance of his co-conspirators…

Decades passed the slowest that he’s ever seen them. Considering he knew most of the latter-half of the century from being on-planet on and off during it. The Master didn’t have it in him to hypnotize or engineer any tech. Too conspicuous, too much effort. He’d bled out all his will to do much anymore except endure.

He ended up in the early 2000s getting a job. A low-level executive in a marketing firm in New York City. Basic stuff, bossing around interns and speculating which members of ensemble shows filmed locally had bulimia and which ones had anorexia. Sarah Jessica Parker? Definitely anorexic. Mariska Hagarity? Probably bulimic.

He lived in Brooklyn, because well, the Doctor and her little friends had claimed Manhattan accidentally. Two of her little pets past, Amalie? Aurora? and Rorschach? Remy? The Lakes? The Ponds?. Those two. They lived in Chelsea and had a daughter he respected. They were soon to die and both were deep into mental decline, but didn’t want to risk exposing himself to little River visiting Mum and Dad on their death beds. No need to cross those paths…

It was a crisp early-April day. The first really good day of Spring. Perfect day for a stroll to McCarren Park to enjoy roach coach coffee and a questionable, semi-stale blueberry muffin. A little dive bar had advertised the singers performing that night. A pause and a sip: why not? A human life had it’s perks. The human race always excels at entertainment. He frequently looked to them to frame up fun little songs to blare when scheming or celebrating.

After the park and a trip home for a shower and a beard trim, he went to the bar and ordered a stout from a brewery that opened up in-boro. Brooklyn was changing. Especially Williamsburg. Gentrification. He worried that interstellar forces would bother him there and the Doctor would follow. Aliens, himself included, do love always targeting the hottest spots on the planet. He scoffed into the foam of his drink.

The first singer came and went, followed by a tiny girl with a well-loved guitar and a man on keyboard. She introduced herself as “Lizzy Grant, a.k.a. Lana del Rey. “ Hunching forward and a small, almost sickly sweet, little smile she started singing about being the self-proclaimed Queen of the Gas Station. She was decent. Nothing to sneeze at. Maybe one day she’d come out of her shell and perform at Glastonbury or some such large festival with thousands of enthralled fans if she was lucky enough. But for now, she was giggling nervously and strumming simply on her guitar.

The Master, a.k.a. Roger Estram, more or less tuned her out and focused with eyes semi-closed on the chatter. It soothed the Drums. He rolled his neck and shook out his hands lightly. He was relaxed. Nothing, not even the pain of thousands of years of agony would stop his night out. It was his night and he hadn’t been properly out since his firm made a liaison party between that delusional Jennifer woman and her teams and a low-level loud luxury brand.

Then he heard it. A song that hit him like a gunshot through the center of his respiratory bypass.

A fairly dark song, not what she had been performing. Definitely not the peppy, funny, tongue-in-cheek Americana. One that spoke of the casting couch and a bigger, presumably much-older man taking advantage of the tiny little girl crooning before him.

Suddenly all of his life came and smacked him between the eyes.

He knew he was groomed. He wasn’t a fool. The most uneducated Dalek could accurately determine this. But he was a Time Lord. Obviously he rose above it. Evolved past it. Especially leaving it all in the past as he passed from the body of the Prime Minister to the body of the Queen of Evil. He was all better now. The Time Lords (except for one) were all long gone. Toast. No one’s little plaything anymore. Ever.

That was all past, right? Long since ancient history.

Then why did it hurt so much? Not just now, certainly now, as this song crawled into his center and clawed open the wounds fresh. Why did something that happened as a child and presumably ended for him hundreds of years ago hurt?

Something about this song and the way she earnestly issued into the mic, “You can be my Daddy!” As if she had a role in her own victimization. The man who likes little girls could do whatever he wanted to her, just “Put me in a movie!” had him shaking and wanting to make streamers from his own entrails.

Each little harmonica blast she had her guest keyboardist make shot through his core. He was alone and sad and scared. The same little boy, who stared into the basis of reality to be chosen against his will. The same kid, frequently pushed to the outside, just waiting for everyone to take advantage of him. Accenting that it really just was him out in the universe and no matter what he did, he was used and abused and now couldn’t even manage to control a façade for longer than a few years before everything blew back onto him and he was left more alone and out of control than ever.

She finally finished her song and he paid his tab, shoving a big wad of cash in the little “For Singers” cup up at the stage before he stormed out into the night, glad that it was only a decade or so before he could do a grand reveal and rejoin the main plot of his life…not this strange little side quest his life had taken him on. No more little Earth girls that sang a song seemingly written for him, no more having to cope with being carved up. Back to his old, powerful self.

In the meantime, he sat down at his laptop in his apartment and googled “therapist Brooklyn childhood trauma”. He supposed it couldn’t hurt, right?

..You’re my little sparkle jump-rope queen, you’re my little sparkle…

#personal #dhawan!master #the master #doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #dont like dont read #i wrote this #Dhawan!master fanfic #sacha dhawan #ohoo were mentally ill #meta fiction

[anonymousdandelion]

just came back from Angels Dancing and ooohhhh thats so warm and fuzzy and calmly intimate, also i love that they're hooved and chicken-toed, and the use of it/its, and the name Little Ash- its very endearing,, all of it, very nice

Ahhh, thank you so much!! This is the sweetest note, and it made my morning <3 and I'm so glad you enjoyed the fic.

None of those details (hooves/claws/pronouns/names) were my own idea (though they were @kuttithevangu's!), so if you enjoyed the characters and vibes, I VERY highly recommend reading When the Angels Left the Old Country if you haven't already.

...Especially because since I gather you like glossaries, you'll love the official eleven-page glossary at the end of the book. ;)

#dandelion answers #jlemonster #angels dancing #when the angels left the old country #sacha lamb #people say nice things #dandelion recs #<3 <3 <3 #seriously if you think the fanfic is warm and endearing and good #the actual book is so much better #you won't regret reading it

[how-masterful]

Remastered

Dhawan!Master x Reader

The Power of The Doctor - Part One

Summary: This is it. This is the day the Doctor dies. The plan is slowly falling into place, and the Master is ready for the show. UNIT and the Doctor have their questions, but the main ones are clear- What is he up to? What is going on in 1916 Russia? And why does nobody know where you are?

Notes: This is it! The big one! So big in fact, it has to go over 2 parts! The culmination of a month of daily fics, this remaster is the finale of my 31 fics of fright series (technically 32 now! Halloween part 2!). We were sufficiently fed with master content, and I was absolutely thrilled that it went out on my birthday! So enjoy part one of this remaster. My longest fic to date! As always, this is dedicated to @plethora-of-imagines​. Enjoy the roast session, and wish me luck for part 2!

Warnings: Cannon typical violence, mentions of death

A knock came at the door to the cabin, the winter wind bellowing beyond the wooden walls. The woman glanced over towards the desk, her husband’s pen placed down delicately onto the parchment. She made her way to stand, hiking her skirts and placing a hand upon the shoulder of her lover. 

