#whittaker master imagine

[lanawinterscigarettes]

Greetings, I hope you're having a great day. If it's okay I'd like to request a Whittaker!master x reader. Where the reader is travelling with the Doctor and while wondering the reader catches the master trying to steal a Red Crystal from the leader of the planet. The reader tries to stop them but the master takes the crystal and talks about the power it holds and how it can make the target fall in love with the holder. They then begin to say "Losing you is blue, like I'd never known. Missing you was dark gray, all alone.Forget the doctor, Somebody you never met. Loving me is red, Loving me is red Oh, red Burning red" and the reader just sees Burning red in their their head as the power takes over their mind.. (Another Taylor swift reference)

Have an amazing day.

okay believe it or not this actually tops the lavender haze idea imo, it's so amazing! I hope you enjoy what I was able to come up with ❤

Burning Red (Whittaker! Master x reader)

Warnings: the Master makes someone tiny with her TCE (effectively killing them), drugging/temporary blindness via a magic crystal, mild swearing

The Doctor always told you not to wander off whenever you and him landed on some sort of alien planet, but you very rarely listened. Take now, for example, when you decided to explore the exact same place he'd told you not to.

"What's in that building over there?" You'd asked him curiously as you studied it, figuring it to be a temple of sorts.

"It's where the planet's leader lives. It also houses a very ancient piece of crystal native to the cave systems around here," he explained while looking around. "It'd be best not to go in. The people here can be very protective to what belongs to them, and they don't take kindly to those they assume to be thieves."

Nodding in understanding, you made it seem like you were listening when in fact you weren't. The second his back was turned, you slipped away, making a beeline for the building that lie up ahead.

If you thought the architecture was gorgeous on the outside, it was even more incredible within. You were so caught up gazing at the interior in wonder you almost didn't catch the conversation that was being held in a room down the hall.

The voices got louder the farther you crept down the hall. The closer you got, the more you realized you recognized one of them.

"I- I can give you money! However much you want!" The first voice cried, presumably belonging to the planet's leader.

"I don't care how much it's worth," the Master snapped as she pointed her TCE at the leader of the planet. "If I cared about money, I'd just collapse your economic system and set up a new one that made me rich."

The leader trembled in fear as they watched her. "Please, you don't understand just how important it is-" Their words were cut short as the sight of you standing in the doorway caught their eye.

The Master turned to see what they were staring at, her scowl transforming into a flirtatious smile. "Why, hello, my dear," she purred as her eyes looked you up and down. "What a coincidence meeting you here."

"Leave them alone, Master. They didn't do anything to you," you spoke in the firmest tone you could muster, something that caused her to laugh.

"Oh, how cute. No." You noticed she was clutching a bright red crystal in her other hand, the same one the leader was begging her not to take. "I'm leaving with this crystal, and neither one of you is going to stop me."

The leader went to lunge at her suddenly, trying to catch her off guard, but she merely sighed and shot a blast from her TCE at them. You let out a gasp in horror as you watched at how they were shrunken down, being killed instantly.

"Don't think I won't do the same thing to you," the Master warned lowly, her words clearly meant to be taken as a warning (even if she was bluffing).

"You didn't have to do that, Master. They didn't have to die." She scoffed at you in annoyance, prompting you to try again. "What do you need that stupid crystal for so badly that it caused you to kill an innocent person for it?"

"This, my dear, is no ordinary crystal," she sneered at you. "It holds quite a bit of power within it. In fact, it can make whoever's in possession of it fall in love with them, just like that." She looked pretty smug, though the sound of your mocking laughter wiped the smirk off her face.

"That itty bitty thing can make someone fall in love with whoever's holding it? Yeah, right." You said with an eye roll, clearly unimpressed.

The Master glared at you. "Laugh all you want, my dear, but soon you'll see for yourself just how incredible this crystal is."

You watched as she pulled out an old, weathered looking scroll from her pocket and unraveled it, reading from it while holding the crystal. "Losing you is blue, like I've never known. Missing you was dark gray, all alone. Forget the Doctor, somebody you never met-"

Narrowing your eyes in suspicion, a frown formed on your face as you asked, "What are you doing?" A strange feeling overcame you as she ignored you, continuing to read.

"-loving me is red, loving me is red. Oh, burning red-" The Master had an evil grin on her face as she watched how disoriented you were becoming from the effects of the crystal.

"What... what did you do to me?..." You slurred out in frustration, stumbling around while your vision began to blur.

"I'm just showing you the full effects of the crystal, dear. That's all," she explained casually with a slight shrug as though it were obvious, pocketing both the crystal and the scroll.

"You wanted to drug me, that's why you needed that damn crystal so bad," you accused while shooting her a dirty look. "Because you knew I'd never betray the Doctor for you. You had to use magic to cheat because you knew I'd never love you otherwise."

Her face hardened at your words. It was true, but she'd never openly admit that. "Well, it doesn't matter my reasoning for it now, does it? You're already doomed to succumb to the powers of a shiny rock because of the spell I used to activate it. I came up with it myself, you know."

As much as you wanted to tackle her and wipe that smug look off her face, you couldn't, as it was becoming more and more difficult for you to see due to a bright red color overtaking your sight. "I- I can't see-" You said in a panic, trying to feel around for something to grab onto.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic." You felt the Master's hands grab you and pull you in close. Despite your best attempts to wiggle free, it wasn't easy when you couldn't see anything. Still, that didn't mean you were going to give up just like that.

"I have to get back to the Doctor" seemed to be your last coherent thought before you passed out in her arms. When you woke back up, you were on the Master's TARDIS. Your vision was still tinted red, but it wasn't nearly as bad as before.

"Hello, my dear," she greeted warmly while sitting in an armchair beside the bed you'd been placed in. "How are you feeling?"

The only thing you had on your mind now was her, any thoughts regarding the Doctor long gone. You reached your hands out towards her, mumbling out tiredly, "Master... I love you, Master. I love you."

She chuckled at the sudden display of affection, rising from her seat and making her way over to you. "You're adorable," she cooed in an almost condescending manner as she sat down next to you, allowing you to cling to her. "You love me? Wonderful. I'm so glad."

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[bloody-cupcakes]

Yandere/dark Whittaker! Master x reader; you get caught trying to escape

Tw: yandere/dark content, gender neutral reader, implied kidnapping/Stockholm syndrome, soft femdom, the Master refers to the reader as pet in an affectionately degrading manner, the Master has a dacryphilia kink, implied smut at the end

You'd been caught trying to escape from the Master after she'd overthrown the monarchy of the alien planet you'd been visiting together recently. In all honesty, you had no idea why you'd ran away from her; she was the only family you'd ever known, the only home you'd ever had.

The guards held onto your arms tightly as they marched you to the throne room, preventing you from trying to run away again. The large marble doors opened to reveal none other than the Master herself seated on the ornate throne.

She look displeased as usual, though her face lit up the moment she saw you. "My pet," she cooed out sweetly, leaning forward so she could get a better look at you. "Where have you been, dear? We've been looking for you for ages. I've been so worried."

You kept your head down, glancing up at her with guilt filled eyes. "I'm sorry, Master. I- I didn't mean to," you insisted remorsefully. Your face heated up with shame as you looked down, clearly regretting your actions.

"Oi, look up at your majesty when she speaks to you!" One of the guards demanded gruffly, yanking your arm some in an effort to get you to listen. You let out a soft whimper in fear, something that caused the Master's blood to boil.

"That's enough," she snapped harshly at the guard. "Let them go." If looks could kill, they'd both be dead on the floor for daring to touch her beloved pet like that and speak to them that way.

They both obliged, letting go of you. You dropped to the floor almost immediately, kneeling as a sign of respect. The Master smirked in satisfaction at your action, pleased to know that she'd taught you well.

"Leave us." She dismissively waved the guards away, her attention focused fully on you. They both bowed before exiting the throne room, shutting the doors behind them. "Come here, pet. Come to your Master."

The good pet you were, you instantly obeyed. Knowing better than to get back up again without her permission, you crawled over to where she sat on the throne, resting your cheek against her knee.

"What a good little pet you are." She reached a gloved hand out and patted the top of your head affectionately. "Tell me, why did you run away, hm? You know better than that."

You whimpered at her words, for although her tone was gentle and kind you knew you'd misbehaved and were going to be punished because of it. "I- I don't know, Master. I got separated from you, and I was scared and confused."

The Master moved her hand down to the side of your face, lovingly stroking your cheek with her thumb. Your breathing became ragged as you spoke, and your eyes welled with tears, as though you might cry.

