#and i fucking give one to him

[bow-of-aros]

Then Beg

Summary:

“Please, Owen,” Curt gathered his partner’s hands in his own hopefully, “Please, I’m begging you.” Something in the air shifted and Owen slowly withdrew his hands from Curt’s. “Are you?” He cocked his head, “In my opinion, if you were begging, you’d be on your knees.”

Hi folks! I'm swamped with assignments and trying to beat writer's block off with a stick, so this is just something small to keep the creative juices flowing. It's yet another fix-it fic because apparently I can't write anything else for these two and also Owen deserves a hug. If it's bad, no it's not I just refuse to edit it. Hope that y'all enjoy!! <33

Special Agent Curt Mega let his gun clatter to the ground. It went against all his training, against every instinct screaming at him to pull the trigger and finish the job. He was never going to be able though, was he? No matter how many times he told himself that this wasn’t Owen, that the Owen he’d known had died due to his arrogance four years ago, Curt couldn’t bring himself to separate the man he used to be from the man standing in front of him.

For his part, Owen watched the gun fall with mild curiosity, either completely unsurprised or doing an excellent job of hiding it. For all Curt knew, this could���ve been one of the many outcomes Owen had expected and planned for, and he was simply waiting to see how it turned out.

“I won’t.” Curt’s voice echoed through the room, “I won’t do it.”

A small sigh escaped Owen’s lips, the small noise carrying impossible weight, “Won’t do what, Curt? What sort of holier-than-thou bullshit are you going to pull this time?”

And God. In that moment he sounded so much like the Owen that Curt had once known, the Owen that Curt had fallen in love with and grieved all those years ago, that it hurt. Flashes of missions sounded in that question, the fond exasperation now replaced with a weariness that Curt ached to hear.

Now that he’d noticed it, Curt couldn’t help but recognize the other ways in which his partner had changed. His already perfect posture had taken on a forced quality, like the gentleman charm that had used to come so effortlessly to him was now being dredged up by force. Like with every breath that Owen took, he had to remind himself to stand tall, to not show weakness.

That’s what happens when you have to put your body back together after falling several stories and then being exploded by a bomb detonated too early. Not to mention everything he probably went through afterward, waiting for you to come save him while you were too busy drinking and feeling sorry for yourself.

The thought came unbidden, and Curt let it twist the knife already buried hilt-deep in his chest. He’d done this to Owen, he deserved the pain that came with that knowledge.

There are other things. Smaller things. Like a few extra wrinkles around his eyes, scars that weren’t from their missions together, a slower drawl to his voice alongside just the slightest softening of the accent that Curt had loved.

All things that Curt hadn’t been there to see.

“I’m not going to kill you, Owen. I can’t.” Curt sucked in a shuddering breath, “I won’t.”

And Owen laughed at him. It was jarring because that, at least, hadn’t changed. He’d always laughed with his whole body, as though the mirth simply couldn’t be contained in him. Currently, he was folded over at the waist, wiping away tears from where they’d gathered as his laughter took on a manic tinge.

Curt hesitantly leaned in, “Uh, Owen? What—”

“Why the fuck not?” Owen was looking back down at him, a wild gleam in his eyes, “You’ve already done it once! It didn’t seem too difficult from where I was standing. Or, well, falling. Why don’t you just do us both a favour and put me out of my misery?”

All energy had seeped out of him by the end of his plea, and Owen was leaning on the railing, gazing down with what almost seemed like longing.

Curt had never been more terrified than he was at that moment.

Curt took a step forward, empty hands held out in front of him. “Owen, no. Just come back with me, we can figure things out! It’ll be just like old times, alright?”

That snapped Owen out of whatever was going on and he straightened back up, glaring down at Curt as though he hadn’t just asked him to kill him.

“Curt, I am never going back with you, okay? You left me. You watched me fall because of something you did and you didn’t even try to come back for me.” Owen dragged a hand across his face in a desperate attempt to reign himself back in, “You don’t get to say that things can ever be the same because they can’t. Not after what you did.”

And he’s right. Curt could never really make up for what he did, but he could damn well try.

