Hi! About the ficlets requests, would you be willing to a Twelve x Missy x River? It doesn't have to be shippy on the Missy x River end, just some domesticity and Twelve vexed by his two crime wives :D
I am so sorry this took me almost a week to write, but here you go!
It starts, innocently enough, with the sugar bowl. Or, rather, the contents therein. The Doctor knows that, under normal circumstances, the TARDIS refills the thing every week, and uses a specific kind of sugar from a very narrow span of Earth's history that he's quite fond of. So, when he makes himself some tea and takes a sip to find that his sugar's been replaced with ricin he is - rather understandably, in his opinion - annoyed.
Of the two main culprits, this practically screams Missy, and so that is who the Doctor sets off to find. He checks her usual haunts first; the music room, the library, her workshop. All to no avail.
He's halfway down the hall to Missy's favorite kitchen when he catches a glimpse of blonde curls and does a double take. Standing in a doorway on a stepladder, with something that looks suspiciously like a packet of sedative power in one hand and a glue gun in the other, is River.
"When did you get back?" the Doctor asks, raising his eyebrows. "The expedition was supposed to last four days."
"It's been six, dear, there was an incident with a giant squid," River replies absently. "Can you give me a hand?"
"With what, exactly?"
She rolls her eyes and gets down off the stepladder. "Setting a trap for your lovely enemy, obviously. Someone rigged my bedroom to invert itself when I tried to take a shower, and I know it wasn't you because you're not being smug about it."
"That would explain the poison, then. She's feeling needy," the Doctor mutters. "You know, retaliating only encourages her."
River gives him a look as though he's said something stupid. He's rather used to it by now, though he's not sure what he's done to earn it this time.
"Yes," she says slowly. "That's why I'm doing it. Now, are you going to help or not?"
(FX3)SAN FRANCISCO, May 8--PLAYFUL PINCH FOR HER HUSBAND-- As Soviet cosmonaut Gherman Titov gets a playful pinch on the cheek from his wife Tamara, he gestures toward the photographer recording this incident. Witnesses said he became angry with the photographer recording this incident. The cheek-pinching took place in the back seat of a limousine after they toured San Francisco Bay today. (AP WIREPHOTO)(hd2030ex) 1962
-----
(You should’ve seen what your astronauts counterparts put up with while being photographed, Ghera)
So please give me some prompts or anything so that I can start to write again for Doctor/Master especaly 3/Delgado and 5/Ainley but I haven`t seen the newest season yet so please nothing about 13 or Dhawn I swear I will try my best
My Writing
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Twelfth Doctor, Missy
Pairing: Doctor/Missy
Summary: It’s early days in the Vault. For @colorofmymindposts
*Links are still broken afaik, but it’s also on my AO3!*
The Doctor could not believe this. He stared across all the various properties, all her installations placed with strategic care, and looked to his own comparatively pathetic arsenal. She was poised to ruin him, and it didn’t seem to bother her one bit.
“Another house on Mayfair?”
“That is what I said, yes.” Missy held the colorful paper bills between her thumb and forefinger, waving them like a fan. “I believe I have the capital for it.”
“But you’ve already got two on Park Lane, and you own all the stations!” The Doctor protested, gesturing down at the Monopoly board between them.
It had seemed a good idea at the time. His oldest friend had spent an entire year in the Vault with no serious escape attempts. He’d thought she might enjoy something a little more diverting than the books, but she seemed to be taking the opportunity to indulge in crushing her enemies underfoot. The enemy in this case being him.
“Well, what’s wrong with that? It’s hardly my fault you’re hopeless at this game. You’re supposed to buy properties and wring every last cent out of your unsuspecting visitors.”
He pursed his lips, taking care to enunciate each syllable as he said, “That’s not the sort of thing good people do, Missy.”
Missy examined her fingernails, deaf to any pleading or appeal to a higher ideal. “Haven’t I made my point clear by now? I’m the bad one, the one who doesn’t care about anyone.” She abandoned her digital inspection and leaned across the board with a leer. “Now then, I believe that’s you bankrupt, my dear Doctor. Unless you’d like to make a backroom deal with the banker.”
The banker, of course, was Missy. She’d insisted. That probably should have been the first warning sign.
The Doctor swallowed once as he tracked her slow approach with his eyes. This was going to be a long 999 years.