“I’ll get it.” She said softly, before crossing over to the door. The latch opened easily, her eyes falling upon the soldier present at the door. The rosy cheeked military man gave a small bow of respect, her hand resting upon her hip, the winter chill biting at her nose. Removing his hat, he held it within his hands.

“Madam Praskovya,” He said. “I have been sent on a matter of urgency from the Tsarina. Is your husband home?”

The floor creaked beside you, the figure at the desk moving to stand. Footsteps made their way across the wooden boards, the man emerging to present himself at the door.

“Father Grigori, your presence is urgently required at the Winter Palace. The Tsaravich has been taken ill.” 

The figure nodded quickly, turning his head to glance upon his wife. 

“Fetch my cloak, my dear.” He said urgently, before blowing out the candle upon the desk.

“If we correlate the latest tremor detection data, with the aforementioned ground deformation measurements-”

The familiar voice from the conference hall grew louder as the Doctor and Yaz traversed down the corridor. The light bled into the wooden room from the doorway, the Doctor positioning herself as a shadow before the dark. Yaz stayed close behind, her teeth already on edge. She remembered, vividly though not fondly, what happened the last time she left the Doctor alone with the Master. That was a scenario she was keen to avoid this time, with more of the universe under her belt. 

This Yaz was older and wiser than the one who had taken the first step onto Gallifrey. This woman had faced the Flux, travelled the world in the 1900’s, fought sword to sword with Sea Devils and beaten the Daleks to midnight. This Yaz had learned to fly the TARDIS. This Yasmin Khan was ready for anything. Yet despite her newfound confidence, a part of her still trembled at the sound of his voice. He was still the Master after all.

The Doctor showed no fear as she stood at the top of the staircase, her eyes falling to the pews filled with shrunken TCE victims. Yaz had tugged on the sleeve of her coat, her attention falling to the rest of the room. There were dozens of them, tiny figures lining the seats. The Master had killed them all.

It was then the Doctor realised the Master had stopped talking. Turning back to the podium she saw him leaning against the wood, a smug smirk on his face. The look was new, his messy hair now neatened and curled, face cleanly shaven. At least he hadn’t devolved into a full goatee like last time. He’d forgone the purple and dressed himself in a tweed jacket and colourful shirt, a pair of suspenders hung over his shoulders. The Doctor scoffed internally. If he’d added a bowtie, he’d have been the spit of her old self. She supposed the mockery was likely intentional.

From beyond his tortoise shell glasses The Master peered at the Doctor and Yaz, wiggling his fingers in a taunting wave. He pushed himself from the podium, swaggering to the front of the stage as he placed a hand on his hip.

“Do you like my seismologist collection? I think I've got the whole set now. First time I picked one up I swore to myself I wouldn't get addicted again, think of the storage space- But then I found out some of them were rare and you know me, such a completionist-”

“Is this just a ramble session or is there a point to your little breadcrumb trail?”

The Doctor said, copying the Master's pose from her position near the bottom of the steps. Yaz found her head bouncing between the pair like a game of tennis, shadowing just behind the Doctor. The Master scrunched his nose, crossing one foot over the other.

“Oh go on, what’ve you got so far?”

“Well, according to some you’re Rasputin, your cyber minions have stolen a quarunx, and all of a sudden there’s a second moon above 1916 Russia. Only it’s not a moon, it’s another planet. Made of metal. Wired up to a TARDIS. Do I get bingo if I say it’s one you made yourself?”

The Master nodded along, counting on his fingers sarcastically at each point, the Doctor stepping down a stair with each moment of emphasis. By now she was on the main floor, watching as the Master pulled the pair of glasses from his face and slid them into his top pocket.

“And do I get a full house if I figure out how it all fits together, or are you just going to explain it all to me with that smug look on your face?”

The Master smirked, hopping down from the stage and raising his hands in surrender.

“Be patient, we’ll get there eventually. By the way, hello to you too-”

“How did you escape Gallifrey? How are you still alive?”

The Master chuckled, raising an eyebrow.

“How many times, Doctor- It’s almost like you’re still surprised. If you paid a little more attention to detail, maybe you would know. Speaking of-”

The Master turned to face Yaz, strolling past the Doctor to lean against the front row of pews. He made a good effort to bump her shoulder on the way, the Doctor rolling her eyes as he went.

“Travelling a little thin on the ground, aren't you, Doctor? No room in the TARDIS for the whole Brady Bunch? I get why you dropped the boring one, I could never remember his name anyway. No hard feelings Yaz, but I was hoping if at least one of you was going to stick around it would be Graham. But then again, no prizes for guessing why you lasted longest. She has a bit of a thing for earth girls.”

“I could say the same thing about you.” Yaz said, pushing back her shoulders and sending the Master a steely glare.

“Where’s yours? I thought she’d be sitting in the front row drawing love hearts around your name in a notebook. Don’t tell me you got dumped.”

The Master smirked, tilting his head and looking Yaz up and down.

“That shade of green doesn’t suit, Yaz. I know you were rather fond of O, but as a married man I cannot sanction all this flirting-”

“And I can’t sanction all this killing. Why?”

The Master sighed, turning to face the Doctor and moving off from the edge of the pew. The Doctor pulled her gaze from Yaz, the proud burst within her chest hardening into disdain as the Master stood inches from her face. The Masters expression softened, eyes melting from his devious glare into wide eyed innocence. For a moment the Doctor found herself back in Australia, staring at the face of a supposed friend. But the dark reality came seeping back at his words. By now her friends, both new and old, were long gone. This was all that remained of the pair of them.

“To give you a simple warning, Doctor. Leave earth, right now. Or it will be the death of you.”

“Why, finally going to make good on all those threats?”

“Because this is the day you are erased.”

“I’ve dealt with that before-”

“From existence,” The Master whispered. “Not just history. This, Doctor, is the day you die.”

The two Timelords stood before one another, almost daring each other to break away from each other's gazes. They were old eyes, each gaze burning with a thousand memories of the universe. Shared histories, crossed paths. Broken trust, broken hearts. The Doctor's cogs were turning in her brain at full throttle, trying to poke a single hole in the Master's exterior that would break open his entire facade. But there was no speck of dishonesty within the Masters hypnotic stare. That was the most worrying part of all.

Eventually, the Master broke the stand off with a melodramatic sigh.

“Wow, quite the conversation stopper. Bit awkward, right Yaz? You see-”

All the energy had returned to the Master's body, his feet dancing across the floor as he slid towards Yaz’s chest. Yaz grit her teeth together, letting her eyes shut as the Master brought his face close to her own. She could feel the villainy radiating off of him like a stench of evil. She’d learned how to sense this sort of thing. Memory always put a vile taste in her mouth. The Master was no exception.