Owen was tired, that much was obvious. He was worn down to the bone and barely had enough to keep on going. It was as though all that anger that had kept him going had just gone up in smoke and he was left with a few smouldering coals.

He stepped forward again, now just one step below Owen, and he noticed one final thing.

The spark in his eyes was gone, and that hurt more than anything else.

“Please, Owen,” Curt gathered his partner’s hands in his own hopefully, “Please, I’m begging you.”

Something in the air shifted and Owen slowly withdrew his hands from Curt’s.

“Are you?” He cocked his head, “In my opinion, if you were begging, you’d be on your knees.”

Well, that wasn’t a no, and Curt Mega had lost the last of his dignity in the weeks following the death of the only person he’d ever loved.

So he sunk down to his knees.

The cold metal stairs bit into his legs and something pressed into a bruise that hurt like a bitch, but Curt never looked away from Owen’s face. His mouth had fallen slightly open, the first sign of shock finally making itself known.

Of course, Owen hadn’t expected Curt Mega to debase himself like this, to physically lower himself to Owen’s feet.

Owen should know that he’s not the only one who’s changed. Curt spent every waking, and most sleeping, moment wishing for just one more chance. He vowed that he would do anything for Owen, would march right into Hell if it would give him even the smallest opportunity to fix what he’d broken.

He was going to do everything he hadn’t on that staircase four years ago.

“Owen,” Curt began, “I’m on my knees, I am begging you to come back with me. I fucked up. I made mistakes on mistakes and you took the fall for it.”

Literally, a voice whispers. Curt decides not to say that out loud.

“I spent four years grieving you, all I wanted was to go back and change everything, to just listen to you for once in my goddamn life. I know I can’t even begin to make it up to you but I’m sure as hell going to try.”

Owen still hadn’t moved, looking down at him with an indistinguishable expression. He didn’t try to say anything which worked just fine for Curt because he wasn’t finished.

“I’m listening to you now, Owe,” A hitch to his breath, a glimmer in his eye, “I heard everything you said about acting. About falling so deep into a role that it consumes you. And this?” Curt gestured around them, “This isn’t you!”

A huff, “It’s been a long time, Curt. I’m not the man you thought you knew.”

He looked almost sad as he said it, and that’s when Curt knew that he couldn’t give up. He couldn’t run away again.

“Maybe not, but I still know you. I know how you wrap yourself up so tightly in someone else’s skin because it’s safer. I know.” Alright, this position is really starting to hurt, time to wrap this up, “You don’t have to be him anymore. The Deadliest Man or whatever you called yourself isn’t going to protect you anymore. You are Owen Carvour. You’re brave and intelligent and you chose this life so that you could protect others. You don’t kill for the sake of it, certainly not 1147 people.”

“Oh please, Curt,” Owen’s voice cut through his speech, “You should know by now that that’s a fabrication. What use would killing young women serve me? It simply solidified my status as someone to be feared, someone who’d left his heart behind long ago.”

He reached down a hand to Curt, a tentative step in the next direction.

Curt took it.

“Exactly!” Curt moved so that he was standing on the same step as Owen, close enough that he could feel the stuttering puffs of air against his face, “You don’t have to be him anymore! I know that I fucked up. I know that you might never trust me again. But I am begging you to at least let me try.”

Silence rang. Curt was studying Owen’s face so intensely that he could see when something shifted. When the mask finally dropped.

The Deadliest Man no longer stood in front of him. There was no more rage, or cruelty, or fight, really. All that was left was a man with a broken heart and a broken body who’d spent the last four years doing anything he had to in order to survive.

Tears filled Owen’s eyes, and he let them fall as he gave a small nod.

Curt pulled him in without hesitation, cradling him to his chest despite the height difference. He rubbed a hand soothingly down his back as he cried, wincing when he could feel the knobs of his spine, the way his ribs jutted out just slightly.

“I’m—I’m just,” Owen’s voice cracked and Curt held him tighter, “I’m just so tired, Curt. I can’t bloody do this anymore.”

Gently, carefully, Curt pressed a kiss to Owen’s forehead, trying to pour all the love and relief he felt into that single action. Everything was worth it when Owen sunk into his arms just a little more.