Pairings: Twelfth Doctor/Missy (implied), Bill Potts/Heather
Warnings: Major Character Death, Alternate Ending to series 10, Major Canon Divergence
Rating: Teen and Up Audiences
Status: Complete but part two of my The Doctor Falls series (You don’t have to read part one to understand what’s going on)
Word Count: 2800
Summary: When the Doctor falls, Missy rises.
Tags: Heavy Angst, With cute lesbians, While Missy is sad
I don’t know if the tagging system is still messed up, but you can read this work on ao3 under my username colorofmymind! Kudos and comments will be much appreciated!
With a gasp, all the air rushes into her lungs. Everything at once feels completely at rights and out of control, her hearts beating at a pace she knows goes against their natural rhythm, but they should not be beating at all. A calculation taking the span of a nanosecond tells her she needs her hearts going at least eighty beats per minute if she is going to survive, so she simultaneously counts her breaths and adjusts their volume to achieve this rate. Simply put, it’s a manual override of her basic biological functions. Her eyelids had fluttered open with the sudden rush of air, but she’s only managed to blink stupidly, frustratingly, as her eyes operating at full capacity— unlike her hearts, lungs, and other vital organs—are not necessary for her to stay alive.
Staying alive, surviving, carrying on. With all her experience, so innately a part of her core, Missy has a more complex and nuanced knowledge than any other creature in the universe on the most universal want: the perpetual avoidance of death, of end. At one time, that came at any price. In this case, however, there is a discrepancy even her beautiful, brilliant brain can’t account for. Perhaps it’s because her brain is functioning at the level of a 21st century backup generator, but that is really besides the point right now.
She should not be alive right now.
There had been no contingency plan in place because in no scenario had she considered her past self’s somewhat deserved retaliation. There are no Time Lords who could have saved her this time; she is the last Time Lady they would ever spend their resources on now. Yet, unmistakably, she lay on the same ground where she flirted with death once more and had somehow been revived, like a debtor of a long overdue payment miraculously having escaped the clutches of his dreaded collector.
Logic rules that there can only be one other alternative, an impossible one but so is he (irritatingly and incredibly so). The thought of Doctor flashes to the front her mind, and she sits up faster than she had fallen. She cries out immediately upon doing so, her hands arresting the spot where she’d been shot with the Laser Screwdriver, which flares as if in a hot rage. Gritting her teeth, she casts about for her umbrella and finds it quickly enough. Her body and voice cry out once again in resistance as she uses her umbrella to leverage herself to a standing position, the pain from the shot still as intense as it was before.
That answers one question. She hasn’t been healed, something has merely enabled her hearts to restart, so it is likely that she has very well lost the ability to regenerate. Whatever she does now, she’ll have to do with trepidation and care. Still, it’s certainly not the worst body she’s been stuck in, and at that she laughs to herself. She’s done this entirely to herself, a thought that has often crossed her mind over the last 70 years. While her past self has probably long since reached his TARDIS and regenerated into her current incarnation, there is some irony in his actions. His plan having failed at ending her life, she’ll be stuck in this state for the foreseeable future, a Time Lady who has realized the errors of her past and wants to do what’s right, everything he despised and feared becoming.
With that she sets off through the forest to find the Doctor. The trees thin as she traces her path back to the settlement, and the distinctive scents of fire and burning metal begin to assault her senses. Missy quickens her pace, trepidation and care forgotten as she spots the Cybermen bodies by the dozens littering the ground around her, the smell of ash and smoke and death clinging to the air like petrichor after a storm, one she knows the Doctor has brought down on this land.
“Doctah!” Her shriek echoes in the barren wasteland. She’s running now without abandon, eyes scanning the area for any sign of him when she notices the girl, Bill her memory supplies, standing besides her curiously wet companion, but that can’t be possible, she looks undoubtedly human again—
The next thing Missy knows her face is in the dirt and the ash, and every part of her body aches with acute degree. She drags her feet over the Cyberman body she must have tripped over in her distracted state. Her umbrella probably had been flung some distance away from her fall, so she sticks her right hand out, latching onto an arm, that should be enough to support her into a sitting position at least, when a sickening realization hits her. The arm isn’t metal. She snaps her head upward to look, to prove it isn’t true, it can’t be.
It is him. Undeniably. The Doctor lays in ash and debris like a forgotten soldier, the red inner lining of his coat splayed out by his sides as though he lay in his own pool of blood. She stares in silence, gathering herself to sit besides him and take one of his hands in her own to feel for anything, a pulse, regeneration energy, even a device to feign the appearance of death.
Nothing.