Her hearts broke for you; she could tell you felt guilty still and didn't mean to disobey her. "Oh, don't cry, sweetheart. I won't punish you this time. I can tell you feel bad enough as it is."

Her soft words of reassurance didn't do much to help calm you, tears spilling from your eyes and down your cheeks mere seconds later. "I- I'm sorry, Master... I really didn't mean to run away from you..." You sobbed quietly as you pressed your face into her lap.

As much as she felt bad for you, she couldn't deny just how much it turned her on to see you crying like this. She shifted some in her seat as her panties grew damp from her arousal, something you didn't notice due to how hard you were still crying.

"Now, now. There's really no need for all of this," she scolded in a light tone. "I'll tell you what, pet. If you behave for me by making me feel good, we can call it even and forget all about your transgressions. How does that sound?"

The Master grabbed your face gently with your hand, tilting your head upwards so you'd be forced to look at her. Your eyes were glossy still with tears, your bottom lip quivering with emotion as you watched her.

"Yes, Master. I- I can behave for you." Your voice was uneven and full of emotion due to your recent outburst, but she smiled nonetheless, glad she could get something productive out of your tears.

"Good pet. Now-" she moved the gloved hand that wasn't still holding your face down to the top of her pants and began to undo the buttons "-get to work."

[paternostergays]

just got mad that we didn't get whittaker!master and dhawan!doctor in the centenary special. evil behaviour. wher eis my insanely hot and evil whittaker!master. where is my little lad dhawan!doctor. chibnall explain yourself. can you IMAGINE the gay panic yaz would have (and the consequent guilt because its not her doctor, not really, it's someone else wearing her face). the doctor in the wrong body yet again, trapped and confused and watching their own face steal away their companion. it's about ownership of your own life and agency and jealousy and hating someone when all you really want is to be them. man.

[kuriru-wooyeah]

just some of my whittaker!master imagination

[natureisgay]

ok, don’t get me wrong seeing the master in the thirteen’s clothes was great. seriously great, and worked better with the storyline probably. BUT can you imagine is we’d actually got whittaker!master. like it was thirteen’s appearance but the master. and how much fun he could have had flirting with yaz- which on that note i wanted to see him flirt with both of them more but anyways- can you imagine yaz trying to comprehend that. ik it doesn’t fit but just imagine

[leikeliscomet]

No, Ncuti Gatwa's Casting Isn't Regressive

Chapter 2 - Strong (White) Female Character

There are many women in Who loved by fans of all genders. In Classic Who, the female leads were the companion to the Doctor and played the role of audience surrogate. They asked questions, got in trouble and got rescued. But over time, this role would develop and gain more significance. Classic Who female representation is usually brushed off as one-dimensional compared to the girl-bosses of Nuwho, but still some representations shined through. Characters such as Sarah Jane Smith and Ace McShane are considered great female representation for the time they were created and archetypes for modern female leads in Who we see today. When the show was revived in 2005, this would be the beginning of a new type of female lead in the companion role. Women would save the day and even the Doctor. They’d gain supernatural abilities, defend galaxies, fly TARDISes, fight Time Wars and save the universe. Doctor Who makes the message (or at least tries to) that us girlies are not just the sidekicks but key parts of the journey too. Most fans agree the show has plenty of strong female leads, even if there are still critiques to be made about agency and sexualisation.

But all that glitters isn’t gold. Whilst it can be agreed women shouldn’t be limited to the role of companion, there are many demographics of women yet to be included in the companion role even if it is the bare minimum, Using intersectionality as a framework for Doctor Who’s female representation, there’s still a long way to go. There are only three women of colour who are companions in the main show. There are only two female companions of colour from them that are canonically queer. Only two are Black. Only one is South Asian. There is only one doctor who is a Black woman and she is not in the main lineup. There are no East Asian, Latina or Indigenous main female companions. There are no trans or disabled women as companions. There are no female companions that are dark-skinned women (close to Ryan or Fugitive Doctor’s complexion). When fans ask for more female representation I’ve questioned many times what or who they imagine. Even when we look at the female lead progress of the show a pattern merges; the first companion of Classic Who, the first companion of Nuwho, the first female master, the first Time Ladies and the first female leader of UNIT are all white women. Most companions of the show both classic and new are white women. So when Jodie Whittaker was cast as Thirteen I wasn’t quite sure how to feel. It was a huge moment as the Doctor themselves had never been played by a woman before. Girls across the fandom shared their excitement and joy, sharing group photos of blonde cosplayers excited for Thirteen’s era. And yet, I felt like something was missing. Whittaker got tribute videos from fans who looked up to her and was continuously asked about the importance of representation on screen, whilst Mandip Gill and Tosin Cole sat quietly beside her. I thought the first South Asian Muslim companion and first full-time Black male companion were just as big achievements as casting Whittaker for Thirteen and still do. But the show and fandom didn’t seem to think so. Some women of colour tried to express this disappointment back in 2017, but were met with ‘wait your turn’ or ‘at least you have Bill and Martha’. Don’t worry! You’ll get your POC Doctor one day!

7 years on, this progressive irony has yet to be addressed by the greater fandom. I’m not asking for Doctor Who to treat every marginalised group as a list to tick off and I don’t expect it to perfectly represent my experiences to the letter, but I do expect an allegedly progressive show and fandom to practice what they preach at the absolute bare minimum. If white marginalised genders can recognise how the companion role, despite growing to become more fulfilling and meaningful, is still the side character to a role historically played by a cishet white man, and that playing the lead themselves is, essentially, the greatest form of representation to have in the show… it begs three questions:

1. Why are Black fans then expected to settle for that ‘lesser’ companion role? 

2. Why do we not deserve to have the ‘greatest form’ of representation as the lead? 

3. Why is casting a Black man as the lead in a show that has only had three Black male leads, two Black male companions and only one that travelled full-time a step back, but a white woman in a show where most female leads are white women already a step forward?

Even when we finally got our ‘POC Doctor’ by Jo Martin, she was another side character. Fugitive’s role was to add to the Timeless Child Mystery and once that was completed, she was a get-out-jail-free hologram in the last series of the Whittaker era. Our first form of Black representation as the lead was still a supporting role. Women of colour in the fandom, Black women especially, had to wait our turn yet again. Ncuti Gatwa is a man and I am not, so I know there are limits on the extent I’ll relate to Fifteen in the same way there were limits for Thirteen. But looking at representation statistically, Black men in Doctor Who are not outnumbering white women, so this idea of a ‘stepback’ is just disingenuous and incredibly antiblack. Many fans shared their ideal doctor castings for after Gatwa and even in place of him. Minus the occasional Lydia West and T’Nia Miller cosign, most of these castings were white women; Olivia Coleman, Gillian Anderson, Tilda Swinton, Phoebe-Waller Bridge etc. Apart from the need to replace our first Black male doctor before his era even began being wild in itself, I thought about who is the idea of female representation in Doctor Who. Gatwa is dark-skinned, but the ‘replacements’ minus T’Nia Miller were not. I want to believe the ‘but he’s a man’ backlash and ‘oh but we only meant white men!’ rebuttals came from a genuine place of hurt from certain parts of Thirteen’s stanbase. However, the continued dismissal of Black fans of all genders who rightfully critique Chibnall’s neglect of the Fugitive, the surprise that conservative white men still rejected Ncuti Gatwa ‘even though he’s a man’ when manhood has never saved Black men from antiblack racism and the treatment of the show’s first Black female companion, Martha Jones, that is still yet to be addressed by allegedly misogyny-concerned fans has me very, very pessimistic. If Ncuti Gatwa was a woman would this response be different? Only time will tell and if we get a dark-skin Black woman in the main lineup one day, we’ll see if this support comes through for real. I’m going to wait and see what Fifteen can provide for the show and wait for my ‘perfect fit’ casting to arrive just as other fans who are Black women have done since day. I hope that white marginalised genders waiting with us ask not why they have to wait, but why is this the first time that they have ever had to.

<- Chapter 1

Chapter 3 ->

[death-by-sc0tland]

when the master was going to regenerate into the doctor, for a minute i was so excited that we would be getting whittaker!master and dhawan!doctor. i mean what we got was still cool but imagine if we really got a body swap ahhh

[kendrixtermina]

It baffles me that some ppl will still defend Chibnall because we actually 100% know for a fact, as in explicitly said in interviews, that:

Chibnall didn't even want the job, executives just thought of genre fiction as lesser BS anyone can do

He submitted first drafts

He had no plan for plot or characters

He decided to "simplify it for children"/ dumb it down (...by not thinking about the moral implications of anything??)

