#when in doubt blame sutekh

[doctor-the-13th]

The TARDIS had something against Graham's chair—or better yet, Sutekh did.

[sclfmastery]

thoughts, s15 finale

GOOD: --RTD's trademark emphasis on the crucial nature of ordinary people, because we imbue each other with significance and nothing is more alive and human. --Ncuti's best acting in maybe his whole career was in this episode. --The best writing as far as the Doctor being Doctory, while still uniquely 15, was also in this episode. The moment with the amnesiac mother was the best moment in the entire season for this. Acting, again, enhanced this significantly. --Normally I think nostalgia for nostalgia's sakem put in the hands of consumer capitalists, is the death of creativity, but Mel was a good choice; someone recognized Ruby and the Doctor didn't have quite enough on-screen lore of their own. --The Doctor facing that he had "caused" the entire universe to be killed and grappling with the guilt of making his traveling "fun" when there was a greater responsibility to wielding TARDIS technology across time and space. --Mrs. Flood. And no, I don't think she's a Master. Way too obvious, particularly the ending. But I also doubt she's an ally. She'll be a fun antagonist or at least complication. --Kate Stewart and her whole team.

BAD: --Massive buildup and anticlimactic, too-easy resolution (bring death to death is a very cool idea, but maybe achieve it a touch more simply), some empty spaces where character development could have been stronger and the jumping-right-into-danger could have been less frequent.... all of which I think can be attributed to squeezing an ambitious subplot into only 8 episodes, 2 of which were Doctor-lite. Certainly Ncuti Gatwa isn't to blame for being busy and successful during filming time. --The whole "You win, Sutekh" scene. The Doctor has killed millions intentionally already. Usually attention is drawn to the hypocrisy of "I bring life" (btw, Rose shout-out???) , eg Boom Town, End of Time Part 2, etc. And the Doctor is best when showing humility about that, while trying to be a champion of life by striving to be a better person than he was yesterday. This didn' t translate that nuance (or many others) terribly well. --People are going to say this is my bias but the conspicuous omission of the Master even from scenes where their existence almost HAD to be mentioned....feels awkward and strange.

--On that note, the Doctor insisting on not visiting his granddaughter. "Maybe someday" bitch why not NOW? At least give a reason for what's stopping you. I have many theories (still grappling with misplaced guilt for instance) but that in an episode about how Ruby's birthparents should have contacted her sooner felt clunky and forced.

[officialpittacuslore]

I made a thing and I’m not sure how I feel about it; I wrote a John/Five fic and here it is, have fun:

He hates the government. Despises each and every operative that stepped a foot near his cell. His new favorite activity was coming up with cruel and unusual ways to punish the soldiers who made a mockery of him.

He was a Garde, an intergalactic superpower. He should be respected, not bound by a straight jacket. He wasn’t a damn psychopath, just ‘confused’ like some of the allies like to put it.

He touched the scars on his wrist, gently brushing the thin lines that ran up his arms with his fingertips. Fabric burn. Burns from the constriction of the straight jacket that would never fully heal on their own. A permanent reminder that he was always going to be someone else’s enemy, even if he changed his ways.

No one wants me here but I stay anyway, Number Five thought, smacking the back of his head against the wall of his newest room. It was a much needed upgrade, with blankets and pillows that actually blocked out the air conditioning of the government facility and a lamp with working bulbs. It still locked from the outside, however; even though the walls were paper thin and a mere punch from him stood between Five and the cool night sky, his pride on that fact alone sometimes stopped him.

He chose his side. What more did they want from him?

The dead eyes came back to him. They kept him here. He wanted to help, felt compelled to.

He had a more secret mission. A special one.

While the rest of the Garde were too weak to try, Five knew that a portion of his strengths were in his bite.

Those eyes.

Five had groaned right before, he remembers the uncomfortable puff of white his breath had made. He remembers wishing he could slap his face or pinch the skin between his eyes in frustration when the tight, gray cut into his wrists and pulled on his shoulder blades. He was stuck with thrashing or shouting like the other crazies to let out his nervous energy.

He remembers thinking he chose. Five liked to dwell on that, apparently. He had picked his side, why wouldn’t anyone see that?

His story wasn’t unknown anymore, it felt like Number Five’s tale of woes was now everyone’s lunchtime gossip, his life reduced to harsh whispers and narrow-eyed glares. He was there, he knew the story well enough without the rumors. His Cepan croaked when he needed the old man’s teachings the most and the first man to help him after led him down a darker path somewhere else, somewhere far away. The Mog side.