She stops breathing for several seconds herself; it’s an uncontrollable response, out of respect for her fallen friend who long since took his last breath. His sonic screwdriver is gripped in his other hand, which she lifts out of his grasp, inspecting it for an answer, something, that might restore him. The last action performed by the device had been a sonic pulse, causing a mass explosion of the Mondasian Cybermen but also must have rippled across the entirety of Level 507. This was the catalyst for her hearts restarting. He had saved her one last time, without even knowing it.
“Missy!” A voice she faintly recognizes as the human girl’s shouts at her. “What the hell are you doing here? Where have you been?! We thought you’d run off!”
She lets out a shaky breath before replying, never tearing her gaze away from the Doctor. “Is that what he told you?”
“I,” Bill starts and falters. After a moment or so she answers, “He didn’t say anything about what happened with you. Either version of you.”
Missy blinks away the tears forming in her eyes and finally looks up and away from the Doctor. Here and now is not the place for her grief, at least not in front of his companion and...whoever this other girl is. Missy actually has no idea where she came from.
“You’re...human again,” she comments lamely.
“Oh! Well, sort of, not really,” Bill denies bizarrely and incomprehensibly. “I’m in a body that looks like the one I was in when I was a human, but I’m still technically dead. That’s actually me over there.”
She points over to a fallen Cyberman a few meters away. “Heather saved me,” she finishes with a beaming smile with eyes only for the wet blonde girl Missy presumes to be Heather standing to Bill’s right.
“How romantic,” Missy says, trying not to sound sardonic. These humans and their happy endings. The universe has none to spare for her. That’s probably right.
“The Doctor would have been glad to see you’ve found happiness, as am I.” Bill looks at Missy curiously, the disbelief transparent on her features. “I was the one who caused you to become a Cyberman in the first place, no matter which incarnation caused it. Perhaps it was both of our faults. In any case, it should have never happened. I’m glad to see that this is one of my mistakes that has reversed itself,” she explains.
Bill looks back to Heather, seeming to wordlessly reaffirm that she had in fact heard those words come from Missy. In all fairness, Missy had been introduced to this companion of his as a “monster” and she even self-admitted to throwing a little girl down a volcano. A little skepticism of her goodness is to be expected, healthy even.
“I can’t believe it. I thought you were a monster, and the last ten years only made me more sure of that,” Bill confesses, the weight of those ten years visible in the set of her shoulders, the intensity of her gaze and the pain behind it. “But, even after all that, and everything you did to me, which was awful and cruel, I’ve realized maybe he wasn’t wrong. The Doctor, I mean. You have turned good. At least enough of you has.”
Missy opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Just a short time ago, she would have laughed and scoffed at a human attempting to give her wisdom and judge her character, in fact she had done so in the past.“No, I’ve not turned good,” Missy had said to Clara after her accusation of the contrary, killing two men in the square to prove it. One of them had been a married man with a child, she recalls. She had held onto that for so long, the belief she was bad, irredeemable and revelled in it. Her time in the Vault has taken care of that last problem at least, but she could never be sure of the former two. But if a woman who has been tortured by her for ten years can see a glimpse of morality in her, then perhaps...perhaps that is something.
“Bill, I think it’s time to go,” Heather says.
Ah, that does bring up a good point. She is alive but still requires transport. So does the Doctor. They had left each other to die on battlefields before, this is true, but it was different then. It was their battleground, the center stage, one or none of them left as the curtain drew to a close on that adventure, always the promise of rage, the game, of return. This is and is not her battleground. Yes, her former self in a way created and enabled it, but he’d abandoned it, no final climactic fight with the Doctor. The Master and Missy reserved that honor for each other. She was not here, either version, to battle the Doctor or protect him, and for that very reason alone, he must certainly be dead.
She thinks briefly back to two weeks ago, when she flippantly vowed “If somebody kills you and it's not me, we'll both be disappointed.” That was the planned end, always, scripted from the day they’d broken their pact to travel the universe together and faced each other as best enemies. But it was theoretical at best, they always survived one way or another, and it all started again. She wonders what he must have thought, possibly what he said, before he died. Missy cards her fingers through the Doctor’s mess of grey curls, only for smoky ash to lodge under her nails. She instead opts for holding his hand, once warm in her own just hours ago, turned cold.
Bill protests, “But the Doctor—and Missy—we can’t just leave them.”
Missy looks up once again, surprised. While Bill has obviously somewhat reevaluated Missy’s character, she was not expecting an offer for help, at least not for herself.