He explicitly told Whittaker NOT TO WATCH PAST EPISODES

As a writer, I am so angry because imagine getting such a big chance & then being so cavalier about it... If I got to be in charge of a beloved big-name sci-fi franchise, you bet that I would put in some fucking effort!

Like I've always been baffled by how ppl keep saying Whittaker was so good in her other shows when I only saw her being aggressively bad & forgettably meh in Doctor Who, especially considering that Colin Baker consistently managed to be the most interesting thing on screen even with bad script & hostile execs, to the point that he's one of my faves - and no, it's not to do with gender. I really liked Gomez' performance because she actually bothered to, you know, play the Master. You really bought that she's a dangerous inhuman creature but at the same time she still had nuance & depht going on like the Delgado incarnation.

but... now I realize that Colin Baker had the advantage that he was a fan before he got the job.

He knew what Character he's supposed to be playing; Whittaker only had Chibnall's superficial-ass scripts to go on, no wonder we ended up with what feels like a completely different character.

I wonder if Chibs wanted a lead author that wouldn't argue with him, especially given how he insisted on writing 80% of the episodes, the rumors that he turned down Capaldi's offer to stay longer & that he brought in someone who had previously worked for him. Capaldi would have called out OOC stuff. So would a new hire who was actually familiar with the show.

It's such a difference from having super-fan like Capaldi or Tennant on the job who deeply cared. (This is also why hearing that Gatwa had a similar background was actually the main thing that made me give the show a chance again)

But that said, Eccleston & Smith were new to the show when they got hired & still kicked ass. The difference being that, of course, Matt Smith DID watch past episodes & quickly decided that he loved & wanted to emulate Patrick Troughton.

As much as Whittaker sucked, there's no doubt in my mind that ANY actor in the world would have done better if they had seen past episodes, especially if she really is so much better in those other shows.

[devilry-revelry]

Heart & Home | Male Ghost x Female Human {Part 1}

Mostly unedited rewrite of a thing I did way back when I was (happily) getting force-fed Red Dead Redemption 2 smut. It's a ghost cowboy. I'm not sorry.

: ̗̀➛

“Don’t need to be scared, girl. I’ll take good care of you—“

: ̗̀➛

The place had been on sale for nearly three years.

It was an old cabin resting on a rough half-acre space surrounded by mountains and farmland. The cabin was small. There were repairs that needed to be made to both interior and exterior, most of the electrical needed to be redone, and the plumbing needed to be updated. The bones were good though. The foundation was sturdy and unwavering. It just needed someone to show it a little bit of love – at least that’s what Maggie Whittaker, realtor, told each and every one of her clients after they drove the full 45 minutes out of town to see it.

“It just needs a little bit of love,” is what she told each and every single person that stared at the cabin and openly grimaced.

“It just needs a little bit of love,” is what she told the potential buyers that scoffed at the still-standing outhouse off to the side of the home.

No one took the bait though. Whether it was due to the commute time, or the plumbing issues, or the fact that the wiring threatened to burn the place down at any given moment. No one wanted to buy the place, but that didn’t stop Maggie from showing it at any given opportunity because she genuinely felt that the place held great promise. Every time she stepped onto the old wrap around porch she could imagine how inviting the space would be with a rocking chair, or a porch swing. She wanted to sit there with coffee and watch the sunrise above the trees in the morning, and watch as the stars came out at night. Maggie also liked to imagine how cozy the inside would be with a little bit of cleaning. She had decided long ago that the house would stay true to its rustic roots and she would salvage as much of the original materials that she could. She also decided that she would put a comfortable chair in front of the fireplace, and there would be old shelves with books, and a big bed with heavy blankets, and she would bake bread and cookies as fresh mountain air drifted through the kitchen…

Maggie could imagine all of those things, because that’s what she wanted. She wanted fresh mountain air, and cozy winters in front of a fireplace. Instead she had an awful third floor apartment sandwiched between a creep of a man and a nosy old woman. She had a cityscape that blocked the skyline, and the sounds of sirens and traffic accompanied by the acrid scent of piss and garbage. Meanwhile she sold people their dream homes. Homes with the backyard swimming pool, and the master bathroom with the male-height vanities and jacuzzi tubs and the shower with the six-plus shower heads that connected to wifi and Bluetooth. Even when she knew that no one in her clientele would show an interest in her cabin she showed the property every time she was able.

Perhaps it was because she hoped that someone would see the same potential that she did – or maybe it was just an excuse to spend more time at her own dream home. The cabin offered her a comfort that she couldn’t find surrounded by strangers at her apartment building. The cabin gifted her with the sense of belonging that she had been missing since she grew up and moved out of her familial home. When she wasn’t there she yearned to return, and when she had the opportunity, she often made the most of it she could. She structured her work schedule to offer her the most time at the cabin. If she could schedule the place for a showing, she saved the best for last, and when the not-so-potential buyers made their return trip to the city, Maggie often found herself taking up residence on the porch.

The little cabin offered Maggie all the comfort and warmth she craved, and she hated that every time she left, she didn’t know when or if she would be back; so she enjoyed what time that she had while she had it before leaving the one place she, somehow, considered home.

There were times where Maggie was lucky enough to return to the cabin weekly, if not daily but then there were times when business slowed, or a slew of clients steadfastly rejected the idea of living outside of the city, and so she didn’t get to return to her dream home for months at a time – and it was after one of those long stints of being away that everything changed…

During the winter months the already lackluster interest in the cabin waned. It was a long drive out from the city, and it seemed like all of Maggie’s clientele didn’t want to deal with the drive through the potentially inclement weather. It wasn’t until mid-spring when a potential buyer showed half-hearted interest and Maggie jumped at the opportunity to make the drive.

The buyer was a man from somewhere upstate. He was quiet, never really asking questions about the houses they visited, and never making a committal reply to any information she supplied. It served to make the day rather awkward, but when she mentioned the cabin overlooking the mountains he claimed that he wouldn’t mind seeing the place.

When they got to the cabin the man got out of his car with a camera looped around his neck with a strap, a camera that had been notably absent during the hours prior. Though it wasn’t uncommon for folks to snap pictures of the houses they toured, Maggie found the camera’s sudden appearance a little curious. A sudden and wholly unwelcome wave of paranoia washed away her excitement, and she found herself silently cursing the man for ruining her anticipated return to the cabin. She resolved to get through the showing as fast as she could for the sake of getting him to leave.

The building unease vanished the moment Maggie set foot on the porch, and it was very quickly replaced by a rush of warmth when she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

“You really show this shithole?”

The comment kicked up Maggie’s ire, but she plastered on a bright and cheery smile, and forced an amused laugh as she said, “It’s got some great views. Right around back, you can watch the sunset.”

“One bedroom? No running water? Why bother.”

“It has running water; the pipes just need some updating. And I think someone will see the potential and spruce it up. I’m… um—“ she faltered as he reached out and put his hands on her shoulders, pushing her back near the old fireplace. His fingers found a lock of hair and pulled it in front of her ear then stepped back. “— um, what are you—“

“Just getting a couple of pictures,” he said simply.

“Sir,” Maggie started, tucking the stray hair behind her ear. She stepped away from the fireplace. “I would appreciate if—“

“I told you I’m a photographer, right?” He stepped forward again, and moved her back into place. “Just let me get a few pictures. There is an interesting contrast between you and how rugged everything in here is,” he played with her hair, and went so far as to reach out to undo the top button of her cardigan.

Maggie’s hand shot up and smacked him away, feeling the bitter dredges of rage burn her throat.

“Calm down, it’s just a button—“

“Get out. Now.”

“I said I’m a photogr—“

“And I said get out. We’re done.”

He sighed loudly and pulled the camera from around his neck.. “Look, ok, I’ll put the camera away—“

“I believe the lady said to get gone, boy.”

The voice caused them both to jump. It was as sudden as it was forceful. It was a low drawl that wasn’t at all common to the area. Maggie and the so-called photographer both turned to the origin of the voice, but the room was empty. Just as Maggie’s brows began to knit together in what could only be the most confusion she had ever felt in her life (the perv clearly heard the voice too), the lights in the living room flickered. The faucet in the kitchen turned on full blast. The photographer turned yet again, his eyes darting from the lights, to the sink -- there was a loud creak from the floorboards near the front door and he spun around just before his whole body pitched forward.

