Best Enemies

Title: Imaginary Worlds (the Here I Dreamt I Was An Architect Remix)
Pairing: various Masters (Ainley, Delgado, War Chief, Crispy), Five
Length: 5739
Author's Summary: "There is a room in the TARDIS that always stays locked."
Author on LJ: bagheera_san
Why this must be read: For full-disclosure: this *is* a remix of a frankly pretty feeble thing I wrote ages ago. It's not a narcissistic choice, though--I don't really have that sort of relationship with my own work, and especially not in the case of the ur-Imaginary Worlds, of which I am by no means fond. It is remarkable that I love this fic so much in spite of that association--THIS Imaginary Worlds is one of my favorite things in fandom. This story could be read as the equivalent of deftly flipping the original over and slicing open its underbelly, letting all the complexity come spilling out in lush confusion--but it's so much its own thing that I think you fully engage with it on its own terms, and can do so without ever looking at the source material.

I did a double-take when I typed out the word count--this story does so much in what's really not that big a space, and I didn't even realize while reading because it does it with such self-assurance and ease. The characterization of a largish cast of regenerations is crisp, discrete, and flawless. This is a full, realized story that reads a bit like an Angela Carter fairy tale adaptation. It does surprising, AU and yet not unbelievably incompatible things, while still following the course of, and enriching, canon (including relatively fandom-under-written bits of canon, like the Master's Cripsy Years). I can't say too much without robbing you of some of the shock of it. It is sensual and creepy and sound. The ending is a close, pleasurable devastation.
Excerpt:

"In the Doctor’s presence, the Master’s mind has grown like brambles, wild and vital and chaotic. In the Doctor’s absence, it has turned into a tangle of ivy, draining him dry. It has wrapped around the construct, embraced it, swallowed it. Digging it out again is hard work, almost physical. His mind feels like flesh under his hand, like he is digging in meat. It oozes memories of the Doctor like tar, and they stick to him, black and unpleasant."

Just look how visceral and gorgeous this one paragraph is. How could you not want to read the fic this paragraph comes from?!

Link to the story: Imaginary Worlds

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