Word Count: 1905
Author's Summary: Now that the Doctor actually thought about it, something felt wrong. There was a peculiarity drifting through the air around him that made his hair stand on end.
Characters/Pairings: Other Character(s), The Doctor (11th)
Warnings: Swearing, Horror
Recced because: Okay, anyone who knows me, knows I have an addiction to Bad Guys. It's terrible (and wonderful) and a fantastic Bad Guy is enough to have me running and drooling over all a manner of fiction. The Master...the Master has owned my heart since I was a wee one. I have enjoyed his sarcasm, cruelty, cat-and-mouse shenanigans and his tendency to play the long game just for giggles. He has always fascinated me - and he will always be a favorite villian, no matter what face he wears.
That being said, I've always been one for Irony and how said Irony can be a @#$%!. I loved Ainley. I loved Roberts (hey, stop that - I saw the eye-rolls!). I have even 'made up' a few Masters in my time just for fun. Cumberbatch!Master and Smith!Master come immediately to mind here. I have written a few fictions myself with Smith!Master facing off (or getting ready to do so) against the Eleventh. Just because Irony and its @#$%!iness.
Then came this fiction. I know this author well and she knows my tastes (likely a little TOO well). She took an idea I fiddled with a year or more ago (before giving up the ghost on it) and created a fiction that just...blew my mind! It made so much sense, it was beautifully written and frankly, I rode her tail until she finally started posting to Teaspoon. The reasons are utterly selfish - being able to rec her work being the main one. *Grins* And so here I am, happy to recommend one of her latest fictions and one that she says is based off my own scribblings, but utterly out-does said scribblings without hardly any effort on her part at all. She lines out the details exquisitely, resolves a few problems that could be raised with just a few sentences and creates a story that will chill you and make you wonder 'what if?!' Whole worlds could come undone with just this concept alone - and the way it ends will make you scream, cheer and drive yourself crazy trying to suss out the possibilites of it all. But in case you don't trust my word by now, I have brought a modest example just to convince you...
Tucked away in the coziest nook of the library sat a comfy armchair. A small wooden table stood beside it. On that rested a cup of tea and a plate of jammy dodgers. Abruptly, a figure plopped down in the chair. Long hands thumbed through a well-worn book. The Martian Chronicles, a copy he'd nabbed the very day it first came out. That was in 1950, if he remembered correctly. The book was hopelessly inaccurate, of course, but so cleverly written that the flaws were easy to forgive.
"Haven't read this one in a couple of centuries," the Doctor murmured, a smile brushing his face. He took a quick sip of tea before fishing a pair of round-framed glasses from his pocket. A mildly sad twinge ran through him as he put them on, a touch of the memory of ginger hair and feisty Scottishness.
Pushing aside the bittersweet recollection, he ate a jammy dodger and settled in to read. He was soon lost in Bradbury's unique, peculiarly lyrical style.
Partway through 'Usher II', the cloister bell tolled.
The Doctor set the book and the spectacles aside, brow furrowing. He'd selected such a peaceful place; what threat could present itself here? What danger could there possibly be?
Oh. So. Good. Whoo-hoo!! Please be sure to tell her how much you enjoyed her tale, I know she'd appreciate it!