a downward spiral, just a pirouette personal triggers
getting worse till there's nothing left. what good comes of something when i'm just the ghost of nothing?

i'm just the man on the balcony, singing 'nobody will ever remember me.' rejoice, rejoice, and fall to your knees.

lunatic of a god or a god of a lunatic? oh, their faces are dancing, they're dancing, till they can't stand it. composer but never composed, singing the symphonies of the overdosed.

independent rp blog for the master from doctor who. fc: gemma arterton. follows back selectively.

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for angels who look like death

My death will probably be caused by me being sarcastic at the wrong time.

━ (via sorelatable)

smaug-of-the-dead:

Thank you Mr Hartnell for this brief summary.

tenthdoctor-allonsy:

He sighed, his hands running through his hair in a exasperation act. “Why— Why do you have to be like this? Seriously, what is wrong with leaving them alone?” The Doctor was now speaking in a much higher tone than before. “Leave. them. alone. You want fun? Go find it somewhere else. Don’t you dare playing your games with me, Master. Not again. I’m tired of your sick tricks.”

"And I’m tired of your arrogance. This isn’t about you. In fact, I think there are a quite a few people here apart from me who’d feel at least vaguely affronted by the notion," the Master retorted. "Why do you have to leave them alone? What’s wrong with ruling them - and don’t you dare spout a damn thing to me about non-interference, because that’s just hypocrisy.”

The Master tapped a book sitting on her desk. “This planet has a history of near-constant civil war. One week ago, an earthquake tore through the southern continent, and almost an entire country ended up underwater. If they were at war still, the population would have sunk with them. But they didn’t.”

lunaticfangs just mentioned valerian and I’m cracking up because I tried valerian for my insomnia and all it did was give me really bizarre, vivid dreams that made me very uncomfortable when I woke up.

I have a perfect cure for a sore throat: cut it.

━ Alfred Hitchcock (via harlequinzel)

themasterofwhat:

And I’m sorry. About the Dani thing. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have - I’ve been there, and every time it was someone who wasn’t me I wanted to just.

Do what you wanted to do. So I didn’t stop you from doing it.

[Oh god, it’s like now that she’s started talking, she can’t

[She laughed a little, at that comment.]

That’s not the point. Half the point to an apology is admitting it. If you sit on it, it doesn’t mean much.

And it doesn’t take omniscience to conclude that it’s been a while since the last time anyone apologized to you, if ever. People like you and me get blamed for everything - and that makes other people think it’s okay to just skip out on their apologies. They look at the big picture, because they don’t want to admit they were wrong. I’m not in the habit of keeping my mouth shut, not even when it’s something I don’t particularly want to admit.

[She isn’t going to voice her other suspiciooin, about the hug. Some things are better left unsaid. The Master starts to pull away, stops, and considers it for a moment. Before she lets go, she presses a quick kiss to the side of his head, because what the hell. She’s always charitable when she’s miserable.]

Thank you.

Dear Master,

I know you’re lonely most of the time, but you need to stop adopting strays, literally and figuratively. Yes, thus far, they’re all just as desperate and lonely as you are, and equally grateful for the companionship, but one day you’re going to get in too deep with someone who doesn’t want anything but to use and/or hurt you, and it’s not going to be pretty.

I know it’s nice to be needed and accepted and all, and I know that after a centuries long cycle of mutual abuse that these relationships you’re cultivating with awful people look comparatively healthy, but they’re really not.

Also, you can’t take care of all these cats. You’re running out of time, and you’re a fucking Time Lord. How does that even work.

Love,
The Mun

popping onto mobile for a bit. forgive the messy formatting, should the need for it arise.

oldtimescratch:

[o] 

[o]: Really, he did. She didn’t have to say a single word. All she needed to do was keep on hugging him because wow had he almost forgotten how good something like this felt. 

[o]: He holds onto her for as long as she’ll let him, and comforts her as best he can. Sometimes what everyone needs is just a good old fashioned hugging it out. He was rather happy that he could be that for someone.

And I’m sorry. About the Dani thing. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have - I’ve been there, and every time it was someone who wasn’t me I wanted to just.

Do what you wanted to do. So I didn’t stop you from doing it.

[Oh god, it’s like now that she’s started talking, she can’t stop, almost. It takes a conscious, monumental effort to do so. But the Master still doesn’t let go, because she has her suspicions. Assholes like Scratch, and Ravensdale, and herself - they’re not the sort of people that other people willingly touch with a 50 foot pole, if they can avoid it, and it seems to her that that sort of people are sometimes the ones who need it most.]

oldtimescratch:

[o]: Ah yes, perfect. As the Master starts to crumble in his arms, the Guardian does nothing more than pat her back gingerly and whisper words of reassurance into her ear. Well, more like into her mind but you get the deal. He was not judging her, for how could he? He was just as needy for the attention as she was.

[o] 

[o]: When was the last time he had a hug? Oh ages ago, really. It was so nice to be embraced, especially by someone like the Master herself. It made him feel fuzzy inside, which was a nice change from the pain and the light headedness and just the all around crud that he was getting lately. All with his consent of course but you know.

[It takes the Master a while to rein in her emotions, which are currently hitting her quite hard. It’s always like this - it builds, and builds, until one day it explodes, whether it’s anger or sadness or disappointment or any number of feelings.]

[Eventually, what distracts her enough to stop crying is the fact that this hug is kind of weird. It feels like hugging a stuffed toy that’s hugging back, and that’s so bizarre.]

I don’t… hate you that much… I’m just…

[She trails off. The only way she can end that sentence that doesn’t sound utterly stupid is “absolutely insane”.]

oldtimescratch:

[o]: There’s a smile that lingers in the air as he’s offered the knife.

[o] 

[o]: Now he could just turn it around on her and stab her right in the chest, for she clearly deserves it after all she’s done to him but no, no… He’s just going to make it disappear so neither of them can use it. Now come on, open yourself up and embrace him. He could use it too, you know.

[She wants to scream at him for a split second, because she doesn’t want to deal with her feelings. She never does. She would rather be distracted. Hell, she probably wouldn’t have gotten too upset if he had tried to kill her just then.]

[She’s just about to open her mouth to start complaining or screaming, she’s not sure which yet, when it suddenly dawns on her that for the last thirty seconds or so, a couple of tears have been steadily making their way down her face, and that’s when the Master gives up and gives in, throwing her arms around him and clinging to him as though her life depends on it, because hey, it’s not like anyone else is volunteering.]

[She makes a noise that might be a sob being choked back, but no one can prove that.]

Give my character a “character shaming” label

askjackfire:

(i.e. ‘I ate all he cookies in the house and lied about it with crumbs over my face’)

oldtimescratch:

[o]: Come on now, dear, there’s no reason to be so tsundere. He’s here, waiting for you to make up your mind to either punch him or cave in and snuggle up to his plush body. You know you want to. He knows you want to. Look at how inviting he is.

[She takes half a step forward, still unable to decide what to do. The pain she’s feeling right now is decidedly not the fun kind.]

I-

[The Master really doesn’t feel like starting a fistfight. She just doesn’t have the energy. She’s just about to cave, biting her lip so hard she can taste blood - and instead, she pulls a knife on him.]

[But instead of trying to stab him with it, she offers it to him, handle-first, without a word.]

oldtimescratch:

[o]

[Conflicting emotions, indeed. She doesn’t know whether to say no, laugh at him, ignore him, or worse - actually say yes, and then promptly burst into tears.]