The man dropped like a sack of potatoes, landing heavily on his hands and knees. The camera bounced to the ground in the tumble, the flash going off. The lights flickered yet again, the cabinets in the kitchen swung open and Maggie hid. She wedged herself between the fireplace and the wall, sinking to her butt and pulling her legs to her chest as the room around her came to life in a surreal show of hostility. The camera shot across the floor, skidding against hardwood until it met the toes of her shoes. The photographer scrambled, desperately finding purchase on his feet before he high-tailed it to the front door. He was leaving - leaving her alone in the crazy house… but the second he cleared the doorway, the activity in the house stopped. The cupboards closed, the lights stopped flickering, and the water shut off. It was suddenly, abruptly, eerily quiet. Maggie was afraid to move. In the quiet of the room, she held her breath. Even when she heard the man’s car start up, she remained rooted in place. 

It wasn’t until the sound of the engine was long gone, did Maggie dare to take a soft breath and whisper, “Hello?”

Moments ticked by into minutes where there was no response, and as the silence dragged on, the fear and panic ebbed, and the familiar warmth returned. The tension that had gathered in her muscles eased. Her shoulders sagged and she released a heavy breath. Her eyes dropped to the camera. 

The thing had moved on its own. Just like the fluttering cupboards, just like the water faucet. As she reached for it, she half anticipated it to shoot across the floor, but it remained in place, quiet and unassuming and hopefully not haunted. It didn’t move, which was great, but the screen that was pulled up on the display made her stomach flip uncomfortably. 

It was a picture of her sitting in her car, sitting in front of the very first house she had met her client that day. She toggled the switch, flipping to the next image. It was her at the door to the cabin, her hand at the knob. 

“Oh God,” Maggie grumbled, glowering at the image. Photographer? Right. A total creep, more like. She thumbed the switch again. The final image was nothing but a blur; likely taken when the camera had fallen. She was in the image, her figure crumpled in the corner like a scared child but there was something in front of her, partially cutting off part of her form but it was too blurred to really nail down what it was. 

Her curiosity urged her to her feet. She moved a few paces from the corner, then turned to face the space, comparing the picture to the area she had vacated. There was nothing that could have been in the picture unless it had been the photographer, but the coloring was all off. Photographer was wearing bluejeans, the blur in the image was tan. It didn’t match with any of the colors in the cabin, either. The longer Maggie stared at the image, the easier it was to convince herself that she saw the blurry outline of a boot. Like someone had been standing between her and the photographer—

“Jesus, Mags,” she groused, turning the camera off. But even still, she was weary. She couldn’t explain away what had happened as easily as she could a blurry photograph. She could chalk up the photo as a searching and overactive imagination, but there was no explanation for what had happened. None. 

Maggie started for the door, then froze when a loud creak sounded behind her. It sounded just like a tired door opening in an old horror movie. When she turned her head she could see the bedroom door slowly opening. Wanting to debunk the day’s strange events she dropped her things on the kitchen counter and marched towards the room.

Was there a draft? There had to be a draft. As soon as she got to the bedroom she grabbed the door knob and closed the door. It latched closed. It didn’t budge when she pressed against it. She turned the knob, pushed it open just a bit and waited. 

Once again, the door didn’t budge. It was sturdy and solid and absolutely not swinging open ominously. She held up her hand towards the ceiling, feeling for any air flow and when that didn’t work she went into the bedroom. There was an old vent–

The door snikt shut behind her. 

A flare of fear sent her whipping back towards the door. She scrambled for the knob but it didn’t turn. Didn’t budge.

“Hello!” She called out, silently swearing to God that if that prick came back to this house and decided to fuck with her that she would do what she could to beat the living crap out of him. “Hey, open the door! Come on—“

She felt the sensation of warmth at her back and it caused her to still. She smelled wood smoke. It was gentle and lingering, reminding her of summer nights and camping trips. The gentle sweetness of cigar smoke came with it. Maggie’s hackles softened as she closed her eyes and breathed deep. Despite the swelling fear she had felt moments before she was once again pulled into a feeling of comfort. 

She shuffled a step towards the door, feeling pressure at her back, feeling a breath rustle her hair and tickle her ear. She closed her eyes and couldn’t stop her imagination from trying to summon the voice from earlier, the low drawl, right at her ear. 

“Don’t need to be scared, girl. I’ll take good care of you—“

Heat pooled low in her belly, she started to lean back into the warm pressure. She had the urge to tilt her hips, to back her ass up against— her eyes shot open, and she turned. There was no one there. Despite being alone, her cheeks grew hot.

A cute house in the woods, and a ghost apparently. When she tried the door again it opened. She gathered her things, locked up the house, and after a final lingering glance she left. 

She didn’t return to the cabin again for a whole three weeks. 

This time she returned with a married couple. The circumstances of her last visit had been bizarre. While the events of that day didn’t exactly haunt her, she had spent plenty of time imagining what her return trip would be like. If strange phenomena happened again she would have to assume that the cabin was haunted, and if it didn’t… well, she would have to assume that she was crazy.  When she pulled into the driveway, Maggie anticipated a bit of anxiety to flare up. There was no anxiety. Only a bones deep yearning to be back inside the cabin. So without the typical fanfare, Maggie unlocked the door and led the couple inside. 

Maggie frowned, and despite her curiosity, she left, and didn’t return to the cabin for a whole three weeks. This time, she returned with a married couple. The moment she was on the property, she yearned to be inside. She sought the comfort the cabin seemed to give her, so without much prelude or fanfare, she unlocked the front door and led the couple inside.

The tour was quick, as it usually was.

Entryway drop zone. Hallway. Living room left, kitchen right. A wall separated the living room from the bedroom. Across from  the bedroom was the bathroom and utility space. And there was the outhouse. Of course.

The couple seemed entirely uninterested, probably looking for something that was a bit more up-to-date.

“The land isn’t bad. Good space.”

Maggie nodded her agreement, “Great space. The owners live nearby. They’ve been maintaining the land, making sure it hasn’t gotten too overgrown. They offered to help with the upkeep after purchase.”

“Suppose I can tear down the cabin, do a custom build—“ the husband started.

“Wait, what—“

“Build a pool—“ the wife continued.

“This cabin was originally built in 18–“

“And it shows! It really shows. I’m not going to buy a one bedroom shack with an outhouse. But I can buy the space. Get rid of the cabin. Build a farmhouse and sell it for —“

Something happened then. Something that made the husband yelp. Maggie whirled around to see one of his feet dropping through one of the floorboards. When he stepped back to find his balance, he fell to the ground with a force that seemed to shake the very foundation of the cabin. Then the lights flickered. The front door snapped open then slammed shut. The wife shrieked at the sound. Maggie watched, detached from the fear she should feel. The husband vaulted to his feet. While the woman went to the door and tried to open it, the man yanked his foot from the floor. When the door didn’t open, the woman began to shriek and the man called after her to try and calm her down.

Maggie proceeded to view the unfolding chaos. She didn’t want the cabin to be torn down. She didn’t want there to be a frickin’ pool. She wanted the cabin to be fixed up, while maintaining its rustic charm. She wanted it appreciated by someone who could see the beauty it held. She wanted these two long gone. Maggie finally moved. With far more calm than she should feel, Maggie skirted around the hole in the floorboard, and joined the frantic couple at the door. The cabinets slammed and rattled in the kitchen. The lights had stopped flickering and had gone completely dark. Maggie squeezed her frame between the man and the door.  She took hold of the handle and twisted it. The door unlatched and she pushed it open. The duo pushed their way past her making her stumble out the door with them. They practically raced to their car, and before she knew it they were driving away. 

Maggie watched them go. Once the tail lights were out of view, Maggie turned to assess the cabin. She stood at the front door, pressing her hand against the hardwood frame.

“What was that about?” She asked the home, in a gentle coo. 

There was a loud creak from the inside, like footsteps, and without an ounce of fear, she stepped back into the now quiet cabin. The place had yet to turn on her. Not once. With the photographer, it had defended her. With the married couple it seemed to defend itself. Maggie somehow immediately convinced herself that the cabin wouldn’t turn on her. No harm would come to her when she was there.

She moved with careful steps as if she were approaching a frightened dog. She navigated around the new hole in the floor, and once she came to a stop she heard the front door close softly.

The old flooring creaked. In one place, and then in another. Growing closer. As if someone was walking towards her. The wild scent of wood smoke tickled her nose. Maggie closed her eyes and breathed it in. The touch of sweetness that curled at the edges made her mouth water. The sensation of a presence at her back should have set her off, but all she knew was ease, comfort, and home. 