Under Ra, the Loric were the enemy. Naturally. Once upon a time, the Loric ruined the Mog and now Mogadore was exacting its much needed revenge.

Ella helped him see otherwise.

John was the final push.

Those stupid eyes.

He’d been beaten, he’d been broken. He was defeated, held down in a rotting, frigid holding cell by the Garde he turned back around to save from the monster in New York.

Just for you dicks.

Five wasn’t going to let them break him any farther.

After all, Eight’s blood was on his hands.

For Eight, and for my people. No one else.

Or, so he thought.

For Four.

Six and Marina once mentioned a bond, how they were connected even before they met because their numbers in the kill sequence came so close together. Nine and Eight had it, so strong that Right still threw his life on the line, in front of the girl he loved, to save the Garde in line behind him.

Five and Four never had it starting out; Five blamed himself. He shut himself out from the rest of the Garde, picked fights with Nine and Six too much. It started to change; John sought him out to retrieve Nine but ended up saving his life anyway.

He didn’t know he’d come to feel this way about the other boy.

Oddly enough, he remembers the rumbling laughter from the opposite end of the long hall. His days of Mogadorian abuse trained him to recognize the voice from every bit it vibrated the air around his ears. Nine. He remembers the throaty sound, the doubt that coated his words soon after, and the musty mess of footsteps that Five soon lost count of as they grew closer. He didn’t know how many people were coming for him, he just knew to prepare for the shame that would come with Nine. When his biggest eyesore walked in, flanked by the one who ordered for the close monitoring, Five was less than excited.

But when he saw what had become of John, he was less detested but more curious.

Quite the bags under his eyes all of a sudden. He used to be more good looking.

Not only was his ally’s face drained of its joyful pink color but his hands were cracked, loosely dappled with specks dried blood. The drops decorated the remains of his jacket’s sleeves, telling Five all he needed to know, that those droplets weren’t John’s. He was still covered in the wear from his last biggest mission.

He remembers the cold expression, how John’s lips had been frozen in a nearly permanent frown. His blue eyes, once bright and blazing with hope that could move even the most lost of causes, were dull. Dull.

Even his signature, the blue eyes, lost their color. Almost dead.

Those eyes.

Five remembers being taken back. He remembers his stomach cramping at the mere sight him. He’d never seen Four look so defeated.

The image of Number Four slumped at the edge of his cell as he commanded Five to teach him how to fly replays in his head, over and over.

He’s such a mess.

It hurt to see him this way. It hurt that the last time Five saw Four, it was in such a shaken state. Like the life had been torn from him and replaced with half the effort.

What is wrong with me.

Four hadn’t left his thoughts; Number Four tried to accept him, he bargained with him for Nine’s life multiple times. Four ordered he be held instead of tortured, but that had been the only plus.

Perhaps he was a touch kind because they were both outsiders now. Shells of themselves. Was Four as in touch to realize that of himself though, that part of his very self died with Sarah Hart?

Five waited in his room patiently, rubbing the scarred skin on his arms over and over. He issued a fake complaint about his bed, anything to get an officials attention to relay a message to the communications wars where Sutekh and Four recently camped out the most. Five wasn’t a genius but he knew that Adamus Sutekh intercepted wavelengths and listened to Mog radio frequency. He was hell bent on redeeming himself, redeeming his worth over his gifts, that he hadn’t resurfaced from the dark crevice in days. He would rejoin with answers; work ethic was what Five found most admirable about Adam.

Four, in the meanwhile, was collecting as many powers as he could. Five was still sore from his brawl with Four midair, the way the straight jacket melted off of his body when his Externa took to and mimicked the protective Lumen field that surrounded the blonde boy’s body. Ximic made his comrade hungry, eager to grow beyond every single one of his peers.

The others feared the new Four. Nine challenged him, of course he had.

Five told himself he wasn’t afraid. That he was still curious, eager. But his left hand shook quietly at his side.

Worried.

Four’s dead eyes stared at him from his thoughts. To Five, he wasn’t John Smith anymore.

I’ll help you.

His door creaked open. Five’s eyes snapped up, meeting the light of the hallway. He braced for impact.

“You wanted to see me?” The void emotionless voice opened with. Four’s face followed as the other Garde slowly entered Five’s personal space, closing the door behind him with a gentle push of his telekinesis.

“Uh, yeah, I wanted to… talk,” Five mumbled, forcing himself to meet Four’s eyes. The sparkle was still gone, extinguished maybe forever.

