#show tunes

[Image ID: Two digital illustrations. The first one depicts the Doctor from Scream of the Shalka from the chest up. He is wearing a green waistcoat, white shirt, and a thin black tie. He has his arms outstretched with a baffled look on his face. Below him is a text caption reading “They’re not even show tunes!”. The second illustration depicts the Master from Scream of the Shalka from the chest up, wearing a grey nehru suit. He has an angry and shocked look on his face. Both illustrations have a warm golden tone. /End ID]

Show Tunesby@fatalcookies

In which the Master endeavors to sculpt his communication style to the Doctor’s needs, and inadvertently makes a playlist.

Written by @fatalcookies

“Jennie here, nefarious h/c writer, Shalka fan, and wannabe fandom grandma.”

Art by @space-boy-art

“Hey y'all! I’m Fig, and I draw whatever currently suits my fancy! I’m just vibin bro”

So?” the Master asks.

He does not feel the best balanced, for all of this. Neither of them have sought apologies nor reconciliations since their last spat. The Doctor is a smidge too skeptical and surprised and the Master, skirting too close to a boorishly-spoken truth for his own taste.

At least, he reflects, it puts us both out of our depth.

“Can’t imagine what you’re getting up to,” the Doctor grumbles. He does, however, begin to properly extricate himself from beneath the console.

The first spark of attention was promising. The Master simply has to settle himself in the knowledge that, if this works, it will be worth the effort and any mortification suffered along the way.

“I can’t imagine what you mean by that.”

The Doctor places his tools down with a slight clatter and shoots a look the Master’s way. “You’re scheming,” he accuses as he approaches, stopping short before the Master, and awkwardly opens his hands.

After a moment to organize their respective hands—placing one of the Doctor’s hands upon his waist, posing his elbow appropriately, taking hands on the other side while his last finally settles upon the Doctor’s shoulder—after that, the Master meets the Doctor’s gaze and quirks a brow. “I? Scheme?” He tsks softly. “The very thought , my dear. Come—step out to the side now, won’t you? No, with the right, if you please. Right, left, rock-step, repeat. Simple as you like.”

“This is ridiculous,” the Doctor says, but the tone is not grumbling any longer, just pointed and matter-of-fact. The Master decides to take that as a good sign.