“You don’t have to, okay? I’ve got you now. I’m never going to leave you behind again, I promise.”

And there, on a staircase not dissimilar to the one from four years ago, Curt vowed that he’d never let Owen fall again. He would always be there to catch him.

[humming-fly]

was anyone gonna tell me shadow saved rouge's life in sa2 or was I just supposed to find that out playing the game myself

(this worked out as a rather fitting closer for the Final Day in Year of Shadow haha, hope ya'll have a fun new year! 🎉🎉🎉)

[mochasucculent]

Was looking at refs and since Viktor has two different leg braces I was wondering, do we think he wears them simultaneously?? The refs don't perfectly line up perspective-wise so it's hard to tell but parts of the one he wears during the Hexcore scenes look like they could maybe line up with the brace that he wears over his clothes, but also some parts really don't and look like they'd be super uncomfy. Also HOW does he take these on and off. Experts weigh in

[apollos-boyfriend]

just saw a clip where f1nn5ter was saying how at this point, he can’t be cis, but at the same time, he doesn’t feel like he’s trans—he’s just neither. and someone in chat was like “you can’t be neither cis nor trans that’s not how it works” i love finn but why is his chat so fucking bad 😭 stop recreating binaries for the love of god, identity does not have to fall into these neat little boxes for you to police

[datcravat]

It seems there's a new lawyer in town!!!

[qoldenskies]

i think its so funny when people take the way donnie acts at face value even though its a horrible lie because he's a horrible liar, while understanding leo is bullshitting very well despite him actually being GOOD at bullshitting. many such cases

[the-rodent-gentleman]

All rise for the Big Daddy of Wrath

And as a bonus:

[micamone]

hewwo

[super-max-verstappen]

I just realized that with all the rookies entering the sport next year, Fernando Alonso will have been in F1 longer than 5 of his fellow drivers have been ALIVE

Alonso has more F1 experience than Piastri, Lawson, Doohan, Bearman, Antonelli, and Colapinto have life experience.

He will have spent more time in F1 than 25% of the grid have spent breathing. Bro really is HIM

[holographings]

my softest, beigest pillow

[thecmaly]

really? right in front of my karaage?

-

more windbreaker comics

[island-in-the-shadows]

When you really think about it, Daniel Molloy being a vampire is objectively terrifying. This is a guy who, as a mortal:

- Followed a stranger to a second location in peak serial killer era California.

- Was down to fuck in a coffin.

- Was down for fangs in his neck.

- Consistently interviewed dangerous or powerful people and was antagonistic to them.

- Literally never stopped when on the hunt for a story to the point it destroyed his personal life.

- Got on a plane in the middle of a pandemic with a degenerative disease because the guy he barely remembers following to some place on Divisadero, who he knows is an immortal killing machine, is offering Daniel his story and this also means Daniel could get some clarity on his fucked up memory.

- Has a big fucking mouth. He will just say fucking anything regardless of it being inappropriate.

- Has a fantastic bullshit radar.

- Beat a professional gaslighter at 3D chess.

...and then said powerful 514yo gaslighter gives this man litres of his, essentially, untouched blood and makes him his fledgling? Like...INSANE.

Daniel is, no doubt, EXTREMELY powerful and with a personality type that will probably make him a good vampire. Absolutely terrifying...and hot. God I hope he's still "sun challenged."

[mamawasatesttube]

the whole "jason rules crime alley and none of the other bats are allowed there!!1!" thing is so funny like. tim LITERALLY lives in the theater where bruce's parents died,

[princema-k]

ha ha ha wheeeee

(individual smaller expressions under the cut!!)

bonus:

if a total of Two (2) people are interested i will ramble abt my hcs abt layton's emotions REQUIREMENTS HAVE BEEN FULFILLED!!! check here for my rambles :)

[lotus-pear]

the besties are back in action

[clarionglass]

here we go :) part one of three, updates to be released weekly!