Not if I have something to say about it.

Four had wanted him there, back in the safe house in Chicago when the world seemed out to harm him. Four wanted him here, under the careful eye of the soldiers and other Garde to make sure his choice was the right one. To make sure Five chose them.

I want you here.

He didn’t know what started to make him compelled him to care about Number Four. To watch the way his dirty blonde hair rested and curled on his brow, to miss the delicate blue swirls of color with his every thought or feeling. He missed the way his face pinched in thought or frustration. He missed the smile that was soft and telling, the brush of care or venom that was always genuine. Four was a warrior, there was no doubt in the part of him that craved victory. But, what had made him truly deadly was his kindness. Five hadn’t realized he fell as hard for Four as he had.

“I hope it’s some kind of clue or secret to killing Ra, otherwise I’m wasting my time,” Four hissed. Five held back his wince. He had to remember who he was facing. Four, not John. He breathed heavily.

“Yeah, I have a tip for you,” Five started slowly, willing his short panic attack away. He dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands. He wished he had one of his balls for back up. If he had one just to roll between his fingers and divert his nerves.

John’s eyes didn’t flicker, just narrowed.

“Well?”

“That you’ll never put a dent in him with that attitude,” Five drawled, letting the first crossed thought from his mind slip. He cursed internally when John’s eyes only darkened.

“You’re wasting my time.”

“And you’re wasting everyone else’s.”

The words fell out of Five’s mouth before he could shut his real thoughts in. He braced for an assault.

John’s eyes narrowed until the dark blue was almost lost in the sliver shape. Like he wanted to shut his eyes on Five like he’s shut himself away from everyone else.

“What do you mean by that? We’re preparing.”

“What do you think, Four? You don’t really care what anyone has to say as long as it’s about him. You flinch whenever anyone says the sound ‘Ra.’”

“We were sent here to-”

“To keep the race alive and kill Ra in the process. We’re the last of our kind, the nine lone kids that were sent to keep some galactic super race alive, not bent apart on suicide missions.”

“I seem to remember you killing one of those nine,” John’s voice almost froze him.

Beat.

He paused for a second. He thought of where his next words should take him.

Five would try to heal himself too.

“You know what,” Five started. He feels his body stop shaking as he gives in to himself, to his feelings. His dark anxieties that ate away every piece of him were finally quiet. “I know I did. And I’m living that nightmare for the rest of my fucking life.

He wanted to wait for John to cut him off, digging his fingernails deeper into his palm until he was sure they would be bleeding by the end.

“And it’s going to be no different for you, John Smith.”

John’s eyes flashed with anger. He opened his mouth to argue, to spit something but Five interjected immediately.

“You’re listening to me, god dammit.” Five dashed forward and grabbed the front of John’s clothing.

“Why should I, it hasn’t done a lot for us in the past,” John snarled back, snatching Five’s wrist. His skin burned, like he was close to activating Lumen to defend himself.

He thought Five was going to hurt him. Or worse.

“Really,” Five frowned, looking between the hand on his arm and John’s eyes. “Is that necessary?”

John didn’t respond, he kept his eyes trained on Five, ready for any possible movement that would warrant his defense.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“How about the part where you want to melt my skin off.”

John blinked, raising a cautious eyebrow. He seemed genuinely confused.

“Melt your…?”

Five lifted a hand and rested it on John’s before he was aware of himself. It felt scalding warm, a heat is sudden that Five almost ripped his hand from the skin. Even on the back of the hand.

His Lumen activates with his emotions.

Five always suspected how John’s personality tied in so closely with legacies. Emotions helped the Garde learn and control powers, to take the strength of a hard pain of loss and make it something worth while. To make the Garde special, outlasting.

With his constant hunger, John’s entire body must be burning.

“You’re hot,” Five added flatly, hoping John didn’t respond the way he thought. He moved his eyes from John’s hand back to the blonde boy’s face and flinched. His eyes reflected concern as they stared down at his own hands. John slowly lifted his palm from Five’s skin, revealing a burn mark in the shape of a hand print.

Oh.

“Four,” he started. If this was how John’s legacies were reacting to his change, he couldn’t be too kind with his words here. “You are so obsessed with vengeance that you have closed out every person on this damned planet that could have helped make it feel better. There’s nothing left except anger. You’ve burned every bridge you had to keep your one, helpless romance alive. Now everything’s in the name of her. I get it and all, but she didn’t start this war and she can’t end it either. Shit Four, you practically beat your prisoner for his legacies, your little lab rat that’s all out of luck as it is.” He let the other Garde go, keeping John at an arm’s length with a hand fastened on his arm. “Fuck, lucky is right, at least I knew your intention or I’d have filed a fat complaint.”

