In the end, through this way or that, he won, always saved himself, if not others.
The Doctor always wins, it’s the way things work, the way they’ve always been, Time Lord Victorious. The winner.
Except he’s not the Doctor. Not anymore, not since his bishop took his king and took him with it, and the CyberPlanner was laughing and the Doctor was screaming until he had no voice left in him to scream with. Until he was in the back, pushed away and buried and without even the blessed grace of unconsciousness or ignorance, but horribly aware of everything.
Because, like the TARDIS matrix, you can’t just delete a Time Lord. You can’t, even with their technology upgrade it. But you can hack it. You can override it, bury it, warp it beyond recognition, beyond what anyone would want to recognize. You just can’t kill it, no matter how much the Doctor wishes you can.
And the CybterPlanner was gloating. Without words, without sound, silent in the Doctor’s mind. Ha.
Ha ha.
I win.
You lose.
you win. The Doctor thinks, because his thoughts aren’t his own. i lose.
You knew. Since you moved your knight, and I took your pawn, you knew you would lose.
I knew that I would lose.
But you kept playing...one last question, one last thought, before you shut up. Why. You kept playing. Why?
Hope.
Hope. Emotions. Useless, stupid things. They hurt and they get in the way of winning. That’s why you lost.
That’s why I- no. They’re not-
They are.
They...are. That...is why I..lost. I lost.
You did. Now, be quiet. There are people to kill. Upgrade. The line is so thin, sometimes.
And he is silent. Because he doesn't have control anymore and as much as he’s there he isn’t and he is Mister Clever, now, helloooooo!
And the kids are upgraded (killed) and the platoon and all of them, cybermen. And Mister Clever (The Doctor) watches and smiles and is glad.
He leaves Clara for last. Clara who is still holding an uncharged gun, who is still trying to fight, who is staring staring at him, guarded and painful and furious.
“You said,” She shouts, holding her useless gun up higher (and somewhere in him the look is tearing him up, but emotions do not exist in the prison he’s in) “That you would get them back.”
“Rule One.” Mister Clever says, and Clara just looks confused. “Or hasn’t he told you? Oooh, that would be him. Keeping up appearances. Rule One, Clara. The Doctor lies.” Mister Clever laughs, an ugly thing.
“No, he was in there before, he’s in there now, I just have to...to...hit you or something, you’re in there.” She says, loudly trying to reassure herself of it.
“But you’re wrong!” Mister Clever laughs, cruelly. “He gone. Locked away, past where anyone can reach him.”
“Can he hear me?” She asks, her voice with an edge. Mister Clever makes a face at her.
“He’s locked away, but we share the same head.”
“Good.” She stares into Mister Clever’s eyes, the fist not holding the gun clenched. “Good. Doctor, I just want you to know- traveling with you, going all these places?” He put down her gun, stepping forward.
“It was the worst decision I’ve ever made.”
And she is being upgraded by the cybermites and Mister Clever is laughing and the Doctor who has found his voice again is screaming, and he reaches his hand, putting all his strength too it, and he finds his fingers and he rips and tears and the metal over his face, clawing at it, and it hurts but cybermen do not have feelings.
alright fine i feel really bad now. sorry this is drunk!
Harry clutches at the headboard in front of him, head dropping to his arm. He whimpers and bites down on his arm. His dick is soft, dripping with come from just a few minutes ago, but Zayn hasn't stopped fucking him. Zayn hasn't let up at all. Harry's not going to tell him to stop, not when he's so full, not when Zayn has his fingers fisted in Harry's hair, tugging on it every time Zayn thrusts into him. It feels good, the burn. He's sore and sensitive, but he can't help but beg for more. Zayn pulls him up from the hair and Harry's moans at the feeling as he fits his back against Zayn's chest.
"So fucking desperate," Zayn murmurs into his neck, biting down on his skin. Harry just tilts his head to grant Zayn better access. He likes it when Zayn leaves marks. Bite marks or bruises or scratches. He likes everything Zayn gives him.