---

sam says 4 (game master cinematic universe, part 3)

Ruby was at her mum's for a family dinner she couldn't miss on pain of death, apparently, and the Doctor was many things, but a family dinner kind of guy wasn't one of them—particularly when Carla had already slapped him once in the short time he'd known her. He thought he'd broken his streak of bad luck with mums, but… well, seemingly not. So he was companionless for a few hours, and while he could wait for her to get back, maybe catch up on his reading—what was the point of waiting when you had a time machine? 

He ran his hands over the TARDIS console, marvelling at her clean lines and metallic flourishes, the way that even now she felt brand new but familiar, and paused. He’d just pop off for a quick adventure, nothing too dangerous, but—where to go?

He could scan for a distress call nearby, and pitch in to help. He could drop in on Donna and Shaun and Rose, beautiful Rose, and see how they were all doing. Or he could just hit the randomiser button, and jump in feet first wherever he ended up.

He remembered a conversation from a long time ago, when he wore a different face, and his gorgeous TARDIS wore a face too, for the first and only time.

“You didn't always take me where I wanted to go.”

“No, but I always took you where you needed to go.”

He grinned. Who could resist an offer like that? He pressed the button and whooped as the time rotor spun into action, ready to see where the universe would take him.

---

Apparently, he was needed pretty close to where he already was. Earth, 2024. Huh. Same planet, same time—within a few months of where he’d left Ruby, even. The main thing that had changed was the location: he was now in the good old US of A. California, to be more specific, and Los Angeles to be more specific still. And to really narrow it down, the Doctor discovered as he poked his head out of the TARDIS doors, he was in… a broom closet. Not bad, as a parking spot—a bit squeezy, but out of the way. And as he poked his head out of that door, he could finally see he was in the backstage corridors of a studio of some kind. Film or TV, if he was to hazard a guess, it was a different vibe from Abbey Road.

With a shrug, he decided to go exploring.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute before a young woman wearing the full-black outfit, headset, and permanently stressed expression of a production assistant came running up to him.

“Are you the fill-in Sam organised?” she asked breathlessly, and honestly, seeing the look on her face, the Doctor didn’t have the heart(s) to tell her no. And really, what was the Doctor, if not a professional fill-in? This, this was why he had a randomiser button on the control panel, because whatever he was about to get himself into was going to be fun.

“Sure!”

“Oh, thank god,” sighed the production assistant, relief dawning across her face. “When Ally tested positive this morning, I thought we were sunk for the record, because we called around and we couldn’t get a hold of anyone. But then Sam said he could get someone in, and, you know, here you are, and just in time, so—ah, yeah, if you could follow me this way?”

Smiling all the way, the Doctor followed his guide through to hair and makeup, looking around as they went. The studio seemed to belong to a company called Dropout, according to the branding scattered around, and things seemed, at least on the surface, to be… well. Fine. He couldn't tell why he'd been brought here yet, which meant that when he found the reason, it was going to be particularly tangled. He couldn't wait! 

And then he looked back at his guide, still engulfed in a miasma of anxiety, and realised he'd been too busy looking for clues to notice the person right in front of him. 

“Hey, it's cool, you've found me,” he started with a gentle smile. “You can relax. Hi, I'm the Doctor. What's your name?”

“Oh!” she said, startled. “The Doctor, yeah, of course. Um, hi, I'm Kaylin. Look, sorry, it's just that I've been so busy this morning, I'm so distracted… Shit, and I would've completely forgotten to get your details too. There's paperwork to fill in, but you can do that later. Um, just for now, though, can I get your pronouns?”

The Doctor thought for a moment. “He/him, for now.”

Kaylin nodded, making a note on her phone. “Okay, cool! And do you have any socials?”

“Not me, babes,” he replied. “I'm hardly sitting down long enough to be able to update, you know?”

“On a day like this, I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “That's okay, Lou didn't have socials either for the longest time. Right, so if you go through there, the team will get you sorted, and once you're done, someone will take you up to the greenroom. All good?”

“All great,” the Doctor replied. Kaylin flashed him a quick, relieved smile, then hurried off.

Hair and makeup was a fairly quick process, the sound mixer fitted him with a microphone, and before too long, Kaylin was back to take him upstairs. 

