#11thsshadow

Koschei had gotten lost from Theta. They had stopped here for fuel so often that it shouldn’t be confusing anymore. But he had lost Theta, which meant he himself got lost in his brief stress. It would be fine, though, because he was being directed by his husband through their psychic link. Trying to describe where he was— albeit, not very well… 

He had cut down a quiet alleyway to try and cut time in finding Theta. Who may have felt his sudden shock at being grabbed at, pulled— and the second that contact was made he tucked away any stray indications of psychic links, putting it all away, essentially hanging up on Theta. As he was pressed to a wall and his head turned up to the source to right them, though… 

That wasn’t Theta. 

Certainly looked like him, though.

But he wasn’t Theta. Wasn’t looking at him remotely close to it. That was the same face, but even briefly it was so different…

What did he have here? 

“H— Hello.” Koschei said cautiously, tilting his head against the brick behind him. Trying not to reveal what he knew all right away. “This… Is a very prolonged mugging, if… That’s what this is.” He said, clearing his throat, eyes wandering over his face to take in what was different. Who he was looking at. Definitely Time Lord. There was no question there. 

They were falling through space and time, falling through the very fabric of the universe, and who even knew where they would land? A different universe, if they were lucky. The void, if they weren’t. And that was assuming that their fall didn’t tear everything open and collapse the walls between the universes. Where would the multiverse be if that happened?

The TARDIS complained, loudly, engines screaming to anyone who would listen. The Doctor could only yell comforting words and encourage her to keep fighting, to get them back to their own universe, and beg her not to leave them stranded in the void. Anywhere but the void.

* * *

Daleks. Daleks and Cybermen fighting over this universe, and where was he? Dead, surely, if he’d done nothing about any of this.

Earth stood an apocalyptic wasteland. He’d have protected them, at least, if he were still around, would he not? He’d have done something, something clever, and he’d have saved them, or he’d have died trying. He searched a while for his own grave in this broken little planet, waiting for the TARDIS to recharge and having no way off-world until it did.

Interdimensional travel. TARDISes - well, they were designed for it, actually, but not for it to happen like that. The walls between the worlds used to be so much easier to traverse, before.

And now?

Well, now he stood in the middle of a battleground - THE battleground, should his sources be correct - armed with nothing but a sonic screwdriver, an abundance of confidence, and a gift for talking until he thought of an actual plan. Or until something else intervened, whichever happened first.

Just the way he liked it.

“Well, now, listen here!” he exclaimed from his spot on a bit of high ground that was just barely protected from the crossfire. He’d made sure this was broadcasting on all frequencies, and that seemed to stop the battle on its tracks, at least. Always handy, that. People had a tendency to stop for surprise announcements.

“You’ve been fighting all over the universe, leaving nothing but a wave of destruction wherever you go. Whole galaxies, gone! All for the glory of your empires. Well, this ends here! This is usually the part where I would tell you to scan me, but I have no idea what’s been going on in this universe, so never mind that, I’ll just introduce myself, shall I? I’m the Doctor, I’m a Time Lord, and if you have any information on me, the right reaction would be to be very, very scared.”

Send “💉💉” to find my muse drugged and tied to a chair after being tortured and missing

It had taken weeks for his captors' attempts at torturing him to stop being pleasurable. They had started on the minor stuff - bloodletting, breaking bones... all things that he'd done to himself before his husband had appeared in his life. Then came the drugs which had initially had no effect in addition to the increasing severity of the torture.

Eventually, it had reached the point where he was so drugged up that he had no sense of what was real and what was just a hallucination caused by pain far beyond anything he'd experienced, going far beyond his limits to the point that he knew that he was barely holding his form together while still being alive. Or was he even alive?

He didn't even know if his agony was real or not. Neither did he know whether he was hallucinating his husband coming to his rescue. Assuming, of course, there was something to rescue besides a nearly formless puddle of gray goo covered in an amalgamation of its own blood and bodily fluids that wasn't its own. Grey eyes rimmed with red eyelids that were redder than usual due to his own tears looked at the figure of the love of its life.

@11thsshadow

Missy licked the corner of her lip, wincing as she drew her lips into a tight smirk and cackled. Blood pooled at the corner of her mouth.

She liked how it tasted.

Dark didn't think he had an audience, didn't expect anyone to follow him. It made for a bigger clean up than he wanted. Yet here he was a body at his feet, blood dripping from his hands, and someone else was there. The only thing stopping him from doing anything was what she said. He cocked his head to side, studying the stranger closely. "I ask the questions first and I want to know... who the fuck are you?" Dark gripped his fists tightly , not making a move just yet. "Did you follow me here?"

"Shit!" the word slipped out, half a gasp, and Gene stepped back so quickly, her back slammed against the back door of the alley. And of course, it had already locked behind her. Of course there was no way forward but down the long, blood-soaked alleyway, cutting between the buildings to the street beyond.

"Mast-" but even before she could stammer out the name, she knew it wasn't him. The figure rising up before her was too tall, and as he turned to face her, the dim lights of the alley caught his face. Different person. Different killer. Jesus fucking Christ, couldn't she ever keep her mouth shut?

"S-sorry!" She swallowed. Forced down the fear that made the American lilt start to press out her perfected false British, and squared her shoulders, lifting her chin. Her heart pounded mercilessly in her chest, but she tried to remember what The Master had told her time and time again; If you're scared? You're dead. Don't ever let them see your fear.

"Hold on," said the Master, clearly deep in thought. His hands were shaking, biting his lip, as if trying to remember what was on the tip of his tongue. "Who are you? Are you someone I know? I haven't seen your face before..."

For someone like her to snap so harshly, something heart-shattering must have happened. It’s not often that she sees herself like this; closed off, cold and hostile, but she knows what usually causes it. It makes pity swirl in emerald eyes, wishing that maybe she could help.

❝ I’m not leavin’ til I know what happened to me. ❞

“Somethin’ different about you, Dark.” She could tell. If nothing but the fact that there wasn’t some FAINT SCENT of blood on him. With a hesitated pause, she moved, her attention turning FULLY to the other man. A small frown appeared on her forehead.