“Now she’s stuck and doesn’t know what to do, because I've just been brilliant and made her second guess everything. She doesn’t want to leave, because she doesn’t trust a single thing I have to say, which quite frankly, my hearts doth break. But she ALSO knows she has to take it seriously, because when I make a threat, it’s no empty one. Scouts honour. Cross my broken hearts, hope to die- we have to hope, because we both know, that never tends to happen-”

The Masters maddened rambles were cut short by a commotion at the back of the room. The Master whipped around in a frenzy as the soldiers of UNIT began to filter into the room, the harsh clatter of police boots stomping down the stairs, every possible exit slamming open as the soldiers began to pour in. Yaz stepped to the Doctor's side and watched as the soldiers began to encircle the Master, the Timelord spinning in a circle not unlike a dog before it sat down. His eyes were busy with thought, his hands once more raised in surrender as the backup descended on their prey, the Master scrunching his nose at the Doctor and chuckling.

“Oh, you brought soldiers! Are these for me? You shouldn’t have!”

The Master spread his arms wide as the soldiers stomped their way onto the floor, finding himself unable to withhold a smirk as he watched one crush a shrunken doll beneath their feet.

“Oh dear, there goes all hope of solving climate change. Those poor polar bears!”

The soldiers, now seemingly privy to the Masters taunting, began to watch their step as they made their way to make the arrest. The Doctor watched with her perfected poker face, the Master smirking as the soldiers took grasp of his arms and began to pull them into cuffs. He shifted uncomfortably, rolling his shoulders and gasping.

“Oh, gentle, gentle boys! It’s a good job my wife’s not here, she’s really into this sort of thing. A good old bit of roughhousing.”

The Master read the name badge upon the soldiers’ uniform, and caught the Doctor's glare with a devious glimmer in his eye.

“Am I going to UNIT? I really hope I am.”

Yaz glanced towards the Doctor. The Timelord was breathing heavily, though she was doing a good job at hiding it. The Doctor looked at the soldiers around her, and memories came flooding back. The last time this situation occurred, with Missy and Kate in London, it had cost the life of Osgood. She knew the Master had more up his sleeve than he was letting on. To leave him alone without any supervision would be to sign the death warrant of all the soldiers in the room. 

Maybe he was right, perhaps it was a good thing you weren’t here, no matter why. You weren’t here to encourage him. But you also weren’t here to hold him back.

“Give her a gun.”

The Doctor said bluntly, and the world around her sprung into action. The soldiers, guns aimed at the Master already, intensified their grip. Yaz rushed towards the Doctor with concern, confusion riddled over her face. Even the Master seemed slightly confused, his eyes panning between the Doctor, Yaz, and the handgun that had been thrust from the pocket of a soldier- now primed and ready to be taken. This was new. This was interesting. This meant the Doctor was deadly serious about what was about to occur. The Master found himself sufficiently excited, pressing his lips together to suppress his laugh.

“What?” Yaz asked, her hand lingering in the same spot on the Doctor's arm.

“Why?”

“Cover him. We’re going to take him in the TARDIS. Take the gun.”

“C’mon Yaz,” The Master singsonged, watching her squirm with sick pleasure.

“I thought she didn’t like guns. She must be worried. C’mon, I'll accept it as an apology for insulting my marriage.”

The Master grinned as Yaz accepted the gun, her gaze lingering on the Doctor's eyes. He watched as something unspoken spread between the pair, the Doctor urging Yaz with just the power of her glance. Yaz could see the Doctor was worried, she’d learnt the microexpressions upon the Timelord’s face by heart. All those years of that hologram, she knew what the smile lines at her eyes meant, the furrow of her brow at her anxieties. The Doctor was anticipating the worst. Yaz knew this meant she had to be at her best.

“There you go. Do you need me to show you how to use it, dear?”

Yaz cocked the gun and aimed it directly at the Masters head. She stared at him with hatred down the metal barrel, her finger primed and ready at the trigger. The months and months of police weapons training still lingered in the memory of her muscles, her shoulders hardening as she watched her target.

“The only green I've been is in weapons training. So don’t you worry. Now move.”

The Doctor watched as the Master relinquished his resistance, the UNIT soldiers flanking every side of his body as he was paraded towards the same staircase the Doctor arrived from. Yaz stayed at his tail as he was yanked up the stairs, the Master glancing over his shoulder towards the conference room with a dramatic sigh.

“We’ll pick up on the volcanic ash radius next time. Great chat, brilliant questions. Nice to see some familiar faces. Oh and boys, when you’re done stamping on them, clean up the tiny bodies and inform the loved ones for me. It was Daniel's wedding anniversary, his husband will be so upset!”

The Doctor watched the troupe of UNIT soldiers disappear from the room, a dark feeling twisting in her gut. Everything was so… disjointed. She had the larger pieces of the puzzle to hand, but there were still gaping holes in the picture, one shaped just like you. She knew the Master, and she knew you.

 If you really were gone, she also would have known by now. The Master would have pulled something ridiculous- gone on another rampage, destroyed a civilization, scorched a message into the side of a planet begging you to come back. It was the most dangerous part of this current face of his. Beyond his temper, his disdain for good, and his seemingly self destructive nature- he had you. 

You were somehow a part of this plot, the Doctor knew for sure. Only where you fit in, and how, were still a mystery to her. All she knew was that your card was still in the deck, and the Master had still to play it. The Doctor sighed as she followed the crowd. Something big was about to come over the horizon. 

Though luckily, she still had her own cards up her sleeve- she still had her Tegan and her Ace.

“Tsarina, Rasputin and Mrs Dubrovina approaches.”

A maid declared to the Tsarina of Russia, the grand doors to the Winter Palace opening on command. The man from the cabin and his partner strolled elegantly into the hall, the man's hand reaching forwards to accept the touch of the Tsarina.

“Father Grigori, Madam Praskovya, thank you for coming. It is my son…”

“His haemophilia is a cruel illness.” The woman said softly, Madam Praskovya nodding at the presence of the Tsar at the planning table.

“Such a cruel illness, such a small injury… it is a test of faith indeed.”

“That is the problem I face, dear Father.” The Tsarina admitted through a pained whisper.

“I fear my faith is failing- I worry he has worsened, ever since the second moon emerged in the sky.”

“Such cosmic wonders are nothing to be feared, Tsarina. As I'm sure Father Grigori has told you, the universe is a benevolent leader.”

“Indeed, my dear Praskovya. A new moon, a new test of faith. Times such as these are sent to strengthen our faith, to test our commitment. They are a challenge we should not fall to.”

“I simply fear-”

“You should fear not. You should trust in my words, in the advice of Madam Praskovya. You should place your trust in us. In me.”

“But how-”

Rasputin's words were careful, soft and intentful as he met the Tsarina’s gaze.

“Are my eyes not full of certainty?”

Indeed they were. The Tsarina felt the compulsion within her, the hypnotic pull of command that eased her back into the comfort of obedience. She could trust Rasputin and Mrs Dubrovina. She must trust Rasputin and Mrs Dubrovina.

“They are.” She whispered, before falling back in line.