“This is the greenroom,” she said, pushing the door open. “The rest of the cast for the episode are already here—they’re great guys, and they’ve both been on the show a lot, so they’ll be able to help if you’ve got questions. And if you need anything else, just come find me or any of the other PAs, okay?”

The Doctor nodded, beamed at Kaylin, and walked in.

---

The greenroom was small but comfortable, and its occupants, two men around the same age as the Doctor appeared, looked up as he entered.

“Oh, you’re new,” the taller of the pair said, clearly giving him the once-over.

The other sighed with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, just as clearly used to his friend’s antics.

“Hey, I’m Brennan,” he said, levering himself up to standing from his perch on a chair arm, and holding out a hand. “That’s Grant.”

The Doctor took it warmly. “The Doctor. Just passing through, and happy to help.”

Grant’s eyebrows quirked. “Doctor… something?” he prompted.

“Or is it just ‘the Doctor’?” Brennan asked.

“Just ‘the Doctor’,” the Time Lord confirmed cheerfully. “You’ll get used to it, everyone does.”

Grant didn’t look convinced, but—

“Copy that,” Brennan shrugged, and settled back on the arm of the chair, returning his gaze to the door.

Grant, in turn, looked at the Doctor and rolled his eyes in a clear expression of ‘no, I don’t know why he’s like this, either’.

“Okay,” the Doctor said after a moment of watching the watching. “I wasn’t going to ask, but now I think I have to. What’s up with the door?”

Brennan huffed a laugh. “Well, the last time there was one of those up—” he pointed to the Out of Order sign stuck to the bathroom door, “—we got locked in here for the game.”

“He’s paranoid,” Grant interjected.

“Well, yeah, maybe,” Brennan retorted. “Or just cautious. Because Sam’s been acting weird lately, and we’re coming up to the last few records of the season, so he’s probably planning something way out of the box for the finale. And the original cast was you, me and Beardsley, so…”

He shrugged one shoulder meaningfully, and Grant nodded, conceding both the point and the potential for chaos.

“So if Sam comes in to give us the briefing, rather than waiting til we’re on set,” Brennan continued, “or there’s anything else weird going on, I’m gonna know about it right from the beginning.”

He turned to the Doctor. “The only reason I'm not quizzing you is because I know for a fact Beardsley was genuinely scheduled for this, so you can't be a plant by the production team. No offence.”

“None taken,” the Doctor smiled. “That sort of thing happen often, does it?”

Grant and Brennan exchanged a look. 

“More than you'd think,” Grant answered with a grimace. 

“Alright,” the Doctor said slowly, then brightened. “So what is it we're actually doing?”

Grant gave him a disbelieving glance. “You don't know—?”

“Very last minute fill-in,” the Doctor said breezily. “But don't worry, I'm a quick study.”

“Well, you're not that much worse off than the rest of us,” Brennan said encouragingly. “You know about Game Changer, obviously, if you know Sam, and we only find out the rules of the game once we get on set. Hopefully,” he added, with a dark look back at the Out of Order sign. 

The Doctor nodded. No, he didn't know Sam, and he didn't know Game Changer, but he could work out the situation from context clues. This was a game show. And with the Toymaker banished, and Satellite Five not coming into existence for another 198000 years, give or take, he found himself smiling. Maybe third time would be the charm. 

“Mmm, hopefully they aren't going to throw you in the deep end,” Grant said. “Because Brennan might seem lovely now, but as soon as we get out there, he's a whore for points. He'll stab you in the back and won't even blink.”

Brennan barked with laughter. “Yeah, and you wouldn't?”

“Excuse you, I'm always a goddamn delight,” Grant replied, the very picture of injured dignity. 

“Oh, absolutely!” agreed a new voice. The Doctor turned to the now-open door to see a bearded man in a pinstriped suit smiling broadly. “That's why we keep inviting you back!”

Grant bowed sarcastically. “Why, thank you, Sam. Good to know I'm appreciated by someone here.”

“Always,” Sam replied, gently but firmly ending that particular path of the conversation. He scanned the room, and his eyes lit up when they landed on the Doctor. 

“Ah, you must be the Doctor!” he said with obvious delight, walking over with his hand outstretched. “I'm Sam—thanks for filling in for us, you've made sure we're going to have a good show. Seriously, it's a pleasure to have you here.”