“I ain’t standin’ by and lettin’ folks tear down my home.”

The voice was a low, accented drawl. The same voice that had told off that perverted photographer. The same one she had fantasized about more than a time or two as she lay in bed at night.

“And I’m through with all of the disrespect–”

“I-I never meant to disrespect anything–” her voice was quiet and ragged, but frantic. She turned towards her accuser and saw a man. Or the impression of one. It was hard to determine what exactly she was seeing, or not. The image only lived in her periphery and the moment she attempted to look directly at the figure, it seemed to shift out of view or vanish all together. 

She thought she was seeing a man. Tall, and broad, with eyes so dark they looked black. His clothes looked old and worn, with hints of khaki or maybe canvas, an old linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and the buttons at his chest undone. 

Maggie swallowed, closing her eyes hard. She repeated, “I’m sorry. I never meant any disrespect.”

“Nah, girl. Not you. Them. I built this cabin with my bare hands. I know these’re different times, but to come into a man’s home and call it a shithole…”

The man was edging closer, and Maggie matched his stride in the opposite direction. She wasn’t retreating out of fear, or she didn’t think so. She wasn’t scared. What she was feeling wasn’t fear. And yet, if what he was saying was true, if this was the man who built the cabin all those years back that could only mean one thing. She should be scared.

“You’re-you’re right—“ her back touched the wall. She trained her gaze to look away so she could see him better as he made his approach. His hair was dark, like charcoal. His skin was a beautiful sunkissed tan. Were those suspenders hanging from his hips? 

“And then what that little pissant did to you…”

“He didn’t—“

A hand extended to her, brushing her wrist with warm, calloused fingers. The contact surprised her. He was warm. He was gentle. Weren’t ghosts supposed to be cold? He took her hand, dragging his thumb over her palm. Maggie’s eyes flickered to the point of contact. There was no more impression of a person dancing in her vision. There was indeed someone standing before her, touching her. When she chanced a look up at his face, his eyes were trained on their hands. He looked just as surprised as she felt. 

His voice softened. “He did. He disrespected you. And that’s somethin’ I ain’t gonna tolerate, y’hear me Maggie Whittaker?”

Maggie nodded her head, slowly before she managed to find her voice. “Who are you?”

“Elias Jameson.”

“Your family owns this place.”

“They do.”

“Do they know about… you?”

“Nah. Tried to speak with one of the boys a few years back and he never came back…”

Again, Maggie nodded. Finding words was becoming increasingly difficult, and his proximity wasn’t helping. She was floored, she was stunned, and she was positive that she was dreaming. Elias’ eyes lifted from their hands to study her face. Christ, Maggie thought. That jawline is sharp enough to cut diamonds.

“Yer scared.”

“I’m… confused. If you’re a, well… how…?” She tried to gather her thoughts. “It feels like I’m dreaming.”

The rough pads of his fingers touched the skin inside her wrist. It probably would have tickled if the contact didn’t feel so sensual. She licked her lips as she recalled being locked in the bedroom, with the sensation of a presence at her back, and the urge to press and grind and–

“This ain’t no dream, Miss Whittaker.”

[hauntingcryptids]

Attempted Backstabbing

Whittaker!Master x Reader

Summary - The Master separates The Reader from The Doctor in order to find out The Reader’s relationship with her Best Enemy.

Based On This Request - Anonymous requested - “Hi! May I ask for a soft fic with The Master where they hypnotise The Reader?”

Warnings - hypnotism, hypnotism without consent, threatening, canon typical violence

Word Count - 871

A/n - Gender Neutral Reader. Requested by this lovely anon! I will link the other fics inspired by this request HERE, if you would like to read them. I hope that you enjoy!

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The Master stroked your face with her gloved hand. She had separated you from The Doctor and had you backed up against the wall of the spaceship she had taken over. You were completely vulnerable. You had no idea how you were going to escape this situation alive.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing with a buffoon like him?” The Master teased as she traced your features like a sculptor carving away from a marble block.

“Don’t call The Doctor that.”

“Why? Have a little crush?” You felt your face heat up at the accusation. If you were to be honest with yourself, you didn’t know exactly what you wanted. The Doctor was cute, but The Master was more beautiful than any person you had ever seen. If either of them liked you, you would be overjoyed. The Doctor, though, tended to act like more of a friend to you, so you tried to not get your hopes up when it came to the idea of dating him. 

If you were to have a crush, it would have been on The Master. Apparently, The Master must have picked up on your nervousness. Or at least some of it.

“Ahh! You do! It’s understandable to an extent. A random man shows up out of the blue and asks you to travel to the stars with him. Nearly anyone would find that alluring, but you could do better than him, darling. So much better.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean me.” The Master clamped her hand around your jaw and made you look her in the eye.

“Just imagine what it would be like to be in love with me. Just think of how sad that pathetic Doctor will be when he finds us together.” The Master brought her face closer to yours and you could feel her breath on your face. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe properly. You were just so consumed by being this close to The Master, her smokey perfume filling your nose and the weight of her body on yours. It was better than you had imagined being in her presence would be. But The Master suddenly jutted backwards away from you.

“Why aren’t you acting any differently?” The Master growled as her hand moved down to grasp your throat tightly.

“What do you mean?” You choked out.

“I just hypnotised you.”

“You did?” You genuinely asked. You didn’t feel any different than you had before.

“Yes, I just hypnotised you to like me, not The Doctor. Why did that not work? Did The Doctor place a psychic block on your mind?”

“No, he never did.”

“Well, then why did it not work -” The Master cut herself off before running away from you and twirling and jumping excitedly in the middle of the room. She then ran back towards you once she collected herself.

“You have a crush on me not him!” The Master yelled before booping your nose with her leather glove-covered finger.

“Shh! We don’t know where The Doctor is, he might hear you!”

“Who cares if he hears?! I’m just excited about the news!”

“Master, please!” 

“Oh, fine, but only because you asked so nicely, darling.”

“Thank you.” The Master took a deep breath and then looked at you curiously. 

“You knew?”

“That I liked you, of course, I did!”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me?”

“You aren’t exactly easy to get in contact with. Also, you probably would have seen it as a trick and either tortured me or just straight out kill me.”

“I would never do either of those things to you.” The Master’s voice dropped to a sincere tone as she spoke. Tentatively, you reached out to hold one of her hands, which she gladly accepted. The Master was a bizarre individual with chaotic emotions, but you really liked her and wanted to get to know her more.

“The Doctor also would never let me try to find you, anyway.”

“Ugh, speaking of him, I, unfortunately, have to leave before that buffoon you choose to travel with finds us and tries to trap me within his TARDIS. Unless you want to join me for a little adventure?”

“The Doctor would be furious if he found me with you.”

“Yes, it would be amazing to witness!”

“Master …”

“Fine, I won’t freak him out, but The Doctor deserves to feel a little fear.” The Master then broke apart from you and removed one of her gloves. She kissed her index finger. Then she brought her finger up to your face and pressed it against your lips. You felt an electric shock rush through you, but then a wave of calm cascaded over your brain.

“What was that?”

“Just a little calming confidence hypnotism. The Doctor will have many questions and I don’t want to leave you unprepared for his oncoming barrage of queries.”

“Thank you, Master. Now go before The Doctor finds you.” The Master backed away from you slowly, regretfully. She then pointed her now regloved hand to you before speaking again.

“I’m coming back for you, darling.” The Master said sternly and then she ran off to her TARDIS before The Doctor could ruin her moment with you.

[roguetelepaths]

What kills me about "you can't objectify fictional characters because they already are objects" is that if taken to its logical conclusion it's just. Really, really bad writing advice. Forming emotional bonds with your characters, understanding the context of how they relate to each other within the narrative you're building, letting them surprise you with new information about where their arcs are headed— these things are part of writing, and have been for as long as people have told stories.

If the only way you know to think about the art of writing— and specifically character writing— is to think of your characters as empty shells you can make dance to your tune and say whatever you want them to say, you're going to be a shitty character writer. You won't know how to give their narratives emotional depth or stakes or a reason for readers to care. You'll just be a child playing with toys in your bedroom.