“Put him in the bunker. Full security detail, constant monitoring. I don’t want him out of our sight.” Kate commanded, the UNIT soldiers standing to attention from the moment the TARDIS had materialised inside HQ.

The Master gave a hop step as he sauntered out of the TARDIS, the strong arms of the UNIT personnel returning to grasp hold of his handcuffs. The corridor was flanked like a bridal procession- soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder, every inch of path the Master was about to walk down armed to the teeth. The Master smirked at Kate Stewart, standing there in all her familiar glory. Unknowingly still stood in the looming shadow of her father. One that everybody still casted her in, no matter how hard they denied it.

“Learned from last time, eh Kate? Ooh the bunker! Sounds so dramatic!”

The Master gave another hop step, the arms of the soldiers keeping him in the air. If he were any other Master on any other day, he might have proceeded to swing his way down the corridor like a child. That was more Missy’s style, however. He liked to think he still kept her fun side, not for a lack of heels and a lack of trying. 

“I do love a good bunker. Anybody want to join in? Bunk up in the bunker? As long as you don’t snore.”

The Doctor had slipped out of the TARDIS behind the Master, watching him stroll down the corridor with a stone faced expression. Yaz had followed, standing beside her with the gun hanging from her hand. A soldier had opened their palm for her to place the firearm in, and she’d accepted the opportunity with thanks. As much as she hated the Master, she hated guns even more. That was something she’d proudly learned from the Doctor. Guns never solved anything.

The Master suddenly stopped, leaning over his shoulder. Kate had followed him behind, keeping a watchful eye on her prisoner. The Master smiled sickly, leering towards her face.

“You can try all you want Kate, you’ll never be your father. As much as an idiot he was. Your dad had a bespoke little prison made just for me, meanwhile you’re about to throw me in some ratty old cage like an animal. You pulled this stunt last time with the plane. That Briga-dear old dad of yours had a little more respect for me than that.”

Kate smirked, her resolve firm as she stepped closer towards the Master. She’d been preparing for this moment for years, her institution ready ever since the Cyber invasion in 2014. It was the nature of the Lethbridge-Stewart line: every one of them was able to handle the likes of the Master. Or at least, they prided themselves on trying to. No matter how hard the situation seemed.

“You seem to believe I harbour any respect for you at all.” Kate replied, unflinching.

“I suggest you correct that before you rot in the basement of my building. It’ll make things easier for you.”

“Awe, spoken like a true Lethbridge- Stewart. Don’t try and play the girlboss, darling. That was my thing. You think you got this job because you earned it? Tell me, how can the head of scientific research fail her GCSE Maths twice?”

Kate leant in closer, narrowing her eyes and curving her lips into a grin.

“I should start charging you rent, the amount of times you’ve been held captive in one of my facilities.”

“Are you offering frequent foe stamp cards?”

“You wouldn’t qualify. That would suggest we see you as an enemy worth our time.”

The Master grinned, his voice velvet smooth, tongue pricked and tainted with venom.

“If we’re so keen on saving time, why don’t you point out your favourite assistants to me now and I can kill them like I killed Osgood?”

The Master turned away, feeling victorious in his endeavour. He liked to believe he was above such trivial matters as a petty verbal squabble. He liked to think it, but he knew he wasn’t.

The biggest surprise to the Timelord came as he passed under the top deck, emerging out of the corridor and into the main hub of the building. He glanced over every face, each sad state of affairs that bore the UNIT logo upon their chest or name tag. There were soldiers, scientists, assistants and interns. Poor souls hired to pour the coffee. Merely additives to the death toll that was to come later.

But stood on the stairs, oh what a treat. The Master broke into a gasp of delight at the sight of two old faces leaning over the balcony of the stairs, two of the Doctor's old companions stood waiting for him to arrive. Tegan and Ace, those old friends of hers. Certainly, much older than they were when the Master first met them. Still holding the same glare of hatred. Some things never changed, he thought. It was nice to know they still held him in such high disregard.

“Oh, Tegan Jovanka!” He grinned, casting his glance towards the Australian woman. Oh, how wonderful her narrow eyed glare was.

“How’s your Aunty Vanessa? Do you keep ‘er in a liccle doll’s house?”

He teased in a silly voice, watching her face morph into a fury. It was rather adorable.

“Aur naur, hit a nerve did I?”

“I’m going to enjoy watching you get locked up in a tiny cell.”

“That's it, you go girl. Stick it to the Master. Speaking of tiny, where’s that little wife of yours? I expected you to be taking high tea on Trakken with the other ladies of the royal court, not skulking around UNIT in your sensible shoes. Oh don’t tell me… did Nyssa leave you too?”

The Doctor's glare began to burn a hole in the back of the Master's head, her eyes staring daggers into his mess of hair. Yaz watched as her stoic face began to silently crumble, the Master's words digging deep into her guilt. Tegan gave a disgruntled huff.

“Aw, bless. Well If you see her, let her know I made good use of her daddy’s body. Of course, after a few genocides he began to wear a bit thin. So she can sleep easily knowing people around the universe quake in fear at the thought of him, and he’s currently burned out of existence.”

“You destroyed Trakken, you ignorant dick.” Tegan hissed coldly, leaning further over the railing. Ace took hold of her arm to stop her lunging across the bar to throttle him. The Master gasped proudly.

“Did I?”

“When you thought it was a brilliant idea to unwrite reality.”

“Oh wow, I genuinely didn’t know. Oi, Kate, are you hearing this?” The Master called over his shoulder towards the head of UNIT.

“Unwriting reality, destroying planets. Sounds like stamp card material to me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

Ace called from the top of the staircase, her hand still holding on to Tegan's arm. The Master turned to look back at the pair, smirking fondly at the woman in the striped suit.

“And Ace too! Aren’t I lucky! Or should I call you Dorothy? Are we a bit too old for our old gang nicknames, or are the 80’s well and truly back?”

“You’re one to talk, Master.” She spat, looking the renegade Timelord up and down. The Master shrugged his shoulders indignantly.

“See, doesn’t it sound nice? Rolls off the tongue. Like your Prrrofessor. Or is that a sore spot for you, considering she ditched you?”

The Doctor was a few steps away from charging down the corridor, but she knew better. The Master was buying time, enjoying picking at the threads of each and every person in the building. It was all he had, now he’d been caught. He was like a bratty child, trying to grab attention while being ignored.

“A little fall out, perhaps? With your machiavellian maestro?”

Ace leant forward across the railing, knuckles white against the metal.

“Last time I saw you, you were half cat.” She hissed, glaring down at the Timelord. The Master smirked, looking from side to side at the two soldiers that had kept a tight grasp on his collar and arm. He remembered the Cheetah planet well, the effects still burning hot within him.

“A man’s allowed to experiment.” He grinned, baring his teeth and turning his hands into claws. 

“I mean seriously, is this the best you could do? The Aussie and the street rat? Sorry ladies, but today was going so well. Seriously, Kate. You couldn’t have gotten me Jo Grant? At least I would’ve been nice to her.”