“Aw, cheers!” the Doctor smiled, shaking the offered hand. “Glad I could help out, I'm really looking forward to this!”

“Well, great!” Sam exclaimed, then took a step back, regarding all three players in turn. “Now, folks, I'm just letting you know that we're just about ready to start the record, so if you can start heading down, that'd be great.”

Grant and Brennan nodded—Brennan, the Doctor noticed, with relief. 

“See you down there,” Sam said, smiling. “Have a great show, and—”

His eyes caught on the Doctor's for a second, twinkling. 

“Good luck.”

---

Backstage, the Doctor, Brennan and Grant were marshalled into podium order and given a final briefing from the crew. And then, with a thumbs-up from Kaylin, that was it.

Showtime.

“Get ready for a Game Changer!” came Sam's voice from onstage. “Tonight’s guests: he can shoot off a monologue with laser accuracy; it’s Brennan Lee Mulligan!”

Brennan, his back to the camera as the curtains opened, spun on his heel and, with a stone-cold expression, pointed finger guns straight down the barrel, before letting the facade crack open. “Hi!” he exclaimed, and walked over to the leftmost podium.

“It’s his first appearance, but he’s already on fire; it’s the Doctor!”

The Doctor leant against the archway to the stage and flashed a broad smile towards the camera, then in a few skipping steps, had bounded over to the next free podium. What the hell, why not make an entrance?

“And even in the toughest of mazes, you’ll always be able to find him; it’s Grant O’Brien!”

Grant dipped his lanky frame into an approximation of a curtsey, spreading his arms wide, then sauntered over to the closest podium with a grin.

“And your host, me!” Sam announced, a ring of manic white showing around his irises as he beamed down the barrel of the camera. “I’ve been here the whole time!”

“This,” he continued, pushing his microphone shut and stowing it in his jacket pocket, “is Game Changer, the only game show where the game changes every show. I am your host, Sam Reich!” 

As he said his name, he looked at his hands, front and back, as if he was pleasantly surprised to be himself, then gestured towards the three podiums.

“I am joined today by these three lovely contestants! Now, you understand how the game works.”

“Of course not,” Grant started. “You know we don't.”

“We can't, Sam, that's the whole point of the theatre you've set up here,” Brennan said over him. 

“Not yet,” was all the Doctor said, anticipation starting to drum a tattoo of excitement against the inside of his ribcage. 

“That’s right!” Sam said brightly, shooting finger guns at the camera. “Our players have no idea what game it is they’re about to play. The only way to learn is by playing. The only way to win is by learning, and the only way to begin is by beginning! So without further ado, let’s begin by giving each of our players fifty points.”

The Doctor, biding his time, watched the reactions of his fellow contestants. Grant looked at the front of his podium, checking the point total, and nodding approvingly when he saw that yes, it was sitting at a round fifty. Brennan, on the other hand, was starting to frown.

“Players, Sam says: touch your nose,” Sam began, and Brennan sighed the sigh of someone who wasn’t happy to be proved right.

“Oh, no,” he groaned. “Oh, you son of a bitch. Wasn’t one this season enough?”

He touched his nose anyway, as did the others, and Sam smiled encouragingly. “Sam says: touch your ear.”

When they all did, Sam nodded. “Touch your other ear.”

Everybody held still, fingers on the ears they had originally touched.

Sam beamed. “Easy, players, right?”

“You say that now,” Brennan said darkly. “Which makes it worse, because all you're doing is setting us up for failure.”

Sam gasped, pretending offence. “Would I do that?”

“Yes,” Brennan and Grant replied in unison, which drew a grin from the Doctor and set Sam off chuckling.

“And I'm not having it,” Brennan continued, leaning his elbows against his podium and pointing at Sam with the hand not touching his ear. “You better watch yourself, because I know how this game works, and you're not going to get one over on me.”

“Strong words, Brennan!” Sam said, clearly delighted by this response. “Okay, then, let's start making things a bit more interesting!”