I think it is possible to objectify fictional characters, as a writer, and you can always tell when a writer is doing that. Sometimes it's social justice related, yeah. Captain Kirk's myriad girls of the week in ST:TOS. The Black guy who dies first in every slasher movie. But other times it's just sheer quality, like when a villainous character starts to do things that are out of sync with the kind of villain they are (Dhawan's iteration of the Master, for instance, whose relationship with Whittaker's Doctor lacked all of the warmth and friendship of previous iterations of that relationship and instead became pure rage and animosity) or a well-developed platonic/tutelary/familial relationship becomes romantic, even one-sidedly so, for no other reason than because the characters involved are of opposite binary genders (Kira/Odo comes to mind as do Lennier's feelings for Delenn, but I know opinions vary on both of these and I don't want to start an argument about shipping, that's not the point of this post). You objectify your characters when you fail to imagine them complexly. Imagining your characters complexly is how you make them feel real to your readers.

[lanawinterscigarettes]

my house of stone, your ivy grows (Whittaker! Master x reader)

Summary: you find yourself growing feelings for the person who's supposed to be your enemy

Warnings: Dhawan! Doctor and Whittaker! Master (whoo!), secret relationship, worries of possible disownment (it doesn't happen), this has a pretty happy ending given the direction I could've gone with it

A/N: I don't know if anyone will read this because I'm not sure how popular Whittaker's version of The Master is but I find her to be incredibly attractive mkay. and I've currently been obsessed with evermore so naturally I just had to write another song fic, this time based loosely off ivy (my other evermore based fics are still wips, but I plan on finishing and posting those soon <3)

You didn't know how you went from despising The Master to loving her, but it had happened. All too fast and all too soon for you to recognize until you were in too deep to pull yourself back out again.

Her tidal wave swept over you, the rough waves keeping you from swimming back to shore, threatening to drown you if you made the wrong move. But they never would, because as unbelievable as it was, she loved you back.

You were just a simple house that stood out in the woods somewhere, abandoned, old, forgotten. Until her ivy was planted. It grew and grew, spreading quickly until you found yourself completely engulfed.

You would never be the same again. You could never give her up. And she could never take away her love without destroying you both in the process.

The way it came about was simple, really. You and The Doctor were under attack yet again by some alien species for trying to fix whatever damage they'd created, causing you to be separated.

You'd been hiding, doing your best not to get caught when you heard a silky voice coming from behind you.

"You know, if you're trying to avoid being seen, there's not the best place to do it."

Knowing who it was, you turned hesitantly, coming face to face with The Master.

"I could see you from your little 'hiding spot' miles away, and I have no doubt the people you're hiding from could, too." She had a smug look on her face, almost as if she was proud for calling you out on your poor decision making.

"What do you want?" You asked with a frown, immediately under the impression that she was up to no good.

She made a face of mock offense. "What, I can't offer you some simple, life saving advice?"

"You can't, no. Not without wanting something in return." You eyed her suspiciously, trying to figure out what her game plan was in being here.

"Oh, really? And why's that?" She leaned forward, her piercing eyes staring right into yours. Unlike most individuals she came across, you didn't look away.

"Because you're always up to something. You always have to have an ulterior motive," you said calmly, not at all deterred by her closeness.

The Master had to admit, she was impressed by both your reasoning and your lack of fear. "Alright, fine. I'll admit it, me giving you some piss poor advice is not the only reason why I'm here." She straightened herself back up, no longer standing as close. "I'm here because..." She let out a deep sigh, looking away. "I was- worried about you."

You let out a laugh at her statement. "You were worried about me?"

"Don't laugh." The Master snapped at you suddenly, shooting you a glare. "I didn't have to come rescue you, you know. I could've just left you here. To die."

"But you didn't. Because you were worried about me," you lightly teased, finding it amusing that one of the most ruthless and ambitious people in the universe cared enough to save the companion of their enemy.

She groaned in frustration. "Yes, okay, fine. I was worried, alright? Is that what you want to hear?" She held out a glove cladded hand for you to take. "Now, do you want to get out of here and survive, or not?"

You decided it would be wise not to push anymore of her buttons, as it was entirely possible she could change her mind and actually leave you there. So, you simply nodded in response, taking her hand and allowing her to guide you away from the fighting and back to her TARDIS. She then dropped you off at a safer location nearby, making sure you agreed not to mention any of what'd happened to The Doctor.

"I won't tell a soul, I swear," you'd promised her, your words sincere. It almost looked like she was smiling when the TARDIS doors shut. Then she was gone, leaving you to face The Doctor and his worried filled questions alone, but not before taking a piece of your heart with her.

You'd caught up with her again at some sort of alien marketplace, gifting her one of the planet's many different kinds of flora as a gift, your own way of saying 'thank you for saving me'. She'd accepted it wholeheartedly, setting it someplace beside her bed so it would be the last thing she'd see every night before she went to sleep, and the first thing she'd see every morning when she woke.

Your first true 'date' was the time she left a note on your dresser (how she got it there, you'll never know) telling you to dress somewhat fancy and be ready by nine. She took you to see the first ever showing of the musical Cats, of all things, though it was really just an excuse to see you again. Regardless of whether you enjoyed the show or not, the night ended on a high note (pun intended) when she gave you a gift of her very own; a kiss.

This back and forth dance of sneaking away together and leaving each other again when it was finally time to part went on for months, and though you never put a name on it, it was quite clear to both you and everyone else that you were head over heels in love.

You thought the two of you could be like that for the rest of eternity, hiding out from unknown forces who planned to take you away from her arms, cherishing each other in secret while your enemies threatened to rip you both apart and tarnish your new found love had they known. But as you had learned from your many travelings, nothing could last forever.

The Doctor had noticed you were acting differently. You'd been staying out later and later, and seemed much more occupied with whatever was going on in your mind than any adventures he took you on. As it was none of his business, he really didn't want to pry, but eventually his curiosity got the best of him and he just had to know.

He was tinkering with some sort of ancient alien tech when you walked into the TARDIS's control room.

"Whatcha working on?" You questioned as you made your way over.

"Oh, nothing. Just a piece of junk, really."

You nodded at his response, completely unaware of the absolute bomb of a question he was about to drop.

"Have you been seeing anyone recently?"

You froze, unsure how to process what he just said. "...what?"

"It's just-" he set down what he'd been holding on a nearby table and sighed. "You've been acting differently, these past couple of months. And, it's not that it's necessarily a bad thing, as you seem to be much happier, I'm just- curious, to find out why. Meeting someone new and being in a relationship can definitely cause that, so I was just asking."

You didn't know how to respond. Of course, you were seeing someone. Someone you probably shouldn't be. You didn't want to lie to him, but you knew he was bound to find out the truth eventually, so...

"I am seeing someone, actually." You said cautiously, testing the waters.

The Doctor perked up at this new piece of information. "Really? That's wonderful! Tell me, who are they? What are they like?"

You sucked in a deep breath while making a face that was full of pure nervous energy. "You won't like it."

"Nonsense! I'm sure I'll like whoever you've decided to take as a potentional life partner."

You blinked a few times at his choice of words before shaking your head, deciding it'd be best to just ignore it entirely. "Are you positive? 'Cause I... I just really don't want you to hate me." You said awkwardly, accompanied by some weak laughter.

He frowned slightly at your words. "That's ridiculous, I could never hate you. Now, tell me, who is it? Come on, I promise I won't be too mad," he lightly joked as he gave you a reassuring smile. "I trust your judgment, I'm sure they're fantastic, whoever this person is-"

"It's The Master," you suddenly blurted out, knowing the longer you listened to his praise the worse it would feel once you finally disappointed him. "I'm- I'm seeing The Master."

The Doctor just stood there, a look of bewilderment frozen on his face. "...what?"

You let out a sigh, having expected this kind of reaction already."It's The Master," you affirmed, having crossed the point of no return. "I- I know you're probably upset, and rightfully so, but she's really not that bad, once you get to know her-"

"Has she hypnotized you?" This time, it was you who was getting cut off mid sentence. "Has she threatened to hurt you in any way? Is she forcing you to go traveling with her?" Surprisingly enough, he didn't sound mad, like you thought he would. He didn't look it, either. He just seemed to be the reasonable amount of concerned.

You shook your head no at his questions. "No, she hasn't. I travel with her because I want to, because I like doing it. She-" you voice became slightly quieter as you recounted one of the many dates she'd taken you on "-she took me to see the aurora borealis, once. On a planet that had been completely covered in snow and ice."

That trip was especially vivid in your memory, partially due to how many layers you had to wrap up in so you wouldn't get cold. The part you remembered the most, though, was when The Master had noticed you'd forgotten to bring a pair of gloves with you, and took off her own in an effort to help keep your hands warm.