Kate sighed, stepping forwards and taking control.

“Show’s over. Take him away.”

The Master nodded in agreement, scrunching his nose and nodding along with Kate's command. He looked up to see several more faces had joined the audience, staring down at the commotion from the upper levels of UNIT HQ. The Master grinned. You would have loved this.

“Oh yes, yes! Take me away! Because then we’ll all feel safer with me in the building, in the hole, in the dark, right beneath your feet. Great job, Kate!”

The Master was yanked backwards into the lift, the doors starting to close. He suddenly burst forward, sticking his leg out and craning his neck. The door retreated back with a metal hum, the Master turning to stare at the Doctor with the same innocent eyes as earlier.

“You’re not going to leave them alone again, are you Doctor?” He giggled deviously, the soldiers yanking him back once more. This time the doors to the lift managed to close, the Timelord grinning dangerously as they shut before him. 

From within the lift shaft his excited whoops could be heard, the soldiers that once flanked the lift dissipating from their post. Kate looked towards the ceiling once more, staring at the onlooking faces.

“I said the show's over!” She stated firmly. At once the onlookers disappeared.

 The Doctor took a step forward, meeting Kate’s eyes as she turned towards the looming blue box.

“Kate, put the building on high alert. He’s planning something. His wife-”

“Is currently unaccounted for. I’ve had a team monitoring the chatter, she hasn’t been seen ever since his defection from MI6. We’re working under the presumption that she's planning an attack.”

“The Master has an army of Cybermen in 1916, they could strike at any minute. If he’s in your bunker, somebody else has to be watching over things.”

Kate turned and whispered towards an aid, who scurried off in another direction. Ace and Tegan made their way hurriedly down the steps, watching the Doctor retreat to the front of the TARDIS. The Doctor peered over Kate’s shoulder, looking at her two former companions

“Keep an eye on the Master. We won’t be long.”

Ace stared at the Doctor in disbelief. All of a sudden the same creeping feeling that had plagued her long ago returned. She wasn’t the strong woman she had grown into now: she was a teenager again, standing there watching her mentor, her closest friend, disappear into those police box doors. Disappearing without her.

“Professor,” She called. The feel of it on her tongue felt sour.

“Where are you going?”

Tegan frowned, already disgruntled from her argument, yet more than happy to enter into one with more meaning. But the Doctor didn’t stay- just as the Master had predicted. The two women watched the Timelord beckon Yaz into the TARDIS, closing the door behind her without a second word.

“She really doesn’t want us in there.” Tegan sighed, hands falling to her hips. There had to be a reasonable explanation- perhaps she’d redecorated and knew they’d be more than happy to judge. Maybe she was simply thinking ten steps ahead as usual, and this was part of the grand plan. Whatever it meant, Tegan and Ace were staying in the building. Staying at UNIT HQ. Perhaps that’s where they were meant to be.

Beneath their feet, the Master was pushed from the door of the lift and into the corridors of the basement. He glanced around the dark corridor, categorically observing every turn and side of the route to his destination. He began to whistle a jaunty tune, waving to all the soldiers that flanked his path once more.

“I love what you’ve done with the place.” He mused, the soldiers tugging at the back of his jacket once more. He let out a grunt as he was shoved forwards, clattering against the far wall of the metal cage known as the bunker.

 He turned up his nose at his surroundings. God, what a dump. He supposed it must have been his fault the standards were so low these days. All the budget must have gone towards defeating his bigger and better schemes. 

“At least the plane gave me a seat.” He grumbled, scuffing his shoes against the concrete floor as the guard secured the lock to the gate. He took a run up to the front bars, plastering himself across the locked door and calling to the guard.

“Excuse me darling, I booked the cage with a bed? And I don’t seem to have the room service menu.”

The guard stared down at him unimpressed, yet the Master continued on.

“I’ve got allergies, you see. Ever since they changed the recipe, I’m suddenly UNIT intolerant.”

The renegade Timelord chuckled as the guard turned away with a scowl, slamming the second door of entry to the bunker shut with a heave.

“You laugh now, but mark my words, the wife will NOT be happy when she gets here.”

The Master grinned, pushing off from the front of the cage. He began to hum a simple tune, sitting himself down in the far corner of the cage and stretching out his legs. He gave a small wave to the large camera in the top corner, before reclining with his hands behind his head. Oh, he missed the early days of UNIT imprisonment. How wonderful his past cage had been, with his workout equipment and colour TV. He’d spent many happy hours watching earth TV shows and scheming, the UNIT sanctioned prison uniform was dangerously comfortable. Oh, and that cape! With its glitter and stars and jewelled clasp. He still had it somewhere in the TARDIS. You were awfully fond of it too. He often thought the world wasn’t as magical as it used to be. You somehow kept the magic alive, though.

“Not long now…” He hummed to himself, staring at the ceiling and settling back down. “I love a good reunion. Oi, warden! Any chance of the WIFI password?”

“My dear Tsar, this endless war- I fear for our people as much as you do. Have you made a decision upon sending in more troops? Or do you intend to withdraw?”

Madam Praskovya approached the planning table, the Tsar pinching the bridge of his nose in concern.

“The decision is difficult. So many lives. What do you suggest?”

The woman smiled, placing a hand upon her stomach.

“Much like my husband, I fear for your family. As a mother myself, I believe the stress brings great turmoil to you all. I’m sure my husband would agree… a holiday for you all is a powerful remedy.”

The Tsar tilted his head in thought as Father Grigori stepped to his wife's side.

“Indeed, a long holiday, very soon. Some time away shall benefit you, don’t you think?”

The Tsar nodded in agreement, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Yes… a long holiday… very soon. That’s what I want… isn’t it?”

Rasputin stepped nearer.

“Yes, it is. I shall care for your beautiful Winter Palace, your staff shall follow the guidance of Madam Praskovya. And you shall remain assured of your one certainty. Which is?”

The Tsar was unable to look away, his eyes locked within the gaze of Grigori Rasputin. The man's wife, Praskovya Dubrovina, watched by his side, a knowing look upon her face. One that understood the instruction within his mind. One that was present when it was first placed there.

“That you… are the Master.” The Tsar spoke, the words falling from his tongue. The Master smiled, your own lips curving into a grin by his side.

“And I will obey you.”

“I really hoped I'd seen the last of him. But y’know, cats and their nine lives.”

Rattle. The brown backpack Tegan had kept slung over her shoulder had spread itself out over the floor. 

Clang. The material at the top lip of the bag had rumpled and split open, the contents of the carrier spilling itself onto the linoleum. Tegan watched the bag curiously, taking an anxious step towards the brown bag. 

Ace briefly glanced up from the computer screen, watching her friend anxiously.

“You alright?”

