DW -- Masterminds
Title: Masterminds
Fandom: Doctor Who X Death Note
Pairing: (sort of) Simm!Master/Light
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 515
Warnings: crossovery goodness, brief language, spoilers through 3.13
Prompt: Master/Light
Summary: Japan is burning, and from its wreckage, the Master has salvaged a nice new toy.
Author's Note: This, too, was originally anon. When I saw the prompt, I knew it was either going to be cracky or kind of brutal, and it favors the latter. Unfortunately, it won't have much of an impact unless you're relatively versed in both fandoms.
MASTERMINDS
The tall, brown-haired boy stands silhouetted by the window, spine rigid, hands folded, pretending that he doesn’t feel the tear-streaks gleaming on his cheeks. A drop slides to his chin and hangs there, swelling, sparking like a diamond in the sunlight, as the young man watches his home burn to nothing. Hundreds of thousands die as he observes the flames, which flare red and orange in the gaps between torrents of smoke.
The Master flings his swivel chair into another spin, and then he rockets out of it and deliberately crashes into Yagami Raito, who turns to look at him at last. There’s terror in that gaze-fathomless, inescapable, animal terror, the hopeless fear of prey that feels the predator’s claws.
“What’s wrong with you?” Raito spits, clenched fists shaking at his sides.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” the Master asks, motioning to the crumbling nation, to the disappearing history, to the millions of tiny timelines cutting off. “Kira? Don’t be jealous of my success.”
Tears cling to Raito’s eyelashes, angry ones to join their desolate brethren. “I wanted to fix it, rule it, purge it-you-you’re destroying-”
“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” the Master prompts, throwing an arm around the boy’s tight shoulders. “I think destruction is extremely pure.”
Raito tenses even more; he’ll strain something in a minute. “You don’t have a name. It’s squiggles. Incomprehensible.”
The Master lets go and slaps him, hard and openhanded. Raito reels, tumbling to the floor, and his horror’s like the smoke below-bursting, billowing, choking him, seizing his pathetic single heart.
“It’s Gallifreyan,” the Master says, “and you should count yourself lucky my laser screwdriver’s been a little finicky the last few days. Must’ve been that homicide marathon the Freak and I had. You’d be amazed how many ways you can kill a human being.”
There’s a different fear in Raito’s eyes now-fear of the unknown. This child has always been the smartest, the brightest, the best, and getting dragged feet-first into a world completely outside of his logical capacity is tearing up his insides.
It’s glorious.
The Master claps his hands and darts back to the window, tapping his fingers on the railing as he admires a particularly stylish plume of black smoke. Something on Hokkaido explodes, and the Master can just see fragments of debris when he squints.
“You’re insane,” Raito says weakly. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”
The Master smiles at him warmly. What Raito’s really scared of is the idea that he’s not.
So the Master crouches down in front of him, smoothes both hands down his chest, and licks the tear trails off of Raito’s cheeks. They’re wonderfully salty and still warm, so he savors it. Raito shivers, grits his teeth, and curls a little closer, because he’s finally realized what this is-a brush with his better, a glimpse of his superior.
You might say he’s met his master.
Fandom: Doctor Who X Death Note
Pairing: (sort of) Simm!Master/Light
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 515
Warnings: crossovery goodness, brief language, spoilers through 3.13
Prompt: Master/Light
Summary: Japan is burning, and from its wreckage, the Master has salvaged a nice new toy.
Author's Note: This, too, was originally anon. When I saw the prompt, I knew it was either going to be cracky or kind of brutal, and it favors the latter. Unfortunately, it won't have much of an impact unless you're relatively versed in both fandoms.
MASTERMINDS
The tall, brown-haired boy stands silhouetted by the window, spine rigid, hands folded, pretending that he doesn’t feel the tear-streaks gleaming on his cheeks. A drop slides to his chin and hangs there, swelling, sparking like a diamond in the sunlight, as the young man watches his home burn to nothing. Hundreds of thousands die as he observes the flames, which flare red and orange in the gaps between torrents of smoke.
The Master flings his swivel chair into another spin, and then he rockets out of it and deliberately crashes into Yagami Raito, who turns to look at him at last. There’s terror in that gaze-fathomless, inescapable, animal terror, the hopeless fear of prey that feels the predator’s claws.
“What’s wrong with you?” Raito spits, clenched fists shaking at his sides.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” the Master asks, motioning to the crumbling nation, to the disappearing history, to the millions of tiny timelines cutting off. “Kira? Don’t be jealous of my success.”
Tears cling to Raito’s eyelashes, angry ones to join their desolate brethren. “I wanted to fix it, rule it, purge it-you-you’re destroying-”
“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” the Master prompts, throwing an arm around the boy’s tight shoulders. “I think destruction is extremely pure.”
Raito tenses even more; he’ll strain something in a minute. “You don’t have a name. It’s squiggles. Incomprehensible.”
The Master lets go and slaps him, hard and openhanded. Raito reels, tumbling to the floor, and his horror’s like the smoke below-bursting, billowing, choking him, seizing his pathetic single heart.
“It’s Gallifreyan,” the Master says, “and you should count yourself lucky my laser screwdriver’s been a little finicky the last few days. Must’ve been that homicide marathon the Freak and I had. You’d be amazed how many ways you can kill a human being.”
There’s a different fear in Raito’s eyes now-fear of the unknown. This child has always been the smartest, the brightest, the best, and getting dragged feet-first into a world completely outside of his logical capacity is tearing up his insides.
It’s glorious.
The Master claps his hands and darts back to the window, tapping his fingers on the railing as he admires a particularly stylish plume of black smoke. Something on Hokkaido explodes, and the Master can just see fragments of debris when he squints.
“You’re insane,” Raito says weakly. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”
The Master smiles at him warmly. What Raito’s really scared of is the idea that he’s not.
So the Master crouches down in front of him, smoothes both hands down his chest, and licks the tear trails off of Raito’s cheeks. They’re wonderfully salty and still warm, so he savors it. Raito shivers, grits his teeth, and curls a little closer, because he’s finally realized what this is-a brush with his better, a glimpse of his superior.
You might say he’s met his master.