She could've just given you her gloves to wear, which might've been easier, but she hadn't, choosing to take your hands tightly in hers instead. That was the first time she'd ever done that, both in holding your hand properly and taking off her gloves in front of you.

The Doctor noticed the look of calm that washed over you when you were talking about her, one that not even hypnotism could conjure up. "Do you love her?" He asked softly, already getting a sense as to what the answer might be.

"Yes, I do." You professed as your eyes met his. His gaze was understanding and warm, the exact opposite of what you'd thought it'd be.

"Well, if that's the case-" He began, walking over to the TARDIS's control panel and fiddling around with it some "-then I suppose I have no choice..."

You sucked in a breath of air, incredibly tense as you waited for him to say what he was going to do with you. Maybe he'd just throw you in a black hole and be done with it. Or, worse, maybe he'd drop you off on some random planet somewhere where there was absolutely no chance for survival.

"...but to take you to see her." He finished with a flourish as the TARDIS landed. The Doctor opened the door and stepped outside, gesturing for you to follow him.

"This had better be good," a voice grumbled from in front of you, belonging to none other than The Master herself. Her gaze softened when she spotted you, though it didn't last very long, her eyes narrowing at The Doctor in suspicion. "What's all this?"

"I just wanted to say-" He turned, beckoning you to come closer "-that I know about your relationship with each other. And I'm not mad. In fact, I'm delighted."

You and The Master exchanged a look of confusion and disbelief. The Doctor noticed this, continuing nonetheless.

"It's true. Now, I know we haven't always been on the best of terms-"

"That's one way to put it," The Master muttered, crossing her arms.

"-but I don't want to make any unnecessary assumptions about the two of you. And while part of me does believe this could possibly be some sort of an eleborate plan to take me down-"

"Doctor," you whispered harshly, The Master smirking in amusement at your reaction.

"-I also don't want to define you only by your past mistakes." If he heard you, he didn't show it.

"I have a million reasons why I shouldn't trust you." The Doctor said directly to the clearly unimpressed woman standing in front of him. "But so did they, and now look where we are."

His words seemed to actually have an affect on her given how she'd uncrossed her arms and appeared to be actually listening. Until she opened her mouth. "So what is this then, you deciding to give us your blessing?" She sneered, going back to being defensive.

"Master." You took a step forward, offering your hand out to her, which she gladly took. "I think what he's trying to get at here, is that even if he doesn't trust you, he's not going to judge or shame me for doing the exact opposite. I can still be friends with him while also seeing you. That's all I've ever wanted."

The words you spoke seemed to have finally gotten to The Master. The ever permanent scowl she usually had on her face when being forced to interact with The Doctor disappeared, replaced by the faintest smile that only you could discern.

The Doctor clapped his hands together once in satisfaction. "Great! I'll leave you two to it, then."

The Master rolled her eyes in annoyance, causing you to let out a quiet giggle. "Yeah, you do that," she sarcastically replied, watching as The Doctor entered the TARDIS.

You waved him goodbye before turning back to the Time Lady in front of you. "So, where to now?" You asked excitedly, giving the hand you were holding a gentle squeeze.

She squeezed yours back, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. "Wherever you want."

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[bloody-cupcakes]

I am craving a pt2 of the yandere Whittaker!Master fic 🗣🗣‼️‼️

anon your wish is very much my command (a part three might be in order if you enjoy this one too) (part one is here btw)

Yandere/dark Whittaker! Master x reader; after trying to escape, you're forced to make it up to her to avoid punishment

Tw: yandere/dark content, gender neutral reader, nsfw/smut, pretty obviously implied Stockholm syndrome, somewhat mean femdom, oral sex/cunnilingus (Master receiving), the reader is referred to as pet by the Master in a way that's both degrading and affectionate, brief mention of the Master's dacryphilia kink, the Master is a little more cold and uncaring here than in the last one, the reader purposely acts like a brat near the end (which includes them performing a dubcon-ish sexual act on the Master)

"Get to work."

You had been taught well, for no sooner than her commanding words rang through your ears did you help to unbutton her pants and pull them down far enough to expose her already wet pussy to you. The sight alone was enough to make you drool.

"Master..." You softly mumbled out her name, unable to keep yourself from staring. No one else could ever hold a candle to how your Master looked when naked: she was ethereal, a true beauty from beyond this world. You were quite certain she was even the most gorgeous thing on all of Gallifrey, but that might've just been the Stockholm syndrome talking.

It took everything in her not to just shove your face towards her pussy out of impatience. "Come on now, pet, I haven't got all day." Her voice immediately brought you out of the trance like state you had been stuck in as something only she could do.

You felt your face heat up as you realized you'd been staring for longer than you'd thought, noting the obvious irritation in her voice. "Sorry, Master." Shuffling forward while still on your knees, you brought yourself closer to the area right between her thighs before obediently burying your face in her pussy.

The loud groan she emitted from that action alone rose your confidence levels, spurring you on even more. Your tongue quickly worked to move along her folds, wetting them with your spit (not that they really needed it, as she had been previously aroused by your earlier act of crying).

"Good pet... Doing so well for me, I'm so proud of you..." A gloved hand reached out to rest on top of your head, not-so-subtly pressing your face further into her crotch.

Muffled noises of content could be heard coming from you as you happily ate her out, no longer feeling as pathetic and worthless as you did earlier. You knew your Master would never get rid of you, even if you did misbehave on occasion. You were her darling little pet, after all.

It didn't take very long for her breathing to quicken and her body to tense up, a sure sign that she was close to the edge. Desperate to have her cum on your face, you pressed on, despite the fact that it was becoming more and more difficult for you to breathe.

Her hand tightened its grip on your head slightly while her hips rolled upwards against your face, greedily chasing her climax. As selfish as it may have sounded, she honestly didn't care if you passed out at that point from lack of oxygen. It would serve you right for disobeying her.

Once she was properly satisfied, she switched her movements, using her hand to push your face away from her instead of pulling you closer. "Enough, pet. I think we're done here."

A low whimper came from you in protest, not wanting to let up just yet. You kept licking and kissing at her folds until she let out a growl in response, roughly yanking your head back. "I said, enough."

You looked up at her from where you knelt at her feet, the lower half of your face glistening with her juices. Your bottom lip was jutted outwards in a bratty pout, showing how displeased you were with having to stop. "Master, I wasn't done yet."

She scowled at you in response, reaching her hand back down to lightly flick you on the nose the same way someone might do to a disobedient dog. "You're done when I say you're done. Don't talk back to me, or I'll change my mind on letting you get away without punishment for running off."

Instead of cowering in fear like she thought, you leaned forward and gave her clit a defiant suck. She was certain her knees would've buckled right then and there from overstimulation had she been standing.

The smirk on your face from the surprised gasp she let out told her you knew exactly what you were doing and were now deciding to act out on purpose. "You want to act like a brat? Fine," she snarled while grabbing your face roughly, infuriated by the smug look that was now on your face.

"Then I'll treat you like one."

[variousqueerthings]

Got my DW magazines (including the latest where all those brainmelting quotes are coming from) and there really is so much loveliness in them, including a letter from RTD:

"The First Great Seismic Shift in Doctor Who was in 1966 when the lead character slumped to the floor and... what? He did what?! He changed into a different actor? For good?! Can you imagine that happening unannounced now? in 1966, there seems to be comparatively little record of the reaction. Did we question less, then? Did we just... watch?

I've got clearer memories of Seismic Shift 2, 1970, the move into colour. Though that didn't mean much; we didn't buy colour TVs overnight, I was still watching in black and white until, ooh, Planet of the Daleks...?"

[...]

Things happened, and we simply kept on watching. We might complain about today's online world, but aren't we wiser now? Less passive, more engaged?

[...]

You probably know the later Seismic Shifts. The return, in 2005. Steven Moffat's astonishing, brilliant, glittering Doctors from 2010 onwards, with the Master becoming Missy. And with a slinky Seismic Shuffle, the Eighth Doctor, who'd disappeared off screen in 1996, finally got to regenerate in 2013 but only on the BBC Red Button! And then Jodie Whittaker fell through the roof of a Sheffield-bound train with an impact so great, it bumped the entire show on to Sunday night, and then she stood up in the wreckage and smiled a smile so bright, it changed the Time Lord and television drama and the whole bloody culture for good and for better.

It really is the most fascinating show because it changes, changes, changes... and yet, it stays the same. 'Doctor Who is all about to change!' say the fans, but I sit here planning the next story in which a police box lands and the Doctor steps out and foils an invasion of Earth thinking to myself, well, is it? But I know what you mean. The feel of the show changes, the essence. Jo and the Doctor and that silver car are a different world, a different style, almost a different genre to Clara facing a Raven on Trap Street.