“No… the toy-”

Tegans hand nervously made its way to clutch upon the striped material of Ace's sleeve, instinct pulling her away from the other side of the room. The chair the bag had fallen from was spinning idly, her books and papers scattered. But the Cyberman toy, the small doll the Doctor had gifted to her, had somehow walked across the room and positioned itself in the middle of the walkway. It was a stand off between the two women and the small Cyber toy, each one daring it to move and praying it wouldn’t. The screen behind them suddenly began to fizzle and crackle, the picture of the Master’s cell blaring itself in glorious black and white. 

“Oh dear, did she want to come out already?”

The pair span around at the sound of the Master's voice from the speakers. The Timelord was sitting in the corner of the room, flexing his bound wrists and staring dead straight into the camera. Tegan was right, the sight of the criminal in a tiny cell brought the pair some sense of comfort. A miniscule sense of justice, just as big as the toy. But the smirk on his face and the glimmer in his eye spoke of something not to be trusted. How was he even communicating with them? How did he know where they’d be?

“I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt. It must be awful being trapped inside a tiny little figurine. Mustn't it?”

“How the hell is he doing that?”

Ace whispered to herself. The Master scrunched his shoulders happily.

“Trust you, Tegan the brave heart. Should have nicknamed you Tegan the naive. Did you really think the Doctor would go out of her way to send you one tiny little toy?”

Tegan inched closer to Ace’s side, the woman's fists already clenched, her face calculating what he was saying. The Master was relishing in the cruelty of nostalgia today. It was a loose thread the two were determined not to let him pull. But he was tugging rather hard.

“The Doctor didn’t send you that toy. I did. I must thank you for taking such good care of her. Parting is such sweet sorrow, after all. But I knew I could count on you to keep it close if you thought your beloved Doctor still remembered you.”

The Master had risen to stand, bringing his face inches from the camera as he stared down the lens from the dingy basement bunker. Up close, the pair could see the evil speckled across his eyes. No wonder he’d been so adept at using them to control others. Even his eyes spoke of everything they and the Doctor stood against.

“You kept it close, because deep down you know you have nothing else. It’s poetry in motion, you’ll see. Especially with this next part. I hope you’ve been paying attention.”

“Why do you keep calling it a she?”

Ace suddenly asked, matching his look into the camera. The Master chuckled, tapping his fingertip against the glass.

“Oh, gold star for Mcshane! You see, that ain't just any Cyberman. It’s rather special, close to my hearts. All I have to say is, I don’t know… ‘Activate protocol 23’... and something rather magical happens.”

At the Masters declaration, the Cyberman began to shudder and grow. The doll's limbs began to expand and lurch outwards, the entire figure swelling and shooting up and size at rapid speed. The two women stepped back in shock as the figure soon reached north of six feet, the centre bond between the two half’s glowing and splitting itself open.

“Meet my Russian doll. Sweet Tegan, you should have held on to your dear old aunt. Because y’know what the best part of tissue compression is?... It also works in reverse.”

The Master laughed madly as a wild glow began to emanate out of the Cyber figure, the familiar stomping of Cybermen echoing through the office. Two by two the legion of Cybermen began to bleed out into the HQ, their metal feet punching into the ground as they assumed strategic formation. Ace was quick on her feet- the woman suddenly sprung into action, sliding across the floor of the office and grasping hold of the two handles in a floor panel beneath the main desk. The panel was yanked from its place in the floor, revealing a secret compartment- large black guns and strips of ammunition sat in floor-bound holsters, the gold bullets shimmering within their casings. UNIT knew how to handle a Cyber invasion. They’d had more than enough experience.

The layers within the Cyber doll continued to peel away, until the glimmering white faded into a silhouette of jet black. The doll split open as before, but this time an unfamiliar sight stepped out. It was a Cyberman, decayed and rusted, one arm covered in cloth and wielding flesh, half of its face broken and shattered, revealing the pale skin of its body beneath. The Cyberman glared at the two women with its still human eye. The Master clasped his hands together with glee. 

“Don’t be scared girls, meet my friend Ashad! I killed him once but he’s forgiven me now, because now he’s become useful to me. Call him the head of security.”

The figure had yet to finish its lightshow. The black layer had slipped away, revealing a layer of shimmering metal, engraved in circular Gallifreyan and glimmering gold. The join in the middle split once more, revealing a distant figure between the hazing glow of the doll. Two feet stepped out from the doll before it came crashing down into a screwed up mass of metal, the figure's shoulders rolling back and arms stretching to the heavens. Rocking on their heels before sighing with a flourish, the figure gave a teasing wave to the two women.

“Lovely day for an invasion, isn’t it?” You grinned, before pulling two blasters from the holsters on your belt.

“TEGAN!” Ace called from across the room. Tegan instantly sprinted across the screen, the Master smiling devilishly as he peered into the screen.

“The basement calls, Love. Why don’t you let the Cybermen play while we catch up?”

You watched as Tegan hastily flipped the front desk onto its side, Ace wielding the large black guns. You gave a teasing laugh as you waved your blaster in the air.

“I’d love to stay and chat, but places to be! Boys, you can take it from here.”

The Master's laughter echoed in the distance as you sprinted from the room, the sudden sound of gunfire slamming into the walls. Oh, how incredible it felt to stretch your legs again! To feel the wind in your hair as you ran through corridors, terrorising men in uniform. You were practically skipping through the corridors, the tribes of UNIT soldiers bursting in from every direction as you made your way through the building. One by one you unleashed your blasters into their chests, their heads, any place you could land a hit. They had bigger things to focus on than little old you. Cyber invasions always tended to be rather show stopping. Metal men always managed to steal the attention away from the important parts of the plan.

“ATTENTION. UNIT HQ IS UNDER ATTACK FROM CYBERMEN.”

Kate’s voice blared over the speakers, the sirens calling out through the tannoy as you sprinted down the stairs towards the basement. You navigated every turn, the dark grunge of the basement alight with gunfire as you took your quest to find the Master. The corridors were sensical, the path ahead of you easy to navigate as you shot down soldier after soldier. You could feel them all, waiting to get that wonderful kill, a badge of honour. What a shame for them. What fun for you.

The last door in the corridor burst open, and you made your way inside. The two that were waiting were an easy shot, two blasts into their exposed chests were easy hits to make. You dodged the close range fire determinedly, a few near scrapes making you jolt. The soldiers fell like wonderful dominoes as you ran towards the next corridor, the sound of familiar laughter floating from down the hall. You felt your hearts lurch within your chest at the sound, the last two soldiers falling to the ground as you sent the blasts into their necks. There was a door at the end of the corridor, an entryway lined with fencing. That was where the sound was coming from. 

You paused just before, shaking your hands and taking a breath. You fixed the stray strands of hair that had fallen out of place, smoothing down your outfit with the sides of the blasters before aiming at the locking mechanism on the door. The lock sparked with fire at the impact, the door to the bunker swinging open, inviting you inside.