He was quiet after. Almost still, like Five’s words had taken the last stand from his blood. His eyes had a soft glow to them as they dropped to the floor, giving his royal blue color the first glance of life since he got the call.

“You don’t get it,” John’s voice fell soft. “No one here gets it.”

“You’re wrong. I’ve hurt and killed a lot, John. I think I can get it,” he murmured back. He bit back adding in Nine or Marina and their heavy losses. Marina hasn’t found him since their first fight John had to break up and Five feared for when she did confront him.

For now, Five would have to be her.

John’s eyes lifted and met Five’s. He decided to go on.

“It feels like shit. We can’t just… get over ourselves like nothing happened, I know and so does everyone else John. No one wants you to forget her, we just… want to help you.”

He couldn’t believe he was being this soft.

John closed his eyes tight, his mouth pursing with the effort to mask his feelings. When he let out a deep breath, they were close enough that Five felt all of the hot air hit his face.

He rested his forehead against Five’s and it nearly paralyzed him. He forced himself to breathe normal as a blush started to gather.

“But we can acknowledge that it hurts the most and that… pain isn’t all that matters,” Five added softly.

“It feels like does,” John’s voice cracked softly. He kept his eyes squeezed shut.

“If pain mattered,” Five started, pausing to find the right words. This was the first touch of vulnerability John was showing anyone in days. Maybe years to come. He remembered Emma and her family. Ethan. Kelly Sutekh. His Cepan.

“Then, I would still be a Mog soldier. Or maybe I would have never sought out anyone to heal me after my Cepan passed. Hell. I’d still be trying to hurt Nine to make myself feel better.”

Pain could matter, but Five took his pain to make himself better. For Eight.

For Four.

“I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Five held back his breath, heat gathering further in his face. He didn’t expect those words from John. “Oh, um, it’s cool, we’re all sort of-”

“No. It’s not ok.” John lifted his head up and met his eyes. The blue color was there, deep and swaying as it used to be. His lips were buckled in a deep frown, like he wanted to add something else. Five couldn’t help but notice how close their faces were, how close his lips were.

“Now, earlier, all the time. It shouldn’t happen all the time.” John laid a delicate hand on the burn mark and activated his healing legacy. The cool tingle was refreshing as it soaked into Five’s skin and reversed the effects of the Lumen.

“You treated me no differently when we fought and you’re treating me the same now. Shit, you didn’t even have to say or do anything for me and you’re still here yelling at me and thinking about me but I’ve been just been an asshole. I’m not broken, I’m not ruined, I’m just… trying to heal.”

“I, um,” Five hesitated, hoping the spark he lit in himself hadn’t died. He unwound a lot. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing but he didn’t want to say nothing at all. John’s eyes looked up but he didn’t speak.

Four and Five didn’t have the connection to make words sound aimless and true. Now was the time to change that.

“I’m always here, I mean, if you need me.”

“I do.”

Five willed himself to still.

“You were right. It doesn’t matter most, what matter is what it makes you do. There are things I’ve done that I can’t take back right now, there are people I can’t help right now or anymore. I pushed myself outside and built a wall so high no one could find me instead of letting myself… feel the pain and healing myself. And now I can’t let myself heal, everything is happening too close together.”

Pause.

“But you still looked for me.” John stood up from his job, meeting Five eye level again. “I thought everyone had stopped looking.”

Five hated how the soft words made his body shake the slightest. From warmth and uncomfort. He’s better than he thinks. Five wanted to speak up, wanted to tell him what he thought or how wrong Four was but when John’s thumb brushed his cheek, he lost all of his planned words.

“Four-”

“Is it better?”

“My arm’s fine-”

“No, my… hand.”

Five lifted his hand to touch it, resting it fully against his cheek.

“Feels good to me.”

Beat.

“That came out weird,” Five mumbled but John smiled. It was quiet, like the ghost of one, but a smile nonetheless.

Maybe it was their connection.

John leaned in and pressed a long, light kiss on Five’s lips. It stilled him, crashing every thought he had together into one. By the time he realized it happened, John had pulled away and turned around to leave.

“Thank you, Five.”

“Um. I, uh I should thank you,” Five stumbled through his words. He just hoped he didn’t make a joke about the loss. “My, uh, public speaking is getting better.”

He could have sworn he may have just heard a soft laugh from Number Four.