And now, in 2023, that high-wire-tension of approaching change is in the air. The Doctor mysteriously has a face he's had before. And by the time December rolls around, he'll have yet another new face, in a show that now drops worldwide on a vast streaming platform -- new and old at the same time, as it still stays cradled in its Saturday night home of the good old BBC.

But as I said. Voices are louder this year. Shouting and rage and horror sometimes circle around Doctor Who. And often, that's not about Doctor Who itself, it's expressing anger and fear about life, about love, about self. And I get that! These discussions are us, growing up. In the old days we'd sit in our bedroom and work out the world all on our own. We could only sing along to pop songs to express our lovely,lonely hearts. Now, we type it out, and that's always going to be clumsy. Because expressing yourself isn't easy. Even birthday cards are hard work! So trying to say what you think about life and love and sex and telly in the form of words typed on a page and read by strangers, oh, nightmare! No wonder it goes wrong. But now...

I think there's only one way to meet the changes to come.

With joy.

I'm not asking for good reviews (I've got myself for that, I think these episodes are FABULOUS!) But if you don't like the something, don't exhaust yourself. Just smile and be glad that some people are happy and wait for the next Seismic Shift to come.

Because this programme has trained us well! We have embraced flying cars and the Red Button and the Watcher and the Garm and hey, maybe 'granddaughter' is Gallifreyan for 'friend' (though I don't think so) which means we can delight in anything. And right now, the TARDIS is heading for Skaro, and a wounded spaceship is heading for London, and Shaun is taking an extra shift in his taxi cos he's short of money, and Sylvia is delivering a curry and Donna Noble's daughter needs to go shopping for eyes -- for eyes?! -- and as all these things converge, hold on tight, clutch those tins of beans, cos the next earthquake is rumbling away on the horizon.

Here we go again!

[plethora-of-imagines]

Okay I saw a piece of art by aelizel and it was of dhawan!master and whittaker!doctor as cats and it gave me an idea for a request (this may sound like a silly request so I do apologise)

May I please make a Dhawan!master x reader request where the master is working on a machine or device to capture the doctor but something "goes wrong" and he is turned into a cat as a result. The reader has to fix the device (with the master's help) and after a few hours they eventually do so and the master is turned back into his true appearance. (Maybe once the master is changed back the reader is "accidentally" turned into a cat by the master and the reader and eventually the master turns the reader back to normal, say after a few hours)

If you're not comfortable then that's okay, have a nice night/day

Bursting out into a wild fit of laughter at what had just occurred. Almost passing out from your lack of breath and tears. A disgruntled, drawn out “meow” the only complaint the Master could make.

“Awww,” finally really looking him over you saw that he was the most adorable fluffy grey cat. “You look so cuddly Master!”

You could tell he didn’t approve of your reaction to his misfortuine. Why was it that cats could always show there displeasure so well...?

Glancing over at the strange machine you assumed had to be responsible for the mess you were already lost.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just live on as a cat? You’ll get nine lives and all so its not too different is it?”

You really didn’t want to deal with trying to fix whatever had gone wrong with the machine. 

“Ow!”

Sharp pain covered your hand. He bit you! Dragging your hand over to his tools with all of his small kitten strength.

“Why are your teeth so sharp!” Complaining as you let him drag your hand over to the tools.

God, you hoped he had a smarter plan for communicating that biting you.

Sitting on your shoulder, purring up a storm the Master waited for you to make the final adjustments. He had put up with your dozens of breaks so that you could cuddle him and take hundreds of pictures. Jumping off of you just in time for the machine to work its magic.

Shaking off the odd feeling of his body changing again the Master turned to you with a grin that spoke mischief.

“I have to wonder what you would look like as a cat, love. It’s only fair to let me have a turn playing with you.”

Squealing at you tried to run away you didn’t manage to escape before the Master had shrunk you down into a feline size. Hissing - as somehow that was the instinctual sound you made- as he picked you up and cradled you in his arms.

Growling content slowly as the warmth of his arms made you feel the need to purr. Gosh, purring was as wonderful a sensation as you imagined it would be.

“How cute,” the Master cooed as you prepared for a pleasant cat nap in his arms.

This was a mistake you could get behind.

(392 words)

[roxannepolice]

This is one of those "ranting so maybe I'll sleep and stop spilling salt on other people's posts" post, and I'm also setting out on a dean hunt tomorrow which is unnerving, but I guess I have thoughts about episodes that are 1-16 years old.

I'm not going to link that lovely gifset of the Masters talking about being a/the Doctor because I don't like to associate my negativity with other people's hard work, but damn if that didn't leave me gritting my teeth. Not the gifset, of course, just the idea that this is somehow a logical development.

I have ranted way too many times about how there's nothing logical whatsoever about POTD, but really, this isn't the case of a good idea poorly executed, this is the case of the author not understanding what his idea even is. This wasn't supposed to be just a body swap (which would have been SO GOOD, just imagine Whittaker and Dhawan having an occasion for acting tour de forces, imagine Yaz having to say all that sanctimonious stuff about the Doctor having people who love her in the face of the woman she loves rather than a guy who left her on a crashing plane, imagine Whittaker!Master exposing all of Yaz's feelings and mocking her with infos about all the previous companions left behind, something the Master explicitly plays at in the episode, but it wasn't pulled to its full potential, damn it's like Chibs was actively avoiding good ideas!), this was supposed to be the Master somehow becoming everything the Doctor is. And the effect is so so so bloody empty? Like, my first thought was, huh, so will this be about how the same experiences do not shape the same people? As in, now that the Master knows all the pain the Doctor went through, but also the wonder and the beauty, and yes, also their ongoing affection for him, he'll still choose to be evil? Kinda pessimistic, but interesting. Then the episode started pushing the idea that the companions make the Doctor who they are, and my interpretation... could still work, but there the message becomes somewhat messier - again, if the love of people around the Doctor made them who they are, then shouldn't those experiences affect or at least be acknowledged by the Master?

And then I had an oh. right. moment as I realised none of this was thought of - the Master simply doesn't have the Doctor's memories or else he would know who Fugitive!Doctor is. So, what exactly happened in that episode? Genuine question, because the episode sure acts like there was some subjective difference for the Master? Damn, it's just so empty.

I don't think there's much to say about Missy's scene, because it oozes irony, which is great and badly needed, but I might as well commit sacrilege and say I never understood the Doctor's logic in putting the have you thought about the fact that you'll die into his speech, like which one is it: be kind without witness or reward, to thy own self be true or remember thou art mortal?

Which leaves me with the Saxon introduction. And look, I understand it's tiresome when people pander to RTD and I'm not saying his era is flawless but it does do one thing later eras avoid: it doesn't tell you what to think. With his writing, I feel like interpretation is really an act of communication, rather than explanation of a thesis. There just plain is no preaching. And the Master isn't there to tell me stuff about the Doctor, he's there on his own terms. He's not trying to aggrevate the Doctor when he uses the title, he doesn't even know he's there for his election speech. No, he's there to act as proper dark mirror, to show how all of that genius can be used for evil, to be the baddie Doctor. He doesn't aspire to be the Doctor, he's already in the process of "saving" humanity by bringing the Toclafane over with a paradox. This is a gortesque parody of the whole concept of sustaining life! The Toclafane are humanity cannibalising itself, just as the Master will in EoT, exposing the darkness of maintaininig existence at all costs. At this point in the writing the Master isn't just defined by the Doctor, he defines him in return in a beautiful dialectic dalliance, keep in mind this trilogy is when we find up just how fucked up changing history is, this is what the Doctor holds against the Master, it's not "but you're killing people :(", it's "but you're changing history"! I know the tempation of reading the Wonder what I'd be without you in a purely shippy way, but ffs let it not cloud the fact that this is post-TLV Doctor talking, he knows the villain he could have been IF HE DIDN'T HAVE SOMEONE TO DEFINE HIMSELF AGAINST ALL THIS TIME.

Since I'm venting I might as well say this: this "development" is why I would really prefer the show to take a break from the Master for a while. Yes, a cameo in the 60th would be great, but until the show has a need for THE MASTER rather than A DIFFERENT TIME LORD TO EXPLAIN WHY THE DOCTOR IS AWESOME, idk, just resurrect the War Chief or sth.

This isn't just about sentiments, this is about two completely different perspectives on the universe. Let that ring out again.