Your eyes widened with delight as they fell upon the Master. He’d switched up his look since the last time you saw him, your heart fluttering within your chest as you ran towards the bars. The Master raised his hands to shield his face as you aimed your blaster towards the second mechanical lock, the black box bursting open with the force of the blast and sending the door swinging open with a start. The Master growled excitedly, his wrists ripping apart the chain connecting the two cuffs as he flexed his arms, the Timelord letting out a delighted sigh as he unbuttoned his tweed overcoat.

“Oh darling.” He grinned, his voice as velvet as you remembered it to be. 

The distance between you was gone in an instant, the Master's arms opening wide as you flung yourself into his embrace. His hold wrapped tightly around your shoulders, his face plunging into your neck as you buzzed with excitement. Here he was, and here you were. Both alive and well, thanks to his genius. 

“I knew it would work; I knew compression would keep you safe. Oh, that Tegan, she did so well. She brought you exactly where I needed you.”

You pulled away from his tight grip and gazed at your husband with adoring eyes. You’d missed him so much, the blood pumping through your veins as you felt his lips press against your hairline.

“Right by my side.”

“UNIT hasn’t changed.” You mused, tugging him forwards towards the exit of the cell.

“Still run like a circus, still just as fun to break out of.”

“I still think my stamp card idea is worth the investment.” The Master purred, his smile like the Cheshire cat as he shook his hands with merriment. All that energy built up in his system, now notched up a level by your arrival. He’d missed you terribly, the ache in his chest at your absence now replaced by the deafening thud of his heartbeats. Now his plan was well and truly in motion.

The Master took hold of your hand, your blaster slipped back into its holster as he leapt through the destroyed gate and into the perimeter around the bunker.

“They thought chainmail would keep me in.” He teased, leaning down and admiring the sparking wires of the lock.

“How cute.”

You watched the Master lean down to the base of the gate, running his fingers over the metal and grasping hold of the rod that connected into the lock box. He tugged hard, letting out a feverish grunt as the metal began to warp, the rod bending and creaking as he yanked it out of its position. The rod came free in the Master's hands, the Timelord snarling like a wild animal as he clutched the metal, and as if wielding a baseball bat, swung forwards and clubbed at the glass circuit breaker in the wall. The frosted glass shattered into a thousand pieces, the Master digging his fingers into the mains and ripping out a section of the wiring. Only this wasn’t any old part of the wiring, the way it shone in the light of the basement and churned within the Timelord's hands. You watched him grip the TCE with pride, his finger slipping into the copper ring as he stood before you with a flourish. You clapped your hands together with glee, the Master preening at your praise. He always worked better with an audience. 

The Master suddenly surged forwards, his free hand slipping around your back and the other gasping your hand. The Master began to spin you, feet waltzing across the concrete floor, his eyes meeting your own. You danced to the sweet sound of bullets and screams, just as you’d danced to the destruction of Gallifrey. He’d kept you safe all that time, carrying you between his hearts until he was sure you could be safe. Until he could ensure nothing would stand in your way when it came to your part of the plan. Here you were once more, right between his hearts. Where you always were meant to be.

The sudden arrival of Ashad at the door told the Master it was time.

“The soldiers are moving down the stairs.” He grated, metal on metal.

The Master sighed, tilting his head and pushing your hair behind your ear.

“We need to get moving, don’t we?” You asked, shivering at his touch. The Master nodded, tapping his finger on the end of your nose.

“Yes, my love, we certainly do. I’m so glad I cloned him.”

“We should keep him, like a neutered pet.”

“Trust me, dearest. If it’s a pet you’re after, I have one in mind. You’ll see.”

The Master hummed once more to himself as he spun you one last time, elated giggles pulling themselves from your throat as he leant you down into a dip. Your hands flung to wrap around his neck, the Master's arm that held the TCE extending out beyond your head.

“Welcome home, love.” He grinned, before allowing his thumb to activate the trigger. Your faces met as the trigger was pulled, the Master's lips meeting your own as you disappeared in a whirlwind of teleportation energy.

There was truly no place like home.

The winter wind bellowed beyond the walls of the wooden cabin, the haze of teleportation energy sending light shining against the dark wood. You landed in the Masters embrace, your eyes adjusting to the darkness as you kept a tight hold upon his shoulders. 

“Welcome to Russia, 1916.” The Master grinned, his hands refusing to leave your body. He’d been apart from you for far too long.

“I hope my disguise is warm enough.” You teased. The Master chuckled fondly.

“You won’t need to worry about the heat, the Winter Palace is cold in name only.”

“The Winter Palace? Am I about to be a Tsarina?”

The Master shook his head, causing you to give a melodramatic pout.

“Close, but no cigar. We’ll be having a little more fun than that.”

The Master's hand guided your lower back towards the wardrobe in the corner, the doors opening with a creak. Two different garments, similar in style, hung upon wire hangers- your hands instinctively went to caress the material.

“We won’t be Tsar and Tsarina, love. But we’ll be the next best thing. Say hello to Madam Praskovya, and Father Grigori.”

You paused, the name ringing familiar. You turned towards the Master with a raised eyebrow, the Timelord smirking proudly.

“More likely known to history as Praskovya Fedorovna Dubrovina, and her husband: Grigori Yefimovich-”

“Rasputin.” You breathed out, the same smile spreading across your face. You sank back into his hold, the Master’s head resting against your own. His excitement was tangible through his skin, the Timelord buzzing with anticipation.

“Russia’s greatest love machine?” You asked, hope in your tone.

The Master simply winked in reply.

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[fanfickitchenette]

Friend of the Empress, Chapter One

Orlo x Reader; Chapter One-Of Expectations and Faults

Y/N finds herself sent along as her childhood friend Catherine goes off to Russia to get married. The stay is on a to be determined basis, at the will of her parents and her own impending marriage. Everything in Russia is not as Catherine expected. Y/N wasn't expecting much in general. But, still, it wasn't this.

*no warnings I can think of for this chapter* BUT

TAGS for the story as a whole--possible eventual smut; talk of death, murder, SA (none in the story, just discussion); canon-typical violence; strangers-friends-lovers; angst; lots of platonic love

Word Count 1.7K

Chapter One: Expectations

            “My Russian is barely passable, Catherine. I don’t know what you expect of me.”, you smile at your friend with trepidation. The carriage bumps merrily along the ground, seemingly in touch with Catherine’s infectious joy. She pauses in re-reading you a letter that her emperor wrote her months ago. You can vividly recall blonde hair and bright blue eyes as she shook you awake to show you his correspondence when he initially sent the letter. The letter would be kept on her person when the two of you would traverse the grounds of her parent’s estate and then placed on the table next to her bed when she’d go to sleep.

            You hate to interrupt her excitement but the conversation you had with her mother before leaving sits uneasily in the back of you mind. Princess Consort, Lady Joanna Elisabeth terrifies you and makes you nauseous on the best of days. It’s been almost three weeks since the two of you started the journey from Germany. At the beginning, it was almost simple to brush off Lady Joanna’s warnings, Catherine radiated excitement and warmed the air with her hopes and ideas and the musings of her Peter. She quizzed you in Russian and asked the same back. When the sun was brightest, she would read aloud from her books of philosophy. You would sometimes read to her from the few novels you had been able to pack. But the passage of time has caught up with you. You’re set to reach the palace of Emperor Peter within the next few hours.