The game continued as per Sam Says usual, some rounds done as a group and some individual. Points were won, sure, but lost slightly more frequently, and even the Doctor found he was having to concentrate to avoid getting caught in the host's traps. 

It was fun. Genuinely, it was like playing a game with friends, and the Doctor felt himself leaning into it. There wasn't any sign of danger—maybe there wasn't a mystery to solve at all, and the TARDIS just decided he needed a total break. 

Well, probably not. But the way things were going, he was able to let himself hope. 

“Alright, players,” Sam said a good few rounds in, just as pleasantly as he would start any other question, and the screen behind him dinged as a new prompt popped up. “Survive the death beam.”

For a second, everything was frozen perfectly still. 

And then came the crash, the explosive noise of heavy machinery moving relentlessly through a drywall set.

The Doctor was already moving. “Everyone down!”

“Duck!” Brennan yelled at the same time.

The two of them hit the ground within milliseconds of each other, but Grant was still paralysed in the face of the giant, science-fiction type laser cannon that had just ploughed through the wall. 

It whined ominously, screaming its way to fever pitch. And then a sharp pain in Grant’s ankle made him stagger, pitching forwards onto the carpet behind the podiums as the Doctor rolled away to avoid getting pinned.

“Sorry, babes,” the Doctor whispered. “But it was either kick you to get you down, or—”

A hideous metallic screech ripped through the air, and all three of them could feel the crackle of ozone as a beam of energy swept across what had, moments ago, been neck height.

“…Or that,” the Doctor finished with a grimace.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Grant breathed, suddenly very conscious of every inch of his 6’9 frame. “Thanks.”

“Well done, players!” Sam exclaimed delightedly from above them. “But… sorry, I didn’t say ‘Sam says’, so that’s a point off for everyone.”

“What the fuck!” Brennan snapped.

“Are you actually insane?” Grant demanded at the same time, his voice overlapping with Brennan’s.

In response, Sam just wheezed with laughter. “You can come back to your podiums,” he said, cheerfully ignoring them.

Nobody moved.

“Very good!” he acknowledged, and even without seeing his face, the grin was obvious in his voice. “Okay, Sam says: come back to your podiums.”

Although the words were innocuous, and his tone was just as light and breezy as usual, there was nevertheless an edge hiding just underneath the surface. And while the death beam loomed large in the minds of all three players, it was impossible to consider disobedience as an option.

Slowly, they stood, returning to their places. Now they had the time to look at it properly, the death beam was even more sinister, and Brennan and Grant both kept flicking nervous glances its way, ready to move if it looked like it was charging up again.

The Doctor, however, was focused purely on the man standing in front of them. Unbothered, Sam met his gaze like a challenge, a mischievous smile playing about his lips.

“Oh, you’ll love this one,” he said, and the screen changed. “Sam says, starting with Grant: say my name.”

Grant frowned in confusion, but answered quickly nonetheless. “Sam Reich?”

The man himself shrugged tolerantly, moving on. “Brennan?”

Brennan just stared at him coolly. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Well caught, Brennan!” Sam said happily. “Sam says: say my name.”

“Sam,” Brennan replied, suspicion clear in his voice. “Samuel Dalton Reich.”

He nodded, still with a hint of indifference. “And lastly, Doctor.” His smile broadened. “Sam says: say my name.”

It was easy. Too easy. And as the Doctor looked into the eyes of the man calling himself Sam Reich, he felt his hearts stutter in recognition, because something had changed. He wasn’t hiding himself anymore, and while the face was different yet again, the Doctor would know the shape of that soul anywhere. It was impossible. It was inevitable.

“You can’t be,” he breathed. 

Sam smirked, leaning in across his podium. “Oh, but Doctor… I’ve been here the whole time,” he stage-whispered with a wink.

“He said you lost,” the Doctor said, shaking his head, looking wrong-footed for the first time that Brennan and Grant could recall. “You lost, and he trapped you.”

The other two watched, uncomprehending, but Sam just smiled, drumming his fingers against the podium with an audible beat, fast but distinct. Four taps, four taps, four taps. “I’m waiting.”

The Doctor took a slow, deep breath. Set his jaw. 

“Master.”

---

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): you are here!