“Of course we can’t. And we’re not going to,” Heather grins back.
Before Missy can properly register it, she’s travelling with incredible speed through time and space, until she’s greeted with the warm psychic presence of the Doctor’s TARDIS. Simple as that, she’s back within these walls. So is the Doctor, still beside her, his hand held by hers. Bill and Heather stand to the side.
“I suppose this is the only place he’d rest in peace. If there’s any place he’d do that,” Bill remarks.
Missy notices the blonde one starting to move for the controls, and with that she’s up and blocking the girl’s path, although with much more difficulty than she’d like. (She really must look into what the TARDIS has in terms of pain medication.)
“Oi! What do you think you’re doing? This is a very complicated sentient space time capsule that requires a careful and knowledgeable hand to guide her. She may just seem like a second-hand gas stove at first, but she’s really like a sweet, unreliable old dog, and only a few people know how to take care of her,” she explains with a silly if strained simile. Humans seem to respond better to that than just her shouting she’s superior, even if it’s true.
“I want to pilot us away from the spaceship, and I know how to fly her,” Heather insists, pulling the lever to start dematerialization. “I’m the Pilot. I can fly anything.”
“Really!” Bill exclaims.
“Yeah,” Heather replies with a wink. “You’re not an exception either.”
Rolling her eyes, Missy takes this opportunity to continue piloting them away while the lovebirds chatter away with their innuendoes and desires and promises. At least, she thinks that’s what they’re doing at any rate.
“So I’m like you now. I’m not human anymore.”
“I can make you human again. It's all just atoms. You can rearrange them any way you like. I can put you back home, you can make chips, and live your life, or you can come with me. It's up to you, Bill, but, before you make up your mind—” Heather rushes to the doors, opening them before Missy has any time to stop her. Luckily for all of them, they are in Quadrant 3 of this galaxy and not the time vortex. A single blue supergiant illuminates the blackness of space. Any protests she had formed quickly fail her, instead captured by the beauty of the star. She cannot remember a time before now where she could admire something like this; a star burning, something she could always appreciate, but of its own accord, a master to none like her. And that’s okay now.
Missy realizes that she has long tuned out the ongoing conversation until Bill is suddenly in her line of sight. Bill has her lips pursued, clearly about to say something she’s conflicted about but has deemed important enough to share.
“Missy, I’m leaving—with Heather. A lot of things have obviously changed since we got on that spaceship together: you, me, Nardole, and the Doctor,” Bill declares, casting a glance at the Doctor lying still on the console floor. “I think somehow I still want to travel the universe after all this, but that’s going to happen with Heather from now on. I’m also okay with leaving because I really believe you can take care of yourself now and the TARDIS. You have before anyways. Just really try not to be like that bloke that came before you, alright?”
Missy has no idea how to respond. Of course, it’s not like she wanted Bill and her gal pal crowding up the TARDIS, but she also has no clue as to where to go next with the Doctor’s TARDIS and his lifeless body on her own.
“Oh and another thing, yeah? Whether the Doctor’s dead or not, I don’t want anything bad to happen to him. You have to take care of him. Promise me,” Bill’s voice shook.
It doesn’t take her a second to respond. “Of course.” In any scenario, she would always be there for the Doctor. A memory she’d not been trying to recall, of “Love is a promise” in his voice spoken in a graveyard, reverberates in her brain suddenly. She forces down it, down below the endless layers of freshly surfaced regrets, where she hopes to never recover it.
Bill nods and then turns away, walking in a semicircle until she reaches the Doctor’s side and kneels beside him.
“You know what, old man? I'm never going to believe you're really dead. Because one day everyone's just going to need you too much. Until then,” Bill bends down to kiss his cheek. “It's a big universe, but I hope I see you again.Where there's tears, there's hope.” Her voice cracks at the last sentence, and Missy cannot find it within herself to chide the human’s sentimentality even in her own head. Bill stands finally, going to join her star-eyed lover.
“Just one thing. I've been through a lot since the last time we met, so I'll show you around.”
They clasp hands, and jump out of the TARDIS, flying on an unknown path, sure to include a variety of attractions and dangers with it. Plenty of love and kindness as well. As the TARDIS doors slam shut, Missy knows they will be more than fine.
I won second prize in a Mass Effect art giveaway and @rawliverandcigarettes made this amazing sketch of my spouses glowering at each other <3 <3 (I think they're also taking commissions if you like the work)