            The morning that Catherine’s departure was set, the dawn seeing you wait for your friend at the bottom of the staircase, you hadn’t known you’d be accompanying her all the way to Russia. With a rustle, only perceptible with years of training to listen for it, you straightened your back as Lady Joanna appeared at you elbow. “How marvelous to see you up so early, y/n. I do know how you love to wake up at a leisurely pace.”

            Your smile was, mostly, sincere as you dipped into a curtsy in greeting, “I didn’t want to be the reason for making us late on departure, my lady. I do know it’s an unfortunate habit. If I can say, you look amazing this morning. The green suits your complexion.” Her lips curled up with satisfaction, a hand smoothing the fabric of her rather enormous bustle.

            “You may, as I do look wonderful. You look presentable, which is a small relief. You’ve chosen a decent dress, especially as I know you won’t have packed much.”

            “I didn’t think I would need much, my lady. I didn’t want to overburden anyone when Catherine is bringing many of her things. It will only be five days before I will switch to a different carriage line. Simple things only.” Lady Joanna had looked at you then, raising her eyebrow with the mock surprise you’d seen her bestow on all of her children as long as you’d known them. Donna received it when she was informed of the sale of her beloved horse when she was fourteen and ‘too old to be messing about in the fields with no marriage arranged.’; Frederick got it when he was told he wouldn’t be summering with his friend, as the boy had died two weeks before and ‘did no one tell you? How good a friend could you have been, then?’

            A letter materialized from behind the woman’s back, “Did I not tell you that your parents wrote to me? Maybe a month or so ago. So many things happening, you must forgive me,” you nodded silently, worry curled and kept trapped under your tongue, “No need to fret. You know they’ve been working to get you married for a while now. Apparently they have a few good choices, but they’d like you out of reach for a bit. No one filling your mind with inappropriate thoughts of a love match. You’ll be accompanying Catherine. All the way to Russia. You’ll be sent for once your parents make their decision.” She had given you their letter and asked if you’d like a moment to pack anything else before leaving. It had been almost kind of her to give you the heads up; traveling with only a suitcase and bag to a foreign nation wouldn’t be feasible if you didn’t know how long you’d be informally exiled. Until about a week into the trip, Catherine had been under the impression you knew that you’d be going with her since the beginning.

            At the moment, the two of you bumping along the road, Catherine refolds her letter and tucks it into one of the books sprawled onto the seat next to her. “All I expect from you, y/n, is that you keep me company. That you stay by my side as Peter and I bring Russia into prosperity. When you leave me, I will be bereft. I will be inconsolable. I will be in mourning,” her hands find yours as she leans forward, you meet her in the middle and rest your foreheads together, “I will expect you to lead a great life. Wherever you may be. So that, when we write, when we visit, we will both be accomplished of wonderful things and of wonderful love. I expect only that and nothing less.” She always makes things sound so easy. You wonder how she thinks like that. How she believes in herself and those around her with such confidence.

            “Well,” you lean back in your seat, not surprised when she moves to the seat next to you and repositions her head onto your shoulder, “If that’s all, I should be able to manage.”

            The palace is huge. The grounds are glorious. You are completely gob-smacked at the sight as Catherine presses her face to the window, lost in her own awe. You tug her into sitting straight as the carriage makes a turn to be parallel to the palace and slows to a stop. A man in uniform opens the door after a moment, offering a hand first for Catherine and then you, both of you leaving the carriage with your journey finally complete. It’s traditional, at least at home, to initially be allowed to freshen up after long journeys. You, at least, are expecting an hour to change into a grander dress and wash up a bit before Catherine meets her Peter. Instead, both of you are instructed to follow two soldiers. To meet with the emperor and his advisors immediately. Catherine brushes her hair with her fingers and pulls out the twig of tree needles, that she plucked on the last part of your trip, from the top of her dress. You don’t feel anywhere near as composed. Your traveling dress, the same style as hers, feels too light and too pink and entirely not enough in everything that would matter in a royal court. If the ladies are anything like Lady Joanna, they will eat Catherine alive. And what they’ll do to you doesn’t even require thinking about.

            The halls seem surprisingly empty as you both walk through, slightly allaying the fear that Catherine would be immediately beset by gossip. You can tell Catherine is focused only on her destination, on meeting this great love, but you can’t help feeling as if the life of the palace is simply waiting behind closed doors as you pass. Levying judgement through thick walls covered in a large amount of mounted animal heads and various antlers. One of the only nice things that Lady Joanna ever said about you was that it might be valuable to doubt yourself if only to not be surprised when everything goes wrong. She said you always adapted wonderfully because of it. Your own mother normally called you observant and level-headed and left it at that.

            A grand set of doors are opened to an empty room, housing a single throne. Catherine isn’t kept waiting long. You only feel relief for your friend at that. She might have exploded if left alone, waiting, with her future so close by. The man who enters and strides forward, separating himself from the few others he is with, is handsome and you might be jealous if it weren’t your friend, your lovely Catherine, who is marrying him. He’s tall, with clear skin and pretty eyes. You note, almost absentmindedly, that you could almost be jealous of his eyelashes because they do make his eyes very nice to look at. He pauses in front of your friend. The girl you’ve known since you were both children. Who demanded that you learn to read more than your letters and simple sentences. The girl who you watched grow into the wonderous women, full of optimism and grand ideas that make you light-headed. You can barely imagine how she’s feeling, what she’s thinking.

            He circles your friend once. You want to be bitter, thinking how at odds that makes him seem from his letter, but your father’s voice rings in your head. It reminds you that Peter is still a man. Even the best of men have their faults when it comes to…physical urges and interests. You would allow him that if—“You look taller in your portrait,” he turns and starts to walk away, your eyes attempt to bug out of your skull, “Send her back. Get me a tall one.” It’s silent for one, ringing moment. Your eyes fix firmly on your friend, noting how she hides her shock better than you can but just barely. The moment ends and he laughs, the other men following his lead, and turns back. “Rich. Rich. See what I did there? I’m kidding. Kidding.”            

Your friend says she finds it amusing even as you feel her joy lessening from a few feet away. She gives him the branch of spruce and you see and hear as the Peter in front of her is fully detached from the letter she’s been pouring over. He promptly leaves to go horse-riding, though something about it feels off to you, before you and Catherine follow after the archbishop who came into the room with the emperor. She still seems to have her hope and determination even as your own wanes. The man who seemingly wrote the letter, a shorter fellow with brown skin, a black coif of healthy-looking hair, and glasses, watches the three of you leave with something very much like guilt in his eyes.

#catherine the great #the great hulu #count orlo #sacha dhawan #count orlo x reader #slow burn #friends to lovers #orlo is on the ace spectrum for sure #fanfic #the great fanfiction #the great imagine